natlovessoup

[natlovessoup]

i should finish this some day 🫡

On My Way - Jim Hopper x Single Mom!Reader

ONE

Pairing: Jim Hopper x (Single-ish)Mom!Reader

In this chapter: You and your daughter Willow are traveling to Hawkins!

Summary: Together with her daughter Willow, Y/N tries to get away from her abusive husband. Running away from home, she takes shelter in her sister Joyce's house a few towns over. Here Y/N tries to build a better life for herself and her daughter, she meets Jim and Eleven and becomes a better aunt to her nephews, Will and Jonathan.

But what happens when her husband comes back into their lives, trying to make it a living hell? Will he pull apart the stable base she has created for her and her daughter?

TW: trauma, abuse mentions, (i'll update as the fic is progressing)

A/N: i really hope you like this! please let me know what you think so far :)

Words: 1499

Find the masterlist, here! Or find the fic on AO3 here!

last chapter < current > next chapter

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The train came to a stop with a loud creaking noise of the brakes. The carriage shook you around and the empty bottle of soda on the little counter fell to the ground. You got up, threw the bottle away in the little trashcan and grabbed your big backpack. 

“Come on, sweetheart. We need to get off here.” You said, swinging your backpack around your shoulders. Willow perked up, she was sick of sitting all the time and not being able to go outside. During the train ride, she repeatedly kept asking when you both were getting off the train. Even though there was nothing to do much, at one point Willow’s energy was so drained you couldn’t keep her still. She was tired and longed to cuddle with her teddy bear, which she got as a present from the lady down the street the day you moved there when she was only one years old. This is the same lady who offered you and your daughter help to escape, by saving all the extra money you made from being a waitress at a café and even chipped in the last bit of money needed to buy these train tickets. 

Willow was holding your hand when you were making your way to the bus stations. With every breath you took, the clouds of condensation left your mouth. The tips of your ears and nose felt like it froze stiff and if you would even dare to touch it, it’d break off.

“It’s so cold.” Willow said suddenly. You gave a little huff and looked at her. With the one hand she had left, she tried to put the shawl around her neck well. 

“Here, let me help you sweetheart.” You crouched down, taking the shawl entirely off her shoulders so you could wrap it better around her face, so it covered her nose, mouth, and ears. With a simple tug at her beanie, her entire face was covered and kept warm, except for her eyes. You let your hands rest on her cheeks and pressed a kiss on her forehead. 

“We’re almost on the bus, yeah? From there we have to travel a few hours and then we get to see auntie Joyce and you can take a nap in a real bed.” Willow nodded and grabbed your hand. 

“Let’s go mama. We can do this.” She said full enthusiasm and dragged you into the direction you were walking to in the first place. Her enthusiasm made you chuckle, even though Willow experienced much sadness in her life, it surprises you every time on how positive she goes through life. Where sometimes you walk into a situation where you see no way out, Willow somehow manages to bring over her positive energy to calm you down and see things from a new perspective. She also gives you the motivation and drive to strife for her happiness, but also your own. To be honest, without her, you’d be in such a different place in your life right now. Possible worse than the situation you’re already in. 

Not long after that, you were on the bus. Before you got on, you found a place for you and Willow to do your needs and after that you bought a little breakfast, so Willow had at least something in her stomach during the last stretch of the trip. Not long after you went on board, she fell asleep and left you and your thoughts alone. You didn’t even know where to begin, your head was so full of different thoughts and memories, and you were scared that if you were going to pluck them out one by one, you’d end up like a mess. One bigger than you already were. 

Without trying to think of the sad and terrible things, you tried to think about the happier ones. Such as Willow, and Joyce. You can’t stop thinking about the moment Joyce will open the door, how will she react? What will she say? Are you welcome, even though last time you saw her you left without saying anything? Does she hate you? There were many questions floating around in your head and you tried to stop imagining the worst possible scenarios, especially the ones where Joyce would slam the door in your face, leaving you and your four-year old daughter in the cold. 

You haven’t seen your sister in ages. It’s been a couple of years since you two last talked, it was just around the time you got into a relationship with Kevin. You should’ve listened to Joyce when she tried to warn you, she didn’t trust him at all. But they say love makes blind, right? 

You and Kevin were dating for about two months, and everything went great. He was taking care of you, making sure you were okay and every time he came to visit or pick you up to go on a date, he’d bring flowers and chocolates. He was polite, kind and was everything in a man you have never had before. He made you feel good, made you feel loved. So, when he came to pick you up for a date and told you during dinner, he got a job offer a few states over, you didn’t hesitate to pack your bags and move with him across the country. Of course, you thought about saying goodbye to Joyce, but you knew she would try and stop you, so you thought it was for the best to give her a call when you arrived at your new home. But you never got around to calling her, you never even got a chance. And now it has been a couple of years. Jonathan would be a full young adult now and Will a teenager. You felt guilty for not being there for Joyce, for helping with your nephews as you know Lonnie was never around. There wasn’t a day where you weren’t thinking about them. Wondering how it would be if the contact was there again. Would you have been happier? 

With all the emotions you were feeling, you tried to neutralise your feelings the moment you saw the welcoming sign of Hawkins. With the sleeves of your sweater, you wiped away the tears that got away onto your cheek. You took a deep sniff, blew your nose with a piece of paper, and took a sip of the water bottle you kept in your bag. You put your hand on Willow’s shoulder and gently shook her so she would wake up.

“You need to wake up baby, we’re almost here.” You whispered into her ear. She opened her eyes but squeezed them shut again with a swift motion. The look of her face made you giggle. It was early in the afternoon and the sun came through. It was quite nice, the warm feeling of the rays of sunshine stretched out over your skin. 

“Can we go for ice cream?” Your daughter asked while you were watching the bus drive off in the distance. There is no turning back. You looked at her face, there was a look of hope and a glistering of happiness in her eyes. You chuckled.

“Of course, I promised you yesterday, remember?” The smile on the little girl’s face widened and she gave out a scream of happiness while clapping her hands. You guided her to the place where you remember being a snackbar a couple of years ago and you hoped it would still be there. It would be awkward to tell her now that you don’t know where to get a soft ice cream on a cone. On the inside, you said a little thank you when the snackbar was still at the spot you remembered.

You had asked the server of the snackbar if you could use the phone to call for a cab to your sister's house. Normally you would’ve walked it, but Willow was tired and there was no way you could carry your heavy backpack on your back while carrying Willow all the way. Luckily, it was no problem and within twenty minutes there was a cab waiting for you outside the building. It was a fifteen-minute drive, and now you were standing at the front door to your sister’s house. 

With a deep sigh and trying to shake out every nervous feeling, you knocked on the door. Would she be home? Would one of her sons be home? Who would answer the door? Will she recognize you? Are you welcome? What if nobody’s home, what would you do then? Where will you go if-

The sound of the lock opening interrupted your thoughts. This is it, you thought. This is the moment. You squeezed Willow’s little hand and closed your eyes. The nervousness was getting too much. You opened your eyes when the door went open to reveal a woman with brown eyes and brown hair. The woman’s face changed from neutral to one with her eyebrows raised and eyes in shock.

“Y/N?”

[natlovessoup]

“Pure Intentions”

Ship: Aaron Hotchner/Reader

Rating: E

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 1,162 Words

Summary: You are an agent who is also spiritual and loves crystals. So, you decide to give your favorite boss man, SSA Aaron Hotchner, black tourmaline.

Hotch really didn’t know why insomnia had chosen to haunt him on a Sunday night, but he felt the full extent of it when he stepped into the bullpen the next morning. He wasn’t really given to vanity, but he felt like his eyebags were eye-totes now, and even though he had downed a cup of coffee before leaving the house, he felt like if he was still for even a second, he’d fall asleep.

Of course the weekend he had off was when his mind barred him from a good night’s rest- the night before work, no less.

He had not been at his desk for more than ten minutes when you bustled into his office, your smile wide as usual despite being almost eight in the morning.

“Good morning! I was going to wait closer to lunch, but then Penelope told me a case came in, so I decided to give this-“ you stopped to actually look at him, and even though an amused smile was pulling at his lips, he looked so exhausted. “I’m so sorry, I should have asked how you were doing first.”

“I’m not sick, just tired,” Hotch said kindly, “what do you have?”

“Black tourmaline! I know you’re not much of a spiritualist, but the low down on it is that it sponges up negative energy! And I mean… I know you don’t exactly have a choice, you know, to be or not to be around negative energy but…” you shrugged before admitting, “It also reminded me of you too. Also, again I know you don’t put huge stock into it, but I also charged it for you.”

You put the shiny black chunk on his desk, almost shyly. He picked it up, studying it and turning it over in his hands. You half expected him to pull his reading glasses out to look at it, and if he had- well, you couldn’t rightly be held responsible for the noise you might have made.

“This reminds you of me?” Hotch asked skeptically, his brows knitted slightly.

“Mhm! It’s a bodyguard type crystal. And… I guess you have that sort of… vibe? To me anyways,” you added on a little less than tactfully as you were visibly becoming fidgety, your hands smoothing down your skirt.

“You see me as the bodyguard type.”

You put your hands on your hips, an eyebrow raising. “Did you or did you not become overprotective when I said that my car alarm was going off in the parking lot and you insisted on stealthily going towards the car first with your pistol? Or did I hallucinate that?”

“I’ve seen some things in my time, and I know malevolent people would target a woman who’s alone when she’s leaving her workplace,” Hotch said defensively. You only smiled.

“Whatever you say. Regardless, that’s for you. Maybe, one day, I’ll get a keychain for you.”

“Thank you, that was… actually thoughtful and sweet of you. You’re right that I don’t put a whole lot of stock into this… sort of thing,” he admitted as he turned the crystal over in his palm again, “but I think… I think the weight of intentions are real.”

“Maybe those intentions will carry you home safe from this case, then. Judging from the groaning sounds coming from Garcia’s cave, I’m thinking it’s a doozy. By the way…”

“Mm?”

“Do you want me to make you a cup of coffee before you go in to briefing?”

“That would be wonderful of you, thank you. One sugar-“

“-and no cream. I know how you make your coffee, Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner,” you teased.

Hotch shook his head. “The full government name.”

You turned to walk out when he called your name, and you turned back to him.

“Can you come to my desk for a second?”

You complied, going to his desk with a nervous giggle. You thought he was going to speak, but instead he simply rose from his seat and kissed your cheek.

You touched your flushing cheek with a slightly shaky hand. “What was that for?”

He shrugged. “Just a thank you for being as thoughtful as you are. Truly… you make working here a bit easier.”

“Aw, you’re going to make me cry, so I’ll laugh instead.” You were going to turn to flee, but boldness filled you and you leaned up to kiss his cheek, except he moved, and you kissed the corner of his stern lip.

“Uh-” you backed away from him.

“Don’t panic,” Hotch ordered calmly- almost too calmly- “it’s not your fault, it was mine for reacting too quickly.”

Your cheeks flushed hot red and despite his command to not panic, you immediately fled the scene, leaving behind a confused but slightly amused Aaron.

A few minutes later, JJ entered his office with his cup of coffee in one hand and sat it on his desk, the other arm full of file folders. She gestured with her head towards the bullpen, “Hey, um, Agent-“

“I know,” Hotch said with a minuscule smirk, sipping the coffee, and almost immediately moaned aloud. True to your word, you knew exactly how he takes his coffee. He kept glancing towards the crystal sitting on his desk, and when Garcia called for him to come to the briefing room, he carefully slid it in his pocket.

On the jet, after all the details of the case had been discussed, Hotch leaned back in the chair, his fourth cup of coffee of the day in his hand. Even though he made his coffee exactly the same as always, it didn’t taste nearly as good as the one you made for him. He took the black tourmaline out of his pocket and held it in his hand. It works on a jet, right? It’s closer to the sun, it has to be like the best charging method.

“What do you have there?” Rossi asked from across him, looking up from a book- a compilation of Garfield comic strips over the years.

“A crystal. I think it’s… black tourmaline?”

Reid, of course, overheard this and had to jump in with, “you know, within pagan and spiritual circles, black tourmaline has protective properties, banishing negative vibrations, and it’s also supposed to be grounding.” He looked at the crystal in Hotch’s hand. “Oh yeah, I’ve seen this crystal on that agent’s desk. She and Anderson talk about them all the time, and apparently she keeps some of them in her desk, as does Anderson.”

“She and Anderson are good friends,” Hotch volunteered. “She’s the one who gave this to me.”

“She’s a sweet girl,” Rossi commented, sounding too innocent for Hotch’s liking.

“She is,” Hotch agreed simply, not taking the bait.

He and “that agent” were going to have to have a conversation when he got back home- he was entirely too intrigued by you. Perhaps he could ask you what crystal was the best for asking someone on a date.

[natlovessoup]

Clingy

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (BAU!reader)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

WC: 3.7k

Summary: You tended to be very expressive with your friends when showing your affection. Whether it showed in pet names or physical touch. Only thing is, Spencer thinks he’s falling in love with you, and all of your sweet affectionate actions are starting to take a toll on his unrequited heart. At least, he thinks it’s unrequited. 

Tags: there’s a tiny bit of miscommunication but not too much that it will make your head explode like it does mine. Make out but nothing grown/spicy. Friends to lovers. A bit of hurt/comfort

A/N: Not beta read don’t kill me! yoooo spence is so in denial about her feelings in this but lol so real king. This is mostly from his POV but I had to cheat a few times. Hope i can live up to the hype that complimentary colors was. I low key don't like this one as much but had to execute it cause the idea was cute.

You were starting to drive him insane. Criminally insane. You could invade his thoughts at any waking moment of his day and take over his mind. Every affectionate pet name, every soft fleeting touch, hell every time you look at him, he would replay the moment in his mind like a broken record. If he was in a crowded room, his eyes would always fall on you. 

After being with the BAU for a while you became good friends with your coworkers. And with that, came your habit of calling your friends sweet nicknames. Anything from sweetie, to honey, to babes, and the one that broke his heart the most, my love. 

At first he didn’t understand why you were using terms of endearment that were typically used in a romantic relationship, but in a platonic way. At some point he caught on that you were similar to Garcia when it came to expressing your love for friends. Similar to her and the way she has her own sweet silly way of expressing how she cares.

Nevertheless, some small part of his heart still broke when you called him those names. He adored your sweet caring nature and the fact that you cared enough about him to call him terms of endearment. But every time a nickname fell from your lips, he was reminded you only meant it platonically. 

It was his own personal torture to constantly be reminded he would never be your sweetie, your honey … your love. But the nicknames weren’t enough to drive him insane. While it drove him to the brink of insanity, he was able to keep his head somewhat still on his shoulders. 

Not long after the heart warming but crushing nicknames, you showed your true love language. Physical touch. It showed in many forms. It could show when poking JJ in the shoulder and giving Emily a high five. Or nudging Morgan in his side with your elbow. You even managed to get a fist pump from Hotch and Rossi. And of course the welcome and goodbye hugs from Penelope. 

You were a bit hesitant at first to express this love language of yours with Spencer due to his aversion to touch and germs. However, you observed that he would gratefully receive occasional touches. Whether it be a hug, high-five, or even the rare ruffle of his hair -which of course would be from Morgan. So you approached him and asked if he was comfortable with physical contact. 

When it came to you, he was more than comfortable. You could take him in your arms and he would simply melt into a puddle on the floor. Except he didn’t say that and his reply was closer to a mix of stuttering and rambling about how you could never make him uncomfortable and how he just doesn’t like germs. 

Now he’s not saying he regrets his choices. He wouldn’t ever take it back. He enjoys every single lingering touch between the two of you. Actually “enjoys” would be a severe understatement. Every single time you ruffle his hair, lean your head on his shoulder, or even just carefully touch his arm, it was as if a thousand volts of electricity were flowing through him. Like he could light up the city even. You were the best part of his days and the reason breath filled his lungs. You brought a light into his life that made him feel safe and warm. 

He desperately wanted your affection, your attention, your touch, to mean something more than he knew it to be. But sooner or later, touch after touch, he started to go insane. Somewhere along the way he had daydreamed so deep he had lost his mind. 

You had officially driven Spencer Reid insane. 

He was promptly whisked away from his thoughts when he felt the tap of a folder on his shoulder and a light thump on his desk. 

“Hotch wants to know your thoughts on the consultation from Colorado,” you started. 

He blinked back into focus glancing at the papers on his desk. 

“Hey, you alright?” You asked with concern. “You look like your head is in the clouds.”

“I’m fine, just lost in thought,” he answered with a small smile reassuring you.

“Don’t get too lost. Can’t have your genius brain short circuiting on us.” You chuckled as you took a small step closer to him and playfully ruffled his hair. 

“I’ll try not to,” he grinned and pushed his hair back after you messed with it. 

“Well I’ll be back soon, my love. Gotta go bother Penelope,” you joked before making your way out of the bullpen. 

His gaze was lingering on you as you left. His thoughts started to drift to you again as his cheeks turned pink.

“I’ll be back soon, my love,” Morgan mimicked in a higher pitched voice with a grin as he approached Spencer's desk. In response Spencer turned his chair away from Morgan to hide his now red face. 

“When are you two going to start dating? You guys already act like a couple.” 

“We do not act like a couple,” Spencer argued. “She just sometimes calls me pet names, that's normal for her.” 

“You don’t see it do you?” Morgan furrowed his eyebrows and was seconds away from chuckling. “She’s been giving you quite a bit of attention lately. Practically clinging onto you.” 

“I mean I- I don’t think so. She does that with everyone, it's not just me. She just happens to be very affectionate with friends.” He answers as his voice almost cracked. 

Morgan shook his head, “Oh no it’s more than that. Have you ever noticed that she calls you “my love” but she calls us “love”? Or when we’re on a long flight back home and you two are all cuddly on the jet. How she always seeks out your company and finds an excuse to talk to you or about you.” 

Spencer couldn’t speak. He had so many words on the tip of his tongue but his voice wouldn’t make a sound. He sat frozen and mouth slightly agape as his brain started to go into overdrive. 

Morgan's face softened at Spencer's reaction. “It’s different with you kid. Friends don’t act like that.” 

“You and Garcia do.” Spencer countered, this time definitely with a voice crack. Morgan lightly chucked. He was well aware that his and Penelope’s friendship was a bit different than other male/female friendships. 

“Okay you got me there, but you and Y/N aren’t me and Garcia. We may flirt with each other a lot but that’s our thing. You two have this care for each other like nothing I've ever seen.” 

Spencer was left stunned once again and Morgan could practically see the gears in his head turning.

“You may not notice it now, or hell you may not let yourself notice it now, but it’s true.” 

Those words rang in the back of Spencer's mind for days. Of course on a regular basis you would occupy his mind at any given moment. But now it wasn’t just thoughts about you. His mind was over analyzing almost every interaction between you and him, trying to find what Morgan had talked about. Some form of evidence that proved what you felt for him was beyond what he had initially thought. 

He was recounting all the recent times you had approached him out of the members of your team. He recalled all the times you were either hanging out or on the jet and you found yourself tracing patterns on his arm. He was rethinking when you started to use nicknames around him and how it could be different with him than with others. It turned out Morgan might be right, as Spencer realized the numerous times you referred to Garcia or Emily as “love”, but in the rare instance you said “my love” it was only ever directed to him. 

The idea of you liking him back had become an all consuming thought, but he was too terrified to ask you. What if Morgan was wrong? Profilers have been wrong before. He became petrified by the idea of asking you about it and possibly finding out his feelings were unrequited. But most of all, he was scared of losing you. Scared that if he brought it up he would make things awkward and ruin your friendship. He couldn’t lose you, not over something as trivial as his feelings. 

Unfortunately the mental toll this was taking on his mind started to show. Not so obvious that the everyday person would notice, but you weren’t an everyday person. You grew to know him like the back of your hand. So of course you started to notice the little changes in his behavior. His ever so slight flinch when you would initially touch him. His eyes which used to linger on you and catch your eyes from across the room, now focused almost anywhere you weren’t. The way his body froze when you placed a hand on his shoulder. The way his eyes partially widened when you called him anything other than his name. 

He tried to hide his worries from you, but you could tell something was bothering him. 

Something about you.

His overall behavior didn’t reflect that he was avoiding you or distancing himself from you. He still talked to you and acted around you like normal. Instead it felt like he was holding himself back from receiving or truly appreciating your affection the way he used to. 

~

Days had passed and the team was sent on a case. While this case was an emotional rollercoaster for everyone, it had affected you the most. The victims had reminded you of yourself and the unsub and all of his delusional reasoning for his actions had hit very close to home. 

The team caught the unsub and closed the case quite late in the evening. Everyone was exhausted after the grueling past few days and decided to spend the night at the hotel to rest and leave in the morning. You however, still felt an ache in your stomach from all the anxiety felt throughout the day. You couldn’t seem to relax and let that weight off your shoulders. So you went to the one person who could help.  

Spencer was getting ready to go to sleep, peacefully reading a book in bed when he got a knock on his door. He placed his book down and when he opened the door he was greeted by you in pajama pants and a zip up hoodie, clearly also winding down for the night. 

“Hey,” you greeted. 

“Hi, what’s up? Is everything okay?” he asked, a bit concerned as to why you showed up at his hotel so late at night. He opened the door wider signaling you were welcome inside. You entered the room and stuffed your hands in your pockets as he closed the door. 

“I’m okay I just …” you cleared your throat. “I know this case has been a tough one but today’s been really hard for me. I’m still wired and awake, I can’t seem to relax enough to go to sleep,” You abruptly stopped your rambling to catch your breath. 

“This might sound dumb but, I’m in desperate need of a hug right now,” you finally admitted quietly.

He hated seeing you so timid and closed off. How you made yourself smaller than you were, all because you were asking for your basic needs to be met. 

“You don’t have to explain yourself.” 

“Huh?” 

“You don’t have to explain why you need a hug. You can just ask,” he said reassuringly. 

“Oh.” 

“Physical contact has been shown to increase levels of dopamine, serotonin, and even oxytocin; therefore, decreasing levels of stress and anxiety. Some people might even argue that physical touch is a fundamental element of being human and experiencing life.” His other way of trying to validate your feelings was of course rambling a string of facts and information from his fingertips. 

You couldn’t help but smile. God he loved it when you smiled. 

“So is that a yes?” you asked since you never exactly got an answer from your question in the first place. Even though you knew what his answer was. 

The corners of his lips turned into a grin. “Come here,” he says with outstretched arms. 

You practically ran into him at his offer. He wrapped his arms around you as you placed yours around his neck. He wished this moment could last forever. All while at the same time Morgan's previous statements were circling around in his head. 

He tried his best to push them away. He tried to tell himself this was not you acting on any potential feelings for him. This was simply you reaching out to a friend in need. 

He took note of the way you held onto him so tightly, almost as if he could leave at any second. It made his heart ache. 

“You feel tired,” he almost whispered. 

“I am,” you mumbled back, face buried in his neck. 

“Do you wanna lie down?” 

You lightly patted him on the back, “Don’t worry I’ll leave you be and go to sleep soon. I just need a minute 

“I meant … I meant do you want to lie down here?” He stammered. “So you’re not alone. You seem like you need a friend right now.” 

His own heart almost cracks when he says friend. But that’s what you need right now, a friend. 

“I’d like that,” you said with a small smile. 

You separate from him and he leads you to the bed holding your hand. He sits down against the headboard and waits for you to join him. 

You awkwardly sit down on the bed, eyes darting in all directions of where he’s sitting. “I- what should I …” 

“You could sit down the way you do on the jet,” he kindly offers. 

You relax at his words and move to sit at his side. He wraps his arm around you as you rest your head against his shoulder. You both sat there in a moment of silence, enjoying eachothers company. He was getting lost in the sweet smell of your perfume; the small bit of it that still lingers from the long day you’ve had. 

He started to recall all the times you two would be close like this. It didn’t happen very often. Sometimes on a long jet ride home from a long or stressful case. Or sometimes when the team went out for drinks and you would be tired from dancing. In the rare occasions you two were like this, you would tend to draw patterns on his arm or leg. 

So he decided to finally return the favor. With the arm he had wrapped around you, he started to dance his fingertips over your upper arm. 

He felt you practically melt into him at the action. If you could get any closer to him, you did. 

He continued tracing your arm with an overwhelming amount of care. It made you consider his previous actions compared to how welcome you were now in his arms. 

“Spencer, I’m gonna ask you something, and I need you to be completely honest with me,” you spoke with a hidden hesitation in your voice. 

“Of course I’ll be honest to you. I always will be,” he furrowed his brows at the thought of you being scared of him lying to you. 

You let out a small, almost shaky breath. “Am I clingy?” you murmured. 

This made his hand on your arm stop. He shifted his sitting position so he could face you better but also didn’t want to let you out of his hold. 

“No, never,” he told you with assurance. “Why would you think you’re clingy?” 

He saw you hesitate once more before you gave him your reply. “I was just overthinking things. Worried I was taking the physical contact thing too far or that I’m a bit too affectionate at times.“

“Why would you be worried? You’d never take things too far. You’ve always been respectful of other people’s boundaries.” 

You sighed with a shaky breath. He could practically see through you and see you considering your response. 

“Because I thought I was making you uncomfortable.” you looked down to avoid his gaze. 

He was quiet for a second, absolutely baffled as to how you would think you could ever make him uncomfortable. “Why?” His question was a barely audible whisper.  

“You seemed different. All of a sudden you would freeze when I touched you. You became jumpy and skittish when I talked to you. I thought I was too much for you but you didn’t want to tell me about it.” 

You shifted away to face him and his hand fell from your arm. You fidgeted with the sleeves of your hoodie as your face went blank. 

“You could never be too much for me,” he spoke with a soft voice. He tried to reach his hand out to hold yours but your hand disappeared in your sleeve at his touch. 

“Then why were you different all of a sudden?” You narrowed your eyes at him. 

His cheeks started to turn pink, “I- I wasn’t.” 

“Yes you were.” 

“Y/N please,” he begged. 

“Spencer,” you whispered as your eyes bore into his. “You said you’d be honest with me.” 

He licked his lips and his face turned red. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. He couldn’t find an escape route. He had no choice but to tell you. And once the flood gate opened, he would never be able to close it. 

“I was freaking out,” he blurted. 

“I was freaking out because Morgan implanted this idea in my head that you might possibly have feelings for me based on the way you act around me. I’ve been obsessed with that thought since he mentioned it. So I freaked out almost every time you touched me, talked to me, even looked at me,” he rambled on anxiously as he tried to explain himself. No holding back now. 

“I tried not to let it change my behavior but I guess it did and I am so sorry for that. I never wanted to give you the impression that I was uncomfortable. To be honest I don’t think you could ever make me uncomfortable” 

You were silent for a moment. He couldn’t read your reaction. Your eyebrows slightly raised with your lips parted. He could only see surprise, which was typical, he just didn’t know if this kind of surprise was good. 

“Why were you so obsessed with the idea of me having feelings for you?” 

He could’ve sworn his heart was going to beat out of his chest at any moment. 

“Because I think I’m falling in love with you.”

 Here we go. Flood gates. 

“The idea you might like me back became an all consuming thought because I never before thought it was possible and I never wanted to get my hopes up. Actually, I pretty much think about you all the time so it wasn’t that far from normal. ” 

“You’re falling in love with me?” you asked barely above a whisper. 

“Yes,” he spoke softly with full confidence. 

The only change to your appearance was your eyes widened a bit more. It made Spencer's heart sink to his stomach. 

“Listen, I understand if this makes things weird between us and I am so sorry. I just couldn’t ..”

He couldn't finish his thought, you were too busy locking your lips with his. It was a sweet but cautious kiss, almost as if you were testing the waters in uncharted territory. You felt him freeze against you so you leaned away, breaking from the kiss. 

Not even seconds later Spencer placed a hand on your face and was diving back into the kiss with fervor. You instantly reacted as your arms found their way around his neck and your hand was digging in his hair. The kiss was intoxicating. Both of you trying to get a taste of the other after what felt like eons of pinning. 

He wrapped his arms around your waist while his one hand snuck up to the small of your back where your hoodie had exposed your skin. It sent a shiver up your spine while you let out a shaky breath against his lips. You tried shifting in your seat to somehow get closer to him. With his hands against your waist he helped guide you to sit in his lap straddling him. 

When you finally break from the kiss your faces are red and Spencer rests his forehead against yours. You focus on the sound of his breath and the feeling of your heart practically beating in your ears. 

Your hand moves to play with the hairs at the nape of his neck. “I guess I didn’t do a very good job at showing I had feelings for you.” 

The corners of his mouth lift up into a giddy smile. “No, you did. I’m just oblivious.”

“Sounded like you were in denial,” you lightly teased. 

“That too,” he chuckles. 

After a moment of enjoying each other's presence, you pull away from him just far enough to look him in the eyes. 

“I know I call everyone pet names, but every time I used them with you, I wanted it to mean something more. Part of me would always hope you would one day call me those names back,” 

Spencer swore his heart could give out at any second. He never expected to hear this from you and it made him lightheaded.

“This may sound childish but.. I never craved attention so badly, until you gave me yours,” you added. 

He licked his lips and smiled. With his hands still on your waist he traced mindless patterns at your sides. “You have my complete and undivided attention, my love.”

His words made you giddy. You bit your lip to keep yourself from giggling. Although, he would never be opposed to hearing your beautiful laugh. 

There were no words to describe the way that you felt. So without thinking, you leaned forward once more to capture his lips with yours. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag Requests: @nomajdetective

[natlovessoup]

🥺🥺🥺

𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you start working at the hawkin’s police station as a secretary and hopper takes a liking to you against his better judgment. [big ol’ grumpy hopper x smol ray of sunshine] 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | jim hopper x fem!reader 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | none – just angst and fluff. 𝐰𝐜 | 2.8k+ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 | thought about ending this with smut but i have another idea for a grumpy!hopper x sunshine!reader smut and i didn’t want to make them too similar.

*•.¸♡masterlist *•.¸♡ao3 *•.¸♡twt

It didn’t take Hopper long to notice you when you started working at the Hawkin’s Police Station in the fall of ‘83. In fact, it took no time at all. 

Brooding and willfully ignorant to the more personal matters happening around him, Jim Hopper had no idea a new secretary was starting. When he slipped into the station on your first day, nervous to make a good impression, Hopper halted in the same doorway he had been stepping through for years. His eyes were still hazed in sleep and red from a hangover, but that didn’t prevent him from spotting you.

He had only made it a few feet into the station before he froze and turned back around to face the substantially shorter girl smiling brightly up at him. 

“Hi,” you said a bit too cheery for such an early time in the morning. 

Hopper furrowed his brows as he examined you. His eyes traced along your long dress that clung to your waist and the way your hair was pulled back exposing your neck and collar bones. How was such a sweet thing like you making the chief of police at a loss for words?

Flo had noticed his hesitation so she took it upon herself to prevent the situation from becoming painful and introduced you to him.

He grumbled back what sounded like a hello and went straight to his office.

He had left you feeling a bit pathetic for already making a bad impression on your boss your first day on the job. 

Jim made it a point to avoid you as much as possible, treating you just like everyone else: at a distance. This left you frustrated. Why did all your coworkers take a liking to you except for him? Was everyone else just being polite and you were actually insufferable and Hopper just didn’t have it in himself to put up a facade?

Flo told you not to mind him. “He was dealt a terrible set of cards,” she said waving her hands until one settled on your shoulder. “Don’t take it personally, dear. It takes a lot to get him to not act like a giant brute.” 

That didn’t make you feel that much better.

It wasn’t until late one night that you realized you had been wrong about Hopper. Usually, Flo stayed late with Hopper, but that night, she had plans to get to. You offered to cover for her. It got close to midnight before Hopper made his way out of his office, his coat and hat on, ready to go home. You watched as he absentmindedly strolled towards you. “Alright Flo, think I’ve taken up enough of your–” He stopped in his tracks when he made it to the front desk and saw you where he expected Flo to be. 

You meekly waved at him, hoping he wasn’t going to be mad at you for not being Flo. 

He glared at you for a moment, making you gulp. And yet, behind his eyes, he was cursing himself out for being so drawn in to someone so delicate and innocent. He would do nothing but ruin you. 

“Flo had a family thing to get to…” you mumbled out nervously, wanting to break the silence. You felt ridiculous for acting so shy around him. You just didn’t want to say the wrong thing. 

“Right.” He nodded, snapped out of his thoughts. He continued heading out of the station with you following close behind.

You watched as Hopper made his way to his truck, the sounds of his boots on the pavement echoing in the quiet night.

He opened his driver’s side door when he saw you still standing by the front door out of the corner of his eyes, illuminated by the street light. He paused and shouted back towards you. “What’re doing?”

“Oh,” you said surprised by his booming voice. “I’m just waiting for my ride.” You gave him a smile. 

He took a moment, arguing with himself that interacting with you a bit wasn’t going to be the end of the world. Hopper was a grown man; he could control himself. He has talked to plenty of pretty women before. You were no different. At least, that’s what he told himself.  

He shut his door and walked back over to you. 

You tried not to blush as he came stomping towards you, his eyes locked on yours and his hands slouched in his jacket pockets.

He stood beside you and leaned against a post by the entrance doors, pulling a cigarette out and lighting it.

“Y-You don’t have to wait with me. I’ll be fi—“

“Not gonna leave you here in the middle of the night. Not with everything that’s been goin’ on lately.” His words were stern so you just nodded in acceptance. 

Of course you didn’t want to have to wait with him, he thought. But he couldn’t be more wrong.

After a few wordless moments passed when you spoke in a timid voice. “Thank you.” 

In all honesty, you were a little worried about having to wait alone for your dad to pick you up so late by yourself. Hopper’s company made you feel… safe. 

He peered down at you and blew out a puff of smoke.

“You always this shy?”

You looked up at him wide-eyed, his words catching you off guard. Was it that painfully obvious?

“I– No.. It’s… I don’t know. I guess you just…intimidate me a little…” your words trailed off, worried you were being rude by telling him that. 

Hopper felt something shift in his stomach. You were intimidated by him? Fuck, no shit you were. He’s done nothing but lurk over you and bark orders out since you met him almost a month ago. 

Usually, bashfulness was not something he would have admired. But, god, if you weren’t a breath of fresh air. 

He shifted his stance so he could look at you better, your face flickering in the streetlamp’s light. “Sorry about that, kid. Guess I can be a little… unwelcoming. But I’m glad you’re working here.” He took another drag of his cigarette. “You brighten up the office. And we needed some of that.”

You felt your cheeks red from the cold and smiled. Your heart was racing at his words. You brighten up the office. Maybe he didn’t hate you after all.

It was a stormy night when you realized you were getting feelings for Hopper. 

You were sitting at a big booth in a diner right down the street from the station with the rest of your coworkers. You were celebrating Flo’s 30th year working for the Hawkin’s PD. 

You stared at the empty plate in front of you, pie crumbs sprinkles across the white ceramic surface. You laughed when you heard something outrageous from Flo’s mouth. How many drinks has she had? 

The place was pretty empty apart from your group, so when one of the guys chose a popular song on the jukebox, a mingle of bodies broke out in dance.

You found yourself giggling along as you watched them make a fool of themselves, happy you worked with such great people. Hopper slid into the booth beside you–he needed a seat after having one too many drinks–as he watched the others goof around. You tried to stop yourself from panicking at his close proximity. 

Crash

A loud rumble of thunder broke the night air following a flash of light. It sounded like shattering glass as it echoed off the pavement. You jumped and closed your eyes. You were never a big fan of thunder. 

Hopper looked over at you and raised an eyebrow. He was about to make a joke about you being scared when another crash sounded. This time, Jim’s arm wrapped around you and pulled you into the side of his chest. “You’re okay,” he muttered. You tilted your head to look at him but he was already looking away, busy saying something to someone else across the table. You could feel the rumble as he laughed. You felt your cheeks heat up, Hopper’s hand resting firmly on your upper arm. 

After a few moments, Hopper unhooked his arm. He could see the way your body tensed again as another thunderous explosion rang through the air. His hand stretched out and rested on top of your own that sat in your lap, wanting to calm you. He would never had done that if it wasn’t for his high blood alcohol level.

You tried to play it cool, but you felt your heart flip when he absentmindedly started rubbing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb.

Hopper found himself flexing his hand late into the night when he subconsciously remembered the feeling of your skin against his.

Then there was the whole crazy alien encounter bullshit going on in Hawkin’s. Weird shit was happening all the time. The little boy who went missing then came back to life. The monsters in the wall. You had been in the heart of it along with Jim, somehow being the one wrapped up in this mess. 

You followed him closely as you walked through the woods, the only light source coming from the moon and Jim’s flashlight. He reached his hand out behind him. “C’mon.”

You took his hand and his fingers wrapped around yours, pulling you along behind him. You tried to not think about the way his hand engulfed yours. 

A bit later in the night, when what sounded like a large dog growling, you jumped and went running towards Hopper.

“What is it?” He asked concerned as you came darting towards him. You looked over your shoulder, making sure no monster was chasing you, and you collided with Hopper’s body, making him stumble against a tree root and fall backwards. 

He caught you on top of him as you both tumbled to the ground. 

Your breathing was loud as he clung on to your arms. You looked down at him, your hair hanging above his face and tickling his cheeks.

“What?” He asked again, his voice laced with concern. 

“Thought I heard somethin’,” You whined. 

You gulped when you realized how close you were to him, your body laid against his, your knees holding you up on either side of him. You had thought he fully noticed at the same time you did. You could have sworn his cheeks began to pink. He felt his breathing break as he felt your weight against him. God, he wanted so badly to reach out and touch your cheek. He wanted to pull you in to him and– 

Shit, shit, shit. This was not good.

Your lips parted as you stared at one another until Hopper broke the moment by pushing you up as he got to his feet. 

“You okay?” He asked as he straightened himself out. You nodded, unable to look at him for fear he might be able to read everything you were thinking.

And then the day Jim was tormented with the idea of asking you out. He tried to push down this rising feeling he had for you, but with each interaction, it grew stronger. The sugar laced in your words. The way you would laugh and smile all the time. You were everything Jim wasn’t. 

He figured you’d be disgusted if you knew the way the chief thought about you. What would a pretty young thing like you want with a big old grump like him? 

And still, he found himself staring at you all the time. Where was his self-control? 

Sometimes he’d walk into the main room at the station and lean against the door frame as he talked to one of the guys. But his eyes would drift over to you while you stood at the front on the phone. 

And a few times when you had handed Hopper some files, your fingers brushed against one another and it felt like his skin was burning. He could have sworn he saw your arms get goosebumps.

And then that one time he was busy yelling at some drunk asshole, his hands gripping the man’s shirt and moving him around like he weighed nothing. He looked over at you and your face was bright red as you watched him in action. He felt something tingle in his stomach. 

So, he got this stupid idea to ask you out. But he was never going to act on this thought. It was simply an idea. An unattainable figment of his imagination. Something he just liked to imagine, thinking about what it would be like if he did ask you out and you had said yes. 

Then, late one night, only a few stragglers left in the office, you appeared in his doorway while he scribbled on sheets laid on desk. 

“I’m heading out for the night,” you said sheepishly.

He glanced up at you and gave a half-hearted grin then looked back at his papers. You rolled your eyes. “You really should call it a night, Chief. You can’t keep working these 12-hour days.”

“You’re starting to sound like Flo,” he chuckled.

“Well, I am around her enough.”

He put his pen down and looked back up at you. “You’re probably right.”

“I know, I’m always right.”

“Don’t act smart,” he grunted as he slowly stood and slid his coat on. You tried to hide your grin as he walked behind you out of the station.

You were going to make the first move and ask him to get coffee. It might end in humiliation, but if he rejected you, maybe you could play it off like you meant just as friends. It was definitely a bad idea, but you couldn’t get this man out of your fucking head.

When you slipped into the brisk Autumn air, you took in a deep breath and turned around, “Hopper, I wanted—“ You were cut off when he bumped into you. You hadn’t realized he was so close behind you. You froze and looked up at him. He knew he should have backed away immediately after colliding with you, giving space between your bodies, but you drew him in, your soft eyes capturing his. You felt your breath get caught in the back of your throat. 

“What were you saying?” He asked quiet and breathy, his eyes never breaking from yours.

You stuttered, “Oh. I-I…” You found yourself at a loss for words, unable to finish your sentence from earlier. You couldn’t even remember what you were thinking.   

It felt like your heads were slowly leaning into one another, and neither of you seemed to be able to stop yourself. 

Then, as crazy as it sounded to you, suddenly his hand was on the side of your cheek and you gasped at the contact. “Hop…” you began, but your words faded again as your eyes fluttered, his thumb stroking your jaw. 

He crashed his lips against yours and you immediately reciprocated. Maybe a little too eagerly you went onto your toes and wrapped your arms around his neck. He pulled you in, his hands dropping to your waist. You felt his tongue slide along your lower lip and your lips parted. You pushed yourself against him making him stumble backwards, your kiss never breaking. You heard a rumble in his chest as you pressed your body flesh against him, his internal furnace making you heat up like you were on fire. You attacked each other feverishly, months of pent up longing finally escaping through this act of touch. He couldn’t get enough of the way you tasted. Hopper felt himself holding back–he wanted nothing more than to slam you against the side of the building and take you right there. God, he wanted you so fucking bad. 

The sound of someone coming made you both abruptly pull away. 

You stood beside him trying to look casual as you both caught your breath. 

Hopper was about to turn to you and apologize, his mind was telling him you only kissed him  back because he was your boss and you didn’t want to reject the person who controlled your paycheck. But then your sweet voice, quiet and breathless, sounded before he had the chance. “Did you want to get a coffee or something?” 

He looked at you and furrowed his brows. You shrugged your shoulders and he felt a smile rise to his mouth. You were impossibly gentle as you spoke, your words sugary like candy, the complete opposite to him. And, fuck, did he have a sweet tooth. 

[natlovessoup]

why taking commissions for fanfics can KILL Archive of Our Own and fanfic culture as a whole

okay, so thing is, fanfics are allowed — as in they’re not banned — because nobody is supposed to be profiting off of copyrighted characters.

this is why popular site like Archive of Our Own is allowed to be up and running, because no one is supposed to be making money from fanfics.

the fact AO3 is allowed to be up and running, unfortunately, can and will most likely change if people start normalizing commissioning fanfics and making profit off of them.

because the second those big companies learn people are profiting off of their copyrighted characters, the target they will attack after you (in terms of legal action) is a platform like Archive of Our Own, which will likely ruin it all for everybody and every fandom.

imagine Archive of Our Own getting shut down because fanfics were banned because people were profiting off of them. (I know AO3 isn’t only about fanfics, but since it’s mostly known for fanfics, it will most likely get targeted and that will most likely mean it’ll get shut down if worst comes to worst.)

honestly. most people write fanfics in their free time for free out of passion and love they have for their favorite characters.

people read fanfics for free because that’s their source of happiness.

I’m not saying there will be no fanfics left in this world if they really are banned, because people will always find a way. but it WILL be so much harder having to sneak around and find a way to post fanfics without them getting removed at best, the authors getting sued at worst. and it WILL be harder for readers to find your works if we have to censor key words and character names in order to avoid getting caught.

it’s so much easier like this, we can freely post fanfics without having to hide and censor key words or worrying about anything.

no, I’m not making this post for the sake of those big companies. this post isn’t about “hey, don’t profit off of their characters”. it’s about “hey, don’t risk ruining fanfics culture as a whole for everybody by profiting off of them and putting a platform like Archive of Our Own in jeopardy.”

if you don’t want to live in a fandom without AO3, keep fanfics free.

[natlovessoup]

aaaaaaa happy my beloved 🥺🥺🥺

Request for Hap trying to tell/show that he is in love with reader. He is so sweet yet intense, in a wonderful way!

Hey love! I think I have just the thing your looking for! As always 18+.

Happy sat in his usual spot in the coffee shop watching you. He had met you a few weeks ago when Juice had talked him in to coming in. Now every day you worked he lurked in his spot. Drinking coffee and eating blueberry muffins.

"That biker is back" called your friend with a smirk as you came out the back with a fresh batch of muffins. Glancing over to the back corner, sure enough you saw the bald, leather clad man. Though this time a familiar teapot caught your eye. Without a word you set the tray of muffins down and walked over to the man.

Happy's heart was pounding as he saw you approach. Your face was pale and shocked as your eyes stayed glued to the teapot and matching cups he had in front of him. He had heard you reminiscing about them yesterday and how your ex had stolen them. They were a family heirloom and you were devastated at the loss. So in true Happy fashion he had broken in to his house and beaten the shit out of him after forcing Juice to get him the address.

"Where did" you started to ask as you picked up the teapot gently your eyes moving from it to his face. "I think I'm in love with you" blurted out Happy without a second thought. "I'll pick you up tonight after your shift and we will grab dinner" he added as he stood and kissed your cheek gently before walking out.

"Since when did you and baldy start dating?" inquired your friend as she stared at you in shock. "Ummm....I guess now" you replied as you pulled your phone out and sent a text to Juice.

Anything I should know about that guy you brought in here? Like is he a serial killer?

Why? Did he do something?

He told me he was in love with me and then told me we had a date tonight.

Oh.....yeah he has a crush on you. Settle isn't really in his skill set. sorry about that. I can tell him its a no if ya want?

No....i want to go. Just wanted to make sure I wouldn't be killed lol

Believe me YOU are very safe with him.

Want more Happy? Click here

Want to make your own request? Click here

[natlovessoup]

my baby 💕✨

[natlovessoup]

tell me you love me vol 2 | steve harrington

warnings: fluff, more pining

a/n: AHHHHHHHH thanks for the love

tell me you love me vol 1

Steve barely slept. He couldn't focus with you this close to him. He couldn't not love you anymore. And it was worse now, like the entire burden of knowing you love each other was crushing his chest. He wanted you to remember your conversation last night. He needed you to. But also, he didn't. What if you were just drunk? What if you thought your friendship was too valuable to risk?

It was already at risk... he sighed, giving up on trying to sleep and instead just laid with you. Steve couldn't fathom a world without you in it, he didn't want to live a life where he didn't see you every day. He needed you, more than he needed a girlfriend, maybe... maybe it just wasn't meant to be. Steve was in agony.

You shuffled in your sleep, groaning and stretching. The blankets kicked off in the night, and wrapped around your legs, and when you stretched he was forced to endure the torture of your beautiful half naked body. He couldn't look elsewhere, he couldn't keep his eyes off of you.

He had to get out of here.

The phone ringing was a good excuse to get out of bed, but he didn't know who the hell would be calling this early. It was quickly answered when he picked up only to be met with a word vomit of questions from Robin.

"I don't really remember but I think I just left y/n at the party," Robin was saying, "Is she there? Is she with you?"

"Yeah, she's here," Steve whispered, hoping he didn't sound as exhausted as he felt. "You left her sleeping, dude. Not cool."

"That's fucked," she said, disappointed in herself. "I was not thinking clearly, I woke up in a panic. But she's okay?"

"Yeah, she's fine. She's still in bed," he said.

"Good, good. I'm really sorry, tell her I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, yeah, okay..."

"You okay, Steve? You sound weird."

"No, I'm fine I just..." he sighed, "Robin I can't pretend not to love her anymore. I just - I know it's bad to date in the friend group but... I love her."

"I know you do," she said, "I only said don't date her if you weren't sure. If you're sure then go for it."

"Really? Do you think... do you think it'll work?"

"I don't know," she answered, "but I know you guys are crazy about each other and it's probably time to find out."

Steve hung up the call after promising to tell you that Robin was sorry, very sorry. He didn't want to go upstairs, he still felt confused. Would you remember what you guys had talked about? Would you change your mind? He decided on breakfast, and got to work making some bacon and eggs, deciding he would wake you up when it was ready. But first, he needed coffee.

When you woke up in Steve's bed you were confused, and disappointed he wasn't there. What time was it? The clock read just after eight, and you could smell the breakfast cooking downstairs. You groaned, stretching as much as you could before contemplated getting up or just staying here.

You didn't really remember much after the party, it all got a little fuzzy when you first started falling asleep. You loved this bed, you were staying in this bed every time you stayed over from here on out. In fact, you were never leaving it.

Except the distant call of food being prepared made you get up. The least you could do was go lend a hand.

You tiptoed down the stairs, and tried to peak at Steve in the kitchen. He was still shirtless, drinking his coffee while leaning against the counter, shuffling scrambled eggs around lazily.

The sight of him made you sigh. The ache in your chest only grew with the sight. He was so beautiful, and he just looked so... boyfriend. You wished he could be yours, you wished that you could wake up to this more often.

"Good morning," you said, joining him on the main level.

"Morning," he said, smiling at you. But it was different, it didn't reach his eyes.

"Can I help?" you asked, padding over to him and looking at all the good stuff he had going on.

"No it's okay," he said, "I'm just about done. Make yourself a coffee."

You nodded. But his demeanor was bothering you. He was being cold, distant. He wasn't acting like himself. You wondered if you did something wrong.

"Do you uh, remember much about your party?" he asked, trying to seem casual but you could tell he was prying. Looking for answers about something.

"Most of it yeah," you smiled, sipping the hot coffee. "But I don't really remember leaving, or coming here."

And it would've been impossible to miss how Steve dropped his shoulders, clearly disappointed by your answer. You wanted to say something, but you forgot how to speak. You didn't know what to say.

"Do you want to plate everything?" he asked, slinking out of the kitchen. He mumbled some excuse about the bathroom, and left you alone, thinking about what happened last night.

Breakfast was quiet, save for the tv playing quietly in the background. This was typically your favourite kind of morning, lazily getting up at Steve's, making breakfast together, just hanging out. But the air just felt different today, he didn't want your sous chef help in the kitchen, and there was no charming banter. In fact, he barely looked at you.

When you finished he said, "I guess I should get you home," as if you didn't usually hang around all weekend, and added, "I just gotta change."

And he pushed away from the table, leaving his dirty dishes abandoned. So, you guess he didn't want your help do the dishes either? Something obviously happened, or he wouldn't be this cold with you. You felt your throat getting tight, and held it together as you gathered the dishes, bringing them over to the sink.

You both got dressed, with him loaning you some sweat pants to go with the big shirt you wore to bed so you didn't have to climb into your party outfit. It still reeked of booze.

"Did something happen, Steve?" you asked, unable to tolerate the uneasy air as you both slipped your shoes on. Maybe you... maybe you confessed your feelings to him, and he felt uncomfortable, you did this... Did you ruin everything?

"What?" he asked, "What are you talking about?"

"Uh, nothing," you muttered, not wanting to push his buttons. You didn't want to pry.

"Everything's fine, babe." He put his hand on your shoulder, letting it slide off, and back to his side. "Just a lot on my mind."

Even the drive was quiet, and the tension made you feel like crying. He had the radio playing quietly, but he just didn't seem like he was totally there. But still, every question got stuck in your throat. You guys didn't say a word until he was parked in your driveway, hands remained clutched on the wheel.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" you asked, hoping that your movie plans with Robin were even still on.

"Yeah, of course. I'll call you later..."

Now or never. "Is everything okay, Steve? You're being so quiet. I feel like you're trying to push me away."

He looked at you with those beautiful eyes, those beautiful, sad eyes and you could see his anguish, you could see there was something he couldn't say. Words were being left unsaid. Was he scared? What was he scared of? You thought... you really thought he could tell you anything.

"I'm fine," he said finally, giving you another small, fake smile.

You faked a smile, trying not to show that your heart dropped into your stomach. You had this painful fear that you'd told him that you loved him, and he'd wished you hadn't. What the fuck happened between the party and Steve's house? It was killing you. His pain was torture, and you wouldn't forgive yourself if you'd ruined the most important relationship in your life.

You nodded, and patted his leg before climbing out the car, shuffling inside before he could see how concerned you were about him.

You leaned on a wall near the door, just pondering what happened. You woke up in his bed, usually you slept in the guest room, or when you were really drunk you'd even crash on the couch. Did you being in his space make him unhappy? Maybe you were stubborn, refusing to leave his bed until he loved you. But, that didn't seem like something you would do.

A knock on the door kicked you out of your thoughts.

You opened it, and Steve was there, standing still, breathing heavy. When the door fully opened, he nearly sprung at you, not intimidatingly but like... like he couldn't stop himself from scooping up your cheeks in his hands and kissing you.

And Steve was kissing you like a starving man. Like this was the moment he'd waited for his whole life. He was soft, and tender but also desperate and passionate and you could feel everything. You could feel how he felt. Like you were one person. You kissed him back, taken by surprise but delighted. You loved him. And he loved you. And being together like this just felt right.

You moaned, unable to deny the sparks between the two of you for one more moment.

His lips were just so soft, and warm. And as his thumbs rubbed your cheeks soothingly, you thought for sure your knees would buckle from the romance of it all. You swooned, this was real life swooning.

"Tell me you love me," he whispered, barely pulling away to say it. You realize he's crying, barely, lightly, but he is, because this is the scariest thing he's ever done. He thinks that he'll perish, die if you don't actually love him back. And he's immediately returned to kissing you, backing you both up until your back hit the living room wall. "Please," he begged, breathless and desperate to hear it. He had to hear it. He was sure he would die if you didn't say it. He has to know he wasn't wrong to risk it all...

And everything came rushing back. Laying across from Steve, asking him if you were in love. Confessing your love for him and telling him him that you would still love him in the morning...

And you did.

Of course you did.

You think there's a part of you that has loved Steve since the moment you met.

He feels like home. Just being near him makes you feel safe, and comfortable. He was everything you needed, and you two were idiots to wait this long to confess. But, better late than never.

"I love you," you whispered, mumbling against his lips, returning his feverish kisses. His hands trailed down to your hips, gripping tightly and pressing himself into you. Trying to mold himself to you. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him as close as he could get. He was a part of you, a part of your heart.

His tongue rolled into your mouth, and the grip he had on your hips tightened, making you moan again. And then he slowed, kissing you slowly. He sucked your bottom lip between his teeth, and pulled away, letting it slip out of his grip and back into place. He kissed you tenderly a few times.

"Say it again," he said, pulling back and resting his forehead against yours. It wasn't demanding, it was loving. He wanted to hear you say it over and over for the rest of his life.

You were breathless, but you still whispered, "I love you."

"I love you," he said, kissing you one more time. "I can't stop it, I don't want to stop it," he said. "I love you, y/n. And I want to be with you... if you'll have me."

"I love you Steve," you said, relieved that you could just love him without the longing, without the pining, and the hiding. You two were free.

"Again," he demanded, smiling, and the smile made it all the way back to his eyes. And he was himself again.

"Don't want to wear it out," you laughed, pulling him into a hug. And you held him there for a while.

"Never," he whispered, "I'll never get tired of it, I promise you that."

TAGLIST: @thebeatles-world @thatbItchs-world @plk-18 @pausmoon @onlyangle1

[natlovessoup]

me @ y/n when they do something i’d never do:

like babe this isn’t us ?? get it together

[natlovessoup]

this fic omg 🥺

steady hand

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader

summary: hotch catches you at the worst times, but you’re not mad about it. or: 4 times you need hotch’s help +1 time he needs yours.

word count: 6.1k

warnings: probably very inaccurate descriptions of r’s job (it’s for the plot, okay??), shy!reader, a very small injury description, yearning (?), first kiss, fluff !!!

a/n: hiiiii this is my very first hotch fic (gasp) so i hope i did okay!!! i’m excited to be writing for him and i have enjoyed it so far and i hope you will too!!! please please let me know what you think and if you’d want to see more of him from me <33

༄

People are usually impressed when you tell them you work at the BAU.

Which, you won’t lie, is something to be proud of, but their first thought is always that you’re doing something big and solving cases. They ask you if you were there when this case was solved or when that killer was caught.

Then there’s the nodding and dissipation of their excitement when you explain that you work a desk job there. Organize files, write reports, that sort of thing. That is a lot less impressive to most.

You’re no Agent Morgan, or Dr. Reid. Certainly no Agent Hotchner or Prentiss. Instead of being on the field, you spend your time fighting with a printer.

Getting the papers you needed should have been simple, a quick in and out that would have you back hiding behind your desk in minutes. Of course, the universe or something must be against you, because instead, you’ve spent at least twenty minutes trying to figure out what’s wrong.

It isn’t jammed (you’ve checked about five times to be sure) and you’re not educated in printers enough to know how to fix whatever’s going on. You’re just lucky nobody else has needed it yet.

“Come on,” you mutter, trying to pull it away from the wall to get a better look.

You’re sure there’s stress sweat building on your forehead. The last thing you want to do is ask someone for help, to make yourself too visible in this place full of important, intimidating people. You’d rather struggle on your own for now.

You make sure that the thing is plugged in (it is) and then check if it’s jammed. Again.

“Piece of shit,” you’re mumbling at the thing, leaning over it looking for anything out of place.

That’s when you hear someone clear their throat behind you. The sound has you jumping, your knuckles smacking against the wall where your hand had been wedged between it and the printer. You turn around to find Agent Hotchner.

He’d been walking by the printer room when he heard the grumbled curse words. Peeking inside, he’d been pleasantly surprised to find you fussing over the printer. He bit back a chuckle before making his presence known.

You tug your skirt down where it’d ridden up, fiddling with the hem as you try to push down your embarrassment. Of course he’d be the one to see you, in his crisp suit and all. He’s leaning a shoulder against the doorframe, his arms crossed loosely. You swallow and try not to look at his biceps.

“Sorry, sir. The printer doesn’t seem to be, um, printing.”

“I’m assuming that’s why you were fighting with it.”

You fight a wince, “you heard that?”

“Heard what?” He asks, though by the twitch of his lips, you know that he’s well aware of what you’re talking about. He then gestures at the cause of your issues behind you, “it’s not jammed, is it?”

“I don’t think so. It wasn’t when I checked, at least.”

You’re trying not to act as nervous as you are. You don’t think you’ve ever really spoken to Agent Hotchner, save for small ‘hello’s and that one time you apologized for bumping into him. He’s handsome—you’ve always thought so—and, more importantly, he’s basically your boss.

“Let me take a look,” he says, walking over. You step aside, staying out of the way.

“It’s alright,” you start as he looks over it, “I’m sure you have much more important things to do than fix a printer, sir.”

Hotch’s eyes flick over to where you stand, a hand still fiddling with the hem of your skirt, your hair a little messy, your eyes a little wide and worried. You look pretty, he thinks. And sure, he does have things he should be doing instead of trying to fix this printer, but he doesn’t really care.

“Don’t worry about that,” he tells you.

He looks back to the printer, and he seems pretty convinced about trying to help, so you drop it.

While he’s distracted, you take the opportunity to look at his profile. The slope of his nose, the cut of his jaw, the way his brows are pinched a little in focus. It’s unfair, you think, for him to be smart and brave, and be so good-looking on top of it all.

Like he’d heard your thoughts, felt your gaze, he looks over at you again. You turn your eyes toward the floor quickly.

It’s a couple of minutes before anyone speaks. You, staring at the carpet until your vision goes a little fuzzy. Hotch, pushing buttons and flicking switches trying to figure out whatever was going on with the damn printer.

Then, the sound of the ink swiping over the pages, the papers spitting from the printer. You look over at it, mouth slightly parted. What can’t he do?

The sound of your name has your eyes snapping up to his. It’s yet another surprise, him knowing your name. You’re not that important, in the grand scheme of things at the BAU, in the world, really. Someone meant to stay hidden in the background. And still, he knows your name.

“It should be fine now,” he says, grabbing your papers from the cartridge and handing them to you as he stands up straight. “Let me know if it gives you trouble again.”

You grab the pages from him slowly, still shocked at the whole exchange. Your fingers brush against his as you do. “I- Thank you, sir.”

He nods, moving towards the hall. He pauses in the doorway, turning back towards you. “Hotch is fine.”

“Sorry?”

“You keep calling me ‘sir.’ You don’t have to. Just Hotch is fine.”

“Right. Sorry, sir- I mean, Hotch,” you test it out. “Thank you again.”

Yes, Hotch thinks, he likes you saying his name a whole lot more. He sends you a kind smile, “no problem.”

Hotch walks away, probably towards his office where he has very important things to do. Stuff that was surely delayed because he paused to help you. You stare at the doorway for a minute, until you give yourself a papercut and look down at it.

Aaron Hotchner knows who you are.

-

You’re two shitty coffees deep so far, your report open on your desk, the typing bar blinking on the screen of your computer.

There’s pages to go, though you’re not sure how many. You’ve been doing the sort of mindless, robot typing you do when you’re tired. When you’re preoccupied with trying not to glance in the direction of Hotch’s office.

The team got back sometime last night, long after you’d already gone home. From somewhere in Indiana, you think. You’re not sure how they do it, flying about and still coming into the office. You’re tired and you can’t even remember the last time you’ve been on a plane. Add the crime fighting and you’d be a goner.

Blinking yourself from your thoughts, you look back at the blank pages spread out in front of you. It’s not unusual for you to be missing pieces that you need to complete things, it’s just inconvenient. You always end up having to ask someone for the files you need, and then you feel like a burden.

It’s stupid, but in a place full of important people, it’s easy to feel like you’re just in the way.

Anyway, it’s your job, so you push away from your desk and stand, tugging the sleeves of your sweater over your hands.

Your first thought is to go to Reid. As far as friendship goes, you’d consider yourself closest to that definition with him. He’s also the least intimidating of the bunch, probably because you see the most of yourself in him.

You find him in the kitchen with Agent Jareau, both holding their own mugs, probably filled with the same coffee as the one that sits on your desk. You knock gently on the door even though it’s open.

“Hi, sorry to bother you. I was just wondering if either of you have the files from that case you worked a couple weeks back. The one in Ohio,” you shuffle on your feet under their gaze. “I need them for this report.”

“Hey,” Reid speaks first, smiling kindly, “I don’t remember keeping them, but I can double check in my desk if you would like.”

“Oh, that’s okay. You don’t have to do that, I’m sure I’ll find them somewhere.”

You’re about to head out the door when Agent Jareau stops you, “wait, I’m pretty sure Hotch has them. I can go ask him for you.”

It’s silly to feel nervous talking to them, especially when nobody’s ever been anything but nice to you. A little bit of the twist in your gut comes undone.

“No, no. I’ll go ask him if he isn’t busy, thank you though.”

“You should be fine, the door’s open,” she tells you.

You nod, sending the both of them a smile you hope doesn’t look awkward. “Thanks again.”

Their voices picking up their conversation follow you out the door. You cross the space, saying small ‘hello’s to Agent Morgan and Agent Prentiss when they greet you. You try to ignore the prickle of eyes on you as you climb the steps and head to Hotch’s office.

His jacket is draped across the back of his chair, his sleeves rolled up on his forearms. It’s probably the most disheveled you’ve ever seen him, and he’s only missing a single layer. You look away from his arms when he says your name.

Hotch had his head bent, looking over a case when he’d heard footsteps, and he’d been glad to find you standing in his doorway. You work in the same place, yet he barely sees you. That’s probably why something lightens in his chest every time he does. The rarity, that’s all.

“Is this a bad time?” You ask.

“Not at all,” he leans back in his chair, “what can I do for you?”

“I’m really sorry to bother you, sir-”

“Hotch,” he reminds gently. His voice is easy, a hum that you think would sound good no matter what he was saying.

“Right, sorry. Hotch. I was just looking for some files that I need from a case you guys had for this report.”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

Then, he smiles in that way that Aaron Hotchner so often does. A small twitch of his lips, a lift in the corners. One that you probably wouldn’t have caught if you weren’t paying so much attention. One that feels sort of like a gift.

You shake your head at yourself and elaborate, “the Ohio case. Three weeks ago, I think. I asked Agent Jareau, but she said you had them, so…”

Hotch wants to reassure you, but he’s not sure how to do it without standing up and letting himself grab your hand and squeeze it the way he’d like. And he can’t do that, not when you’re already nervous. Not when he’s not sure he could hold back after one touch.

“It’s no problem,” he opens one of his drawers, flips through folders until he finds what you’re looking for.

He stands up and walks around his desk until he’s in front of you, and he lets his gaze flick over your face while he has the chance. Your eyes find his easily, and you hope he can’t hear the catch in your breath.

Aaron isn’t usually so quiet with his affections, but that’s because he’s never found himself feeling this way at work. He wishes your desk was on his way to his office, just so he’d have an excuse to stop and talk to you. He makes sure never to use your favorite mug from the cupboard, just so you’ll be more likely to have it.

Hotch clears his throat, “here they are.”

He holds up the folder between you, his hand holding it loosely, the other hanging by his side. His fingers twitch.

You’re embarrassingly distracted by his exposed forearms, eyes trailing from his hand to the skin of his arm, to the way his shirt is tight where the sleeves are rolled. Then, it’s the color of his tie today, the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows.

His hand reaching for yours is enough to erase everything else. He lifts it and places the folder in your hold for you. Your skin burns even when he pulls away.

“You alright?” He asks. Probably because you’d been staring at him like a weirdo.

Get it together.

“Yeah. Yes, sorry. Just sort of spacey today, I guess.”

When you look back to his face, there’s nothing but a sort of softness in his eyes you can’t identify. He smiles at you, and for the second time, you feel like you’ve won something.

“Is that what you needed?” He asks.

You open the folder and peek inside. You find exactly what you’d been looking for, not that you’re surprised. Hotch knew what you’d meant and you didn’t doubt that.

“It is. Thank you, Hotch,” you grin lightly when you get that part right. “I’ll get out of your way.”

“You’re not in my way.”

Hotch says the words like he’d known you needed to hear them, like he’d known what runs through your mind so often, like he can read you. He probably can, you think. He is a profiler after all.

Still, the words make your heart do a stupid little jump.

“I’ll bring them back when I’m done,” you say.

“No rush. They’ll just be going back in the drawer anyway.”

“Well, thank you again.”

“It’s no problem, really.”

Hotch watches you walk back to your desk with your head down. Looking at the folder in your hand, he thinks, at least it’s an excuse for you to come see him again.

-

Hotch isn’t in his office when you return the files.

Since you can’t thank him in person—assuming he’s off with the team somewhere saving lives—you leave a sticky note on top of the folder. You drop it on his desk and leave before you second-guess yourself and rip the note off.

You can’t help but think that the office feels sort of empty without the team there. Without Hotch there. It’s how it is most days, so you’re not sure why the absence feels so present now. You shake it off.

The day passes by, then your drive home, and the rest of your night, too. Through it all, you can’t stop wondering what Hotch is doing, wherever he is. Hoping he’s safe.

You’re certainly not expecting to see him the next day, back so soon, but you can’t say you’re upset about it. It’s a brief glance, him walking into his office, the rest of the team and their chatter following, but it’s enough to make your work seem less tiring for some reason.

It was a quick case, and Aaron was glad to at least get a couple of hours of sleep in before coming into the office. When he sits at his desk, the first thing he notices is the folder you’ve left there. The small note in your handwriting.

‘Thank you :)’

He peels the note away and folds it up. Without thinking, it ends up tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket. It’s a simple piece of paper, but it’s heavy where it sits. He rubs a hand over the pocket where the note is and gets to work.

It’s not until a couple of hours later that Hotch ends up leaving his office. Conveniently, in the direction of your desk.

You’ve been burying yourself in your work, your leg bouncing nonstop, your nose inches away from the pages on your desk, your chair pushed in as close as it’ll go. You have to, because if you take a break, if you look away, your eyes will search for Hotch, and you don’t really want to think about what that means right now.

About the ache in your chest when he’s gone, the urge to go ask him a stupid question just to talk to him. It’s awful.

The pen you’re using suddenly runs out of ink, and it makes you pause long enough to feel a cramp in your hand. You sit up and huff, pulling your drawer open and digging around for another pen. Your name in Hotch’s voice has you shutting the drawer and spinning quickly.

It’s just your luck that your shirt gets caught, that the sound of the rip is too loud to play off or ignore.

“Oh gosh,” you whisper, looking down at the damage.

It’s a cheap shirt, you shouldn’t be surprised, but it’s worse than you’d expected. This is what you get for sitting so damn close. The side seam is split, and if you move too much, your bra would probably be visible.

“This is so embarrassing,” you say, holding the rip shut with one hand and holding the other on your forehead. Of course this would happen to you in front of him.

Aaron’s eyes hover where your skin had been exposed, even now that you hold your shirt shut, wondering if it’d feel as soft as it looks. He can’t even remember what he came over to do or say.

He swallows and looks at your face, “do you have another?”

You shake your head, still hiding behind your hand, “no. I really, really wish I did, though.”

“I have an extra one in my go bag. If you’d like?” He hears himself say the words, and he doesn’t regret them, necessarily, but it’s clear to him that you mess with his brain. He doesn’t think straight where you’re involved.

You peek up at him, dropping your hand to your side. “Are you sure? I could probably just use some paper clips, or something.”

“Nonsense. I’ll go get it, okay? I’ll bring it to the bathroom so you can change.”

“You don’t have to-”

Your name leaves his mouth again, gentle but firm. “I’ll grab it.”

“Okay.”

You speed-walk over to the washroom and walk in, closing the door only to block out the rest of the office, who surely noticed what just happened. You’re probably never gonna live this down.

Your overthinking doesn’t get very far, because after only a minute, Hotch is knocking on the door.

“It’s just me,” he says. ‘Just,’ like that word could ever be used to describe him. “You can just open the door a crack and I’ll pass the shirt through.”

You do as he says, tugging the door open until you can see a white dress shirt (of course) in his hand. You reach out and he hands it to you easily.

“Thank you, Hotch. I’ll wash it and give it back, I promise. Sorry for this.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You can’t see his face, but you can hear the sincerity in his voice. “I mean it.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly, closing the door.

His shirt is wrinkled from being packed in his bag, and the sleeves are long when you put it on, but it smells like him and isn’t ripped so you really can’t complain. You roll the sleeves and tuck the bottom into your pants, looking in the mirror to make sure you look at least a little bit put together.

Holy shit, you think. I’m wearing Aaron Hotchner’s shirt. What world have you been living in recently? To be interacting with him more often, to be feeling this sick skip in your heartbeat whenever you do.

You toss your ripped shirt in the garbage, look up, and huff out a breath before leaving the bathroom. You’re surprised to see Hotch still standing there.

“Oh,” you nearly bump into his chest when you walk out the door, but the warmth of his hand on your shoulder steadies you. “I didn’t know you were still there, sorry.”

“You don’t need to say sorry so much, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. You’re dreaming, surely. You pinch yourself on the inside of your arm, just in case. You don’t wake up.

“I- um,” you’re fumbling for words because he’s standing there, looking at you softly, calling you ‘sweetheart’ in that voice of his.

Aaron doesn’t know where that came from, but he’s said it and it’s happened. With the way he thinks about you, how often he does, he can’t really be surprised. Besides, seeing you get flustered because of him is absolutely worth it.

“I wanted to thank you for getting those files back to me so quickly.”

Your eyes flick over to his arm, and it’s then he realizes that his hand is still on your shoulder. He pulls it away and stuffs it in his pocket. He’s probably imagining it, but he swears his palm is tingling.

You wipe your hands over your thighs, “right. It was no problem, really. I was mostly done with my report, so… Thanks for giving them to me.”

“I’m glad to be able to help,” he says. Then he walks back to his office.

You’re standing in front of the bathroom for what’s surely an odd amount of time. Even back at your desk, you can’t shake the haze you feel, a pink tint to your vision, a flutter in your gut.

You spend the rest of your day with your nose buried in the collar of Hotch’s shirt, avoiding the gazes of your coworkers around you.

Aaron spends the rest of the day thinking about how you looked in his shirt. About how you’d look in it and nothing else. He drags a hand over his face when that pops into his head.

“You good, boss?” Morgan asks from the doorway.

“I’m fine.” He doesn’t miss the knowing smirk on Morgan’s face.

-

It’s very rare that Aaron leaves work at a reasonable time. So rare that he can’t remember the last time he wasn’t the last person there.

He’s used to the late nights, the empty spaces, deserted desks. Even so, it’s nice to finish up earlier than he’d expected. He looks forward to the extra sleep he’ll get, the longer time frame to decompress.

Leaving work early already felt like a small victory for the day, and he feels like he’s won something bigger when he sees you in your car, still in the parking lot.

You’d left maybe twenty minutes before Hotch, though you’d assumed he’d be leaving hours after you like he usually does. Everything was fine, normal as you bid your goodbyes to your desk neighbors, as you rode the elevator down.

The sun has started setting, and the air gets cooler as it sinks. You fish your car keys from your bag and unlock it, getting in quickly and tossing your bag onto the passenger seat.

You like your job, sometimes you love it, even, but you look forward to going home either way. You think about the warm shower you’ll take, the shitty dinner you’ll end up eating. Your lonely plans are ruined as you twist your car key in the ignition, it sputters and doesn’t start.

“No, no. Come on,” your head falls back, you huff and take the key out.

You try again, and still, no luck. And again, and once more until you’re fed up with it and drop the keys in your lap. Your head is dropped against the steering wheel, allowing yourself a moment of dramatics from your defeat.

A knock on your window startles you upright. Your heart races for reasons other than fear when you look at who it is.

Hotch stands outside, leaning towards your window with a scrunch in his brows. When he catches your eye, he steps back from your door and gives you room to open it and step out.

You shut your car door behind you and lean your back against it, “hi.”

“Hi. Sorry to scare you, but I wanted to check that you were alright?”

“It’s okay,” your arms are folded behind your back, your hands twisting. “Um, it’s nothing, just some car troubles.”

“That doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“I guess not. It won’t start for some reason. I don’t know.” If he wasn’t standing right there, you’d probably smack yourself for how unsure you sound. “You keep catching me at the worst times, Hotch.”

He disagrees. Aaron can’t think of a time where seeing you could ever be a bad thing.

“You’re fine,” he says, his voice suddenly softer, “trust me.”

Despite the bite of the wind outside, the way he speaks warms you. He’s so honest in the way he speaks, in the sense that he sounds sure, even if it isn’t necessarily vulnerable. You don’t know how he does it.

A small smile spreads on your face before you can stop it, “okay, good. And thank you for checking on me. I’ll just call a cab and figure this out tomorrow.”

There’s no way he can let you take a cab. It’s obvious that with what he does, the things he sees, he’d rather know for sure you’d be safe getting home. But then, there’s the sort of floating feeling he has when he’s around you, one he’d like to feel for a little longer if he could.

“Let me drive you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, really. I’ll be fine.”

He ducks his head a little, catches your eye and holds you with that soft gaze of his. “Please, it’s not a problem. For my peace of mind.”

It doesn’t take much convincing, really. You’d much rather sit in a car that probably smells like him than in the back of a cab that smells like sweat.

“For your peace of mind, then. That’d be great.”

You grab your bag from your car before following Aaron to his, where he opens the passenger door for you and makes sure your legs are tucked inside before shutting it. He jogs around the front of his car and gets in.

“Where am I taking you?” He asks, starting his car. The radio hums softly through the speakers, and Hotch reaches over to turn on the heating when he catches you shivering a little.

You tell him your address, “you don’t have to drive me if it’s out of your way, Hotch. I mean it.”

“It isn’t out of my way,” he assures you, and he could easily be lying, but you accept it anyway.

It’s quiet for a little bit, besides the odd question from Aaron for which way to turn. You take the chance to look at him as he drives, his hands on the wheel, the street lights hitting his face. Your head lulls against the seat.

“You’re finished earlier than usual today,” you say. “Not that I know your schedule, or anything, I just-”

“Sweetheart,” he stops you, a smile spreading. It’s wider than what you’ve seen at work, unguarded enough to show his teeth. It’s really pretty. “It’s alright. It’s work I can be doing at home.”

“That’s good. A change of scenery, at least.”

“Exactly.”

You’re not sure what it is that feels different now, in the car. Maybe it’s because it’s only you and him, no prying eyes in the office, no concerns about what this is, what’s allowed. It might only be you, that feels this sort of spark with him, fizzing i’m the air between you. Either way, you’ll soak it up for the duration of the ride to yours.

Maybe that’s why you’re saying, “you know, I always thought you didn’t even know who I was. Until the printer thing.”

Aaron peeks over at you, leaned in his passenger seat. You look like you belong there, like there’s always been a spot for you in his life. Even when you’d started at the BAU, when he first saw you, he felt like it was right that you were there.

Hell, he’d asked Garcia who you were and has had your name in the back of his head since.

“I’ve always liked you,” he admits. He doesn’t say he’s always known you. Liked.

“Really?” You can’t help but ask. Someone like him even noticing you seemed unfathomable. But liking you? He’s gotta be lying.

“Really. Even when you were bumping into me.”

“You remember that?”

“Yeah, I do. You were looking down at the ground, walking like you were being timed. And you had on this light pink sweater.”

Your eyes go wide, focused on his face. You had been wearing a light pink sweater that day. And he remembers all of that? You think, if you looked at yourself in the mirror right now, your eyes would be in the shape of hearts, pulsing in your pupils.

“I can’t believe you noticed all of that.”

“I notice a lot of things,” he says.

Aaron has always had his guard up around new people, has always made himself more serious at work than anywhere else. Then you came along and he had to fight to keep things that way. It makes sense that the minute he sees you outside of work his walls would crumble to dust.

It was inevitable, really.

“I’ve always liked you, too.” Then, before he can say anything, you point at your building, “it’s this one here.”

The car rolls to a stop slowly, his turn signal flashing as he pulls over by the entrance of your apartment building. He puts the car in park and turns to you fully.

“Thank you for driving me.”

“No problem, sweetheart.”

His hand reaches out before he can really think about it, fingertips featherlight over your cheekbone, sliding over to tuck your hair behind your ear. Then, like it was never there, he pulls back. There’s a glow in his fingers where they’d brushed your skin, golden.

It matches the one you feel on your cheek, sparkling.

“Get in safe, okay?”

“It’s a few feet from here to the front door, Hotch. I’ll be alright.”

He huffs softly, twin smiles on your faces. Lovesick and shy, nervous and pink-hazed all at once.

“For my peace of mind,” he says.

“Fine, then. Your peace of mind,” you reach for the door handle, tugging it and pushing the door open. You look at Hotch again, like you can’t get yourself to stop. “Thanks again.”

“See you, sweetheart.”

“Bye.”

You step out and head to your door, turning around before walking inside to give him a wave. Aaron grins and waves back, watching you walk inside.

He stays parked by the curb until he sees a light flick on a couple of floors up.

-

+1

There’s a reason that Hotch is Unit Chief. He thinks quickly, keeps his head straight even with what he deals with every day. There’s also a reason his leadership has been questioned before, but never revoked.

He can be reckless, throwing himself into situations when he knows he probably should’ve waited for backup. This time, it only got him a split eyebrow and a few stitches. It’s been worse; this is nothing.

It is, however, proving to be an inconvenience. He’d gotten stitched up in the ER of whatever hospital was closest to where the team had caught their unsub. It had to be quick, from the hospital straight to the jet.

They’d told him to clean it up again and put a new bandage on it when he got back, which is what he’s trying to do now, in his office, with his laptop’s grainy camera as a mirror. He has the supplies the hospital gave him on his desk, but he can’t really see what he’s doing, and the task is taking much longer than he’d like.

His hands are a little shaky from the adrenaline of his day, and every time his arm comes up to reach his stitches, it blocks his view.

Then, he sees you walking up to his office.

Usually, you’d already be home by now, but you’d been yourself and messed up some of your paperwork, so you had to stay late to re-do it. When you catch sight of Hotch in his office, you’re not so annoyed with yourself.

You notice the things on his desk, the blood on the front of his shirt. Your feet carry you to his doorway easily. Last time you’d really spoken to him was that night in his car, and ever since, there’s been something boiling, a noticeable shift.

You tap your knuckles on his open door twice, “you okay?”

He gives up on dealing with his cut and looks at you instead, the slightly rumpled state of your clothes from a long day, the smile you wear that doesn’t exactly hide the concern in your eyes, the light from the hallway a halo around you. You’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

“I’m alright. Just can't seem to do this right,” he says, gesturing to his eyebrow.

“Do you need help?”

Aaron has never been one to accept help easily, always one to do things on his own. But, when you’re offering so sweetly, when your help means your hands on his skin, how could he ever say no?

“That would be great.”

He pushes his chair back to give you room to stand in front of him. Your legs between his, leaning against the edge of his desk. His knees bump into the sides of your legs, little bursts of the kind of warmth sunlight emits on skin.

You reach for the wipes first, holding them in one hand and reaching up to his eyebrow, the other grasping his chin gently to keep his head steady.

His hand reaches up to hold your elbow. It could so easily be innocent, be almost nothing, but it feels like more. His thumb running back and forth, your face close enough to his to have your breaths mingling. It really feels like more.

“You’re here late,” he says, low and quiet.

“Spilled coffee all over my work. Had to start over. Can you believe it?” You speak just as quietly, eyes flicking from his cut down to his, just for a second.

“I can, actually. You’re sort of clumsy.”

“Hey!” He’s right, of course, but the warm chuckle he lets out is worth your dramatic gasp.

“It’s not a bad thing,” he assures you, squeezing your elbow. “I think it’s cute.”

“Well, thank you, then.”

You set the wipe aside and reach for the bandage next, placing it over his eyebrow and smoothing down the edges with a light touch. When you’re done, you pull back but don’t go far. Your hands fall from his face to grasp the edge of his desk instead.

“All done,” you say.

Aaron’s hands have shifted to your waist. His touch is so delicate, but you’d never ignore it. It might as well be bruising, the way his hands affect you.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Hotch.”

Now would be the time to walk out the door, to say ‘goodnight’ and head home, but you’re in no hurry. Not when his eyes are shining in the dimmed light of his office, soft and practically melting.

They seem to beckon you closer, and though you don’t have a reason this time, your face ends up near his, noses almost touching. It’s as far as you go, afraid you’re misreading things, afraid you’ll be wrong about this.

Hotch closes the space for you.

His chin tilts up, his mouth catching yours softly at first. His hands tighten on your waist, his lips slightly chapped and completely perfect against yours.

You think your knees might buckle, so you put your hands on his shoulders, thumbs digging into his skin, like you’re trying to make sure he’s real. You’re not sure how you manage to kiss him back but you do, and you hear the sharp intake of breath he takes when you push back.

The kiss doesn’t deepen, but it doesn’t have to. You can feel plenty in it already.

It’s not long before Hotch pulls away, leaning back in his chair and tilting his head to look up at you. He removes one of your hands from his shoulder and holds it in his.

“We shouldn’t do this here,” he says, his thumb running over your knuckles.

You look down at your feet, at his legs next to yours. The hand still on his shoulder falls to your side, suddenly feeling nervous.

“You’re right, I’m so-”

“But,” he stops your apology before you can say it. As if you’d ever need to apologize for kissing him. “I’d like to take you to dinner sometime. If you’d want that.”

You look back at his face, eyes searching. He smiles so softly at you, it’s the kind of smile you could only ever give someone you like in this way. Someone you like enough to kiss.

“I’d really like that, Hotch.”

“Good,” he stands, but his hands don’t leave you. “And sweetheart?”

“Hm?”

“Call me Aaron.”

When you test it out, he’s sure of it; his name on your lips is his absolute favorite sound.

༄

thank you so much for reading!!! please please consider reblogging if you enjoyed, it helps a whole bunch more than you’d think and would mean a lot!! <3

#my heart !!!! #aaron is such a pookie 🥺 #aaron hotchner x reader

[natlovessoup]

"that character is dead" "that character is married to someone else" "that character wouldn't even look at you" well not according to my google docs

[natlovessoup]

Live, love and stan my jealous fictional boyfriends <3333

[natlovessoup]

you know I left a part of me back in season one of criminal minds

[natlovessoup]

unstoppable force (desire to write) vs immovable object (tired)

[natlovessoup]

29, 30, 36 with a sick Happy. He would be such a needy, pouty patient that is so grumpy but desperately wants all the love, and I would do it! 💜

The fact I can picture this lol! Alright lets see what magic we can come up with. As always 18+

Prompts

29. Give me attention

30. I need you

36. Want a hug?

Happy was burning up as he tossed and turned on the couch. He had been sick for days and was even more grouchy than normal. He sighed as he opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling in the dark. He had shunned your help not liking to feel weak. He had gotten snippy with you and he had been getting the cold shoulder since because like you had told him "he was a grown man".

He didn't have the strength to get up to walk to your bedroom and he figured yelling for you wasn't going to bode well for him. Grabbing his phone off the table he texted you. -Give me attention-. Seeing the text bubble come up made him smile until he realized you must have left him on read after five minutes with no response.

Frowning he sent another message and then another message. "Happy Lowman knock it off" you called from the bedroom down the hall. Happy sighed as he dropped his phone to the floor. "I need you" he called as he folded his arms.

"What do you need?" you stated as you walked in arms crossed over your chest. "You" pouted Happy as he stuck out his lower lip. "I need a hug and cuddles....maybe soup later" he continued as he tried out his best version of puppy dog eyes. Snorting as you watched him you titled your head. "You want a hug and soup?" you inquired. "And cuddles" affirmed Happy as he nodded.

"I think I can make those happen" you replied as you crawled on top of him on the couch and wrapped your arms around him.

Want more Happy? Click here

Want to see how to make your own request? Click here

[natlovessoup]

🥺🥺🥺🥺

Request: Can I get an imagine where the readers family disapproves of her relationship with Happy

Pairing: Happy Lowman x female reader

Warnings: Toxic family, dysfunctional family arguably, some angst, crying

Word count: 799

"It doesn't matter, babe." "It does matter!" Happy flinched at the sudden rise in your voice, exasperation dripping from your words. He looked over at you, arms out wide at your sides, fingers trembling from how worked up you were. He could hear the shake in your voice and released the pull tabs on the trash bag he was currently trying to take out. He let it go and faced you with a sigh, your hands slapping against your sides in defeat when you let them drop. Your voice was softer when you spoke again, but more broken. "It does matter, Happy. They're my family. It matters that they can't stand you. It matters that their dislike for you is enough to put me at a distance. It matters that this is now the third baby shower that they've just mysteriously forgotten to invite me to. It matters that my family cares more about not liking you, than loving me. It fucking matters, ok?" Heavy tears were gathered in your lashes by the time you finished speaking, Happy kicking himself for his words earlier. He trekked across the kitchen and stood in front of you, hands coming up to rest on the tops of your arms and rubbing comfortingly. "I'm sorry. I know it matters. I just meant…their stupidity and selfishness don't matter. Their ass-backward way of thinking doesn't matter. But I know it does because it matters to you. I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry." You nodded, his thumb coming up to brush away the few stray tears that had managed to escape. "It's ok. I see what you mean." There was silence then, you sniffling and willing the tears to stop while Happy tried to comfort you, his jaw twitching in fury that your sadness was a result of your own family. It was like a switch clicked then as if someone had turned on a lightbulb. One that made him see clearly and twist his stomach into knots at the same time. He swallowed roughly and stared at a piece of dust on the fan. "Do you wanna split up?" His words caught you off guard and you lifted your head away from his tear-soaked t-shirt to look at him with squinted eyes. "What?" He didn't look at you as he repeated himself. "Do you want us to split up?" You said nothing for long enough that he had no choice but to break and look into your watery confused eyes. "Why would you ask me that?" It was his turn to be exasperated now. "Because your fucking family can't just be happy for you and be happy that you're happy with me. They can't swallow their pride or their dislike for me enough to put you first. They wanna ostracize you and neglect you and bully you because you choose to be with me. They're not gonna let up. They haven't let up for two years. The only way you get your family back is if you leave me. You can't have both. They won't let you have both. So do you want to split up, yes or no?" You sniffled, your heart aching as you looked at him.

"You'd do that? For me? You'd let me go so I could be with them again?" He hesitated, his jaw so tight you worried his molars might crack. "I'd let you go so you could be happy. I wouldn't want to. But for you, I would." He wasn't usually a man of many words when arguing, his words always being concise and to the point. This time was no different, but at the same time, everything had changed. Your shoulders settled some and you reached out, taking his face into your hands. He avoided your gaze, looking past you until you squeezed gently. His mahogany eyes finally settled on yours and you pressed your lips to his for what felt like an eternity. When you finally pulled your lips away, he reached up and held his hands on top of yours, waiting for your answer. "You're the only one then." He squinted, not understanding. "You're the only one that cares if I'm happy. They don't. They know I'm happy with you and they don't care. They only care about what they want. But you want me to be happy." The Son nodded once. "And I'm happy with you. So there's your answer." He stood still, giving you a chance to change your mind. A chance to back out. Tell him you missed getting included and wanted that back. But you didn't. You held your hands to his cheeks, squeezed once, and then let them go, your arms snaking around his waist as you settled your head on the dry side of his chest.

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#happy has my whole heart #this fic omg #sweet loving happy #makes me happy #<333

[natlovessoup]

forgot my password for this account for the longest time, but i found it!

#nattie rambles 🍜