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somanyideassolittletime · 2 months ago

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To be loved is to be changed.

Pairings: Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader

Summary : 3 ways you changed Jack, and one time Jack changed you.

Warnings: fluff, Jack is in love with his wife, language, grammar inaccuracies (maybe? idk), so much fluff I felt giddy writing this.

Author's note: I love Jack so much, enjoy!

| one

Jack, albeit all of his typical stereotypes people use to box him into, is secretly tech-savvy. It comes with the job, he supposed. Working in a field where technology is always evolving, he learnt to adapt, and he learnt to love it. It started with geeking out when the newest, most updated machine was delivered to the hospital, up to buying himself handheld medical pieces of equipment delivered to your door – he would wait for you at home before unboxing the most recent ‘toys’ he ordered, and he would talk your ears off about how cool and innovative it is.

You loved it, you loved hearing him talk passionately, you love that even after all this time working in his job, he still finds wonders in it (it doesn’t help that he looked so hot with his forearms flexed, knife in hand, while opening the package).

He understands technology, he does. But he doesn’t get the idea of FaceTime. He wasn’t a big texter himself; nothing beats the good old phone calls, where you can get your point across without fear of miscommunication on both sides. Even when you dated, you never went as far as FaceTime; it was always a phone call with a promise of meeting each other, and now that you are married, sharing his home, he still doesn’t get it.

“Why do you even need to look at their faces when you call? What matters is what you say, y’know, besides, it’s awkward to call someone with your phone far away from your ears,” He once said while holding you tightly in his side, cuddling in his far too comfy leather couch. Both of you watching a movie, where the scene of people facetiming each other just finished. You laughed at him back then, nudging his sides, “Eh, don’t knock it till you try it, hon.”

What a turn of events now for him, as you were called away across the country for a few guest lectures and seminars for two weeks. Away from Pittsburgh, away from him – that he finds himself thankful for whoever invented the damned thing. He’s sitting on his bed, currently deprived of your presence beside him, when he decides to try out FaceTime.

“Hi, handsome,” you pick up on the first ring, he’s greeted with the face he’s been missing for the past few days, smiling at him. He sighs in contentment, he finally gets to see your face. “Hi, sweetheart.”

He can hear you rustling around, looking for something to prop up your phone before you settle on your water bottle. Your screen is now steady. You grin at him, “Finally getting the whole FaceTime thing now, huh?”

He huffs, “Don’t wanna get used to it, i’d rather have you here.” he starts, “But yeah, thank god shit’s exist. Been so long since I've seen that face.”

“I’ve been here four days and you turned grumpy, huh?” You tell him, referring to the text Dana sent you earlier, “Your husband is Mr. Grumpy. Med students scared to approach him all day”

“What do you mean?” You’re still grinning at him, you’re afraid your cheeks might be too sore to talk to the faculty tomorrow. “Dana texted me, said you were being bad teacher.”

He groaned, “I’m annoyed at everything, it seems.” he mumbles just loud enough for you to hear him on the other end. He’s holding the phone a little too close to his eyes, he squints to look at you. You noticed it, “Wear your glasses, hon.” He hates wearing his glasses, which you know, but he’s squinting so hard you’re afraid he’s gonna get a headache later on. He’s contemplating debating you, but he knows that you’re right; he’s getting too old to see something so close to his eyes now.

“Ugh, fine. Wait,” he puts his phone in the bed, now his screen is showing the ceiling of the bedroom you share back home. A few rustling and groans later, you find yourself looking at Jack wearing his glasses. Your breath hitched. The sight of him in his glasses always gets to you, even after all this time. “Looking good, Dr. Abbot,” you joke. He smiles, “You’re Dr. Abbot yourself.” You frowned mockingly. “I was looking at my reflection, y’know.”

He laughs, and your heart aches to be with him. You missed him as bad as he missed you, it seems. You lift your phone, standing up now, he’s curious, “What are you doing?” You reverse the camera now, showing your room. “I’m doing a room tour. Now shut up and listen to me yap.”

He gladly obeys, he loves listening to your voice, he watches as you explain everything in your room, from the bathroom, the wardrobe, the bed, all the way to the balcony. His eyes caught something when your camera points at your desk, a familiar bottle of cologne – one he’s been wearing for ten years – so he decides to jab at you. “Is that why I can’t find my cologne in my bag?” You turn the camera facing you, and he’s glad now that he can see your face again. “I miss you. Sue me.” You stick your tongue out at him. How he wishes to wipe that shit eating grin from your face.

“I’m suing you for that with a lifetime with me,” he says earnestly. You look at him fondly, “Jack Abbot, I didn’t know you get sappier the further we departed.” He puts his phone on the nightstand, angled so that you can still see his face, pulling the comforter up to his chin.

“I miss you so much, baby,” you blegh at the nickname, phone now back at your desk, “You sounded like a teenager,” he chuckles, he looks at you putting on your glasses, the light from the laptop reflecting in your eyes. “Talk to me,” you say.

So he did, he tells you about the shift he’s had today while you’re typing away at your laptop, looking at him every once in a while. He tells you about the boy who went berserk, hands flailing around, making Langdon drop the scalpel in his hand, dropping it to his prosthetic feet, panicking the entire trauma room, only for him to be unfazed. You laugh fondly at him, eyes twinkling with the same mesmerization you only hold for him (and for a crazy innovation that you find interesting).

He’s holding his yawn, but you know better. His eyes are glassy now. “Go to sleep. It’s late,” you say, he obeys you, taking off his glasses, relaxing into his pillow. “Don’t turn it off,” he says softly, eyes fluttering. You shake your head, “I’ll turn it off when you snore,” he huffs, “what? You snore.” you start, “But I need to hear you snore to sleep nowadays.” you explain.

His eyes are half-closed now, and he finds himself relaxed, hearing your breaths on the other side, keys clacking softly. “I love you,” he whispers to you. You stopped your typing, now looking at his eyes fully closed, “I love you too, goodnight, hon.”

For the next 7 days, he finds himself loving FaceTime, finds himself looking forward to FaceTime with you every night before he sleeps, and like other technology he once frowned at, he finally gets it.

| two

Jack is not a man of pop culture, he never understands the appeal of it. He rarely watches movies by himself, let alone pop culture movies or series. But you loved it to no end, you often ask him to watch those movies with you, ranging from sci-fi, fantasy, to superhero movies, whatever you want to watch, he’ll gladly oblige. He’ll pretend to be uninterested in your series whenever you watch it alone with him moving around the house. But you always find him standing behind the couch, watching the show intently, before finding him beside you, starting to give commentary on what's happening on the screen. And slowly, he finds himself enjoying watching those movies and series with you.

He loves watching you explain to him about the complexity of a character you like, loves hearing you badmouth a character you hate, and when you both find yourself watching sci-fi movies with futuristic technologies, he finds himself falling a little harder, hearing you explain to him the concept of the technology in said movies. “I don’t understand a single word you just said. Is this what you feel when I explain procedures to you?” he once asked you. You nodded, “Yeah, pretty much, but you’re hot when you’re explaining it. So I love it,” you said to him. And he agreed with you on that one.

Jack was covering the night shift tonight, it’s Halloween night, so he’ll find himself drowning in patients in costumes, no doubt. You had dropped him off earlier with a kiss on his cheek and a promise to pick him up later in the morning.

He’s talking to a ten-year-old kid in a yellow uniform, one he recognized as a Star Trek uniform when Ellis enters the room, “I got this, Abbot. You go ahead,” she says to Jack. Jack nods at her before saying, “You’re in good hands, kiddo.” Ellis looks at the boy in the bed, saying, “Well, what do we got here, Mr.Spock?” The kid was about to protest when Jack reactively says, “He’s Captain Kirk,” Earning a look from Ellis. He fistbumps the kid and leaves the room, fully trusting Ellis.

The rest of the shift is pretty slow, filled with kids getting food poisoning from the candy being given away, typical drunks, and some OD patients from parties. It was now one hour left in the shift, everyone was either hanging by the hub or just doing a frequent check for their patients. He was charting when Shen and Ellis approached him.

“Hey, Abbot. How’s the stormtrooper guy?” Shen asks him. He’s currently scanning through his memory, not finding a single stormtrooper costume in his recollection of the night. “We haven’t got a stormtrooper,” He frowns at Shen. Shen points his fingers over Jack’s shoulder, he turns his head – now looking at a man in a Mandalorian get-up, his helmet on the chair beside the bed – he turns back to Shen, “That’s a fucking Mandalorian, good to go in a few hour, ” Shen doesn’t say anything, opting to look at Ellis beside him. Who, for the second time that night, gave him a weird look. He’s been doing medical procedures that might be crazy ballsy for some, but never once he received that look from either Ellis or Shen until tonight.

“Okay, you know what, what the hell?” Ellis starts, “You corrected me earlier cause of a fuckin costume, and now, what the hell, man?” Jack shrugs, “What?” Shen points his finger at Jack, his voice accusatory, “Dude, you only ever turn your TV on for penguins games, now you tellin me you know fuckin sci-fi shit, now.?” Jack looks at him, “Wrong, I turn on my TV for the Steelers and Pirates too,” he says casually.

“Ugh, you know what we meant. Since when do you even watch that stuff?” Ellis says exasperatedly. Jack crossed his arms, shrugging, “My wife likes that stuff.” He says that so casually that Shen and Ellis might combust at his tone.

Shen laughs at him, “Holy shit, you’re whipped.” Jack smirks, “Yeah, I wouldn’t get married if I weren’t.” his hands find the ring in his necklace now. Fully smiling at Shen and Ellis, both of whom groan at him. “Ughhh, please be a simp somewhere else, not here.” Shen rolls his eyes.

Shen and Ellis walked away from him before he muttered, “God forbid a man is in love,” smiling to himself with the thought of you in his mind.

So slowly but surely, he understands the appeal now that he can see how your eyes lit up every time he referenced something. And like any other form of entertainment, he once cringed at, he finds himself enjoying and looking forward to the next time he has you curled up beside him, whispering theories he doesn’t get. Anything that makes you happy, it seems, makes him happy.

| three

Jack is a man of many talents, but not of many coffee orders. He takes his coffee as plain as possible. Black, no sugar. He never ordered his coffee sweet, not before he met you at least. For him, coffee should be something simple, he doesn’t need extra flavor in his coffee, he just needs it to fuel him through the day.

But you? You take your coffee as abstractly as possible. Though you do enjoy a plain black coffee once in a while, once the occasion calls for it, you actually prefer some flavor and sweetness in your coffee.

“black , no sugar, please. What about you hon,” he asked you, ordering for himself to barista; he never ordered for you since he knew he would botch the task. “Uh, let me think. I ordered the almond latte yesterday. I think I’ll go with hazelnut today, please. Thank you,” you answered to the barista, who punched in some buttons. Jack tapped his card to pay before moving over to wait for your order.

“Here, try this. You’ll like it.” you said to him. He shakes his head, refusing to take a sip. “Just try it, I swear” he takes the coffee in his hand, sipping on it. Fuck. that’s good. He thought. He bites the inside of his cheek to hold back a smile, not wanting to give you the victory. You pointed at him victoriously, “aha! You like it don’t you.” he shrugged, giving you back your coffee. “Eh, black’s still better.” though you know that he actually enjoys it.

But now that it’s been a while since the two of you went on cafe dates, he finds himself missing your random coffee order. So when the opportunity comes for him to drink your coffee order, he’ll take it.

“Hey, I’m ordering coffee, your usual?” Robby asks him, typing in his notes app to list everyone’s coffee order. Jack thinks for a second before answering him, “I’ll have a vanilla latte,” earning a raised eyebrow from Robby, who types it down without question before moving over to the others. Making a mental note to ask him later on.

It was a while later when the order came in, and everyone stopped by the break room to take their coffee. Jack is greeted by Langdon and Robby inside, both holding their coffee. Langdon doesn’t even think before handing him a black coffee, one that Jack doesn’t take. “It’s not mine,” he says, walking over to the table, reading the labels in each cup before settling on his order.

He holds it in a way that the label is visible to Langdon, who looks at him weirdly, “a Latte? Really? Vanilla latte?” Langdon asks him. Jack sips on his coffee before entertaining Langdon, “What? It’s good,” he answers. Langdon, who looks at Robby as if saying, dude, you seeing what I’m seeing???. Robby teases him, “Yeah, I don’t think that cuts it, brother.”

Jack huffs, sipping some more, “Fine. My wife takes her coffee like this.” he wants to look annoyed, but he can’t bear himself to do it; not when he just drank your coffee order, being reminded of you seems to have that effect on him.

“I’m a married man myself, but I never even order my coffee her way, man.” Langdon laughs at him. Robby smiles at him, putting his hand on Langdon��s shoulder, slightly leaning toward him. “I believe we are seeing Jack in love. What is it? To be loved is to be changed?” says Robby to Langdon’s who laughed at Jack.

Jack wants to retort something smart as usual, but somehow, he doesn’t want to. So he opted to just smile at both of them before taking his coffee outside the break room.

Because yeah, he might realize himself that his preference is changing, but what Robby said earlier was right, that he’s in love and that he’s loved – and he wouldn’t change that for the world.

But the next time the two of you went on your cafe dates, he would still order his usual, not because he wanted it, he ordered it because for him, nothing beats the mischievous smile you gave him after asking him to try your coffee. (and it doesn’t help that he liked seeing your lip product mark on his cup after you drink his coffee, and that both of you just did an indirect kiss) Though that was a thought he’ll keep to himself forever.

“How do I look?” you walk into the living room, twirling your body to Jack, who is sitting on the leather couch, now looking at you. You were sporting a Penguins jersey with a big 87 on the back, CROSBY above it. You were offered a sideline ticket to the Penguins game by your friend, which you excitedly accepted. So here you are, getting ready for the game with the Penguins heartbreaker’s Jersey on you.

Jack smiles at you. “Well, you look like you’re drowning in it, Mrs. Crosby,” he says coyly. You frown at him, walking over to him, “Jack, as much as I love Sid, I actually prefer being Mrs. Abbot,” you say to him, leaning down to give his lips a peck.

Jack puts his hand on your waist, capturing your lips on his. Pulling back, Jack let out a breathy chuckle, “Yeah? Say that after you see him, hon. You know I’m straight, but he’s hot as hell,” he jested. You laugh at his confession, about to say something when you hear a honk in the driveway. Jack walks you over to the door, opening it for you.

Jack pecks your lips once again before saying, “Stay safe, okay? I love you.” You smile, kissing his cheek, “I will. Love you too.”

It’s almost midnight when you come home, and the Penguins won, so it was a victorious night out in your books. You open the door slowly, not wanting to disturb Jack, who should be sleeping by now. You can hear the TV still turned on in the living room, so you decide to check it out.

Jack was sprawled over the couch, the light from the TV illuminating his figure, his prosthetic placed by the table, as much as you want to move him to the bed because you know that his back would scream at him tomorrow if he spends as much as an extra hour on the couch, he looked so cozy you can’t help yourself, so you lay down on the couch, joining him.

Your movement startles him at first, but upon seeing that it’s you, he relaxes, “Hey,” he whispers into your ear. “It was fun, wished it was with you though,” you confess to him. His arms now caging you, drawing soft circles on your back. It was quiet before you started.

“Jack,” you whisper softly, he hums, acknowledging you. You continue, “I think you broke me.” Jack stops his hand, pulling his head just enough to look you in the eyes. “What do you mean?” you snuggle further into his chest before saying, “I don’t find Sid attractive anymore.”

“Huh?” Jack asks, You sit up, placing your hand on his stomach. “Imagine, I was that close with him, I could practically see his pores, Jack.-” You put your hand in front of you, in an attempt to emphasize just how close you are to The Sidney Crosby earlier. “But all I can think about is eh, he’s okay. Jack’s way more attractive.” Jack’s entire body warms at hearing your confession.

He’s about to comment before you put your hand that was previously on his stomach to his mouth, not allowing him to speak, “No, you don’t get it. It's THE SIDNEY CROSBY, Jack. You know how much I love him, right?” he nods against your hand, now smiling as wide as ever. You lift your hand from his mouth, continuing your explanation. “I was supposed to be entranced by him, Jack. But I kept on thinking that he had nothing against you.”

“You’re putting me on a damn high pedestal now, hon,” he says jokingly, though his eyes shows nothing but adoration looking at you.

You lie back on the couch again, cuddling him. “Nah. I think I just love you too much that I find any other guy to just be….mid.”

He chuckles, resuming his hand motion on your back. “I love you too, so much.” You don’t say anything after that, you're both snuggling, the TV playing softly as background noise – the intimacy of this moment has nothing against anything else.

You both stayed that way for a while until you mentioned to him that you needed to move before you both fell asleep on the couch, so you walked over to the bedroom, Jack behind you, searching for the remote to turn it off, seeing the highlight of the day on the screen, with crosby’s goal earlier. He smirks proudly at the TV, remembering your earlier admission.

Sid 0 - 1 Jack.

#jack abbot x reader #the pitt #jack abbot

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ramp-it-up · 3 months ago

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Sweet Fantasy

Summary: You meet one of the "Big Three" at NY Fantasy Con. As Crewman Number Six, you should know how this will end. But you don't.

Word count: 5 K

Pairing: CATWS Bucky x Reader

A/N: This is a inspired by @avengers-assemble-bingo. #KinkyBingo. This fulfills the square: Praises. This is also part of @yenzys-lucky-charm Cranky, Grabby, Stabby, Oh My Challenge. Prompt: “Shut up and take your pants off.” This fic spiraled out of control and I-- well I needed a shower. And so do Bucky and Reader. If you haven't seen Galaxy Quest, well you really should. 😬 Please reblog, comment, and like!

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. All mistakes my own. Smut! Cosplay. Conventions, lots of LOTR and Galaxy Quest jokes, Grumpy Bucky in disguise, flirting, teasing, use of "old man," "Soldier" kink, a teeny tiny glimpse of subby Bucky if you squint (let me know if you see it), then he turns dominant and feral, praise kink, bulge kink, marathon man Bucky, intense sex, overstimulation, raw p in v, copious amounts of cum, possessive Bucky, begging. This is plot with porn at the end.

I do not have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

------

You decided to go to New York Fantasy Con alone. New city, new start, and the perfect place to meet fellow nerds who shared your love for all things sci-fi and fantasy.

You weren’t looking for anything more than a fun day of geeking out, debating space battles, and admiring top-tier cosplay.

One moment, you were adjusting your belt as Crewman Number Six, your uniform pristine, your perpetually wary I-know-exactly-how-this-ends expression firmly in place, and the next, you were nearly toppling over a very solid, very well-dressed Gandalf.

——

The day was filled with the unexpected.

The con was the perfect place to disappear, everyone in costume, no one staring, no one whispering. He was just another guy in robes and a fake beard.

Who’d walked in feeling lighter than he had in months.

And then you barreled into his life. Literally.

His staff clattered to the floor as he reached out with lighting fast reflexes, strong hands gripping your arms to steady you.

“My apologies,” he said, fully in character, though amusement danced behind the accent.

“I should know better than to block the path of a brave and noble…” His sharp blue eyes flicked over your uniform. “…expendable crew member?”

Galaxy Quest. Classic. His favorite.

“I prefer unsung hero, but sure.”

Your quick wit made him grin, and then you laughed a warm and genuine laugh. Something about the sound made him feel warm inside.

From there, it was easy. You two clicked. Effortlessly.

Hours passed in a blur of banter, debates, and sly glances. You argued about the physics of warp drive, whispered snark about questionable cosplay choices, and shared his soft pretzel without hesitation,even if he definitely hadn’t offered it at first.

Gandalf, as it turned out, was oddly possessive of his snacks. But once you stole the first piece, he started handing them over willingly, eyes on you every time you took a bite.

He just couldn’t stop staring because you were stunning, and not just in the obvious way.

It was the way you moved,like you belonged there. Like you knew exactly who you were and weren’t afraid to take up space.

And in way your uniform hugged your body, tailored just right to fit every curve, walking the line between adorable and dangerously distracting.

He was stupidly attracted to you. Cosplay or not.

You in that uniform, beaming and fearless, practically walking through the con so unassuming yet confident?

Yeah, that was doing things to him.

He noticed the way your eyes flicked toward him when you thought he wasn’t looking. And also the way your smile deepened when you caught him watching. The way you leaned in a little closer every time he spoke was magnetic.

You were flirting. Hard.

And he liked it. Too much.

And that was the problem.

Because you didn’t know who he was.

You thought he was just some guy in a good Gandalf cosplay. You were flirting with that guy. Not Bucky Barnes.

Not the name, or the past, or the weight that came with it.

He should’ve kept his distance.

But he didn’t.

And on your side?

You had no idea what this man looked like.

Tall, yes.

Broad, clearly.

That voice, a warm tenor, and with a hint of rasp, was borderline unfair.

And those eyes. Icy blue, too intelligent to be just cosplay.

But still. Long grey beard. Hat. Layers of wizard robes. His entire being was a mystery.

And yet you were attracted to him. Nonsensically so.

When the crowd got thick, he let his hand find the small of your back and guided you through.

He could’ve let go when the aisle cleared, but he didn’t. Not right away. Not when you felt that warm and solid against him. Not when his brain was full of you and your goddamn perfect laugh.

The electricity was ridiculous.

And maybe you let yourself lean back into his touch just a little.

You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal. You flirted all the time, right? It didn’t mean anything.

Except you wanted it to mean something. The connection felt too easy. Too real. And that scared you more than the mystery.

Who was this guy?

You didn’t know his name, didn’t know what he looked like under the layers, and still… you were into him.

Really into him.

Which was why, when the con ended and you stepped out into the fading light of Manhattan, neither of you were ready for it to be over.

“Well, Gandalf,” you teased, “it’s been fun. Remember: Never Give Up, Never Surrender!”

He let out a sexy chuckle, but he hesitated, glancing toward the subway entrance, weighing something in his mind. Then, before he could second-guess himself, he spoke.

“You wanna grab dinner after this?”

You smiled up at him.

“But we had such a good time today. I don’t wanna mess it up.”

His lips curved upwards.

“There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind.”

You snorted.

“Smooth for a 2,000-year-old wizard.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully.

“Are you asking me out, Gandalf?”

He hesitated. That was the moment. He could’ve kept the beard on. Could’ve let you keep thinking he was just another guy with decent taste in pretzels and fantasy quotes. It was refreshing, getting to be just a guy, instead of a name, a history, a headline.

But if this was going anywhere, you deserved to know.

“I’m only 108,” he said dryly, then added. “And yeah. I think I know when I’m asking someone on a date.”

You choked on air.

“I’m sorry. What?”

He sighed, reaching up to hook his fingers into the fake beard. Slowly, he peeled it away, along with the expertly applied wrinkles.

Your eyes widened. Holy. Shit.

What remained wasn’t just some random guy in a killer cosplay.

It was Bucky Barnes.

Bucky saw the realization hit you. He braced himself, waiting for the change. The flicker of recognition and wariness, the oh, the backpedaling. It always happened.

“You probably figured it out before, but… yeah. When people recognize me, they, uh… sometimes change their minds. About me.”

For a long second, you just stared. Then, your lips curved.

“I didn’t know. And my mind is… not changed.”

You grinned, shaking your head.

“You’re alright, Barnes. I mean, I’ve spent all afternoon with you, and you’ve been kind, funny, and genuinely one of the best parts of today. That doesn’t just disappear because you’re also kind of a big deal.”

You looked around, lowering your voice.

“To be honest. I was in it for the beard.”

Bucky blinked, then laughed quietly. He looked surprised, like he didn’t expect you to still be standing there.

“Well, if that’s what did it, I could’ve just kept it on.”

You were still here. Still flirting.

Your eyes swept over him. The mystery was gone, but the pull remained.

Stronger now.

“Yeah,” you said. “But you’re not so bad without it.”

His gaze flicked to your mouth, then back to your eyes. He was still cautious, and still wondering if this was real.

But you weren’t pulling away.

“Well,” he murmured, voice lower now, “guess I better make sure our date’s as good as the con, huh?”

You bumped his shoulder.

“You better. No pressure, though.”

No pressure.

Except for the fact that for the first time in a long time he actually wanted this to go right.

And you kept thinking: Damn. I think I actually really like this guy.

—-

The restaurant was small and warm, just cozy enough to forget you were in the middle of Manhattan. Bucky picked a booth near the back, the kind of spot with a clear view of the door.

Classic.

You didn’t call him on it. Just leaned on your elbows and watched him over the rim of your drink. That fucking uniform of your was getting him hard.

“So you didn’t wanna be recognized,” you mused. “Cool.”

You sipped slowly, licking a drop from your lip with deliberate nonchalance. Bucky’s eyes dropped. And didn’t stop at your mouth. He snapped his gaze back up quickly however, jaw tight.

Oh yeah. He was so fucked. He wanted to fuck.

You tilted your head, smiling like you knew exactly what you were doing.

“But Gandalf isn't just any old man,” you said, voice light. “He’s wise, powerful...”

You traced a finger around your glass. His eyes followed the motion, slow and unblinking. Bucky clenched his jaw, visibly struggling.

“…respected. Worshipped, even.”

Bucky swallowed hard. His fingers flexed around his glass, then curled into a fist.

You leaned in.

“Bucky, you’ve been staring at me for the past twenty minutes.”

You tapped the side of your glass.

“Is this a wizard thing, or are you always like this?”

He cleared his throat again. He was always like this.

But you…were different.

“I…”

He cut himself off, jaw clenching. He knew that you knew that he was struggling, and what he was struggling with. And that made him even weaker for you.

You enjoyed making him squirm. And he liked it. Too much. Way too much.

Jesus, what were you doing to him?

Bucky huffed a weak laugh, shaking his head. His eyes flicked to your lips again and this time, he didn’t look away as fast.

“I didn’t mean to.” He paused.

You’re just so fucking hot.

You grinned. Wicked.

“And here I thought it was some kind of kink.”

Bucky choked on his drink.

Your smile turned gleeful as you sat up straighter, pressing forward just enough to make him very aware of what was beneath your uniform. He was staring. Again.

“Oh my God,” you lit up, delighted. “Was I right?”

He coughed, his ears pink, and glared at you over his glass.

He was so cute when he was flustered.

“No.”

You arched an eyebrow.

“You sure? You did say you’re an old man.”

Bucky’s jaw ticked. Your grin only widened

You were having too much fun. It was like a game of cat and mouse, and dammit, he was the fucking mouse.

Then, just to test something, you dragged your fingers up and down the stem of your wine glass.

He shifted, breath hitching. And you knew.

Oh, you knew. You knew what was happening under that table. You imagined, correctly, that he was hard as a rock.

“Oh,” you whispered, delighted. “You like this.”

His metal fingers gripped the table edge.

“Doll,” he said, low and warning.

But that just made you smile.

“You’ve been looking at me all day like you want to do something,” you murmured, watching his throat bob as he swallowed hard.

“So why are you holding back?”

Bucky rubbed his jaw. Discipline. Control. You could see him straining for it.

“Because I like you,” he admitted, voice gruff.

Oh.

Something in your chest tightened. Because that was real.

You stared at him for a beat, the energy arcing between you, but now it wasn’t just pure physical attraction.

“Bucky,” you said, voice softer now.

He lifted his gaze to you, blue eyes dark and hungry.

“I like that you’re holding back,” you said slowly.

“Because it means that when you don’t…”

You leaned in just a fraction.

“...it’s gonna be worth it.”

Bucky let out a breath like he’d been punched.

And then he smiled slowly,a new knowledge coming into his eyes now that he knew where your head was at. He stood, tossing a few bills on the table.

“We better get outta here, Doll.”

And you didn’t hesitate. You followed.

—-----

The night air should’ve cooled the heat simmering between you and Bucky, but it didn’t. Not even close.

The restaurant had been one thing, but now it was just the two of you, walking side by side down the New York street, the hum of the city around you.

Bucky hadn’t touched you, not once.

But you’d felt him all over you nonetheless. You felt him in the way his shoulder brushed yours when you walked too close. In the twitch of his fingers, like he was one second from grabbing your hand.

Or your waist.

Or your throat.

“Y’know,” you murmured, breaking the silence, “you don’t have to be so disciplined.”

Bucky laughed quietly.

“Doll.”

“What?”

“You know what.”

You peered up at him innocently.

“I really don’t.”

Bucky stopped walking.

You did too, turning to face him. He was really looking at you now, his jaw tight, eyes dark.

“You think I don’t wanna touch you?”

His voice had some longing in it.

“That I don’t wanna pin you against that wall right now and see how many ways I can make you say my name?”

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

“But,” he continued, voice still measured, still controlled,

“I don’t wanna do this wrong.” His metal hand flexed. “Not with you.”

Something in your chest fluttered at that, a warmth different from the heat between your legs.

“You wouldn’t be,” you murmured.

He shook his head, staring down at the sidewalk.

“I want you too much, Doll.”

Then he looked back up at you, hitting you with those baby blues.

“And that’s dangerous for me.”

“Well,” you murmured, stepping closer, “maybe I like a little danger.”

His hand twitched. The struggle was written all over him. So you tipped the scale. You reached out and brushed your fingers over his metal wrist gently. Cool vibranium met warm skin.

Bucky inhaled sharply.

Then, slowly, his fingers curled around yours. Testing. Then gripping.

You bit your lip.

“Doll,” he warned.

You looked up at him, so alluring.

“Soldier.”

His breath caught. Then he stepped into you. Still not touching, but so close. The heat of him soaked through your skin.

You licked your lips, and Bucky’s gaze dropped.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

Then he kissed you. Barely. Just a brush. Light enough to make you chase it.

The spark could’ve lit up Manhattan.

He pulled back an inch, staring into your eyes like he was trying to memorize you.

You could barely breathe. You wanted his hands. His mouth. His weight. You wanted him unleashed.

But Bucky was still trying to be good.

He lifted his flesh hand, skimming your jaw.

“I’m trying to be a gentleman,” he rasped.

You tilted your chin, pressing into his palm.

“What if I don’t want you to be?”

His eyes turned molten blue.

And then,his phone buzzed.

He just stood there, breathing hard, before letting out a rough, frustrated laugh.

“Guess the universe wants me to behave.”

You smirked. “For now.”

Bucky met your gaze, lust flashing behind his eyes.

------

Somehow you made it to your place and the tension hadn’t lessened. It had evolved.

When you closed the front door behind you, Bucky snapped.

You turned to face him and he was there, pinning you to the door before you could even inhale. His metal arm slammed against the wood beside your head with a soft thud, and the other cradled your jaw, rough and tender all at once as his mouth crashed into yours.

No hesitation. No restraint. Just need.

You gasped, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongue sliding against yours, slow but demanding. He kissed like a man who’d been starved for years and finally got his first bite.

And God, you tasted so good.

When he pulled back, his pupils were blown wide, chest heaving.

“You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me,” he rasped.

You smirked, breathless as your fingers found the hardness in his jeans.

“I have some idea.”

His eyes darkened.

“You think this is a game?”

His voice dropped, low and dangerous. His thumb brushed your bottom lip, slow and firm, pressing just enough to make your breath catch.

You looked up at him through your lashes, heart hammering.

“Is it not?”

“That’s it,” Bucky growled.

One second you were against the door, the next you were being lifted, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you like you weighed nothing. Your back hit the wall, his mouth finding the column of your throat. He kissed, licked, and bit, not enough to leave marks, not yet, but enough to make you whimper.

“Still wanna play?” he murmured against your skin.

“Yes,” you breathed, because you were nothing if not committed.

Bucky’s mouth crashed back to yours and his hand found the underside of your thigh and squeezed. His metal hand skimmed your waist, the cold kiss of it against your hot skin making you gasp.

“You want me to lose control?” he asked, lips trailing down your jaw, across your collarbone. You moaned, arching into him.

“Yes, Soldier. Bedroom is over there,” you pointed weakly, then your hands returned to his shoulders.

Bucky grinned against you, cocky now.

“Good girl.”

He walked you to the bedroom, never breaking contact. You were clawing at his jacket, his shirt. You needed to feel skin, metal, him. You didn’t care about slow or gentle anymore. You just wanted him.

He dropped you onto the bed and stood over you for a beat, chest rising and falling like he’d run a marathon. His hair was a mess, lips kiss-bitten, eyes blazing.

You sat up slightly, supported on your elbows, and tilted your head.

“Well?”

Bucky reached for his shirt, peeled it off in one smooth motion, and let it drop to the floor.

You swallowed hard. Good lord. Scars. Muscle. Metal. History. He was so hot.

Bucky climbed onto the bed until he was hovering over you, mouth brushing your ear.

“You’re not ready for what I wanna do to you,” he whispered.

“Shut up and take your pants off,” you whispered back.

When he did, your eyes went wide.

"Is that Grabthar's Hammer?"

He laughed softly. Then he kissed you again. This time, there was no more teasing.

You were laid out naked beneath Bucky like something sacred, flushed and panting, the room thick with your scent.

Buckhy knelt between your legs, jaw tight, fists clenched like he was still holding himself back even now. His chest rose and fell, a man at war with his self-control. You shifted, your naked cunt calling to him and his eyes dropped instantly.

And then he broke.

Bucky dragged you closer like he’d been starving for this. He kissed your stomach slowly first, before biting just beneath your ribs, then moved lower. You gasped, your fingers threading into his hair.

“You still sure you want this?” he rasped against your skin, voice barely human.

You laughed breathlessly, tugging his face up so you could look him dead in the eye.

“If you don’t wreck me, old man, I’m gonna be pissed.”

That did it.

Bucky smirked, and then placed a kiss on your bare mound. Then, his mouth trailed lower, and gently kissed your clit as your eyes rolled and your nipples became even stiffer mountain peaks. Those ice blue eyes held yours captive as he flattened his tongue and licked a disrespectful stripe up the split of you.

When Bucky finally tasted you, he moaned. A low, guttural sound that made your toes curl.

And he didn’t stop. He devoured. He licked into you, fucking you with his tongue, and pulling on your clit like it was saltwater taffy.

His hands pinned your hips down, metal unforgiving, flesh impossibly warm, like he was trying to memorize the exact shape of you against his palms.

You were already close, embarrassingly close, because this wasn’t just sex; it was a seal to your connection. This was the shit.

Bucky touched you like you were precious and filthy. And he looked at you like he wanted to worship and destroy you in the same breath.

When he slipped two fingers inside you, metal, cold and smooth, your back arched and a broken moan escaped your lips. His mouth didn’t stop. His rhythm didn’t falter. He was focused, like this was a mission, and your pleasure was the only thing on the damn agenda.

“Bucky,” you gasped, hand clutching at his hair, “I’m—”

“I know, I can taste it. Smell it,” he said, voice gravel and heat between your thighs.

“Be good. Let me feel you come on my face.”

You did. Oh god you did.

You shattered, mouth open in a silent scream, thighs trembling around his head. Bucky didn’t stop, even as your body shook, even as it sounded like you’d forgotten how to breathe. He slowed, sure, but only just enough to guide you down from the edge.

He looked up, chin slick, eyes feral. Then he crawled up your body and kissed you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“You okay?” he whispered, brushing your curls back from your damp forehead, voice suddenly soft again.

“I think I saw Sauron," you blinked up at him, dazed.

"What about you?"

He chuckled darkly.

"A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he cums precisely when he means to."

"I don't think that's the quote... oh fuccckkkk!"

Bucky moved with no warning, just a low, “Fuck, Doll,” before he lined himself up and slid in.

Your breath caught like a prayer.

He was big. Thick. Harder than steel and twice as punishing. He bottomed out slow, but deep, like he needed you to feel every inch of him.

And you could.

Your hands flew to his back, nails digging into muscle as he held still, forehead pressed to yours, breathing heavy.

“You okay?” he asked again, but his voice was strained now, like he wasn’t.

“Better than okay,” you breathed, clenching around him on purpose.

His control cracked.

He snapped his hips forward.

And that was it.

The end of the gentleman.

The death of restraint.

All that carefully held discipline gone, replaced with something primal.

Something desperate.

He fucked you.

Slow at first. Deep. Every stroke angled just right, like he’d mapped you out in his mind and memorized exactly what made you tremble.

Then faster. Harder. Hips slamming into yours, head buried in your neck, one hand gripping your thigh to keep you exactly where he wanted you.

“Jesus,” Bucky growled, “You feel like fuckin’ heaven.”

You moaned something back, maybe his name, maybe nonsense, and he grinned, all teeth and hunger and male pride.

“Say it again.”

“Bucky…”

“No,” he rasped, grabbing your chin, making you look at him.

“Say what I am.”

You whimpered, broken and breathless.

“Soldier.”

His rhythm stuttered. And then he wrecked you. No finesse now. Just power.

Just pure, relentless, possessive need. Skin slapping, bed shaking, your name falling from his lips like a litany.

You clawed at his back. Bit his shoulder. He loved it. Ate it up. Drove deeper, harder, until your legs were numb and your voice was hoarse from screaming his name.

And when you came again, a fucking detonation, he followed you with a moan that sounded like it could crack the walls. You felt him pulse spray inside you, hot and endless, as he collapsed against you with a groan.

Silence. Except for breathing. His, ragged and heavy. Yours, shaky and stunned.

He didn’t move right away. Just kissed your shoulder. Your collarbone. The corner of your mouth.

“Still with me?” he murmured.

You blinked up at him, eyes glassy.

“I never want you be a gentleman again.”

Bucky laughed, low and pleased.

“You haven’t even seen me misbehave yet.”

You barely had time to breathe.

Bucky didn’t even pull out. Still buried to the hilt, somehow still hard and already rolling his hips again, slower this time, more deliberate. Testing.

Your overstimulated body jerked at the sensation, a whimper escaping your lips.

He grinned against your throat.

“Oh, look at that,” he murmured, voice dark silk. “Sensitive.”

You tried to answer, tried to say something, but then he drew back just enough to thrust again, deep and slow, and your brain short-circuited. Your back arched off the bed, hands scrambling for anything to anchor yourself.

Bucky just watched you hungrily. He was fascinated.

He held himself up on one arm, the other drifting slowly down your body, metal fingers grazing your throat, your chest, down to your belly, resting right where the head of his cock pushed up from the inside.

“Right here,” he whispered, pressing just enough to make you feel it.

“You feel that, sweetheart?”

You nodded, dazed, lips parted.

He moved again. A slow grind, a deep roll. And the pressure made you gasp.

“God,” you breathed.

Bucky smirked, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth.

“Nah. Not God.”

He shifted his weight, grabbed your thigh, and flipped you without warning.

You let out a shocked cry as he pulled your hips up, chest pressed into the mattress, and entered you from behind in one smooth thrust that had you biting the pillow.

The new angle was devastating.

He set a punishing rhythm, hands gripping your hips. His hands, one warm and flesh, the other cold and unrelenting vibranium, held you in place like you were his to claim.

“You said no more gentleman,” he rasped, panting as he fucked into you harder.

“You sure you can handle that, Doll?”

You sobbed out something that sounded like yes.

He chuckled wickedly.

Then one hand slid up your spine, between your shoulder blades, curling into your hair to tug your head back just enough to hear him growl in your ear.

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like this, ruined.”

You clenched around him, and he groaned, hips stuttering.

“Oh, you like that, huh?”

His teeth scraped your neck.

“Like it when I talk to you like this? Like you’re mine?”

You were beyond answering now, every nerve ending lit up, your body already climbing again. How was this possible?

As he fucked you through the aftermath of the last orgasm straight into the next.

Then you felt it.

His metal hand slipped between your legs, finding your clit with devastating precision.

“Gonna come for me again, sweetheart?” he whispered.

“Gonna soak my cock like a good girl?”

You screamed when you did, your entire body locking up, shaking under him, pulsing around him so hard that he nearly lost control.

He held on just long enough to groan your name, slamming into you one final time before coming with a shudder so intense it nearly brought him to his knees.

After, he collapsed beside you, dragging you back against his chest with an arm wrapped tight around your waist, breathing hot against your skin.

“Still don’t want me to be a gentleman?” he murmured, smug and breathless.

You couldn’t even speak, hadn’t even caught your breath.

You were still trembling, your thighs slick and shaking, your mind floating somewhere between pleasure-drunk and completely wrecked.

And Bucky?

Bucky hadn’t moved far. Still pressed against your back, one arm locked tight around your waist, chest rising and falling against your shoulder blades. But his hard cock was nudging against your inner thigh again.

You were realizing what the term supersoldier meant. You were wrecked but he wasn’t even tired.

“You’re insatiable,” you managed to rasp, voice half-muffled by the sheets.

He nuzzled into your neck, chuckling low.

“Says the one who begged for it.”

You turned your head, just enough to meet his eyes, and smirked.

“I didn’t beg.”

Bucky raised a brow. “No?”

Then he rolled his hips, sliding his cock between your thighs again without fully entering, just letting you feel the weight of him.

Heavy. Christ, his cock was so deliciously heavy.

Your breath caught.

“No,” you repeated, but this time it wasn’t convincing.

“Mmm,” he murmured, kissing your shoulder.

“I think you did beg. Might’ve even said please, if I remember right.”

“Lies,” you whispered, but the way you arched back into him gave you away.

And Bucky grinned.

“Alright then, Doll,” he breathed, shifting to grip your hips again, “if you’re not gonna beg…”

Then he slid inside again, slow and torturous into your abused hole.

“…guess I’ll just fuck it out of you.”

You moaned, your back arching, and Bucky didn’t even give you time to adjust. He just started moving, deep and slow at first, rolling his hips so that every stroke dragged perfectly against your walls.

You were oversensitive, your body already spent, but somehow this was worse.

Or better.

You couldn’t tell. You felt everything.

Bucky leaned over you, chest to your back again, the heat of him covering you completely. One hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head to the side so he could mouth at your throat.

The other slipped under you and of course he found your clit again.

“Let’s see if I can make you beg now,” he murmured, thumb pressing just right.

You cried out.

“Still not beggin’, huh?” he rasped.

“Not even a little?”

You whimpered, thighs trembling.

“Baby,” he growled in your ear, “you’re fuckin’ soaked. I can feel you dripping down my balls. And you’re gonna lie to me?”

You tried. You tried to sass him. But then he hit that angle and rubbed just right and —

“Fuck! Please! Bucky!”

There it was.

He smiled against your skin, triumphant.

“There’s my good girl.”

Then he flipped you again, barely pulling out before he was slamming back in with enough force to shake the headboard. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your nails raked down his back, and Bucky groaned, burying his face against your neck.

His voice was ragged now.

“You feel so fuckin’ good, goddamn can’t get enough of you, can’t let you go…this is not just one night…”

You were gone. Spiraling. You didn’t even know what number this was anymore.

Orgasm or round, you’d lost count.

But Bucky knew.

He always knew.

“Come for me again,” he ordered, hand cupping the back of your neck as his hips pounded into yours.

“I want you to fall apart while I’m still inside you.”

And you did.

You shattered around him, one last scream torn from your throat, and that was what finally dragged Bucky over the edge. He came with a groan, deep and raw, spilling inside you as he gripped you like he never wanted to let go.

—-

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. Time stopped meaning anything.

Eventually, you blinked up at him, hair askew cheeks flushed, throat hoarse.

“…You’re an evil wizard,” you croaked.

Bucky just smirked, brushing your hair back and blowing cool air on you. You closed your eyes and smiled at the tender gesture.

“You started it, crewman.”

You laughed weakly, burying your face in his chest.

“…Worth it.”

Bucky kissed the top of your head and held you closer.

“Damn right it was.”

——-

How’d you like it? 😇

#AAKinky #CrankyGrabbyStabby #bucky barnes #fatws #catws #bucky barnes ima #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #sebastian stan

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ninibeingdelulu · 1 year ago

Text

Date at the museum with him ft. rin itoshi, sae itoshi, ryusei shidou, oliver aiku, michael kaiser

{ Forcing them to go to the museum with you. }

RIN ITOSHI

Would act super uninterested at first, grumbling about how boring and lame museums are.

But once you start geeking out over cool exhibits, his curiosity gets piqued.

Ends up getting weirdly into it, asking tons of questions and studying each display intensely.

Gets hilariously competitive trying to absorb all the info faster than you .

By the end, insists you quiz him to prove he learned more random museum facts.

SAE ITOSHI

Sae would love going and soak up all the history and culture like a cute nerd.

Excitedly reads every single exhibit description out loud in his deep voice.

Wants to stop and analyze literally every piece thoroughly from every angle. So patient and will happily re-explain anything you're confused about.

Holds your hand the whole time, dizzyingly happy just to share the experience with you.

RYUSEI SHIDOU

The charismatic showman lives for any chance to impress you with his vast knowledge.

Spouts off tons of extra random trivia about exhibits before you can even read the placards.

Strikes all sorts of dramatic poses while recreating famous artworks and sculptures.

In general, just an amusing goof making the whole thing fun and unpretentious.

But has an endearing childlike sincerity when something genuinely dazzles him too.

OLIVER AIKU

Stoic and quiet at first, you worry he's just going to be bored the whole time.

But slowly warms up, speaking in that entrancing low rumble to point out subtle artistic nuances.

Gets this intense, studious look as he analyzes the deeper themes and messages behind it all.

Almost starts giving zen-like lectures on the human condition and creative expression.

You tease him for being such an unexpected art snob, making him all grumpy again.

MICHAEL KAISER

Honestly, he prooobably only agreed to spend quality time together, not so into museums.

Still, makes an effort by listening attentively when you enthusiastically explain exhibits.

Every now and then, adds his own surprising insights with that matter-of-fact bluntness.

Mainly focused on you though, shamelessly drinking in all your passion and delight.

Hugs you from behind, nuzzling into your hair between exhibits like 'this is cute and all, but you're the real masterpiece'.

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kiwriteswords · 4 months ago

Note

So I have another request 🥸☝️

I had this idea about a 5+1 story and this is definitely your thing so I guess it’s the perfect moment to tell you about it and of course feel free to do it or not (I promise I won’t be sad if you don’t)

The thing was “5 times reader took Hotch on a date and one time he did” and in my head it was something like he hasn’t been on date for a long date or he always went on “simple” dates and doesn’t have anything special to tell or another amazing reason you’ll find because your brain is beautiful and reader decide to take him and of course the last one he’s the one who does

Not sure if it’s clear and maybe it’s not even a good idea 😂 but here it is and thank you for being amazing 💖

Everybody Knows You're All I've Got [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Ki2k Masterlist||MainMasterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 5.3k|| AN: Ahh, I love this! Thank YOU for being amazing and always so kind! I really appreciate all of the support and requests! I hope this is what you were looking for! <3

Tags/Warnings: female reader, 5 +1, best friends to lovers, Oblivious Hotch, Grumpy x Sunshine, Reader has an ex-boyfriend, reader hints at being bisexual? (easy to miss tbh), fake dating, first dates, slow burn, Jack Hotchner TW (for those who don't like him included 🤷‍♀️) Hotch is a rusty boyfriend, Reader takes care of hotch bc he sucks at caring for himself

Summary: Five times you took Hotch on a date and the one time he takes you on one.

When you started at the BAU, it wasn't just the beginning of a new job but the start of an unlikely friendship with Aaron Hotchner.

To many, Hotch was a mystery wrapped in a suit, always reserved and meticulously professional. But to you, he was a puzzle waiting to be understood, a person who just needed a bit of sunlight in the often shadowy world of the BAU.

You were everything Hotch wasn't outwardly: bubbly, openly kind, and radiating empathy like warmth from a fireplace. Where the weight of the job furrowed his brow, your smile seemed to light up the room, often bringing a much-needed lift to the team's spirits.

It didn’t take long for you to notice the little things that could bring a momentary smile to Hotch’s often impassive face--a perfectly timed cup of coffee after a long night, a gentle tease to crack his professional veneer, or a supportive word after a tough case.

One chilly October afternoon, as the leaves painted the world in hues of fire and gold, you approached Hotch with an extra ticket in hand. There had been a buzz about the new play in town, something about it transforming the mundane into magic, and you thought it would be the perfect escape from the reality you both faced daily.

You had heard Hotch speak here and there about theater-related things. On the outside, looking in, he didn’t appear to be a theater geek at heart, but the subtle notes and references he made or picked up on had him found out by you fairly quickly.

"Hotch, you're coming with me to the play tonight," you declared with a grin, waving the ticket like a magic wand.

He looked up from his paperwork, the corners of his eyes crinkling just so, a sign you had come to recognize as intrigue mixed with resistance. "You should take a friend...or perhaps a date," he suggested, his voice steady but his gaze flickering away momentarily.

Hotch had always been a fortress of solitude, his emotions guarded like the secrets of the cases you worked on together. But over time, you'd learned to read the subtle shifts in his expression as if they were confessions.

You leaned against his office door, your smile unwavering.

"But I am taking a friend, and honestly, I can't think of anyone else I’d rather have as my date tonight. You deserve a night off, to be wined and dined and just...have fun." You shrugged. You knew this man, out of anyone in this building, likely hadn’t had a night out of fun since 1997. “How long has it been since you've done something just for the joy of it?”

Hotch paused, the word 'date' hanging between you like a challenge. His jaw set, a classic Hotchner move before surrendering to a situation outside his control. "I'm not sure I'm the best company for something like that," he countered softly, almost vulnerable.

"Which is exactly why you should come," you insisted. "You spend so much time taking care of everyone else here, Hotch. Tonight, let someone take care of you. Plus, I love your company, whether it’s here dealing with unsubs or outside where we can actually enjoy ourselves." You paused, “And you know me,” You smirked, “I’m really not going to let this go.”

There was a long pause, a silent conversation passing through the air as he considered your words. Finally, with a small, almost imperceptible nod, he accepted. "Alright, I'll go."

The theater was an antique jewel in the heart of the city, its walls lined with velvety red curtains and golden lights that cast a warm glow over the buzzing audience. As the curtain rose, the stage transformed into a magical realm, pulling you both away from the grim realities of your daily work.

The play was a vibrant affair, with actors breathing life into their roles with a passion that made you forget the world outside. Throughout the evening, you watched Hotch, too, seeing him genuinely engaged, a softness in his eyes that you seldom saw at work.

During intermission, over glasses of wine, you shared light, easy conversation that danced around personal edges, revealing layers of each other previously tucked away behind professional facades.

"Thank you for bringing me," Hotch said as you walked out under the canopy of stars. His voice was low, sincere. "It’s been...more enjoyable than I anticipated."

"You're welcome!" you beamed, feeling a swell of happiness at his admission. "See? The world outside the BAU isn’t so bad, is it?"

He allowed himself a small chuckle, the sound mingling with the crisp night air. "No, it isn’t. Especially not with the right company."

The evening ended with a promise of similar outings, an unspoken agreement that both of you would take turns pulling each other away from the shadows of your job into the light of life outside it. It was simple, an easy friendship blossoming quietly into something that neither of you had expected but both secretly hoped would continue to grow.

II.

You burst into Hotch's office with a flair that would rival any stage performance, immediately drawing a rare smile from him despite the obvious panic etched across your face. He set aside his paperwork, an unspoken signal that he was all ears, and patiently waited for you to gather your thoughts.

Despite the clear panic struck on your face…it was amusing to Hotch. Cute even. Your typical calm, cool, and collected personality seemingly faded now. Your flustered state was something that Hotch found endearingly human, a contrast to your usual composed demeanor.

"Hotch, I have a...a situation," you gasped, struggling for breath as you stopped in front of his desk. The rare sight of your disarray pulled a smile from him, a softening around his eyes that encouraged you to continue.

Catching your breath, you finally blurted out, "My ex-fiancé is coming to town, and he's...he's engaged now!" You paced a small circle before facing Hotch again, your hands animatedly moving as you spoke. "And, of course, he wants to meet for drinks to introduce me to his fiancée."

Hotch's eyebrows raised slightly, a silent prompt for you to continue.

You exhaled sharply, the words tumbling out. Complete and utter word vomit. Word salad. Word soup…all over Aaron Hotchner’s perfectly perfected office. "I might have, sort of, told him I was seeing someone too--just to sound less...pathetic." You met Hotch's gaze, a mix of embarrassment and mischief in your eyes. "And I said it was you. It had to be you."

"Me?" Hotch's voice was calm, but his surprise was evident.

You nodded vigorously. "Yeah, I mean, it couldn’t be Derek; he’s all action-hero, way too macho. And Spencer? He’d inadvertently make me look dumb with all his factoids. And Rossi...well," you chuckled nervously, "he’s great, but he could practically be my dad!"

You paused, a playful glint appearing in your eyes. "I even thought about taking Emily, you know, referring back to my experimental college days," you joked, watching Hotch’s reaction carefully.

There was a moment of stillness as Hotch processed your train of thought. Finally, he leaned back in his chair, the corners of his mouth twitching into an almost imperceptible smile. "So, I'm the safest choice for a fake boyfriend, is that it?"

"Exactly!" you exclaimed, relieved he wasn't upset. "You’re respectable, you’re responsible, and let’s be honest, you can scare him a little if you do that...stern FBI look.” You paused, trying to convey the other reason behind this…this choice. Hotch had become someone you deeply cared for. It was evident to everyone. “And not just safe," you corrected, your tone earnest. "You're...you make me feel secure. You're the one person here who always has my back."

Hotch considered this for a moment; then his expression softened--a new understanding dawning between you. "When is this drink supposed to happen?"

"Tomorrow night," you replied, your voice a mixture of hope and anxiety. The relief in your voice mirrored the relief in your stance.

Hotch nodded slowly, then stood up from his desk, a decisive look replacing his initial surprise. "Alright, then. It seems I’m your...boyfriend for the evening. We might as well make sure your ex realizes what he’s missed out on."

Your relief was palpable, and a genuine smile spread across your face. "Thank you, Hotch. Really, I...this means a lot to me."

“I’ll be there--not just as your fake boyfriend, but as your friend."

Your heart fluttered unexpectedly at his words, warmth spreading through you at the thought of him standing by your side. "Thank you, really, Hotch. Really…honestly, this means everything to me."

The rest of the day, you found yourself catching Hotch's eye a few times, each glance exchanged, building a silent, mutual understanding. It was an odd, unexpected partnership, but as the hours passed, a curious anticipation grew within both of you about the role you were about to play.

The following evening at the bar was like stepping into another world. The dim lighting cast a warm glow that softened the sharp edges of Hotch's usually stark features. He stood there, not as the BAU chief, but as someone altogether more approachable, dressed in a smart casual jacket that hinted at the man beneath the badge.

"You look...not like Agent Hotchner," you commented with a teasing tone as you approached.

"And you look like someone who definitely isn’t nursing a broken heart," Hotch replied, offering his arm in a gentlemanly gesture that you didn’t expect but appreciated.

The night unfolded with an ease that surprised you both. Hotch played the part perfectly, charming yet subtly protective, casting doubtful glances from your ex that you couldn't help but feel satisfied to provoke. With every laugh and shared glance, the line between pretense and reality blurred.

As you left the bar, Hotch’s hand brushed against yours, a touch that lingered longer than necessary. "You know," he said quietly, stopping to face you under the soft glow of the streetlamp, "you don’t need to pretend to be anything you're not--not with me."

Your heart skipped a beat at the intensity of his gaze. "Maybe next time, we won’t have to pretend," you suggested, the words hanging between you like a promise waiting to be kept.

Hotch studied you for a moment, his usual reserve giving way to a tender sincerity. "I’d like that," he admitted, and in his eyes, you saw not just the stoic chief but a man who had begun to see you in a new light, just as you were seeing him.

As you walked away together, the city around you faded into the background, leaving only the possibilities of what might come next--a future neither of you had anticipated, but both silently hoped to explore.

III.

On a brisk morning, as the case stretched on and lunchtime approached, you could feel the gnawing emptiness in your stomach. Seated beside Hotch in the car, an hour away from the rest of the team, you were certain he must be just as hungry--even if he never complained. From what you'd observed, Hotch often neglected his own needs, always focused on the job or caring for his team.

He was the kind of man who seemed to subsist on sheer willpower--and far too much coffee, which, as you often joked.

Coffee shouldn’t count as a meal.

Dessert? Maybe. With extra whipped topping and mocha drizzle. Lunch? Never.

You wished somedays you’d just pack him a sandwich. It was hard to picture the man devouring a peanut butter and jelly, but a grown man’s got to eat! And from the looks of it, he rarely prioritizes that. The thought made you smile, a brief respite from the growling of your stomach.

The world outside painted a stark contrast to the warmth inside the car. Bare trees stood sentinel along the frost-lined road, their branches swaying in the cold wind that whispered promises of an impending winter. The car's heater hummed softly, a counterpoint to the rhythm of the road beneath the tires.

Glancing over at him as he drove, you noticed his focus was unwavering, his hands steady on the wheel. The rumbling of your stomach broke the silence, making it impossible to ignore any longer. Without a word, you leaned over the console and started typing into the GPS.

Hotch shot you a curious look. One eyebrow raised before darting back toward the open road. "What are you doing?"

"We need food, Hotch. I’m starving, and I know you haven’t eaten either," you said, inputting the address of a nearby diner you’d quickly looked up. The promise of a simple but comforting meal seemed like the perfect break from the stresses of the case.

He briefly glanced at the screen before returning his eyes to the road. "We should really get back to the precinct, join the team," he argued, his voice steady but lacking conviction.

"Hotch, we’re no good to them if we’re hungry and irritable," you countered, meeting his gaze with a playful yet firm look. "And I’m about to get very irritable if I don’t eat something soon."

"I don’t get irritable," Hotch said, a faint smile playing on his lips despite his attempt to seem annoyed.

"You will be if you don’t eat," you teased. "Now, follow the GPS. I’m ordering us cheeseburgers and fries. And if you’re good," you added with a cheeky grin, "I might even treat you to a milkshake."

That seemed to amuse him, a spark of warmth lighting up his usually reserved eyes. With a resigned chuckle, Hotch finally nodded and turned the car in the direction of the diner.

As you both walked into the diner, the shift in atmosphere was palpable. The cozy warmth, the smell of coffee and fried food, offered a much-needed respite.

You slid into a booth, the red vinyl squeaking under you, and Hotch took the seat across, his body language relaxing as he perused the menu you handed him. The corner of his mouth twitched upward in amusement at your noticeable relief.

"See, isn’t this better than a cold sandwich in the precinct?" you asked as you handed him a menu, your tone light and teasing.

"It is," he admitted, his gaze lingering on yours a moment longer than necessary. "Thanks for taking care of me."

The conversation flowed easily as you waited for your food, touching on light topics that didn’t involve work. It was a side of Hotch you rarely saw--relaxed, even a bit playful, especially when you joked about how he deserved a day off now and then.

When the food arrived, Hotch seemed genuinely pleased with the hearty meal, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction in seeing him so. As you both ate, the playful banter continued, and you teased him about his choice of milkshake flavor--classic vanilla, to match his no-nonsense personality.

"You know, for someone who claims to be all business, you sure enjoy vanilla quite a bit," you quipped, taking a sip of your own, more adventurous, chocolate shake.

Hotch looked up, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Maybe I just appreciate the simpler things," he retorted, his voice low and teasing in a way that sent a thrill through you. “And the company isn’t bad.”

You caught the twinkle in his eye, and it sparked something bold within you. "Well, if it's the simple things you appreciate," you started, a playful edge to your voice, "I might just have to take you on more 'simple' dates like this. I mean, if the company isn't bad..."

Hotch's smile broadened a rare and full grin that reached his eyes, softening the usually stern lines of his face. "I wouldn't object to that," he admitted, his tone suggesting he was more pleased by the idea than he let on. "It seems I've been missing out on quite a few simple pleasures."

The light banter, mixed with the warm glow of the diner and the comfort of the meal, wove a moment of connection that felt both exhilarating and natural. As you both laughed, the air between you filled with a sense of possibility, a hint that this could be the beginning of exploring not just crime scenes together but something much deeper and personally rewarding.

The meal ended too soon, but the light-hearted mood lingered as you both headed back to the car. As Hotch drove back to the precinct, the playful ease between you felt like a silent acknowledgment of something deeper, something neither of you had expected to find in the midst of a tough case.

The ride back was quiet but comfortable, filled with shared glances and an unspoken agreement that this, whatever it was that was blooming between you, was something worth exploring, no matter how cautiously. The seeds planted during that fake date had started to sprout, and as the landscape rolled by outside the car windows, so too did the possibilities of what might come next.

IV.

The evolution of your relationship with Hotch had been as subtle as the change of seasons, marked not by grand gestures but by shared glances and small touches that lingered a bit longer than necessary. These were the silent confirmations of a deepening bond, one that had maturely navigated the boundaries of professionalism and his life as a dedicated father.

Recognizing the significance of his role as a father and wanting to affirm your respect for this vital part of his life, you planned an outing that would comfortably include his son, Jack. The idea was simple yet thoughtful--a paint day at a local studio, a space vibrant with color and creativity, perfect for Jack, whose love for painting Hotch had mentioned in passing.

When you shared the plan with Hotch, his response was unexpectedly moving. His eyes, usually guarded and holding the weight of his responsibilities, softened remarkably. "This is really thoughtful of you," he said, his voice tinged with a sincerity that resonated deeply within you. "Jack will love this, and honestly, it means a lot to me too."

As you entered the studio, the warmth inside was a stark contrast to the chill outside. The walls were adorned with splashes of color and shelves lined with ceramics and canvases added to the eclectic charm. Jack's excitement was infectious; his energy seemed to fill the room as he dashed about, choosing his materials with serious cconsideration

You picked a mug to paint, selecting colors with a playful eye, while Hotch chose a plate, his attempts at painting it more comical than artistic.

"You might stick to profiling, Hotchner," you teased gently, watching him struggle with a paintbrush.

Hotch looked up, amusement flickering across his face. "I think you might be right," he conceded, and even Jack chimed in with a giggle, enjoying the sight of his dad out of his usual element.

Jack, inspired by the day's activities, decided to paint a canvas depicting the three of you playing soccer--a scene from his imagination that warmed your heart. It was touching to see how he included you in his artwork, a sign that he was accepting you into their little world.

Throughout the day, the chemistry between you and Hotch was more apparent than ever. Every shared smile, every light touch while passing paint jars, seemed to underline the deepening connection. It was clear that something more was there, something neither of you had fully acknowledged yet. There was a comfort and ease between you, a natural fit that felt like it could seamlessly extend beyond these shared moments into something lasting.

As the day wound down, you looked at your finished mug, Hotch’s humorously bad plate, and Jack’s heartfelt canvas. There was a profound sense of accomplishment and happiness. Jack’s energy never waned, and his chatter about where he would hang his painting in his room filled the space with joy.

Driving back, the car was filled with a comfortable silence before Hotch finally spoke, his voice laden with emotion. "Today was perfect," he said sincerely. "Thank you for setting this up. It's...it's not often we get to do something so normal, so fun."

"It was my pleasure, really," you responded, your voice soft, conveying the genuine joy you felt. "I loved every minute of it, Hotch. Seeing you and Jack like this, it’s...it's wonderful."

Hotch glanced over, his expression thoughtful, the setting sun casting shadows that played across his features. "It's new for me," he confessed, "letting someone into our world this way. But it feels right...with you."

Your heart fluttered at his words, the weight of them carrying a promise of something deeper, something that was slowly taking shape between you. "I'm glad," you murmured, reaching over to squeeze his hand briefly, an affirmation of the bond forming among the three of you.

The drive back was quiet but filled with an unspoken acknowledgment of the budding relationship that was no longer just a possibility but a burgeoning reality. As you watched the scenery blur by, you realized that this day hadn’t just been about painting or playing--it was a canvas for what was to come, a beautifully unfolding story that you were all painting together.

Navigating the intricacies of your evolving relationship with Hotch had been like reading a novel written in a familiar yet indecipherable script.

You weren't someone who needed everything spelled out,who required every emotion or intention to be neatly labeled like items in a catalog.

However, as your interactions deepened--marked by those unmistakably boyfriend-like gestures, from the way he'd casually touch your back guiding you through a doorway, to how he'd drop a coffee on your desk exactly the way you liked it--questions began to surface in your mind.

What exactly were you to each other?

Sure, he acted like your boyfriend, did things that a boyfriend would do.

There were those long drives from crime scenes where you'd debrief not just on the case but about life, hopes, fears.

He was there, always somehow there, in ways that mattered. But without the explicit affirmation, a tiny part of you lingered in doubt. It wasn't that you thought he might be seeing other people--Hotch barely had time to eat properly, let alone date multiple people. But clarity was something you craved, even as you thrived in the gray areas of life.

Deciding to address these swirling thoughts directly, you leveraged your day off--an all-too-rare occurrence that felt like the universe’s nod to take action. With your usual blend of brightness and empathy, you picked up your phone and dialed Hotch’s number.

The call was quick; the invitation straightforward but imbued with all the significance of stepping into new, uncharted territory.

"Hi, Hotch, it’s me," you began, your voice carrying a cheerful lilt that belied the butterflies doing somersaults in your stomach. "I was thinking, since we both actually have a free evening, maybe we could go out for dinner? I’ve made reservations at that new place we’ve both been curious about. If you’re up for it?"

There was a brief pause, and for a second, you wondered if you’d stepped over an unseen line. But then his response came, warm and unmistakably pleased. "That sounds great, I’d love to. What time should I pick you up?"

The simplicity of his acceptance, the ease with which he stepped into the space you’d opened, lifted a weight off your shoulders you hadn’t fully realized you'd been carrying.

As you hung up, a smile played on your lips, mirrored by a warmth that spread through your chest. This dinner would be different; it wasn't just about enjoying good food or making casual conversation. It was about defining what was between you, about giving shape to the connection that had grown, subtly but significantly, over the countless shared moments.

That evening, as you prepared for the date, every choice--from the dress you wore to the perfume you dabbed behind your ears--felt imbued with intention. Meeting him outside your place, you noticed the effort he’d put into his appearance as well. Gone was the standard FBI suit, replaced by something softer, yet equally compelling. His smile when he saw you was enough to set your heart racing.

From the moment he opened the car door for you, everything felt right--effortlessly falling into a pattern that seemed to have existed for years, not just the recent weeks of growing closeness. The conversation flowed freely as you drove to the restaurant, filled with the usual banter and warmth that had become a hallmark of your interactions.

At the restaurant, your dynamic was unmistakably couple-like, drawing knowing smiles from the servers as you laughed and shared food across the table. It was remarkably natural, the ease between you, as if all your prior interactions had been rehearsals for this very moment.

Midway through the meal, buoyed by the comfort that had defined the evening, you decided to address the ambiguity that had lightly clouded your relationship. "Hotch, I’ve been wondering," you started, your voice soft but direct, "what exactly is this for us? I mean, we’ve been spending so much time together, and it feels like…well, like we’re a couple. But we’ve never really talked about it."

Hotch paused, a forkful of dinner halfway to his mouth, and his expression shifted to one of mild embarrassment. Setting his utensil down, he met your gaze; his cheeks tinged with a rare flush.

"I...I’m sorry; I suppose I should have brought it up," he admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of chagrin. "I’m not very experienced with how this is supposed to go. Things have been going so well, I didn’t think to...well, make it official or ask properly. You know, the whole…dating protocol."

You reached across the table, covering his hand with yours, squeezing it reassuringly. "Hotch, I don’t need any grand gestures or formal declarations," you said warmly. "But I think some clarity would be helpful, just…so we’re on the same page. Clarity is comforting, especially with something as important as this."

Hotch smiled a genuine, relieved smile. "Then let’s be clear: I’d like nothing more than to be considered your boyfriend if you feel the same way.” He paused, his eyes locking with yours, "How about you let me take you on a real first date after tonight? And I promise, it won’t be like the casual outings we’ve had before."

"You mean all those times we grabbed a coffee or had those long drives weren’t dates?" you teased,your voice light, trying to ease the intensity of the moment.

"They were...unofficial dates. Practice, if you will," Hotch replied with a laugh. "But from now on, I promise, nothing but the real thing."

The promise of a 'proper' date, laden with Hotch’s earnest intentions, filled you with a delightful anticipation. It wasn’t just the thrill of formalizing your relationship but the realization that you were both navigating this new terrain together, equally invested and open.

As the evening approached, the flutter of anticipation was palpable. You had been on dates before, but the buildup to this particular outing with Hotch had an entirely different tenor.

His promise of a "real first date" had left you curious and, admittedly, a bit exhilarated. Despite his claim of being rusty, the effort he put into planning the evening suggested otherwise.

Hotch arrived right on time, looking every bit the part of a gentleman set to impress. His usual dark, work-appropriate suits were replaced by a tailored charcoal blazer that complemented his stern features, softened tonight by the hint of a smile as he greeted you.

As Hotch presented you with the bouquet of lilies and wildflowers, their scent subtly mingling with the evening air, it was the perfect prelude to an evening that promised to be anything but ordinary.

His eyes held a gleam of anticipation as he asked, "Ready for an adventure?" His voice was light, but beneath it, you could detect a current of genuine excitement--a hint that tonight was about more than just dinner.

The drive led you away from the familiar lights of the city to a more secluded bistro overlooking the water, known for its privacy and exquisite views. The table was set in a quiet corner of the terrace, draped in soft white linen and lit by a single, flickering candle that cast a warm glow over the setting. The backdrop of the slowly setting sun, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, made the scene almost too picturesque to be real.

Throughout dinner, Hotch was both attentive and charming, effortlessly leading the conversation through laughter and deeper, more introspective topics.

"I’ve been out of the game for a long time," he admitted as you both looked over the bay, "but I wanted tonight to be special. I wanted to show you how much I appreciate everything you do, not just for me, but for Jack as well." His words warmed you more than the evening air. "You see me in ways I didn't realize were visible," he continued, his gaze holding yours. "The way you care for those around you, especially Jack and I, it’s more than just empathy--it's genuine love."

Your hands touched as you both reached for your wine glasses, a spark of connection in the simple gesture. “I see the same in you, Hotch. The way you balance everything, yet still manage to make us feel...important,” you replied, your voice soft but clear over the gentle lapping of the water below.

Dinner unfolded beautifully, each course a delight not just to the palate but as a discovery of shared tastes and preferences. With each dish, you learned something new about each other--preferences hidden beneath daily routines, stories from the past that had shaped your tastes.

As you shared a dessert, Hotch pointed at your plate with his fork. "Are you sure you’re ready to share that? It looks too good to split fifty-fifty."

You eyed the last piece of chocolate mousse, then back at him with a playful challenge in your eyes. "Maybe I’ll reconsider based on your performance review of this date."

Hotch leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "In that case, I’d better ensure the evening ends on a high note." His light-hearted tone matched the sparkle in his gaze, making the simple act of sharing dessert feel like flirtatious banter.

As you walked along the port after dinner, the moon casting shimmering trails across the water, Hotch nudged you gently with his elbow. "So, do I get bonus points for choosing a place with a view?"

"Maybe just a few," you conceded, nudging him back. "But only because you seem to know the way to my heart--through scenic views and excellent food."

The laughter that followed was easy and genuine, drifting into the night air and mixing with the rhythmic sounds of the waves. "You know, I think I’m getting the hang of this dating thing again," Hotch said, a note of mock pride in his voice.

"Just keep up with me, Hotch. I have high standards for second dates, remember?" you teased, your smile reflecting the joy of the evening.

Hotch's laugh echoed softly in the quiet night. "Is that a challenge?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes.

"It might just be," you replied, matching his tone. "I’m curious to see what you’ll come up with next.

The night ended with a promise of more to come, not just another date, but more moments like these--shared, special, and sincere.

As Hotch drove you home, you were indeed head over heels, not just for the man who had meticulously planned this perfect first date, but for the one who had shown you his heart, beautifully open and invitingly warm. It was clear that whatever lay ahead, it would be a journey worth taking, together.

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miley1442111 · 1 year ago

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the picture- a.hotchner

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summary: a late night issue turns into something very nice when your boss that supposedly hates you decides to come clean.

pairing: grumpy! aaron hotchner x sunshine! reader

warnings: none

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Aaron Hotchner hated you, that was one thing you were sure of. From the morning when you would give him a small wave from your desk, one that he would never be caught dead responding to. To the evenings, when he walked straight by your desk as you wished him a good night, again, something he would never respond to.

He hated you, and you were ok with that.

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Aaron Hotchner was in love with you, that was one thing he was sure of. From your kind gestures in the mornings and evenings, to the small things you did to brighten his days. The way you smiled at every small joke Spencer made, how you geeked out with Penelope over totally niche things, how you always seemed to outrun or outperform Derek at the gym- and subsequently tease him for it all week, how you would trade recipes with David, how you shared a love of cats with Emily- always sending photos back and forth of your cats, and how you were always there for Jj when she needed a babysitter, a friend, or just someone to talk to. And… how you didn’t mind how awfully rude he was to you.

He loved you, and he was not ok with that.

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“Hotch, have you seen the picture that was on my desk? It’s a small gold frame with just a photo of me and an older woman outside the bullpen from when I first started working here?” you asked, popping your head in from outside his office.

“Y/l/n, what have I said about knocking?” He groaned, irritation flowing through him.

“Aaron, it’s 9:43pm, you’re not exactly on a work call, nor a personal one, and you’re clearly packing up. Please just answer my question.”

You’d never been so direct with Aaron. He’d never seen you get even slightly ill-tempered with anyone, let alone the slight curb of annoyance in your voice.

“No, I haven’t, sorry.” LIE. Aaron knew exactly where that picture was. It sat in the locked drawer of his desk, underneath some files of paperwork that were really just blank. Penelope had found it, and handed it off to him to put back on your desk because she had to run off. Aaron obviously didn’t put it on your desk, since it had stayed in his desk drawer for the past three days. “Maybe if you tidied your desk up, it would be easier to look?”

One thing Aaron didn’t love about you, was your habit of not keeping your desk very tidy. There were files stacked on top of more files, bright stationary and colourful trinkets Penelope had given you, as well as one small teddy bear you’d won at a carnival with Henry when you’d babysat him a few months ago. It drove him mad to see your desk get progressively worse, have Spencer help you clean it (for the most part, he was just jealous of the fun that he saw you and Spencer having when you cleaned, he wished it was him- even if his conscience wouldn’t let him admit it), then watching the mess pile up again.

You gave him a curt nod and left his office without another word, another oddity. Aaron tried to do his paperwork, but ended up watching from his window as you cleaned your desk for a whole 45 minutes, only to not find the picture.

Then he watched as tears welled up in your eyes and his heart broke. Why was this picture so important?

He pulled it out from his desk drawer and looked at it. The older woman and you looked eerily similar, and you’d taken personal leave for an entire week to go somewhere, somewhere you didn’t explain to everyone. You’ve seemed more distant, and a little less happy in recent weeks, and you've been texting and calling your sister back home a lot more often.

It clicked and he knew he had to come clean.

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He walked out of his office and stopped at your desk, putting a hand on your shoulder. You shuddered away, wiping your tears away, then looked up to see the picture. Your frown was replaced by a bright smile, your arms wrapping around his neck in a comforting hug.

“Thank you so much for finding it,” you smiled. “Thank you Aaron.”

Aaron’s brain was short-circuiting. Here you were, hugging him. His chest was against yours, his hands were on your waist, your arms were around his neck. His face slotted perfectly into the crook of your neck, where he could smell your sweet perfume. God, he loved your perfume.

“Thank you so much,” you beamed, pulling away. Aaron just nodded with an open-mouth, still slightly in shock. “You seriously don’t know how much this means to me.”

“I’m glad I could help,” he smiled politely, but couldn’t seem to pull himself away from your eyes. You were magnetic. Your beautiful face, your friendly demeanour, your gorgeous smile. Why was he denying himself the one thing he wanted? Why was he denying himself the pleasure of your company?

“Is everything alright?” you asked, noticing how the tension changed from your regular flat and slightly annoyed exterior, and changed to be something more… intimate. You suddenly realised how close he was standing, how you could feel his breath on your face, how the small freckles on his handsome face made constellations only you could see.

“Y/n…” he spoke, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Aaron…” you responded, unable to look away from him.

Suddenly there was no gap between the two of you. Aaron’s hands had grabbed your waist and pulled you into him, kissing you passionately.

God, you loved kissing him. He loved kissing you. Win-win.

You pulled back, confusion and adrenaline running through your mind as you stared at him. You just kissed your boss- actually; your boss just kissed you.

“I’m so sorry that was-” He started but you cut him off.

“I thought you hated me.”

Aaron wracked his brain and yes, all the evidence was there. But how could you not see the hidden meanings, the secret things he did for you, the way he looked at you? Did you seriously think you just happen to get the window seat in the jet that also reclines, even though it’s Jj’s favourite spot? I don’t think so…

“I’m in love with you,” he said, breathless from the kiss. “Sorry I ever made you feel differently.”

Now it was your turn to be confused. “What?!” you squeaked.

“Do you actually want me to say it again or-?”

“You’re in love with me?” You started pacing the floor, head in your hands as you attempted to process the insane revelation Aaron had decided to drop on a Tuesday night. “But you-you hate me! Everyday I wave-” “A wave I want to return-” “Every night I say ‘good night’,” “I know I ignore it and I’m sorry-” “when I came to you with a complaint you brushed it off-” “not liking someone’s attitude is not a grounds for dismissal, as much as I wish it was-” “You tried to get me fired!”

“No I didn’t?” He sighed, exasperated. “How could I see your beautiful face everyday if I got you fired?”

You stared at him. “Fair,” you shrugged.

There was a moment of silence between the two of you.

“This is the part when you ask me out,” you whispered, a flirty smile on your face. Aaron’s cheeks blushed and it took him a few seconds to collect himself.

“Yes! Umm, Y/n, will- can I take you to dinner?” He asked, and you nodded.

“Sounds like a plan,” you smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “See you tomorrow, Hotchner.”

Aaron watched as you left the bullpen, a bright smile on your face, very much looking forward to your first date.

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criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games :)

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reveriederayne · 6 days ago

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𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭

katsuki bakugō x reader; 1.770 words

A/N: half of the inspo to write this came from the fact that i hate when people say that Katsuki smokes. common he's a geek with anger issues, thats doesn't suit his character type.

CW: katsuki being rude to his classmates; grumpy x sunshine trope (or is it ?); mention of smoking, blackmail and kidnapping; let me know if I need to add anything else !

Everyone in class 1-A knew, scratch that, everyone who set foot in UA knew that Bakugō Katsuki wasn’t someone who you could expect to be friendly. He never tried to hide that fact, and even so, when he started sneaking out early in the day after some time when they all moved to the dorms, it got more than a little suspicious. What was so important for him to do that he needed to get up at five and directly go out ?

At first, his classmates thought that he just decided to work out outside of his usual training. He wasn’t just screaming at everyone that he’ll be N1 just because. But the guys quickly noticed that he never showered after returning, never even touched his cologne, so that option quickly was cast away. And when some tried to ask him about, like Izuku, Kirishima or Mina, he dismissed them, saying that it wasn’t their business or that they were creeps for paying such close attention to him.

So here they were, sitting in the common room of their shared space, theorising about the blond's whereabouts.

“Maybe he’s smoking early in the morning”

“Katchan ? No way, he hates smoking. And anything related to that…”

“Seriously ?” Mina asked surprised, “He looks like a smoker.”

“Maybe he’s getting blackmailed !”

“Kirishima… If there was blackmail involved, he’s the one blackmaili-”

Before Denki could finish, he felt a hard slap against the back of his head, making him fall from the couch with a loud thud. Everyone turned to look at a very angry Katsuki glaring at all of them.

“Why are you extras talking behind my back like some kind of creeps ?!”

None of them answered, instead deciding to go because they were “busy”. Smart move from all of them. And thankfully the blond didn’t expect an explanation from any of them, so with a huff, he went upstairs to his room. Letting his bag fall on the floor, he sat at his desk and began doing his homework like the nerd that he was. That is until a notification popped up on his phone and he read the message, a small smile morphing on his face.

[Name]

hi !!

I have an exam early in the morning, so how about you come this evening ?

[Katsuki]

Sounds good

So there he was, getting ready to go out to see you at the time you both agreed to. As soon as Katsuki walked up to the exit door, everyone who was near turned to look at him with questioning stares and raised eyebrows in suspicion.

“Where are you going, Bakubro ?”

“None of your business”

With a slam of the door, he left the dorm. After that, everyone else was rapidly called to have a meeting like previously. Now the situation was even more weird, he never went out in the evenings, only in the early mornings.

“Maybe he’s holding someone hostage !” Shouted Denki

“Don’t be dumb, that’s impossible”

“Well, he sure is acting like he does…”

Everyone quieted down, thinking over the possibility. Their classmate was a bit aggressive, that was for sure, but kidnapping someone ? Surly not…

No one moved for a while, sitting in the quiet before rushing to Mr. Aizawa for some answers. After all, no one could walk out of the dorm for no reason, they moved here for safety after all. As Shōta was quietly sipping his coffee, he was startled by the teenage bunch that ran into his room, screaming and shouting questions that he didn’t even understand. With a furious red glare, he quickly shut them up.

“Bunch of savages. Iida, what is this all about ?”

With a bit of hesitation, the class president spoke:

“Well… Everyone is curious where Bakugō is heading every day. We aren’t allowed for no reason, after all.”

Shōta stared at them annoyed, turning his back to them. “It’s really none of your business, kids. But he is meeting with someone.”

“His hostage victim…” Someone whispered.

“What was that ?”

“Nothing teacher !”

And with that, the man was left alone again, confused in the major interest that everyone had for their blond classmate and his whereabouts.

With the new information, the bunch of teenagers, some of them paranoid, decided that the best course of action in this situation would be to send Tōru… to stalk Katsuki and figure out if he was really holding someone hostage. So, the next time he went out, she followed him discreetly, which wasn’t really all that difficult for her. The rest of the students waited patiently until they were all together again, with the exception of Katsuki of course, to discuss what she saw.

Everyone expected a serious discussion, but that was definitely not the case with the way she squealed in excitement and repeated “You’re not gonna believe this !” over and over again.

“Well not if you keep not telling us, come on spill it”

She took a breath and spoke, the huge grin could practically be heard on her face as she spoke the next few words. “Bakugō has a girlfriend”

A bunch “Huh ?” and “What ?!” erupted amongst the group. They were expecting everything from their classmate, literally anything, but not a girlfriend.

But everything quieted down once they saw their blond classmate marching towards the classroom, looking at him expectedly like he promised them some sort of gift. He scanned the classroom, annoyed at everyone’s stares.

“What is it, you extras ?”

Everybody had a silent agreement to let Katsuki be, it wasn’t really their business after all, and he didn’t own them any explanation, and they were sure he wouldn’t appreciate them being nosy. Everyone got the memo, except Denki.

“When were you going to introduce us to your sweetheart ?”

Aizawa came just in time because otherwise, Denki would be dead, probably. Everything steeled down, but Katsuki was still furious. He didn’t like them meddling in his personal business, especially when he wasn’t the only one involved in it. But oh well, at this point he was used to living with a bunch of dumbasses that believed in the magic of friendship.

At the end of class, everyone apologised and guessed that in hindsight, they really shouldn’t have jumped to such drastic conclusions. And Eijirō even apologised at the end of school.

“Sorry Bakubro, you were acting so mysterious, I really thought something was not okay”

The blond only let out a grumble in response, before turning his head opposite to the dorms. He looked back at his friend, still looking apologetic, before asking, “You wanna meet her ?”

“What ?”

“My girlfriend. Do you want to meet her ?”

He got a hell yeah in response as they both went towards your high school. It was weird for Katsuki, only his parents and yours knew, so this really was something different, like a step ahead into your relationship. It made him nervous.

They walked for about half an hour before they stopped near a high school, a bunch of students already heading home, or staying for a quick chat with their friends before parting ways. Bakugō scanned the sea of students, before his eyes landed on you. He called out to you, making you turn your head and smiling, before quickly walking up to him.

“Katsuki ! And… Kirishima ?”

Kirishima smiled and reached out to shake your hand. The fact that you knew his name, heck even recognised him, was making him all happy. He didn’t expect Katsuki to talk about his classmates, even less show photos of them.

“Nice to meet you Kirishima !”

“Yeah well, you’re meeting someone who thought I was a criminal” Bakugō said, swinging his arm around your shoulders.

Your eyes widened slightly, looking between your boyfriend and the redhead beside him, wearing a sheepish smile on his face. As the three of you walked towards your home, Katsuki explained the situation to you, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity. Sure, your boyfriend was creepy at times, but holding someone hostage ? He wouldn’t even have the patience to do that.

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard !”

“Hey ! It’s not our fault ! Who is so secretive about having a partner anyway ?”

“Someone with brains and who likes their privacy” Bakugō retorted, before stopping dead in his tracks and looking down at you.

“Well, we’re gonna leave now, it’s getting late. Text me when you get home, okay ?”

With a hum, you kissed his cheek, waving him and his friend goodbye as you continued your walk. Bakugō turned to look at his friend, only to find him smiling at him proudly.

“What ?”

“You are truly a manly boyfriend man”

The pair returned to the dorm, the rest of the class already waiting for their arrival, as Kirishima texted them about their whereabouts earlier, expecting some sort of info about you and your relationship with him. He of course glared at all of them, told Kirishima to not spill a word and went to his room.

They then all turned to look at Kirishima, who was already in the centre of the living room, ready to spill the beans like Bakugō’s threat meant nothing to him. Everyone was asking questions about you, your personality, your looks, how you acted with Bakugō and vice versa.

“It doesn’t sound like Bakugō at all. Are you sure you went with him and not some clone ?”

“I’m telling you guys; he was so chill with her. He was about to smile a couple of times before remembering that I was there too.”

Even if the attitude of their classmate sounded foreign to them, they were all glad that he could be sweet at least with someone. Even if they didn’t get to see it, they hoped that with your influence, they wouldn’t need to sit through his constant shouting and threats of aggression.

Just as they were about to all head to their respective rooms, Kirishima got a notification from his phone. Reading through it, he smiled and held up his phone for everyone to see.

“She invited all of us for a hangout”

You on the other hand, you were giggling to yourself, proud that you could convince your boyfriend to give Eijirō’s number. You wanted to make an impression on all of his classmates and get a bit of revenge for getting into his business. And what a better way than to invite them to hangout, without informing it will take place in a haunted house ?

[Katsuki]

Did they agree ?

[Name]

Yeah. He said they all did.

I’m gonna have fun with this.

[Katsuki]

¥ 1000 if two of them cries

[Name]

Deal

#rayne dreams #bnha fic #bakugo fic #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x female reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki x you #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x you #katsuki bakugo x reader

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mi-co-uk · 15 days ago

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THREE THINGS

- I changed geek reader x casanova matt to be casanova chris because I tried writing a blurb and I just didn't feel like it worked as matt

- I have started working on the grease au !!

- pls send requests for blurbs and stuff for any of my aus andddd I'm always happy to answer questions c:

that is all c: blurb laterrr

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icycoldninja · 1 year ago

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Dating Vergil headcannons

-Vergil is undoubtedly a loving sweetheart. Yes, he has a grumpy side, but he truly loves you and cares for you however he can.

-Always protects you, be it from devils and grotesque monsters or a dog that happened to growl at you a little too much.

-Kinda gets overprotective like a dad over you whenever you get sick or injured, no matter how small the wound/illness is. He will immediately go into full parenting mode and wrap you up in a cocoon of blankets while worriedly feeding you soup and forcing bitter tasting medicine down your throat, or force you into a chair so he can dress and disinfect the wound as needed.

-Very jealous around Dante. Even though he knows that his brother would never attempt to steal you away from him, he can't shake that feeling; that nagging worry that perhaps you would fall for Dante's charms and leave him all alone.

-Of course, you'd never ever leave him, but Vergil's not the best at reading people, so he often needs to be told that.

-Shower this man in all the love and affection he deserves--you're the only one he'll ever allow to anyway.

-Calls you cute nicknames (but only in private) such as Babe, Dove, Sunlight, Sweetness, Queen, and My Motivation.

-Not good at expressing his affection through speech (bro I feel u) but excels at writing love letters to you, which he will never give to you in person--he'll just leave them lying around and hope you notice them.

-In order to escape teasing from Dante, he refuses to participate in any kind of PDA, no matter how small. He will, at the very most, hold your hand, but only when Dante is not around and if you ask nicely.

-Behind closed doors, however, things are entirely different. You will have yourself a living koala. He will latch onto you and never let go, using his huge frame to keep you pinned to whatever you happen to be lounging on, be it his plastic chair or your living room couch.

-Can't cook. It's a Sparda family curse. You are now tasked with the sacred duty that is producing a meal for this poor dude.

-Once a year, he undergoes his demon mating period--during this time, he gets really grumpy and cuts off all contact with everyone for like a month, the only exception is you.

-That's cause he needs you for something, if ya catch my drift. ;)

-Literally cold as ice, all the time. No matter how much you hold and snuggle him; no matter how many layers of clothes he wears, he's always cold.

-He doesn't feel it though, only you do, and because of that, he wonders why you always want to wrap him up in blankets and cuddle him.

-Complete and utter NERD for books, movies, TV shows, anime and so on. Knows enough about these topics to write an entire wiki but unfortunately must suppress this knowledge to save himself from the agony that is Dante's taunts.

-If you happen to share the same interests as him, then good for you! You two can spend all day holed up at home, geeking out about literally everything like the soul mates you are. 💓

#Vergil #Dmc vergil #Dmc5 #Vergil dmc5 #Vergil x reader #headcannons #Fluffy #General relationship headcannons #Icycoldninja writes #Cute #Dmc x reader #dmc5 vergil x reader #dmc vergil x reader #devil may cry vergil #devil may cry vergil x reader #Vergil x reader dmc #dating headcanons

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kaivenom · 10 months ago

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Being Venom's host and dating Spiderman HCS

Masterlist

Andrew!Spider

He is amused at first.

He is a big geek for comics and nerd about science so when he saw an alien with a parasite form who is an antihero and plus is unified with an atractive human, inmediatly obsessed.

This means that your first dates were in reality lab dates, with him making tests on the symbionte and chatting with you.

Like all spidermans, he doesn't like the killing part but he makes all his efforts to prevent it from happening.

Which means always having chocolate snacks on his bag and even making like protein snacks with the substance you need.

Venom says it tastes really bad but you oblige him to not say anything because Peter looks really happy to help you feed.

Spontaneous dates where you both climb onto the empire state or things like that.

Always being lab partners and eating together.

He got used to Venom's pressence really fast, you were worried he would be uncomfortable with it but he accepted it was a part of you.

He even ends up being the pacifier if Venom and you are angry at each other. One time even unifiying to Peter to make you jealous and making him see their point.

Many sessions of cuddles and emotional support since you sometimes feel like a monster.

He is the most understanding and lovable boyfriend.

Holland!Spider

He is scared of you at first.

He intented to escape you always or arrest you for being a villain.

After some time he started to get to know you a little better, and that made it a lot easier to get along.

He starts to see more the person you are and not the homicidal killer Venom makes you.

You ask him to date, he got nervous but said yes, and for a couple of weeks, you thought he was scared to say no.

But surprisingly, he was a good boyfriend and tried to be the best at taking care of you both.

So your worries faded out.

Dating him It's like dating a pomeranian dog while you are a Big doberman.

You both tried to date like normal people and dont involve your heroes counterparts because yes, he tries to convince Venom to be a hero.

Even with that efforts, you still manage to be protective over him while he gets on night watches.

You are ussually the one iniciating the affections and physic contact but he always corresponds you.

He is a very awkward and clumsy boyfriend.

Miguel O'hara

He hates you at first.

And you both never quite make your relationship oficial.

Every Spider has a Venom but he surely cant stand you at first, and he says that to you very often.

But Its like you are stuck together in that mess.

But then you save his life, and then he is in the need of doing the same, and so on...

Until he started to hate you more for saving him and not being such a bad person, but in reality he started to hate the fact that he found you attractive.

He tries to insult you but you snap him back and that just makes him like you more.

His efforts to continue hating you weren't good which means, one day he couldn't stand It more and kissed you angrily.

That happened again the next day and that other, until almost daily.

You never make it oficial but you know the way he is with you is especial, even with the grumpyness.

He indeed, likes your strenght and determination.

He always tries to look mad and angry at your actions, some times he even is, but he cant be away from you too much so he goes back almost inmediatly.

He is a grumpy and stressed boyfriend

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digitulart · 2 months ago

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wife designs yay. ill explain them below

Penny- Garcias wife. spent her childhood trapped in a basement so she has very poor social skills, as friendly as she tries to be. the "Mrs Clown" to Garcias "Mr Clown" and they adore each other, he worries that she cant fully understand the ramifications of her helping him deal with any unruly kids he needs for the cult, but she does!! she just doesnt care. at all. Penny is friends with Michelle and they hang out at the library together

Elaine- Candy Dealers wife. has always been a total geek, loving comics and movies, and was bullied relentlessly for it. CD found her to be absolutely endearing in high school and kept her from being teased any further. she works a 12-6am shift as a nurse, usually in the infancy ward, writing elaborate comic fanfictions during breaks. shes usually seen napping on the couch while a shitty romcom is playing on the tv. shes not aware of what CD is doing for her own safety

Isabel- Johns wife. a yoga instructor, meditator, and online business owner. sells products akin to the company "goop" which promotes self help and wellness, which is kind of scammy. her sales skyrocketed after Hope went missing due to her dedicating 99% of her time to it as a means to cope and convince herself that shes able to process her grief in a normal, healthy way. she helps John in whatever way she can, but he seems hellbent on destroying himself from the inside out. its not ruining their relationship, but theyre clearly in a rough patch right now. he lets her cry on his shoulders when the facade finally breaks

Ronnie- Ignacios ex wife. loves the stars and the galaxy, 100% believes in aliens and ufos, shes the yin to Ignacios yang and contrasted his grumpy personality with her upbeat one. she divorced him after the loss of their kid and her current whereabouts are unknown. shes always been a sensitive soul and may hurt herself trying to fix others around her

#spooky month #penny #elaine #isabel #ronnie #if this gets more notes than my garcia pic ill screech

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katanablue · 1 year ago

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I originally had a totally different idea for this but I think I may just do a part 2 hehehe. ALSO IF ANYONE GOT ANY GOOD 07 DONNIE FICS ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Warnings: NONE JUST DONNIE BEING A CUTE GRUMPY DORK.

Another day another long boring shift full of talking to idiotic people who don’t know the difference between hardware and software and explaining to one too many elderly people that ‘No, you cannot print out the Internet.��

He’s just finished a call, rubbing the space between his eyes as he feels his daily headache come on. He’s impressed that he’s managed to nearly finish his workday without it appearing until now. He groans low in his throat, debating on getting up to grab a glass of water so he can take a pill or just sucking it up these last 30 minutes.

He gets his answer when an incoming call rings through his headset, making Donnie roll his eyes hard and into the back of his skull. He inhales deeply through his nose to prepare himself, letting it out when he clicks on a key to answer the phone.

“Thank you for calling tech support, this is Donatello speaking, how can I help you today.” He doesn’t bother putting on his customer service voice, his headache dully throbbing now as he waits for the other person on the line to start rambling about their dumb issue.

“Hi, how are you today?” You say, giving the standard pleasantries before delving into your computer issue.

Typical, of course his last call would try to make small talk.

“I’m fine ma’am, thank you. How can I help you today?” He repeats it, resisting the urge to roll his eyes again and leans back in his chair, swaying gently side to side. He thinks about what he should eat after, his eyes trailing to the clock in the Lair that signifies in big red letters that it’s nearly 2 a.m. Not the latest he’s stayed up but today’s shift was particularly exhausting. Maybe it’s the full moon or something, ‘Mercury in Gatorade’ as Mikey would sometimes call it.

“Hello?”

Shit. He totally just fucking zoned out on you.

“Apologies ma’am, I didn’t quite catch that. Would you mind repeating it?” Great, he just extended this call by about 2 minutes.

“Oh, that’s alright! I’m dealing with an issue with my laptop’s ability to open programs fast. It’s taking forever just to open something and I’m not quite sure why.” You repeat your issue, quietly sighing as you aimlessly move your mouse around your screen, hoping that the guy on the other side will be able to help with you.

Donnie immediately knows what the problem could be; slow processing speeds a fairly common issue for him but thankfully an easy fix.

So he starts by asking the standard questions: do you have any programs that take a lot of space? Any tabs open that you aren’t using? Anything running in the background?

When you tell him ‘no, no and no’, that’s when he sits up from his chair and squints his eyes. If those aren’t the cause of your laptops slow speed then what could it be?

“Well,”

Ah, there it is.

“I do play a few games but those have never caused me problems before. Could that be it?”

Normally Donatello’s irritation would increase when the customer would ‘suddenly remember’ something that could be pausing their problem. You, however? Didn’t spark that within him for some reason. In fact, besides your calm demeanor, it’s the way you spoke so kindly to him combined with the fact that you also game apparently that has Donnie not wanting to snap at you.

“Like what?” He asks, being sure to keep it professional.

And when you list his all time favorite game among some others that he’s obsessed with, he has to practically force himself to not totally geek out. Sure he’s played some of the popular games nowadays like League or Valorant, but hearing you say that you modded some old PS1 games to play on your laptop practically skyrockets his excitement.

Which in turn makes his headache pound harder.

He’s unable to keep himself from hissing when a pang shoots right through his skull, knowing you heard it when you trail off your sentence.

“Are you alright?”

Maybe it’s because he’s had a long day or maybe it’s because this seems to be shifting into a migraine, but the concern and sincerity in your voice makes an odd feeling bubble in Donnie’s chest. Surely no one would ever be genuinely worried over an I.T guy, not when you have more pressing matters on your hands.

“My apologies miss, I’m just uh, dealing with a bit of a headache right now. Although I think it’s turning into a migraine.” He grunts through his clenched jaw, swinging carefully around in his chair as he searches for his bottle of Advil only to suck his teeth when he shakes the container and hears absolutely nothing rattling around.

“Oh no, I’m sorry! Do you want to go grab some medicine? I don’t mind waiting.”

The corner of Donnie’s lip twitches upward. He brings his hands to massage at his temples, the motions doing something to relieve the tension in his head but not nearly enough.

“I unfortunately just discovered that I’m out of medicine. But that’s alright, I’ll pick some up after this call.” He doesn’t bother hiding his sigh, settling back in his seat as he prepares to ask you more questions to help you out.

“What about any oils? Got any of those? Usually lavender or peppermint do the trick.” You put him on speaker and go to your Safari on your phone to begin looking up other remedies, wanting to assist this poor I.T man.

Donnie’s not quite sure why you’re trying to be helpful but at this point he doesn’t exactly care, the throbbing getting worse by the second.

“It could also be too much pressure, literally, around your head. Do you wear headbands or anything like that? Could also be your headphones.”

“No, no headbands. And my headphones have cushioning all around so not those either.” He responds, debating on texting Mikey to bring him the peppermint oil that April bought for Splinter last Christmas.

“Ah, a man of comfort.” You laugh, fingers quickly typing in your question into the search engine.

Donnie finds himself smiling faintly at the sound, a fleeting thought of ‘Wow, I want to hear that again’ passing through his brain.

“Well, I can’t use regular headphones for gaming. I’m also a fan of those games that you play.”

You blink in surprise, your scrolling faltering for half a second before continuing on.

“No way, really?”

And so you talk for the next 20 minutes about said games; reliving memories, talking about specific moments you wish you could experience again, the soundtracks, the characters. Everything.

For the first 10 minutes, Donnie kept reminding himself that he was just prolonging his work call, that he should drive the focus back onto your issue so he can hang up and clock out. But the more he talked to you, the more he said ‘fuck it’ and allowed himself this one rare moment of normalcy.

He also nearly forgot about his raging migraine, until it pleasantly reminded him that it was still present with a sharp stabbing pain behind his eyes.

It’s what snaps him back to reality, his face grimacing from the white hot torment happening in his skull.

“I’m so sorry, we should really get back to your computers issues.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

God, why did he feel so awful saying that? And why did it make his stomach twist when hearing just how disappointed you sounded? It’s something he’ll have to dissect later, not when he’s already 30 minutes past the standard call time for support.

“Let’s see what we’re working with here.”

This is one of the rare times Donnie wishes he wasn’t so smart with technology because in less than 5 minutes he solves your problem. He wishes he could just be a little average to talk to you more even if it’s computer stuff.

“Alright, you shouldn’t have a problem anymore. Anything else I can help you with?”

Please say yes please say yes please say yes.

“No, I’m all good. Thank so much Donatello!”

“Donnie! You can call me Donnie.”

Fuck.

“Just your friendly I.T tech support here to help you 24 hours a day.”

Double fuck.

Why did he say that? It’s standard spiel protocol but still, how utterly lame…

You can’t help but giggle at him, your cheeks hurting from smiling so much from this total stranger.

“Alright then, Donnie. I’ll know who to ask for if I ever need help again.”

He smiles and asks for your name, just so he’ll know who he’s talking to if you ever do call again. He repeats it back to you once you tell him, the word rolling off his tongue in such a way that makes you feel giddy and grinning like a kid in a candy store.

“Have a good night, please don’t hesitate to call back if you’re still experiencing technical difficulties.”

And by Darwin he hopes you do.

#tmnt #tmnt 2007 #donatello x reader #2007 donnie #my writings

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