#got this done in about... two and a half hours

[chithereader]

playing it cool / aaron hotchner

[credits to the owners of these photos!!]

word count: 1.9k

pairing: aaron hotchner x f!reader

genre: fluff!!!!!!

cw: sickeningly sweet and soft aaron x reader, so much of aaron’s thoughts because we know that man thinks soo much more than he speaks!!

a/n: hiiii this is my third post so far and tbh i was so nervous to post the first two as that was my first time ever posting any of my writings anywhere!! but i’ve been getting so much more love on those than expected and i just really wanted to say thank you so much for all the likes and reblogs <33 i was honestly only expecting less than 10 notes as a newbie and reaching up to 200 is so so so wonderful. and especially for the love of hotch i– ugh!!!!! i already love u all 

The team had worked a straight 5 weeks worth of cases prior, which had warranted Strauss to grant them all a mandatory 3-day rest. This simply meant that for 3 whole days there are no cases, no deadlines, and no new case files. They could come to the office at whatever time they’d like as long as they finished some reports at the end of the day. 

Aaron being Hotch the boss man still aimed to arrive at the office at a reasonable time– 7:30am. To be fair, this is an hour and a half later than when he usually arrives at the office. And in his mind, the earlier he arrives, the more he can get done, and the more he gets done, the earlier he can come home. 

This is the only reason why he is up at 6:00am on a supposed rest day. He did expect that he’d struggle a bit more to drag himself out of bed, knowing you’d be keeping him hostage with limbs that wrap around him in ways he can’t begin to understand, but to his surprise, you weren’t there. 

Dragging his feet across the carpeted floor, his pajama pants hanging low on his hips and white shirt fitting him oh-so-snugly, he tries to find you. He’s rubbing the sleep of his eyes as he peeks his head into your shared bathroom. No sign of you. 

He’s covering his mouth as he yawns when he quietly opens the door to Jack’s bedroom–still no sign of you. Remembering his son has been nursing a stomach bug since yesterday, he opened the door further to check on him. No fever. No chills. No sign of discomfort. 

When he’s sure Jack’s okay, he turns around to go back to find where you went. He even checked the backyard as he passed by a window to see if you’re at your favorite swing reading, that perhaps you just woke up early and wanted to feel the morning sun because you claimed it lightens you. 

He smiles a little to himself as he treads downstairs, finally hearing your soft murmurs as you spoke with someone presumably over the phone. As he neared the kitchen he realized that the person on the line was your colleague and friend Tilly, and that she was on speaker phone making it easy to listen in. 

He slows down his steps as he nears the landing and pauses when he gets behind a wall near the kitchen. He doesn’t know what came over him. He doesn’t usually sneak around to eavesdrop, nor did he ever feel the need to especially when it came to you. You tell him everything, prompted and unprompted. 

But perhaps it was the haze of the morning or the curiosity of what could possibly get you out of bed this early when you’re usually the one snoozing away as he’s getting ready for work– he stayed quiet behind that wall and made it his mission to understand the conversation. 

He clears his mind and strains his ear, going as far as making his breaths slow and far apart. 

He hears Tilly giggling, “Don’t get me wrong, Adam from Finance is really cute but.. isn’t he just a little too serious? He’s always got that frown going on.” 

You sigh a little loudly, obvious that it’s a sigh to humor and not of exasperation, “Tilly, you know I love you, but every day you complain about being single. And every other day there’s a decent guy who you always always find that one flaw in that just crosses them off for you forever.” Tilly lets out a sound that’s a mixture of a laugh and a gasp. 

“That is so not tr–” “Oh, Hugh’s just too clean. And Frederick’s too hard, it’s like- scary. Yes, veiny hands are hot but there’s veiny and too veiny, and Jason was just a double too veiny.” 

Aaron momentarily pauses his listening and looks down at his hands, suddenly conscious where he fit in that category. Factoring in his age, his work, and the action he gets from the field– these all show. He tried thinking of a time you could’ve shown any dislike or disgust towards his hands but all he could think of was that one night when he cupped your face and you leaned towards it more, turning slightly to take his thumb into your mou–

He’s shaken out of his thoughts when he hears Tilly asking about you leaving, “What time are you getting to the office by the way? I just don’t want to get there without you. Adam might ask about that second date and I just need you as my bluff, my beautiful girl.” He makes a mental note to message Jessica before you both get ready for work. 

“Riiiight. Remind me how many guys have I scared off for you now? And how many times have I helped you scare them off? Besides, I can’t go today and I’ve already told Bobby I’m on leave.” 

In a slight surprise and panic Tilly whines, “What?! Why? You’re such a traitor. You know damn well I get so bored without you.” Aaron didn’t even know you were planning on staying home. You hadn’t mentioned anything about it last night which made him even more curious what made you decide. 

He hears your soft laugh, “Don’t be so dramatic. You’ll manage a day without me. I mean you have to– my son caught a stomach bug yesterday so I just want to make sure he’ll recover completely.” 

Aaron can hear Tilly responding, something about soup and warm baths, but his heart has just stopped so he’s not really processing any new words at the moment. 

My son. My son. My son. My son caught a stomach bug. 

He feels lightheaded. His heart kickstarts again, his pulse is ringing in his ear. He can feel his chest pounding to his heart’s beat. The words that rolled off your lips so effortlessly, so mindlessly, echoes in his head. 

Jack may be young but he is smart. So so smart beyond his years. And he has grown to understand what had happened to his mom Haley, but not once has he– and even you allowed Jack to forget who Haley is and how much she loves him. 

Images of you joining in their traditions of honoring and remembering Haley plays in his head in flashes. You helping Jack arrange a bouquet for Haley’s death anniversary. You helping Jack make a card for her birthday. You mixing the paint to get the right shades as Jack paints a portrait of Haley for his Mothers’ Day homework. 

Aaron had told you everything there was to know about Haley and you’ve listened. He knows you adore her. You adore her for the same reasons he adored her. You understood the space Haley had in his life and in Jack’s life, and not once were you ever jealous, immature, or selfish about it. Even though he would’ve completely understood if you were. 

You were nothing but supportive, and understanding, and loving. Even when he didn’t deserve it. Even when you deserved better. Admittedly, there was a point in time when he struggled with coming to terms with falling in love– with you nonetheless. You’re young, ambitious, brilliant, talented, insanely beautiful, and unfairly kind. 

When the two of you had met, this was his profile: divorced with a kid, recovering from trauma that stemmed from being stabbed multiple times in his own home, emotionally unavailable, annoyingly serious and fatally dull– which really makes him wonder what made you fall in love with him in the first place, and even more so what made you stay even when he was bafflingly dense about how you felt about him.  

He didn’t know how long he was standing there, like a deer caught in headlights. Replaying your words and his memories over and over again, slowly coming to the conclusion that you’re absolutely perfect and he’s absolutely gone for you. 

Slowly coming to his senses, Aaron becomes more aware of the silence. The call must have ended while he was having realizations about things. He rounds the corner silently, getting a feel of where you’re facing. Luckily he guesses right, that you’re facing away from him. 

You were rummaging through the fridge– the vegetable drawer if he had to guess, judging by how much you’re slouching and reaching, and the sound of the glass containers you use to prolong their freshness. 

He quickly surveys the scene- your phone is on the counter, beside it is a chopping board with carrots and onions, a carton of chicken broth, Jack’s favorite dinosaur-shaped pasta, and chocolate milk– the one drink you both know can make Jack feel instantly better, happier. 

His heart pinches again. You got up early to make sure Jack had something to eat for breakfast in time for his medicine. You got up early even though you aren’t planning on going to work. You aren’t going to work because you want to stay with Jack. You called Jack your son. 

With so many things running in his head, he stands quietly observing you finding god knows whatever vegetable. Maybe it's the intensity of his stare or the volume of his thoughts, or maybe he started to breathe loudly– but suddenly you knew he was there. He could tell. 

You slowly straightened your back from when you were leaning. Your hands have stopped rummaging through the drawer, and he could see the goosebumps on your legs and shoulders from the way the sunlight hits you through the kitchen window. 

You turn around slowly, as if you were just caught doing something you aren’t supposed to be doing, “I’m so sorry, did I wake you?” grimacing as if it was a crime to be hot and cute and gut-wrenchingly-sweet. 

“No.” His voice is groggy. Deep and rough given that he just woke up minutes ago and hasn’t really used it since. Looking at you through studying eyes, he clears his throat “Uhm, I woke up to get ready for work and you weren’t there.” 

Aaron suddenly feels a little cold. The thin material of his shirt and pajamas doing little to contain what warmth he has left in his body. Or maybe it’s you, maybe his body has sensed that you’re near and is now craving your warmth, making him feel a magnified amount of its absence.

“Oh.. I’m sorry I just wanted to get ahead of cooking so Jack can have soup before he takes his medicine at 8 and since I was also planning to do some work though I’m on leave, it just made sense to get an early start…” You slow your words, noticing how Hotch is studying you tenfold in the moment, as if you were an apparition, “Are you okay? Did you want soup too? I can pack you some before you go?”

His silence makes you panic a little. You can’t really tell if he’s upset about something or if he’s sleepwalking, “Or you can eat here. I mean– you live here, of course you can eat here. I mean like instead of bringing it to the office– not that if you eat here, you can’t bring some anymore.” 

The longer he stays silent, adoring you, the more you scramble to fill the silence, “I’m just– you know you can do whatever you want. You can eat here, there, anywhere. Unless you don’t want soup. I mean we still have leftover steak, I cou–” 

You pause your rambling because you can see a smile starting to form on his face. A real, big smile. Laugh lines and dimples and all, which makes you smile. Realizing how stupid you were sounding and how funny the situation was becoming, you started giggling.

And just as you think he’s about to join the laughter to make fun of you, his smile softens and he says, “Marry me.” 

[thatlotuscookie]

Hihi!! I got a silly lil request if u wanna write it =3

Soooo since Kenma from Haikyuu is prob very rich in timeskip, would u consider writing something where y/n is like “Hey honey I want Burger King” and Kenma misunderstands and buys the whole BK company and y/n has to make Kenma return it XD(bonus if the internet finds out and memes it or something)

✧･ﾟ: a/n: : Kenma’s lowkey chaos energy combined with his wealth and your grounded perspective made this such a fun dynamic to write. I hope you enjoy<3 thank you for the req

✧ Title: ✧ Burger King of My Heart ✧ ✧ Characters: Kenma Kozume x Reader (Gender Neutral) ✧ Genre: Humor, Fluff, Established Relationship ✧ Rating: G ✧ Summary: When you casually ask Kenma for Burger King, you never imagined he’d take it literally—and buy the entire franchise. ✧ Content/Tags: Kenma Being Kenma, Rich Boy Hijinks, Social Media Memes, Established Relationship, Reader in Disbelief, Humor with a Dash of Fluff ✧ WC: 713 words // 4.1k chars

Life with Kenma Kozume was anything but ordinary. Between his highly successful gaming company and the residual fame from his pro volleyball days, he had wealth, influence, and a surprisingly practical approach to everything—well, usually.

Today, however, was shaping up to be one for the books.

You were lounging on the couch in Kenma’s sleek, minimalist apartment. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed a perfect view of the city skyline, but your attention was squarely on your grumbling stomach.

Kenma was stationed at his gaming setup nearby, wearing noise-canceling headphones and entirely focused on whatever strategy game he was playing. You admired how cute he looked when he was concentrating, but hunger had made you restless.

“Kenmaaaa,” you called, dragging his name out dramatically.

“Hm?” he mumbled, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“I want BK,” you said, your words tumbling out lazily.

Kenma finally glanced over his shoulder, his golden eyes meeting yours. “BK?”

“Yeah, Burger King,” you clarified. “I’m starving. I need greasy fries and a Whopper, stat.”

He nodded once, a small, thoughtful “hm” escaping his lips before he turned back to his game. You figured he’d order delivery or suggest driving out to grab food later.

But Kenma Kozume, former volleyball star turned tech genius, never did things the way anyone else would.

About two hours later, Kenma wandered back into the living room, phone in hand. You’d half-dozed off in your hunger-induced haze, but his calm voice brought you back to reality.

“So, it’s done,” he said.

“Huh?” You blinked, sitting up. “What’s done?”

“I bought it.”

Your brain, still foggy from your nap, struggled to catch up. “Bought what?”

“BK,” he said matter-of-factly.

It took a solid five seconds for his words to register. “Wait. You mean... like the food? Where’s the food?”

Kenma tilted his head slightly, confused by your confusion. “No, the company. Burger King. You said you wanted it.”

The room went silent as you stared at him in disbelief.

“Kenma.”

“Yes?”

“You bought the entire company?”

“Yeah,” he said, as if it were the most logical solution in the world. “It wasn’t that expensive, all things considered.”

You gawked at him, your jaw practically hitting the floor. “I meant I wanted a burger and fries, not to own Burger King!”

Kenma blinked. “Oh. I thought you meant you wanted BK, as in... all of it.”

Your hands flew to your head. “Kenma, do you know how insane that is? You can’t just—wait, does the internet know about this?”

Almost as if on cue, your phone buzzed with a series of notifications. Grabbing it, you saw that #KenmaBuysBK was trending. Social media was already ablaze with memes and commentary.

One post read: “Imagine being rich enough to solve hunger by buying an entire fast-food chain. Kenma Kozume, everybody.”

Another had a photo of Kenma with the caption: “Me: I want fries. Kenma: Here’s your kingdom, Burger Queen.”

You groaned, scrolling through the chaos. “Kenma, this is everywhere!”

He shrugged, his calm demeanor unshaken. “People were going to find out eventually.”

“Kenma, you have to return it.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t need to own Burger King! I just wanted food!”

Kenma sighed, pulling out his phone. “Fine. I’ll call my financial advisor.”

By the next day, Kenma had quietly backed out of the purchase, but the internet wasn’t ready to let the incident go. Memes flooded every platform, and even major news outlets picked up the story.

When you arrived at Kenma’s office later to bring him lunch, his coworkers couldn’t resist teasing you. One of them grinned and said, “So, Burger Queen, what’s for lunch today?”

You rolled your eyes, but even you had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Kenma, as unbothered as ever, simply handed you a small bag when you walked into his office.

“What’s this?” you asked, peeking inside.

“Burger King,” he said with the faintest hint of a smirk.

You burst out laughing, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

Kenma leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “I just wanted to make you happy.”

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but feel incredibly lucky. Because in his own unique, overly extravagant way, Kenma always found a way to show you just how much he cared.

[rainintheevening]

For @sergeanttomycaptain, a belated birthday present. Much love. XOXOX.

More Steve and Bucky angst, medical guesstimation, and crying. Post-Ultron. Hint of Staron.

41. "Go back to sleep."

Ticking of a clock somewhere, and outside the open window wind rustling through the leaves.

Steve wanted to close his eyes and listen to it, let it lull him to sleep, but he didn’t dare. Not when the slow, shallow breathing of the man on the bed was so much louder.

It had been 24 hours since they'd made it back to the compound, since he'd hoisted Bucky's weight (so horribly, shockingly light) into his arms and run past the people with the stretcher and the green scrubs, since he'd waded into a blur of voices and questions and hands and machines and clean white sheets, since he'd laid his best friend down in the middle of it all, and he'd been shoved away to 'go clean up', to get the blood and the soot and the dirt and everything else off of him.

24 hours, and still, for all that the doctors and nurses had done and were trying to do, for all that Steve knew Tony was pulling out all the stops to help in the only way he could, every measurement showed one thing: Bucky was dying.

Steve shifted in his chair, glanced again at the screens on the monitors. Dr. Dow and Dr. Cho had explained enough for him to know what all of the numbers and symbols meant. They'd done their best to explain everything they understood.

It was the serum. It was eating Bucky alive. For whatever reason he had ended up so far into a state of dehydration and malnourishment that his enhanced body was chewing itself up in an attempt to repair and maintain itself.

In the warm glow of the nearby lamp, Bucky's face looked ghastly, cheeks hollow, sharp bones seeming in the cusp of breaking through skin. Eyes sunken in under thin, blue-veined lids in a way Steve knew too well from the battlefield, a way that chilled him to the bone, if he didn't look to where the man's chest rose and fell under the heated blanket. They'd shaved his filthy patchy hair, and the oxygen mask only added only added to the eerie look of it all.

Steve yawned, smothered it, shook his head. He needed to stay alert, he needed to be here for Bucky when the scales tipped, whichever way it went.

He hadn't had more than the occasional power nap since the tip came in about the Winter Soldier's possible location. What was it now, three days ago?

He fought back the pain in his chest, in his throat, at the thought of what he would have found if he and Nat had arrived even a few hours later. There's still a chance, he reminded himself.

"There still a chance, Buck," he murmured aloud. "You know you've always liked long odds. That's why you always bet on me. So I'm betting on you now, okay? I'm betting on your life."

There was no change in the wheezing breaths, no flicker of movement anywhere else.

It would turn tonight, Dr. Dow had said. Either the nutrients and fluids being siphoned into Bucky's body, at the highest possible rate, would begin to take effect and halt the deterioration, or Bucky would tip into irreversible organ failure.

Tonight would either be the start of a long recovery process, or the end of Bucky's life. For good, this time.

What happened to you? It was on a loop in Steve’s thoughts. What happened? How had he he ended up like this? What had rendered him incapable of caring for himself? Who had removed the metal arm? Why had he ended up half dead in a relatively new apartment in downtown Waco, Texas? Natasha and Sam were hunting down information, of course, but everything was sketchy, and Steve suspected the only source of the truth was lying on a hospital bed in the Avengers Compound medical wing, perhaps hours away from death.

What happened to you? Or maybe the real question was: Why didn't you come to me? I would have done anything to help you. Why didn't you call me for help?

In the end, Steve had come, but quite possibly too late.

*

Despite his best efforts, Steve dozed.

Jerked awake.

Talked for awhile, dredging up memories of their mothers laughing at Christmas time, or the Irish family that had lived across the street, or any one of those thousands and thousands of things that only he and Bucky knew about anymore.

Dozed again.

The clock ticked. He never looked for it, never glanced at the time on the top monitor. If this night lasted forever, he would be happy, as long as the next breath came, and the next, and the next.

He talked about Sam, about Nat, about their favourite foods and music and books, talked about the shows the twins liked to watch, and Rhodey's exploits in the kitchen.

Again he dozed.

He was startled to see the pattern on the blanket, surprised by the grey light suddenly sprung in the sky outside above the woods, and a robin's song warbling clear in the still air.

"Hey, Buck," he murmured, rubbing knuckles in his gritty eyes. "Hear that? It's morning. And you're still here."

Sound of rubber-soled shoes on smooth tile, heavy curtain drawn back, and Dr. Cho came quietly across to the monitors.

There were no trumpets, no crash of cymbals or burst of song, only quiet fingers tapping screens, and a warm voice saying, "Deterioration has halted. He plateaud about three hours ago. Levels have risen an average of point-four percent in the last half hour."

She smiled over at him, came to him as he tried to rise, and could not. How had he never noticed the way Helen Cho's smile could light up a room?

She patted his shoulder. "He'll live, Steve. We'll find out how permanent the damage is in the next few days, but he will live."

He nodded, tried to speak, but couldn't. The robin sang into the silence.

After she left, he cried. And then he stretched out on the floor, with a wadded up blanket for a pillow, and closed his eyes. Fell asleep to the sound of Bucky's breathing.

*

He was on the phone with Sharon, when Bucky woke for the first time.

Face still deathly thin and pale, ribs still straining against skin, but breathing deeper, more normal, and Steve could only promise Sharon that coffee 'sometime', could not tear himself away from his best friend's side.

He had Sharon on speakerphone, chuckling at her retelling of an old joke Nat had played on her in their SHIELD days, but his ears caught the change in Bucky's breathing, the faint guttural noises from behind the oxygen mask.

This time though, when he looked over, Bucky's eyes were open.

Squinting, filmy, grey-blue roving, searching, till Steve gasped out: "Bucky!"

Those eyes went wide then, snapping to his and on the screen, out of the corner of his eye, Steve knew there were jagged mountains beginning to race through that green line.

"Hey." He dropped his voice, slowed his lunge to a smooth careful lean. "Hey, Buck, it's just me, just Steve. I swear you're safe, I'm taking care of you, and I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. I swear. You're safe."

He reached under the blanket, found Bucky's hand, saw the eyes widen again as he gently squeezed it. Flesh and bone fingers in his, and they tightened suddenly around his, no stronger than a baby, but a burning sprang up behind Steve’s eyes, and he had to catch his breath.

"Buck, do you know me? Do you recognize me? It's Steve."

"Steve."

Harsh and whispery thin at the same time, muffled behind the oxygen mask, but it might as well have been a shout that echoed in Steve’s ear, reverberated through the chambers of his heart, lodged somewhere deep.

Steve had to work hard to keep the tremble in his stomach, and the ache in his chest, but his vision still blurred, and the tears were hot on his cheeks when he blinked.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm here and you're safe. I found you. You were in really bad shape, and it's been almost a week now, but I'm here, and you're safe. Do you trust me on that?"

He was desperate to avoid Bucky getting too agitated, thrashing or striking out. Not that he would do much damage, to anyone but himself, but that was precisely what Steve wanted to prevent.

He stared into Bucky's weary wild eyes, searching, waiting... and then the wildness bled away, and Bucky blinked slowly, lips forming a barely breathed, "Yes."

"Then you should rest," Steve whispered, choking back his tears, limbs gone all shaky, but he held onto Bucky's bony hand like a lifeline (gentle, oh so gentle though, he could too easily snap those thin fingers if he wasn't careful). "Go back to sleep. I've got this watch, Buck."

The hesitation was significantly shorter this time, the decision having really been made in answering the question of trust. Slowly his eyelids slid shut, and Steve felt the hand in his relax, just a hair.

Bucky's breathing dropped back into the deep rhythm of the past several days, and Steve dropped his head into his free hand.

Faint and tinny through the phone, he became aware of Sharon weeping too, her joy a little echo of his.

"He knows me!" Steve choked out. "He knows me!"

He knows me.

Starting from there, they could go anywhere.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

need a hardened respectful fujo to sit down with james mcavoy and discuss cherik with him insteada this peanut gallery cause if i have to hear people laugh about a gay ship one more time i just might eat rocks

[hidey-writes]

Day After Day | 日复一日

25k | T | Weilan | Case Fic, Undercover Married, Grief

Shen Wei swallows. “And this is why you asked me to—” he makes a vague gesture that means go undercover as your husband “—pretend with you.” Zhao Yunlan comes to a stop, eyes on Shen Wei. “That’s why the cover is a married couple. The reason I’m asking you is because there are no other options for people to go undercover with.” Shen Wei scoffs to give himself an excuse to look away. “You certainly know how to flatter someone, Zhao Yunlan.” Or: Four Haixingren disappear for two months after a stay at a romantic mountain retreat. Shen Wei and Zhao Yunlan book a weekend there to find out what happened.

it's finally here!!! my beloved fic for the 520 day guardian reverse exchange! this was written for trobadora, who gave me the most delicious set of ideas to fit into a story. it was so fun.

i have no idea how to describe this fic, frankly - this is, hands down, the most complex and most heartwrenching and most incredible thing i've ever written in my entire life.

here is a list of some things in it: a kiss, a mystery, a change of heart. old chinese people, dark energy world-building, lesbians, big-time character parallels, forgery of documents, rainstorms, rowboats, lollipop symbolism, [redacted], bedsharing, grading, the stupidest undercover name ever. zhao yunlan described with so many light metaphors. shen wei being the most shen wei i could make him.

read Day After Day | 日复一日 on ao3 here!

[saintshigaraki]

there’s nothing like going to the library and getting done exactly what you said you were going to get done….i feel like a god on earth

[wewindondowntheroad]

sky sure is a spooky color right now

[skitskatdacat63]

I will read the most inane and useless stuff for hours just for my own interest/enjoyment, but reading academic papers is like pulling a tooth 😭😭 like I genuinely think I'd find the info interesting but the fact that ik it's in pursuit of doing an assignment somehow manages to kills my motivation 100%

[sodacowboy]

oh man today has not been a good day lmao

[ereborne]

Song of the Day: January 14

"Diva's Lament (Whatever Happened to My Part)" from Monty Python's Spamalot

[kipaia]

surprise panic attack???

[imagine-nerd]

The fucking disconnect is so real.

[serkonans]

can't stop thinking about this woman who I'm supposed to cover for saying the rudest shit to me earlier

[neverendingford]

Therapists have two genders:

Professional Asshole and

Well-meaning Incompetent

[kurthorton-moving]

.

[peridots-pixiwolf]

yknow I play a lot of hard games but usually not "took 73 days to beat" hard