#well rescheduled without the rescheduling

[flowersforbucky]

all's well that ends well to end up with you

bucky barnes x reader

summary: bucky isn't going to let an extended mission, a severe thunderstorm, and a delayed flight ruin your first valentine's day together.

word count: 3.8k

warnings/tags: SMUT, 18+ only mdni, oral (m&f receiving), fingering, nipple play, reader is afab, established relationship, no use of y/n, reader is described as being shorter than bucky, fluffy as hell, sweet domesticity

wrote this for my bb @embbarnes 💕 happy (very early) valentine's day, everyone!

Of all the ways you had been hoping to spend the last few hours of Valentine’s Day, over 30,000 feet in the air next to a snoring man who has never heard of deodorant was at the bottom of your list.

You should have seen it coming from the moment that your two day mission was extended to a three day mission, but you naively held out hope that you’d be able to make it back home in time to salvage the second half of the day.

Getting back early enough to keep the seven o’clock dinner reservations that you’d made for a new, upscale steakhouse in Brooklyn would have been possible if a last minute thunderstorm hadn’t delayed your flight back to New York.

Now it’s already half past seven, and you’ll be lucky if you make it back home before midnight.

Truthfully, you don’t care about the dinner reservations. Sure, you’d heard great things about the food and you had been excited to go, but you could easily reschedule the reservations for another time. The only thing that you were truly bummed about was not getting to spend the day with Bucky.

Today is your first Valentine’s Day as a couple, and instead of spending it with him, you’re spending it on a commercial flight with dozens of strangers. You can’t help but wonder how many of them are missing their significant other, too.

If you’d had it your way, you would have woken up to his face this morning. The two of you would have slept in as late as you desired, and had a slow, lazy morning before cooking him brunch. Waffles, sausage and bacon, scrambled eggs with extra cheese and hot sauce – all of his favorites. You would have taken a stroll through the park before stopping at the bakery that you frequent for doughnuts and coffee, and maybe visited the botanical gardens before your dinner reservations this evening.

Bucky had assured you that it wasn’t a big deal and that the two of you would make up for it when you were back home. He patiently reminded you that life doesn’t take holidays and special occasions into consideration when dishing out things such as extended work trips and inclement weather conditions.

Valentine’s Day aside, you simply miss him. You’ve been missing him since the moment you left for Nebraska, and you’re more than ready to be back in his arms. This is not the first time you’ve been apart due to work related trips, but this is by far the longest – a whopping seven days.

You miss the way he wants to keep at least one hand on you throughout the night, the way he talks to Alpine as if she will actually respond, and the way that he hums without even noticing that he’s doing it. All of the seemingly little things that you don’t think much of on a day to day basis, but when you’re apart, make you miss him all the more.

By the time your flight lands in New York and you catch an Uber back to your apartment, it’s nearly eleven o’clock. Bucky, of course, had offered to pick you up from the airport, but you had insisted that you were okay with getting an Uber, not wanting him to get out so late at night in the heavy rain.

Plus, if he had picked you up, it would have ruined your plan to surprise him by stopping by his favorite pizza parlor down the block from your apartment on your way home. Sal’s Pizzeria is always open until midnight, and every year they run specials the entire week of Valentine’s Day on heart-shaped pizzas.

Knowing Bucky, he’s likely been living off of instant Ramen since you left for your trip, so you figure he’ll be ecstatic over a late night pizza. Not to mention, you’re famished yourself – all you’ve eaten since lunch being the pack of Biscoff cookies you’d been given on the plane.

Lugging your suitcase, a backpack, and the large pizza box, you fumble with your keys before unlocking the door and stepping inside.

At first, you assume that Bucky is already asleep. But as you walk down the short hallway, you realize there’s soft music playing from somewhere in the apartment. You don't think much of it, since you know that Bucky prefers playing music as opposed to the television for background noise.

It’s almost completely dark, minus low orange lighting that trickles into the hallway from the kitchen.

“I’m home, baby,” you call softly as you approach the kitchen’s entryway. “I know it’s late, but I brought you some pizza, if you're hun—”

You stop dead in your tracks when you step into the kitchen. Dozens of tea light candles illuminate the room, placed strategically on the island in the middle of the room. And on the countertops, and the shelves – basically any flat surface twinkles with the delicate flames.

You stand frozen as a statue with your mouth agape as you take in the scene before you. In addition to the candles, there’s a spread of food across the island. Plates of delicious smelling pasta, small bowls of soup and glasses of red wine. Tied to the backs of the barstools are red and pink heart-shaped balloons.

It looks straight out of a romance movie.

“Pizza pairs well with pasta, I think,” Bucky's voice breaks you out of your trance. “Can never have too many carbs.”

Your gaze snaps over to where he emerges from the den. He wears a bashful smile, and even in the low glow of the candlelight, you can see the faint hint of blush blooming across the apples of his cheeks. He has his hands behind his back, as if trying to conceal something from you.

“You did all of this?” You ask lamely. Your voice is barely a whisper and contains a noticeable quiver. “For me?”

You can’t wrap your brain around it. No one has ever done anything quite like this for you. All of your ex boyfriends always shrugged off Valentine’s Day, leaving you feeling lucky if you got so much as a card. You’d long ago learned not to expect much of anything. Definitely not anything as intimate and thoughtful as this.

“Of course for you,” he murmurs with a low chuckle. He saunters over to where you’re still standing with the pizza box clutched in your hands, and pulls what appears to be a bouquet of flowers in a large mason jar out from behind his back.

“Who else would it be for? Alpine?” He teases, extending the jar to you. You plop the box onto the counter so that your hands are free to accept the flowers.

Upon closer inspection, you realize the bouquet of flowers are not real flowers.

Well, yes and no – they’re wildflowers, made of out Legos. You can’t help but giggle, remembering how you had mentioned how cute you think the Lego set is when you saw it while buying some groceries at Target a few weeks ago. You giggle even harder when you picture Bucky assembling all of the tiny pieces of the bouquet with his large, vibranium fingers.

Your eyes begin to well with tears that threaten to spill over. You quickly blink them back, not wanting to show just how emotional the ornate, colorful arrangement of plastic flowers is making you.

Not just the bouquet – all of it. The food and the wine, the balloons, the candles, the forties music playing lowly from the record player in the living room – the sheer amount of time and attention that he put into creating such a romantic display, and all from the comfort of your home.

“They’re perfect,” you murmur, wiping away a stray tear with sleeve of your sweater. You place the mason jar of the plastic flowers in the midst of the spread of food in front of you, making the scene complete.

“It’s all perfect.” He opens his arms to you, and you happily melt into his embrace. He smells of his familiar earthy cologne, and you can’t help but inhale deeply, relishing in the comfort of his scent and warmth.

Even if you’d come home to him passed out in bed, you would’ve been ecstatic to just crawl under the covers beside him. All of this is more than you ever would have hoped for.

“All I got you is a lousy heart-shaped meat lovers pizza,” you sniffle against his t-shirt and you feel his chest vibrate with laughter. You know that you have the reasonable excuse of being on an assignment in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere Nebraska for the last week, but you still feel bad.

“Hey,” he murmurs, using his index finger to tilt your face to look up at him. He grins down at you for a moment before tenderly pressing his lips against yours. You melt into him right away, having missed the feeling of his lips on yours in the week that you’ve been apart.

His hands travel to your lower back, pulling you flush against him. Your own hands cradle his face, your thumbs caressing the light dusting of stubble that adorns his cheeks. You can already feel the outline of an erection forming through the thin material of his pajama pants when he pulls away, much to your disappointment.

“I love meat lovers pizza,” he assures you with a smirk. “And I love you. The best present you could give me is coming home to me.”

“Still. I’m going to make it up to you,” you promise with a feather light kiss to his lips. “I promise. First thing tomorrow, I’m going to—”

You’re cut off by a low rumbling noise that sounds from between your bodies – a reminder that you haven’t eaten a substantial meal in twelve hours now. You glance over to the plates of food on the island beside you, inhaling the delicious aroma of the dishes.

“I made an educated guess that you’d be hungry,” Bucky chuckles. He reluctantly drops his hold on your waist and moves to pull the barstool out for you. You hop up, taking your seat in front of a heaping plate of pasta and a bowl of French onion soup. Your stomach growls again at the sight.

“Did you make all of this?” You ask, unable to hide the surprise in your voice. It’s not that Bucky is a bad cook – he has a few go-to meals that are always excellent, but he normally doesn’t stray too far out of his comfort zone.

“I did not,” he admits with a sigh. He takes a seat directly across from you. “I ordered takeout from the bistro down the street before they closed earlier. Heated it all back up when you texted me that you were almost home.”

“Well, it’s fucking delicious,” you mumble through a mouthful of the creamy pasta.

You eat together in the glow of the candlelight, with soft music playing in the background and heavy rain beating down against the windows of your apartment. You talk about everything from the details of your mission to what he did while you were away. The food is delicious, the wine he picked out pairs perfectly, it’s cozy and peaceful and romantic – and you realize that you’re enjoying this so much more than you ever would have enjoyed an upscale steakhouse in downtown Brooklyn.

You both end up being too full of pasta and soup to eat any of the pizza that you’d brought home, but you’re happy that you’ve got a whole pizza to look forward to having for lunch tomorrow.

“Thank you, baby,” you tell him after swallowing the last sip of your wine. “For all of this. It was more than I could’ve hoped for today.”

He reaches across the counter, grabbing your hand in his own and bringing it to his lips. “Of course,” he murmurs against your skin, eliciting goosebumps down your arm. “As much as I wish we could’ve spent the day together, I still wanted to make the last hour of it as special as possible.”

He stands, releasing your hand as he begins to collect the empty plates and glasses. “You go on and get ready for bed, yeah? I’ll clean up in here.”

“Nonsense. It's almost midnight. These dishes can wait until the morning. Just stick them in the sink and come shower with me.”

You don’t even care if the whole apartment still smells of garlic and French onion soup in the morning – you’ve been showering and sleeping without him for the last week, and it’s still technically Valentine’s Day, so you’ll allow the dirty dishes to sit for the next eight hours.

To your pleasant surprise, he needs no further convincing. He piles the dirty dishes into the kitchen sink and puts the uneaten pizza in the fridge while you get the shower water up to temperature. By the time his pajamas fall to the bathroom floor, you’re already standing under the hot stream of water.

He opens the shower door, a cheeky grin spreading across his face as soon as his eyes trail up and down your body. The way he looks at you never fails to make you feel like he’s seeing you naked for the very first time, every time.

His hands immediately come to rest on your hips, easing you back against the cool tiling of the shower wall. “God, I missed you,” he sighs as he massages his fingers into the meat of your hips. The contrast of his warm flesh hand and cold vibranium hand on your waist has you arching into his touch.

“I can tell,” you giggle, pulling his face down to yours by the back of his neck. His mouth slates over yours, his tongue sweeping along your bottom lip. You part your lips for him right away, more than ready to feel and taste him after all of your time away.

He nudges your legs apart with his knee, inserting one of his large thighs in-between your own. You sink your bare pussy onto the expanse of his muscular thigh, dragging your center across him for friction. He kisses you until you’re breathless, and only pulls away to instead latch his mouth over one of your nipples. He rolls it between his lips and tongue, using his hold on your waist to help move you up and down his thigh. He alternates between each nipple, kissing and sucking on each until they’re pert and pebbled.

His erection gains your attention as it juts against your belly. You reach between your bodies, taking his length in your hand and stroking him with ease, the water from the shower making his skin slick.

You whimper above him, desperate for some release. He laughs, peppering kisses across your breasts and up your neck. You feel him smiling into the column of your throat.

“I think you missed me, too,” he murmurs against your pulse point.

“Maybe,” you admit, your voice etched with impatience. “Why don’t we hurry and get out this shower so I can show you just how much I missed you?”

He presses a final kiss to the side of your neck before pulling away and smirking down at you. He reaches over to one of the shelves in the shower, grabbing a loofah and your bottle of body wash.

“I’ll have you know that I showered before you got home,” he says as he squirts a dollop of the gel onto the sponge. “I’m just here for your entertainment – and your convenience, of course. Now turn around.”

You do as he says, turning around to face the shower wall. You brace yourself against the tiles with your forearms, relaxing as he begins to massage the soap across the tops of your shoulders and down your back.

He takes his time, lazily rubbing the skin of the backs of your thighs before reaching around and doing the same to your stomach and chest. As good as it feels, all you can focus on is the head of his cock nudging against the curve of your ass.

“Bucky.”

The word comes out somewhere between a moan and a warning – a warning that if he doesn’t finish lathering your body in the next two seconds so you can rinse the fuck off, you’re going to take matters into your own hands.

“What is it, baby?” he asks innocently, stepping forward ever so slightly so that his cock inches between the space where your thighs meet your ass.

You turn back to face him, grabbing the loofah out of his hand and tossing it to the opposite end of the shower. The stream of water that beats down against your bodies washes the suds down the drain.

“You’re really going to tease me like that? On Valentine’s Day, of all days?”

“Pretty sure it’s after midnight now,” he quips with a smirk.

You turn so that you’re out of the direct line of the water, and lower yourself to the shower floor. His cock bobs inches in front of your face. You grasp him in your hand, languidly stroking his length as you stare up at him.

“Then I guess you’re lucky that I missed you so much.”

He opens his mouth to retort, but snaps it shut with a sharp intake of breath when you wrap your lips around his tip. You swirl your tongue around him, lapping up the beads of pearlescent white that had gathered around his slit. You begin to bob your head, taking more and more of him into your mouth until he hits the back of your throat.

Above you, he throws his head back and hisses at the sensation. His metal hand cradles the back of your head, guiding your movements. You gag at the overwhelming fullness, pulling away from him for air. You ease him back into your mouth, setting a steady pace. He rocks his hips forward, meeting your movements with his own.

In one hand, you cup his balls, gently massaging the sack. With your free hand, you attempt to relieve the growing ache between your own thighs by rubbing quick circles over your clit. The thrusts of his hips start to grow erratic, and you feel him twitch against your tongue when he suddenly pulls away from you.

“Not gonna cum in your mouth,” he answers when he looks down to see your questioning stare. “Not tonight. Missed you too much.”

He pulls you up by the tops of your arms and eases you back against the shower wall once more. He then takes your place on the floor, kneeling in front of you. He trails kisses along the wet skin of your thighs as he hooks one over his shoulder. He wastes no more time, diving into your pussy. His tongue swirls over your clit as he brings one long, metal finger to tease your hole. He nudges it inside as his lips suction around the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of your folds.

Your body goes relaxed, your back sliding down the wet tiling of the shower wall. Bucky helps support you from down below as he sinks his vibranium digit deeper inside you.

The coil in your lower belly tightens quickly, pent up from a whole week without his touch. He can always tell when you’re close by the little noises that you make and the way that you tug on the short brown locks of his hair with your fingers.

He groans as he licks a thick strip up your slit, sending you over the edge. Your orgasm washes over you, your cunt clenching around his thick vibranium finger as he sucks your clit until you go still above him.

It's then that it hits you that the water from the shower has started to run cold.

“Come on,” Bucky says, rising as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He turns the faucet off and grabs the two towels that hang over the glass wall of the shower, handing you one before wrapping his around his waist. “Let's get out of here. I’ve got one more gift to give you before we continue this.”

“Another gift? You’ve already done so much. I didn’t even get—”

He gently shushes you with a sly grin, exiting the shower before you can protest any further. You pat your skin dry before securing the towel around your chest and then follow him into your shared bedroom.

Alpine is snoring softly at the foot of your king sized bed, completely oblivious to the fact that you’re even home. Everything is exactly as you left it, from the stack of half finished books on your nightstand to the orange Himalayan salt rock lamp that hasn’t been turned off a single time since the two of you moved into the apartment together. The comfort and familiarity of everything makes you feel all the more grateful to be back home.

You grab a bottle of lotion off of your bedside table and begin lathering it onto the skin of your legs as you watch Bucky rummage through the drawer of his own nightstand. After a moment, he pulls out a small, dark red colored box.

“Catch!” He warns before gently tossing it across the bed to you. You catch it, a smile blooming across your face as you sooth your thumb over the velvet material encasing the small box. He walks over to your side of the bed to stand beside you.

You raise the lid to box, revealing a dainty gold chain with a capital letter B dangling in the center.

You think it’s perfect. It’s isn’t overly ostentatious – it’s the perfect size, and so very you.

“Do you like it?” Bucky asks, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

“I love it,” you assure him, overwhelmed by how sweet and thoughtful he is. “Help me put it on?”

You don’t care that it’s the middle of the night, you want it on you right now.

Bucky takes the box from you, carefully removing the necklace. You turn away from him, letting him drape the delicate chain around your neck. The charm lands just below your clavicle.

“There,” he murmurs as he clasps the chain together. You turn back to face him, letting him see his initial displayed across your chest. “Perfect.”

“Thank you, baby,” you whisper as you raise up on your feet to press your lips to his. The light flavor of your slick lingers on his lips, sending a fresh wave of arousal through your gut. “So much.”

“Of course,” he murmurs against your mouth. “Now lay down. Wanna see how it looks on ya without the towel.”

••••••

thanks so much for reading!! comments and reblogs are very appreciated ♡

[kiwriteswords]

It's a Match [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 7.6k|| AN: I rescheduled a hinge date to finish writing this (I wish I was joking)...that is the inspo for this. I really enjoyed this one, though!

Tags/Warnings: non-BAU!Reader, suggestive themes, canon-typical themes, implied sexual themes, dating apps, meet cute ? kinda?, Aaron Hotchner's POV, Garcia-the-ever-supportive-friend, The BAU giving Hotch shit, Garcia signing Hotch up for a dating app.

Summary: Aaron Hotchner rarely sought out the opinions of others, but when his co-workers' incessant nagging about getting back out in the dating world continues, he begins to think about it a little more clearly.

Aaron Hotchner wasn’t fond of his personal life being up for debate. At this point in his life, he rarely found himself seeking the advice of others. He found that relying so heavily on other’s input, only made him feel less confident in his decisions. 

That isn’t to say that his team...his team that means well--he must add, that they…they tend to still give advice without him needing to ask for it.  

In the low hum of the bullpen, Hotch tood with a stern expression, his eyes scanning the case files in a folder he held. Despite the typical chaos of phone calls and keyboard clacks, an undercurrent of a different sort awaited Hotch--a well-meaning, albeit persistent, nudge from his team towards something resembling a personal life.

“Hotch, you seriously need to get out more,” Garcia quipped as she approached him, her fingers dancing across a colorful tablet, laden with what Hotch assumed were not just case notes but potential social engagements. “It’s been ages since Beth and...well, you know.”

Hotch merely nodded, his jaw tightening slightly. He appreciated her concern, a softness blooming in his chest, but the thought of venturing back into the world of dating seemed daunting, a distant terrain.

“You have to admit, Jack’s practically a grown-up now. He’s got his own social calendar,” Prentiss joined in, her voice light, trying to tread carefully around the subject.

Hotch sighed, setting down the file he was holding. “I’m not sure I’m ready,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. This admission felt heavy, laden with the unspoken grief of losing Haley and the subsequent dissolution of what little personal life he had managed to rebuild.

Morgan leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed. “Look, man, no one’s saying jump into anything serious. Just...meet people. Have coffee. Laugh a little.” His tone was earnest, edged with concern.

Hotch rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling the weight of their stares. “I know you all mean well, but—”

“It’s healthy, Hotch!” Garcia interrupted, her voice vibrant, attempting to infuse some light into the somber mood. “And who knows? Maybe there’s someone out there who’s been waiting just for someone like you.”

Despite himself, Hotch’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile. He admired Garcia’s relentless optimism. “Maybe,” he conceded.

The team seemed to collectively hold their breath, waiting for more, but Hotch was not ready to offer anything beyond that concession. He glanced around at each of them, their faces etched with a mix of hope and caution.

“I’ll think about it,” Hotch finally said, a compromise that seemed to satisfy them for the moment. He hoped this was the last of it. 

As the team dispersed back to their tasks, Hotch returned to his office. His hand brushed over a photo of Haley and Jack, the texture of the frame familiar and bittersweet under his fingers. He wasn’t sure if he was truly ready to let someone else into his life, but the warmth from his team’s concern was hard to ignore. Maybe it was time to start thinking about the possibility, even if the thought alone made his heart race with a mix of fear and anticipation.

Hotch didn’t need to be a profiler to know his team would bring this up…again. And again. And you know what? Probably again. 

The evening found the team at a local bar, a rare collective moment of downtime that buzzed with laughter and casual banter. Hotch, though present and occasionally contributing to the conversation, often found his gaze wandering over the crowd, an observer more than a participant.

Garcia leaned in, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she nudged JJ, who was scanning the crowd with a mischievous grin. "Okay, so there's this woman at the bar," Garcia whispered loud enough for the team to hear, "and she looks perfect for Hotch."

Hotch, who had been sipping his scotch quietly, raised an eyebrow, his posture stiffening slightly. "I thought we agreed—"

"Oh, come on, Hotch, it’s just a bit of fun," JJ interjected, her gaze fixed on someone across the room. "No harm in looking, right?"

Morgan chuckled, clapping Hotch on the shoulder. "Let's see if Garcia's matchmaking skills are as good as her tech skills."

Reluctantly, Hotch turned his gaze towards the bar. The woman in question was laughing loudly, a little too boisterously, her movements slightly uncoordinated as she swayed to the music. As if sensing the attention, she looked over, her eyes locking with Hotch’s for a brief, unsettling moment before she raised her glass in a sloppy salute.

Hotch’s lips thinned, his discomfort clear. He turned back to his team, shaking his head. "I don't think—"

Before he could finish, the woman decided to make her way over, her steps uneven, a clear sign of her inebriation. Garcia and JJ exchanged a glance, their initial enthusiasm dimming as they watched the scene unfold.

"Hey there, handsome," the woman slurred as she approached Hotch, her voice loud enough to draw the attention of nearby patrons. "I saw you staring. Buy me a drink?"

Hotch stood, his FBI training kicking in to manage the situation with politeness mixed with firmness. "I believe you’ve had enough for tonight," he said, his voice low and calm.

The woman pouted, leaning closer, her sense of personal space clearly compromised by alcohol. "Oh, come on, don't be such a party pooper."

From the table, Rossi raised an eyebrow, his expression one of concern as he watched Hotch handle the delicate situation. Prentiss covered her mouth, trying to hide her cringe, while Morgan finally stood, ready to intervene.

"Ma'am, I think you need to go back to your friends," Morgan said, steering her gently but firmly by the elbow.

As the woman was guided away, muttering under her breath, Hotch sat back down, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The team was silent for a moment, the previous mirth replaced by a shared awkwardness.

Garcia finally broke the silence, her voice soft. "I’m sorry, Hotch. That was not what we expected."

JJ nodded, adding, "Yeah, we just thought...I don’t know what we thought."

Hotch managed a small smile, appreciating their intentions despite the outcome. "It’s okay. I know you both mean well." His gaze shifted to his glass, his mind not on the failed attempt at matchmaking, but on the quiet realization that perhaps he wasn’t quite as ready as they hoped he’d be to jump back into the dating scene.

The team spent the rest of the evening avoiding any further matchmaking attempts, focusing instead on stories from past cases and plans for the weekend. Hotch listened, occasionally contributing, but mostly he appreciated the laughter and the familiar, comforting presence of his team.

As they left the bar later that evening, Hotch felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder--Rossi’s silent support. "You'll know when it’s time, Aaron," Rossi said quietly, his voice carrying a weight of understanding.

Hotch nodded, the night’s air cool and refreshing as it cleared the remnants of the bar’s claustrophobia. "Thanks, Dave," he said, feeling a little lighter. Despite the evening’s missteps, the bond with his team had never felt stronger. He knew they had his back, in the field and beyond, and that was enough--for now.

But then it happened again and Hotch began to feel cornered by his own team. It was getting a bit ridiculous, if you asked him. 

The dull roar of the jet’s engines served as a backdrop to the team's winding down conversations, each member settling into their seats, weary yet content after a successful case closure. As the aircraft hummed its way through the skies, Derek Morgan turned his attention towards his teammates, a grin spreading across his face as he hatched another of his well-intentioned plans.

“Alright, gentlemen,” Derek began, his voice filled with a conspiratorial warmth, “I say this weekend, we do a guys’ night out. Just us, some good food, maybe a few drinks, and see what kind of trouble we can find.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, a silent question hanging in the balance as he met Derek’s gaze. He appreciated Derek’s efforts, always aimed at lightening the mood or bringing them together off the clock, but the idea of a night focused on meeting women wasn’t particularly appealing.

Rossi, who had been quietly reading a book, looked up with a smirk. “Speak for yourself, Morgan. I don’t need wingmen,” he said, his voice smooth and confident. “And I doubt Aaron here needs one either. When he’s ready, he’s ready. No pressure needed.”

Derek laughed, turning to Reid, who was absently shuffling some papers. “What about you, pretty boy? You think you got game?”

Reid looked up, blinking behind his glasses. “I-I suppose I could… that is to say, I have read extensively on social dynamics and interpersonal—”

“Spencer, if you have to quote a study, it’s not game,” Hotch interjected, a rare, teasing tone in his voice as he shared a knowing look with Rossi.

Reid’s cheeks tinged pink, but his lips curved into a smile. “Well, I might surprise you,” he countered, the mock offense clear in his tone.

The banter lightened Hotch’s mood, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards as the familiar and comforting dynamic of their team played out around him. It was these moments, simple and unadorned, that reminded him of what mattered most.

Derek clapped his hands together, his smile broadening. “Alright, it’s settled then. We’ll table the wingman idea for now, but we’re still doing guys’ night, agreed?”

“Agreed,” Rossi and Reid chimed in, their voices overlapping.

Hotch nodded, feeling a sense of relief at the postponement of the original plan. “Agreed,” he added, his voice firm yet grateful.

As the conversation drifted to other topics, Hotch leaned back in his seat, his gaze fixed on the dark window, reflecting the soft interior lights of the jet. The thought of venturing back into the world of dating remained daunting, a distant shore he wasn’t quite ready to explore.

It seemed like not-subtle attempt, after not-subtle attempt, Hotch felt like he was getting further and further away from the idea of wanting to meet someone. 

Hotch's reluctance to step back into the dating world was not born of fear, nor was it due to a lack of interest in companionship. Rather, it was the weight of his past--a tapestry woven with profound love and devastating loss--that anchored him. The memories of Haley, vibrant and alive, contrasted sharply with the harrowing night of her death. Then there was Beth, a chapter that had closed gently, but still a loss that added layers to his guarded heart.

As he sat there, his eyes occasionally flickering to the photos of Jack on his desk, Hotch considered the complexities of introducing someone new into their lives. Jack, now a teenager, was his priority, and any disruption that could unsettle the stable life he had fought so hard to provide was a risk Hotch was hesitant to take.

The responsibilities of his role at the BAU further complicated matters. His job was not just a career; it was a calling--one that demanded everything of him, including long hours and the mental toll of delving into the darkest corners of human behavior. How could he find or ask someone to understand that? Hotch's brow furrowed as he considered this. How could he bring someone into this world--his world--where danger was a constant companion and where the balance between life and death was often precariously thin?

Hotch was lost in the meticulous review of case files when the whirlwind known as Penelope Garcia burst into his office, her tablet clutched like a treasure chest of mischief. Her arrival was usually heralded by her exuberant chatter or the bright clash of her eclectic fashion, but today it was her wide grin that signaled she was up to something particularly Garcia-esque.

"Hotch, you are not going to believe what I've done!" she exclaimed, barely containing her excitement as she approached his desk.

Hotch looked up, his expression a blend of wariness and resignation. "Garcia, please tell me you haven't hacked into another government database." He thought this moment itself could take years off his life. 

"No, silly!" She waved off the comment with a flick of her wrist. "Something much better. I've signed you up for a dating app!" She beamed, clearly proud of her handiwork.

Hotch’s eyebrows knitted together in concern. "Garcia, you know how dangerous those can be. I have no business being on a dating app."

"Oh, come on, Hotch! This is how people meet nowadays. It's all very safe, and you can be upfront about what you're looking for through DMs!" Garcia explained, her enthusiasm undimmed.

"DMs?" Hotch frowned, his confusion evident.

"Direct messages, Hotch. Keep up!" She tapped on her tablet, pulling up a profile that Hotch hoped against hope wasn’t his. His hope was in vain.

Garcia turned the tablet toward him, revealing a profile complete with photos of Hotch that looked suspiciously candid and slightly dated. "See? I even picked your best photos. This one's from that beach vacation you took ten years ago. You're shirtless! It's gold, Hotch, pure gold."

Hotch stared at the photo, his mind racing back to a much simpler time. "Garcia, I barely even look like that anymore. Where did you even find this?"

"In the deep recesses of the BAU annual trip photo archive thingy," she quipped, winking. "And everyone needs at least bathing suit photo, Hotch. It's like an unwritten rule of dating apps."

Garcia proceeded to scroll through the profile, pointing out the interests she had listed for him. "Look, I put down that you love long walks on the beach, are an aficionado of fine wines, and have a passion for rare book collecting."

Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. "Garcia, I’ve never collected a book in my life, unless case files count."

She shrugged, undeterred. "Details, Hotch, details. It's all about selling the dream."

Despite his frustration, a small smile tugged at the corners of Hotch's mouth. Only Garcia could get away with this level of audacity. She gleefully showed him how to use the app, swiping through various screens before downloading it onto his phone with practiced ease.

As Garcia finally left his office, still bubbling with excitement, Hotch looked down at the app icon on his phone. He couldn't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, this could be a good thing. Shaking his head, he chuckled softly to himself. "Only Garcia," he muttered, his annoyance fading to a fond exasperation.

Left alone with his new digital dating life, Hotch tapped on the app, curiosity overcoming his initial reluctance. As he scrolled through the interface, the absurdity of the situation struck him, and he couldn't help but let out a genuine laugh. Maybe exploring this new world wouldn’t be so bad, especially if it gave him more stories to share with Garcia--just maybe not the ones she was hoping for.

One night soon after, Hotch made it home at a reasonable (well, still very late) time--reasonable for him. He settled into the unusual quiet of his apartment, the absence of Jack's lively presence making the space seem larger and more silent than usual. With a sigh, he resigned himself to a solitary evening--a rare slice of downtime that was both welcome and unnerving.

After a moment of hesitation, curiosity nudged him towards the dating app that Garcia had enthusiastically installed on his phone. He still harbored reservations about the entire concept, but with the night stretching empty before him, the app seemed like a harmless diversion..

Sitting comfortably on his couch, Hotch opened the app and began navigating through it with a tentative curiosity. The light from his phone cast a soft glow in the dim room as he scrolled through profiles, his face a mask of concentration.

Methodically, he started tweaking his profile, softening Garcia's more flamboyant embellishments to reflect his true nature. He made it clear he was a devoted father and that his--undisclosed to the app--job was demanding, requiring anyone interested to understand the stakes of his career. His description was straightforward--seeking a meaningful connection with someone who could appreciate the complexities of his life.

As he swiped through the profiles, Hotch's brow furrowed slightly. Many were immediately unsuitable--too young, too flashy, or just too far from what he felt comfortable with. One profile made him pause, the woman's intense stare and array of self-purchased tactical gear a bit too reminiscent of an unsub profile he'd studied just weeks before.

But then, he swiped to the next profile, and everything stopped. The woman's photos--your photos exuded warmth and sincerity, your smile genuine, reaching your eyes and lighting up your entire face. 

Your description was simple yet profound, speaking of your love for literature, your passion for teaching, and your volunteer work with children. It wasn't just your physical appearance that caught his attention--it was the evident kindness and intelligence that shone through your words.

Hotch's finger hovered over the screen for a moment before he decided to swipe right, feeling a strange surge of hope. The screen flashed, and the word "Match!" appeared. A small, surprised smile touched his lips. It was the first profile he had responded to positively, and the immediate match was unexpected.

For a moment, Hotch stared at the screen, the implications of the match settling in. This was uncharted territory for him, stepping into a world of potential and possibilities. With a deep breath, he opened the messaging feature, contemplating his first words to you. He wanted to convey sincerity and interest, a reflection of the authenticity that had drawn him to your profile in the first place.

As he typed out a simple greeting, careful to be both respectful and engaging, Hotch felt a flicker of something like excitement—or perhaps it was just the thrill of new beginnings. Whatever it was, it felt right, and for the first time in a long time, Aaron Hotchner allowed himself to feel cautiously optimistic about the path unfolding before him.

The digital conversation was new territory for him, each notification a pulse of unfamiliar excitement. When your reply came, it was both thoughtful and warm, sparking a connection that seemed to transcend the mere pixels of his screen.

As the messages exchanged grew more frequent and personal, Hotch admitted, somewhat reluctantly, that he was a novice in the realm of online dating. He explained how his work  shaped his cautious view on things like dating apps, and he confessed that it was his team’s encouragement that led him here.

You responded with understanding, echoing his sentiments about the unusual path that brought you both to this app, yet expressing a selfish gladness that his coworkers had nudged him into this new experience. It was a sentiment Hotch couldn’t help but share, feeling a connection building that was both surprising and delightful.

The conversation naturally flowed, and soon, you suggested shifting from texting to something more personal. "I'm not much for messaging," you wrote, "Would you be up for a video call instead?"

Hotch felt a wave of relief wash over him. Navigating the app was one thing, but speaking to someone, hearing their voice, that was familiar ground. He agreed eagerly, and within moments, he was waiting for the call to connect, his heart rate subtly quickening.

He was glad this didn’t allow for much time to think in between--he’d be afraid he would talk himself out of it. Find a million reasons why he shouldn’t be doing this. 

When your face appeared on his screen, the connection was instantaneous. You were even more captivating in motion, your smile lighting up the digital space between you. Hotch found himself momentarily lost for words, taken aback by how the interaction felt so natural, so right.

"Hi," he started, his voice steadier than he felt. "I hope it’s okay to say this, but you’re even more beautiful than your pictures."

You laughed, a sound that was both melodic and grounding, easing the last of Hotch's nerves. "Thank you, Aaron. You're quite the charmer yourself."

As the conversation unfolded, the chemistry was undeniable. You both shared stories, your laughter mingling through the airwaves, bridging the physical distance with ease. Hotch, typically reserved, found himself opening up about aspects of his life that he seldom discussed outside his closest circles.

You were a professor at a university. A bit younger than him, but did not seem phased by that--especially considering his age, height, along with way too many other physical details, were displayed on his profile. 

Encouraged by the undeniable connection, Hotch took a breath before voicing a thought that had been on his mind since the call began. "I don’t mean to be forward, but I would really like to meet you in person. Would you like to go out for dinner this week?"

Your smile broadened, and it was all the confirmation Hotch needed. "I'd love to, Aaron. That sounds wonderful."

Plans were made for a dinner later that week, the details ironed out with mutual enthusiasm. As the call ended, Hotch sat back, a sense of accomplishment and anticipation settling over him. He hadn’t expected this when he first opened the app, but now, he couldn’t deny the potential that lay ahead.

He placed his phone down, his mind replaying moments from the call, each laugh and shared story a promise of possibilities. 

Hotch’s mind was a tumult of apprehension as he prepared for the evening. Each scenario he imagined was tinged with the occupational hazard of suspecting the worst. Yet, he meticulously chose his attire, settling on a sharp, dark suit that matched his formal, reserved nature. Despite the nerves, a part of him--the part trained to face unknowns head-on--compelled him forward.

He arrived at the restaurant punctually, the ambiance a blend of soft lighting and quiet chatter, ideal for a meaningful first date. Standing at the entrance, he scanned the area for you, his heart rate ticking upward not out of fear, but anticipation.

When he finally saw you, everything else fell away. You were waiting at the table, looking up from your menu with a smile that drew him in completely. As he approached, Hotch felt the last of his doubts dissolve, replaced by an unexpected surge of hope.

"Hi," he greeted, voice steady despite the whirlwind inside. "You look incredible."

You stood to meet him, extending a confident hand that he shook gently. "Thank you, Aaron. You're quite dashing yourself. I’m so glad to meet you in person."

As you both sat, the conversation began to flow naturally between the ordering of drinks and dishes. Hotch found himself genuinely smiling, engaged by your insights and humor. Almost forgetting that this was someone who had been a total stranger to him not long before. 

"So, you're a professor?" he inquired, genuinely interested. He remembered you mentioning it briefly in your first initial conversation. 

"Yes, I teach literature. I like to think of myself as a life-long learner and to be able to share words and pages that shaped so many lives--it’s incredible," you explained, your eyes lighting up with enthusiasm.

"That sounds extremely rewarding," Hotch commented, noting the passion in your voice. "It must be fascinating to see students develop their understanding over a semester."

"It is," you agreed. "And what about you? I know you work for the DOJ, but what does that entail day-to-day?"

Hotch hesitated, weighing how much to share, before deciding on honesty--he couldn’t deny that your presence…your aura made it easy to want to share. "It's challenging. My job can be intense--managing cases, leading a team. But it's fulfilling, knowing we're making a difference."

You nodded thoughtfully, sipping your glass of wine and looking at him over the rim of the glass. "It sounds like you're very dedicated. I admire that."

The conversation shifted seamlessly to lighter topics, and eventually to Jack. "He's staying with a friend tonight," Hotch mentioned. "He's growing up fast, involved in sports, school...it keeps us both busy."

"It sounds like you're a great father," you noted, your tone warm. "Balancing such a demanding job and raising him."

Hotch appreciated the compliment, feeling a flush of pride. "I try my best. Jack is my priority. It’s just us two."

As the dinner progressed, there was a mutual, comfortable--and natural--level of flirting that neither of you shied away from. You leaned in slightly, your interest clear as you spoke, "I must say, Aaron, I was a bit nervous about this date, I’ve never been on a date from an app before…but you've made this evening truly enjoyable."

Hotch mirrored your movement, leaning in, driven by a rare impulse to connect. "I can honestly say the same. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I'm glad I came tonight."

The evening ended with a promise to see each other again, both of you reluctant to part ways after such a promising start. As Hotch walked you to your car, he felt a lightness he hadn't experienced in years.

"Thank you for tonight," he said, standing a bit closer. "I'm looking forward to seeing you again soon."

"I'd like that," you smiled, your confidence and warmth evident even in the dim light of the parking lot.

As you drove away, Hotch remained for a moment, watching the taillights fade into the night. He allowed himself a small, hopeful smile, a sense of anticipation for the future blossoming inside him. Tonight, Aaron Hotchner felt not just the skilled agent, but a man stepping into a new chapter of his life, unexpectedly uplifted by the promise of new beginnings.

As Aaron Hotchner and you grew closer, the budding relationship unveiled a lighter side of Hotch, one that had been subdued for years under the weight of responsibility and duty. The dynamic between you was characterized by a playful banter that coaxed smiles and even laughter from the normally stoic FBI agent.

One crisp evening, as you both enjoyed a casual stroll through a local art festival, you pointed at a particularly abstract painting. "So, Aaron, if you were an art critic, what profound analysis would you offer here?"

Hotch studied the painting, his brow furrowng in mock seriousness. "Well," he began, adopting a thoughtful tone, "I would say that the chaotic swirls represent the tumultuous nature of...let's say, choosing the perfect wine to go with dinner."

You laughed, bumping his shoulder lightly with yours. "That sounds suspiciously like last night’s dilemma. Did this piece just speak to your soul?"

He turned to you, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. "It might have. Or maybe it’s reminding me that I should stick to my day job."

The conversation flowed effortlessly as you both shared stories and insights. Later, sitting at a small café, Hotch opened up about his work with a rare openness, prompted by your genuine interest and lack of judgment.

"You know, most people get intimidated when I talk about my job," Hotch admitted, stirring his coffee slowly.

"You're not just your job, Aaron," you responded, smiling warmly. "Though, I must admit, it’s a pretty impressive part of who you are. But I’m more interested in the man who can quote Shakespeare and knows his way around an impressive omelet."

Hotch’s smile was genuine, a little wider this time. "Well, I could say the same about a woman who can discuss Renaissance literature and beat me in a game of chess."

As the evening wore on, Hotch found himself sharing more than he usually allowed. The topic of fatherhood--the most important part of his identity, always seemed to weave his way through. And now, having a teenager, a wise teenager, it didn’t take long before Jack picked up on the fact that Hotch was seeing someone. 

"Jack’s been asking about you," he said cautiously, observing your reaction.

"Is that so?" you grinned, clearly pleased. "And what exactly have you told him about me?"

"That his dad is spending time with a very smart, beautiful, and funny woman who might just be a worse cook than I am."

Your laughter filled the space between you, and Hotch felt a warmth that went beyond the ambient glow of the café’s lights. "Challenge accepted. I’ll have you know, my culinary skills are...in development."

The playful back-and-forth continued, with each exchange gently peeling back layers of Hotch's reserved exterior. It was clear to both of you that something significant was taking root--something filled with potential and promise.

As you parted ways that evening, Hotch felt an ease and contentment that was new and invigorating. "I'm looking forward to our next culinary showdown," he teased, his tone light but sincere.

"And I, for one, can’t wait to see what other hidden talents you have, Agent Hotchner," you replied, your voice playful yet affectionate.

Walking back to his car, Hotch allowed himself a rare, contented smile. This new chapter with you was unfolding into something unexpectedly wonderful, showing him that life could indeed be vibrant and full of surprises, even for someone as grounded in reality as SSA Aaron Hotchner.

After an elegant evening at the theater, Aaron Hotchner found himself walking with you to the car under a starlit sky, the air crisp and cool, perfect for the light jackets you both wore. The play had been a profound one, sparking rich conversation between the two of you that continued as you strolled. Your love for classic literature and his lost love for theatre combined. 

Hotch, typically reserved, felt an unusual flutter of anticipation mixed with a warmth that had grown steadily since the night began.

He had thought about this often, but never felt the need to bring it up--in due time, he thought, but tonight…tonight felt like it was due. 

"You know," Hotch began, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of emotion, "I can't believe we've been seeing each other for this long, and I haven’t even—"

You turned to face him, a teasing sparkle in your eyes. "Haven’t even what, Aaron?"

He paused, looking into your eyes which were reflecting the soft streetlights. "Kissed you," he admitted, the words feeling more significant as they hung in the air between you.

Your smile widened, and you stepped a little closer, diminishing the space between you. "Is Aaron Hotchner nervous about a kiss?" you asked playfully, tilting your head as you gazed up at him.

The corner of Hotch's mouth lifted in a half-smile, a rare show of his lighter side that you had slowly uncovered. "Maybe," he confessed, his usual confidence tempered with a vulnerability he rarely showed. "But only because it feels important."

"It is," you agreed softly, your hand finding his. "But only because it’s you."

That was all the encouragement Hotch needed. He leaned down, his heart beating a touch faster as his lips met yours in a gentle, searching kiss. It was a kiss that started tentatively but grew more confident as you responded, your hands moving up to lightly grasp his jacket.

The world seemed to quiet around you, the buzz of the city fading into a distant hum. Hotch’s free hand came up to gently cup your cheek, his touch tender yet certain. The kiss deepened, stirring a warmth that spread through his entire body, a feeling of rightness that was both exhilarating and calming.

When you finally parted, both of you were slightly breathless, a flush on your cheeks that matched the one on Hotch’s. You laughed softly, the sound like music to his ears.

"So, was it everything you hoped it would be?" you teased, your eyes dancing with mirth.

Hotch, still holding you close, nodded. "Even more," he said sincerely. "I think using that app might have been one of the best decisions I've ever made."

Your laughter rang out again, joyous and free. "Just for the record, you're the only one I ever made it on a date with," you shared, giving him a playful nudge.

"And you were the only one I ever messaged," Hotch revealed, his usual stoicism warmed by the affection in his voice. "I guess we both got incredibly lucky."

The drive to bring you home was filled with a comfortable silence, punctuated by shared looks and soft smiles. When he stopped at your place, Hotch leaned over to kiss you again, this time with a confidence borne of the shared connection that had only deepened since the first.

"Goodnight," he said, his voice low and filled with a promise of more to come.

"Goodnight, Aaron," you replied, your hand squeezing his for a moment longer before you stepped out,

As Hotch drove away, his mind replayed every moment of the evening, each memory a treasure. He realized, with a clarity that was almost startling, just how much he had come to care for you.

Days later, Hotch sat solemnly at the round table, his usual composed demeanor slightly offset by an underlying layer of disappointment. As the team geared up for an abrupt deployment to handle a pressing case, Hotch couldn't help but think about the dinner plans he had to cancel with you. He had been looking forward to a relaxing evening, a rare chance to step away from the demands of his job and focus on the burgeoning relationship that had become a significant source of joy in his life.

"I'm sorry, I can't make it tonight," Hotch had said over the phone earlier, his voice carrying a weight of regret.

"It's okay, Aaron," you had responded, your tone light and teasing. "I'll just have to spend the evening sending you flirty texts instead. Stay safe, and catch the bad guys, okay?"

Despite your understanding and playful reassurance, the disappointment lingered. As the team discussed logistics and profiles, Hotch's mind wandered momentarily, reflecting on the personal sacrifices that came with his role at the FBI.

Suddenly, Garcia's voice snapped him back to reality. "Hotch, you seem more down about this trip than usual. Anything you want to share with the class?" Her tone was lightly teasing but underscored with genuine concern.

Hotch cleared his throat, shifting slightly in his seat. "It's nothing," he started to dismiss, hoping to steer back to the case details.

But Garcia, ever perceptive, wouldn't let it go that easily. She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing playfully. "No, no, no, this has to be something good. Wait! Did you meet someone on the dating app?"

The room quieted, all eyes suddenly on Hotch. The surprise on his team's faces was palpable, a mix of curiosity and amusement.

Hotch sighed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he realized there was no dodging Garcia's sharp intuition. "Yes, I met someone."

"And I can tell he's incredibly happy," Garcia added, her voice squealing with excitement, filling the room with her infectious energy.

The team erupted in a mixture of chuckles and supportive remarks. "Hotch on a dating app, now that's something I didn't see coming," Morgan commented with a grin.

Rossi raised an eyebrow, his expression one of mock seriousness. "So, this is serious then?"

"It's...going well," Hotch admitted, allowing himself a small moment of vulnerability in front of his team. "And yes, I'm happy. It's just hard balancing the job with personal life sometimes. I forgot how difficult it is to cancel on someone you--someone you're starting to care a lot about."

The team's demeanor softened, understanding the conflict Hotch felt. Prentiss leaned in, her voice gentle. "We get it, Hotch. But it sounds like she does too. That's a good sign, right?"

Hotch nodded, appreciative of the support. "It is. She's very understanding. Makes it a bit easier."

Garcia beamed, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "Oh, I need to know everything. When we get back, you're giving me details, Hotch. Deal?"

Hotch couldn't help but laugh, the sound rare enough to cause a few surprised looks. "Deal, Garcia."

After all, he did feel like he owed Garcia…so much in this moment for if it wasn’t for her, he’d never had met you.

Throughout the duration of a challenging and complex case, Aaron Hotchner found moments of reprieve through the buzz of his phone. Each notification a reminder of the intriguing connection he’d developed with you. 

Your texts, infused with lightness and wit, became small beacons of joy amid the high-pressure environment of his work.

One evening, as he and the team were wrapping up a long day of interviews and evidence analysis, Hotch’s phone vibrated with a new message from you. He glanced around--most of the team was absorbed in their tasks--and allowed himself a moment to read your text.

"Thinking of a proper celebration for when you get back...Maybe we can explore the possibility of moving past just kisses? I have a few ideas I think you’d approve of..."

The message was smooth, playful yet suggestive, and it caught Hotch off guard. He felt a flush of warmth spread through him, a mixture of anticipation and slight disarray, emotions he usually kept neatly compartmentalized.

Sitting back in his chair, Hotch let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh. 

It was rare for him to connect with someone so deeply that thoughts of them could so easily unsettle his usual stoic demeanor. Yet, you did just that, and he found himself not only accepting this new dynamic but eagerly looking forward to what it promised.

He typed a response, his fingers pausing above the keyboard as he considered how best to reply. Finally, he settled on a message that matched your playful tone while still holding onto his inherent reserved nature.

"Exploring new possibilities sounds like an excellent plan. I’ll look forward to your ideas... very much so."

Sending the text, Hotch felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It was an unfamiliar sensation to look forward to personal plans with such anticipation, but it was one he found increasingly appealing.

As he pocketed his phone and returned his focus to the case files spread out before him, Hotch’s thoughts momentarily drifted to what awaited him upon his return. The prospect of deepening his relationship with you brought a sense of excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Even amidst the demanding rhythms of his job, Hotch found himself counting down the days until he could see you again, eager to explore the new dimensions of their relationship. The playful, flirtatious exchanges were more than just brief escapes from his responsibilities; they were reminders of the burgeoning connection that might just redefine his understanding of balance between his dedication to his work and his personal life.

After wrapping up the demanding case, Hotch found himself outside your apartment, his anticipation a palpable presence within him. He had been thinking about this moment throughout the flight back--about you, about the promise of what lay ahead. The door opened to your welcoming smile, and any remaining trace of professional tension melted away as he stepped inside.

For the first time in a long time, he felt like he could leave work at the door. 

The evening unfolded effortlessly, as if every moment were simply meant to be. Dinner was a shared endeavor, filled with laughter and gentle touches that spoke louder than words. As the night deepened, so did the connection between you, pulling you both inevitably toward a more intimate closeness that felt both exhilarating and utterly right.

Later, wrapped in the warmth and softness of your bed, Hotch lay beside you, his arm securely around you, feeling the comforting weight of your head against his chest. The room was quiet, the only sound the gentle breath of two people content in each other's presence. It was a profound intimacy that Hotch had rarely allowed himself to experience, yet with you, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

"You know," Hotch began, his voice soft and thoughtful, "I never imagined that downloading an app would lead me here, to this moment. But I'm incredibly glad it did."

You shifted slightly, turning to face him. In the dim light, he noticed a hint of shyness in your expression--an unusual trait for someone usually so vibrant and confident. "Aaron, I need to tell you something, and I’m a little afraid it might be too soon...or…or how you might react."

He tightened his embrace reassuringly. "Sweetheart, you can tell me anything. You know that, right?"

You nodded, taking a deep breath before speaking. "It's just that...I've never connected with anyone like this before. Not from a dating app, not in real life. Like I feel crazy. And it scares me a little because I think I’m falling in love with you."

Hotch’s heart skipped a beat, not just at your words but at the earnest vulnerability with which you spoke them. For a brief moment, he was speechless, overwhelmed by the depth of his own feelings that mirrored yours.

"I’ve been trying to make sense of it all myself," he confessed, his voice a whisper against your hair. "This isn’t just unusual for me; it’s unprecedented. But hearing you say that...it’s exactly how I feel. I’m falling in love with you, too."

Relief and joy mingled in your eyes, and you moved closer, pressing a kiss to his chest--a simple, sweet gesture that sealed the words just shared. Hotch felt a profound peace settle over him, the kind that came from finding something real and true.

As you both lay there, entwined in the quiet aftermath of shared revelations, the world outside seemed inconsequential. In that room, with the soft glow of the nightlight casting gentle shadows, Aaron Hotchner wasn’t just an FBI agent or a guarded widower; he was a man deeply in love, grateful for every unpredictable twist of fate that had led him to you.

"You know," you whispered, a playful twinkle returning to your voice, "this is going to make a great story someday--how a skeptical FBI agent fell for a girl from a dating app."

Hotch chuckled, the sound rich and content. "It’s a story I look forward to telling again and again," he agreed, pulling you closer. 

As days turned into months, Hotch experienced a transformation in his daily life--a lightness and joy that were new and profoundly delightful. 

Your relationship flourished; the connection deepened with each passing moment you spent together. Jack met you and took an immediate liking to you, his youthful judgment never faltering. The integration of you into his and Jack’s life felt seamless, natural, like pieces of a puzzle that had been waiting to find their place.

You were fiercely independent and career-driven, qualities that resonated deeply with Hotch. The balance between your professional pursuits and personal life mirrored his own, creating a perfect symmetry that allowed both of you to thrive without sacrificing the bond growing between you.

Reflecting on this, Hotch couldn’t help but think back to several months ago when his team, especially Penelope Garcia, had pushed him to step out into the dating world. He was immensely grateful for their encouragement--grateful that Garcia had practically coerced him into using the dating app that brought you together.

Once (and due to his line of work, pretty much always will be) a skeptic of dating apps, he now sung its praise, in a…cautious way. It was praised enough that in a very Rossi-fashion, David Rossi bought stock in the app, Hotch and your love story solidifying the need to. 

Now, seated at his desk in the quiet hum of the FBI offices, Hotch decided to express his love and appreciation in a tangible way. He opened a florist’s website, browsing through the selections to find something that captured the essence of what you meant to him. 

Settling on a bouquet of wildflowers--bright, beautiful, and unpretentiously elegant--he filled out the delivery form to send them to your workplace. The note attached was simple but heartfelt: "For no reason other than I love you. Aaron."

With a contented sigh, Hotch then organized a second floral arrangement, this one for Garcia. He chose vibrant sunflowers and daisies, flowers as bright and cheerful as Garcia herself. The note for her was equally thoughtful: "Penelope, thank you for pushing me onto that (still questionable) app. I am forever grateful. - Hotch."

As he confirmed the orders, his colleague Morgan passed by his desk, noticing the slight smile on Hotch’s usually stoic face. "What's got you looking so happy, Hotch? That doesn't look like case work."

Hotch looked up, the smile still playing on his lips. "Can’t I just take a moment to appreciate the good things, Morgan?"

Morgan raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Good things, huh? Does this have anything to do with that special lady I’ve been hearing about?"

"You could say that," Hotch replied, his tone light, an uncommon but genuine warmth evident in his expression. "And I’m also sending Garcia some flowers."

Morgan chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "Man, Garcia’s matchmaking really worked out for you, didn’t it? Never thought I'd see the day. She’s never going to let this one down."

"It did," Hotch acknowledged, his thoughts drifting back to you. "And it’s made all the difference."

After Morgan left, Hotch leaned back in his chair, allowing himself a few moments of quiet reflection. He felt a profound sense of gratitude--not just for the love and joy you brought into his life, but for the unexpected journey that led him to you. 

It was a reminder of the unpredictable beauty of life, how sometimes, taking a chance could lead to something extraordinary. 

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry

[anachronismstellar]

I have no other excuse for this besides:

1) Italian YQY is funny as hell and

2) I need to practice some of my Italian or I'll forget everything I've seen in college lmao

So why not enjoy the brainrot? :D

Prompted by this amazing post by @artsarasp and @vodkassassin

TW: Old Master Place being Old Master Palace

----------------------

Yue Qingyuan was a politician true and through, capable of mediating difficult groups of egotistical individuals, his presence imposing enough to demand respect. But there was something about Huan Hua’s Old Palace Master that brought forward his street-smart instincts, a sleaziness that made his teeth ache and the hair on the back of his neck raise up. It was so bad that he had to concentrate on circulating his qi to not lose his mind. Or his patience.

Because if there was one thing that Yue Qingyuan could call himself was patient. But every man had their limits, and Yue Qingyuan was reaching his.

"Besides, you will understand with time, young Sect Leader Yue, these types of border negotiations must be dealt with utmost care. Oh back in my day when-"

And on and on the Old Palace Master went, his voice gritting on Yue Qingyan’s years.

They had been fighting over the border issue for the past five days. It was supposed to be simple, a matter to be solved between head disciples at most, nothing that a simple correction of maps wouldn't solve.

And all this due to a river Huan Hua palace had diverted themselves resulting on them pushing back their own territory. An action they have done without consulting their own maps, creating this entire situation without Cang Qiong Sect knowledge of it, only to whine and complain right after.

This was pointless. A waste of time. He could have been having tea with Xiao Jiu right now or reading the last pile of paperwork Shang-shidi had left on his table. Five days ago. Heavens, he would rather go back to the Ling Xi caves and lock himself there for a month than listen to another hour of this nonsense.

Their departure had already been rescheduled two times. It had gotten to the point which Shang Qinghua had panicked after sending the third bird, arriving at the Huan Hua Palace the day before by sword flying.

He could feel Wei Qingwei stealing glances at him on his right, eyebrows slightly raised, clenching his hands over crossed arms. On his left, Shang Qinghua wasn't fairing any better by the soft vibration coming from under the desk, leg shaking in an anxious tick.

"- And then your Shizun, young Sect Leader Yue, personally had gone there to check it! I remember as if it were yesterday! Oh how beautiful she was, your Peak colors suited her very well! And the nape of her neck, as gracious as a swan-"

Yue Qingyuan had enough.

"Stronzo, porco di merda," Yue Qingyuan let it slip through his clenched teeth, Xuan Su warming up to dangerous levels against his waist. "Testa di cazzo, figlio di puttana," he closed his eyes, doing his best to breathe through his nose, letting it go through his mouth. Even so, not even Wei Qingwei polite cough or Shang Qinghua's squeak was enough to snap him out of the pure wave of rage coming straight from his core.

He had kept himself quiet for far too long if that insolent decrepit man had the audacity to mention his Shizun as if he hadn't acted like a dog in heat every time he wormed himself close to her. Each praise felt dirty, as if the Old Palace Master were dragging tar all over his Shizun's image, perverting her beauty with a sickening smile. Yue Qingyuan could almost see the droll dripping from the scum's mouth.

"Mortacci tua!" he said with a slap on the table, shoulders hunched as he bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood.

"Zhangmen-shixiong-" Wei Qingwei gently took him by his arm, trying to calm him down, his qi rattling Xuan Su to the point of the sword start buzzing inside its sheath.

"What is the meaning of this?" the Old Palace Master demanded with a frown, lips pulled downwards, nasty friendly aura completely forgotten. "Explain yourself! Does Young Sect Leader Yue intent to curse this Master?!"

"Sei proprio un rattuso che dovrebbe andare a farsi nel culo," he said with a smile, ignoring how every single person in the room had their hands on their swords, or how Wei Qingwei seemed to be doing his best (and failing) at holding back his laughter.

Not only curse you, you fucking pervert but also your entire family and ancestors, piece of shi-

"Aiyaaa! Forgive us, Old Master," Shang Qinghua said as he squeezed Yue Qingyuan arm hard enough to make for him to wince. "This lord fears that Zhangmen-shixiong might be going through some type of qi deviation!" and in a proper Shang Qinghua fashion he started to whine, fat tears already gathering at the corner of his eyes. "This lord humbly requests a break so a doctor might check on Sect Leader Yue! This one has never seen him so distressed, please Old Master-"

Yue Qingyuan didn't even have time to blink before Shang Qinghua took him away from the room, screaming for a doctor, not bothering to wait for the Old Palace Master's permission to leave with Wei Qingwei hot on their heels.

"What was that?!" And he knew he had messed up if Shang Qinghua was angry enough to hiss at him. "Yue-shixiong, have you lost your mind?! What if someone could understand what you said-!"

"I did," Wei Qingwei said with a snort, patting Yue Qingyuan on the shoulder, beaming like a proud big brother. "It was amazing and well deserved. That old sac-"

"Shh!" Shang Qinghua hurried to slap both hands over Wei-shidi's mouth, trembling all over. "Have you both lost your minds?! This place ears have ears, so kindly please shut the fuck up. Both of you," and then he threw a glare at Yue Qingyuan so heated it made him turn his face away from his shidi.

"Here is what we are going to do," he said after pulling a face, cleaning his hand over his robes while Wei Qingwei gave him a smug smile. "We are going to take Yue-shixiong to the doctor, and you are going to do your best to pretend to be really sick, do you hear me, Shixiong?"

Yue Qingyuan didn't want to, it felt wrong to pretend to be weak at the heart of their allies/enemies palace, but he trusted Shang Qinghua. He could see by the glint of his eye that he had already though of plan and a contingency one in case the first failed.

"And you," Shang Qinghua turned his glare at Wei Qingwei, lips pulled in an almost snarl, squinting at Wei-shidi while pointing his finger at the swordsman. "You are going to keep your big mouth shut if you want get any closer to a certain sword, do you hear me?!"

Yue Qingyuan wasn't stupid or frigid as bad tongues might say. He knew very well what Shang-shidi was insinuating, so he did his best to stare at the ceiling, doing his best to ignore the way Wei-shidi was almost giggling at Shang Qinghua.

"Of course, shidi~"

It could have gone worse, Yue Qingyuan though to himself as Shang Qinghua dragged him all the way to the medical wing of Huan Hua Palace. It could have gone way worse. Thank Heavens he had requested Wei-shidi to accompany him instead of Xiao Jiu. That would have ended up with the Old Master Palace with a dagger on his throat for sure.

And it would be well deserved. Porco matusa.

----------------------

YQY: *can't hold together anymore* SQH: SHIXIONG NO- WQW: GO SHIXIONG!! GO APESHIT GOOO!!!

this was so SO fun ashdfuahsdufahsudf and yes I've sprinkled a little bit of 12/12 SQH over it, I couldn't help it ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

I Airplane this so hard I didn't check what we know about YQY's Shizun but she is a boss woman now. An awesome lady because I said so lol

Now, to the Italian part,,,, I haven't studied Italian since?? 2019?? I'm very very rusty, and these are mostly curse words but please let me know if I said something weird OTZ

Stronzo: Shit, in this case "you piece of shit"

porco di merda: porco means pig, di merda means shitty, together it becomes shitty pig or fucking pig

Testa di cazzo: dickhead :D

Figlio di puttana: son of a bitch/son of a whore

Mortacci tua: .... This is a tricky one! From my sources (aka my Italian speaking friend) it's like YQY was cursing OMP entire family, including his ancestors in a really reaaaally rude way.

Sei proprio un rattuso che dovrebbe andare a farsi nel culo: "you are a real pervert old man and you should kindly go fuck yourself" we love a really passive agressive sect leader Xiao Jiu would be proud

porco matusa: again, porco means pig, and matusa comes from Methuselah which is the oooooold dude from the bible. idk if this one is right, but I wanted to call OPM an old pig lol

I hope you guys had as much fun as I did writing this and searching for Italian cuss words :D

And Long Live Italian YQY, may he finally go off and bite many people's heads like he deserves

[lovesickwounds]

SPOILED ( bruce wayne and f!reader ) bruce had a tendency to spoil you like he’d never had anyone else to spoil.

no warnings!

━━━━ YOU COULD FEEL him staring. he wasn’t trying to be subtle, but he was far too obvious. he had something to say but no clue if he should or shouldn’t speak. you, stubborn like he was, said nothing.

he had been gone yesterday, busy with patrol since the joker had escaped once again and was back to terrorizing gotham in its entirety.

he was protective over you, so you had been told to try not to leave the house without him or someone else to protect you. you listened to him, but that didn’t mean you liked to.

you were busy getting ready, pulling the brush he’d bought you recently through your hair with ease. he was still watching, silent, memorizing, as if he was etching you into memory.

“you don’t have to try and print me into memory, bruce. you know i’m not leaving you, right?” you smiled teasingly, meeting his eyes for the first time that night through the mirror.

he had bruises galore, and the cuts weren’t as bad. you worried for him whenever he left, but it was inevitable that he would come back injured. the best you could do? hold him and help him as he needed.

you might as well be a licensed masseuse, the amount of times your hands delicately found the knots in his shoulders and neck and smoothed them easily.

“mhm.” he confirmed, “habit.” he huffed, his voice laced with exhaustion (evident through how much huskier his voice was and how his eyes drooped).

“i’m sure it is, darling.” you were smiling still.

as you turned to him, his eyes lit up slightly. as you stood up his eyes followed; he was entranced by every little thing you did.

“go on and start the shower, i need to talk to alfred and make sure tim and damian are asleep, okay?” you were closer to him, gently pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

he never forgot where your lips touched, the softness was almost enough for him to fall asleep then and there. but regardless, his eyes found yours.

“speak to alfred as in, you’re going to go cancel and reschedule my entire day tomorrow so i can stay home with you?” his lips perked up on the sides, hands finding your waist as if it were muscle memory.

“exactly!” you grinned, kissing his nose before escaping him and running lightly down the hall.

alfred was more than happy to do as you asked, smiling and thanking you for taking such good care of someone as difficult to care for as bruce.

of course you knew how hard it was to care for him, but after so long it became second nature.

same with tim, and damian. tim never managed to get enough sleep until you came in, chiding him into bed with the paternal care of a mother he craved, hugging you tightly before he went to bed.

damian was the same, basically. unable to sleep easily without you beside him to help him enter his rem cycle.

“tim?” you knocked softly on his door, “it’s nearly midnight, tim, why don’t you go to bed?” you had opened it after he gave you the go-ahead.

“is it?” he yawned, nearly knocking over a half-full cup of recently made coffee.

“mhm. come on, bedtime.” you smiled, walking to where he sat as softly pulling him away.

he looked up at you the same way a child would with their mother—adoration filling his eyes and tiredness following close behind it.

he stood up and wrapped you into a tight hug, biding you goodnight before collapsing on his bed and falling asleep instantly.

further down the hall, you found yourself outside of damian’s room.

opening the door after a soft knock and a go-ahead, you met damian’s eyes with a kind smile. he too looked tired, wanting desperately for sleep but unable to find it.

“i was beginning to believe you wouldn’t show up.” damian muttered, practically running to you and hiding himself in your stomach. your face filled with a bigger smile, rubbing his back and laughing quietly.

“you know i’ll be here every night, damian.” you gently brushed his hair back with your fingers, guiding him to his bed.

he had already changed into his pajamas, crawling under the covers and waiting for you to join him.

“what chapter did we end off on last night?” you picked up damian’s old and tattered copy of jane austen, flipping halfway through the book as you sat beside him.

“i don’t remember.” damian shrugged, cuddling up into your side and resting his head against your shoulder.

this was the mundanity that the wayne manor needed. you were like everyone’s mother, chiding and scolding, while also showing love and affection.

alfred loved that you cared for bruce in ways he couldn’t, making sure he slept and was well loved and cared for. alfred loved how you cared for everyone. your kindness was unlimited in the house, and unconditional.

you remained with damian for five minutes before he was fast asleep.

leaving was easy, silently slipping out of the room and shutting off his lights. passing by tim’s room, you could see him still fast asleep, breathing light and snoring quietly.

you smiled, heart filling with an innate love for each boy.

back in you and bruce’s room, you found him waiting in the room, new clothes in hand and towels alongside them.

“sorry, did i take too long?” you asked, sliding towards him and accepting the clothes he held out to you.

“no, not at all. tim and damian are asleep?” he walked after you into the slightly steaming bathroom.

“yeah, alfred’s moved all your appointments and meetings back a few days. from today to thursday, so i’ll be forcing you to spend the next few days relaxing.” you ran a hand along his skin.

you had both discarded clothing and climbed into the shower, done before too long and holding each other in bed. he was laid against you, his head in your chest and your hands making work against the countless knots in his shoulders, back, and neck.

“we should get married.” bruce spoke into your chest, vibrating your body as you smiled.

“yeah? why?” you paused the massage to begin playing with his hair, careful not to hurt him.

“why not? plus… damian and tim, as well as alfred,” bruce brought his head up to meet your eyes, “they’ve all been asking when we’re finally getting married.”

“why don’t we talk about it tomorrow, hm?” you smiled, eyes sparkling as you memorized the look in his eyes.

bruce hummed in agreement, burying himself back in your chest as sleep overcame the both of you.

abrupt ending whoops anyways hi

masterlist — requests are open — lovesickwounds 25

[fizzseed]

chappell roan im so sorry i shouldve believed you,,, never waste a friday night on a first date,,,,

[whoslaurapalmer]

oh it is not a good sign when four EMTs just casually walk through the lobby of the endocrinologist office

[llycaons]

I'm feeling so tired and not up to socializing at ALL...man I really do want to spend time with new friends but in my heart I know I'd rather be at home laying down or eating or putting together my very exciting new bookshelf that just came in. such are the perils of capitalism

[curiosityschild]

screaming crying throwing up etc etc

[bukuoshin]

I am fucking NOT going to my dentist today

[rowanhoney]

just a girl who can never do right and is always in the wrong <3

[lqveharrington]

steve harrington - you are in love <3

congrats on 2k!

You Are In Love | S.H.

summary: you and steve have been best friends forever, but overtime, you both realize that there's something more to your friendship than you both thought there was.

pairing: steve harrington x hopper!reader

includes: fluff, minimal usage of Y/N, oblivious idiots, kissing, el and reader are siblings, robin and max play match maker

a/n: cutie patootie stevie! (rules for celebration here!)

Steve Harrington was the type of man girls would go crazy over. From the way he behaved to the way he dressed, they would do anything to get his attention. Luckily for you, he deemed you to be his best friend since childhood. When Tommy and Carol whined about you always hanging around them in high school, Steve would swiftly change the subject. He really only liked hanging out with you anyway.

When you both graduated, something shifted between the two of you. Without the hindrance of Tommy and Carol, you and Steve were free to do whatever you wanted. Whenever you would hang around him, it felt like time would stop. He kept you on your toes despite knowing him for so long.

Weekly dinners around Hawkins during the year would soon become a tradition between the two of you. In your eyes they were friendly dates, but to the kids, you were practically dating. From the whispers as you hung back with him when taking the kids around the mall to the silver necklace he bought you during the summer — they saw something you and Steve couldn't.

They had to do something about it. Fortunately for them, you both made it quite easy.

"Harrington, are you taking me to dinner today or should we reschedule?" You hop onto the counter of Family Video, crossing your legs and smiling brightly at him. "Henderson told me you might have to drive him home after his DND thing or whatever."

"First of all," He started and pulled your legs to the side, sending you a bored look. "I'm at work and you can't bother me." You jokingly pout and follow his movements, watching him restock the bowl of candies at the front. "Secondly, we're still on for dinner. Dustin can get a ride from Munson."

You throw your head back and laugh, "Ah yes, the shared custody of your child."

He rolled his eyes and looked past your head, narrowing his eyes at Max and Eleven. "Why did the girls want to come here again?"

"Uhm, they said they were checking out a new movie that came out." You shrug and slide off the counter. You look in their direction to find them giggling and whispering about something you almost wanted to know about. Almost. "Anyway, don't miss me too much. I'll see you in a few hours, Harrington."

Steve pressed a kiss to the side of your head and pushed a stray piece of hair away from your face. "I'll see you in a bit, Hopper."

You grinned at him and sent him one last wave before rounding up the girls, dragging them back to your car. Before you could even ask them to buckle up, they began hounding you with questions you never expected them to ask. One of the more odd questions sticking out the most.

"Have you ever slept with Steve?" Eleven asked, making you whip around with wide eyes and mouth agape. Her own eyes widened in fear and looked at you with concern. "What?"

Your face flushed a dark red and you began to stutter over your words, unsure of where the question even originated from. "Well, I— No, I haven't but I'm— I'm sorry? What's happening? Do you even know what that means?"

"That you sleep in the same bed as him." She tilted her head and giggled at your red face. "Is that not what that means?"

Max shook her head but found it all amusing, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows at you. "You seem a little flustered, Hopper. What's up with that?"

"Nothing." You glare at her from your rear view as you pull out of the parking and begin the drive to her house. When Eleven still stared in confusion, you sighed and ran your fingers through your hair. "Yes, I have slept in the same bed as Steve before. And not like that, Mayfield."

"What?"

You shake your head and follow the road down, eyes occasionally flickering up to look at the girls who were still giggling. You didn't understand what they were trying to get at. You've always been able to sleep in the same bed as Steve since an incident years ago, but that was the extent of it all. Sure, you would occasionally sleep in one of his shirts and he would make you breakfast in the mornings, but that was it.

"Have you ever been on a date, Y/N?" Eleven asked again and fiddled with the ends of her sweater, eyes meeting yours in the mirror. "Like the ones me and Mike go on?"

"Uh," You signal and stop at a red light, fingers tapping the steering wheel in an effort to keep your cool. "I have, but it's been a while since I've been on a date."

As you turn, Eleven makes another comment that nearly makes you swerve right off the road. "I thought you and Steve were dating."

You choke on your spit and grip the wheel harder, face redder than Max's hair. Although you knew your sister's words were somewhat innocent, you knew the other girl was behind all the questioning. Steve was nothing but a friend to you. Your best friend. It would be weird to think of him as anything other than that, right?

Since childhood, he was nothing but your best friend. Sometimes you couldn’t help but think what would happen if anything else came out of it, but only in your dreams. When you realized how quiet you were, you silently cursed yourself for staying silent for too long as the girls came to their own conclusion.

"He kisses you a lot." Max drawled and bit back a smirk when your face reddens again, the sight nearly making her laugh once more. "Like more than you study for your exams in college—"

"What will it take for you two to be quiet for the rest of the ride?" You continue to glare at the red-head in the backseat and squint when she opened her mouth. "And your answer will not be money."

Max sighed and looked at Eleven, their eyes meeting and silently communicating with each other. They grinned wickedly and looked over at you, tone overly sweet when they answered your question.

"Admit you're in love with Steve Harrington."

"Oh, Stevie!" Robin grinned widely as she sauntered back in from the break room, leaning back against the counter. She met his confused eyes and tilted her head, still wearing a mischievous grin. "I have a tiny, little question for you."

Steve dug through the boxes underneath the table and waved his hand, barely listening to the girl. "Which is?"

"Could I just — I dunno — take a peek at your wallet?” She asked and pursed her lips to stop from laughing when she saw his incredulous expression peek from underneath the counter. “I just want to make sure my assumptions are right.”

"About what?" Steve sighed in exasperation and ran his fingers through his hair, praying that his hair still looked perfect after how many times he had done it.

"Just give me your stupid wallet." Robin huffed and snatched the leather from his hands. She scrunched her nose at him before opening the wallet, gasping when she found what she was looking for. "Oh my gosh."

Steve creased his brows and looked at the contents of his wallet. There was nothing but cash, his license, cards, and picture he’s had since high school. If Robin was planning on stealing, she picked the wrong day.

"What?"

"You do have a picture of Y/N in your wallet!" Robin all but squealed like a child, causing the customers in the store to look over at the commotion.

Steve sent them a strained smile before grabbing his wallet back from Robin and tucking it away, muttering quiet obscenities to the girl. Robin rolled her eyes, but the smirk that curled her lips overtook her emotions. He knew that some kind of electricity between the two oblivious idiots.

"You like her!" She spoke in a sing-song voice, lightly punching his shoulder. Robin laughed in excitement and shook her head before pausing, turning to look at Steve like a behavioral analyst. "Unless it's something more."

He looked to his left and to his right before raising a brow at her. He would never admit it out loud, but somewhere along the line he fell for you. Hard. From summer car drives to coffee at midnight — you were the one for him. Yet he didn’t want to ruin what the two of you had.

When Steve stayed silent for too long, she started to punch his shoulder in excitement again. It was the silence between asking about love that seemed to trigger everyone today.

"Oh, you're in love! Steve 'the hair' Harrington finally falls in love with his one true love!" She dramatically put a hand to her forehead and leaned back on the counter again. "I thought I would never live to see the day that happens."

He huffed and lightly shoved her, rubbing his hand over his face. "She's my best friend."

"And?" Robin pushed him back and continued to smile, clearly finding his reaction amusing. It wasn’t rare for her to tease him about his dates, but knowing that he was deeply in love with you made it so much more fun. "She clearly likes you too."

"She does?" Steve perked up and rolled his eyes when she winked at him. He flipped her off and pretended to be busy again. “You’re so annoying.”

"Stevie is in love!" She laughed again and sighed softly, tapping her fingers against the counter. "You're going to dinner with her tonight, right?"

He sent her an odd look and nodded, brows furrowing in confusion. "Yeah, what does that—?"

"Confess tonight! I'm sure she loves you too, Harrington." She slammed her palms down onto the counter, once again attracting the customers in the store. Steve sent them another apologetic look before turning his head to glare at the girl. By the end of the day, he swore that they would get a complaint about Robin.

Robin put a hand up to his face when she saw he was going to speak. “And before you back out, the girls and I already made a plan so nothing becomes awkward between the two of you if it fails."

Steve’s eyes widened and pushed her hand out of the way, mind reeling at all the knew information. "Wait what?"

"Nothing!"

After dinner, you both decided to take a walk around the neighborhood. The temperature was perfect and you and Steve had plenty of calories to kill before heading to bed. Besides, you both had unspoken words to say to one another.

"Are you okay? You've been acting strange since you picked me up." You nudged your shoulder with his and tilted your head, eyes worried with concern.

As you walked through the neighborhood, the orange lights from the posts began to flicker on as the sun set in front of you. On instinct, you moved closer to Steve, accommodating to the warmth you were losing. He hid a small smile and pulled you close by the shoulders.

Steve shrugged and kissed the side of your head again. The gears in his head were loudly turning and he wasn’t sure how to make them stop. He met your eyes and smiled softly when you smiled up at him.

"On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate the new diner?" He nudged his head back toward the diner.

You hummed and tapped your chin in thought, snapping your fingers when you figured out how to put it. "A solid six and a half. They threw us a dirty glare for being too loud, but their milkshakes were perfect."

He raised his brows and chuckled softly when you rolled your eyes at him. You were always such a sucker for strawberry milkshakes. "Yeah?"

"Yes, Harrington.” You send him a teasing smile before extending your arm and flashing him your left hand adorned with the wrapping from the straw wrapper. “I even got to make us our paper rings."

You turned to face him properly and grabbed his left hand, lacing them together to show the matching rings. You went to say something else when you found him already staring at you, making your mind instantly blank.

Steve swallowed and squeezed your hand, taking a step closer to you. "Y/N?"

"Yeah?" You murmur and take your own step closer until you were chest to chest.

His gaze dropped to your lips before looking back into your eyes, eyes filled with so much emotion. You gave him a curt nod and let him cup your cheek, shutting your eyes when he leaned in.

Your lips met and for the first time, you really believed time truly stopped. It was just you and him on the sidewalk of Hawkins, Indiana. Your own hands came up to grab the lapels of his denim jacket, deepening the kiss when he pulled you impossibly closer.

When you finally pulled away, your mind was still blanking and the first thing you could say was —

"Oh, my strawberry milkshake." You whisper out before groaning, hiding your face in his shoulder. "Now the thing I say after we first kiss will always be strawberry milkshake!"

Steve kisses the top of your head and gently squeezed your waist. "You're cute."

You scoff before looking up, playing with the buttons on his jacket. "Did Robin put you up to this?"

"Yep." He chuckled and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, narrowing his eyes at you when he realized what Robin meant. "Did the girls?"

"Yep." You sigh and push up on your toes to give him a quick peck. You tilt your head when he smiles, "We're not going to tell them about this and make them feel bad, right?"

"Of course not.” He laced his hands with yours and began the trek back to his car. "We're only best friends after all."

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[dearlexies]

ENGENES jay is in the hospital AGAIN and will not participate in the Japan tour, and the boys are visibly tired and showing signs of colds according to Sunghoon, colds spread easily between them then quickly everyone will be sick!!! we can't let Enhypen have another comeback, as fans we will do everything we can to prevent this from happening, So today don't comment anything other than requests for Enhypen to rest and for Belift to reschedule the comeback use the #LetEnhypenRest, go to ALL social media and spread the message:

— @BELIFTLAB

How long do you intend to see your artists presenting health and physical problems without giving them a break? This routine of flights, commitments and shows NEEDS appropriate breaks. They are your artists, where is the care? This is inhumanane.

#LetEnhypenRest

@HYBEOFFICIALtwt @BELIFTLAB

We see the excessive overwork & exploitation of ENHYPEN. Their health & well-being are being sacrificed for your benefit, and we won’t stand for it. It’s time to end these inhumane working schedules and give them the rest they need.

#LetEnhypenRest

[charliemwrites]

Mafia au with Price perspective

Content: Implied Violence

John, for the life of him, can’t believe he ever ran SpecGru without you.

It’s a hit to his pride to admit it, certainly. That an outsider has discovered a small conspiracy within his own organization less than three months into employment. That, apart from even that, he’s never been less scattered, having someone right by his side remembering details, appointments, bits of information.

Morning smells like Earl Grey and your perfume now. Steam mixing with whatever you’ve spritzed for the day, his own little aroma therapy. Revitalizing after however late the previous night dragged him out.

In general, you’re like a breath of fresh air. A smiley little charm of color and delicacy in his world of saturated shadows, blood and brutality.

Clean-cut dresses with patterned tights, soft-knit scarves. Lace accents and modest stilettos. Thin, sparkly jewelry and smart makeup. The scent of you drowns out the lingering burn of gunpowder; or maybe just transforms it into something heady.

John lingers on your hair. Smooth ponytails, tight coifs, intricate braids. Likes when it’s loose enough to brush you shoulders and neck, a little bounce to it as you toddle in and out of his office.

You’re gorgeous, he knows it like a gun in his hand or the stench of fear in the air. Has encountered (and indulged) in more than his share of stunning women. Women with beautiful smiles, and bright laughter, and sweet voices. Cunning women, too. Women who could outfox all but his best on any given day.

You have all of that in spades, though you’re not the first.

The difference, he thinks, is your sincerity. You’re never anything but honest with him. Even when you maybe shouldn’t be. Not that you share your opinion every time you have one, but if he asks for it, you’ll answer without pulling punches.

Respectful, always. Polite. But scalpels are elegant tools as dangerous as any dagger. You’re not cold by any means, but you’re made of steel. Precise and implacable in some ways. Have never hesitated too look him in the eye and cheerfully explain why he’s wrong.

That, he knows, is a rare commodity.

“I understand this is time sensitive Mister Graves, but raising your voice is not going to open Mister Price’s schedule.”

Your voice goes silky when you get like this. A finely draped, overly pleasant “no” in each word. A wall is still a wall no matter how finely it’s painted.

You’ve just gotten your nails done again, glossy wine red tap-tap-tapping over your customized keyboard. Whatever Philip is saying on the other end does not seem to be impressing you. Soap and Gaz are trying not to snicker. You shoot them an amused look.

“Well, he’s booked every morning for the next two weeks,” you continue.

John is not, in fact, booked every morning for the next two weeks. There are two mornings with two hours open and you’re serenely looking at them on your computer screen. He doesn’t correct you, interested to see how this plays out. You know he hates Philip and are gleefully taking advantage of that fact.

“Well, Mister Graves, a lot of people have time sensitive issues to bring to Mister Price,” you explain, a touch condescending now. “I’m afraid I can’t reschedule them just because you have… a trip to Glasgow, is it?”

You don’t sound impressed. Neither is John. You clear your throat, arch your eyebrows at him. Put up three fingers. He nods.

“I can schedule you in on the 3rd in the evening. Your assistant said you’ll be back by then.”

You blink, an almost smug curve to your lips at whatever is said. A pleasant shiver runs down John’s spine. Philip will just have gotten in then - a full day of travel after whatever business he’s been up to will put him at a disadvantage.

“Well, I’m afraid Mister Price’s next availability won’t be until the… 8th. So shall we schedule something for the 3rd? I can always call if he has a cancellation.”

A pause. Your eyes narrow into a mean little smile at nothing in particular. Practically glowing with satisfaction. Without your attention on him, he shifts a bit.

“Of course, Mister Graves,” you hum. “I can forward your people the details. Have a lovely day now.”

Soap and Gaz start laughing the moment you hand up. You huff at them in amusement, shaking your head, then turn to John.

“Was there anything you needed, sir?” You ask, syrupy sweet.

John snorts and finally approaches your desk, leaning his hip against the edge as he crosses his arms. You tilt your head to give him your full attention, a stray curl falling against your jaw.

“Since you seem to be on rampage,” he says, “I need you to get a reservation for Friday at Muse.”

You blink at him. “Muse? Sir, that’s… don’t they book that place out months in advance?”

He smirks. “Just use my name, luv. I’m sure you’ll have the rest under control.”

You don’t look convinced, but you slide your sticky pad over - light purple clouds, now. With a pink glitter pen.

“How many and what time, sir?”

“Six for eight o’clock.”

You hum as you scrawl it down, pretty round letters that shimmer under the office lights.

“Before you go,” you say as you set the sticky pad aside. “I have those inventory logs from the docks - as well as the incident report from security that evening.”

You pluck up a neat stack of papers, held together by a star-shaped paperclip. Already he can see pink highlighter on the first page, a little memo-note summarizing information for quick review at the top. Somewhere within, you’ve attached a pink tab to something.

“I’ve highlighted anything in the original shipment that wasn’t found in the inventory log,” you explain, tapping at one of them.

He hums, skims the summary, then starts rifling through the papers. Will never admit how much he appreciates the thoroughness, even if he’s comb through every detail himself just to be sure nothing has been missed.

“Oh, also,” you add, spinning the glitter pen between clever fingers, “I think we should maybe set up a camera near that back entrance to the warehouse.”

He pauses. The back entrance where they do the more gruesome aspects of “business.” Odd that you would suggest that.

“Why’s that?”

You hum. “Well, I’m no narc, but I heard from someone who works over there that one of the shipping guys smokes weed with his cousin in that area. Maybe someone saw them and realized that’s a good way in.”

You shrug, leaning back in your seat again. The computer dings, calling your attention. John shoots Soap a glance, who nods and quietly steps out. You don’t seem to notice, clicking your tongue at whatever you see.

“Nicely done, luv,” he says, voice warm in his chest. You beam at him, pleased as always when he recognizes your hard work. “I’ll call if I need anything else.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply.

Twenty minutes later, you tap lightly at the open door to his office.

“Got the reservation!” You announce, a funny little smile on your face. “They were so nice about it too. What are you, some kind of mafia boss?”

He chuckles at your joke, shaking his head.

How did he ever manage all this without you?

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

[kairawrites]

first match.

author's note: first story I am sharing. please let me know if you want more for jude.

🌺masterlist🌺

pairing: jude bellingham x singer!reader

kiss prompt: Staring at each other’s lips for a moment before moving closer, as if drawn together by some unseen force.

summary: After a nasty breakup and a smear campaign by your vengeful ex, your PR team goes into hyperdrive, searching for a way to salvage your reputation as you finalize your sophomore album. To reclaim your title as America's sweetheart, you reluctantly agree to 'date' footballer Jude Bellingham. After a successful and perfectly planned meet-cute, you realize the plan might actually work. To keep the rumor mill spinning, Jude invites you to Madrid to watch him play.

You sit stiffly in the plush leather chair, your gaze fixed on a random spot on the far wall. The spacious office of your record label, with its panoramic view of Los Angeles, feels more like a cage than a refuge. Your fingers toy absentmindedly with a loose thread on your sweater, the silence in the room heavy with unspoken tension. Last night was another sleepless one, your mind spinning with the chaos of the last few months.

The door creaks open, and Lara, your manager, strides in with her usual brisk efficiency. But it’s the man following her who catches you off guard. Tall and athletic, with a calm self-assurance, he immediately seems different from anyone you usually deal with during one of Lara’s many SOS meetings.

Unlike the man next to him, who wears a suit, he’s dressed in a well-fitted navy blackbomber jacket over a crisp white T-shirt, adding a casual yet polished touch. His dark jeans are tailored to fit just right, and his sneakers are sleek and clean, hinting at their designer pedigree without being overtly flashy. A simple silver chain peeks out from beneath his shirt. He wears a black fitted cap that he removes as he scans the room. His dark curls are neatly styled, and his eyes are a striking shade of deep brown—intense and thoughtful.

You turn to Lara, your irritation evident. “You didn’t say we were meeting with another artist. I’m not doing a feature with a random guy.”

Lara, however, ignores your protest, her focus on the two men before her. “Y/N, this is Jude Bellingham,” she introduces the young man with an upbeat, professional tone. She motions for you to stand. Doing so, you quickly shake his hand before sinking back into your chair. “Jude, meet Y/N.”

“Pleasure,” Jude grins, his eyes lingering on you as you lift your phone from the table.

Email Hendrix new song. You ignore the calendar notification before placing your phone back onto the table.

You were supposed to submit the new song last week, but it has been rescheduled for the third time. You pinch the bridge of your nose, forcing yourself to focus on the conversation you had zoned out of.

“Thank you for fitting us in during your vacation,” Lara says with a smile as your gaze drifts across the table.

You stare just long enough to take in the polite smile he offers. He’s handsome, you note distantly. “What’s your name again?” you ask, your voice flat.

“Jude Bellingham,” he repeats, his voice steady, though you can see the hint of surprise in his eyes.

You nod absently, not hiding your lack of interest. “Never heard of you.”

Lara’s eyes widen, and she quickly looks between you and Jude, an apologetic smile on her face. “I’m so sorry, Jude,” she says hastily. “She’s been…out of the loop for a while. She kinda keeps her head in the sand when working on new music.”

Jude’s lips twitch into a small, amused smile as he takes a seat beside his manager, who has been silently observing the exchange. “No worries,” he says, his tone easygoing.

He attempts to hold eye contact, but your gaze drops as Lara passes you an iPad.

Jude, however, can’t help but stare for a moment longer. He knows exactly who you are. He’s seen the headlines, the endless parade of tabloid articles that have taken over his social media feeds in recent months:

*"America’s Sweetheart Caught Cheating?”*

*"Ryan West’s Heartbreak: Y/N’s Betrayal?"*

*"Ryan West: Played a Fool by Y/N? Singer Dumped After He Helps Secure Her First Grammy!"*

*"From Darling to Villain: The Fall of Y/N."*

The headlines were relentless, painting you as the villain in the messy, public breakup with Ryan West, the wild, playboy singer whose antics are as legendary as his music. Jude had seen the pictures throughout your relationship—snaps of a happy couple slowly morphing to you tearful and exhausted outside of clubs and in the passenger seat of Ryan’s car, Ryan’s angry rants during concerts, and the public’s merciless scrutiny of every detail. The narrative turned on you overnight, casting you as the one who shattered the fairytale, though it’s clear to him now, seeing you in person, that there’s much more to the story.

You’re undeniably beautiful, even though your appearance starkly contrasts with the perfectly curated photos on your Instagram. Your skin glows softly in the muted light of the office, and your long dark locks are pulled back into a simple ponytail. Without makeup, your natural beauty is evident, but there’s a guardedness about you, a weariness that clings to you like a shadow. You’re wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, and your lips are set in a firm line. Your dark, eyes remain focused anywhere but on him. You’re present in body but somewhere else in your mind, uninterested in the moment and, by extension, in him.

Lara notices how Jude’s eyes linger on your features, a hint of admiration in his gaze. She gently but firmly pulls your chair closer to hers, her expression shifting to one of urgency. As Jude leans over to better hear his manager speak, Lara shoots you a sharp glare. “Do you really not know who that is?” she hisses quietly. “Didn’t you read the email I sent?”

You shake your head, already annoyed by the direction this conversation is taking.

“He’s one of the biggest footballers in the world right now,” Lara explains. “He’s just finished a fantastic season with Real Madrid and is on vacation after helping his national team reach the finals of the Euros.”

“Throwing out accolades isn’t going to make me suddenly know who this guy is, Lara. I don’t watch soccer—”

“For the love of God, please do not call it that to his face,” Lara winces. “Since you didn’t read my email, here it is. He’s basically a household name for every fan of the sport. This isn’t just some random guy we’re talking about—Jude Bellingham is a huge deal. Kids want to grow up to be him, women want to sleep with him, and men want to be him. This is a massive opportunity, so you need to make this work because, frankly, we don’t have many other options right now. The media has been brutal, and we need to change the narrative.”

Change the narrative–the phrase that has appeared in every text, phone call, email, and conversation with Lara from the past six months. 

You take in her words, feeling a mix of irritation and resignation. The last thing you want is to be forced into something like this, but you also know Lara’s right. If this can help you regain some control over the situation, it might be worth it.

“Fine,” you say at last, your voice laced with reluctance. “But let’s keep it simple.”

Lara nods, visibly relieved. Her swift response suggests she’s eager to finalize things before you change your mind. “Thank you. Now, let’s get this started on the right foot.”

You straighten your posture as Lara retrieves a stack of iPads from her purse. Powering the first on, she slides it across the table. Your expression remains guarded as you look at Jude. He seems relaxed, though there’s an air of curiosity about him as he watches you.

Jude clears his throat, attempting to ease the awkwardness. “Nice to meet you,” he says, his voice steady despite your apparent lack of interest. “I’m actually a big fan of your music.”

“Thank you,” you mutter, barely audible. “And thanks for coming.”

“Y/N, Jude’s team approached us with a proposal that could be mutually beneficial,” Lara explains. “We think it’s a great opportunity for both of you to take control of the media narratives for each of your careers.”

As she begins explaining the details of the contract, you lean forward to start reading it, trying to focus on the terms. You attempt to ignore the brown eyes carefully watching you from across the table by zooming in on the document. You skip each page, focusing on the bolded text. 

**Duration**: The PR stunt relationship will last for six months, giving both parties a clear timeframe for the arrangement. The time can be adjusted to fit the likings of both parties.

**Public Appearances**: Both parties agree to attend a minimum of five public events together, including concerts, charity functions, and social gatherings, to ensure maximum media coverage.

**Social Media Engagement**: Both will make joint social media posts and coordinate public appearances to generate buzz and maintain public interest.

**Media Interviews**: Both parties will participate in at least three joint interviews or promotional activities, designed to keep the media engaged and the narrative active.

**Behavioral Expectations**: Both parties are expected to maintain a positive public image and avoid any controversial behavior that could negatively impact the arrangement.

**Privacy Clauses**: Provisions are included to protect personal boundaries and ensure that certain aspects of your private lives remain confidential.

**Termination Conditions**: The contract includes terms for early termination, specifying any penalties or requirements for ending the arrangement before the agreed-upon end date.

You bite your lip, unable to hold in a nagging thought. You glance at Jude before looking back at Lara. “I don’t date athletes. My fans know that.”

Jude raises an eyebrow, a cheeky grin forming on his lips. “That’s fair. But, well, we’ve seen how it turned out with musicians. You might need to give an athlete a try.”

His smile spreads as he notes the narrowing of your eyes.

“I mean,” you huff directing your attention to Lara. “Won’t people be suspicious if I suddenly fall head over heels with someone like him? He’s not my type.”

“I can be pretty convincing.”

As you approach the security gate, you are greeted by shocked but excited murmurs. Fans recognize you immediately, their phones out, capturing every moment as you present your ticket. You pose for a few quick pictures, deflecting questions about whether you are here specifically to see Jude play. “Just here to enjoy the game!” you say with a smile, trying to stay composed despite the intense scrutiny.

“Follow me,” Toby Bishay, Jude’s best friend, says with a reassuring smile, breaking through your anxious thoughts. His warm smile brings one to your lips. “I’ll show you to your seat.”

“Just stick with Toby,” Jude assured you through a brief text exchange earlier in the morning. “He'll keep an eye on you. Glad you had a safe flight. See you after the match."

You trail after Toby, trying to shake off the feeling of being under a microscope. The perfectly crafted “meet cute,” which happened shortly after your initial meeting, was captured by paparazzi in LA, not taking long to circulate. The rumors exploded, and the world wondered when you’d be spotted together again. The time finally came nearly three weeks later, and now you find yourself on the biggest stage in the football world, every eye on you.

The electric hum of excitement buzzes through Santiago Bernabéu Stadium as you follow Toby through the corridors, the air thick with anticipation. Thousands of fans are already in their seats.

“Have you ever been to a game before?” Toby asks, glancing back at you.

“No, this is my first time,” you admit, feeling a little self-conscious at the admission.

“Then you picked a great game for your debut,” Toby says, guiding you through the maze of hallways. “The atmosphere here is insane–unlike anything else.”

You study him as he glances at his phone, wondering how much he knew about the relationship between you and his best friend. 

“Jude pulled out the stops,” he chuckles, pausing to hold the door for you. “Wanted you to have the best seats in the house. Remind me to have him invite you more often.”

As you emerge into the open, the sheer magnitude of the stadium hits you like a tidal wave. The sea of fans stretches out in every direction, a sea of white Real Madrid jerseys and waving flags. The stands are a swirling mosaic of movement and color, with scarves held high and banners flapping in the breeze. The roar of the crowd is overwhelming, a vibrant, pulsating force that envelops you. 

The atmosphere reminds you of your own concerts—the energy, the collective excitement. But it has been a while since you’ve been a member of the crowd instead of the one performing. The memory brings a nostalgic smile to your lips. You hear the crowd chanting in unison, their voices melding together into a powerful wave of sound. “Hala Madrid! Hala Madrid!”  The energy is palpable, a living, breathing entity that seems to resonate with every cheer and chant from the stands.

You look over to find Toby watching you with a grin, clearly enjoying your reaction.

“This is nothing,” he assures you over the roar of the crowd. “Wait till the game starts.”

Toby leads you to your seats, which are positioned near the halfway line, offering an excellent view of the field. You can feel the weight of the crowd’s curiosity pressing down on you as you settle in. 

A flutter of nerves dances in your stomach as you notice the woman next to you widen her eyes. She quickly turns to her boyfriend, whispering something in his ear.

You adjust the jersey you are wearing. It was delivered to your house merely twenty-four hours ago, as you struggled to finish last-minute packing. It came with a note from Jude that read: Gotta look the part.

You instinctively reach up, adjusting the elastic of your ponytail. You remember leaning over the hotel sink, studying your handiwork. The high ponytail was strategic, making it impossible for anyone to miss Jude Bellingham’s name and number prominently displayed across your back.

You sit forward in your seat, your hands gripping the railing as you scan the warm-ups. Your brow furrows once you realize Jude is nowhere in sight. It is strange not to have seen him in person since your first public appearance. Busy with training, he had flown back to Spain while you attempted to work on your album. But the lack of inspiration meant you hadn’t made any progress. In the three weeks since your last meeting, most of your communication has been through text, with a few phone conversations as you worked out the logistics of your visit. His texts were a consistent flood of humor, cheekiness, and a few tidbits of personal information. He didn't seem to mind that your answers weren't nearly as interesting or long as his. He had expected it to take a bit for you to warm up to him. When you'd expressed the struggle with finding inspiration for your new song, he invited you out to Spain for the week.

“Don’t worry about the attention,” Toby says, sensing your discomfort. “Once the game starts, they’ll be too focused on Jude and the action to pay much attention to anything else.”

You nod, trying to take comfort in his words. You pull out your phone and snap a photo of the field as the players warm up. The view is breathtaking—the vibrant green of the pitch, the players stretching and preparing, the energy of the stadium. You carefully consider what to write before deciding to type “Hala Madrid!” and sharing it to your Instagram story.

You instantly close the app, knowing it will only take a few seconds for the post to confirm what the internet is already wondering. Clicking on your messages, you ignore the waiting message from Lara that reads: Remember to smile and cheer for your man!

Instead of responding, you click on Jude’s name. The last message he sent was a simple, No need to say thank you in response to your gratitude for ensuring Toby would be your guide.

You quickly type, Have a great game! before slipping your phone into your purse.

As the game begins, the referee’s whistle pierces through the air, and the match kicks off with a burst of energy that ripples through the stadium. The crowd's collective roar washes over you. Your heart races with a mix of excitement and trepidation, and you find yourself momentarily overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the experience.

As the first half unfolds, Toby leans over, pointing out a few things. “So, Jude’s playing midfield. His job is to control the game—set the pace, connect the defense and attack. Watch how he moves off the ball, too. That’s where he really shines.”

You nod, not entirely sure you understood everything, but appreciating Toby’s effort to make you feel more comfortable. 

At first, you find it hard to focus. The crowd is so loud, so passionate, that it is hard to concentrate on anything else. You’d never seen anything like it—the way the fans were completely engrossed in every pass, every tackle, every near miss. But as the minutes ticked by, you found yourself getting swept up in the atmosphere, your eyes increasingly drawn to Jude.

He is everywhere on the pitch, commanding, graceful, yet powerful. The way he moves, the way he controls the ball, it is almost hypnotic. Toby was right—Jude was something special out there.

“See how he’s always looking around?” Toby points out as Jude receives the ball. “He knows where everyone is before he even touches the ball. That’s what makes him so good—he’s always thinking two steps ahead.”

You nod, your focus entirely on Jude. The noise of the crowd fades into the background as you watch him maneuver through opponents with a grace and precision that’s nothing short of extraordinary. The skill and artistry of his play make it clear why he is so adored by fans.

Suddenly, a collective gasp from the stands jolts you from your trance. Your eyes snap to the field just in time to see Jude being tackled hard. He hits the ground with a thud, and for a brief moment, he lies motionless. Panic grips your chest, a cold wave of fear crashing over you.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, clutching the edge of your seat. The stadium seems to hold its breath with you as Jude sits up. Your heart pounds in your chest, your mind racing with worry.

Relief floods over you as Jude grins, pushing himself off the ground. The crowd erupts into cheers, and Jude gives them a reassuring wave. You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your heart still racing.

“Surely that’s a foul,” you glance over to find Toby grinning. 

“That happens a lot,” Toby says with a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. “Jude’s used to not getting calls. He’ll be fine.”

You nod, your eyes following Jude as he moves back to position.

The game progresses, the tension building with each passing minute. As the half winds towards halftime, the tension in the stadium is palpable. Jude makes another run down the field, and you can’t help but feel a knot of anxiety in your stomach. Memories of his earlier tackle flash through your mind, making you hold your breath as you watch his every move. You grip the edge of your seat, your heart racing with anticipation.

Jude skillfully navigates past a defender, and you can barely contain your nerves as he lines up for a shot. The entire stadium seems to hold its breath in a collective gasp as the ball sails through the air. Time seems to slow down in that suspended moment, and your eyes follow the ball as it arches toward the goal.

Then, with a powerful strike, the ball whizzes past the outstretched arms of the goalkeeper and smashes into the back of the net. The stadium erupts in a cacophony of deafening cheers. The sound washes over you like a wave, a mix of joy, relief, and exhilaration. You find yourself on your feet, screaming and jumping up and down, completely swept up in the euphoria of the moment.

Toby pulls you into a hug, the thrill of the goal echoing in your cheers. The crowd's energy is infectious, Jude stumbling forward as his teammates crash into him in excitement. 

As the crowd’s cheers intensify, Jude escapes the huddle and waves to the stands. Your heart skips a beat as you realize he’s jogging in your direction, his eyes locked on yours.

Without hesitation, Jude leans over the barrier and pulls you into a tight hug, his arms securing around your waist and drawing you close. You giggle, maintaining your balance as you feel the heat and sweat of his jersey against your skin. Jude’s embrace is warm and comforting, his grip tightening as his face buries into your neck, and the crowd’s cheers fade into the background.

As you pull back from Jude’s embrace, still breathless from the moment, you can’t help but exclaim, “That was amazing!” Your hands instinctively rest on his cheeks, feeling the warmth radiating from him. "You were--amazing!"

Jude’s smile broadens, a genuine, radiant expression that lights up his face. His eyes lock onto yours with a softness that surprises you. There’s no trace of the cheekiness you expect from him.

“I had to make your first match memorable,” he breathes.

“You did that.”

Jude’s eyes linger on your grin as if savoring the sight. He registers the way your smile lights up your entire face, making you look even more radiant. The warmth and joy in your expression seem to captivate him, making you appear more beautiful than ever. It’s a sight he, and the world, hasn’t seen from you in months, and the pride he feels at making you smile swells beneath his racing heart.

Your smile softens as his grip drifts to your hips. The warmth of his smile seems to draw you closer as if an invisible force is compelling you to bridge the gap. His eyes hold a gentle intensity, and for a heartbeat, it feels like the entire stadium fades away, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of shared understanding and anticipation.

But the spell is broken as his name rings through the intercom system, forcing you to blink. The deafening roar of excitement from the crowd reminds you of the public nature of the moment. Jude’s gaze shifts briefly to the surrounding commotion, and with a playful grin, he pulls back, his smile still warm but tinged with a hint of mischief.

“So, how about a kiss? It’s definitely what they wanna see.”

"And let me guess, you're a man of the people?"

"So I've been told."

Your eyes roll. Lightly pressing against his shoulders, you arch your brow as his grip remains. Your eyes pass over Jude's shoulder to the players returning to their positions. 

“Maybe if you get another goal.”

“Deal,” he winks, before pulling back with a smirk and jogging back onto the field.

You watch him go, your heart still racing from the unexpected intimacy of the moment. As you sink back into your seat, a hand resting on your chest to steady your breath, the realization of the stunt hits you with renewed clarity. It’s all part of the carefully orchestrated PR show. But as you look at Jude rejoining his teammates, a small part of you wonders if there’s something more beneath the surface. The match continues, and you find yourself caught between the excitement of the evening and the nagging reminder of the reality you’re playing in. But you can't help but wonder what will happen if he looks at you like that again during your week in Madrid.

[navybrat817]

Imagine being in a room along with this man🫠🥵

Yes, lovely! Let's imagine that, shall we?

Lockdown

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: You're stuck in a room with Bucky and he's more than thrilled about it. Word Count: Over 500 Warnings: Longing, tension, teasing, dirty thoughts, Bucky is down bad for you, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: A small blurb. Maybe it'll turn into something more. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

“Brilliant, Barnes. Was it your intention to break the door handle or are you just not on your game today?”

Bucky counted to three in his head before he swung around to face you, exasperation written all over his face as he dropped the ruined handle to the ground. It didn’t seem to phase you since you flashed him a beautiful smile, one that made you appear more innocent than he liked to believe you were. He wondered how that lipstick would look smeared from your cheeks and chin. And along his cock.

Fuck, we wanted to ruin you.

“Can you go two minutes without busting my balls?”

You returned his grumpy stare with a flirty smirk. Not once in the time that he knew you had you shown any sort of fear toward him. You treated him like a person. That included you bouncing back and forth between flirting with him and giving him shit, which he gladly gave you in return.

The fact that you could dish it out and take it just as well made him respect the hell out of you.

He wondered just what else you could take.

“Sure. Two minutes. You can time me,” you shrugged, holding up your hand to inspect one of your nails. “And when those two minutes are up, then what? We wait for backup or try to figure out a way out? Because I have a dinner date tonight and I don’t want to be late.”

He ignored the surge of jealousy that shot through his veins. When he asked about your plans for tonight, you answered “meeting a friend for dinner” and refused to elaborate further. He had a feeling it was something more and you just said “date”. A fucking date. It drove him mad because you never once mentioned seeing anyone and you sure as fuck didn’t act tied down.

But if you’d let him tie you down…

“You may need to reschedule that dinner,” he smirked before he could let his imagination run wild, watching as the smile slipped from your lips. “Because the only way out is through that door and backup won’t be here until tomorrow morning.”

Your fists clenched as you got to your feet. Did you know your dress had ridden up your thighs a bit? Were you teasing him? “And you broke the fucking handle.”

“I sure did,” he shrugged when your nostrils flared. “Oops.”

He tried to tamper down his excitement as he leaned his back against the closest wall and observed you, but he couldn’t help himself. He had you all to himself for a short while. Maybe during that time he could convince you why you should be with him and not some random dinner date.

Sure he could. He had charm and could be persuasive when the occasion called for it. He’d treat you like a goddess if you let him.

You were his mission and he was more than happy to complete it.

“Better get comfortable, sweetheart,” he smiled before you could argue. “You’re stuck with me tonight.”

What do we think? Should we have more? Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[hughiecampbelle]

Supe Preference: Asking You Out

Requested: hi, idk if you write for the supes, but I will try request anyway :D how would the supes ( the boys series) ask a gn reader out? Ty - anon

A/N: I hope this is okay my love! I tried to stay true to character as much as possible, so I'm not sure how romantic some of them are. I tried writing for new Supes too, at least new for me, so apologies if it's not totally in character! Feedback is always appreciated! 💜💜💜

Homelander doesn't exactly ask you out. Rather, on live TV during an interview or event, he grabs your hand and proclaims that you're in love, that you're a couple. Whether or not you're into him, it still comes as a shock. Afterwards he'll ask you on a date where the public and paparazzi can see and take pictures. It's not as intimate as you'd like, but the date goes well. He takes you to an expensive restaurant where you've gotten rid of your suit for something classy and elegant, but he sticks with his regular attire. It's definitely not how you were expecting to be asked out or how you thought your relationship would progress. Ashley thinks it's great! You are both insanely powerful and, for selfish reasons, she wants Homelander off her back. She appreciates that you'll take some of the attention off her.

The Deep probably makes more than a few inappropriate, crude, raunchy jokes about and around you before he properly introduces himself. It's almost compulsive the way his jokes come out. He just can't help himself. He later apologizes and asks to start fresh. Would you want to go out on a date with him? When you say yes, he instantly tells you about all his ideas. You could go to the aquarium or to dinner or to the amusement park or coffee or whatever you want to do. You stick to coffee. It's pretty cute how excited he is. He wasn't expecting you to say yes, so he really didn't have it planned all the way through. He was expecting, like everyone else in his life, for you to call him stupid and move on without answering.

A-Train and you have been dating forever, but you haven't been out on a date in ages. He's still shy trying to ask you out even now. Of course you say yes, excited you'll get some time alone. You might have to reschedule once or twice because Homelander is on the rampage, but when you do get together, he takes you rollerskating. Despite how fast he is in sneakers, he's awful on wheels. He holds your hand the entire time and definitely drags you down when he falls. He stays pretty casual in his clothes and tries to keep his hood up, but it just falls down. You guys find a roller-rink in the middle of nowhere, so you're pretty safe in being discovered. You make fun of his clumsiness and check him for bruises when he falls, especially hard. He makes the same joke over and over: that he "fell" for you. You think he's an idiot, but this is by far one of your most favorite dates.

Queen Maeve asks you out over text. When you say yes, she shows up in her civilian clothes. She makes sure she isn't followed and that Homelander is distracted the entire day. She takes you to the movies. It's dark and secluded, but she knows you love movie theater popcorn specifically with all the butter and the blue raspberry slushies, and you picked the only movie not funded by or produced by Vought. It's a really terrible comedy, but you two can laugh at it anyway. Maeve even holds your hand during the movie which makes her heart beat out of her chest. Afterwards she makes you stay after to kiss you and tell you she had a really great time. It's the first time in forever where she's felt like a real person whose allowed to do real person things. She wants to get your read on it, but you're both excited for a second date.

Firecracker would ask you on a date to some fast food restaurant where you can get the best greasy food and the thickest milkshakes. She'll definitely be sported because she doesn't go incognito and ends up spending a few minutes at least taking pictures and videos for everyone who wants one. She apologizes for them, but secretly, she loves it. You don't mind. You knew what you were getting into when you said yes to the date. She tells you about her life growing up and her past with Starlight. You tell her about your own life and how you came to New York to follow your dreams. She tells you about joining The Seven and what she really thinks of Vought. It isn't the most magical date, but you're glad you said yes. It made you feel like a teenager again, getting food with your old crush, trying to play it cool when you're actually freaking out.

Soldier Boy doesn't really ask you out on a date. You two *get busy* in bed and afterwards he asks if you'd want to go to a bar. You say yes and find yourself at a local hole in the wall, a place that definitely doesn't see new faces. Most of the patrons are as old as Ben would be if he'd aged. He looks so familiar to them, but they can't figure out where he's from. An old friend? An old co-worker? Regardless, they don't pay attention to the two of you. You and Ben start trying to out drink one another and though his tolerance is astronomically higher than yours, you keep up enough to impress him. You two probably go back to bed and keep drinking, sharing stories about your lives between sweaty sheets and shared sips of whatever booze he has lying around. It's not too official, but you both kind of think of it as a date.

Bonus! Annie asks you to go bowling with her. Like in the show, she plays it off like she's not very good until you point it out to her. That's when she starts kicking your ass. She's really embarrassed and worried that you'll think she's showing off or just trying to make you feel bad, but you love it. You love her strength. You love her showing off and almost breaking the pins with the ball. You get really awful bowling alley food and beers, and it's a really fun night despite all the drama that comes with being Starlight. It's the first time in a long time she's felt normal and safe and excited to be here, excited to be herself. You're not shy about asking for a second date, though you know you're risking a lot by wanting to be with her. She makes that known before anything else.