#aaron conners

Dr. Aaron Conners

Warnings: Language.

Words: 1.6k

A/N: Hey guys, I haven't written fanfiction in a hot minute, so excuse me if this is hot garbage. But, hopefully it's okay and you like it!

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You really hadn’t planned on going out. But the hopeful look in your best friend's eyes made you feel guilty (she was too good at that, you really needed to stop falling victim to it), and besides, you could get out of your shell every once in a while.

“Rosie, I can’t do this.”

You felt ridiculous: after hours of searching through your disaster of a closet all you could find is some periwinkle dress you bought like five years ago. Had you really not gone out enough to have even bothered getting a new dress the past five years?

Guess not.

“Don’t worry about it, honestly. You look cute. Like a churchy-virgin kinda cute.”

“That wasn’t helpful.”

But, you got into the car anyway, because you really needed some onion rings, and a few glasses of Hennessy to take the edge off. 

The bar was one you tended to avoid, due to the popularity and its lack of seating. Most of the time you would end up standing awkwardly, arms limp to the sides as you watched Rosie flirt with two dudes, one intended for you, that mysteriously disappeared after you told the story of shaving your ex’s eyebrows in the middle of the night. 

“Go on then. That guy looks cute.”

You look at her incredulously. “Since when has any guy you claimed was cute, not ended up looking like your uncle’s wrinkly asscrack?”

“It’s weird that you know what his asscrack looks like.”

“Not when he practically mooned everyone at Thanksgiving two years ago it's not.”

You haven’t even gotten one drink in, and they informed you they ran out of batter for the onion rings. You just wanted to go home at this point.

That is until the guy turned around.

And for the first time in the history of the world, Rosie was right.

He was incredibly cute.

Which was her cue to wrinkle her nose.

“Oh, nevermind. I think the hair was deceiving me. He looks like a serial killer.”

That may have been true, but even if he was, he was still very attractive.

“Suit yourself. I’m going to talk to him.”

She looked surprised at this. You never went up to guys in the middle of bars to chat with them. You were always the one psychologically torturing them with your creepy facts until they felt so uncomfortable they called their mom’s to pick them up.

He was tall, at least six feet. Lanky, kinda awkward and nerdy, with soft fluffy looking brown hair. The way he leaned against the bar was evidently him attempting to look cool and casual, but he was horrible at it.

For some reason, you found that even more charming.

“Hey.”

He stopped midway in his conversation with another guy, come to think of it, he looked vaguely familiar, but that was for another time.

“Oh, Hi there.”

It was at this point that you realised how much practice you lacked in this area. Feeling that surge of confidence leave your body, you swallowed nervously.

“I see you’ve got a drink there.”

What the hell were you saying?! Out of all the first things you could say to someone you picked, probably about the corniest. 

“Um, yeah.”

“S’it any good?”

Rosie, please save me! You had absolutely no idea what you were doing. If you left now, maybe he’d forget anything that just occurred the last thirty seconds and try again.

“Er, yeah…pretty good.”

He seemed a bit confused, but he simply waited for you to go on, which seemed to make it even more awkward.

“That’s good…awesome sauce.”

Did you seriously say awesome sauce?! How much of a dork are you?! He looked at you a long moment before he suddenly broke into a smile.

“Did you just say awesome sauce?”

You felt an uncontrollable bubble of laughter escape you, as you covered my mouth.

“I did, I can’t believe I said that.”

He began to laugh along with you, and you felt yourself grow less embarrassed. Oh thank God, he’s a nice person.

After a few more seconds of giggle fits, he raised his hand to shake.

“I’m Aaron. What’s your name?”

You took it, telling him your name. “Honestly, you can probably tell I don’t get out much.”

“Yeah, but that’s alright. I don’t much either.” He paused a moment before speaking up again. 

“Can I get you something to drink?”

He gestured to the seat next to him in which the guy he had been talking to had disappeared from (seriously, where had you seen him before?).

“God, yes. I’ve been trying to get this motherfucker’s attention for the past twenty minutes.” You say sitting down, the chair making spluttering noise. “I swear that was the chair, I didn’t rip one just now.”

He smiled again, his teeth on full display. You decided you liked him most when he smiled, and intended to get him to do it some more.

“It’s perfectly normal bodily function, I couldn’t blame you too much if you did.” He passed the bartender a few bills, and you finally got a drink.

“So, Aaron…what do you do for work?”

He swallows the bit of drink sitting in his mouth too quickly and begins to cough. 

“Oh, shit you okay..I didn’t mean to-”

He waves his hand dismissing my apology, as he clears his throat, eyes watering slightly, as he forces himself not to keep coughing.

“No, it’s fine…another cough …I’m actually a…God, sorry, a surgeon.”

Your eyebrows raise, offering him a napkin to wipe off the spittle on his lips.

“A surgeon? That’s actually really impressive.”

Fuck, he was smart too then. He almost looks shy at the compliment, his cheeks tinting a faint rosy colour. 

“It’s fulfilling, so that’s great.” He scratches his cheek, still looking slightly bashful. “What about you? What do you do?”

You shrug taking a sip of your own.

“Oh nothing as impressive as what you do, I assure you. But, I enjoy it, which not a lot of people can say, so I really can’t complain.” You suddenly realise you’ve been rambling and haven’t even answered his question. “I, um, am a dance choreographer.”

“No, that’s awesome!” He sounds too enthusiastic.

“You’re bullshitting. Don’t make up shit, dude. You’re a surgeon for Christ’s sake.” You grin, catching him in his attempts to make us even.

He raises his hands up defensively. “Fine. Your job sounds super lame. Happy now?”

Your smile spreads, and so does his. 

He really does have a lovely smile. 

You talk for a while more, not about anything deep or philosophical, but you enjoyed it nonetheless. After two more drinks, and a handful of peanuts, you start to feel that warm fuzzy feeling that makes you say everything on your mind.

“You know why I came up to you?”

He paused, peanut halfway to his mouth.

“Not a clue.” There was a cheeky little grin creeping up on his face.

“My friend actually pointed you out. She thought you looked like a serial killer. I thought you looked adorable.”

He looks rather taken aback at the remark.

“Oh. Well…glad to hear you didn’t think I was a serial killer.” 

“No, trust me, you kinda do. But, that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

His brows furrowed. “It isn't?"

“Ah, fuck. That came out wrong.” You began to erupt in another fit of giggles. 

“I only meant if you were, you looked like you’d be one of those nice serial killers.”

He can’t help but feel amused, confused and a bit offended by your drunken truths.

“Well, I assure you, I’m not one of those. Serial killers, I mean. I do try to be nice. At least I hope I am.”

Before he can keep rambling, I put a finger to his lips, and his eyebrows seem to raise comically high.

“Shh. I need to tell you something.”

He nodded, looking like he was intently listening. 

“I want to do this again sometime.”

“Do…what?”

“Spend time. With you.”

He smiles again.

And again, you feel butterflies.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Then give me your number.” He holds out his phone, his contacts open.

You smile, knowing you probably look like a stupid love-sick teenager, but you can’t bring yourself to care at all. 

You put in the number. At least you hope to God, your drunk brain was smart enough to remember it.

He looks down at his phone, smiling still and he types in a contact name, which he refuses to let you look at.

“You should text me. Like right now. I may have given you the wrong number.”

He does and you hear the sing-song ping of my own phone.

“I’m assuming it was correct then.” He grins, putting his phone back into his pocket.

“Seems like it.”

There's a few minutes of silence as you finish your drinks, your eyes turning to Rosie, who has of course, made a friend. She looks a little past tipsy, and was likely to begin dancing on a table if you didn’t come to intervene.

“Um, it looks like my friend might need to go home. So, I should-”

He nodded quickly, placing a few twenties on the table, paying for your tab. “Oh no, for sure. Make sure you both get home safe. You need me to call you an Uber?”

“No, but thank you.” You look like you don’t want to leave yet, as you hesitate jumping off the barstool. “I mean, for all of it. I hate going to the bar, but I didn’t hate it today.”

“Good news for me, then.” His eyes were bright with the kind of hope that made your insides melt. 

As you dragged your buzzed friend out the door, you glanced back at Aaron, his eyes never having left you.

And at that moment, when you entered the taxi, you had a feeling you’d be looking at each other like that for the rest of your lives.

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Let me know if you like this, I'm hoping to write some more.

Fandom: Bill Hader, Trainwreck

Relationship: Aaron Conners/Original Cisfemme Character of Color

Summary: After a disastrous interaction, fellow surgeon Luz Vera doesn't hold the highest opinion of Dr. Aaron Conners. But winning her over with his endearing nature, and an unexpectedly firm hand in the bedroom, the two begin a relationship built on mutual admiration and respect.

Requested by @velourn. Thank you for your sensitivity reading, friend💜

They wrote, "Bill Hader is as stellar as you’d think. Got drunk at my gf’s restaurant (LA) and wandered around trying to pay his check - it was packed, his waiter was busy...”