#Excuse all the different filters I was trying out some things
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
fi3stazo · 2 years ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
You know that one Panchito recolor in Minnie’s Bowtoons? Yeah. Anyways his name is Pepito now
—————
Do NOT repost, edit, trace, or use my art in any way. Thanks.
243 notes · View notes
servicpop · 8 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
✶ ﹑ㅤlate nights ﹏
NOW STARRING : hockey bf Suguru x male!reader
「ㅤNSFWㅤ」ㅤyour boyfriend can't help himself before the big game, he has some sort of jinx!
✙ warnings — thigh fucking, size difference, use of "prince," hand-job
notes ,, tbh I know nothing about hockey i just wanted to make an au with suguru that isn't just the normal jjk plot... / also this was inspired by Jinx manhwa... the sex jinx thing you know
Tumblr media
1:00 AM
The room is cloaked in the silence of the night; the soft light of the moon filtered through the half-closed blinds casting gentle shadows across the walls. The air is still, filled with the faint scent of lavender from the nearby candle. On the bed, you and Suguru lay intertwined, your bodies molded together with you as the little spoon, and Suguru as the big spoon. The soft fabric of the sheets cocoones the both of you in warmth as you find solace in each other's embrace. At this point you're already fast asleep, lulled into a deep slumber as you lay in Suguru's arms. However, no matter how hard he tried to push the growing heat beside, he was kept awake from the raging boner he had.
With one arm wrapped around your waist while the other propped his head up, he watched your chest rise and fall steadily. You looked so peaceful. The pale hand placed on your waist snaked down to your thigh, caressing it slowly. "Hey, wake up, prince" He shook you awake gently, not wanting to jolt you awake but his saccharine, honeyed voice was enough to pull you back to sleep. A light hearted chuckle left his chest when he saw your sleepy eyes blink to conciousness, and the way your nose scrunched like a kitty was adorable to him.
Suguru's palm kept massaging your thigh as his breath tickled your neck, "I can't sleep," He whispered, groaning softly when his hips involuntarily grinded against your ass. It was an accident he swears, it wasn't his fault he couldn't sleep because of his erection... it didn't help how you were still half asleep, trying to process what was happening. You realised immediately when you felt something poke your back. "I'm tired..." you mumbled, your words barely reaching Suguru's ears. It was 1am, of course you'd be tired. "How about your thighs? I'll do all the work," you knew Suguru had a thing for your thighs, he would always squeeze and grope them any chance he got. He mentioned something about how it was the warmest and softest part of your body but you never really understood his rambles.
"You have a game tomorrow, Suguru," You scold but don't push away his grabby hands. You know about his "jinx" but to be honest it was most likely just an excuse to fuck you before games; it was probably a way for him to get rid of his stress. "I won't win if I don't feel you," He groaned, his fingers dipping in-between your thighs, trying to hoist them apart. At this point you let him, too overcome by your sleepiness to care.
The noise of fabric shuffling filled the otherwise quiet room as Suguru slots himself in between your thighs, pushing your plush flesh together to secure him. You could tell he enjoyed it as you heard a shaky and breathy moan from behind you. To be honest, you got off on it too, seeing the way his tip would peak out from in-between your thighs. You always knew he was big but it never failed to suprise you each time.
Slowly, Suguru moved his hips in a thrusting motion, drawing them away before pushing back in with a small noise of his skin making contact with yours. His breaths stuttered with each movement and his hands wandered up your shirt, caressing and feeling your stomach underneath his fingertips. Suguru wasn't extremely vocal but with the small grunts and huff he lets out when he's enjoying himself... drives your body insane and you can't help but grow aroused as well.
"You lonely?" Suguru chuckled, his hands moving down to the waistband of your pyjama pants. With a small mumble of 'there we go,' he slips off your pants, tossing them aside carelessly. He continues his thrusting, slipping his dick in-between your thighs rhythmically. With every thrust, you could feel Suguru's cock slip along the underside of yours. It was such a light feeling that it almost tickled. Suguru coos in your ear, whispering sweet nothings that barely register in your sleep-ridden brain. All you can focus on is his warm palm trailing to your cock. His hand clamps around you as he cradles it in his hand for a bit, allowing you to really feel the warmth from his hand. God you were already leaking. "Hah... feels good Sugu'"
"Does it now?" he hums in a sickeningly sweet and innocent tone, but the way his hands pumped your cock was far from innocent. His movements get faster, his hips went from slow and calculated thrusts to slamming his hips against the back of your thighs, chasing his pleasure alongside with your own. Both his hand and his dick sliding in between your thighs made whimpers slip out your lips. Suguru uses his other hand to hold you close to him, pressing his palm flat against your stomach to push you flush against his body.
"Gonna come," he grunts, his voice getting louder and more raspy as he keeps thrusting. The hand wrapped around your cock was still pumping with vigour, like he wanted you to lose yourself with him. Your voice wavers as moans flow out of your throat — Suguru's hands are way too skilled for their own good. You feel a knot forming in your stomach and your cock twitches in Suguru's hand. Your tip is so red its practically begging for him to have mercy but he doesn't stop. He wants to see your pleasure as much as he wants to feel you. Suguru's voice breaks slightly as he groans, white spurting out of his dick and coating your thighs as well as the sheets. He keeps pumping his hand until he feels you pulse and twitch before you come, "Mm... good boy, yeah just like that."
With a few more slow thrusts, Suguru finally stopped. He wrapped his arms around you in a bear hug-like way, letting his face fall into the crook of your neck. He littered kisses all over your cheek and your jawline before speaking, "I'll do well tomorrow, thanks prince," Suguru chuckled softly, letting his eyes close while he settled down with you to catch up on the sleep he missed beforehand.
♡ little gift — X nsfw video that inspired this !!
Tumblr media
a/n : this was meant to be an oc fic but decided I wanted it to be suguru...
2K notes · View notes
changisworld · 4 months ago
Text
Watersports with Seungmin
word count:2,022
18+, MDNI!! smut below the cut
©ANY translation, copy & paste, posting of my work is strictly forbidden for ANY posts/ writing i post.
Seventh part of my eight part masterlist of the extension of this & this headcanon of the members!!;3
Kinks & pleasures masterlist here main masterlist here
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
->SMUT WARNINGS: Piss(obviously), dom!seung??, subbish reader, so much praise, face sitting, mention of omorashi, hair pulling, tinyyy bit of manhandling, fingering(f rec), cum eating, piss digestion, reader is a bit shy, but comes out her shell:3, seungmin cums untouched hehe
->If this isn't your cup of tea, simply don't read, I know this is a more of a taboo kink compared to pretty much everything I've written so far but ever since I've came to the realisation I luv it,I just needed an excuse to write it heheh, remember & always research new kinks before trying to stay as safe as possible!
You & Seungmin have clicked extremely well since the minute you both met, emotionally, physically & also sexually, very sexually.
You both quickly come to the realisation that you're both very open to trying new things & you both also fall into your roles almost instantly, it now being obvious that he is the dom & calls the shots, you have always been a switch but you never complain at the dynamics, on the odd occasion you try switch roles, Minnie is quick to shut it down (but you'll switch the roles one day)
When Seungmin was sitting with you in your bed, his head on your chest as you twiddle your fingers through his hair, caressing his scalp as you're just scrolling on your phone.
"Y/nnnnnn, I wanna tell you something." he speaks nonchalantly, elongating his words as his own eyes still glued to his own phone, you simply hum a 'mhmm', not expecting what he is about to say at all, but that's mainly your own fault because you should know that he really has no filter around you & the chances of him saying something outlandish is extremely high.
Seungmin takes a small but still overdramatic sigh before continuing He asks, his voice trying to sound natural but you know him far too well by now to know he is a bit nervous to ask & even more nervous to hear your response, turning up the volume by one on his phone to try ease the small bit of tension.
You already kinda knew this question was gonna come up at some point, as his obsession with making you squirt at least once every time you orgasm & also the way he just loves the look on your face & the ay you react when he forces you to hold your bladder while he gives you yet another drink.
"We could try it, but it's a bit scary, what if I embarrass myself or you like, throw up or something." you half joke, turning off your phone & tapping his cheek, indicating for him to look up at you, but he moves himself to look at you as he hugs into you, scoffing at your words.
"Wayyy worse things have happened during sex, remember when I literally almost died from when you almost snapped my banjo when you were on top! I know I won't throw up so don't be silly! I'm dying to try, nothing you do would make me cringe, unless it's you biting ice cream in front of me." he chuckles before kissing your cheek & flashing you his gorgeous toothy smile, his pretty cheeks pressing so cutely against his features.
That's how you've ended up in the position you're now in. You're laying on your back on your bed, with two layers of towels covering the duvet, because you for some reason both think just two layers is enough to keep your sheets dry. You're laying naked, your room a nice, warm comfortable temperature as a random christmas smelling candle is burning as seungmin is nibbling on your tongue as he kisses you deeply, him also being naked, not including just his boxers that are uncomfortably tight around his already hardening cock.
"Are you still fully sure you wanna do this? We can still do something completely different or we can do what we usually do, I won't be upset." Seungmin asks, his voice soft as he parts his lips with yours & looks into your eyes, his hand caressing your lower tummy, right above your full bladder from the multiple glasses of water you've drank just for this moment.
"Wanna do it, I trust you" you smile at him as your fingers daintily touch over his faint abs. Seungmin smiles at you that little bit extra as he nods his head & kisses your nose before he rolls you both over so you've switched positions, Seungmin now on his back & he is quick to grab onto you to help you straddle him as he shuffles his head off the pillows so his head is on the towel too.
He wraps his arms beneath your armpits & pulls you down to lock lips with you again as his fingers push down on on your bladder, making you squirm as you tense up in his hold.
"want you to sit on my face, c'mere" he rasps, excitement in his voice. You would say no to absolutely anyone else if they were to ever ask you, but you shove all your nerves about potentially hurting him down your throat as you follow what he says, almost as if you're in some sort of spell.
You position yourself above his face, his eyes glistening up at you, darting from your face, to your tits, down to your leaking pussy, admiring each one for the billionth time.
"You look so pretty from here, letting me do this to you, thank you jagi" he mumbles in awe as he pulls you down onto his face & the verbal response that you were gonna give him dies in your throat as you let out a gasp, his tongue not wasting even a second before he's making quick work of parting your folds with his tongue, groaning at your taste.
"Fuck Minnie, tongue feels so good" you whimper as one hand rests on the headboard of the bed & your other hand finds it's way into his hair, it's usual spot & you tug on it lightly, giving him the slightly painful but pleasure he is now addicted to.
Seungmin hums at the taste of you, the taste genuinely being in probably the top five things on this earth. His nose nudges against your clit as his tongue decides to get a stronger & deeper taste, fucking it's way into your soaked hole you accidentally grind on his face before putting a quick stop to it, but he is having none of it as he grabs onto your ass to push & pull you back & forth against his face, making your eyes scrunch closed.
You throw your head back as Seungmin's lips suckle on your clit, slurping your wetness & also his own spit back into his mouth before spitting it back onto you, just to repeat the process & your mind is going numb, you can already feel your orgasm starting to bubble but you're forcing yourself to hold back.
You keep mumbling out small praises to the man sucking your soul out of your body, his tongue curling around your button & kitten licking it at a rapid pace. One of his hands move from your ass & lands it on your lower tummy before he starts pushing down on the skin, not too much but enough to make you quease at the feeling, making you try jolt away from the feeling, but he's quick to keep you in place.
"Seung, wanna cum" you whimper as you look down at him, his eyes already looking up at you in almost amazement, looking up at you if he is the cat that got the cream & in his mind, he has.
He lifts you off him just enough to finally speak, using the opportunity to also actually breathe since he's been too happy in between your thighs that he's forgot how to actually take a breath.
"Don't cum till you do what we agreed, maky? Want it so bad, let go for me" he pants, his lower face shiny with your arousal. While he says this, he enters two fingers into you, so you're still getting some sensation & to make sure your upcoming release doesn't completely disappear.
"Don't needa pee Minnie" you whimper, obviously lying as your hips thrusting to get more feeling from his fingers curling inside you, hitting just the spot & Seungmin pouts as he presses even harder down on you bladder & you squeak, clenching has hard as you can to not burst & he tuts.
"Don't lie, you're so good f'me all the time so don't stop now, wanna taste you as much as possible hunny" he purrs before pulling his fingers out of you & then pulling you back onto his face, getting back to massaging your cunt with his tongue as he then taps his two fingers at your lips & you open your mouth to suckle on them instinctively, but all the while, the urge to just completely relax & let go is getting more & more tempting.
Your legs begin to tense up & start to shake as he keeps pushing on you bladder as his tongue suctions onto your clit, his pretty pink lips wrapped around it & by the way your thighs are moving around his head, he knows you're close.
"G-gonna pee Min, wanna cum" you squeak finally swallowing the last part of the pride you have left & you stop clenching, letting all your muscles react & before you have even a second to stop yourself or have any second thoughts, you've let go & a golden stream escapes you, coating the man beneath you's face, your own thighs & also quickly making it's way through the layers of towels, no doubt soaking the sheets below, not that you could be paid to care anyway.
Seungmin moans at the sight & taste, the taste so completely raw & unfiltered in the best way possible as he pulls you just off his face & he slithers three fingers into you this time, bullying into your G-spot as the gush slows down, but your orgasm does anything but that, as you feel it catching up to you quicker than you think it ever has before.
"So good for me y/n, so beautiful, I can tell you're close, cmon" he purrs, looking up at your shaking frame as he is bashing his fingers against your gummy spot & his words just push you over the edge.
You were already clenching around his fingers before, but he is convinced you're gonna rip off his fingers with how hard you're clenching around him as you grip onto the headboard with both hands as you're breathing rapidly, letting out a squeal as you cream around his fingers.
Your orgasm seems to be lasting forever but who is Seungmin to complain? He came five minutes ago untouched so he is just honoured that you're cumming because of him.
Once you settle down & are actually able to open your eyes, Seungmin slowly removes his fingers from your gushing cunt & helps move you so you're laying on the only dry spot left on the bed, which just gets wet anyways as Seungmin moves around, your piss dripping down his pretty toned skin onto the bed.
"How was it? Be fully honest!" you ask, slightly nervous for his response, kinda terrified in case it was nothing like he wanted or expected it to be. "Better than I thought, thank you for letting me try it with you, trust me when I say I loved it, even came in my pants" he giggles & you look down & see a huge wet patch & you giggle back, blushing that you've had this effect on him.
"Let's get you & this room clean mkay? the room doesn't smell of christmas anymore" he teases as he helps get you in the shower before hopping in with you & helping you both clean each other.. after he strips the bedsheets.
->Anon list & tag list is open!
186 notes · View notes
ssa-dado · 3 months ago
Text
9 - Folie à Deux
Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader Genre: fluff, slow burn, so much tension it hurts. Summary: After being called to Houston to solve a gruesome case involving a dancing, folie à deux couple, you and Hotch are forced to go undercover, posing as a couple at a dance event. The operation brings you closer, revealing unspoken emotions as you navigate dangerous waters both on and off the dance floor. Back at Quantico, a matchmaking mission further blur the lines between partners, friends, and something more, solidifying your unique bond. Warnings: The case in this one is very graphic! Mentions of blood. Word Count: 14.1 k - I know, but trust me on this one Dado's Corner: My job with this one was simply to make your heart flutter, and I hope I’ve succeeded. I’m especially proud of this chapter (I secretly titled it “the ovulation chapter.” in my drafts). Unintentionally, it also works as a stand-alone one-shot. Consider this a small treat for all the suffering you’ve endured so far. Please comment and let me know what you think!
previous chapter ; masterlist
Tumblr media
A few months had slipped by since you had finally admitted to yourself that you had a crush on Aaron Hotchner - your stoic, impossibly composed coworker but also your unexpectedly humorous friend. Accepting it didn’t make it any easier, though; it only sharpened your awareness of him, turning every stolen glance and fleeting smile into a secret thrill you could never quite tame.
His voice, deep and steady, lingered in your mind long after meetings ended, and every accidental brush of his hand felt electric, sending your heart racing in ways you couldn’t control. You found yourself memorizing the little things: the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the rare warmth of his smile that made the room feel lighter, and the quiet strength he carried that drew you in without trying. Working alongside him became a careful balancing act, a daily routine of holding back when all you wanted was to lean closer, to let your feelings spill out in ways that terrified and thrilled you all at once.
That day especially felt different, it wasn’t just any morning at the BAU; it was the day Hotch would owe you his 200th coffee - a milestone you had secretly been counting down to with a mix of excitement and fondness. What had started as a friendly wager between two competitive colleagues had evolved into a cherished ritual of ‘ constantly reminding you of your failures’, a small but meaningful connection that gave you an excuse to be near him, to share something uniquely yours in the chaos of your demanding jobs.
You stopped by your usual coffee shop on the way to work, picking up two cups of your favorite blend to mark the occasion. And because you couldn’t resist, you brought along the book you’d bought for him months ago but didn’t have enough courage yet to hand him due to the reminders of the dreaded night at Peter’s welcome back party - Hegel for Dummies. You couldn’t wait to see his reaction. Every detail, every inside joke felt like a small victory in your ongoing, unacknowledged crush on him.
As you walked into the bullpen, the morning light was filtering through the windows, casting a soft, golden glow over the quiet office. The light caught Hotch just right, illuminating him like some kind of ethereal portrait, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but marvel at the sight. He was sitting at his desk, engrossed in a stack of case files, the crease between his brows deepening with concentration.
His hair, usually so meticulously combed back, was already starting to rebel, a few strands falling loose and grazing his forehead in a way that made your heart skip. You loved how those little imperfections softened his usually sharp, composed appearance, making him look a touch more human, a little less like the untouchable rising star agent and more like the man you admired.
His eyes, a deep, rich brown that turned to liquid gold when the sunlight hit them just right, glanced up from his work as you approached. The way he looked at you, warm and attentive, made your breath catch. Those eyes, so often serious and guarded, held a softness that in your delusional mind he seemed to reserve just for you. It was like he saw you, really saw you, in a way that only a few else did, and that small, silent acknowledgment never failed to make your heart flutter.
“Good morning, partner,” Hotch greeted, his voice low and rich. It was a voice that always wrapped around you, grounding you in a way you couldn’t quite explain. The way he said “partner” felt special, loaded with a meaning you were too afraid to fully unpack.
“Good morning,” you replied, setting the coffees and the book down on his desk with a playful smile. “Today’s a special day, so I thought we’d celebrate.”
Hotch’s eyebrow quirked, his mouth curving into a teasing half-smile that made your stomach flip. God, you lived for that smile. It was so rare, so fleeting, and every time you saw it, it felt like a personal victory. “Special day? What did I forget?”
You rolled your eyes, biting back a grin as you watched the subtle play of emotions on his face - curiosity, amusement, that faint twinkle of mischief that always caught you off guard. “Come on, Hotch. Today’s the 200th coffee you owe me. Two hundred times you’ve somehow managed to beat me at this ridiculous game, and I’m starting to think you have a secret strategy you’re not sharing.”
He chuckled softly, a sound that was low and quiet, but so genuine that it made your chest tighten. There was something about the way his face softened in those moments that made you want to memorize every line, every subtle shift. “I’ve been wondering when you’d bring that up,” he said, his voice laced with that familiar, dry humor you adored. “At this rate, you’ll owe me another 200 before you even come close to winning.”
The banter between you was effortless, filled with a warmth that made every exchange feel like a private little world the two of you inhabited. You leaned against your desk, studying him like you always did - quietly, reverently, as if each glance was a stolen moment.
There were so many things you loved about Aaron Hotchner, so many small details that made your crush feel like a living, breathing thing. The way his tie was just slightly askew, hinting at the frantic rush of his morning. The way his hands moved as he spoke, precise and deliberate, fingers that always seemed to know exactly what to do, whether they were flipping through case files or adjusting the cuffs of his perfectly pressed shirt.
“You know, by now, you owe me more than $200 worth of coffee,” you teased, unable to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “I think it’s about time you start paying up.”
Hotch’s eyes gleamed with that playful challenge you loved, the one that said he was always three steps ahead but still enjoyed every second of sparring with you. “Only if you can actually manage to win, which -let’s be honest - could take you an eternity. A philosopher I know once told me the story of Achilles and a turtle”
The lighthearted exchange was cut short when something on your desk caught your eye: a small, neatly wrapped box nestled under your lamp. It was a simple package, wrapped with an almost meticulous care, and you felt a surge of curiosity as you picked it up.
Hotch watched you, his expression softening, as you carefully unwrapped the box, revealing a sleek, elegant gel pen - the same kind he used religiously, except this one had a small “200” engraved near the clip.
Your heart skipped a beat, the significance of the gift hitting you like a tidal wave. It was just a pen, but it was also so much more than that: thoughtful, personal, and unmistakably him. You held it delicately, almost reverently, as if it were a secret you weren’t quite ready to share with the world.
Before you could find the words, Hotch spoke, his voice gentler than usual, tinged with that rare, intimate tone he reserved for moments like this. “I know Gideon never remembers anniversaries,” he began, his eyes flickering with the inside joke you shared, “but I’m not Gideon. And this is my promise that you won’t ever have to storm around like Rossi did on our first case together.”
It was such a simple statement, but the way he said it, so earnest and sincere, made your throat tighten. You couldn’t help but focus on the way his mouth moved, the slight pull of his lips that revealed just the faintest hint of dimples when he smiled. “Hotch, this… it’s perfect. You didn’t have to do this.”
He shrugged, effortlessly brushing off your gratitude in that casual, understated way that always made your heart ache. "I wanted to. It's my favorite kind of pen, and I thought you should have one too. The only difference is the ink color," he added, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. "I've noticed you always use blue... a bit of an unusual choice, but hey, if it works for you."
You couldn’t stop staring at him, your chest fluttering at the way he noticed your quirks and habits. His attention to detail, his thoughtfulness, made you feel seen in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying. It was as if he’d quietly gathered the pieces of you - those you tried to keep hidden and the small, silly traits that made you who you were - and somehow found them all worth celebrating.
“Thank you,” you managed, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Hotch. You’re… you’re the best partner I could ever ask for.”
He smiled, that small, almost imperceptible curve of his lips that felt like a reward, and it made your heart soar. He leaned back, crossing his arms in that familiar, confident way that somehow made him look both commanding and completely approachable. “I could say the same about you,” he said, his voice carrying that rare sincerity that made you feel special. “Though I’m still waiting for the day you actually beat me.”
You laughed softly, your gaze locked on his. “This is so thoughtful, it almost makes me want to kiss you on the cheek… if you weren’t so against physical contact, of course.”
Hotch’s smile turned mischievous, a rare twinkle lighting up his eyes that made your heart flutter uncontrollably. “Well, unlike Rossi and Gideon, we’re not married, yet.”
Though it was meant as a joke, it felt layered with something deeper, like a hidden promise disguised as banter. “Yet?! Are you planning on proposing? Because after all this thoughtfulness, you just might get a yes out of me,” you teased, your tone playful, even as your heart raced with the weight of your own words.
Hotch’s gaze lingered, his expression softening into something almost vulnerable. “I’ll make you another ‘lawyer’ deal,” he said, leaning forward, his voice dropping to that low, intimate register that made your skin tingle. “I’ll propose by the time I owe you a thousand cups of coffee. So, you’d better start winning, or you might just be stuck with me forever.”
The words were light, meant to tease, but there was a sincerity in his gaze that made your breath hitch. Your heart pounded, the beat echoing in your ears as you tried to think of a witty retort, but all you could focus on was the way his eyes lingered on you, the faint curve of his lips, the way his presence filled the space between you.
“Be careful what you wish for,” you managed to say, your voice wavering slightly despite your best efforts to sound composed. “You know that if you give me a deal like that, I won’t be able to help but accept.”
Hotch’s smile softened, and for a split second, his expression was almost tender, a quiet vulnerability that he rarely allowed himself to show. “Forever,” he murmured, as if testing the weight of the word, as if it were something fragile and precious.
“You’re a lawyer, Hotch,” you teased, though your voice was softer now, tinged with something you couldn’t quite name. “You should know better than anyone that divorces exist.”
Hotch’s gaze held yours, steady and intense, the faintest hint of a smile playing at his lips. “Forever,” he echoed softly, the word hanging in the air like a quiet dare.
You tucked the pen into your pocket, feeling its weight like a promise, a small, tangible reminder of the connection you shared, the quiet care that threaded through every interaction.
As Hotch turned back to his files, the brief flicker of vulnerability and humor slipping into the familiar stoic composure he reserved for work, your thoughts couldn’t help but drift to that thousandth day. A small, impossible hope lingered in the back of your mind, quietly daring to imagine what might happen when that moment finally came.
☐ ⬛
“Well, if it isn’t my two favorite night-owls gracing me with their presence,” Rossi greeted, his voice carrying its usual mischief as he glanced up at you and Hotch. “Hope you’re ready to pack up, we’ve got a situation in Houston. Local police just found a second victim, and it looks like this one’s escalating fast.”
There was no hesitation. Within hours, you, Hotch, Gideon, and Rossi were on a train bound for Houston, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels on the tracks a relentless echo of the urgency ahead. The details of the case gnawed at your mind, filling the air with a heavy dread that clung to you like a second skin. This wasn’t just another case, it was darker, more depraved than anything you’d encountered in recent memory. Two victims in two weeks, seemingly random but bound by the sheer, almost ritualistic brutality of their deaths.
The first victim, Lauren Fields, a 21-year-old English literature student with bright eyes and a future full of promise, had been found hanging from the ceiling of a derelict warehouse. But it wasn’t just the fact that she was dead, it was how she had been killed.
Her body was marred by deep, deliberate cuts, as though the unsub had taken their time, savoring the act. He had let her bleed out slowly, cruelly drawing out her final moments. The scene was a nightmare of gore: blood sprayed across the walls, congealed in thick pools on the floor, smeared in what almost seemed like purposeful patterns. The blood on the floor told a grim story of its own, scattered in ways that suggested not just violence, but movement.
The second victim, Eric Watts, a 36-year-old plumber, had been found in much the same state. Another warehouse, another scene of calculated carnage. His body hung from the ceiling, suspended like a grotesque puppet, slashed with the same cold precision. His blood had pooled beneath him, the same sickening patterns left behind, as if the killers found joy in the desecration of human life.
There were no obvious connections between Lauren and Eric: no shared history, no common threads, but the horror they endured bound them together. The only connection was the sheer sadism behind their deaths, the terrifying reality of what they had suffered.
When you and Hotch arrived at the latest crime scene, the atmosphere was suffocating, the heavy stench of decay mixing with something far more sinister - a creeping, invisible darkness that seemed to pulse from the walls and seep into your bones. The warehouse was cold and damp, every step echoing in the cavernous space, amplifying the feeling of dread that settled under your skin. The scene before you was like stepping into a nightmare: blood was smeared across every surface, splattered like a grotesque and violent artwork that told the story of terror in a language only the twisted could understand.
The victim’s body still hung from the ceiling, pale and lifeless, suspended like a gruesome puppet left to rot. The stark contrast of crimson against the cold concrete created a macabre impressionist masterpiece, each streak and spatter of blood capturing the chaos and suffering of the final moments.
But it was the floor that truly made the scene unbearable: bloody footprints crisscrossed the entire space, overlapping and swirling in erratic patterns, turning the ground into a nightmarish dance floor painted in red. It wasn’t just the sight of the blood; it was the story those prints told, a sickening ballet of violence and madness performed by the killers who saw their victims as props in a twisted dance of death.
Hotch moved through the scene with his usual composed intensity, every step deliberate, every glance calculated. He had a way of grounding you even in the most horrifying moments, his presence a constant reminder that you weren’t alone in facing this darkness.
You watched him closely as he crouched near the center of the room, his dark eyes scanning the bloody prints with the kind of focused calm that never wavered. There was something impossibly magnetic about his concentration, how he could look at chaos and find the patterns hidden within it. It was reassuring, and you couldn’t help but feel even more attracted by him every time you watched him work.
Hotch leaned in closer, tracing the jagged, uneven edges of the footprints with the tip of his pen, his expression hardening as he took in every detail. “There are two sets of footprints,” he observed, his voice steady and sure, cutting through the suffocating silence. “One left by a man, the other by a woman.” His focus was absolute, as if he were piecing together a puzzle only he could see.
You stepped closer, feeling the coolness of the blood-slicked floor through your shoes, the sticky sensation almost making you shudder. As you looked down at the prints, your mind raced, trying to make sense of the bizarre choreography. The shapes and patterns were hypnotic against the blood-stained concrete, swirling and merging in ways that felt oddly deliberate, almost purposeful.
You could feel Hotch beside you, his presence a steady anchor amid this violent tableau, and you leaned into that unspoken support, drawing strength from his calm.
“They’re not just walking around,” you said softly, your voice almost lost in the vast emptiness of the warehouse. The realization struck you suddenly, sharp and undeniable. “It’s almost like they’re dancing.” The prints weren’t just random; they moved in loops, turns, and steps that followed no logical path but instead mirrored something more fluid, more rhythmic. It was as if the unsubs were performing, dancing in the blood of their victim as they died above them.
Hotch’s head snapped up, his eyes meeting yours in an intense, electrifying moment of shared understanding. You could see the same chilling realization dawning in his expression, the pieces clicking into place with a horrifying clarity. You were both thinking the same thing, and when you spoke, the words tumbled out in perfect, uncanny sync: “It’s a folie à deux.”
Folie à deux - madness shared by two. The way the killers had moved around their victims, the sickening dance in their own blood, it all pointed to a couple lost in their own twisted world, feeding off each other’s delusions.
Hotch’s gaze lingered on yours, his expression a mixture of determination and something deeper, something that mirrored your own emotions, an unspoken acknowledgment of the darkness you were about to face.
The air between you felt charged, every breath heavy with the weight of what you had uncovered. In that brief moment, you felt a rush of warmth that cut through the chill of the crime scene, a reassurance that whatever horrors lay ahead, you would face them together, side by side.
You turned your attention back to the scene, but the connection lingered, a silent promise that neither of you had to say aloud. This wasn’t just about catching killers; it was about understanding the twisted minds that had found solace in each other’s madness.
☐ ⬛
Back at the police station, the atmosphere was tense, the air thick with the urgency of finding a connection that seemed maddeningly out of reach. The four of you were gathered around a large conference table, the crime scene photos spread out like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that refused to fit together.
You watched as Hotch leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes fixed on the images before him. You couldn’t help but steal glances at him, admiring the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the way he absentmindedly tapped his pen against the table, little quirks you had memorized in the quiet moments between the chaos.
“They have no connection,” Rossi said, frustration evident as he flipped through the victim profiles. “One’s a student, the other’s a plumber. Different neighborhoods, different circles. There’s nothing that ties them together.”
Gideon nodded, his usually sharp eyes clouded with concern. “Lauren was outgoing, well-liked in her classes, no known enemies. Eric kept to himself, lived alone. They were single, no significant relationships that would tie them together. No overlap, no common link.”
You studied the crime scene photos, trying to piece together the senseless brutality into something that made even a fragment of sense. The killers weren’t just murdering—they were performing, re-enacting something deeply personal.
A thought struck you, a theory that felt like it was teetering on the edge of insanity, but you couldn’t shake it. “Maybe the connection isn’t between the victims,” you said slowly, your voice trembling slightly as you spoke. “Maybe it’s about the killers. They’re choosing substitutes, victims that represent something to them. They’re killing themselves over and over, using these people as stand-ins. It’s the only way they can keep their bond alive.”
Hotch leaned back, his gaze fixed on you, piecing together the fragments of the theory you’d just laid out. There was something about the way he looked at you - sharp, attentive, and with a hint of pride that sent warmth flooding through you. “If that’s the case,” he said thoughtfully, “then the unsubs must have a significant age difference. At least ten years, maybe more. One victim is young, the other is older, they’re acting out their issues, punishing each other through these surrogates.”
Gideon’s expression tightened, urgency pressing down on him. “But now we’re running out of time. The pattern is clear: they’ve killed one victim every Friday. Today is Thursday. If we don’t catch them soon, we’ll be looking at another body tomorrow.”
Silence filled the room, heavy with the weight of the ticking clock. The profile was solidifying, but you were still searching for that key piece that would lead you to the unsubs before they struck again.
Rossi tapped his pen against the table, drawing everyone’s attention. “They’re not picking these people at random. The way they kill, it’s theatrical, ritualistic. It’s personal. It’s like they’re putting on a show for each other.”
You pointed to the photos of the bloody footprints, the twisted dance steps that had been burned into your mind since you’d first seen them. “The dance. The way they move around the bodies - it’s coordinated, like a rehearsed routine. Both victims had connections to dance events in the city. Lauren was part of an improv dance group, and Eric attended open dance nights with his niece. They’re targeting couples who, in some way, remind them of themselves.”
Hotch nodded, the pieces clicking into place. “The unsubs are drawn to these events. They’re either participants or observers, targeting couples who challenge their twisted ideas of love and connection.”
Gideon and Rossi exchanged knowing looks, their expressions shifting from grim determination to something almost playful. There was a hint of amusement in their eyes, a rare break from the tension as they turned their attention back to you and Hotch.
“You know what that means,” Gideon said, his tone laced with a sly undertone that hinted at more than just strategy. “We need someone who can really get under their skin, challenge their so-called ‘love.’”
Rossi leaned back in his chair, a smirk spreading across his face as he glanced between you and Hotch. “And who better than the two of you? You fit the victimology like a glove - twelve years apart, just like their preferred targets. Plus,” he added, his voice dripping with mischief, “you two have pulled enough late-night sessions over case files. Now you get to do something a little more… interactive.”
He gave a wink, clearly enjoying the irony, and you could practically feel the teasing energy radiating off him. It was all too clear that Rossi and Gideon were having far too much fun at your expense. They knew exactly what they were doing, and the thought of you and Hotch going undercover as a couple was like handing them a golden opportunity to poke at both of you.
They didn’t just see partners, they saw the unspoken chemistry, the way you worked together like a well-oiled machine, and they weren’t going to miss the chance to play matchmaker, even if it was in the guise of catching killers.
Rossi’s grin widened as he saw the look on your face, and you could tell he was reveling in every second of this. “It’s fate,” he said with a chuckle, barely able to contain his amusement. “Out of all the things you two have faced, this might be your greatest challenge yet.”
Gideon nodded, barely suppressing his own smile. “So, go on. Pack your dance shoes. Time to see if you can keep up with the unsubs.”
The suggestion hit you like a freight train, sending your thoughts spiraling. The idea of going undercover as a couple with Hotch was equal parts thrilling and terrifying. It wasn’t just about pretending, it was about pretending with him.
Every time you looked at him, you felt the undeniable pull of your own feelings, the crush that you’d tried so hard to keep hidden, now bubbling dangerously close to the surface. Being this close to him, touching him, dancing with him… it was everything you wanted and everything you were afraid to confront.
Hotch caught your eye, a small, almost teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Out of all the things I signed up for when I joined the Bureau,” he said, his voice edged with humor, “I never thought I’d end up dancing.”
You tried to suppress the nerves fluttering in your chest, forcing a playful smile in return. “Be careful what you wish for, Hotch. Remember the deal you made back in Quantico? That you’d propose when you owed me a thousand cups of coffee? Well, here we are—on our anniversary, rehearsing for what could be our first dance.”
Hotch chuckled, his smile widening, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Guess we’re ahead of schedule, then. I might have to get that ring ready sooner than I thought.”
You both laughed, but beneath the banter, there was a flutter of something real, something that made your heart skip. The weight of your joke hung between you, laced with the kind of unspoken longing that you’d been trying to ignore for far too long. If only he knew how much you wished those playful words were true.
☐ ⬛
Later, back at the hotel, you found yourself in the lobby, staring down at the dance steps outlined in the file Gideon had handed you. It was a romantic routine: timeless, intimate, and designed to draw attention. As you studied the sequence, you felt Hotch approach, his presence warm and grounding.
You looked up to find him leaning casually against the wall, jacket draped over his shoulder, his sleeves rolled up to reveal the strong lines of his forearms. You couldn’t help but notice how his hair was starting to fall loose, framing his face in a way that made him look almost boyish, at how he was effortlessly handsome.
“You ready for this?” Hotch asked, his voice a low, comforting rumble. There was a lightness in his tone, but you could see the hint of nerves in his eyes. It was oddly reassuring to know that he was feeling the same strange mix of anticipation and anxiety that you were.
You shrugged, trying to keep your voice steady. “The Bureau never prepared me for undercover ballroom dancing. I think the last time I slow danced, I tripped over my own feet more times than I care to admit.”
Hotch’s laugh was warm, genuine, and it sent a ripple of something achingly sweet through you. “Well, it’s not exactly standard training. But you’ve got rhythm, you’ll pick it up. And hey, if we can survive a shootout together, we can handle a dance floor.”
You arched an eyebrow, teasing. “I’m starting to think you’ve been hiding some secret dance skills. Were you secretly moonlighting as a dance instructor?”
He shook his head, grinning. “Not quite. But I did take a few lessons back in college. Thought it’d be a good way to meet people. I was terrible at first - tripped over my own feet more times than I’d like to admit.”
You laughed, the image of a younger, awkward Hotch struggling through a dance class making you smile. There was something endearing about the thought, something that made you feel like you were seeing a part of him that few ever got to see.
Hotch extended his hand, his eyes meeting yours with a gentle challenge. “Ready to give it a shot?”
You took his hand, the touch of his skin sending a rush of warmth up your arm. “Not even one bit.”
The song Gideon and Rossi chose for the two of you was ‘It’s All Coming Back To Me Now’ by Celine Dion. The music began, soft and slow, filling the lobby with a melody that felt both timeless and intimate. As you moved together, each step felt like a tentative exploration of something more than just a dance.
Hotch’s hand on your waist, the subtle strength in his hold, the way his eyes never left yours, it was all so much more than you’d expected, and you couldn’t help but feel the weight of every unspoken feeling between you.
“Careful,” Hotch teased as you stumbled slightly, catching you effortlessly. “Can’t have you falling for me on the dance floor.”
You shot him a playful glare, your cheeks burning with the double meaning behind his words. “If I do, it’s entirely your fault.”
Hotch’s smile softened, his thumb brushing against your hand as you continued to move in sync. “I’ll take full responsibility.”
The song played on, each step bringing you closer, each touch making it harder to ignore the truth you’d been hiding. Dancing with Hotch felt like stepping into a dream you didn’t want to wake from, a dangerous, beautiful dance where every move whispered of what could be, if only you were brave enough to reach for it.
As the song ended, Hotch pulled you close, his voice low and teasing. “Guess we really are rehearsing for our first dance.”
You laughed, trying to ignore the way your heart pounded in your chest. “Yeah, and just think, you’ve still got 800 coffees to go before you have to propose.”
He smirked, a twinkle in his eyes. “Better get to work beating me, then. I’m not planning on waiting forever.”
The words hung between you, playful yet laced with an unspoken promise. You knew it was just banter, just another layer of the teasing that had become so natural between you. But standing there, wrapped in the lingering closeness of the dance, it felt like so much more.
You stepped back slightly, breaking the intimate proximity but not the connection that buzzed between you. Hotch’s hand lingered at your waist for a second longer than necessary, and you felt the warmth of his touch sear through the fabric of your blouse, leaving a ghost of a feeling that you knew you’d carry long after this moment was over.
The silence stretched, not awkward but charged, both of you caught in a rare moment of vulnerability. Hotch’s gaze remained fixed on you, his dark eyes searching yours as if trying to read the unspoken words that hovered just out of reach. For a moment, you thought he might say something, something real, something that would bring down the walls you’d both so carefully built. But instead, he broke the tension with a soft, knowing smile.
“You did good,” he said, his voice a low, comforting murmur that sent a thrill down your spine. “I think we’ve got this.”
You nodded, trying to muster your usual bravado even as your heart thudded in your chest. “Yeah, well, it’s not every day I get to dance with a lawyer. I’d say that’s worth at least a few points in my favor.”
Hotch chuckled, a sound that was all warmth and affection, and you couldn’t help but bask in it, soaking up every second. “Just remember, you’ve still got a long way to go before you catch up. But I’ll admit,” he said, tilting his head with a playful glint, “you’re getting closer.”
The lightness of his words belied the heaviness in your chest, the way your feelings for him felt like a secret you could no longer keep hidden. You wanted to say more, to let him know just how much these moments with him meant to you, how every joke and every stolen glance was a lifeline amid the chaos.
But you couldn’t bring yourself to risk the delicate balance of your partnership, the friendship that had grown into something far more complex than you’d ever imagined.
Instead, you settled for a smile, one that you hoped conveyed at least a fraction of what you felt. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Hotch. And who knows, by the time we hit a thousand coffees, maybe I’ll have you dancing circles around me.”
Hotch’s smile turned softer, almost wistful, and for a fleeting second, you thought you saw a flicker of something more in his eyes, something that mirrored the quiet longing you carried for him every day. “Maybe,” he said, his voice tinged with a kind of quiet sincerity that made your heart ache. “But if you ask me, you’re already leading the way.”  
The moment passed, but the unspoken sentiment lingered between you, a promise wrapped in uncertainty, an almost that hung just out of reach. As Hotch turned back to the files spread out on the table, his focus already shifting back to the task at hand, you couldn’t help but steal one last glance, committing every detail of this moment to memory. It was hard not to get lost in the fantasy of it, to imagine that maybe you and Hotch were dancing for yourselves, not just to catch a pair of killers.
Because even if it was just banter, just a playful dance of words and what-ifs, it was enough.
For now, it was enough to be by his side, to share the weight of the cases and the late nights and the stolen moments of something that felt almost like happiness.
For now, you’d keep dancing around the truth, holding onto the hope that someday, the steps would lead you to something more.
☐ ⬛
The atmosphere in your accommodation felt charged with an energy that was hard to ignore. You and Hotch had just finished a long day of preparation, your bodies still buzzing from the adrenaline of the evening.
This was the first time you had shared a room with him since you realized your feelings for him had deepened into something more, and you were painfully aware of the tension that hung in the air.
You were both drenched in the aftereffects of your undercover mission. The dance had felt so intimate, so dangerously close, and now you found yourself grappling with those emotions in a more personal setting. The idea of showering was both a relief and a distraction, a way to wash away the sweat and tension from the evening.
As you stepped beside the bathroom, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the moment was significant, that it marked a turning point between you and Hotch. You had shared hotel rooms on countless occasions, but this felt different. This time, there was an awareness, a hint of vulnerability that made your heart race.
“Do you want to go first?” Hotch asked, ever the gentleman, as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. You nodded, grateful for the moment to gather your thoughts, to shake off the lingering tension of the evening.
After your shower, you dried your hair and slipped into a comfortable shirt and your usual pajama shorts, taking a deep breath before reentering the main room. As you emerged, you found Hotch sprawled out on the bed, a bemused expression on his face as he flipped through the pages of the book you had given him, Hegel for Dummies.
You couldn’t help but laugh, the sight of him attempting to wrestle with philosophical concepts a delightful surprise. “Look at you, and I thought I was the official philosopher of our duo,” you teased, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe. “I never thought I’d see you actually reading a book about philosophy. I was sure you were too serious for ‘Hegel for Dummies’.” you emphasized the word “dummies” with a smirk, savoring the rare chance to poke fun at his usually serious demeanor.
Hotch glanced up, his dark eyes twinkling with a rare spark of amusement. “What can I say? I’m already feeling a bit wiser,” he replied with a dry smile. “But hey, who wouldn’t want their mind expanded by ‘Hegel for Dummies’?” He emphasized the word with a smirk, playing right into your joke. “Though, I’ll admit, this wasn’t exactly how I envisioned unwinding after a long day on the job.”
“Just promise me you won’t start quoting him at me,” you said, dropping into the chair opposite him with a playful grin. “I’m not exactly in the mood to have my brain twisted around philosophical notions of love and duty - especially not whatever version of that ‘Hegel for Dummies’ is peddling. That sounds like a headache waiting to happen, that could get overly-simplified.”
Hotch stood up and stretched, his muscles flexing beneath his shirt as it rode up slightly, revealing a teasing glimpse of the firm, toned skin at his waist. You caught yourself staring, heat flooding your cheeks as you quickly looked away, caught between admiration and a surge of embarrassment.
“I’ll do my best to keep the heavy philosophy to a minimum,” he said, his voice low and slightly teasing as he moved toward the bathroom. “But I can’t promise I won’t slip up.” The way he glanced back at you, a subtle challenge in his eyes, left you feeling a little breathless, as if his words were more than just about Hegel for Dummies. 
As he stepped into the bathroom to shower, you couldn’t help but stare at the closed door, the lingering warmth of his presence still in the air. It was a mix of nerves and excitement, and you were acutely aware of how much you wanted to cross that invisible line between partnership and something more.
When Hotch emerged from the bathroom, his hair was still damp and tousled, messy in a way that made him look effortlessly handsome. Droplets of water clung to his skin, trailing slowly down his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt, drawing your eyes to the strong lines of his throat and the hint of muscle beneath. For a moment, your breath hitched, and time seemed to stretch as you took him in - disheveled, raw, and undeniably attractive.
He exuded a quiet confidence, his body a blend of strength and subtle elegance that was captivating, even in his exhaustion, you couldn’t tear your gaze away, admiring the man who, even at his most worn-down, was impossibly magnetic.
“Are you okay?” he asked, catching your gaze. His voice held a hint of concern, a gentle nudge back to reality.
You shook your head, trying to focus on the task at hand. “Yeah, just… lost in thought.” Your voice sounded distant even to you, the weight of everything lingering in the air. “Oh, and Peter just called. He’s in Los Angeles on a case, and he wanted to know if we’d be up for grabbing drinks when we get back.”
Hotch raised an eyebrow, concern and curiosity mingling in his gaze as he studied you closely. “Are you okay with that?” he asked gently, his voice softening with genuine care and a quiet, almost protective undertone. He hesitated, his eyes lingering on yours, as if trying to unravel the emotions you kept hidden just beneath the surface. “And what about the date you had with him? How did that go?”
You sighed, feeling the weight of the unspoken truth bubbling up before you could stop it. It wasn’t easy to admit, especially to Hotch, but something about his presence made it impossible to hold back. “Honestly, it just reinforced what I already knew,” you confessed, your voice tinged with a mix of frustration and resignation. “We’re compatible as friends, but when it comes to being a couple, there’s… something missing.”
Hotch leaned against the doorframe, his posture relaxed but his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. His expression was open, his concern genuine, and it was clear that he wasn’t just asking to be polite; he wanted to understand. “Missing how?” he pressed, his voice low and full of quiet curiosity that pulled you in.
You hesitated, grappling with the vulnerability of sharing the deeper truth, a truth that you hadn’t even fully admitted to yourself. “I don’t know,” you said slowly, searching for the right words. “It’s like there’s no spark, no real connection that makes me feel… grounded. I keep trying to find this balance within myself, this sense of who I am and what I want, before I dive back into dating. With him, I just felt like I was going through the motions, hoping for something that wasn’t really there.”
You watched as Hotch absorbed your words, his expression shifting with a flicker of understanding. There was a look in his eyes that told you he got it, maybe more than anyone else ever could. “You’re being honest,” he said softly, his tone filled with quiet respect. “That’s important. And it sounds like you’re making the right choice, prioritizing what feels true to you instead of forcing something that doesn’t fit.”
A small smile tugged at your lips, warmth spreading through you at his validation. “Thanks,” you murmured, feeling the comfort of his support like a gentle embrace. But beneath your gratitude, there was a lingering ache, a nagging wish that you could tell him the other real reason you were so hesitant to start something new with anyone else. The truth was, it wasn’t just about finding balance within yourself, it was also about him.
Hotch studied you for a long moment, his gaze never wavering as if he were searching for something deeper, some hidden truth that you hadn’t yet found the courage to voice. “Just remember,” he said, his voice gentle and laced with a sincerity that made your heart flutter, “it’s okay to take your time. There’s no rush to figure it all out, and no rulebook you have to follow.”
His words were simple, but they carried a weight that hit you straight in the chest. Hotch wasn’t just talking about your reluctance to date; he was offering you the space to breathe, to heal, to find your way without pressure or judgment. It was the kind of reassurance you hadn’t realized you needed, and it made you feel seen in a way that was both comforting and terrifying.
You offered him a grateful smile, feeling a surge of affection for him that was impossible to ignore. “Thanks, Hotch. That means a lot,” you said softly, and you meant it more than he would ever know.
“And, by the way,” you added, trying to lighten the mood, “Even if you are the philosopher now, I don’t think you have to worry about being proposed to anytime soon.”
Hotch chuckled, his voice playful  “You never know. A thousand coffees and a philosophical debate might just seal the deal.”
You laughed, trying to shake off the weight of your feelings. “Well, I’ll just have to make sure I’m ready for that day, then.”
Hotch turned away, rummaging through his bag for a fresh shirt, and your eyes couldn’t help but follow the movement. As he pulled off his damp shirt, you caught a glimpse of the toned muscles in his back, the way they flexed subtly under his skin. The faint sheen of moisture made his skin glisten, his hair clinging damply to his forehead in a way that was both rugged and impossibly enticing. Your breath hitched, heart pounding as you watched him, captivated by the effortless grace of his movements.
You were drawn to him in ways that you could hardly admit, even to yourself. It wasn’t just his looks - though the sight of his broad shoulders and the curve of his spine definitely didn’t help your situation - it was everything he embodied. He was stability, strength, and an unwavering presence that grounded you even in the darkest moments. He was everything you craved, everything you told yourself you shouldn’t want, and yet here you were, heart racing and pulse quickening at just the sight of him.
You shifted on the bed, trying to focus on anything but him, but it was useless. Every movement he made drew your attention. The way he absentmindedly ran his hand through his wet hair, ruffling it in a way that left it messier than before. The subtle tilt of his head as he absorbed your words, genuinely invested in what you had to say. He made you feel seen, and that was more dangerous than any undercover mission.
“So,” Hotch said as he slipped his arms into his shirt, the fabric hugging his shoulders in a way that made your heart race, “do you ever regret it? Not… dating, but just how all of this can make things so complicated?”
You looked up, surprised by the question. The vulnerability in his tone caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. “Honestly? Sometimes,” you admitted, your voice soft. “But I think it’s normal to feel that way. The job… it demands so much. And sometimes I wonder if it’s worth the trade-offs. But then I remember why I started, why I wanted this, and it keeps me going.”
Hotch nodded, his gaze distant as if he were sifting through his own set of regrets. “I get that,” he said quietly. “It’s easy to lose sight of things, to get caught up in the job and forget what you wanted in the first place.”
You swallowed, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. It was a rare, intimate glimpse into Aaron—the man beneath the stoic exterior, the version of himself he reserved only for moments like these, moments shared with you outside the rigid confines of work.
It was moments like this that made your feelings for him feel far deeper than a simple crush. It wasn’t just a fleeting infatuation; it was something profound, something that had quietly grown over time through every shared late night, every unspoken understanding, and every instance of mutual respect and unacknowledged care.
“Hotch,” you began, hesitating as you searched for the right words, “I don’t think I’ve ever told you, but�� I really look up to you. You’re the reason I push myself every day. Because you set this standard that I want to live up to. Not just as an agent, but as a person.”
Hotch glanced at you, his eyes softening with a hint of something you couldn’t quite place. Gratitude? Affection? Whatever it was, it made your pulse quicken. “You don’t need to live up to anyone but yourself,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “You’re… you’re better than you realize. And I’m glad to have you as my partner.”
The sincerity in his words settled over you like a warm blanket, soothing the frayed edges of your nerves. You wanted to say more, to tell him how much his opinion meant to you, but the lump in your throat made it impossible. So instead, you just nodded, hoping he understood the depth of your appreciation.
Hotch finished to dry his hair with the towel, and for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to imagine a different scenario. One where this wasn’t just another case, where you weren’t just colleagues sharing a hotel room for the sake of the job. You imagined lazy mornings, quiet dinners, and dances that were just for the two of you, moments untethered from the weight of your work.
“You know,” Hotch said, breaking the silence with a teasing smile, “for someone who’s supposedly my biggest competition, you’re pretty soft.”
You rolled your eyes, grateful for the lighthearted shift. “Don’t let it get to your head, Hotchner. I’m still gunning for that 1,000th coffee win, and when it happens, you’ll be the one stuck making breakfast every morning.”
He laughed, the sound rich and genuine, and it made your heart swell. “If that’s the price of losing, I think I can live with it.”
He sat down on the edge of his bed, picking up the book again, flipping through the pages as if searching for something to focus on. The sight of him engrossed in philosophy, his brow furrowed in concentration, was both endearing and a little surreal. You hadn’t expected him to take to the book so earnestly, but here he was, deep in thought, as if dissecting the nature of existence itself.
“Never pegged you as the type to dive into Hegel,” you teased lightly, hoping to steer your thoughts away from the yearning you were struggling to hide. “I thought you’d find it too abstract.”
Hotch glanced up, his smile small but genuine. ”Hegel for Dummies” he corrected you “Well, you did say it’d make me the official philosopher of the team. Besides, it’s… interesting. Challenging. A good distraction.”
“A distraction from what?” you asked, curious but careful, not wanting to pry too much.
Hotch hesitated, his eyes briefly clouding with something unspoken. “Just… life, I guess. It’s a lot easier to focus on someone else’s theories than to get lost in my own head sometimes.”
You nodded, understanding the sentiment more than you could say. “Guess we all need a distraction every now and then.”
He smiled at that, and for a moment, the room felt lighter, the heaviness of the day lifting just enough for you to breathe a little easier. Hotch stood up, stretching his arms up again, the hem of his shirt lifting slightly to reveal a glimpse of toned muscle beneath. You quickly averted your eyes, focusing on anything else, the artistry behind the pattern of the carpet, the flowers motives taking inspiration from 1800’s Art Nouveau… anything that wasn’t him.
Hotch caught your flustered expression and chuckled, the sound warm and unexpected. “If there’s something you want to say, you can just say it. I’m not a mind reader, you know.”
You fumbled for words, desperately trying to mask the fact that you’d been caught staring. “No, it’s nothing,” you stammered, your mind scrambling to come up with a quick distraction. “I was just thinking… once this case is over, maybe we should figure out a way to hand this undercover gig back to our two lovebirds. You know, let Rossi and Gideon get a taste of their own medicine. They’ve had way too much fun at our expense.”
Hotch paused, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You mean like turning the tables on them?” he asked, his tone light but carrying a hint of something more devilish beneath it. “Maybe set them up with a little undercover operation of their own. I bet Gideon would look great in a dance ensemble.”
You laughed, enjoying the image of the two seasoned profilers stumbling through a dance routine. “Oh, definitely. Maybe we should get them to ‘rehearse’ with us. A little late-night surprise choreography. We could even record it, strictly for case review purposes, of course.”
Hotch’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he leaned in, clearly enjoying the idea. “We’ll make them pay for every smug look and every teasing comment. Let’s call it payback with a side of public humiliation.”
“Partners on the job, partners on the dancefloor, and partners in crime,” Hotch said, his voice laced with a mix of playful mischief and sincerity.
You grinned, feeling a rush of warmth at the thought of plotting with him. “The unholy trinity. They should have known better than to pair us up in the first place,” you said, savoring the moment.
Hotch’s expression softened slightly, his smile still lingering. “We would’ve found our way, no matter what,” he said, his voice laced with a quiet conviction that sent warmth flooding through you.
☐ ⬛
The next evening, the dance hall was alive with a soft, romantic glow, illuminated by chandeliers that cast a warm, golden light across the polished wooden floors. The air was filled with the soft murmur of conversations and the gentle strains of a live band playing in the corner.
Elegantly dressed couples moved gracefully around the room, their easy smiles and carefree movements masking the dark reality that lingered just beneath the surface. But for you and Hotch, this wasn’t just another night out, it was a hunt, and the dance floor was your stage.
Hotch was dressed in a tailored black suit that hugged his frame perfectly, exuding both authority and elegance. The crisp white shirt beneath his jacket added a touch of classic sophistication, but it was the open collar and the absence of his usual tie that gave him an air of relaxed charm that was rarely seen. His presence was magnetic, drawing eyes even in a room full of polished strangers.
You wore a sleek, simple white dress that softly hugged your curves, the fabric flowing with every step and catching the light as you moved. It was elegant yet daring, a statement piece that matched the confidence you needed to exude tonight. The neckline dipped just enough to be provocative without crossing the line, and the slit at your thigh gave you the freedom to dance with ease, a pair of dance heels completing the look.
Hotch’s hand rested lightly on your lower back as you entered the dance hall, his touch warm and firm, a silent reassurance that anchored you in the moment. You could feel the heat of his hand through the thin fabric of your dress, and every gentle press of his fingers sent a shiver up your spine that was impossible to ignore.
It was part of the cover, you reminded yourself, just an act to make you look the part. But every time he leaned in close, every whisper of his breath against your ear, it felt like so much more than that.
“Remember, stay close,” Hotch murmured, his lips brushing your ear as his voice rumbled low and intimate, almost sending a shiver straight to your core. “We need to blend in, keep it natural. And if you see anything—”
“Signal you,” you finished, your voice steady despite the pounding of your heart. You shot him a teasing smile, trying to mask the way his proximity made your pulse race. “I’ve got it. Just don’t step on my toes, okay?”
Hotch’s smile was quick and genuine, his eyes twinkling with a rare playfulness that made your breath catch. “No promises,” he said, his tone light but laced with the familiar seriousness of the job. “But I’ll try to keep the damage to a minimum.”
The music shifted, and the opening notes of “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now” filled the room, the familiar melody wrapping around you like a soft embrace. You took your places on the dance floor, and as Hotch’s hand found yours, a current of electricity passed between you. This was the routine you’d rehearsed endlessly, designed to lure the unsubs into revealing themselves. But as you stepped into the familiar movements, it felt like more than just a strategy.
Hotch’s grip on your waist was firm but gentle, guiding you effortlessly across the floor. His other hand clasped yours, fingers interlacing in a way that felt both intimate and natural, as if you’d done this a hundred times before – and actually you did last night.
Each step was precise, each turn fluid, but it wasn’t just the choreography that made your heart race, it was the way Hotch’s eyes never left yours, dark and intense, as if you were the only two people in the room. His movements were smooth, confident, and you couldn’t help but be drawn to the quiet strength that radiated from him.
With every spin, you felt the brush of his suit against your dress, the closeness of his body sending heat coursing through your veins. You were acutely aware of every touch, every shift in his posture as he pulled you closer, his breath mingling with yours in the space between.
The dance was supposed to be a lure, a means to an end, but in that moment, it was easy to forget the purpose behind it. It felt like an unspoken conversation, every movement a confession of the emotions simmering beneath the surface.
As Hotch twirled you around, your back pressed against his chest, the world seemed to narrow to the rhythm of the music and the warmth of his touch. For a brief, dizzying moment, you weren’t just undercover agents, you were two people lost in each other, sharing something that went beyond words.
He leaned in, his mouth hovering near your ear, his voice barely audible over the music. “You’re doing great,” he murmured, and the sincerity in his tone made your heart flutter. It wasn’t just praise; it was a reminder that he was with you, that you were in this together, not just on the dance floor but in everything.
As the song built to its powerful crescendo, you felt the weight of the room shift. Eyes were on you - some admiring, others envious, and two pairs watching with a chilling intensity. The unsubs had noticed you, just as you’d hoped. But in that moment, it was hard to remember that this was all a performance, that the heat between you and Hotch was supposed to be an act.
“Doing okay?” Hotch asked, his voice low and steady as he pulled you closer, his hand resting at the small of your back.
You nodded, meeting his gaze. “Yeah. I think we’ve got their attention.”
Sure enough, as you continued to dance, you noticed a couple standing off to the side, watching you with an unsettling intensity. The man was tall and rigid, his expression dark and brooding. The woman beside him was younger, with a delicate, almost ethereal appearance, her eyes flickering between you and Hotch with a mix of curiosity and thinly veiled hostility.
Hotch’s grip tightened ever so slightly, a silent signal that he’d seen them too. “They’re watching us,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t make it obvious. Just keep dancing.”
You nodded, trying to maintain your composure as the unsubs edged closer, their movements purposeful and predatory. The woman’s gaze lingered on you with a kind of disdain that made your skin crawl, as if she were sizing you up, looking for weaknesses. You felt Hotch shift slightly, positioning himself between you and the male unsub, a subtle but deliberate move to protect you.
As the music swelled, Hotch spun you in a graceful arc, his hand firm against your back, guiding you effortlessly. The dance felt like an extension of your partnership: fluid, unspoken, each movement a testament to the trust you’d built.
“This is it,” Hotch whispered as he dipped you low, his face inches from yours. You could feel the tension in his hold, the urgency mixed with something else, something that made your breath hitch. “They’re coming in. Just a little longer.”
You nodded, eyes locked with his, feeling the weight of the moment. When he pulled you back up, you spotted the unsubs moving toward you, their expressions dark and taunting. They joined the dance, circling you and Hotch with a menace that was palpable. The woman moved erratically, her steps sharp and aggressive as if mocking your movements, daring you to falter.
The man sneered, his presence looming as he matched Hotch step for step. “You think you’re good enough to keep up with us?” he spat, his voice dripping with disdain. “This isn’t just a dance.”
Hotch’s expression remained calm, but you could see the fire in his eyes. “It’s not about being good enough. It’s about knowing when to stop.”
The tension reached a breaking point as the woman lunged at you, but Hotch was faster, pulling you back and shielding you with his body. The room erupted into chaos as undercover agents moved in, surrounding the unsubs with practiced precision. You were yanked out of the way, Hotch’s hand never leaving yours as he guided you to safety.
The man fought back viciously, but the agents overpowered him quickly, wrestling him to the ground. The woman was dragged away, her screams echoing in the dance hall as she cursed and spat, her eyes wild with fury. It was over in a matter of seconds, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins made it feel like an eternity.
Hotch stood beside you, his breathing ragged but controlled, his eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before you. “You did great,” he said softly, his voice tinged with a mix of pride and exhaustion. “We did it.”
You turned to him, the weight of everything hitting you all at once “Yeah,” you replied, your voice unsteady. “We did.”
“Guess our partnership does extend to the dance floor after all,” Hotch said with a faint smile, echoing your earlier banter. His eyes held yours, warm and familiar, and you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope for whatever might come next.
You laughed softly, squeezing his hand in return. “Yeah, but I’m still holding you to that deal, Hotch. A thousand coffees, remember?”
He chuckled, his expression softening in a way that made your heart skip, he teased. “You just might get it.”
And for the first time, you let yourself believe that maybe, someday, you would.
☐ ⬛
Back at the hotel, the adrenaline of the night had finally worn off, leaving you both drained. Hotch was seated at the small table in your shared room, his usually sharp posture softened by fatigue, sleeves rolled up. He had his jacket carelessly tossed over the back of a chair, his face illuminated by the soft glow of a desk lamp as he flipped through the case notes one last time. The quiet rustle of paper filled the room, a familiar sound that normally calmed you, but tonight, it only reminded you of how much had happened in the span of a few hours.
You sat across from him, cradling a cup of coffee that had gone cold a while ago, but you didn’t care. Hotch glanced up, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, the exhaustion in his expression softened, replaced by something gentler, more personal.
“You handled yourself well out there,” he said, his voice low but filled with a sincerity that sent warmth rushing through your chest. “That wasn’t easy, but you kept your head, and… I couldn’t have asked for a better partner.”
You felt your cheeks warm under his praise, the knot of tension in your chest loosening ever so slightly. There was something about the way he said it, the way his gaze lingered on you, that made you feel seen in a way you rarely allowed yourself to feel. “Thanks, Hotch. I couldn’t have done it without you… literally,” you said with a soft smile, trying to keep your voice light despite the emotions stirring within you.
Hotch chuckled, the sound low and warm, a rare softness that made your pulse quicken. “I think we made quite the team tonight. I’d say Rossi and Gideon were right for once.”
You both laughed, the sound easing the lingering tension in the room. You could almost hear Rossi’s smug voice ringing in your ears, the playful teasing he’d surely throw your way once you were all back at the office. But as the laughter faded, the reality of the night settled back in, leaving you with a quiet, contemplative moment that was all too fleeting.
“It was strange,” you said softly, your gaze dropping to the coffee in your hands. “Being that close to… everything. To you.”
The words slipped out before you could stop them, vulnerability lacing your voice, and you quickly tried to cover your tracks with a joke. “Especially because you’re not the most physical person I know—and this comes from another relatively not-so-physical person.”
Hotch raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned back in his chair. “Well, as I’ve already told you, you’ll have to wait until the 1,000th coffee before you get any kind of physical contact.” His eyes sparkled with amusement, the joke a reminder of your earlier banter, but underneath it, you sensed the deeper acknowledgment of the closeness you’d shared on the dance floor.
“Be careful what you wish for, Hotch,” you teased, your voice light but tinged with genuine affection. “With the way things are going, we’re not just approaching our 1,000th coffee; we’re practically rehearsing for our first dance.”
Hotch shook his head, his smile widening as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Maybe it’s all part of Rossi’s master plan. Get us so tangled up in undercover work that we forget how to do anything else.”
You laughed, rolling your eyes at the thought of Rossi’s meddling. “If this is his idea of fun, then I’d hate to see what he has planned for our next assignment.”
The teasing between you felt like a lifeline, something solid and real to hold onto amid the chaos. But even as you joked, there was a flicker of something deeper in Hotch’s eyes, a quiet recognition that this was more than just another case, more than just another day on the job.
Eventually, Hotch set the case notes aside, his focus shifting entirely to you. He leaned back, studying you with an expression that was equal parts admiration and something softer, something you dared not name. “You should get some rest,” he said gently, his voice carrying a note of concern that tugged at your heart. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow, and I think we’ve both earned a break.”
You nodded, feeling the exhaustion tugging at your limbs as you stood and made your way toward your bed. But before you turned off the light, you glanced back at him, unable to keep the small, grateful smile from spreading across your face. “Goodnight, Hotch. And… thank you. For not having stepped on my toes.”
Hotch returned the smile, his eyes lingering on you in the dim light. “Goodnight,” he replied, his voice soft but resonant. “And thank you, for the dance.”
☐ ⬛
When both of you were back to Quantico, the bar was buzzing with the lively hum of weekend chatter and soft music playing over the speakers. After the intensity of your recent cases, you, Hotch, and Peter had agreed to meet up, seeking some semblance of normalcy amid the chaos of your jobs.
The three of you were seated at a circular table, dimly lit by the glow of a nearby lamp. Peter was talking animatedly about his case in Los Angeles, recounting the details with a mix of exasperation and pride, while you and Hotch listened, nursing your drinks.
You watched Peter with a fond smile, grateful for the easy camaraderie you shared, but also feeling the weight of recent revelations about your own feelings. As he talked, you couldn’t help but notice how animated he became when he was excited, the way his eyes lit up when he was deep in a story. It was moments like these that made you value his friendship so much, but also reminded you of why things between the two of you could never be more than that.
Your gaze drifted absently around the bar, soaking in the low-lit ambiance and the scattered patrons enjoying their evening. The clinking of glasses, murmured conversations, and soft laughter created a comforting buzz in the background.
But something else caught your attention: a woman at the table next to yours, just out of Peter’s line of sight, was eyeing him with a mix of curiosity and barely concealed interest. She was attractive, with an easy smile and bright eyes that flickered over to Peter whenever he wasn’t looking. Her body language screamed intrigue—subtle glances, a quick smoothing of her hair, and the nervous excitement of someone contemplating making the first move.
Instinctively, you glanced over at Hotch, who was already watching you with a knowing smirk, as if he’d been waiting for you to catch on. His dark eyes gleamed with the unspoken mischief you both shared, reading your thoughts without a single word.
It was one of those moments that felt like a silent conversation, a shared understanding you’d perfected over years of working together. You both knew what this was: Peter deserved someone who saw him, who could give him the attention he deserved, something you were too tangled up in your own unresolved feelings to offer.
Hotch leaned in, his voice low and conspiratorial, his breath warm against your ear. “We should give him a chance,” he murmured, his lips twitching into a subtle smile that sent an unexpected flutter through your chest.
You nodded, catching on to his plan immediately, your own smile mirroring his. “We just need to find a way to leave him alone. Got any ideas?” you asked, your voice playful yet filled with anticipation.
Hotch’s eyes sparkled with a mischievous gleam, and you could practically see the wheels turning in his head. He had that look—the one that told you he was already five steps ahead, crafting a plan with the precision of a seasoned strategist. “Follow my lead,” he said, amusement lacing his tone. Hotch stood up, stretching casually, his movements drawing subtle glances from the surrounding tables. He made it look effortless, but you knew it was all part of the act.
“I’m going to grab us another round,” he announced, loud enough for Peter to hear but casual enough to keep up the ruse. He glanced back at you, a hint of challenge in his eyes. “You want anything, Y/N?”
You caught on without missing a beat, slipping into character with practiced ease. “Yeah, I’ll come with you,” you said, shooting Peter a quick, reassuring smile. “Keep our spot warm, okay? We’ll be right back.”
Peter, engrossed in his latest story about a wild case from the past, barely glanced up as he waved you off, too wrapped up in his own world to notice the unfolding setup. As you and Hotch made your way toward the bar, you risked a glance over your shoulder, just in time to see the woman take her chance.
She moved quickly, sliding into the seat next to Peter with a confident smile, striking up a conversation as though she’d been waiting all night for this moment. Peter’s expression shifted from surprise to a genuine, pleased smile, his posture straightening as he turned his attention fully to her.
Hotch watched the scene unfold, his smile turning smug with satisfaction. “Another mission accomplished, partner” he said softly, his voice carrying a quiet pride that mirrored your own. It wasn’t often you got to play matchmaker, but seeing Peter’s face light up made it all worthwhile.
You stifled a laugh, feeling the thrill of a plan executed perfectly. “I think he’ll thank us later,” you quipped, sharing a quick look with Hotch that was filled with conspiratorial delight. It was a simple moment, but one that cemented the bond between you.
Hotch returned with two glasses of whiskey in hand, the amber liquid catching the dim light as he handed one to you. He raised his glass, a playful glint in his eyes. “For love at first sight,” he toasted with a grin, the humor in his voice unmistakable.
You couldn’t resist adding your own cheeky touch. “And maybe to something a little more… physical happening tonight.” You clinked your glass against his, the sound crisp and satisfying, and took a sip, savoring both the taste and the success of your little scheme.
Just as you settled back, the familiar, haunting opening notes of “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now” began to play over the speakers, the dramatic chords filling the room with a nostalgic charge. The coincidence was surreal, almost eerie, and you both froze, exchanging a look of incredulous surprise, as if the universe was nudging you with a playful elbow.
“What are the odds?” you laughed, barely able to contain the mix of surprise and amusement bubbling up inside you. Hotch shook his head, smirking as he read your thoughts with ease.
“No,” he said firmly, though the smile playing at his lips betrayed his resolve. “I don’t think we’re going to do another show tonight.”
You leaned in closer, teasing him with a sparkle in your eyes. “Oh, come on, Hotch. Can you imagine the looks we’d get? It would be priceless. Plus, I bet drinks would be on me for the rest of the night.”
Hotch raised an eyebrow, his expression a blend of challenge and barely restrained laughter. “You don’t even have to ask me twice, then” he said, his voice low, filled with that familiar warmth and a hint of mischief that made your heart skip a beat.
Without another word, he set down his drink and extended his hand to you, his eyes gleaming with a mix of playfulness and something deeper, something that had been simmering between you for longer than either of you cared to admit. You hesitated for just a second, your gaze locked with his, before taking his hand, the contact sending a rush of exhilaration through you.
Hotch led you onto the dance floor, his grip firm but gentle, guiding you into position with a confidence that made it easy to fall into step. The music swelled, and suddenly it was just the two of you, surrounded by the soft glow of the lights and the muted conversations of the crowd. There was no case to focus on, no killers to catch, just you and Hotch, moving in sync to a song that seemed to echo every unspoken feeling between you.
His hand settled on your waist, his touch warm and steady, and you couldn’t help but lean into it, your body responding instinctively to his. Every spin, every step felt like a conversation without words, a silent dance of emotions that had been building between you for longer than you cared to admit. When he pulled you closer, his breath mingling with yours, the rest of the world seemed to fade away.
As the final note of the song hung in the air and the applause continued, you found yourself still standing impossibly close to Hotch, your breaths mingling, his hand still warm against yours. There was something thrilling about the moment, something unspoken passing between the two of you as the crowd around you slowly came back into focus.
Hotch smirked, his gaze flicking briefly to the bar. “Well, I believe someone owes me at least two rounds of whiskey,” he said, his voice teasing yet still carrying that low, rough edge that made your heart skip a beat.
You chuckled, your chest still heaving slightly from the dance. “A deal’s a deal,” you replied, your own grin widening. “And I’m nothing if not a woman of my word.”
He let go of your hand reluctantly, the absence of his touch leaving a small void that you couldn’t quite ignore. But there was warmth in his eyes, that familiar sense of playfulness that had surprised you earlier in the night, and it softened the space between you. As the two of you made your way back to the bar, you glanced around, catching sight of Peter and the woman still deep in conversation. A small part of you felt a sense of satisfaction, your matchmaking mission had been a success.
Rossi, ever observant, caught your eye from across the room and raised his glass in a mock toast. You couldn't help but laugh under your breath, giving him a subtle nod in return. He’d undoubtedly have something to say about the impromptu performance on the dance floor.
As you approached the bar, Hotch leaned casually against it, his presence commanding even in the relaxed setting. He waved the bartender over and ordered two whiskeys, his expression calm but his eyes still gleaming with the aftereffects of your shared moment. You had seen him in so many different roles - coworker, partner, friend - but this side of him, lighter and more playful, felt like a rare gift you hadn’t quite expected.
“So,” Hotch began, turning toward you as the bartender placed the glasses in front of you both, “think the unsubs would’ve been impressed with that performance?”
You raised an eyebrow, smirking as you lifted your glass. “They would’ve been running for their lives,” you quipped, taking a sip of the smooth whiskey. The warmth of it spread through you, mixing with the buzz of the evening. “You should see the way you move out there. If profiling doesn’t work out, I’m sure Broadway could use you.”
Hotch let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he lifted his own glass. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied, his voice still low, but there was an unmistakable amusement in his eyes. “But I think we should leave the dancing to the professionals.”
You clinked your glass against his, grinning. “Agreed.”
Before you could say anything more, Rossi sauntered over, his trademark smirk firmly in place. “Well, well, well,” he drawled, swirling his drink in his hand as he looked between you and Hotch. “I never thought I’d see the day. You two make quite the pair on the dance floor. I’m starting to think we missed our chance to send you undercover at a ballroom competition.”
You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re just jealous you didn’t get an invite.”
“Jealous?” Rossi feigned offense, his hand over his chest. “I’m just glad I got a front-row seat to the show.” He winked, clearly enjoying himself far too much.
“Don’t worry, Rossi,” Hotch chimed in smoothly, his voice dry but full of that subtle humor you’d been seeing all night. “I’m sure there’ll be another opportunity. We’ll make sure you’re prepared next time.”
Rossi chuckled, clearly entertained. “I’ll hold you to that, Hotch. But next time, I expect a full routine, choreography and all.”
As Rossi took a swig of his drink, Peter wandered over, his face flushed with a combination of excitement and, likely, a couple of drinks. “Hey,” he said, slightly breathless, his eyes darting between you and Hotch. “That was… something. I didn’t know you two could move like that.”
You exchanged a quick glance with Hotch, both of you trying to suppress smiles. “Just trying to keep things interesting,” you said lightly, noticing how Peter kept glancing back toward the woman he’d been talking to earlier.
Hotch, always perceptive, raised an eyebrow. “Seems like you’ve had a good night yourself.”
Peter’s grin widened, and he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly pleased with how things were going. “Yeah, actually. I’m kind of surprised, but… she’s great. I think we’re going to grab dinner next week.”
You felt a surge of satisfaction at that, knowing that your little matchmaking effort had paid off. “That’s great, Peter,” you said genuinely. “She seems like a good match for you.”
Peter beamed, clearly grateful, before excusing himself to rejoin her. As he left, you turned back to Hotch, the playful energy between you simmering just below the surface.
“Well, look at us,” you mused, swirling the remaining whiskey in your glass. “We’ve played matchmaker, stolen the show, and now I owe you drinks. I’d say tonight’s been a success.”
Hotch tilted his head, that familiar smirk making an appearance again. “Not to mention you’ve proven I can dance without stepping on your toes,” he teased.
You laughed, the sound genuine and light. “I’ll admit, you exceeded expectations. Though, if I remember correctly, you said something about ‘no promises.’”
He raised his glass in mock defeat. “Guilty.”
As the night began to wind down, the bar’s atmosphere softened around you, the conversations fading into a gentle hum beneath the dim glow of the hanging lights. You found yourself more at ease than you had been in a long time, just sitting here with Hotch, sharing drinks and easy laughter, without the shadow of a case looming overhead. And in those quiet minutes, you felt the undeniable bond that went beyond your roles as agents, reaching into something more personal, more real.
Hotch seemed to sense your thoughts, and he turned toward you, his expression softening in a way that was so rare for him—vulnerable, unguarded. “Thanks for tonight,” he said quietly, his voice low and filled with sincerity. “For playing along… and for everything else.” The weight of his words lingered, filled with unspoken appreciation for the comfort of your presence, both on and off the field.
The simple, heartfelt acknowledgment made your chest tighten with warmth, a feeling of closeness that was hard to describe. “Anytime, Hotch,” you replied softly, meeting his gaze and feeling that familiar rush of something deeper between you. “A philosopher I know once said, ‘partners on the job, partners on the dancefloor, and partners in crime.’”
Hotch laughed, the sound rich and genuine, his dimples making a rare appearance that you couldn’t help but adore. “I wonder who that wise man might be,” he mused, his tone playful and self-deprecating.
You grinned, leaning back in your chair, savoring the moment. “Oh, just the real advocate of the ‘Hegel for Dummies’ philosophical current,” you teased, your voice dripping with mock seriousness. “The man who’s mastered the art of the unholy trinity.”
Hotch chuckled, rolling his eyes but playing along effortlessly. “Ah, yes. The esteemed ‘Hegel for Dummies’ dialectics—a groundbreaking philosophy,” he said, putting on an exaggeratedly thoughtful expression that made you laugh. “It’s all about the triad, right? The unholy trinity: partners on the job, partners on the dancefloor, and partners in crime. A revolutionary approach to teamwork.”
You couldn’t contain your laughter, enjoying the easy back-and-forth. It was moments like these that made you feel like you and Hotch were more than just friends, you were partners in every sense of the word, sharing in the lighter side of life that was often overshadowed by the darkness of your work.
As you sipped the last of your whiskey, a mischievous thought struck you, and you leaned closer to Hotch, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “What do you say we sign Rossi up for the karaoke list? A little payback for all his teasing.”
Hotch’s eyes gleamed with delight, his smile widening at the suggestion. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said, his voice filled with that familiar blend of amusement and quiet mischief that you loved. “I’m sure he’s got a rendition of ‘My Way’ just waiting to be unleashed.”
The two of you moved with quiet stealth, slipping over to the karaoke sign-up sheet while Rossi was engrossed in conversation with a couple of admirers at the bar. You exchanged a quick, mischievous glance as Hotch scribbled Rossi’s name onto the list with a flourish, choosing the most dramatic ballad you could think of, something that would make Rossi’s grand, showman personality shine, but also give you and Hotch a much-needed laugh.
Rossi’s name was called moments later, and the surprised look on his face as he stepped up to the microphone was priceless. Hotch leaned in close, his arm brushing yours as you both watched Rossi take the stage. “This might be the best decision we’ve made all night,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear.
You nodded, unable to keep the grin off your face as Rossi launched into a hilariously over-the-top performance, complete with exaggerated hand gestures and dramatic pauses that had the entire bar captivated, and you and Hotch doubled over in laughter.
It was the perfect end to an unexpected evening, a night that reminded you of the simple joy of being around people who knew you deeply and cared without question. And as you stood there beside Hotch, sharing in the moment, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the twists of fate that had brought you here, partners on the job, partners in crime, even if you always hoped for something even more.
145 notes · View notes
finniestoncrane · 7 months ago
Note
Could you possibly write a smut thingy with Egon Spengler as the reader(female) professor? Love your work!!
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Egon Spengler x Fem!Professor!Reader, word count: 1k i am refreshing my memory on learning styles and turning my least favourite word into a positive thing with this one anon lmao ❤ he gog on my ped until i geeeeeeeeee👻 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: i've attmpted a bold reader once more, confident reader, masturbation/handjob, ruined orgasm ehehehe
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
As your students filtered out of the small seminar room, you noticed Egon trying to push against the currents, standing a whole foot taller than most of them, some of them more, and catching your eye with a small, awkward smile as he managed to get through the throngs.
He stood silently for a moment, awkwardly fiddling with his glasses before he spoke to you.
"Your attendance is impressive."
"Is that surprising?"
You teased him with a coy smile, watching the way he was flustered immediately. He was usually so firm, unflappable, especially given his line of research, but around you he seemed to lose all confidence.
"N-no, I was admiring it. Pointing it out. That almost seemed like more students going out than have your class on their schedules.
"What can I say? I know how to keep them interested."
You turned, walking to the desk in the corner of the room with a distinct wiggle to your hips. Egon's pupils widened as he watched you, mumbling to himself.
"I can see why."
"How can I help you, Doctor Spengler?"
He was snapped out of his daze, eyes flitting swiftly back up to meet yours in a panic. Not only had he been caught drooling over your backside, now he had to think of a lie on the spot.
"Uh... I wanted to... discuss with you the... importance of..."
It hit him, a strike of inspiration, a good follow-through from his previous statement.
"... The importance of adapting your teaching methods in order to engage with the largest proportion of students. I imagine it's something you're very familiar with, given how interested your students are. Is this something you work on? Or does it come naturally?"
You smiled softly, watching as he relaxed into his excuse and deciding to punish him, just a little, for not being more straightforward with you.
"Well, I think it might be slightly natural on my part. I can read people very well, Doctor Spengler."
"You can?"
He tensed up as you walked out from behind the desk, taking slow, purposeful steps towards him.
"Oh yeah, I know what's going on inside their minds. What they need... or what they want. You might even consider me an example of your psychic studies."
He swallowed deeply, pronounced Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he pushed his nerves down, his face remaining as calm as was possible in the face of your bold approach. You were close to him, and only coming closer, backing him into the board on the wall, with nowhere else to go.
"So... how does this help with your students?"
Egon's efforts to keep up the facade were admirable, but you could see the slight blush on his cheeks, the way his eyes darted from your body to the ceiling, and youhad to admit that this more sheepish nature, as opposed to his often blunt and dry responses, was doing a lot for you.
"It helps to know how best to reach them. I know that some students prefer to listen and learn, that works for a majority. Audio and visual learning is the sort of default state. But others need a different approach, and it's important to facilitate that. I find it benefits those who can't just ask for help to offer them a more... tailored approach of my own accord."
He seemed to get the message, as his cheeks flushed a deeper hue, his glasses steaming up slightly in the center of the lenses. Sensing that you were perhaps offering a more suggestive opportunity to him than he had expected, he continued to play along.
"Can you... can you provide an example?"
"Of course, Doctor Spengler, let's take you for example! I think that you're probably the kind of person who learns better in a one-on-one environment. Perhaps you would be better suited to some private tutelage."
Ever stoic in appearance, even now as he felt his pants beginning to tent with his growing arousal, Egon nodded, considerate and firm.
"Yes, that does sound very appropriate."
"Mhm... and you strike me as a kinesthetic learner... Someone who requires a very tactile, hands on approach..."
He had begun to agree with you, but the words were strangled into a soft yelp as your hand met his crotch. You felt his cock pulsing against your palm, a twitch of the length as your fingers travelled up towards the belt of his brown slacks.
Undoing it with ease, you turned your attention to his fly, undoing it and reaching into the fabric to pull his cock free. His body fell against the wall, completely undone by that first gesture, quivering as you began to stroke him.
A heat rose within him, bringing with it a confidence that bolstered his own movements as he leaned his head down, nuzzling against your neck. His soft curls tickled at your skin, his breath soft, panting, into your ear as you worked his cock.
Egon's hands pulled at your waist, tugging you, bringing you closer to his body, wanting to feel you on him as he threatened to reach his climax. But as he began to cling tighter to you, body keening, you pulled away, watching him stumble after you. He bucked his hips once into the air, an instinctual urge to search for friction, to continue his impending orgasm, but instead all he found was your knowing, mischievous smile, arms folded across your body, eyes lidded as you watched him push his cock back into his pants.
"I do think that's all we have time for, unfortunately. But did you learn anything valuable from our discussion, Doctor Spengler?"
He grumbled a little, disappointment on his face.
"I think I did."
"Good. Well. If you ever need to recap anything, my office door is always open."
As you walked away from him, he raised an eyebrow, smiling with suspicion, but hope. He was quick to follow you, however, following like a lost puppy. If you weren't going to your office now, then at least he could take a seat outside and wait for you. He was very willing to put off the rest of his day's work for the chance at some more of your private tutoring.
218 notes · View notes
th3-c0ll3ct3r · 1 month ago
Text
Docm77 as well as MANY other have fallen face first into this media-related ragebait and I'm here to explain why you shouldn't be mad at Doc/be upset but not "wish ill things on your child" upset, which yes. I did see. Shame on you person. Shame.
Ahem.
So upon waking up in the UK/Europe, we didn't necessarily have the build up to the presidential election due to timezone conflictions, so for many people (myself include) 6am to 9am we woke up to Trumps victory speech on the trending tab. I'm not joking, that's how people going out and how I found out
There have been a mixed bag of reaction but Doc is getting hate for saying, and I quote "Lol... Really USA? This is what I wake up to?"
Alot of people say this was insensitive, and excuse my language and I don't mean to upset, it's because they're Americans and (again apologies) Americans have been socialised into to being quite emotional about politics and read into everything that happens regarding it. Which is something that the rest of the world kinda looks down on America for, because it makes you look like 'cultist' (this isn't my viewpoint however we do discuss this alot in certain class and this is how other people see you)
Doc's reaction is not trying being insensitive, because to literally anyone else it's a reaction of speechlessness and confusion. Which the majority of people saw it as.
Because we all woke up to that.
Doc isn't trying to be insensitive, but I do understand why people think he's being insensitive, his confusion and speechlessness is being written off as dismissive.
People are saying the word 'lol' is worth cursing at his family over
1. That's not tolerated here. Don't be sending threats or harassing him.
2. Lol, has cultural differences in meaning.
In the US countries, it means 'haha funny!' or it can be a dismissive reply (in text format)
But in other countries, lol, is also used as a 'your joking right?' or 'pretty funny joke'. An example being 'lol what?' (funny joke, but what does it mean)
Many people think the lol is dismissive but it's not. He, along with many other actually didn't believe Trump had won yet and learnt about it in the worst way possible
Secondily he made a comment about dealing with "another 4 years of insanity" which people also thought was rude.
But sadly, it's actually true to alot of people outside the US. We only see the "funny" or mildly annoying bits of your media (because of filters and blockers) and sadly, I'll admit we don't know the full picture other than the Americans insanity over politics
It's literally what your known for in the UK.
So the '4 years of insanity' is definitely an exaggeration but is definitely true in some way. We get the bud of all the "Americans drama" and it's mostly the insane stuff, heck that's how flordia man and ohio became memes. So it's not unrealistic for us to see the next year's as insanity because it is. Just very dramatised
Also quick point, people are saying that because of this he doesn't support the LGBTQIA+ and to that I say; Rendog + his entire fanbase respectfully
Now the big boy issue. Doc said he won't talk about politics and Palestine yet talked about politics now? Why?
Why didn't Doc talk about Palestine?
And for similar reasons as to why alot of other people didn't talk about it, including myself. Not out of fear or something. It's because of the scams.
Being "late" to new media is frustrating especially when it comes to supporting people, and genuinely by the time I heard about Palestine I saw the scams first.
Doc HAS a younger audience demographic, who are more likely to get scammed because they do look very realistic and they even have fake followers and everything.
Why not get one from a reliable source? Well what is a reliable source? Because if something goes wrong people will blame you because you endorsed them.
Why not go to charities? Sadly their are now currently many scummy charities that do take alot of the donation percentage. (including some gofundme pages)
So to address this, Doc just didn't address it. And YES he admittedly should have explained why, instead of leaving it up to people to infer because as we can see, some people took it the wrong way. And I can see how they took it the wrong way, he didn't communicate it very well.
But to me and many others, the intentions were clear and that's why their were no comments made. However I do believe he shouldn't have used the excuse about not wanting to talk about politics, because that does have consequences long-term. And that why I'm here today
And this brings me to my final point.
People are forcing opinions out of other people and when their opinions don't aline they get mad about it. So to avoid this people either refuse to comment or have their own methods of tackling it or simply blurt it out because of pressure.
A modern example of this would be Kim. K and her son (ik shocking). Her son talked about supporting Trump and she got mad about it, told him to take down the videos and allegedly made him sign a contract saying to never make a video about politics.
Kim. K is actively avoiding being pressured into speaking by not responding and keeping it in.
However, another example of this would be Vivziepop. Due to recent events regarding her shows being leaked and the recent elections that damaged the integrity of women's rights and healthcare, she broke down on twitter.
Letting some of her frustrations spill out. This was encouraged by people personal targeting her, and basically harassing her to the point of breaking down.
These same types of people are trying to do the same to people like Aismey, Doc and even Jimmy Solidaritygaming because of thier social media presence, and when they have a reaction but then change their opinion it's suddenly a "well you didn't say that before!"
So to be clear, the circumstances of Docm77 is brought upon by miscommunication and ragebaiting. Dont go and threaten his family, voice your concerns respectfully in this troubling time (even if you're frustrated, you should project that onto someone else)
IF YOU SEE ANYONE RAGEBAITING REPORT IT
And have a good night ya'll
38 notes · View notes
paper-mario-wiki · 2 years ago
Note
I don't know if you've talked about this elsewhere already but was the break from streaming intentional and/or are you planning on returning to streaming some time in the foreseeable future? no pressure, I just miss your silly antics :o)
felt very burnt out from being someone who people are always lookin at all the time mostly! (and also a lot more reasons)
got a new job that pays just as well as streaming (which is enough to pay for rent in seattle with roommates, buy food for myself, and sometimes buy yet another japanese gamecube via online auction), and have been enjoying the feeling of not relying on anonymous teenagers and young adults who are just as poor as me on the internet for my income. It's something i was extremely grateful for, but it's not only a very infirm way to generate revenue on a reliable basis, but also i always felt an ever-present sense of guilt for it. like, instilling within other people who i know are in my tax bracket (one that is below the poverty line) the idea of "hey if you dont tip me for doing this free service, the quality of which is damningly subjective, I will be homeless. but no pressure haha" is something that i was never able to shake.
also like. performing is quite draining for me! the way i portray myself in my streams is EXTREMELY extroverted while, in my personal life, i prefer to spend 8 to 14 of my waking hours every day by myself in my room with my dog. i like the quiet, and i feel at peace most when i am not being perceived by other people.
lastly, i really dislike having inordinate levels of social power. for a several reasons. like, SEVERAL reasons. this is the longest section of this post.
8 years ago, i got way more famous than any 16 year old should ever be when i got tens of thousands of followers overnight for doing undertale shit. and i think it really fucked up my ability to make friends at a time where my only experience meeting new people was at school or at church, and i lived far enough out in the woods that i couldnt just go outside and hang out with the neighbors cuz the neighbors lived a mile away. my socializing skills in general are way more stilted than i'd prefer for someone my age. in private settings ive got my foot in my mouth a lot. and sometimes in public settings too! im sure if youve seen streams ive been on, youve seen plenty of "chase you really shouldnt have said that" moments. and youre probably right, i probably shouldnt have! my moment-to-moment gauge for what i should and shouldnt say is very slow to catch up cuz ive got like. advanced mental illnesses. like, im not joking when i say ive been formally diagnosed several times over by different doctors with shit ive never heard anybody ever talk about, online or otherwise.
i dont think that's an excuse to say heinous or cruel things by any means of course, but i also think that i should not rely on a job where there's constantly a microphone in my hand and an audience listening intently to what i say. im not at all pulling the "its okay that i say mean things because im mentawy iww" card. as a matter of fact i think it's not okay that i say them! and i feel very embarrassed when i do! the filter that separates "normal healthy thoughts" and "intrusive unhealthy thoughts" is thinner and more flimsy in my brain than in others.
ive only gotten this far because i surround myself with very smart, patient, and kind people, and by trying to be understanding and patient with others too. and ive begun apologizing to people a lot more. i dont like it when people are mad at me, and i dont like that for a long time i had professionally painted myself into a corner where im typically always the "heel" in comedy settings, because the "heel" is the guy everyone shits on all the time. i got this reputation not because i actively enjoy being mean, but because i learned to adapt to the aforementioned "clinically unreliable intrusive thoughts filter" by realizing i would say things that came across as mean, and in real time exaggerating that it into a character that people could shoot back at without feeling guilty while still having fun. theres nothing that ruins a good time quite like someone who is constantly apologizing for doing something wrong, and then continuing to do that wrong thing anyway. dont misunderstand, i absolutely adore dunking on weenies when everyone can get a good laugh out of it (like tumblr anons, who i think should be classified as prokariyotic invertebrates and not people (no offense)) but even though it's a joke it still feels very bad when that's expected of me when i walk into a room. because if i walk into a room, and everyone expects me to be an asshole, everyone is on the defensive before i say anything, and sometimes they take shots at me when im not trying to "play". even worse, if im a heel in a setting where it's expected of me and someone cant really keep up with "the bit" then that just means im being an asshole to someone who cant or doesnt have the energy to fight back. and not just any asshole, an asshole who has had nearly a decade of professional experience being a paid asshole.
if im being frank, i dont know if i'll come back in a full capacity. i might! im not ruling that out! and you'll probably still see me pop up in my friends streams, because i did LOVE what i did for a very long time! but after i took my "break" in december after being more stressed than ive ever been, and i knew it was no longer financially necessary for me to livestream, i had the thought "i will go back to streaming when i find within myself a desire to do so" and ya know what? i havent yet.
and DO NOT FUCKING BOTHER MY FRIENDS ABOUT THIS. if you post a fucking "hey have u heard what chase said" message in their chat or in their DMs or anything, im not joking when i say you are actively being the kind of person i changed my career to avoid! fuck you, for real! stop trying to interface with them to get some new piece of information or opinion about me you fucking weirdo! they'll talk about me if they want to, but going to someone who is doing their own thing and asking them to instead comment on someone else it is ALWAYS fucking annoying. if you want to think about me, do it by yourself! or ask me directly! or do it in the comment section of a video im in! or write a fanfiction about me and then throw it away!
but if ur not that kind of person then ur cool dont worry.
anywho! im sorry if this is a bummer to read. but that's the full skinny.
im still posting regularly on twitter (clown_depot)! and if i DO go live, either on my twitch channel or on a friend's stream, it will be posted there!
thanks for watching :^]
im not goin radio silent, im just gonna turn off the electric window that lets people see me for a while.
466 notes · View notes
oceansssblue · 10 days ago
Text
Continuing with the rarepairing masterlist, we haveee...
"A FEW EXCEPTIONS" –DOGMA/TUP 💖
WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Dogma is struggling. Not in the ways shinies usually struggle, though adapting to real life outside of Kamino, real war and losses and hours of exhaustion upon his young shoulders, has definitely not been easy. He has pushed himself through it, though; his loyalty to the Republic, his fierce need to protect and fight, greater than any worry or fear. No; what Dogma is really struggling with is with his feelings for the 501st' fellow shiny. Tup. Sweet, sweet Tup.
It's almost hard to believe he's also a soldier –though Dogma knows he's not any less brave and diligent–. He's just so... Innocent, though, and lovely; like a beacon of positivity and tenderness in a war filled with darkness. Dogma is painfully aware of the hundred rules that dictaminate that he can't persue a relationship with a fellow vod; but everytime Tup smiles at him, his heart forgets about all of them.
Sitting on a booth on 79's, other troopers from the 501st sprawled around him, Dogma can't help but smile at his vod'ika animatedly gossiping with Fives. While he usually remains fairly silent in the 501st' escapades into the Corusscant night –his usually serious disposition perhaps not friendly enough for others to try to engage with him– Tup laughs and chats and dances like a natural. It's a beautiful thing to see; such freedom in a life governed by others that overpower them.
A few hours into the night, Tup comes stumbling back to Dogma; the man quickly reaching out a hand to stabilize him while he all but drops down on the space next to him.
"Oops" he giggles, alcohol clearly washing away his balance and filters. "I think I shall rest for a bit now".
Dogma nods, and Tup sighs in relief, scanning the local around him. 79's is crowded; troopers from different companies chatting and dancing and flirting with the few natives that dare to put a step inside the clone bar. Tup watches as Fives pouts after he gets rejected by a pretty twi'lek with bright pink skin and laughs. Dogma follows his line of sight and shakes his head with fond amusement.
"You aren't going to try your luck tonight?" Tup asks, wiggling his eyebrows in a silly gesture that almost makes Dogma laugh as well.
The trooper shrugs.
"No native has caught my eye" he replies, and Tup chuckles in good humour.
"Perhaps you're too picky" he points out, and then half-jokingly adds. "You know, you could always try with a clone. We do make fine specimens..."
Dogma snorts. He really doesn't want to dwell in that...
"That's against the rules" he points out. "And you know how much I value those".
It's almost rehearsed, the way he says it. He takes a glance at the dance floor, were some vods are definitely dancing way too close; and misses how Tup's smile falls.
"So you'd never go for it, even if you secretly wanted to?"
Dogma frowns.
"You think I'd risk getting decomissioned for a quick drunk fuck with a vod?" He replies, and then gently pushes Tup's shoulder with his. "I thought you knew me, Tup".
For some reason, the joke doesn't sit well with the clone. Tup's expression closes off; and he mumbles a hasty excuse before he's all but running towards the dance floor.
"You know, I think I'm gonna dance some more!"
Dogma doesn't even have time to say goodbye to him; eyes following Tup's retracting figure with utter confusion. What the fuck just happened?
"Don't worry, vod" a hand pats his shoulder comfortingly, and Dogma turns to the side to find Jesse with his eyes fixed on the dance floor. "I'm sure good old Fives will help vod'ika to get over his heartbreak".
Dogma's body tenses; eyes inmediately flying back to find Tup pressed against the trooper's front. He's intelligent enough to read into Jesse's words; though he's still having trouble to believe them. There's no way Tup is actually into him... There's no way his questions were actually about him. Right?
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Dogma tries to ignore the sight of the two of them flirting; but it's easier said than done. When Fives bends forward to whisper something against the trooper's ear, and Tup all but grins, he clenches his hand so hard around the glass of spotchka that he swears he hears a crack. It's torture; the last hour the 501st spend in 79's before collectively deciding to return to the barraks. Dogma sighs in relief and stands up; though he is unable to relax completely when Fives is all but pressed to Tup's thigh in the cab.
A million thoughts run through Dogma's mind. Are they, is he... is Tup planning on taking it further with Fives? Dogma hasn't drunk much; but his stomach lurches unpleasantly at the possibility.
When they're about to enter their barraks, tension rises until Dogma isn't able to control himself any longer. He –perhaps a bit harshly– tugs Tup's hand towards him; hauling him back.
The trooper watches him in surprise; Fives glancing back at them once before shrugging and continuing his way inside. Dogma sighs and bites his own lip, hesitant; an unusual behaviour on him.
"Dogma?" Tup asks, concerned and confussed, and Dogma swallows down and erases every single rule about fraternisation from his mind before forcing himself to confess his feelings out loud.
"What I said, in the bar, about not risking decomissioning for a quick drunk fuck... It's true" he begins, and Tup's face fills with what can only be anger until Dogma squeezes his hand tightly and blurts "But I wasn't talking about you. Because you wouldn't be just a quick fuck".
Tup's eyes widen; his whole face transforming with the information revealed. His expresion fills again with that almost child-like happiness; staring back at Dogma in surprise and wonder.
"Are you..." he stutters, momentarily lost, and Dogma finally gives in into his long burried wishes and cups Tups face with his right hand.
"I'm saying I would risk decomissioning for a serious relationship with you" he nods, and it's so clear and impossible to misinterpret that Tup's eyes fill with tiny happy tears, blurring his sight.
"You've really put me through a rollercoaster of emotions tonight" the trooper chuckles, a blush setting on top of his cheeks, a sudden shyness enveloping him.
He has never done anything further than a few heated kisses here and there. He likes Dogma so so much...
"I'm sorry" the clone offers, thumb caressing his skin, closing his eyes and softly pressing his forehead against Tup's. "You know how I am".
Tup chuckles and presses back, hands slidding around Dogma's plated hips.
"You need to learn that rules always have one or two exceptions" he smiles. "Nothing is ever quite black or white".
Tup gives in into his desire to kiss the other's lips, sighing in happiness when Dogma makes a surprised little sound in his throat and kisses him back.
"I'm willing to learn" the clone whispers tenderly, and Tup feels like the happiest trooper in all of the GAR.
THE END.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
PS. Aren't they cuties?
24 notes · View notes
la-principessa-nuova · 2 months ago
Text
For the longest time I was aware that if someone else were in my shoes, I would suggest that they try therapy, but I didn't take my own advice.
I felt like, since I was pretty aware of what was going on in my head, and I knew a fair amount about psychology, that it could really do anything for me.
I figured I'd end up talking to someone who knew the same things I did but lacked the context of my own brain and gave bad advice, and it would get me nowhere.
It turns out I was very wrong about that.
I've now been in therapy for 6½ months, and it is helping me so much. I am in such a better place, feeling more in control of my life, and more clear-headed because of therapy.
Even though a lot of the revelations are things I've realized before, having someone else point them out to me makes it a lot easier to recognize them for being an issue and to give myself permission to do the things needed to fix them.
And all the things where I go, "Yeah, X is a problem, and doing Y would fix it, but... you know..." and everyone in my life goes, "yeah, you can't really do Y...," and my therapist is like, "Why can't you do Y?" and then I think about it throughout the week and then I do Y and my life gets 150% better.
Also just conveying information about past things to another person kind of forces you to get the information in order, and when that other person also knows exactly which questions to ask, you can end up remembering things you hadn't thought of in years.
I could go on more, but I don't feel like it, so just go get therapy if you are putting it off.
If you're worried about getting a bad therapist, that's a very valid concern. I probably got very lucky getting a very good therapist that is a good fit for me on first try, but here's what I did to increase the odds:
I went on Psychology Today and put in my location.
I then used the breadcrumbs at the top of the page to go back up to the state level. Since I was looking to do therapy online, I didn't care about them being close, just licensed in my state, but even if you're looking for in person, go up to the highest level you're willing to travel to.
I filtered by the specialties relevant to me.
I filtered to those who work with adults (since I am one), Online (as opposed to In Person), and are currently accepting new patients (Available).
At this point a lot of the descriptions sounded like a bad fit, and for a while I was overwhelmed by the search and put off reaching out to anybody, but then I had an idea: I only needed to find 1 good fit amidst all the bad fits, even if it meant filtering out some good fits. So I filtered it down to only Nonbinary Therapists, who are more likely to have an inclusive understanding of gender. Find something similar if this filter doesn't apply to what you're seeing a therapist for.
This left me with very few therapists. I read their descriptions to see if they were a good fit.
In the description, I looked for whether their tone sounded like someone I would get along with and respect the opinion of, whether they seemed like they would have an up-to-date understanding of neurodivergence, and whether it seemed like they were actually an expert in the specialties I selected, versus just listing everything under the sun. Avoid the ones that list everything at all costs.
Finally I tried reaching out to a therapist. The first one I reached out to never responded, so after waiting a week, I reached out to another therapist, who did respond and set up an initial consultation call.
I was so nervous with the initial consultation call, but I got through it and it seemed like a good fit. If it doesn't, try a different one.
Also if you are neurodivergent, I highly recommend finding a neurodivergent therapist, especially one with the same neurotype as you. It makes it much easier to accept difficult-to-accept things when you can't make the excuse that they just don't know what it's like. Plus just having more things in common makes it way easier to explain things since you have more common ground to build explanations or analogies off of.
28 notes · View notes
captain-mj · 2 years ago
Note
Maybe on a mission, Ghost gets knocked out and somehow (I dunno freestyle) Soap has to go into his mind to get him to wake up
At some point Soap comes across a memory of Ghost and his dad and he yells at his dad <3
Heavy on the angst pls and thanks
I've been thinking about this so long, I've been waiting for an excuse to write something like this. Kinda got long so the second half will be separate. 
Tw: child abuse, self depreciative language (including slurs), talk of suicidal ideation and very mild homophobia.
~~~~
Soap knew what he needed to do. He needed to go in Ghost's mind and find the door to wake Ghost up. In the normal plan, Price would be doing this as Ghost's must trusted ally, but he was also injured, leaving just Soap to do it.
Soap had laughed. “I promise not to violate his privacy while I’m looking for the way out.”
“Johnny.” Price had said to so seriously. “Ghost has a lot of stuff in his past. You’ll see something you don’t want to. Let him show you around, understood?”
Soap frowned, sobering a bit. “Okay. I won’t. What his way out?”
“Simon is one of the easy ones. Its just a door. Red with a black handle. It’ll be hidden, you’ll have to go through some of the rooms, but like i said, let Ghost lead.”
“How dangerous is it? I know some people have things up there.”
“Not dangerous at all.” Price shook his head. “Nothing there but a few ghosts.”
The process was shockingly simple. Soap closed his eyes in a hospital room and opened them somewhere else.
An unfamiliar home. It was… old. Slightly run down but the living room, he was in seemed cozy. Full of dark blue and green with blankets scattered on most of the furniture. A smell circled the home. After a moment, he identified it as the scent of something like copper and cookies. Odd blend.
The cold hit him suddenly, the freezing chill of Manchester. He threw one of the blankets around him and went looking around for…
Simon stood in the kitchen, well he was perched on the counter, eating a thinly iced cookie. Supplies were scattered around, bowls of dough and icing. He looked up at Johnny and smiled, stepping down.
He was… wrong. For one, there was no mask, but two, he was clearly young. Barely 18 it seemed. He was tall still, but lanky, like he didn’t quite eat enough or maybe just hadn’t finished filling out.
“Johnny.” Simon smiled at him and Soap’s breath caught. He looked adorable.
“Hey, Ghost. Where… is this?” Soap tried to remember what Price and the doctors had told him. The person was different In their mind. 
“Where i grew up!” Simon bounced on his toes. “I can show you some of the places? You want to know more about me, right?” He batted his eyelashes, looking….
Fuck was he shy right now? He looked like a teenager around his crush.
“Okay. And after that, we can leave right?”
“No.” Simon handed him a cookie and started walking away, humming softly. It didn’t leave much room to argue, but Soap decided it could wait a minute. Time here was a lot faster, a couple hours here were barely minutes out there, so he had all the time in the world.
The cookie tasted amazing. “Did you make this?”
“Yes. I’ve been trying to get Ghost to let me do it but he wouldn’t let me.”
“Oh. Are Ghost and you… separate?”
“No. Ghost is… a set of rules. A blanket i put on so pain doesn’t hit as hard.” Simon explained. “Personifying it makes it easier, but Ghost isn’t a person, I am.”
Soap wasn’t sure he understood but he nodded regardless. “Do you like baking?”
“I love it! My mom taught me.” He smiled again. “I used to hide in the kitchen with her when my dad got drunk.”
Oh. Oh that was…
Soap stared at him quietly but Simon didn’t seem to be bothered. “I wish i could do it more. Sometimes, on leave, I make some. I shouldn’t, I don’t eat most of it, but a couple of my neighbors are stoners so I just give it to them.”
Simon tidied as he talked, fixing things so they were military straight. “Be careful what rooms you go in, yeah?”
“You’re interesting.”
“Less of a filter here. That’s what Price says. I like Price. He acts a bit too much like a dad to me, but I let it slide because he’s nice.”
Soap smiled. He shouldn’t but… “What do you think of Gaz?”
“I like him. A bit wet behind the ears, clumsy, but he’s a great soldier.”
“And me?” Soap Maybe posed a little seductively.
Simon looked at him briefly and blushed before looking at what he was tidying. “You’re fine, I guess.” Something flashed over his head, just a little too fast for Soap to read it.
“Ouch.” Soap laughed. “You really don’t care about me huh?”
“That’s not very fair of you, ya know. Prying into me. Didn’t they tell you it’s impolite.” Simon… pouted. Honest to god pouted. His face was softer, not scarred yet besides an odd mark around his lips, like a burn. It was odd. It felt like his face was distorted, but maybe that’s just because Soap hadn’t seen it for so long.
“Hmm. I’ll let you pick my brain next time.”
“I wouldn’t let you get hurt enough to need this.” Simon said solemnly, catching his gaze. “Never.”
Johnny blinked. “Come on, Simon. Let’s get out of here, yeah? We can get some bourbon. I’ll even drink it with you.” He suddenly very much wanted to not be there. To be in the real world where Simon was older and didn’t just say things like that.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t want to leave yet.” Simon stretched, shoulders rolling.
“Do you know where the door is?”
“No. You can look in the rooms with yellow doors if you want to start searching. I need to clean first.” 
Soap had half a mind to argue that he had been told explicitly not to do that, but then decided it would be fine. 
Johnny noticed the room was rather dusty, but he brushed it off. He walked away from, looking down the hallway. No red doors, but that was usual. It would be hidden somewhere. Two yellow doors, two red, four blue and…
A creepy metal door at the end. How lovely. He’d come back to that. 
He went into one of the blue ones, surprised to find party music. Ghost went to high school parties? That was an odd idea to think about. 
He was so tiny. Soap had never considered Ghost as being short. I mean technically he wasn’t, he was still 5′8, but he looked so tiny. His hair was dark instead of the bleached look he was accustomed to. It fell in his eyes and...
He had pierced ears. Simon was just wearing some simple studs, but his ears were pierced. 
“I’m going to bully you for that one LT. Just you wait.” He followed him, watching him drink a can of beer, the shitty kind that you only drink because you’re at a party. 
One person was so much clearer than everyone else, most of Ghost’s attention on them. They were about Soap’s height, shaggy brown hair and a permanent smirk on his face. Soap watched them make eye contact and Ghost quickly looked away, blushing. 
Oh. 
Soap already had a feeling about Ghost’s sexuality. The man didn’t talk about it much, but he showed zero interest in women. He was always the first to start beating a man for trying to spike a drink or take an obviously too drunk girl home, but when flirted with, he’d just turn them down. It was an open secret that Ghost was not straight. 
Still nice to have confirmation. He glanced around, not seeing the red door or the door to go back to the hallway, so he decided to just keep following him. Eventually the memory would end.
The two boys ended up just a little too close on a balcony. 
The other guy hummed. “Cold?”
Simon nodded mutely, blushing hard. Instead of offering his jacket, the guy moved closer. 
The kiss was clumsy. Their teeth clacked but eventually, the guy’s arms ended up around Simon’s waist and they slowed down a bit. 
Someone made a noise and they sprang apart. Both blushing hard. 
“Don’t tell anyone about this, yeah Riley?”
Simon nodded immediately. “Yeah, of course. Wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation.” It was said with a grin, but Johnny couldn’t help how much that hurt to hear. 
Poor kid. 
The guy nodded and awkwardly punched his shoulder before leaving him there. Simon finished the can and smiled to himself, that soft blush still across his face.
“It was my first. Had a lot of better ones since then.” Slightly older Simon appeared again. 
“Ever tell your family?”
“My brother found out by looking through my room. Found some... magazines I had.” Simon turned bright red. “Luckily he never told our parents. Dad would’ve killed me.”
“Oh. Forgot you’re quite a bit older than me. Still looking at magazines.” Soap teased, trying to lighten the mood. 
“I’m only 29, you know that right?” Simon smiled at him. 
“What?” Soap turned to him. “The fuck do you mean??”
“Yeah, just 29.”
“I’m 24. I didn’t realize we were that close.”
“How old did you think I was??”
“Like Price’s age.”
“You know Price is 37 right?”
Soap rubbed his temple. “This is too much information for me.”
Simon laughed and something flashed above his head. Like a cartoon with flashing light and an arrow.
“Murderer.” 
Soap flinched but Simon didn’t notice. “Let get out of here. The door isn’t here.” He grabbed Soap’s hand, his skin warm against his own. Soap followed him, getting pulled into a new yellow door. 
It was a butcher shop. 
Simon hummed. “Nothing interesting happens here. Just hurry up and look around.” 
“Why were you in a butcher shop?”
“It was my first job!” Simon said excitedly. “This is how I learned most of my knife skills. The butcher taught me a couple of knife tricks too.” 
“Cool.” Soap nodded. Made a lot of sense actually. 
Simon showed him around the small building, including the freezer. There wasn’t another version of him like in the previous place. Now that he was really looking, there was no one. 
No red door. They stepped back into the hallway. 
Simon sighed. “I don’t want you to look through the other rooms. I can’t convince you to just stay in my head forever, can I?”
“Nope!”  Soap picked a blue door at random and went straight in. 
It was of him. More specifically, him training with the rest of the 141 for their yearly assessments. He hated those. 
After a moment, he picked up on it. Everyone else was in color, but slightly fuzzy like Ghost hadn’t been focusing on them. But just like the guy from the party, Johnny was in sparkling 4K resolution. 
“you pay a lot of attention to me, don’t ya, LT?” Johnny smiled and looked above Simon’s head just in time to see it.
“Faggot.” This time with several arrows pointed to him. 
“You’re loud. Draws my attention.” He was clearly lying, avoiding eye contact with him. 
“Why is this door blue?” 
“Everything after the accident is blue.” 
“What was the accident?”
“When my entire family was murdered. Obviously.” Simon looked at him. “I know you read my file, Johnny.”
“Didn’t include anything about that.” Soap mumbled.
“Ah. Oh well. You would’ve found the memory eventually anyway.” Simon leaned into him suddenly, his head falling on his shoulder. “The red door is there sometimes. I get lucky occasionally and its behind one of these.”
“This happen often?” Johnny tried to pretend the amount of contact wasn’t making him flustered. He was pretty. He’d choose his Simon over this past one, but he wouldn’t deny they were both gorgeous. 
“Yeah. I tend to be rather reckless. Price thinks I’m suicidal.”
“Are you?”
“Definitely. I try not to make him worry though.” Simon saw the face Johnny made and backtracked slightly. “You don’t have to worry either. My therapist knows. I’m not actively. Just don’t try to keep myself alive as much as the average person does.”
“Oh.” Soap stared at him and he could see him getting uncomfortable. 
Simon went to pull away and Johnny turned, pulling him back so they were hugging now. He melted in Soap’s hands and wrapped his arms around him tight. 
They pulled back in tandem and avoided each other’s eyes before fumbling to a new door.
Johnny went to the red door directly across the hall. Simon grabbed his arm tight but didn’t stop him. He buried his face in his back as they went in. 
A man who looked a lot like Simon was sitting in the living room of the same house Soap had first appeared in. Simon and a small, darker haired child sat at the table with him. 
“Frank.” Ghost mumbled to him. “The man’s name.”
Frank had a snake, an extremely large one at that, wrapped around his shoulders. It moved slowly as it trailed along his arm.
“C’mon Simon.” His voice slurred and Soap could see his pupils were far too big. 
“What’s he high on?”
“Heroin probably.” Ghost hid his face in Soap’s hair, pulling him against his chest. 
Frank hummed. “Not scared are you?”
This Simon looked even younger than the other. Probably only 8 if Soap had to guess. He shook his head but Soap could see his hands shaking where they were pressed to his thighs. 
Frank moved the snake closer, its head coming so close to the child in that seat. Soap didn’t know what was going to happen, but he knew it was going to be bad. Ghost trembled against him, the strongest person he knew, trembling at the sight of this fucking asshole.
“Dad.” Simon said softly, unable to keep the tremble out of his face. Frank moved closer and before Soap even realized what he was doing, he backhanded Simon out of the chair and to the floor. That tiny fucking kid. 
“You’re so fucking annoying. It’s a snake. It’s nothing to be scared of. It’s just a goddamn animal.” He grabbed Simon by his shirt collar, yanking him up he was dangling half on the ground, unable to get his feet under him. “Your bitch of a mother ruined you. Made you such a fucking pussy.” He shook him while he talked.
Simon didn’t flinch. Just stared up completely blank besides the tiniest wobble of his bottom lip. 
“He’s a fucking child.” Soap snapped, but nothing happened. 
Frank grabbed the snake, suddenly pushing it closer and closer to Simon’s face. It’s mouth opened, venom clearly dripping.
The burns around his mouth. Venom would leave those burns.
“You’re such a useless kid, you know that?” It was stupid of Soap, but he couldn’t just watch that. He shoved him, surprised to find Frank was solid. The man looked at him, dropping the kid.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re a shit dad.” Soap stared at him. Ghost might find him scary, but he had been a kid. Soap could see him for what he was. “You’re a fucking junkie and that’s it.”
Frank stared at him. “Who the fuck are you?”
“His...” Soap didn’t have a word. “I’m his. That’s all that matters. And you’re not going to fucking touch him.” 
Frank blinked before just disappearing. They were thrown back into the hallway this time. 
Simon leaned into him, his chest to Soap’s back to hide his face. He shook hard. 
“You’re okay, Ghost. I promise.” 
“I want to go home now, Johnny. Want that drink.” 
“I’ll get you out of here buddy. Promise.”
457 notes · View notes
eddiegettingshot · 4 months ago
Note
I throw a theory at you. Eddie gets very very drunk and is like hey boy bestie of mine, you figured out you like men after kissing, maybe I should try that. Does it, they go insane and maul each other.
Does Eddie, pretend it never happened and never talk about it in some insane repression fit or has one kiss ruined him and now he has to be kissing buck at all given times and needs to marry him actually
ok interesting theoretical exercise you have brought to me. the thing is that as far as “kissing to figure it out” goes eddie is proceeding from a very different place than buck. because buck truly and completely doesn’t know jack shit his every want and feeling and thought is atomized until he can cobble together a meaningful conclusion about himself either in hindsight or by way of some unavoidable catalyst (like a man kissing him out of the blue). on the other hand eddie is intensely self-aware and able to intellectualize his wants and feelings and thoughts but he is constantly trying not to look directly at them or he is constructing a mental labyrinth / filter to get a taste of what he wants without actually fully grappling with the reality of what any of it says about him as a person. so anyway with that in mind. if eddie said “hey can we kiss so i can figure out if i like men too since that’s how you figured it out,” he’d be saying it having already figured it out, already being fully aware, and simply trying to find an excuse to kiss buck, specifically, because at that point his concern would be about buck, specifically, not about being into men. eddie does not tend to like, be wishy-washy about things once they’re out there so if buck was like yay i want to make out with you forever he would be like ok let’s get married so we can do that.
18 notes · View notes
chichirid · 7 days ago
Note
hii, sorry if you've answered this before but what do you use to make your edits ? your stuff is so cool it's inspiring me to try it out for myself hdkghdkgj,,
Tumblr media
oh my gosh tysm 🥺 i really appreciate this but ill just get straight into the list! underlined = link , highlighted is website names
sorry for the long post i ended up yapping.. tldr photopea, ezgif, lunapic, alphabetiser, nameberry, magic baby names, baby centre, sekaipedia, pinterest, tumblr, . also at the bottom is a tutorial on making stamps & some templates
for basic editing i use photopea - https://www.photopea.com/ , if its too confusing you can also try ibis paint but its too confusing for me. i click "new project" and then use the dimensions i need ( tumblr banner = 1280x720 , twt banner = 1500x500 ). i can also make basic photopea functions tutorial if you need it bc a lot of people find it difficult to navigate. i dont have any specific favourite layer blends but i recommend light colours -> use the section under "lighten" , dark colours -> use the section under "darken" , blacks and whites -> use the section under "difference". of course once ur more comfortable u can just do whatver layer blends u want ^ ^
for gif editing / merging (layouts, pixels, blinkies) i use photopea's layer -> animation -> merge settings, however if that doesn't work i use ezgif - https://ezgif.com/ , specifically the gif maker.
for adding animations to stamps, i use lunapic's animations tab - https://www6.lunapic.com/editor/?action=animation-examples . i also used to use this website a lot for old layouts before i knew how to use photopea. below i highlighted my fav settings (3x for sizing)
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
for npts i use alphabetizer - https://alphabetizer.flap.tv/ to organise name lists. if you use this make sure to turn ON "ignore case" in the side menu!! it sorts capital letters as normal, and then i delete the capital letters later when formatting a post. for names i use websites like nameberry, magic baby names, and baby center. not sure how to explain it but i just get a feeling that a name suits a character ^ ^. as an example in all of these i used "orchid". for titles and pronouns i just use my imagination based off the character's wiki page.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
for resources: i find proseka transparents online at sekaipedia - https://www.sekaipedia.org/wiki/Characters , or at @prosekaipng or @sekaitransparents . i find frames and pngs on pinterest or tumblr, and use unscreen to remove the background of gifs and remove.bg to remove the background of any image i cant be bothered manually removing. when i need to do touch-ups myself i use photopea
i find colour matches for layouts on pinterest, and then edit the shit out of them until it looks close enough to a colour palette (example below of some colour editing i've done recently). most of the things i do are extreme changes but i started off by making subtle changes in my old layout posts on lunapic, which i still sometimes do today like in the last example from a post currently sitting in my drafts i havent finished. ( ̄  ̄|| )
(this is how i found out my emu photopea file didnt save btw so excuse the missing elements ...)
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
for overlays, btw i use A LOT OF THESE, and also lots of custom PSDs. a psd is basically a colouring file you overlay on top of something, and are similiar to smart filters. in photopea you can click "image -> adjustments -> (whatever)" and apply that to one singular image, and these are called smart filters because you can transfer them to other images by individually dragging them. OR you can click "layer -> new adjustment layer -> (whatever" and this is a PSD because it automatically applies to all images. in photoshop, there are no "smart filters" iirc. i use a combo of smart filters & psds & overlays. i find overlays sometimes on pinterest, but mainly on tumblr. my favs below. use layer blends on these!!
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
for stamps i use templates in photopea using a raster mask. you can find templates on tumblr and deviantart, majority of tumblr dumps are from deviantart, so i focus on using deviantart myself and finding original stamp works on tumblr rather than reposts. some accounts i recommend are caterpillar-with-a-crayon and dixons-graveyard. remember to credit artists!!
to do this, first open a template in photopea using either " file -> open " or " open from computer " . next select the magic wand and select the inside of the stamp. next open a new layer using the blank page (second from the right, bottom right, next to the trash can below the layers) and use the brush tool to colour in the selection from earlier. it may look like an eraser, or any other icons shown in the menu. right click and select the brush tool, then hold down to colour it in. you should have something now looking like the fourth slide, with a stamp template on one layer and the colour on a layer above it.
to make the raster mask, de-select the colour by clicking anywhere in the dark grey surrounding the canvas. while on the colour layer, select "layer" (fourth from the left, next to "image" and "select, menu in the top left), then select "raster mask" -> "from transparency" . your coloured layer will then split into the colour surrounded by black, and a white version of the colour. both connected with a chain.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
now, create a folder above your stamp template by clicking the button shaped like a file (bottom right menu, 3rd from the right, between a sheet of paper and a circle cut in half). now, click on the RIGHT split from the layer (the white colouring) and drag it onto the folder. it should stick there. now, anything you put inside that folder will fit the stamp inside! remember to turn OFF the red layer by click the eyes next to the layer. this wont affect your raster mask. i used an image and the text tool.
you can also do more complex things involving stamps but this is a basic tutorial ^ ^.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
12 notes · View notes
vanseerra · 1 year ago
Text
Visions - An Elucien One-Shot
Rated T | 1.3k words
Having Lucien as a dinner guest to the river house is no issue- really. All Elain has to do is be is be civil yet respectfully distant and know when not to look his way. This time would be no different, right?
She has but a split second to respond. A flash of embered, red hair and then he is on her. Woody, warm and rich scents envelope her as his form is pressed flush against her, backing her into the lid of the pianoforte. Her delicate lips part in surprise and before any words have time to form, he is kissing her, feverishly and without restraint. A groan hums against her mouth, his fingers trailing the soft curves of her side through the satin silk of her evening gown and...
Elain slams the hilt of her fork into the table drawing the attention of the river house guests. Half a dozen eyes spin to her, shock patterned in them. Among them, one of russet and one of metal watches her, wide and confused.
"Pardon me..." She stumbles out. "A bug."
Thankfully, with little fuss, the dinner party goes back to their conversation, discussing the results of the Illyrians last infamous snowball fight.
"It was fixed!" Cassian roars out in protest, obviously dissatisfied with the outcome.
The details of their chat become quickly lost to the female, her attention drawn to a more pressing issue at hand. What in the mother's name was that vision?! Lucien... Lucien and her...against the piano? She delicately picks at her food with her fork, turning over the embarrassing details in her mind and trying to still the thundering drum of her heart.
Perhaps it had been because of his presence? It was true that having him around the house, and sometimes in the city in general, heightened her senses. Her vision was brighter, sounds louder, pulse just that bit quicker. She was reluctant to admit it but things were different in his company: it was undeniable. Maybe it was an inevitable consequence then? A bodily reaction to the bond? Some sort of natural science?
She could see him still. In the corner of her vision that blaring stroke of red hair tempting her attention, calling her to indulge and draw closer to him. Her lips draw taut into a line as she reaches for a sip of wine. If there was one thing she had learnt over the previous few years, it was to be respectfuly distant from the male. She could be civil when needed and excuse herself when necessary. The alternative...
With daring intrigue, Elain shifts her gaze to face him directly. As soon as she does it, she knows it is a mistake. He's staring straight at her. That piercing eye shooting a bolt right through her and leaving her laid bare and exposed. Somehow, she feels as if he's reading her very thoughts, hearing all the secret confusions she holds towards him. His lips part softly, as if he wants to speak to her from his place across the table.
Lips. Warm, rounded lips press to the column of her throat spreading heat down her neck. She can feel them curl upwards against her skin.
"You couldn't wait?" The hot air from his mouth slithers around the shell of her ear, sending a chill down her spine. Desperately, she arches her back into his palm, needing to be that tiny bit closer.
Elain gasps, audibly and with great shock. This time, when eyes turn to her, concern is riddled through them all. All except one pair. Luciens gaze holds firm, slightly narrowed like he's trying to piece together the scene before him. Abruptly, the female stands, shaking her dinner plate as she brushes against it.
"The stove! I think I left it on. Excuse me."
With haste, she flees the dining room scene before anyone can question her rash reaction. She doesn't dare catch the eyes of her sisters who would be sure to press her further on the matter.
Before her, the stove is off. She had known the fact before coming face to face with it. Still, she takes a moment, gripping the kitchen worktop firmly as she filters through her thoughts. It had never been like this before. Sure, she had had visions and yes, she had been physically affected by his presence, but this? Never.
Then what had changed? What was different? Lucien had been paying more visits than usual. Perhaps his continued presence was having an effect. Maybe she should have a quiet word with Feyre about warning her of his plans. But did she really want that? Her and Luciens relationship had always been... strained, difficult. In the past, it had been a point of great conflict for her but now that some years had past...
The female shakes her head rapidly, clearing the idea from her mind. What is she thinking?! This is clearly some projection from the bond and has nothing to do with her own desires. Lucien is an attractive male, of course, but that is as far as her sentiment towards him goes. Right?
Someone behind her clears his throat. She doesn't need to turn to see who is in the kitchen alone with her. Great. Mustering up as much strength as she can, Elain turns back from the stove, standing face to face with the very male flicking through her mind. The smile on her face is pulled almost unaturally as she speaks.
"Can I help you?"
Despite her attempt at a facade, she cannot help the way her heart leaps when she finally sees the expression upon Luciens face. Eyes dark, cheeks red, lips apart ever so slightly, he looks almost predatory in his gaze. No words come to the female as she watches him make his way towards her, gradually and with slow intent. She keenly sees him flick out his tongue to wet his bottom lip and the moan that falls from her throat startles her.
Within a few seconds he is before her, close enough that the rapid rise and fall of their chests almost cause them to touch and she swears she can taste the warmth of his breath upon her. Lucien says nothing, only lifting a hand to rest on her blush flustered cheek. His palm is hot and she resists the urge to melt into him. In his eye, a persistent flame seems to burn as he reaches his thumb across to brush against the plumpness of her bottom lip. The tip of it dares to push in, meeting her tongue.
"Lucien..." Elain mumbles. "What are you doing..."
It's a pathetic attempt at a distraction and he knows it. With a feline smirk he brings his face closer, nose touching her own as he shuts his eyes.
"Wake up Elain."
~
With a fierce jolt, the vision ends, abruptly like a curtain being pulled across a screen. The female yelps, staggering against the weight of the counter behind her. Across the room, an equally startled Lucien takes a step forward, arm out-stretched as if to catch her. He clears his throat.
"Apologies lady, I only came to check you are well. That was quite a hasty exit."
There is a question in his voice and she nods in response, desperately trying to claw herself back into reality and find a reasoning for her behaviour.
"Thank you. If I'm honest I'm just a bit tired. Perhaps I should be retiring soon." Her words lack conviction but it's the best she can do as she shoots him an empathetic smile, the thundering of her heart unrelentlessly enveloping her.
With a slight warmth, he smiles.
"Very well." The male turns on his heel towards the direction of the dining room, where the bustling guests can be heard deep within their conversations. Before he steps, he pauses, throwing a look over his shoulder to her.
"Don't let me keep you awake."
The knowing smirk and sultry words are quickly gone as he disappears through the door and leaves a stunned Elain clutching the wooden counter, mouth agape.
103 notes · View notes
voidedaurora · 5 months ago
Note
Sorry if this is annoying. But I've always known you as Mel's close friend, what happened between the two of you to prompt a seperation? I read the part where Mel apparently falsely accused you of pressuring her into yknow. But where's the proof of her accusing you of that?
Sorry if this sounds like i'm defending her or that i'm skeptical of your story. I'm just extremely confused, feel free to ignore this. (I have a bad experience with Mel too sooo TT)
I haven't actually spoken publicly about the circumstances of why our friendship ended (mainly because she'll cry and piss herself saying it was meant to stay private) but in SHORT, Mel and I's friendship ended because of me venting to friends about her (in simple terms), The venting admittedly did get into pretty spiteful territory at times but it was only that bad because mel had been treating me like garbage for the past few months, swapping back n fourth from treating me like her best friend in the world to completely ignoring I existed. Aswell, not that this EXCUSES anything I was saying but I do have really bad BPD and one of the main triggers for it was whenever mel would ignore me randomly, I let her know time and time again that it was a trigger and that I couldn't handle her doing that and she'd reassure me, but ofc she never accommodated for that but expected me and everyone else to work around her own issues. Additionally I'd like to mention from early April (4th) until the day she left (04/30/2024) I'd been on narcotics, these really didn't mix well with my BPD but I needed them since I was in horrible pain from the surgery, they made me quite emotional, irrational, "out of it", and generally just got rid of any filter I had up
The friendship was honestly doomed to fail with her refusing to communicate EVER, she likes to talk about how she has communication issues but there's a difference between an issue and refusing to do it period, I tried time and time again to talk about any problems we had with us or just our friendship with her but every time she'd either brush me off, make excuses, ignore me, or get mad. To get back on topic, The venting or "shittalking" became a huge problem when the 2 ex friends I'd been venting to decided I was evil or something and went to go show mel all of what I'd been PRIVATELY venting about and frame everything to be that I hated her or something, obviously once I caught wind of this I tried my best to talk to her about it, apologizing, etc. But she simply ignored me, Shortly after all of that the two Ex friends had cut me off, preaching how "shittalking is horrible!! ur mentally ill and that's a crime" . It's notable to mention that throughout the whole thing if any of the two were uncomfortable, thought I was doing/saying too much, etc. they could've communicated and told me so. After the two Ex friends left ,Mel stayed around to get her Pastel VRchat model from me (since I was the one who'd set the thing up for the most part), then she ignored me for a while longer before dropping me after I'd dmed her to ask to just talk about everything. She then apparently went to her friends trying to convince everyone I was some psycho?? aswell one of the Ex friends was cherrypicking screenshots and tried to frame me for blackmail? (as in they were trying to say I was trying to blackmail Mel)
Obviously I have my parts in contributing to our friendships end but alot of it is on mel and her refusal to communicate with me, I didn't even touch on the way I'd been treated very deeply either. 🧡
And with that other part asking where she accused us of pressuring her, It's stated here "Mel felt she was repeatedly asked to engage in sexual interactions with Clovxr & Voided." Which in fancy words is her saying she felt pressured
Tumblr media
I'm just going off of what's publicly available since she wouldn't talk to me about it herself, though do remember she didn't actually write anything in the PDF I'm using the screenshot from, It was written by her "unofficial lawyer" aka Gaia
15 notes · View notes
howlsofbloodhounds · 4 months ago
Note
Delta anon here and I've got more headcanons, this time based around Delta/Beta's ADHD.
So since they have ADHD (I'd imagine that Sans would have the inattentive type and Beta would have the hyperactuve type, causing Delta to have the combo), they are insanely good at reading people (this is also because of their combined trauma but we don't gotta worry about that right now). Literally first meeting with someone and they've already figured out the person's intentions. And if the person angers them? Then they'd better be prepared to get the biggest, most brutal callout of their lives. This applies to everyone.
Another thing I'd imagine that affects them is the processing time and memory issues that come with ADHD (excuse me while I project here). Their reaction time is incredibly quick because that's what they've trained themselves to do, but their processing time for literally anything else is so SLOW. And because of this, they both have memory issues (they have it reguardless of ADHD, but the ADHD definetly amplifies it).
They have good enough memory to remember basic and important things, but some things slip their minds. Take birthdays, for example. They will know what your birthday is and if it's coming up. But will totally forget the day of because in their mind, it's still months or weeks away. Time usually slips away from their memory. He also forgets his age sometimes. It will surprise them every time.
However, they're forgetful enough with time that it will always surprise them. They will wonder why they feel sick, and then realize they haven't eaten all day. But since when was it the next day already? When did the day even start? This is why the Epic Sanses all have alarms to remind themselves and each other to take breaks, eat, and drink.
Speaking of eating. Do NOT let these motherfuckers cook. And I mean that literally. They get distracted incredibly easy, and will 100% forget they left the oven on. When they remember to focus on cooking, then they're very good at it. But on the days where they're incredibly distracted? Don't let their asses in the kitchen unless it's to get a snack or make coffee.
Again speaking of eating, if they are presented with a new food, they will at the very least try it, no matter how it looks or smells. But if they dont like it, you're never gonna get them to take a second bite. They will most likely never eat that food again. (However, they will be polite about it. They won't be an ass unless they know you personally enough to know that they can be.)
Another thing is, they are both incredibly good at masking their emotions. Beta is used to it from the abuse he suffered, but it takes Delta a lot longer to fully master, since he usually acts out on his emotions. But now that they've mastered it, they are capable at displaying a totally different emotion than how they actually feel. They can also mask the glow at will, but the burn from hiding it hurts them immensely. Once they get to a safe space for them to lash out with no one around, they do.
When they get overstimulated, they either shut down or have to restrain themselves from getting violent. It depends on what is bothering them, but usually it's one or the other. They will immediately begin searching for the nearest 'out' so they don't get too angry and accidentally hurt anyone.
Along with that, they have no filter. Zero. If they want to say something, they will say it and not think twice - until it's too late. Which is why the method of Color or Epic whacking them in some way to correct them was implemented.
I also think that they might have heightened empathy. Not to the extent of Color's, but enough that they'd put everyone before themselves, even people they don't like at times. Because of this, they don't handle grief well.
Executive dysfunction hits them like a bitch. Every time.
Hyperfixations. Oh boy. They definitely have those. (Maybe a few too many.) Beta, being what I'd assume to be the hyperactive type, most likely fixates on anything that makes him happy or gives him a sense of safety/security. This also goes for ideas. Delta is greatly influenced by these things, but also has hyperfixations of his own, such as his workshop and engineering things.
(They share the same hyperfixation of wanting to always be there for people and protect them, no matter who or what it's from. Hyperfixations can last years, and theirs definitely did, and will probably continue. And although it is the main motive for why they do what they do, it is most definitely a hyperfixation.)
They stim. So much. Usually it involves taking something apart and putting it back together (such as a pen), playing with their hands or tapping patterns on something, or getting up and moving around.
Also, all those little details you think they'd miss when interacting with them? Thanks to Beta's hypervigilance, they notice everything. They'll have memorized your talking pattern, some of your interests, and the sound of your footsteps/the way you walk within the first month of knowing them.
They LOVE strategy games. Absolutely love them. Unfortunately, they take them too seriously sometimes (they are banned from UNO, Sorry, and Monopoly).
They have mild sensory issues that can heighten if they're overstimulated. Usually it revolves around touch and noise, which is why they like to stay in familiar environments with people they know well. It's also is why they often don't get new clothes, both because they don't like shopping and because it can be much too loud for them sometimes, especially if they get caught off guard by the feel of something (ex; something looked soft, and they touch it, and it turns out to be scratchy, and they will LOSE it).
They are so friendly. Like really friendly. They definitely have a RBF, and are obviously intimidating, but if someone manages to get past that and approach them for whatever reason, they will be friendly at first as long as the other person isn't trying to start a fight. This goes for everyone except people they dislike. In spite of this, they don't have many friends, but definitely have TONS of acquaintances.
They are so dramatic. They are incredibly sassy, but know how to make it funny rather than annoying. They get away with a lot of things due to this. But Beta is definetly the most dramatic.
Their main thought process when doing something crazy, stupid, or chaotic is basically; 'hey, wouldn't this be so fucking funny??' And sometimes, they're right.
There are specific textures and sounds that they love. Smooth, soft textures? Love it. Anything they wear must be soft to some extent. Background noise? Literally cannot work without it. If they're in the workshop, some sort of background noise must be on at all times.
Anyways, that's all I got. Thoughts?
My thoughts are that this is honestly so relatable it’s scary. I can see both myself and my entire immediate family in these two goobers wtf.
Anyway, I love the idea of protecting and saving people becoming a hyperfixation its very cool to me.
And I also fuck with the idea that have tons of acquaintances but very few friends, probably in large part because people find them a little intimidating and then once someone sticks around long enough to get past that, they find them “too friendly” or “too much.”
Which is why I think they hold Color and Epic very closely to them because they were Delta’s first friends since he lost in his home and went to the Omega Timeline, and probably is an even bigger reason why Color and Epic’s equally close but no less somehow different relationships with Killer and Cross probably make them feel a little scared and perhaps worried about being left or about them being hurt.
Which would likely play into that protecting/saving fixation a lot more.
And also their anger problems. I’d imagine that’s something they often feel around Killer when Killer is still going through his “socialization” period lmao. There’s probably many a time where they just had to straight up leave a room Killer was in or else they’d probably do something they might regret later, and would hurt Color. Everyday they’re grateful that at least Cross isn’t this difficult to deal with.
But also if they try everything at least once, id like to imagine that if they and Killer get on better terms and Killer is starting to get back into the swing of things like cooking or using stoves and stuff, that they function as like his taste tester. Once they manage to trust that Killer hasn’t tampered with the food somehow, of course. (although I wouldn’t really trust these two adhd dissociative fuckers alone together in a kitchen with a stove something will go wrong somehow lmao)
And if they both love strategy games maybe that’s something they can bond with Killer on and possibly Cross. I do think Killer and Nightmare used to play chess sometimes, a little headcanon I have. Maybe he can engage in the nostalgia a bit without having to worry about upsetting Color by talking about Nightmare (Color is just rightfully pissed and hates Nightmare, he doesn’t have an issue with Killer talking about him or his feelings about his captivity and treatment by Nightmare ofc)
17 notes · View notes
grapefruit-personified · 9 months ago
Note
I know this is an unpopular opinion but I have to be honest I see people already trying to bully korbin online and I have to be honest cyberbullying and our own hateful comments gets us nowhere and it needs to stop. The perk about social media is you can block people or simply not follow them or even filter posts but going out of our way to start being asses is so unnecessary. The girl is 20 we have no idea what all she herself has been through or why she has these views but going on her socials just to to start the bullying is so unnecessary let her teammates and coaches handle it. On top of that if her teammates can keep it professional and she can keep it professional then why do we always have to add to the dumpster fire? Why can’t we just watch the fire burn by itself?
To be clear I knew when she signed to PSG she would be this type of person so I just didn’t follow nor do i comment on her posts or anything of the sort which isn’t hard to do. I don’t even like her her picture and biblical post already were red flags for me i could care less if she likes someone like me or not. Does it suck that she reposts or retweets that stuff? Absolutely but at least she’s showing who she is and not hiding it which I would rather she do than pretend like she’s okay with me. I have known people like her personally and overtime these things handle themselves.
If there is such a problem with her rather than doing cyberbullying and/or spreading more hate on her socials how about we write the coaches and so on. It’s literally the best way to remove her. Most of us will never interact with her in person so what is the point of us becoming hateful and starting up this hate filled speech with someone else that’s hateful does it really get us anywhere? Believe me when I say I didn’t want her at PSG or the USWNT and I want her and her beliefs gone but me being a keyboard warrior with everyone else does nothing but mentally hurt someone else and with everything our generations have been through and interviews I have heard from players I might hate her but I don’t hate her enough to break her and then hear about her kicking the can on the news.
Like i said it’ll probably be an unpopular opinion and I’m sure individuals will say she deserves everything coming her way tenfold but I don’t want to be associated to anything having to do with woso or lgbt if it gets to a point where there’s serious harassment and bullying happening that causes her or some other athletes to break or 🪦.
*** TRIGGER WARNING FOR TALKS OF SELF HARM*****
I agree that bullying her does nothing but stoop to her level. However, using the fact that she is younger as an excuse for her behavior is also something I won't let pass. She has been sharing this stuff up until very recently, she knows what she is sharing, and she knows who she is harming. Being 20 does not excuse bigotry. We don't know the environment she makes within a team and we don't know if her teammates are actually just dandy with playing with her but have to due to this thing called a contact.
You might be ok with her being like this, but many aren't. You mention how you don't want to basically add on to the risk of her hurting herself, but what about the kids and others she is affected by the words she is spewing. At the end of the day she does represent the team many have found safety in and while we all know other players share the same views they have all seemingly been very accepting of queer individuals, having a player so outwardly hostile towards the majority of the fan base is a different level. I don't agree with bullying her to cause her harm but she should face public backlash for shitty opinions.
Mental health is a major issue in athletics, but her opinions that do nothing but harm others and cause others to end their own lives don't get brushed under the rug because people worry she will hurt herself. AGAIN I state forcing someone to stand behind their statements and opinions and forcing someone to see the harm they are doing is not harassment or bullying it is her simply having to live up to the shit she says.
24 notes · View notes