#but last night my brain was like YOU ARE WRITING THIS

[mortalityplays]

5 years ago I was dirt broke and closeted and destroying my body working full-time in hospitality. 10 years ago I was unemployed and catatonically depressed, living out of a storage closet at my mum's place because I'd expected to leave home after graduating & my insane abusive stepmother didn't want me at my dad's. my sibling was homeless rather than live with either parent. the only thing that eventually stopped me drinking was the critical dose of psych medication I was put on to keep me from walking into traffic.

guess what, there are still times and places and feelings from those years that I miss so bad it hurts, that I mourn like someone died, because I was dead inside and out and couldn't focus on the things that kept me going. my sweet cat who used to wedge himself between my knee and my busted laptop and purr while I was job hunting. he passed away last year. the late night walks I used to take with my sibling just for a reason to be out of the house, when we would talk about art and tag up the walls on the half-constructed tram line at 3am. they have long covid now and can't walk more than a few minutes without getting exhausted, and we live in different cities, and we'll never be that angry together again. sometimes we're both online at the same time in the small hours of the morning and get on a phonecall together, and I know this is another temporary version of our relationship that I'll miss when circumstances change.

I'm sorry you don't have good memories of the bad times in your life, and I am really, truly, genuinely happy that you're in a better place now, but I resent the assumption that this post was written by and for someone who has never suffered. 10 years ago, at my absolute lowest, nothing made me want to blow my brains out more than the condecending You 👏 Are 👏 Valid 👏 tumblr culture of the time that told me everything would be okay and it gets better and I don't know who needs to hear this but you're lovable just as you are. Obviously a lot of people did need to hear that. Fine! But what I needed to hear was what I'm writing to myself from 2025: that the tiny moments of peace you find in the warzone matter, and you don't have to wait for life to get better to appreciate them. pet your cat and memorise the smell of his fur. take a walk, tag a wall. write your name on memory lane.

please can I talk to the people like me without being talked over, without eliding my words into 'the nightmare is 100% intolerable but it eventually ends if you wait it out, just trust me on this one' or 'buck up idiot, do some breathing exercises and be thankful'. believe it or not I have also lived a life, and I know what I'm saying because I said it on purpose.

btw you will miss this in 5 or 10 years. memory will smooth these circumstances down like a river stone, and you will find yourself longing for a shade of light or a moment of this particular innocence. you don't know about what happens next, and one day that will be the most alluring thing of all. don't leave it all for nostalgia. have a nice night now, whatever night it happens to be.

[winchesterwild78]

Happy New Year 

Master List

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Reader, mentions of Danneel, reader’s husband, and other people. 

Warnings: SMUT!, cheating (I don’t condone it-this is FICTION), praise kink, breeding kink

A/N: I’m currently on medication for a Sinus Infection, Bronchitis and Walking Pneumonia. The steroids really screw with my brain. This little nugget of a story came to me last night. 

I don’t condone cheating, this is fiction. Please don’t come at me. 

This story has SMUT and not much of a story line if it’s not your thing please don’t read it. 

Jensen and Reader are co-workers and end up at the same New Year’s Eve party. Jensen and the reader find themselves alone and things unfold very quickly. 

Written fast and not edited well. Please overlook any errors. 

All work is my own, please don’t take it in any way. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. 

Minors DNI 18+

“Honey, we’re going to be late.” I called from downstairs to my husband. “I’m coming. I couldn’t find my wallet.” 

“Wow, look at you. I love the dress. Is it new?” I blushed a little. How was I supposed to tell him it was a gift from Jensen? “Yeah. Just got it. Figured I’d wear it tonight.” 

“Well it’s very nice.” His tone changed a little. “Are you okay?” I asked, trying to search his face. 

“Yeah, I’m just not used to seeing you wear something like that and it’s a bit revealing.” 

“Oh, yeah I get it. I can change.” “No, it’s fine. Just take a shawl or something. I know how you get when you drink and I don’t want everyone there seeing your body.” 

I felt a little angry and insecure when he said that. Of course he always had something to say about anything I wore or ate or how I had my hair done. 

I grabbed my shawl and purse. “Ready?” “Yeah I guess so.” I stopped at the door, “If you don’t want to go then don’t. I’m not making you go.” 

“I know but these are your new coworkers and I want to meet them. Especially Erin. She’s a babe.” 

I rolled my eyes. I had been newly hired by Eric to write for the show and I’d met the cast and crew. My husband was completely smitten by Erin. She’s so sweet, and didn’t want him. 

We arrived at the party about an hour after it started. The house was huge and filled with so much energy. Eric greeted us at the door and took my stuff. My husband was less than thrilled when I handed my shawl over. 

He scanned the crowd and found Erin. “Come on, let’s go say hi.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me towards her. 

She was talking to someone when we walked up, but when she saw me she squealed, “Y/N! You made it. I’m so happy you’re here. Oh and you brought a date.” She smiled and looked at my husband. “Honey, this is Erin. Erin, this is my husband.” She extended her hand, “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.” She shook his hand and the bastard kissed the back of her hand, “Nice to meet you too. I’ve heard so much about you. God you’re gorgeous.” 

They started chatting and I excused myself to grab a drink. 

I walked up to the bar, ordered my drink and felt my phone buzz. I pulled it out and saw a text. 

Jensen: That dress looks fucking hot on you. 

I blushed, bit my lip and looked around. There he was, standing off to the side, whiskey in hand and looking incredible. 

Me: I guess you’ve got good taste. 😉

Jensen: Yeah I do. I see your husband is here chatting up all the ladies. 

Me: Yeah. Is D here?

Jensen: Yeah somewhere. No doubt she’s trying to weasel her way into the show. 

I laughed out loud. 

Me: So should I offer to write a part for her or not? 

Jensen: Please don’t. If you do that we can’t have our afternoon writing sessions in my trailer. You wouldn’t want to mess up those, would you? 

My cheeks burned red hot thinking about all those “writing sessions” we had. 

Me: Oh god no. Those are my favorite part of the day. 

Jensen: Me too. 1st floor bathroom in 5 minutes. I need to see that dress up close. 

Me: I can’t wait. 

I could feel the arousal and anticipation building. I saw my husband making his way around the party. No doubt flirting his ass off and trying to get laid by a celebrity. 

I went back up to him and told him I was going to the restroom. He waved me off. He was currently talking to one of the extras from the Herogasm episode. 

I walked down the dark hallway and found the first bathroom. The door was closed so I knocked our knock. The door opened and Jensen pulled me in. 

His lips crashed on mine as he pushed me on the door. One hand pinned mine above my head while the other explored my body. 

He pulled back panting. “God you’re so fucking beautiful and this dress, holy hell you’re hot.” 

Jensen’s lips trailed down my body and I shivered. His hands grabbed the hem of my dress and pulled up above my hips. Exposing my soaked panties to the chilly air. His fingers slipped between my legs and found the dampened fabric. He smirked. 

“Damn baby you’re already ready for me.” His fingers moved the fabric to the side and he found my soaked entrance. Pushing two fingers in, I gasped. 

“Mmm there you go baby. You like that don’t you? Taking all I have to offer like the good girl you are.” 

I got wetter. Something about Jensen praising me just turned me on more. 

“I’m gonna fuck a baby into this pussy. Let everyone know who you belong to. You’d like that wouldn’t you?” His fingers pumped faster as his thumb found my clit. “First you’ve got to cum for me. Cum on baby. Let go. Let me feel you come undone on my fingers.” 

He pushed further in and hooked up. Hitting that soft spot deep in my core. My hands were holding on to his shoulders as his hot breath drifted over my body. 

“Jens, I’m close. Oh fuck baby! Right there.” “Cum for me baby. I want to feel you.” My body responded to his command and I came hard. Moaning loudly, his lips covered mine. “Shh, you have to keep it down baby.” 

He kept rubbing and my body was so overstimulated. 

“Come on baby, I know you have one more in there. I need to make sure my girl is satisfied. 

My heart fluttered in my chest, “my girl” oh how I wished it was true. I’d give anything to be his girl, and not just his mistress. 

I was close again, and he felt it. He stopped and a whine escaped my lips, “it’s okay baby. I’ve got you.” I heard his zipper and his belt. My hand found his hard member and I pumped him a few times. I dropped down and took him in my mouth. Sucking and licking his cock like it was the only thing keeping me alive. 

His hands fisted my hair, and he pushed my face down his cock. The sounds in the bathroom were pornographic and full of want and need. We knew what we were doing was wrong, but anytime we were together, nothing, nobody else mattered. It was just us, raw, and unfiltered. 

He pulled me off of him and turned me around. He gently laid my stomach on the counter, facing the sink. 

“You ready baby?” I nodded. He sunk his hard cock into my soaked pussy with one hard thrust he bottomed out. We both gasped and he gripped my hips. “Fuck baby, you’re so tight. I fit perfectly inside you. We were made for each other.” 

My mind drifted to the fantasy I kept hidden deep inside. The one where I was his and he was mine, completely and out in the public eye. I had fallen in love with him, but kept it to myself. 

Anytime I was in his arms I felt like I was the only thing that mattered to him. Even if it wasn’t true. 

He lifted my head up to meet his gaze in the mirror. “There she is. My beautiful girl. God I could get used to this. I want to fuck a baby into you. Mark you forever as mine.” I bit my lip and stared into his darkened green eyes. “Do it, Jensen. Make me yours. Fuck a baby into me.” 

He smirked and his hips snapped harder into me. He pulled out, spun me around and lifted me onto the counter. 

His lips crashed on mine and his hand slipped between us, finding my engorged, sensitive clit. He began to rub, “Cum for me again, baby. Cum on my cock.” Just as I was about to cum there was a knock on the door. We froze.

“Um just a minute.” I was able to squeak out. “Y/N?” I froze and looked at Jensen. It was Danneel. “Yeah, hey D.” “You haven't seen Jensen have you?” 

He looked at me and smirked, I bit my lip. Then the bastard started kissing down my neck and rubbing my clit again. “Um, no. I haven’t. Not since earlier.” My voice was shaky and Jensen smirked the whole time. Bastard.

“You okay, Y/N? You sound off.” “Yeah, D. I’m just feeling a bit hot and flustered. Must be the alcohol.” “I get it, well, see you later. Bye.” 

When we heard her walk away I slapped Jensen’s chest. He laughed, “You’re a good actress too.” “Jensen, you’re terrible.” “Yeah, but you love me.” 

My eyes flicked up to his. I didn’t know what to say. My heart hammered in my chest and before I could stop myself I said the first thing that came to mind, “Yeah I do. More than you know.” 

His eyes softened and he kissed me softly. His thrusts became softer, and his hands more gentle. Something in him flipped when I said what I did. My mind is running all the scenarios all at once. Did I just screw this up? Is this the last time in his arms, is that why he’s going slow? What is this going to do to our professional relationship?

I felt the familiar tightness in my core, and I knew he felt it too. Jensen kissed my lips and whispered in my ear, “Cum for me baby. Let me feel your walls tighten around my cock.” He kissed me as I came. Moaning in my mouth. 

I could feel he was close. His pace picked up and as he came he locked eyes with me and his lips crashed on mine again. I could feel his seed coating my walls. 

We had always been so careful, but at that moment neither of us cared. As he softened he pulled out and grabbed some tissue to clean us both up. 

We didn’t speak. Just catching our breaths as we got dressed again. 

My heart ached. I felt like this was it. I screwed it up when I professed my love for him. Before turning to leave I looked at him. His green eyes are lighter and full of so much desire and questions.

“Jensen. I’m sorry. I just got swept up in the moment. I didn’t mean to make things complicated.” 

Jensen’s hands softly lifted my face and he cupped my cheeks, “You didn’t make anything complicated, but did you mean it?” My eyes looked deep in his and I swallowed hard. I bit my bottom lip and I took a deep breath. “Yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall in love with you, it just happened.” 

His lips landed on mine, shutting me up. When he pulled away, his lips still ghosting mine, “Good, because I love you too.” 

Tags are open, if you want to be added or removed, let me know.  

Tags: 

@nescaveckwriter @kr804573 

@k-slla @jackles010378 

@jawritter @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx 

@roseblue373 @cheynovak 

@jassackles  @chriszgirl92

@suckitands33 @arcannaa 

@n-o-p-e-never @ladysparkles78 

@smoothdogsgirl @hobby27 

@manicjk @stoneyggirl2 

@deans-spinster-witch @snowayumi 

@shadowqueen1318 @shanimallina87

@muhahaha303 @fitxgrld

@nancymcl @baby19sthings

@cheekygirl2309 @oceean

@kindollss @foxyjwls007

@lmg14 @cevansbaby-dove

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@spnaquakindgdom @djs8891

@pughsexual @spnaquakindgdom

@lunaleah

[livelaughlou]

First lines of 2025

Hi! To anyone who has tagged me in things lately, I promise I wasn't ignoring you, but between traveling for the holidays and getting caught up at work, things have been busy and writing difficult.

For this, I was tagged by the lovely @beanarie. These are the first lines of chapter 6 of take my whole life too, which is long overdue.

Tommy doesn’t feel like he’s slept particularly well the last few days, especially not last night when the meeting with his father and the lawyers is looming over them today. He’s spent the hours alternately dozing and staring at the ceiling, while also enjoying the warmth of Evan beside him.

And that’s another thing that won’t stop whirling around in Tommy’s brain. They’d moved to sharing the bed without even really talking about it since their wedding, though they haven’t had sex since their wedding night. But, God, does Tommy want to. And it’s not even the sex itself, it’s the way that Evan used to curl up against him, or around Tommy’s back, a hand on his stomach or groin like he was keeping Tommy safe. It was in the ways that Evan used to plop himself between Tommy’s legs and bury his face in his neck, breathing deep like Tommy was the best thing he’d ever smelled.

Tommy wants all that again, so much. But since his father has decided to barrel back into his life, the old insecurities have cropped back up ten-fold...the issues that caused Tommy to break up with Evan in the first place are up front and center again, just when Tommy felt like he was getting up the nerve to want Evan, to want a life with him….to trust himself to be happy without wrecking everything good in his life. Of being too afraid to ask for what he wants. He wishes he'd asked a very specific question the night he'd left Evan's apartment. He wonders if he'll ever get the courage.

He isn’t sure that he’s been able to make it clear to Evan that it was never him that he didn’t trust. Tommy didn’t trust himself. His father spent most of his life telling him he was a failure, worthless, that Tommy has never quite been able to shake the idea that trusting his own happiness was something to be savored and not skeptical of.

It looks like a lot of people have done this, but if you haven't feel free to say I tagged you!

[aristocratic-otter]

Thank you for tagging me, @monbons, @rimeswithpurple, @nausikaaa, @artsyunderstudy, @prettygoododds,

@ileadacharmedlife, @alexalexinii, @best--dress,  @j-nipper-95, @roomwithanopenfire, 

@you-remind-me-of-the-babe, and @whatevertheweather

It's been another lovely year of getting to know you all and making new friends in this amazing fandom.

Some 2024 stats from AO3:

Number of works posted: 11

Number of events participated in: 6

Number of works completed: 3

Number of words written: 156,000

Seems pretty decent, right? But compare that to 2023:

Number of works posted: 12

Number of events participated in: 7

Number of works completed: 10

Number of words written: 294,445

So, what the fuck happened that cut my productivity literally in half? (Though I worked on nearly the same amount of fics, lol. Methinks my ambition doth outstrip my ability.)

Well, that’s a story, and one that’s unfortunately too common, from what I’ve learned. If you don’t want to listen to me ramble, feel free to jump down to the monthly list, because this is going to be entirely self-indulgent. Story and Fic timeline under the cut:

Part 1: 

Sometime around the beginning of last year, I began suffering a series of muscle and joint injuries…or so I thought. I was diagnosed with so many things. Arthritis. Bursitis. Muscle Strain. I was given physical therapy. I stopped going to physical therapy when the simplest exercise my therapist gave me left me crying in pain. I was given muscle relaxants and pain meds. Nothing had any long term effect. All I knew was, my body was slowly giving up on me. 

It affected my job. I went from being a teacher who was constantly buzzing around the classroom, checking on students and giving assistance, to a teacher who seldom could manage to leave her chair. My students struggled and my classroom grew messier by the day, because I couldn’t check that the students were cleaning up, nor could I clean up after them myself. 

It affected my home life. By the time I’d get home from work, the pain and stiffness were always at a high. I’d end up rotting in a recliner all evening, every evening. My mind grew foggier, my concentration worse, and it started taking me three to four times the usual amount of time to simply prep my lesson for the next day. I had next to nothing left to spare for my family or my hobbies.

So writing? On a work night, I was lucky to write a paragraph. Real progress on my WIPs started only happening on weekends. 

Finally, near the beginning of last summer, I went to my doctor, desperate for something, anything. At that point, I was beginning to believe I’d have to take (very) early retirement and go on disability, because I couldn’t even walk around a grocery store, and I refused to have another year where I didn’t serve my students as they deserved to be served. 

I blurted out all of this to my doctor, and she frowned at me and asked me to describe where my pain was. 

Hips, spine, knees, ankles, elbows, I told her. 

Then she said the words that changed everything. “It sounds like you have Fibromyalgia.”

Part 2

Can you believe, educated as I am, especially in the sciences, I’d never heard of it? I’ve learned a lot since. Fibro mainly afflicts women, mainly affects people in their prime or slightly older. And, until recently, it was considered an unprovable disease, like chronic fatigue syndrome. There were no medical tests for it, and most victims were treated like they were imagining things. There were no medicines for it. No therapies. There was no explanation for the disparate cluster of symptoms associated with it.  As far as the medical profession was concerned, it didn’t exist. 

I’m lucky. Things started changing for Fibro patients just a few years before my diagnosis. Three years ago, two drugs were approved for it. There is now a diagnostic test for it. And there’s plenty of research outlining a causal pathway for the disease. 

Turns out, it’s a brain disease. The brain affects every part of the body, and in the case of fibro, it also affects how we perceive our bodies. Because that’s what happens in fibromyalgia: your brain misreads pain signals from the body. It’s like my pain sensitivities are always dialed up to eleven. Something that causes a twinge for a non-Fibro sufferer can cause a Fibro patient to scream in agony. 

When I went to a specialist, she told me I hit every single diagnostic criteria for Fibromyalgia. So, I got meds. I got referrals to a rheumatologist and physical therapy again. This time, the physical therapist was able to focus my work on things that were within my capabilities and were meant to improve my symptoms. My rheumatologist is testing out different meds and dosages on me to see what gets the most useful result. 

I still have Fibro. Maybe I always will, there’s disagreement on whether a cure is even possible. But the meds and therapy help manage the pain and reverse some of the brain fog. I’m able to circulate and help my students again, though I have to be cautious of overexertion, which can trigger a high-pain episode. I can interact with my family and actually do some chores and work in the evenings, though, again, I have to take it easy (I’m not good at taking it easy, it’s a learning curve). I’m writing more. Usually a page or more a night. 

My journey is hopefully back on track, and I hope to finish all of my current WIPs in the next year. But I figured that this is the one night a year that people use to reflect on the past and look forward to the future, so that’s what I’m doing. And maybe my story will help someone. If you’re struggling with any aspect of your health, I hope you find answers and help in 2025. 

Happy New Year!

My Year In Fic

January

Nothing new posted or finished. As I recall, I was mostly working on The Heart in the Well and Cupid's Shield.

February

Posted (republished after release in the Lady Ruth Charity Zine)

The Bother About Brownies (art by @hgari)

4845 Words, Rated T

Baz is tasked with creating a dessert for the triplets' school cake sale. Brownies are such an easy recipe. What could go wrong?

Lemon Blueberry Shortbread, art by @letraspal

2912 Words, Rated G

Two afternoons of learning to cook a family recipe, thirty years apart.

Posted as part of Erotic Gropefest (WIP)

Cupid’s Shield, WIP

Currently 10,122 words, Rated E

I used to think that Valentine’s Day was bollocks invented by greeting card companies.

That was before I started at Watford and learned that it was deadly serious.

March

Nothing posted (possibly some chapters of WIPs, there's no way to check). But I was definitely working on nearly all of my fics that are still WIPs and The Heart in the Well, which is finished.

April

First Posting of:

Stars, Flowers, and Children (WIP)

Currently 20,005 words, Rated E

To Simon, Baz is a stuck up brat he has to put up with in between his duties as Cabin boy on the SS Watford.

To Baz, Simon is the chavvy, illiterate savage of a boy who won't bow and scrape the way he's supposed to.

Marooned together because of a disaster at sea, they'll have to come together as allies in order to survive. But they're destined to become so much more than that.

May

More work on posting chapters of in-progress WIPs.

June

Finished final chapter of:

The Heart In The Well

14326 Words, Rated T

Carry On Reverse Bang 2023 Collaboration with @alexalexinii, 

Simon Snow should have known better than to chase after the Hobgoblin Horde. Now he's trapped at the bottom of a well with no food or water, and a vampire who's only going to get thirstier as time passes.

Baz Pitch doesn't know why the Hobgoblins abducted him from the Wavering wood. He just knows that Snow was stupid enough to get caught too, and now they're trapped together, and Baz hasn't had blood in three days...

July

First chapter posted of Carry On Big Bang Collaboration with @cutestkilla

The Rat and the River, (WIP)

Currently 10550 words, Rated E

Simon Snow is an epidemiologist working for the UKHSA He's a cocky field scientist who goes to hotspots all over the world, helping to track down the causes of the outbreaks and put an end to the cycle of death and disease.

Baz is a microbiologist, who, until now, has never left the UK. He works on Simon’s samples sent from overseas, but that’s the closest he gets to danger and excitement. He’s a reservist, meaning he’s available for deployment in the event of a large-scale event, but he’s never been called up.

Simon does his best to stir him up whenever he’s in town because he believes that Baz's life lacks excitement. One day, Simon is sent into action again, this time to South America. Down a microbiologist, Simon decides to pick Baz. In his mind, it’s to show him “the real world” but he really just wants a chance to work side by side with the reserved scientist.

Of course, in the rainforest tracking a disease of unknown origin and deadliness, that may just be spreading out of control, is maybe not the best place for a flirtation.

But when has Simon ever done things the easy way?

August

Most recent update of: 

Saving Simon Snow (WIP)

Currently 47,078 Words, Rated E

What if Simon had never gone to Baz's gothic manor over the Christmas holidays? What if the war between the old families and the Mage started while Simon confronted the Mage in the White Chapel?

The Mage is dead. The Humdrum defeated. The old families have control of Watford and the Coven. And nobody will tell Baz where Simon Snow is.

September

First month of school. Needless to say, nothing got done.

October

First Posting of

Tiktok Dancer (WIP)

Currently 11,133 words, Rated E

Snow has never known a world outside his father's realm in the ocean. Until he comes across a group of dancers performing on the beach, and finds a dream he'd never thought to have.

November

2024 Carry On Reverse Bang Entries. 

The Stoves Come On At Night, (WIP), collaboration with @ebbpettier:

Currently 4895 words, Rated M

Fresh out of a break-up, Simon is desperate for work. He takes on a caretaking job for the elderly Mordelia Grimm. It's a pretty slick gig: fully-stocked pantry, big beautiful house, nobody to bother him. Nobody around, for miles.

But at night, Simon swears that he hears footsteps in empty rooms.

He starts finding puddles of lake water, footprints, doors open when he knows he left them closed. At night, he hears the sound of wet, rattling breathing from his pitch-black doorway.

Most concerning of all, the stoves keep turning on at night, even if he switches them off and tapes down the dials.

There's something very wrong at Pitch Manor.

Baby Mine (WIP), collaboration with @argumentativeantitheticalg

Currently 3590 words, Rated M

Four years ago, Basilton Pitch teamed up with Simon Snow to solve the mystery of who murdered Baz's mother. Now, they'll need to join forces again, after an unexpected delivery is left on Baz's doorstep.

December

Most recent update of my 2023 fic for COTTA

The Snow Fox (WIP)

Currently 27,344 Words, Rated E

Simon "Snow" Salisbury is the most wanted patriot in the American Revolution. Wanted by the British army, who want to see him hanged. Wanted by the Tories, who'd shoot him on sight, given the chance.

And wanted by Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.

I also participated in the Secret Snowflake Exchange on the Carry On Discord, but it looks like I'll be finishing that fic after midnight my time, so it'll end up being the first fic of 2025!

I'm probably the last to do this. But in case I'm not, here's tags for anyone on my tag list who didn't tag me, so anyone who wants to has a chance to do this.

@thewholelemon, @bookish-bogwitch, @chen-chen-chen-again-chen, @bazzybelle, @dragoneggos,

@erzbethluna, @palimpsessed,  @frjsti, @fatalfangirl, @melodysmash,

@moments-au-crayon22, @moodandmist,  @mostlymaudlin, @onepintobean, @raenestee,

@tea-brigade, @upuntil6am, @whogaveyoupermission, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @krisrix,

@shemakesmeforget, @confused-bi-queer, @nightimedreamersghost, @mooncello, @shrekgogurt,

@cosmicalart,  @theearlgreymage, @Iamamythologicalcreature, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @facewithoutheart,

@martsonmars, @skeedelvee, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @messofthejess, @noblecorgi,

@hushed-chorus,  @blackberrysummerblog, @cutestkilla,@letraspal, @ic3-que3n,

@emeryhall, @larkral, @youarenevertooold

[kiwriteswords]

Could we see reader who hasn’t really dated or is very inexperienced begin to date Hotch? Maybe non bay? I loved sweet beginnings and how trader was so taken back by hotchs romance. I want more of that vibes please!

Touch Me Like Nobody Else Does [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 12k|| AN: I really REALLY enjoyed writing this--so much, that I completely blew off my lunch break today to write this and stayed up until 3 am last night, lol.

Tags/Warnings: mdni, nsfw, fade-to-black smut, inexperienced reader, slow burn, meet cute, shy reader, non bau reader, age gap of 20 years, reader is shorter than Hotch, fluff, smut, reassuring Hotch, praising Hotch, Hotch calls reader "sweetheart", Jack is in this story, mentions of Haley's passing, confident but inexperienced reader, chivalry isn't dead.

Summary: In a serendipitous series of encounters at a local grocery store, you, inexperienced in dating, find yourself drawn into a deepening relationship with Aaron Hotchner, a man whose past shadows his present. As your connection evolves from chance meetings to a profound bond, you must navigate the complexities of his world while also dealing with your own inexperience.

Every Wednesday--schedule permitting, Aaron Hotchner frequented the same grocery store in his quiet neighborhood. The ritual, embedded in the monotony of his demanding job, brought him a semblance of normalcy. He could stroll through each aisle and shut his brain off while just focusing on the list of items he needed to pick up for him and Jack.

But on this particular Wednesday, the routine was altered by a serendipitous collision.

As Hotch reached for his usual brand of coffee on the top shelf, a gentle bump startled him. Turning, he saw you—standing with a look of mild embarrassment, your hand frozen in mid-air, inches from his coffee choice.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there,” you said, cheeks coloring slightly.

“It’s alright,” Hotch replied, a small, unexpected smile crossing his features. “Seems we have the same taste in coffee.”

You laughed, a sound that seemed to linger pleasantly in the air between the aisles. “I guess so. It’s the best one, isn’t it?”

He nodded, handing you the can you’d both reached for. “It is. You have good taste.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, taking the coffee with a shy smile.

The encounter, brief as it was, left a lingering impression on Hotch as he watched you navigate away with your shopping cart. There was something distinctly intriguing about the way your eyes sparkled with unspoken thoughts.

The following week, the grocery store’s fluorescent lights once again cast their glow on another chance meeting. Hotch found you in the cereal aisle this time, your fingers brushing over the boxes as if each held a story you wished to uncover.

“You again,” he noted, his tone carrying a hint of amusement. He reached for a colorful box of what was probably all sugar, per Jack’s request.

You glanced up, surprise flickering across your face before it settled into a warm, inviting smile. “Seems like fate has a sense of humor,” you joked.

“Or a very specific shopping schedule,” Hotch countered, stepping closer to help you retrieve a box of granola from a high shelf.

“Thanks,” you said, your gaze lingering on his for a moment longer than necessary. “I guess I’m still figuring out the best times to avoid the crowds.”

“If it helps, Wednesday evenings seem to work well,” he shared, his voice softening.

“Maybe I’ll take that as a professional tip,” you replied, a playful edge to your words.

As weeks turned into a month, these accidental meetings transformed into a series of eagerly anticipated encounters. Each conversation revealed layers to your character—your earnestness and a latent curiosity that matched his own.

The profiler in him also noted your shopping cart. The basket filled with a variety of foods, a treat or two thrown in there as well. It mirrored his own choices. 

One chilly evening, as autumn leaves painted the ground in hues of fire and gold, Aaron Hotchner spotted you outside the grocery store, struggling with a few too many bags. His steps were measured as he approached, a gentle offering in his voice. “Let me help you with those,” he suggested, his hands reaching out to ease the burden from your arms.

“Oh, you don’t have to, but thank you,” you replied, your voice a mix of gratitude and relief. Your fingers brushed against his, a subtle spark hidden in the fleeting touch.

As he walked you to your car, the crisp air seemed to thicken with unspoken words hanging between you. Hotch wasn’t a believer in fate, but he did feel there was a reason beyone his knowledge he kept running into you and it intrigued him. 

You fumbled slightly with the keys, a nervous energy emanating from your gestures. Hotch noticed the way your hands shook just a little, the way your breath caught as you tried to focus on anything but the intensity of the moment.

He set the bags down next to your car, his gaze softening. "You seem a bit flustered," he observed quietly, trying to read your expression under the pale glow of the streetlights.

You chuckled, smoothing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "I guess I'm just not used to running into someone as often as I run into you here," you admitted, your eyes meeting his with a playful challenge.

“There’s something about fate, isn’t there?” Hotch mused, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It seems to have its own ideas about who we should meet.”

Your laughter mingled with the evening air, a sound that seemed to linger pleasantly. “Maybe it does. And maybe I’m starting to think it might be right.”

He took a moment to look at you, really look at you, noticing the way the light danced in your eyes. He was normally not this forward, but he realized by your trembling hands and overall nervousness, he would need to make the first move, if he read his cards right. 

"Would you like to meet for coffee sometime? Away from these chance encounters and somewhere we can talk without a shopping list?"

The suggestion seemed to brighten your expression even more. "I'd like that," you said, your voice carrying a hint of excitement. "It’d be nice to talk without wondering if I forgot to pick up milk."

As he watched you drive away that night after exchanging information, the warmth of your smile lingering in his mind, Aaron Hotchner felt an undeniable spark—a connection that, while unexpected, promised new beginnings. In the quiet solace of his car, he allowed himself a moment to savor the unexpected joy of this burgeoning connection, looking forward to the conversation that would unfold over coffee, under less fluorescent lights.

The first coffee date unfolded on a Saturday morning, the cafe a cozy alcove tucked between the bustling streets of their neighborhood. Hotch arrived early, his demeanor calm yet expectant, as he secured a corner table that offered both privacy and a view of the autumn-stripped trees outside.

When you arrived, there was a hesitant grace in your steps, a visible pause as you spotted him, and a smile that slowly overtook your initial reserve. You looked genuinely happy to see him, your eyes lighting up in a way that spoke of both nerves and excitement.

“Hi, Aaron,” you greeted, your voice carrying a melody of anticipation, as you took the seat opposite him.

“Hello,” he responded, observing the way you neatly arranged your coat and purse beside you, movements precise and considered. It genuinely piqued his interest how you could be so confident, so put together--while also seemingly so nervous and unsure. 

As the conversation began to weave between the hum of other patrons and the clink of coffee cups, Hotch noticed the careful way you chose your words, as if each one were being weighed for its worth. You asked thoughtful questions, genuinely interested in his answers, but often diverted the conversation from yourself when it veered too close to personal.

Throughout the conversation, Hotch learned about your career in marketing at a bustling agency downtown. The passion you exhibited when discussing your projects was contagious, and he found himself intrigued by the enthusiasm that lit up your eyes. It wasn’t just small talk; it was a glimpse into your world, which was vibrant and full of ambition.

Though he couldn’t avoid noting the age difference between you two—nearly two decades—it didn't seem to phase you in the slightest. Your ease and confidence in engaging with him bridged any gap that the years might have imposed. For Hotch, trained to observe and analyze, the lack of concern you showed about the age difference only deepened his interest. You were refreshingly unconcerned with numbers, focused instead on the substance of your interactions.

This approach resonated with him. Despite the initial reservations he might have had, Hotch found that the more he learned about you, the more the age gap seemed inconsequential. Your curiosity about his life, your shared laughter over coffee, and the way your eyes met his with an unflinching openness—all these elements wove together into a compelling tapestry that made the numbers fade into the background.

In you, Hotch saw not the years that separated you but the possibilities that lay ahead. This unexpected connection, fueled by mutual interest and undeniable chemistry, was too significant to be overshadowed by mere numbers.

When he complimented you on your dress, a simple yet elegant choice that complemented the season, your cheeks tinged with a soft blush. “Thank you, I wasn’t sure if it was too much,” you admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear—a gesture he was coming to recognize as a sign of your uncertainty.

“It’s perfect,” he assured you, his voice steady and reassuring. He noted then how your smile seemed to linger longer, a little more confident.

Coffee gave way to a walk through the nearby park, where the ground was a landscape of gold and red leaves. You walked slightly apart, respecting a mutual but unspoken boundary of personal space. Hotch observed the way your hands occasionally brushed against yours when your steps would sync for a moment, before you subtly pulled away, as if unsure of the contact.

“You know,” he started, breaking a comfortable silence, “it’s okay to just be yourself around me. You don’t have to be perfect.”

You glanced at him, a flicker of surprise in your expression. “I guess I’m just not used to this… to someone noticing,” you confessed, your voice a whisper against the crisp air.

“There’s a first time for everything,” Hotch said softly, offering a gentle smile that seemed to ease some of your tension. “And I’m glad I get to be a part of this with you.”

As leaves crunched underfoot, you gradually moved closer to him, your previous hesitation melting into a quiet comfort. Hotch welcomed the change, sensing the trust you were beginning to place in him.

It was during these simple moments—your laughter at his anecdotes from the BAU, your attentive silence when he spoke of his son, Jack—that Hotch realized the depth of your inexperience was matched only by your sincerity. And in this burgeoning connection, he found an unexpected kinship—a shared understanding that sometimes, the heart finds what it seeks in the most unanticipated encounters.

Over the next several weeks, the initial threads of attraction wove into a tapestry rich with shared moments and quiet discoveries. Each date that followed seemed to gently peel back a layer of your mutual reserve, revealing more of the profound connection that neither of you could deny.

On a cool evening, Hotch took you to a quaint Italian restaurant known for its secluded ambiance. He noticed how your eyes widened slightly at the sight of the candlelit table, the soft music in the background creating a perfect setting for intimate conversation. You seemed momentarily awestruck, a reaction he found endearing and telling of your inexperience with such deliberately romantic settings.

“You look beautiful tonight,” Hotch commented as he pulled out your chair, a gesture that made you pause with a soft 'thank you,' your voice barely above a whisper.

Throughout the evening, he was acutely aware of the careful way you placed your napkin on your lap, the glances at the array of silverware, and how you delicately navigated the menu suggestions he offered. It was these little nuances—your hesitant acceptance of his hand across the table, the way your smile slowly spread when he toasted to "new experiences"—that told him how new this all was to you.

On another crisp evening, as you walked together under the starlit sky, a conversation unfolded—a delicate dance of appreciation and hesitance. Hotch had noticed your lingering glances at the bouquet of flowers he’d brought you, a mix of admiration and something akin to concern.

“You really don’t have to keep doing this,” you began, breaking the comfortable silence between you. “The flowers, the dinners... it’s all so much.”

Hotch stopped walking, turning to face you under the glow of a street lamp. His expression was serious yet gentle. “But I want to,” he assured you. “It’s how I show I care. It’s not about obligation—it’s about expressing what I feel, in the way I know best.”

You looked up at him, the soft light casting shadows that played across your features, deepening the earnestness in your eyes. “It’s just... I’m not used to this. No one has ever...” Your voice trailed off, not from uncertainty but from the uncharted emotional territory you were navigating.

He stepped closer, his presence reassuring. “I know it’s new to you,” he said softly. “And that’s okay. But allow me to do these things for you. Not because you need them, but because I need to show you how much you mean to me. It’s not just about romance—it’s about respect, about cherishing the person you are.”

There was a moment of silence as you absorbed his words, the night air filled with the distant sound of the city. “I’m afraid I might get too used to it,” you admitted, a small smile breaking through your initial reservations.

“That’s the plan,” Hotch replied with a soft chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a genuine smile. “To get you used to being treated the way you deserve.”

You nodded slowly, leaning into him slightly, the barrier of unfamiliarity crumbling just a bit more. “Okay, Aaron. I... I trust you,” you said, your voice a whisper of surrender to the new experiences he was gently guiding you through.

Hotch’s response was a simple nod, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as you resumed walking. The city around you faded into a backdrop, a mere stage for a connection that was slowly, but surely, deepening with each shared moment and each tender gesture.

Each date was a step further into the uncharted waters of your burgeoning relationship. Hotch, being a man of tradition, felt a deep-seated desire to revive the art of classic courtship. He sent you flowers before each date, not merely as a gesture but as a symbol—a recognition of the budding something special between you. He took note of your favorite foods, your preferred genres of movies, and even the way you liked your coffee, memorizing the details like lines of an important case.

During an evening that carried the crisp edge of early winter, Aaron Hotchner and you found yourselves meandering through the quiet halls of a local art exhibit. The soft lighting and the hushed voices around you created an intimate atmosphere, echoing the growing closeness between the two of you. As you leaned lightly against his arm, your fingers brushing his, Hotch could sense your growing comfort. Yet, there remained a delicate trace of uncertainty in your gestures, a subtle reminder of your inexperience in navigating the tender dynamics of romantic intimacy.

As you paused before a particularly striking painting, your gaze absorbed in the colors and forms, Hotch watched you with a mixture of admiration and burgeoning affection. You shared your thoughts on the artwork—insightful yet tinged with shyness—that revealed a depth and sensitivity he found increasingly compelling.

"It’s beautiful," you murmured, "the way the artist uses light to express emotion. It’s almost like... like you can feel the warmth of the sun just by looking at it."

"Yes, it does," Hotch agreed, his voice low, his proximity closing in the space between you. "Art has a way of reaching into our souls, doesn't it? Drawing out things we sometimes struggle to express."

You turned towards him, your eyes meeting his, holding a spark that neither the art nor the soft gallery lights could rival. "I think that's why I like it here so much," you confessed. "It feels safe to feel things deeply."

The vulnerability in your admission, coupled with the earnest look in your eyes, stirred something profound within Hotch. He realized then how much he wanted to be a part of those unspoken depths, to explore the breadth of experiences that made you, you.

Encouraged by your closeness and emboldened by the evening’s serene beauty, Hotch found the moment he had been intuitively waiting for. "There’s something else I’ve been wanting to express," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper as he stepped closer.

Your breath caught slightly, anticipation mingling with a trace of nervous energy. Yet, you stood your ground, your eyes locked on his, a silent nod giving him the permission he sought.

Gently, Hotch cupped your face in his hands, his touch light yet filled with intent. He watched your eyes flutter closed, a sign of trust that fueled his own confidence. Then, carefully diminishing the last threads of distance between you, he kissed you.

The kiss was tender, a soft press of lips that spoke of respect and a burgeoning desire. It was an exploration, a question posed in the silent language of touches. You responded with an innocence edged with a burgeoning confidence, your hands tentatively reaching up to touch his wrists, holding onto him, into the moment.

As you both pulled away, the world seemed to resume around you, the sounds of the gallery flooding back as if someone had turned up the volume. Hotch looked at you, a gentle inquiry in his gaze, ensuring the step he had taken was right.

Your smile, shy yet radiant, was all the answer he needed. In that smile, Hotch saw not just your response to the kiss but a doorway to deeper connection—a promise of many more moments filled with discovery and shared warmth. Despite your inexperience, there was an undeniable rightness in the way you fit into his life, filling spaces he hadn’t known were empty.

As autumn bled into the year, Aaron Hotchner and you found rhythms of familiarity, the initial cautious steps of your courtship giving way to a more assured dance. Despite seeing each other regularly, the intimacy of a shared night had not yet unfolded. Hotch, ever the gentleman, respected the pace you set, knowing the depth of trust such a step required from you. He was patient, understanding that the connection they were nurturing was something profound, deserving of time and care.

One evening, as Hotch planned, brought you both to a jazz club where the dim lighting and the intimate clinking of glasses painted the perfect backdrop for an evening designed to draw you closer. Conversation flowed with an ease born of growing comfort and shared smiles, yet there was an undercurrent of anticipation, a silent acknowledgment of the evolving intimacy between you.

When a slow, soulful melody began to play, Hotch extended his hand, inviting you to join him on the dance floor. There was a brief hesitation, a visible flicker of apprehension in your eyes, before your hand slipped into his. It was a testament to your growing trust, a step further into the vulnerability of this new emotional landscape.

On the dance floor, your touch was tentative at first, as if the closeness summoned both yearning and a faint trace of fear. But as Hotch led, gentle and assured, you followed, gradually relaxing, your movements syncing with the languid music. Eventually, your head came to rest against his chest, a subtle surrender to the rhythm and to him. Hotch felt the shift, a melting of barriers that warmed him more than the music itself.

As the song waned, he leaned down, his voice barely above the music, "Are you alright?"

You nodded against him, your voice a soft murmur that vibrated through him. "Yes, this is... it’s really nice."

He smiled, his hand tightening slightly around yours, a silent promise of his protection and patience. "I'm here, I’m not going anywhere," he assured you, his voice a blend of tenderness and strength.

The moment was a delicate one, laden with unspoken promises and the electric thrill of potential. The night deepened around you, the music a rich blanket that seemed to weave itself into the very fabric of their burgeoning relationship.

As they stepped off the dance floor, the connection between you both was palpable, charged with the promise of shared tomorrows. Hotch felt the undeniable chemistry in every touch, every glance, each shared breath. He knew, with a growing certainty, that the slow build of their relationship was crafting a foundation strong and deep-rooted in mutual respect and an undeniable pull toward each other that neither could, nor wanted to, ignore.

Each gesture, each date, was a chapter in the evolving story of 'us'. Hotch knew the age difference might raise eyebrows, but in his view, the ways of old—courtesy, respect, and the slow dance of courtship—were timeless, meant to be upheld, especially when the heart found a genuine connection.

And in you, with your fresh eyes and tentative steps into romance, Hotch found not just a partner to protect but someone to cherish, to guide through the dance of affection and tenderness that life had, until now, kept just out of your reach. Each meeting, each shared laughter, only solidified his belief that despite the odds, the chemistry between you was undeniable—and deeply right.

As they stepped off the dance floor, the warm glow of the jazz club enveloping you, Aaron Hotchner sensed a subtle shift in your demeanor. The usual light in your eyes was clouded slightly by hesitation, a sign he had come to recognize as you wrestling with something unsaid. His protective instincts mingled with deep affection as he guided you to a quieter corner of the club, away from the lingering notes of the last song.

"You seem like you want to ask me something," Hotch said gently, his voice a grounding force amid the soft buzz of the club. His eyes searched yours, encouraging openness without pushing too hard.

You bit your lip, a nervous gesture that tugged at his heartstrings. "It's just... I sometimes feel like I'm under my own microscope," you confessed, your words tumbling out in a rush. "I overthink everything because I've never done this before. I wish I could just turn my brain off and just be, especially with you."

Hotch reached for your hands, holding them in his with a reassuring pressure. "Let's try that, then. Just be here with me, no pressure, no expectations. Can you try that for me?" His tone was soft yet earnest, hoping to ease the burden of self-scrutiny you carried.

You nodded, a fragile smile breaking through your apprehension. "I can try. Aaron, would you... would you like to come back to my apartment?" The invitation was hesitant, but your eyes held a hopeful spark.

Hotch felt a surprise ripple through him, but it quickly gave way to warmth. He was touched by your trust and moved by your courage to step beyond your comfort zone. "I'd like that very much," he responded, his voice steady, conveying both his respect for your pace and his readiness to follow your lead.

As you led the way out of the club, the cool night air seemed to buoy your spirits, lending you a newfound confidence. Hotch admired the way the city lights played across your features, casting you in a glow that seemed to mirror the burgeoning feelings he harbored for you.

The walk to your apartment was filled with an easy silence, comfortable and unforced. It was a silence that spoke of understanding and mutual respect, qualities that had become the foundation of whatever was blossoming between you two.

Once inside, you seemed to hesitate momentarily, the reality of the moment settling in. Hotch noticed the slight tremor in your hands as you hung up your coat. Stepping closer, he lifted your chin gently, guiding you to meet his gaze. "Remember, we're just being," he reminded you softly, his thumb caressing your cheek in a soothing motion.

The simplicity of his reassurance seemed to ease your nerves, and a genuine smile spread across your face. "Just being," you repeated, and in that repetition, there was a release of some of the tension you had been carrying.

That night, in the quiet sanctity of your apartment, with the city humming softly outside, Hotch and you found a new level of closeness. It was not just the physical proximity but an emotional connection that deepened with each gentle touch and shared silence. 

In the sanctuary you offered, Hotch felt honored to witness the layers of your vulnerability and strength, each one unfolding naturally, beautifully, right before his eyes.

Hotch’s observant eyes quickly taking in the surroundings that so clearly reflected your personality. The space was tastefully decorated, with vibrant plants dotting the corners and art prints that mirrored those you had admired earlier at the exhibit. Each detail seemed to tell a story, a quiet testament to your life and preferences.

Hotch noticed how the books on your shelf ranged from classic literature to modern marketing texts, suggesting a blend of deep thought and professional ambition. Small, framed photos of friends and family adorned another corner, hinting at a rich personal life, grounded in relationships that mattered deeply to you. It was these glimpses that gave him a fuller picture of who you were outside the moments shared together.

As you offered him a comfortable seat on the couch, Hotch could sense a mix of pride and vulnerability in your actions. It was as if you were opening up a private part of your world to him, and he recognized the significance of the gesture.

"I want you to feel free to share what you want here," Hotch said sincerely, his gaze meeting yours to emphasize his intent. "I’m not going anywhere, and there isn’t anything you could do or say to scare me off."

You nodded, a look of relief crossing your features, but there was a hesitance still lingering. Hotch decided it was time to address it directly. "What are you so afraid of?" he asked gently, his voice low and encouraging.

The question seemed to weigh heavily on you for a moment before you exhaled softly, the breath carrying with it the weight of unspoken fears. "I’ve never dated anyone before," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I’ve never had a boyfriend before this... before you."

As you spoke, a blush crept up your cheeks, and you paused, suddenly realizing the implication of your words. Hotch caught your embarrassment and quickly reassured you, his tone warm and understanding. "Don’t be embarrassed," he urged softly. "And I’m sorry for not making it clearer before, but the term 'boyfriend' feels so much younger than I am." He smiled gently, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "But I most certainly want to be that for you, if you’ll have me."

Your eyes lifted to meet his, surprise and joy mingling in your expression. "I would like that," you said, the tension easing from your shoulders as you spoke.

Settled on your couch, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light around the room, Aaron Hotchner watched as another layer of hesitation seemed to cloud your features. He had come to recognize these moments—when you were teetering on the edge of sharing something significant. His presence, calm and reassuring, was meant to be a safe harbor for your thoughts.

"What’s on your mind?" he prompted gently, noticing how your fingers twisted together in your lap—a sign of your inner turmoil.

You hesitated, taking a deep breath before meeting his gaze with a newfound determination. "I want to be with you, Aaron," you started, your voice steady despite the obvious nerves. "I mean, I want to... have sex with you. But I have no idea how to initiate that."

Hotch felt a jolt of surprise at your boldness, though it was tempered with a deep respect for your honesty. He took a moment to compose himself, not just to temper his own reactions but to ensure he approached your admission with the sensitivity it deserved. He was a man, undeniably drawn to you in every possible way, yet he knew the weight of what you were proposing, especially given your limited experience.

"I want that too," he finally said, his voice low and earnest. "Very much." He paused, searching your face for any sign of discomfort. "Have you... is this your first time?" The question was delicate, his concern genuine, as he navigated the dual feelings of honor at being your chosen partner and the protective instinct that flared at the thought of anyone else having been with you.

You shook your head slightly a soft laugh appearing on your lips, a shadow passing over your features. "No, it’s not my first time," you admitted, and he felt a silent relief mixed with an unexpected twinge of something else—possessiveness, perhaps, or a protective anger toward anyone who might have hurt you. "I’ve done it once before, but it wasn’t good. I felt... rotten afterward."

The raw honesty of your words struck him deeply. Hotch moved closer, his expression softening as he reached out to gently touch your arm, offering comfort. "I’m really sorry to hear that," he said sincerely. "I want you to know, with me, it will be different. You are in control, and we will go only as far as you want, at a pace you are comfortable with."

Your eyes searched his, looking for the certainty and safety that had drawn you to him from the start. Finding it, you nodded, a tentative smile breaking through. "I trust you, Aaron," you whispered, leaning into the comfort of his touch.

Hotch’s heart swelled with a mix of emotions—care, desire, protectiveness. "Whenever you’re ready," he assured you, his tone a mix of promise and reassurance. "And we’ll make sure it’s a good experience, one that feels right for both of us."

The conversation marked a pivotal moment in your relationship, deepening the trust and intimacy between you. For Hotch, it reaffirmed his commitment to cherish and protect you, to guide you through the complexities of intimacy with the respect and affection you deserved. 

The conversation gently shifting to lighter topics, but the understanding between you remained profound—a silent acknowledgment of the steps you were ready to take together.

As the evening deepened, a soft jazz record spun quietly in the background of your apartment, casting a mellow sound that filled the space with a warm, inviting ambiance. Your taste in music, literature, and films surprised Hotch. They were much more akin to someone beyond your years--often beyond his years as well. 

Hotch observed you from where he sat on the couch, a half-smile on his face as he watched you move about the room, adjusting a pillow here, straightening a stack of books there—nervous energy channeled into tidying. But then, with a decisive pause, you turned to face him, your eyes holding a flicker of resolve that hadn't been there before.

"You know," you began, crossing the room toward where Hotch was seated, your voice steady but softer than usual, "I really meant what I said earlier, about... wanting to be with you."

Hotch's eyes followed your approach, noting the slight tremble in your hands that misrepresented your confident stride. He stood to meet you halfway, his height towering gently as he looked down into your eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, only a quiet determination, he nodded. "I remember," he replied simply, his voice low and encouraging.

Taking a deep breath, you reached out and tentatively placed a hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palm. "And I... I'd like that to be tonight, if you're still okay with that," you added, your gaze lifting to meet his.

The sincerity and quiet courage in your voice stirred something deep within Hotch. He covered your hand with his, pressing it gently against him to affirm his consent and support. "I'm more than okay with that," he assured you, his other hand reaching up to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. "We'll take this at your pace."

Encouraged, you stood on your tiptoes, bridging the gap between your heights, and pressed a tentative kiss to his lips. It was a soft, searching contact, seeking reassurance and connection. Hotch responded with equal gentleness, his lips moving against yours in a slow, respectful rhythm that allowed you the space to explore and deepen the kiss at your own initiative.

As the kiss grew more confident, your hands moved from his chest to loop around his neck, pulling him closer. Hotch's arms encircled your waist, drawing you into a firm yet careful embrace. The physical closeness brought a new layer of intimacy to the moment, and you both paused to catch your breath, foreheads resting together.

"Are you sure?" Hotch whispered, his breath warm against your skin, his hands steady and supportive at your back.

"Yes," you breathed out, your voice a mix of nervous excitement and resolve. "So sure."

With a nod of understanding, Hotch allowed you to lead him back towards the bedroom, each step measured and unhurried. He was acutely aware of the trust you were placing in him, and he was determined to honor it with every gentle touch and whispered reassurance.

The soft light casting gentle shadows around you, Hotch watched as you took a moment to steady yourself. Then, with a deep, shared breath, you both crossed the final threshold into intimacy, guided by mutual respect and a profound connection that promised to deepen with each passing moment.

Aaron Hotchner felt every subtle shift of the air as you moved slightly ahead of him, your steps hesitant yet filled with an intent that mirrored the pounding of his own heart.

As you reached the edge of your bed, you turned to face him, the light casting shadows across your features that highlighted the mix of anticipation and vulnerability in your eyes. Hotch, ever observant, noted the way your hands fidgeted slightly, betraying a nervous energy that belied the confident steps you had taken just moments before.

"It's okay," Hotch murmured, his voice a soothing baritone that seemed to resonate gently in the quiet room. He stepped closer, reducing the space between you, his hands rising to cup your face gently. "We can take this as slow as you need."

Your eyes searched his, finding reassurance in his steady gaze, and a tentative smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Thank you, Aaron," you whispered, the gratitude in your voice laced with an emotion deeper than the words themselves conveyed.

Hotch responded with a soft smile of his own, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your forehead—a gesture of affection and protection. Then, giving you the space to lead, he watched as you took a deep breath and reached out to him. Your hands, no longer trembling, found the hem of his shirt, and with a look that sought silent permission—which Hotch granted with a nod—you slowly lifted it over his head.

The act, simple yet laden with significance, marked a crossing into intimacy that Hotch handled with all the care and reverence it deserved. As the fabric parted from skin, it was as though barriers too were being shed, leaving a raw, beautiful honesty between you.

With the shirt discarded, Hotch gently took the lead, his hands guiding yours to the buttons of his shirt you wore. Each button undone was a mutual assent, a step deeper into vulnerability and trust. The cool air of the room brushed against your skin as the material parted, and Hotch's hands paused at your waist, giving you a moment to adjust to the new closeness.

"Are you still okay?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, laden with concern and an unspoken promise to halt at any sign of discomfort.

"Yes," you breathed out, more sure than before, emboldened by his respect and your own burgeoning desire. "Please, keep going."

Encouraged by your words, Hotch's touch became more assured, tracing the lines of your arms as he helped you out of the shirt. His fingers brushed against your skin, each touch a word in the silent language of care they were writing together.

He never thought he’d get back here--never thought he’d be so lucky to have a second chance. 

In the shared quiet of your bedroom, with only the soft rustle of fabric and the steady, calming beat of two hearts synchronizing, a dance of mutual exploration unfolded. Each movement, each touch, was a discovery—a learning of boundaries, preferences, and the profound connection that pulsed vibrant and alive between you.

As the layers of fabric fell away, leaving vulnerability in their wake, Hotch felt a deep reverence for the trust you placed in him. The room was filled with the quiet symphony of their mutual breathing, punctuated by the soft sounds of fabric whispering to the floor. With every careful, considered touch, Hotch felt the gravity of your inexperience, sensed the weight of each movement, and honored it with his own measured responses.

Hotch was acutely aware of the significance of this moment for you. Each caress, each lingering touch was designed not only to explore but to reassure—to communicate that you were cherished, respected, and deeply cared for. 

His hands, steady and warm, traced the lines of your back, feeling the tension ease under his fingers. He could sense the leap of your heart, could almost hear the thrum of your pulse quickening with a blend of nervousness and excitement. Hotch’s own heart mirrored your tempo, a reflection of his own deep feelings and the earnest desire to ensure this experience was as beautiful and profound for you as the emotional connection they had nurtured together.

"Tell me what you need," he murmured, his lips close to your ear, his breath a soft echo in the quiet room. It was a question loaded with the promise of patience and the willingness to listen, to adapt, to ensure your comfort at every step.

You responded with a slight, almost shy nod, your voice a whisper that matched the tender atmosphere. "Just... stay close," you said, your hands finding his, seeking the reassurance of his grip. "Like this, just like this."

Hotch nodded, his eyes locking with yours in the dim light, a silent vow reflected back at you. He stayed close, his body aligned with yours, a steady presence that you could lean into and draw strength from.

The exploration continued, each touch a dialogue, each sigh a verse in the unfolding story of your closeness. 

Hotch was mindful, always, of your responses—the quick catch of breath, the soft sigh of contentment, the way your eyes fluttered closed in trust and surrender. These signs guided him, a map written in the language of touch and silent communion. He was a quick study, also, being with the same woman for over twenty years, he knew a thing or two about this subject.

Through careful, attentive touches, he discovered what elicited those soft, breathy moans that he knew he would never forget—the sounds that resonated deeply within him, stirring a blend of profound affection and desire. Each sound was a note in the symphony of their intimacy, a melody that he would carry in the quiet recesses of his heart.

You were eager to please, your movements and responses guided by an earnest desire to explore this new dimension of their relationship. Hotch could feel your eagerness, could see it in the way your eyes searched his for approval and reassurance. 

"You're doing wonderfully," Hotch whispered, his voice low and filled with warmth. The praise was not merely spoken; it was felt, communicated through every gentle touch and affirming look. He could see the way your eyes lit up at his words, a spark of joy mingling with relief fluttering across your features.

The way you responded to him, each movement and breath a testament to your trust and openness, resonated deeply within him. "You have no idea how good this feels," he continued, his hands guiding yours, encouraging each tentative exploration with a steady presence. "Not just what you’re doing, but knowing it’s you with me here."

His words were carefully chosen, aimed to reinforce the deep emotional landscape that underpinned the physical sensations. It was essential to him that you understood how profoundly he was affected by your presence, that it was not merely the act itself but the entirety of who you were that brought him such profound satisfaction.

And yet, little did you know, it took so little to please him when it came from you. The mere fact that it was you who was there with him, open and trusting, was more than enough to fulfill him.

In these moments, Hotch learned not just what you liked, but what you truly enjoyed—a discovery that felt both profound and sacred. He savored the honesty of your reactions, the unguarded way you shared yourself with him. Each revelation, whether a gasp of surprise at a new sensation or a sigh of contentment, was a treasure he stored away, a testament to the depth of the bond they were forging.

As the night wore on, the world outside their window forgotten, Hotch marveled at the deepening connection between you both.

The way you responded to him, the way your body arched towards his touch, spoke of a trust and a bond that went beyond the physical. It was as if each layer of vulnerability you revealed knitted you closer together, weaving a fabric of intimacy that was unique to the two of you.

When the dawn began to paint the sky with its first light, Hotch lay beside you, watching the rise and fall of your chest as you slept peacefully. In these quiet hours, he reflected on the journey they had embarked upon together. The intimacy they had shared was not just a physical union but an emotional, soul-deep connection that promised so much more.

The knowledge of what you truly liked, the memory of your soft moans, and the realization of how eager you were to please—these were not just moments of pleasure, but profound insights into the beautiful, complex person you were. And Hotch, ever the protector and now the partner, felt an overwhelming gratitude for the trust you placed in him, and a resolute commitment to be there for you, in all the ways that mattered.

As dawn cast a gentle light through the curtains of your bedroom, Aaron Hotchner lay quietly beside you, his gaze fixed tenderly on your form as you slowly awakened. The soft rays illuminated your features, highlighting the flush of your cheeks and the peaceful rise and fall of your breathing. He observed the flicker of consciousness return to your eyes, watched as awareness spread across your face, and sensed the slight tenseness that accompanied your realization of his watchful, affectionate eyes on your unclothed form.

A hint of shyness crept into your expression, a stark contrast to the openness you shared the night before. Sensing your self-consciousness, Hotch allowed a soft, teasing tone to warm his morning greeting, aiming to ease the tension he perceived. 

"Don't get shy with me now, sweetheart," he said, his voice low and slightly playful, the corners of his mouth lifting in a gentle smile.

The term of endearment, new yet fitting, seemed to deepen the blush that already tinted your cheeks. You turned to face him, your eyes wide with a mix of surprise and something else—perhaps pleasure. Hotch's use of "sweetheart" hung softly in the air between you, a tender label that was both an assertion of affection and a bridge across the morning's shyness.

Seeing your reaction, Hotch's smile broadened slightly, but he also felt a pulse of concern—wanting to ensure his words had been well received. 

"Do you not like that?" he asked gently, his head tilting to catch your gaze more fully, seeking to understand your feelings.

Quickly, you shook your head, the sheets rustling softly around you as you moved. "No, I like it," you assured him earnestly, your voice carrying a warmth that eased any lingering doubt in his mind. "I’ve never been called that before. It makes me feel... good." Your admission, simple yet profound, reflected the depth of your emerging emotions, revealing how such small intimacies were new territories being explored and cherished.

Hotch's eyes softened further, a profound tenderness settling in his features as he absorbed your words. The significance of the term—sweetheart—gained a new weight, symbolizing not just affection but a recognition of the intimacy and closeness that had flourished between you. 

"I’m glad," he murmured, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch as reverent as it was affectionate. "You deserve to feel nothing less than cherished."

In the quiet morning light, with the world outside still blurred by the early mist, Hotch felt a renewed sense of connection to you. Each shy smile, each hesitant yet trusting exchange, wove a stronger bond between you. Here, in the soft dawn of a new beginning, the previous night's vulnerabilities transformed into the day's strengths, each moment building on the last, each term of endearment a step deeper into the heart of what was swiftly becoming a profound and beautiful relationship.

The morning that continued was a blend of lingering sensations and the crisp return to reality as Aaron Hotchner made his way into the bustling environment of the FBI headquarters. The events of the previous night, filled with tender discoveries and shared warmth, were still vivid in his mind as he navigated through the familiar corridors toward his office. He was adjusting his collar, trying discreetly to ensure that no visible marks were showing, when Emily Prentiss caught him halfway down the hall.

"Hold it, Hotch!" Emily called out, a teasing smirk playing on her lips as she approached him with a purposeful stride. "You have a hickey," she announced with a mix of amusement and mock accusation.

Hotch, caught off-guard, touched his neck almost reflexively, a slight flush coloring his cheeks. "I do not," he countered smoothly, though his voice carried a hint of uncertainty as he felt the area she pointed out.

Emily laughed, pointing more directly now. "Oh, but you do. Right there, peeking from your collar." Her eyes twinkled with mischief, clearly enjoying the moment.

Memories from the previous night flashed through Hotch's mind—your growing confidence, the softness of your touch turning more daring as the night progressed. He remembered how your actions, once hesitant, had grown bolder, culminating in the passion that must have left the mark he was now accused of carrying.

Trying to maintain his composure, Hotch adjusted his collar once more, a futile attempt to cover the evidence. "It's nothing," he insisted, brushing past Emily toward the sanctuary of his office. He knew well the buzz this would stir among the team, especially once Emily shared her discovery.

As he closed his office door behind him, the slight smirk on Emily's face lingered in his mind. Hotch couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride mixed with embarrassment—after all, it wasn't just any mark; it was a token of the new intimacy and connection he had found with you. 

Deciding to embrace the lighter side of the situation, he took out his phone and composed a message to you, his fingers typing with a smile.

"Good morning, sweetheart. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about last night, or you. Also, thanks for leaving your mark on me—I’m trying to keep it under wraps here, but it seems I’ve been caught. Can’t wait to see you again."

He sent the message, the formality of his FBI role momentarily replaced by the warm, personal connection he now shared with you. Almost immediately, his phone buzzed with your reply, bringing an even deeper smile to his face.

"Oh no, I’m so sorry! I got carried away, didn’t I? I’m glad you enjoyed last night, though. I can’t stop thinking about it either..."

Hotch chuckled softly, the bashfulness and charm of your message warming him from within. It was these moments—these little exchanges—that continued to build the bridge between their worlds, a bridge that he treasured deeply.

Adjusting his collar one last time, Hotch settled into his day, the challenges of law enforcement ahead yet sweetened by the personal joy he now carried within him. Your presence in his life, marked subtly by the hickey hidden under his collar, was a secret badge of honor he wore with an inward, contented grin.

Later that day, as Aaron Hotchner navigated through the paperwork and case files that demanded his attention, he felt the presence of someone lingering near his office door. Looking up, he saw David Rossi, leaning casually against the frame with an all-too-familiar inquisitive look in his eyes.

“Got a minute, Hotch?” Rossi asked, his voice carrying a hint of mischief that only piqued as he stepped inside the office.

Hotch sighed lightly, already anticipating the direction of the conversation. “Sure, Dave, what’s on your mind?”

Rossi walked in, closing the door behind him with a soft click. “I’m just curious about the lucky lady who’s got you coming into work marked up like a teenager,” he teased, taking a seat across from Hotch.

Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose, a resigned smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I was going to keep it more private, at least for a while,” he admitted, the reality that the team would inevitably find out now fully realized.

Rossi chuckled, his eyes twinkling with camaraderie and a bit of brotherly concern. “Too late for that, my friend. Penelope’s already done her digging. Showed us a photo of her.” He paused, watching Hotch closely. “She seems… vibrant. And quite a bit younger than you, huh?”

Hotch couldn’t suppress the slight flush of embarrassment mixed with pride. “Yes, she’s younger,” he confirmed, his voice steady despite the personal nature of the discussion. “She’s wonderful, Dave. Genuine, kind, and yes, younger, but I feel... rejuvenated, I suppose.”

Rossi’s laughter filled the room, easing any lingering tension. “Rejuvenated, he says. That’s one way to put it.” His tone shifted slightly, the humor mingling with sincerity. “It’s good for you, Hotch. After everything, you deserve a bit of happiness. Just don’t forget to bring her around sometime. We’re all dying to meet the woman who’s captured our fearless leader’s heart.”

Hotch smiled, the warmth of Rossi’s words reinforcing the acceptance he hoped for from his team. “I’ll think about it, Dave. It’s still new, and I want to make sure it’s right before making introductions.”

Rossi stood, heading toward the door but not without throwing a final quip over his shoulder. “Just remember, Hotch, the clock’s ticking. We’re not getting any younger, and you’ve snagged yourself someone who probably runs circles around you.”

“Only metaphorically, I assure you,” Hotch retorted, the banter a comfortable, familiar exchange between old friends.

As Rossi left with a chuckle, Hotch leaned back in his chair, the interactions with his team leaving him somewhere between frustration and enlightenment. The dynamic of the BAU was such that nothing stayed private for long, but perhaps in this case, it wasn’t such a bad thing. His team’s curiosity, albeit invasive at times, came from a place of genuine care and support. Adjusting his collar once more, Hotch settled back into his work, a small smile playing on his lips as he thought of you, his newfound reason for joy.

The rhythm of the latest case had Aaron Hotchner more bound up than usual, with long days bleeding into longer nights, each hour stretching thin as the team chased down leads and suspects. 

Despite the consuming nature of his work, a part of his mind remained tethered to you, his thoughts wandering to your last night together and the silence that had followed. As the days passed without a word from you, his concern deepened, shadowed by the worry that perhaps he had misread the signals or assumed too much about the bond he felt was forming between you.

During a briefing, Hotch found himself checking his phone again—a habit that had not gone unnoticed. JJ caught his eye, her expression a mix of concern and gentle teasing. "Expecting an important call, Hotch?" she asked, an eyebrow raised in playful inquiry.

He pocketed the device, offering a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Just keeping tabs on things," he replied, though his vague response fooled neither JJ nor himself.

That evening, back in the solitude of his hotel room, the quiet felt more oppressive than calming, each tick of the clock a reminder of the growing distance he felt from you. Resolved not to let the situation fester with assumptions, he dialed your number, the weight of his phone heavy in his hand.

When you answered, your voice brought an immediate relief, but it was tinged with a hesitation that prompted him to cut straight to the heart of his fears. "Is something wrong?" Hotch asked, his voice low and filled with a palpable concern. "If you're regretting our night together, it's okay, but I need to know."

There was a brief pause before you responded, your words slow as if weighing each one. "No, it's not that," you assured him. "I just... I'm inexperienced, and I didn't want to come off as the nagging, clingy girlfriend. I didn't want to bother you."

Hotch felt a pang of understanding mixed with a slight reprimand towards himself for not making his feelings clearer from the start. "You could never nag or be a bother," he said earnestly. "I want you to cling. I’ve been missing you."

His admission hung in the air, a bridge stretched out over the miles that separated you. After a moment of silence, filled only with the faint buzz of the line, Hotch's voice softened further. "Sweetheart, are you still with me?"

Your response was a breath, almost lost in the connection. "I'm sorry, I'm just taking all of this in. I miss you too," you admitted, and there was a warmth in your tone that made his heart swell. "Hearing that you miss me makes me feel so good. I never thought I'd get this."

The simplicity and sincerity of your words struck a chord in him. Hotch found himself reflecting on his past, on the loss and the loneliness that had once defined his days. "The feeling is mutual," he confessed. "You’ve brought something into my life I didn’t dare to expect again."

In the quiet of his hotel room, with the night pressing against the windows, Aaron Hotchner felt a profound shift. The connection between you and him, built on shared moments and the tender exchange of fears and hopes, was something deeply real—something worth every effort to preserve and nurture, despite the chaos of their daily lives. As he set the phone down, a sense of peace settled over him, the kind that only comes when two hearts find a way to beat in tandem, even across the distance.

From that heartfelt conversation onward, the dynamic between you and Aaron Hotchner transformed, becoming a constant stream of communication that threaded through the remainder of his case. Each text you sent, each call you made at the end of the day, wove deeper layers of connection and comfort into the fabric of his daily routine, which had often felt isolating given the demanding nature of his work.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day of interviews and dead ends, Hotch felt his phone vibrate with an incoming message. It was from you—a selfie, your smile bright and genuine as you held up a large mug of coffee, your shared favorite…the one that brought you together at the grocery store. 

The image was a simple one, but it radiated warmth and a comforting normalcy. Your eyes sparkled with unspoken words, a silent message of support and affection that transcended the physical distance between you.

Hotch couldn’t help but smile, the stress of the day momentarily lifted by your thoughtfulness. He studied the photo, noting the way the light played across your features, the casual fall of your hair, and the cozy environment that spoke of a peaceful moment during your day. It was these glimpses into your daily life that he cherished, reminders of the vibrant, real person who had quickly become so significant to him.

Tapping out a response, Hotch’s fingers moved with a certainty driven by his emotions. “Thank you for this, sweetheart,” he wrote. “It’s the highlight of my day. Please keep sharing these moments with me. They mean more than you might realize.”

As the case progressed, with its usual ups and downs, the constant communication with you became something of a lifeline for him. Each message, each snapshot of your day, helped to ground him, to remind him of the life that awaited him beyond the paperwork and the critical decisions. Your willingness to reach out, to keep the connection alive and thriving, was a gift that Hotch did not take for granted.

Your conversations grew richer, filled with the mundane details of daily life and the deeper revelations that came with growing trust. Hotch found himself sharing more too, opening up about the challenges of his days, the small victories, and the moments that made him think of you. It was a mutual exchange, a give and take that balanced the scales of their relationship with equal parts affection and understanding.

In the quiet of his hotel room, as he prepared to finally head home after the case was closed, Hotch looked back on the past days with a reflective appreciation. The case had been tough, but the evolving relationship with you, punctuated by daily messages and endearing selfies, had added a layer of joy to his life that had been absent for too long.

As he packed his bags, ready to return to a routine that now included you at its heart, Hotch felt a profound sense of anticipation. The case had been solved, but a new chapter in his life was just beginning—a chapter that promised as much warmth and connection as the smile in the photo he had saved to his phone, a permanent reminder of the sweetness and light you brought into his world.

Returning home, Hotch found himself immediately swept into the world of his son, Jack, who had been patiently waiting for his father's return. Although eager to reconnect with you, Hotch knew that his first responsibility was to his son, especially after such a prolonged absence. Understanding the situation, you gave him the space he needed, focusing on preparing for an upcoming marketing conference.

One quiet evening, after dinner and a movie that Jack had picked out, Hotch found the perfect moment to broach a subject that had been on his mind throughout his recent work travels. They were sitting on the couch, Jack's head resting against his arm, the room filled with the soft glow of the lamp and the comforting silence that followed their laughter from the movie.

"Jack, there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about," Hotch began, his voice gentle, ensuring it carried the weight of his words thoughtfully.

Jack looked up, his expression open and attentive, a look of curiosity spreading across his features. "What is it, Dad?"

Hotch took a deep breath, his heart filled with a mix of anticipation and hope. "It’s about someone very special that I’ve met recently. She’s become very important to me." Hotch paused, gauging Jack’s reaction to these initial words.

Jack’s brow furrowed slightly, then relaxed as he processed the information. "Is she your girlfriend?" he asked, his voice carrying a blend of childish simplicity and earnest inquisitiveness.

"Yes, she is," Hotch replied, smiling at Jack’s directness. "And she’s really wonderful, Jack. I was thinking, maybe you’d like to meet her soon? I think you’d like her a lot."

Jack seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Is she nice?" he asked, his criteria for approval clear.

"Very nice," Hotch assured him, his heart warming at the simplicity of Jack's priorities. "She’s kind, she’s funny, and she makes me very happy."

"Okay," Jack said, his agreement coming easily, much to Hotch's relief. "Can we go to the park or something when I meet her? Maybe have a picnic?"

"That sounds like a great idea," Hotch agreed, grateful for Jack's receptiveness and the ease with which he seemed to accept the news. "We’ll plan something fun."

As Jack yawned and snuggled closer to his father, Hotch felt a profound sense of gratitude for the open-hearted way his son approached the world. Turning his thoughts briefly to you, he felt a surge of affection and a quiet thrill at the thought of intertwining his worlds. He planned to text you later that evening, sharing Jack’s positive reaction and perhaps arranging that picnic Jack had proposed.

The day you met Jack was as picture-perfect as Hotch had hoped. On a rare warm day the three of you spent an afternoon at the park, bundled up under the tentative warmth of late winter sun, with a picnic spread that included all of Jack's favorite foods. Hotch watched, a soft smile playing on his lips, as you and Jack tossed a frisbee, laughter ringing through the air. It was clear from the way Jack clung to your hand as you walked back to the car that you had won his heart as thoroughly as you had won Hotch's. From then on, Jack often asked when you'd be joining them again, his acceptance both a relief and a joy to Hotch.

As winter melted into spring, the relationship between Aaron Hotchner and you blossomed with the season. The transition was marked by significant milestones and quiet moments alike, each one building upon the last, deepening the connection that had sparked during the colder months.

With you, every date, every encounter seemed to bring a new "first": the first time you cooked dinner together, managing somehow to turn spaghetti into a gourmet meal; the first time you danced in your living room to no music at all, just the rhythm of your own laughter; the first work event where Hotch insisted he joined you. Each of these moments was a step deeper into the life you were crafting together.

As the days grew longer, so too did your confidence in your relationship. Hotch noticed the subtle changes: the way your smile reached your eyes a little faster, how your hand found his in a crowd without hesitation, the ease with which you spoke of future plans, weaving him into the fabric of your visions as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Despite the growing security in your relationship with Hotch and Jack, the prospect of meeting his team—a group of people who were not just colleagues but family to Hotch—loomed large in your thoughts. You expressed your nervousness one evening, tucked away in the corner of a cozy cafe, your hands wrapped around a cup of tea for comfort.

"I'm just worried they won’t think I’m... enough," you confessed, your voice a whisper against the clatter of the cafe.

Hotch reached across the table, his fingers gently lifting your chin so you would meet his eyes. "Sweetheart, you are more than enough," he reassured you firmly, his gaze intense and sincere. "They’re going to love you because I love you, and because you are incredible, not just to me, but in your own right."

In the quiet intimacy of the cafe, as Aaron Hotchner uttered the words, "I love you," the atmosphere seemed to shift subtly, the world pausing for a heartbeat. His declaration, spoken so naturally in reassurance and affection, hung between you—a confession made all the more profound because it slipped out unplanned, unguarded.

As he watched your reaction, he saw the surprise that flitted across your features, your eyes widening as the magnitude of his words settled in. For a moment, Hotch felt a twinge of uncertainty—had he spoken too soon?

However, your initial shock quickly gave way to a deeper, radiant sort of joy. The smile that spread across your face was slow but unmistakable, lighting up your eyes and reflecting a mix of love and awe. "Aaron," you breathed, your voice thick with emotion, "you love me?"

Hotch felt a smile tugging at his own lips, his heart swelling in his chest at the sight of your happiness. "Yes, I do," he affirmed, more confidently now. He realized that saying it aloud, here with you, felt right—it felt true. "I didn’t plan to say it just now, but it’s the truth. I love you, and I have for some time."

Your hands reached across the table, finding his, a tangible connection that grounded the moment. "I love you too," you replied, the words seeming to fill the space with warmth and light. "Hearing you say that—it just makes everything feel so real."

Hotch squeezed your hands gently, a contented sigh escaping him. He was a man accustomed to control, to keeping his emotions tightly reined in, but with you, it felt natural to let those walls down. The love he felt for you was something powerful and deep, stirring parts of him he’d thought long dormant.

As the cafe continued to buzz around you, the world moving forward, the moment of your mutual confession felt like a sanctuary, a quiet space carved out of time where only the two of you existed. "It is real," Hotch affirmed, his voice soft but filled with conviction. "You’ve changed my world, and there’s nothing I want more than to keep building this life with you."

As spring unfurled its vibrant hues across the city, both you and Aaron Hotchner found yourselves drawn away from home by professional commitments—yours to a marketing conference and his to a case that coincidentally placed him in the same distant city. When Hotch discovered the serendipitous overlap, a plan began to form in his mind, a surprise that he hoped would light up your day as much as it did his.

Arranging to finish his day's obligations with the BAU team a bit earlier, Hotch made his way to your hotel. The thought of seeing your reaction kept a subtle smile playing at the corners of his lips as he approached your room. After a quick knock, the door swung open, and there you stood, momentarily taken aback but swiftly melting into a radiant smile upon seeing him.

"Aaron!" you exclaimed, surprise giving way to delight. "What are you doing here?"

"I was in town for a case," he explained, stepping inside as you beckoned him eagerly. "I couldn't pass up the chance to see you."

The joy in your expression warmed him more than the spring sun could, and in that instant, he knew he'd made the right call. After a few moments of catching up, he ventured further with his plan. "I have another surprise for you," he started, watching your curiosity pique. "How about dinner tonight with the team? They're all eager to meet you."

You paused, the initial surge of happiness tempering slightly into apprehension. Meeting Hotch's colleagues, the famed BAU team, was a significant step—one you hadn't anticipated taking quite so suddenly. Sensing your hesitation, Hotch gently added, "They're really looking forward to meeting you, sweetheart. But no pressure, we can do this at your pace."

Your eyes searched his, finding reassurance in his steady gaze. "Okay, let's do it," you decided, your voice steady with newfound resolve, bolstered by his support.

That evening, as you walked into the restaurant with Hotch's hand resting lightly on your back, a buzz of conversation and laughter greeted you, emanating from the table where the BAU team had gathered. Derek Morgan rose first, his demeanor open and friendly as he approached.

“Hey there! You must be the famous lady,” Derek said with a grin, shaking your hand with a firm, welcoming grip. “We’ve heard a lot of good things about you.”

David Rossi followed with his characteristic charm, raising his glass slightly in a toast as he nodded toward you. “Welcome, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he said, his voice smooth and inviting.

Spencer Reid, slightly awkward but visibly interested, extended his hand next. “Hi, um, it’s really nice to meet you. Hotch talks about you a lot,” he admitted, pushing his glasses up his nose nervously.

Emily Prentiss’s smile was both warm and mischievous. “Don’t worry, only good things,” she chimed in, her eyes twinkling. “We’re really excited you could join us tonight.”

JJ, ever the empathetic soul, gave you a gentle hug. “We’re just like a family here, and anyone important to Hotch is important to us,” she said softly, making you feel truly part of the group.

As everyone settled back into their seats, the conversation flowed easily. You found yourself between Hotch and Spencer, who was more than eager to dive into an elaborate explanation about the historical origins of a case study he’d been reading.

“So, essentially, the behavioral patterns can be traced back to—” Spencer began, only to be interrupted by Derek’s good-natured groan.

“Reid, man, save it for the office. Let’s keep it light, yeah?” Derek teased, eliciting a round of laughter from the table.

You laughed, glancing at Hotch, who was watching you with a soft smile. “You fit right in,” he whispered to you, squeezing your hand under the table.

Derek, not one to miss a beat, caught the exchange and winked. “Look at Hotch, all romantic and stuff. We never get to see this side of him.”

Rossi joined in, his voice playful, “It’s good for him. Keeps him young.”

Hotch rolled his eyes but his smile remained, his gaze fixed on you with unmistakable affection. “I’m just glad she agreed to come tonight,” he said, his voice carrying a tone of deep gratitude.

As the evening progressed, the team shared funny anecdotes from past cases, carefully skirting around the more gruesome details, focusing instead on the mishaps and lighter moments. Emily recounted a tale involving a mistaken identity and a runaway suspect in a mascot costume, which had you laughing until tears formed in your eyes.

“You see, Hotch had to tackle the mascot, and when the head came off, it was the mayor’s nephew!” Emily concluded, as the table erupted in laughter.

The warmth and laughter of the evening did much to make you feel at ease, the initial apprehension you felt about meeting Hotch's team dissipating like mist. As dinner wound down, Hotch leaned closer, his voice for your ears only. “Thank you for being here tonight, sweetheart. It means a lot to me.”

Your response was a soft smile, your hand tightening on his. “I wouldn’t have missed it. Thank you for inviting me.”

As you both stood to leave, the farewells were warm and genuine, each team member making you promise to join them again soon. Walking out into the cool evening air, Hotch’s arm around your shoulders, you felt a sense of belonging and acceptance that was both new and deeply comforting. Tonight hadn’t just been about meeting his colleagues; it had been about joining a part of his life, a part that was important to him. And as you looked up at him, the city lights reflecting in his eyes, you knew this was just the beginning of many shared moments and memories.

As you entered the elegantly appointed lobby of your hotel, Hotch couldn’t help but comment on the plush surroundings with a gentle tease, “Looks like marketing agencies know how to treat their people right.”

You chuckled, leading him to the elevator with a playful nudge. “Maybe the bureau could take a few pointers,” you suggested, sparking a shared smile that lingered as you ascended to your floor.

Once inside your room, the reality of the beautiful evening began to sink in. The room was spacious and warmly lit, the city lights casting a soft glow through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Hotch watched as you slipped off your shoes and curled up on the plush sofa, a content sigh escaping you. Joining you, he felt an overwhelming sense of peace and gratitude.

“The team really liked you, you know,” Hotch said, his voice low and filled with pride. “They’ve never been so unanimously approving before.”

You looked up at him, your eyes soft. “I loved meeting them. They made me feel so welcome,” you admitted, your gratitude evident. “Thank you for making tonight happen. It was perfect.”

As you leaned into him, Hotch wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. The feeling of your body against his, the scent of your hair, and the warmth of your presence filled him with a deep, resonant joy. Sitting there, with the night sky stretched out before you both and the quiet hum of the city below, Hotch allowed himself a moment to reflect on everything that had brought you both to this point. 

“You know,” he began thoughtfully, his gaze fixed on the twinkling lights outside, “there’s something incredibly refreshing about being with you. Your perspective, your innocence—it’s brought out a side of me I thought was long gone. I’m... I’m really grateful for that.”

You turned to look at him, your expression tender. “I feel the same, Aaron. You make everything seem exciting and new, like there’s a world of possibilities I never knew about.”

In that quiet hotel room, a soft melody playing from the small radio on the bedside table, Hotch felt the weight of his usual responsibilities lighten. Here with you, the complexities of his job, the burdens of his past, seemed distant and manageable. Your innocence, far from being a naiveté, was a lens through which the world could be seen afresh, vibrant and hopeful.

So much of his life, the goodness in people had been tainted from his line of work and all he had been through. There was a clarity in being in your presence. 

He kissed the top of your head, a silent expression of his feelings. “I’m looking forward to exploring all those possibilities with you, sweetheart,” he murmured.

Your smile in response was all the confirmation he needed. The evening might have ended, but their journey together was just beginning, each new day promising more laughter, understanding, and shared growth. As Hotch held you close, the city’s pulse below you a faint echo to their own heartbeats, he knew that this—this right here with you—was exactly where he was meant to be.

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

[mythica0]

Ok, I kinda feel greedy asking for this.. but that Poseidon x Amphitrite fix was so good I just HAVE to have seconds! X3

Can we maybe get a Part 2..?

What if Poseidon got into a massive Lee Mood? Because, he keeps thinking back to that one night and how nice it was, and.. he wants more of it. But he'd sooner get stabbed in the face with his own trident before he ever admits that!

But with nothing else working to quell this annoying feeling he soon realizes he doesn't have a choice. So one night imagine Poseidon's just sitting there beside his wife, mumbling and stuttering over his words, blushing like an idiot and making 0 eye contact as he struggles to make this request as indirectly & vaguely as possible. But Amphitrite's able to catch on surprisingly fast, and she's more than willing to grant her husband's wish. He just has to ask~ 😉

The whole prompt is basically Amphitrite teasing the hell out of her husband, and this time, she's a lot more ruthless (get it~?) in her attacks (i.e. lots of upper body tkls, gill tkls, neck kisses & belly raspberries).

(P.S. Out of slight curiosity, since I know everyone has different visual descriptions for Poseidon in their stories- does your Poseidon have gills on his sides/ribs or his neck? Sometimes I get a lil confused while reading. 😅 Which specific artist's version of him (AnniFlamma's, Neal's, Gigi's, aulith's, Willows', etc.) are you envisioning when you write him?)

Stupid moods

🎂: Epic the musical

🧁:Poseidon

🍫:Amphitrite

Summary: after a sweet night of tickly cuddles, Poseidon finds himself craving more, much to his dismay.

A/N: this is soooo cute absolutely!! Also, this is a sequel to Sweet Lovin’ so read that first! Not sure I like the ending, but whatever.

Happy new year and Enjoyyyyy!! :D

(P.s: my version/picture his gills are on his neck, and because I’m an artist I imagine my own design!:3)

Stupid moods

Poseidon was irritated.

The previous night, his loving wife have given him a night of cuddles, which ended up with him being gently tickled until they went to sleep.

And now he wanted more. And he hated it.

He felt all buzzy and fizzy, like a soda can that had been shaken. And it was so. Annoying.

All day he tried to ignore it. Pretend it didn’t exist.

All day he yelled at his brain to stop.

But it just wouldn’t listen. Pictures and daydreams flooded his head without his permission, and it was getting difficult to focus.

Obviously, he could just ask his wife to help him, but that was so embarrassing he thinks he might actually rather be skewered by his own trident.

So on the day went, this stupid mood growing and growing with every minute it went unsatisfied.

And finally, it reached a point where Poseidon couldn’t take anymore. If he didn’t do something about this dumb craving now it was going to be a problem. He didn’t really have much choice, unless he wanted to live with this annoying, insufferable buzzing for the rest of his immortal existence.

So, when he climbed into bed with his wife, ready to relax and then go to sleep, he attempted to ask. But it was still incredibly embarrassing, so he stuttered and blushed and really struggled to get the words out.

“Hey, darling?”

Amphitrite looked over curiously. “Yes, my dear?”

“Can you- uh.” He failed to say it directly, needing to find work arounds. “Can you do the- the thing?”

Amphitrite tilted her head a little in confusion, and Poseidon was looking anywhere but in her eyes. This was quite out of character for Poseidon, so Amphitrite was reasonably curious. “I’m sorry?”

“Y- Y’know, the thing. The one you- the thing you did last night?”

At these words, Amphitrite’s eyes widened in realization, a small, fond smile gracing her features.

“Of course honey. But.” She paused for dramatic effect. “I want you to ask. Directly.” Her voice was soft and gentle, but also teasing, making Poseidons already intense blush even worse.

“Uh- I-“ he stuttered a bit, still incredibly flustered and embarrassed.

“Well, if you want something you have to ask for it! It’s only polite.” She teased again, clearly enjoying the lighthearted chance to mess with him.

He stammered for quite some time, but eventually managed to spew it out, the words quick and tumbling as if he was trying to rip it off like a bandaid. “Pleasetickleme!”

As he finally succeeded, Amphitrite smiled and pushed Poseidon down so he was lying rather than sitting. “Of course, my love.”

She leaned down to whisper in his ear, her voice low and teasing. “Your safe word is trident. Use it wisely, because once you say it, I’m done.”

Once he nodded, she pulled back, putting on an uncharacteristic sort of tickle monster persona. “You know, since you asked, I’m not going to be merciful.”

Poseidon tried and failed to mask the excited shiver that he felt at the words.

“You’re going to be a hysterical, breathless mess by the time I’m through with you. No matter how much you beg me to stop, I won’t. I am free to do whatever I want to you, and no matter how bad it tickles, you can’t do anything about it.”

Her voice was sinister and mischievous, in a playful sort of way, not genuinely evil by any sense of the word. That teasing lilt, full of a playful kind of mischief, sent butterflies racing through Poseidon’s tummy, excitement zipping along his spine.

“Are you ready, darling?”

He gave a small, sheepish nod in response, and without any further words, Amphitrite started to rake her claws over his ribs, a fast, gentle motion that left him no chance to hold back his giggles.

“Ehahahahaha Oho myhyhy- ehehehe!”

“Haha, such cute little giggles, my dear~” Amphitrite teased, cooing in a way that made Poseidon blush all the more, his face turning a light pink.

Poseidon squirmed slightly under the hold, despite not wanting to get away. It was overwhelming. It was torturous. It was exactly what he wanted.

She scratched and scribbled at his ribs, pinching up and down the bones. Poseidon squirmed and giggled, unable to stop himself from laughing as that fizzy feeling fully exploded into a ticklish, tingly sensation of butterflies in his stomach.

“Eehehahaha ahaha- ihihi- ehehehee!” He was unable to get words out, not knowing what to say, or wanting to put in the effort to speak clearly through his joyful, bubbly giggles.

Amphitrite cooed, leaning over her husband teasingly as she raked along his ribs. “Tickle tickle tickle~”

Poseidon erupted into a much deeper blush, and as much as he hated to admit it his giggles grew a little more frantic at the teasing.

“Nohoho-! Dohohont dohoho thahat!”

“Do what?”

“Sahahay thehe wohord!”

“Oh? What word? Tickle?” She smirked, feigning ignorance.

“Yehehehehes! Thahat wohord!”

“Hmm.. I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands, my dear. Besides, it’s such a fun word, isn’t it?” She grinned playfully, moving up to scratch at his armpits as she began to tease once again.

“Tickletickletickletickletickle! tktktktktktk!”

Poseidon let out a small, giggly squeal. “Eehehehehe nohohoho!”

Amphitrite smirked, speeding up the scratching, to which she got frantic protests.

“Ahahahahaha! Whyhy- hahahahahaha-!”

Amphitrite huffed a laugh. “Every time you say ‘no’ or ‘stop’ or ‘don’t, anything of the sort- I’ll make it worse.”

“Whahahahahat?! YohOU cahahant doho thahat!”

“Actually, I very much can. Remember, you aren’t in control here, darling.” She emphasized the endearing nickname, making her voice low and teasing. Which, of course, caused Poseidon’s blush to double in size.

“Aww, how cute! You’re turning all red~ is my teasing getting you all embarrassed and flustered~?” She cooed slightly, which only intensified the mentioned blush.

“Nohohoho-! Dohohont tehehease!”

Amphitrite immediately increased the pressure on the touch, turning it into drilling. “What did I say about protesting, hmm~?”

Poseidon’s laughter grew in pitch, frantic but still joyful. “AhahahahahHA-! Ohoho myhyhy gohods thahat TIHIHICKLES-!”

“That’s the point, honey~”

Amphitrite trailed her hands down his sides, a light, teasing touch, leading all the way down to his hips. Once she reached the spot, she squeezed and then drilled into the divots of the bone.

“GYahahahahaha! Nohohoho-! PlehehehEASE-!”

“That’s more protesting, darling~”

Getting the implication of the teasing words, Poseidon frantically protested, only digging his grave deeper.

“Nononono- dahaharlihing plehehehehease-!”

Amphitrite ignored the protests, continuing to drill into his hips and also going up to pepper tickly kisses all over his neck.

At the new, more gentle touch, the sea god scrunched up, his giggles becoming more bubbly.

As much as he was protesting, Poseidon was having the time of his life right now. It tickled so damn much, and he loved it.

While still sprinkling kisses all over his neck and ears, Amphitrite moved her hands to scribble at his belly, making sure to use her claws for extra ticklishness.

“EE- ahahahahaha- dahaharlihing-!” He erupted into louder laughter once more, squirming uncontrollably. He arched his back slightly, which only increased the pressure of the nails on his tummy, making him laugh even louder.

“Yes dear?”

“Ihi- ehehehehe-!” Poseidon had to cut himself off from protesting, knowing it would only make it worse for him.

“Ahh, you’re learning. Let’s see if I can get you to protest some more~”

The words sent shivers down Poseidon’s spine, a frantic, giddy nervousness settled in his chest and stomach. Amphitrite removed her hands from his tummy, and started to blow raspberries there instead.

“EE- nohoho- ahahahaha-!” Poseidon failed to stop the fruitless pleas that spilt from him, squirming around and laughing loudly as his tummy was assaulted with ticklish sensations.

“Hehe, there we go~ now I get to make it worse~”

“AhahHA- PlehehehEASE- myhy lohoHOVE-“

She ignored his pleading, starting to add nibbles with the raspberries on his tummy, using her claws to trace his ear fins at the same time, the conflicting feelings of harsh versus gentle driving him crazy.

“AHAHA- ehehahahHA- ohoho myhy- pleheheHEASE-!”

Amphitrite decided to let up for a moment. “Ah, fine. I don’t want you to give up just yet~”

She stopped the raspberries, and started to just gently trace along his sides, making sure to tease at his ribs, drawing swirling patterns along his skin that left him in a fit of bubbly giggles. He was a little embarrassed to say that he melted at the touch, the gentle shapes relaxing him.

“Aww, look at that. You’re turning into a little puddle of giggles~”

Poseidon didn’t bother to deny it, a few contented hums mixing with his warm giggles. Amphitrite waited until his eyes were closed and he was super relaxed, then she suddenly stopped the tracing.

“Whaha-“ Poseidon’s confused protests of why she stopped were cut off by a scream of laughter as she blew a massive raspberry over his gills, using her hands to scribble and scratch at the gills in the other side of his neck.

“AHAHAHAHA- OHOHO GOHOHODS NOHOT THEHEHERE PLEHEHEHEEASE!” His laughter immediately grew loud and hysterical, his shoulders scrunching fruitlessly to try and block the sensation.

He protested frantically through squeaky, loud laughter despite not meaning any of this. It was absolute torture, complete and utter insanity. And he loved it.

His face was flushed from laughter, tears falling from his eyes as his stomach quivered and trembled from all the laughing.

“Oo, looks like this is a lovely little sweet spot, hmm~?” Amphitrite’s teasing made Poseidon’s already flushed face even redder, his cheeks feeling like they’re on fire from the warmth rushing to them.

“AHAHAHA MYHY LOHOVE- AHAHA- PLEHEHEHEASEE!” He struggles to speak through his laughter, gasping for air in between the loud, joyful sounds.

Then Amphitrite moved both her hands to scratch at his gills, even wiggling slightly underneath to the insides. And just when Poseidon thought it couldn’t get any worse better, she added raspberries and nibbles to his tummy, especially over his navel.

Poseidon couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. All he was in that moment was just pure, complete, joyful laughter. All his thoughts could say was ‘it tickles, it tickles, it tickles!’ It was so maddening, so amazingly horrible. As much joy as this was providing, Poseidon really was struggling to breathe now, his stamina running low and his sides starting to ache from the workout, his limit thoroughly reached.

“TRIHIHIDENT-!”

As soon as the magic word was said, Amphitrite stopped. Poseidon panted with leftover giggles, feeling intense lingering tingles over his gills. He had a feeling that he would be struck by giggles just at the thought for weeks to come.

“Aha… Wohow..” he panted out, going to wipe his eyes from the tears, but Amphitrite got there first.

“Are you okay, my dear?”

“Yeheah… I’m Ahalright. Juhust.. neheed a minute.” He giggled, taking deep breaths to try and get the air back into his lungs and the warmth in his face to cool down.

“Was it everything you wanted?”

Poseidon’s brain was so thoroughly turned to mush from the maddening feeling that he couldn’t even think straight enough to be embarrassed, just giving a sleepy hum. He was exhausted after that.

“Would you like some water?”

“Yehes please..” Poseidon answered quietly, and Amphitrite stood up to go get him some.

Poseidon found that he couldn’t stop giggling for the life of him. He still felt it. It was as if it was so intense that it was burned into his nerves and it wouldn’t go away, leaving happy, giddy feelings lingering along his gills.

Short after Amphitrite returned with a glass of water, handing it to him. “Drink slowly, love.”

He just hummed in agreement, sipping off the water for a while as Amphitrite gently rubbed her hand along his stomach to try and ease the leftover tingles.

“Okay, let’s go to bed. I’m guessing you’re tired after that, huh?”

Poseidon hummed as he set down the now empty water glass. They cuddled up in the bed, and Poseidon gave a contented, sleepy hum.

Sleep didn’t take long to descend upon him, and he fell asleep in the comfort of Amphitrite’s loving arms.

———THE END———————————————————-

[bluecatwriter]

Well, this happened.

The fic summary:

"At the request of the Harkers, Dr. Seward makes a phonograph entry."

The fic name:

(Post-canon, rated Explicit.) >:)

[baicaozhe]

under my skin 2022

[epicqtefail]

Art vs Artist (thats me brain) 2024

this year was a lot of murky yellows and ... distress?, it seems. But I am extremely happy with the amount I drew these past 12 months, last year I couldn't find enough to fill this thing, and this year I have too much :^D!!!

[boviform]

Okay, sorry but is anyone else going insane over the new longform on the latest Patreon livestream?? I absolutely love the dynamic of weird mortician and lonely assassin - literally 'me and the bad bitch I pulled by being autistic'. And the whole confrontation at the end!! I mean, can you imagine what could've been if Pyotr had agreed to give up his ways?? They could have been so happy! I want them to go on holiday around Europe and hold hands!!

[muffinlance]

Oh Susanna

Oh don't you cry for me

For I went to Alabama with a chainsaw on my knee

[crow-with-a-pencil]

@naffeclipse

Them ❤️

[biscuityskies]

spontaneity

“Oh! An urge!” Maiara exclaims, sitting upright abruptly and throwing Cody’s balance off for a step. Core strength is wasted on the young, he thinks. “An urge, exactly,” Cody agrees. “Mostly a sudden urge. Like the sudden urge to climb up a pillar. That’s spontaneous.” “I have the spontaneous to do it again,” Maiara tells him very gravely.

my submission for day 4 of @codywanweek, for raising kids/kidfic

[faaun]

procrastination is starting to have its consequences finally

[urlocallesbiabs-reblog-sideblog]

the last time reigen let dimple possess him, it was, well, — it felt fucking great, despite everything. standing in the eye of the storm, indestructible, fast, strong, agile, powerful, together; having entrusted him with reigen's useless old little body and gotten a 200% return on the investment! so what if he wanted to feel something at least a little bit like that again, if he missed the crowdedness under his skin? so what if he's been feeling kind of lonely lately, especially when off work, what with mob being busy, and himself not being all too close to tome-chan yet, and not letting himself get all too close to serizawa? so maybe reigen starts letting dimple possess him from time to time, just, casually. most of the time the possessions aren't even justified, but it's not weird if they don't talk about it. dimple enjoys being able to breathe, and says exactly that; reigen enjoys being together, and says nothing of it.

reigen never admits any of his reasons, obviously; neither does dimple admit that he deeply appreciates what reigen does for him. it's just a weird little thing that happens between them, largely unacknowledged, mentioned either not at all or through crude lighthearted jokes, with emotions welling in the whitespace between words.

over time, reigen gets his head out of his ass, and him and serizawa become good friends, best friends, boyfriends, even, and later move in together. the thing with dimple continues to happen because there's no real reason for it to stop, and frankly it's not like they ever discuss that; it just carries on. katsuya's been noticing for quite a while that Something has been happening, but he never felt like it's his place to ask, especially when it seemed so silent — nearly non-existent, despite being very real. well, whatever arataka chooses to do with his free time, right?

***

one night katsuya stays out drinking with his school friends a little later than he was expecting, and comes home a little drunker than he was going to. he finds arataka in the kitchen, chopping some vegetables, main lights off and over-the-counter lights dim and amber around his frame; he's so, so pretty, and katsuya hugs him from the back, reaching to try and place a kiss. arataka turns around, his face flashing a wide grin and very bright red cheeks. "oh hi," dimple says. katsuya backs off clumsily, and stammers, "ah, i'm so sorry! i was expecting arataka to be here, but it's you, ah-h-h, this is awkward, again i'm so sorry!"

"no big deal," dimple waves off, and turns back to chopping. "fyi, usually when i'm here, it doesn't mean reigen's not — i don't displace him, yanno? just hanging around in his head, it's like buddy time." he grins again. "right now he isn't, though: i'm just puppeteering the thing. he passed out on the couch waiting for you, and i thought y'all wouldn't appreciate not having shit to eat for breakfast. i'll whip up some stir-fry for tomorrow and dump this back where i found it for a good night's sleep, dw about it"

"ah," katsuya says eloquently, "thank you."

he doesn't leave the kitchen, still — changes positions, getting comfortable, leans on the counter, and watches dimple work. his quick movements, his(?) elegant hands, his concentrated expression, his(?) golden hair, his red cheeks. he looks so handsome like that.

"you look so handsome like this," katsuya says before his brain-to-mouth filter catches up to the rest of him.

dimple puts the knife down and stretches his(? arataka's?) hands out before him, admiring. "it's a beautiful body," he admits. it's not a grin, but smile, softer this time; private, even. "don't tell reigen i said that, but — i really enjoy this; being like this. not just the whole getting to be alive, running around and breathing and eating thing, though of course that too, but also — you know what i mean," he shifts a shoulder up. "possessing anyone is fun, but possessing reigen..." he runs one of his(?) hands down another of his(?) arms, lightly — almost reverently. "it's nice."

katsuya's breath hitches.

he's standing closer than he remembers being. arataka is so pretty like that, in this soft lighting; dimple is so pretty like that, in this soft body.

"i still want to kiss you," katsuya whispers.

dimple's breath, just for a flashing moment, hitches too; he wouldn't admit it. "go ahead," he says, louder than a whisper, but way quieter than his voice.

katsuya does.

it's not chaste and not desperate; gentle-slow and quick-curious, soft, warm, almost exactly the same as every kiss he'd had before, just like this, but so unlike them, and almost tangibly new.

it feels great.

"it feels great," dimple breathes. "it's been a long time, and i've kind of... forgotten what it's like. so i've always wondered how it would feel if i did it."

"you mean, kissing in general, or?..." katsuya makes a terrible, embarrassed pause. "...kissing me?"

dimple shrugs, and turns back to the cutting board again. chop-chop-chop! katsuya stares, maybe a bit dumbly.

***

katsuya wakes up in the middle of the night, slightly less drunk but significantly more disoriented, and stumbles towards bathroom, and gets arataka's phone flashlight shone right into his fucking face (and then quickly towards his feet with a bit-louder-than-necessary apology).

" 'm going to the bathroom", katsuya explains.

"ah, i'm just heading back. samesies moment!" arataka jokes.

katsuya buffers.

"i kissed your boyfriend last night and i'm so sorry!"

"...you are my boyfriend, tsuya," he raises an incredulous brow, and then a hand to brush at katsuya's forehead. "you alright, buddy?.. uh, do you mean you gave me a kiss while i was asleep? if so, it's fine, you shouldn't worry about little things like that-"

"no! i mean kinda yes? agh, i mean dimple-was-posessing-you-while-you-were-asleep-and-i-kissed-him-and-he-kissed-me-back-i'm-so-sorry!"

"ah yea he does that someti- you What? dimple WHAT? wait, did you just call dimple my BOYFRIEND?"

***

the conversation that ensues is horrible. not because anyone's fighting — no one is even angry, unless you count violent bafflement as a subtype of anger — but because a honest, serious, 3-way conversation regarding dimple, gayness, feelings, and gay feelings for dimple, by definition can not be not horrible. arataka takes a smoke break in the middle. (he quit 5 years ago, but a guy needs exceptions). katsuya feels the closest he's ever felt to a heart attack, and that's including all his previous life experiences. dimple grows out a weird little perfunctory foot to tap it in the air.

but they try their best, and they figure things out.

in the end, not much changes; they still don’t talk about too often, but now it feels more like comfortable lack of necessity rather than avoidance; they all just get it. and occasionally, dimple possesses arataka while he kisses katsuya, and oftentimes vice versa.

it's nice.

[percentstardust]

anyways, WATCH ABIGAIL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!