#rare moment of clarity for them.

[transmaclean]

wrt pre-war America and their possible involvement in the Vietnam war (the one line abt declaring war on Vietnam in Fallout: Tactics' introduction), during a lot of the press interviews for the Fallout tv show Walton Goggins (and I think Ella Purnell also says this though i might be misremembering) explains the sci-fi futuristic america before the nukes as "an America that never went to vietnam" and he says this multiple times. Which makes me think that somebody explained it to him this way and the Sino-American war is instead the sort of bloody, complicated war in US history as it also lead to the destruction of the world. Except his character, Cooper Howard, doesn't actually criticize the war he participated in, and he seems more proud of "defending freedom," and he's similar to lucy in this way where he actually genuinely has drinken the kool-aid like he believed in justice and freedom and he believed that was what he was fighting for and that it's worth preserving. which is why everything barbara brings up about the vaults rubs him the wrong way. He values individualism and the right to personal freedoms to express yourself. "What if I don't wanna wear a blue jumpsuit everyday? Who made that rule?" Interestingly, even though he's a war veteran, he doesn't want to act out a scene where he executes a "commie." He's supposed to be the hero, America is supposed to the hero, and yet execution is not a very heroic action. We get glimpses of that kind of contradiction between foreign policy and what americans believed about themselves and about America that was heavily prevalent during the Vietnam war especially the Beat era as a response to Vietnam. but the full disillusion wrt the vietnam war seems to never have come to pass in pre-war America. Except the prospect of the US having participated in the Vietnam war and winning instead doesn't contradict this chain of events either. It's not as if they were stuck in 50s culture, though a lot of marketing around fallout is based on this idea, more that there was never any meaningful opposition to America's imperialistic, fascist goals or the pervasive propaganda around America as the "Altruistic Global Leader" with the responsibility to interfere in foreign relations. for uhhh freedom and justice and the american way. Let's also consider the implication that the Korean war was a proxy war between the US and China now instead, and that the Cold War surrounds the tension between the US and China; this would also make sense for the progression of american attitudes wrt the "east" and the inclusion of concentration camps of chinese-americans in Old World Blues which parallels the japanese-american concentration camps during WW2. The implication to necessitate china being the "boogey man" instead of the soviet union/russia, is that they're a similarly successful imperialistic entity, and probably the US lost the Korean war as a result. Another interesting contemporary event would be 9/11. though if it did or didn't happen (or something similar) would it actually change anything about the path the US was already on wrt global imperialism?

[quirkle2]

[zombie au] tome joins the gang. her special ability: AUTISM

[randomnameless]

Do you think KT would have retconned the Nabateans as being tyrants who put humanity under a horrible dictatorship and painted Nemesis as an unironic hero who saved the human race, if they ever released the full details on their 10000 years of lore and gave more context to the War of Heroes?

Hahaha,

They would retcon their own interview?

Nemesis didn't erase Nabateans because he was uwuing liberating HuMaNiTy, Nemesis and his pals hunted Nabateans because they wanted shiny weapons. So, even if they were "tyrants", they weren't killed because of those "tyrannous" acts, but because of what they were seen as : things to be looted.

Granted, given what KT pulled off with Nopes, I wouldn't put it past them in an attempt to add more Earl Grey (tm), with maybe some disturbing notion that if some Nabateans were tyrants, there used to be some "good ones" out there who were still wiped out, like, "collateral damage :'(".

If that was released, I guess the game would have been even more harshly insulted than it already was/is - we know the JP reception to Nopes was cold, and the suggestion that Mittelfrank's opera troupe was used to "comfort soldiers" already garnered a lot of shit on several fandoms (a japanese game, portraying an imperial army using comfort women in a good light? Really?) - and if Elibe managed to get a nuanced message (some dragons wanted to fight, some didn't), in the Fodlan verse, given the omnipresence of Supreme Leader, I can't see this same message existing.

FWIW,

I had several headcanons about some Nabateans, who went on to "rule" over some human lands - post the first Agarthan War - who had a more direct approach, you could even have some who would have survived this war and resent humans for starting it or even, killing some of their siblings.

Maybe a Medeus-like Nabatean, who would still be pissed and feel betrayed and angry at humans to have turned their weapons against them, when Nabateans were the ones who gifted them said weapons.

Seiros the Warrior, during her journey in the WoH, might hear and learn about this, and wonder if Sothis had ever been right and if both humans and Nabateans can live in Fodlan, or if it what happened in Zanado was "fair" - but for once, Willy would be the most level headed one of their duo, and tell her to cut the crap, if people had grievances against Bob the Nabatean, it was not a reason to slaughter Bob's entire family and desecrate him by crafting a relic, Seiros herself is fighting against a human, but she doesn't hate humanity, right?

[tender-rosiey]

SUKUNA AND HIS SHY DAUGHTER BONDING TIME WHEN?!?! Reader can be present and discreetly takes their pictures (sukuna pretends not to notice).

guided lines — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: congrats we now have cameras in the heian era and BIG BIG thanks to @bluebell33 and @soupie-writer for beta-reading <33

it’s a quiet afternoon in the heian household, the kind of stillness that comes after the chaos of the morning has settled.

the courtyard is bathed in golden sunlight, casting soft shadows along the wooden floorboards, and the faint rustle of the wind carries the scent of blooming wisteria.

you lean against the doorframe, peeking through the slightly open shoji screen into the courtyard where your husband and daughter are seated.

it’s a rare sight to see sukuna like this—relaxed, unguarded, the sharp lines of his usual stoicism softened as he sits cross-legged on the floor.

your daughter sits opposite him, her tiny hands clutching a paintbrush far too large for her delicate fingers.

the scroll of parchment between them is already half-filled with colorful smudges and haphazard lines, a far cry from anything artistic, but, hey, the effort is there.

“hold it properly,” sukuna instructs, his deep voice carrying just enough patience to make you pause in the hallway.

he reaches out to adjust her grip, his large hand completely engulfing her tiny one as he guides the brush to the paper.

she ducks her head shyly, murmuring a soft, “okay, papa.”

you bite back a smile, the term still so foreign yet so endearing coming from her lips.

sukuna doesn’t respond, at least not verbally, but his movements slow as he helps her make another stroke on the parchment.

you slip inside quietly, camera in hand.

sukuna had gifted it to you on a whim months ago, claiming he had no use for “trivial inventions,” but you’d quickly discovered his disinterest didn’t extend to being the subject of your photos.

he always pretends not to notice, but you’ve caught the subtle shifts in his posture whenever he knows your lens is trained on him—straightening his back, tilting his chin just slightly.

raising the camera to your eye, you adjust the focus, the scene coming into view with perfect clarity:

sukuna’s broad frame hunched slightly as he leans closer to d/n, his expression uncharacteristically soft, her tiny fingers smudged with ink and her lips pursed in concentration.

the sunlight catches the faint scar over his nose, the curve of his jawline, the tension in his hands as if he’s holding back his full strength.

click.

the sound is quiet, but his ear twitches ever so slightly, and you know he’s caught on. he doesn’t look at you, though, his attention remaining fixed on the little girl in front of him.

“what is that supposed to be?” he asks, nodding toward the splotchy shape she’s drawn.

“a bird,” she whispers, the pink in her cheeks deepening.

he raises a brow, and for a moment, you’re sure he’s about to tease her—sukuna’s sense of humor is sharp, often cutting, and you’ve had your fair share of exasperated sighs directed his way.

but instead, he tilts his head thoughtfully, as if trying to see it from her perspective.

“it…has wings,” he says finally, and her face lights up, a smile spreading across her features.

“you think so?”

“it’s obvious,” he replies, though his tone is far from dismissive. “draw another.”

you stifle a laugh, adjusting your position to capture another angle.

sukuna’s patience with a child isn’t something you’d ever expected to witness, let alone document, and it’s a side of him you treasure more than you’ll ever let on.

click.

this time, his gaze flickers toward you, just for a split second. it’s not a glare—more of a warning, the faintest quirk of his lips betraying his amusement.

you grin back at him, unrepentant, and he huffs quietly before returning his attention to your daughter.

“your brushwork is sloppy,” he comments as she attempts another bird, her little hands trembling slightly as she draws a lopsided wing.

“I’m trying,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible.

he leans back slightly, his arms resting on his knees as he watches her.

“try harder,” he says, but there’s no edge to his tone, only a challenge—a nudge toward improvement.

click.

this time, d/n notices, her wide eyes darting toward you. “mama, what are you doing?”

“nothing,” you lie, lowering the camera with a sheepish smile. “just admiring my two favorite people.”

she beams, but sukuna groans, dragging a hand down his face. “stop filling her head with nonsense,” he mutters, though the faintest hint of pink dusts his ears.

“it’s not nonsense,” you argue, stepping closer and crouching beside them.

d/n immediately crawls into your lap, clutching her brush in one hand and smearing ink on your sleeve in the process. you don’t mind, your focus entirely on the man in front of you.

she giggles, resting her head against your chest as you pull her close.

“papa’s really good at drawing,” she says, pointing at the bird he’d drawn earlier as an example. “he helped me with mine.”

sukuna shrugs, “someone had to make it look like a bird.”

you laugh, the sound light and warm, and his eyes linger on you for just a moment longer than necessary.

it’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but you know him well enough to catch it—the way his gaze softens, the way his shoulders relax just slightly.

later that evening, after your daughter has fallen asleep, you’re sorting through the photos on your camera, sukuna seated beside you on the porch.

he doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his presence, the quiet strength of him a comforting weight at your side.

“you know,” you say, breaking the silence, “I think these might be my favorite pictures yet.”

he glances at the screen, his expression unreadable. “you’re too sentimental.”

“maybe,” you admit, leaning your head against his shoulder. “but I can’t help it. you’re both so... precious to me.”

he doesn’t respond, and you take it as a sign for the comfortable silence to take over again.

but your husband presses a kiss to the top of your head that leaves you speechless till the end of the night.

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or I will kiss you

check out my buy me a coffee!

[spn-circa-2012]

There’s few people that when the cameras are rolling, you get to truly create moments that aren’t on the page. And it’s hard sometimes to find rhythm and cohesiveness with everyone you work with, and when you find the rare person that can play at a level that makes you wanna be better, it almost is like a high. That when the creative juices are flowing, you’re making moments that you maybe didn’t even plan to be there—happy accidents, we used to call them—an emotion or between the lines nuance moments. I think that the reason that the story of Dean and Cas skewed to where it was, was because I kept being able to have that creative ignition with Mish when things were rolling that made me a better actor, and made me wanna find that even more.

Jensen on how his connection with Misha impacted the relationship between Dean and Cas on screen. (sans filler words for clarity)

[charlottecherries]

HTBBW Part One- Morning Routine

Wake up to elegance

Set your alarm to a melodic tone, avoiding an abrupt awakening and to ease into the morning

Draw your curtains, allowing the morning light to filter into your room, creating a serene ambiance

Breathe deeply and recite affirmations

Classical music

Play classical music while getting ready for a refined and soothing tone

Enhance the luxury atmosphere with Mozart, Bach, Handel and Chopin

Aromas

Surround yourself with a delightful but subtle fragrance that inspires elegance

Use refined scents in candles or wax melts

Pampering Skincare

Cleanse your skin using gentle motions

Follow with a toner or ampule to balance and prepare the skin

Apply a serum by gently patting it into the skin

Finish with a luxurious moisturiser and depicts your face with a gua sha and face roller

Breakfast

Savour a gourmet breakfast prepared with fresh ingredients

Enjoy fresh fruits, yogurts and pastries with freshly brewed coffee, rare teas or freshly squeezed juice

Make up ritual

Create a gorgeous vanity area with a beautiful mirror and soft flattering light

Engage in a luxurious but natural make up routine

Hair Stying

Take time to style your hair with the upmost care, whether you’re taking out Velcro rollers, curling or straightening your hair

Always use appropriate and moisturising products

Include delicate and classy headpieces

Fragrance

Select a signature scent that embodies your style and captures the essence of luxury

Create a complex layering routine to trike have a unique scent to you

Mindful Planning

Retreat to a cozy sitting area, whether that be in the garden or at a desk, with a gorgeous planner or journal

Take a few moments to reflect on your goals, intentions and aspirations and how you are going to achieve them

Create clarity for the day

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

[moonlightwritingf1]

A Bold Surprise | LN4

ᡣ𐭩 summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N has been dating Lando for a month, and despite their undeniable chemistry, they haven't crossed the final line. One evening, Y/N decides to surprise him with a daring gesture—wearing sexy lingerie to show a bold, more confident side of herself. 

ᡣ𐭩 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

ᡣ𐭩 word count ━━━━━━━ 4.6k

ᡣ𐭩 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content

Y/N stood in her bedroom, heart pounding in her chest as she glanced at the clock on her nightstand. Lando would be here any minute. Her fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted the garter belt, making sure every detail of the crimson lace was in place. The set was a bold choice—delicate yet daring, a stark contrast to the more modest clothes she usually wore around him. But tonight, she wanted to push boundaries. She wanted to show him a side of herself she rarely let anyone see.

She took one last look in the mirror, the city lights filtering through her curtains casting a soft glow on her skin. Her cheeks were flushed, and she couldn’t tell if it was from the sheer audacity of her plan or the anticipation of how Lando would react. Probably both.

When the doorbell rang, her stomach flipped. She grabbed the silk robe draped over her chair and slipped it on, tying it loosely around her waist before heading to the door. She paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady herself, then opened it.

Lando stood there, a boyish grin on his face, a bouquet of flowers in his hand. “Hey, love,” he greeted, stepping inside. His eyes swept over her, lingering for a second too long on the curve of her neck exposed by the robe. “You look… cozy.”

She smiled nervously, closing the door behind him. “Thanks. You didn’t have to bring flowers.”

“I wanted to.” He handed them to her, his fingers brushing hers briefly, sending a spark up her arm. “They reminded me of you.”

Her heart fluttered at the sincerity in his voice, but she quickly busied herself by placing the flowers in a vase. “Sit down,” she said, gesturing to the sofa. “I have a surprise for you.”

Lando’s brows shot up, curiosity and amusement dancing in his eyes. “A surprise, huh? Should I be worried?”

“Not at all,” she replied, the corners of her lips twitching upward. “Just… stay here. I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared into her bedroom, closing the door softly behind her, the quiet click of the latch sounding louder than it should have. Her breathing was uneven, shallow, as she leaned against the door for a moment, willing herself to calm down. Her hands trembled as she reached for the tie of her robe, fingers fumbling clumsily with the knot.

Get it together, she told herself, though her heart continued to race, the frantic drumbeat echoing in her ears. Finally, the knot loosened, and she hesitated for a beat longer, the cool air brushing against her skin as she let the robe slip from her shoulders. It fell silently to the floor, a soft puddle of fabric at her feet, but she didn’t move right away. Instead, she stood frozen, her chest rising and falling quickly, trying to gather the courage for whatever was coming next.

Minutes ticked by, each one stretching longer than the last. Outside the closed door, the faintest shuffle of movement signaled his impatience. A chair creaked softly, then silence, followed by a muffled sigh as he shifted again. Still, she remained where she was, the weight of her own thoughts pinning her in place, her mind racing through a hundred scenarios but finding no clarity in any of the

Y/n stood in front of her full-length mirror, taking a deep breath. The delicate lace of the lingerie brushed against her skin, sending shivers down her spine. She wasn’t used to this—showing off so much of herself—but tonight, she wanted to surprise Lando. Wanted him to see her as someone who could be bold, daring, even if it was just for a moment.

��Y/N, you’re driving me insane!” Lando groaned loudly from the couch, his voice a mix of frustration and teasing. His head tipped back, and he ran a hand through his curls. “What kind of surprise takes this long?”

From behind the closed bedroom door, Y/N’s soft laugh floated out, light and melodic. It sent a ripple of warmth through him despite his impatience.

“Patience, Lando,” she called back, her voice laced with amusement. “You’ll see soon enough.”

Lando rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the smirk tugging at his lips. He knew exactly what kind of tease Y/n was—subtle, calculated, and utterly devastating. She could make him wait all night if she wanted, and he’d be left writhing in anticipation, begging for just one glimpse of whatever she had planned.

She checked her reflection one last time, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles on the sheer fabric. Her heart pounded in her chest, threatening to give away her nerves. But she reminded herself why she was doing this. Lando had been nothing but attentive, charming, and relentless in his pursuit of her. For a month, they’d been dancing around each other, their chemistry undeniable, their conversations teasing and flirtatious. Yet, they hadn’t crossed that final line. Not yet.

Tonight, she decided, would be different.

Steeling herself, Y/n walked out of her bedroom, her bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. The living room was softly illuminated by the glow of the city lights outside, casting a warm hue over everything. Lando sat on the edge of the couch, his back straight, his hands resting on his thighs. He looked relaxed, but there was a tension in his jaw that betrayed his calm demeanor. When he heard her approaching, he turned his head slowly, his eyes locking onto hers.

His breath hitched.

Her silhouette framed the light from behind her, casting soft shadows across her body. The lingerie clung to her curves like a second skin. The sight of her nearly robbed him of his ability to breathe.

For a moment, there was silence. Just the two of them, lost in each other’s gaze. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face, slow and lazy, like he was savoring the sight before him.

“Well,” he said, his voice low and husky, “you weren’t kidding about a surprise.”

Y/n felt her cheeks heat up, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. “Do you like it?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lando pushed himself off the couch, moving toward her with deliberate steps. He stopped just inches away, his towering presence making her feel small despite the confidence she’d mustered earlier. His eyes roamed over her, taking in every inch of the lingerie, lingering on the way the fabric hugged her hips, the curve of her thighs, the dip of her waist.

“Like it?” he repeated, his tone playful yet serious. “I love it. You’re… you’re art. Fucking breathtaking.''

She swallowed hard, fighting the urge to look away. “You don’t have to say that,” she muttered, though her heart raced at his words.

“I don’t have to,” he agreed, closing the distance between them until he was standing directly in front of her. His hand lifted, calloused fingers brushing lightly against her cheek. “But I want to. Because it’s true.”

His touch sent electric shocks through her body, and she fought to keep her composure. “You’re such a flirt,” she accused, her voice shaky.

“Only with you,” he replied smoothly, his thumb tracing the curve of her bottom lip. “And only because you make it impossible not to.”

She shivered under his touch, her knees feeling suddenly weak. “Stop it,” she whispered, though her protest lacked any real conviction.

“Make me,” he challenged, his lips curving into a sly grin.

Before she could respond, his other hand slid around her waist, pulling her flush against him. The heat of his body seeped through the thin fabric of her lingerie, making her pulse quicken. She could feel the solid length of him pressing against her, a firm reminder of the effect she had on him.

“Lando,” she breathed, her hands coming up to rest on his shoulders, unsure if she was pushing him away or holding on for balance.

“Hmm?” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke. “What is it, love? Tell me what you want.”

The way he said it—so casual, so confident—sent a wave of longing crashing through her. She swallowed hard, her mind racing. Did she want this? Yes. Was she ready for it? She wasn’t sure. But the way he was looking at her, the way he was touching her, made it impossible to think clearly.

“I… I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice trembling.

“Tell me,” he coaxed, his lips trailing down the side of her neck, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. “Let me hear you say it.”

She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. “I want…” She paused, her breath catching in her throat. “I want you.”

His grip on her tightened, and he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “That’s all I needed to hear,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Then, without warning, he dipped his head, capturing her lips in a kiss that was both gentle and commanding.

Her arms slipped around his neck as she kissed him back, her fingers tangling in his hair. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, coaxing her to open for him. When she did, his mouth moved over hers with a hunger that matched her own. He tasted like mint and something wild, something untamed that sent her spiraling.

His hands were everywhere—cupping her face, sliding down her back, gripping her hips. Each touch was deliberate, possessive, like he couldn’t get enough of her. And she couldn’t get enough of him. Every brush of his fingertips, every press of his lips, sent waves of pleasure coursing through her veins.

When he finally broke the kiss, they were both breathing heavily, their foreheads pressed together. “You drive me insane,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire.

“Likewise,” she managed to reply, her voice breathless.

He grinned, the expression lighting up his face. “Good. I like keeping you on your toes.”

Before she could retort, his hands migrated lower, pulling her even closer. She could feel every inch of him, hard and demanding against her softness. Her body responded instinctively, arching into him, craving more.

“Lando,” she gasped, her hands tightening on his shoulders.

“Shh,” he hushed, his lips finding hers again. “Let me take care of you.”

And then his hands were moving again, sliding beneath the lace, cupping her thighs, lifting her effortlessly. She wrapped her legs around his waist, clinging to him as he carried her to the couch, never breaking the kiss. He set her down gently, his body pressing her into the cushions as he continued his relentless assault on her senses.

Lando’s lips trailed down her throat, his tongue flicking over the delicate skin just above the neckline of her lingerie. Y/n shivered, his touch sending waves of pleasure through her body. She could feel his hardness pressing against her thigh, a constant reminder of his desire for her. His hands roamed freely, one creeping beneath the lace to cup her breast, the other sliding up her side, his fingers tracing the curve of her waist.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against her skin, his voice low and gravelly with need. “I can’t get enough of you.”

She whimpered, her breath hitching as his fingers found her nipple, teasing it into a hard peak. He pinched gently, his teeth grazing her collarbone as she arched into his touch. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on.

“Lando…” she whispered, her voice trembling with want. “Please… I need…”

He pulled back, his eyes burning with intent. “Tell me what you need, love.”

Her cheeks flushed, heat pooling between her thighs. She hesitated, her shyness threatening to hold her back. But Lando’s gaze was relentless, piercing through her defenses. She swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. “I need you… inside me.”

His lips curved into a wicked smile, his hand slipping lower, brushing against the proof of her arousal. “Not yet,” he said, his tone laced with playful mischief. “First, I need to taste you.”

Before she could protest, he lifted her effortlessly, cradling her against his chest as he carried her toward the bedroom. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her body flush against his, every step bringing them closer to the edge of something explosive.

He laid her down gently on the bed, his eyes never leaving hers as he knelt between her thighs. Her heart raced, her breath quickening as she realized what he intended to do. He leaned over her, his fingers brushing the lace of her panties, tugging them aside to reveal her glistening core.

“So wet for me already,” he teased, his voice dripping with admiration. “You’re going to drive me wild, aren’t you?”

She bit her lip, unable to speak, her mind too consumed by the way his gaze lingered on her. He lowered his head, his warm breath cascading over her sensitive flesh, sending shivers down her spine. Then, without warning, his tongue darted out, swirling around her clit in slow, torturous circles.

“Oh God!” she cried out, her hips bucking involuntarily.

He chuckled softly, his tongue moving faster, delving deeper. His hands gripped her thighs, holding her steady as he explored her with an intensity that left her breathless. One hand slid up to cup her breast, squeezing gently as his thumb flicked over her straining nipple.

“You like that, don’t you?” he asked, his voice muffled against her.

She nodded frantically, her nails digging into the sheets as his mouth worked its magic. He alternated between gentle licks and firm sucks, his movements deliberate and unrelenting. Her body trembled, her orgasm building with each passing second.

“Lando… I’m… I’m gonna…” she gasped, her voice breaking.

He looked up at her, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Let it go, love,” he urged, his voice soft but commanding. “Let me feel you come apart for me.”

Those words were her undoing. With a strangled cry, her body convulsed, waves of ecstasy washing over her as she tumbled into bliss. Lando didn’t stop, his tongue continuing to work its magic as she rode out her climax, his name spilling from her lips in a breathless chant.

When she finally stilled, her chest heaving, he raised his head, beaming with a smile. 'That’s my girl,' he murmured, his voice tender. ''You’re incredible.''

She smiled weakly, still recovering from the intensity of her orgasm. “You’re unbelievable,” she managed to whisper, her voice thick with emotion.

He kissed her thigh, his lips lingering for a moment before he straightened up, his eyes locking onto hers. “Now,” he said, his voice low and husky. “It’s my turn.”

He climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between her legs. His cock pressed against her entrance, the heat of him almost too much to bear. She moaned, her body instinctively opening for him.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said, his voice serious despite the lust burning in his eyes.

She shook her head, her hands reaching up to grip his shoulders. “I don’t want you to stop,” she whispered. “Please, Lando… I need you.”

Lando’s hands gripped her hips, his breath steady as he aligned himself with her. His cock pressed against her entrance, the heat of him radiating through her core. Y/n’s body trembled beneath him, anticipation coiling deep within her. She could feel the tension in the air, thick and electric, as if the world around them had paused to witness this moment.

“Look at me,” Lando murmured, his voice low and commanding.

She obeyed, meeting his gaze. His eyes were intense, filled with a mixture of desire and something deeper—something that made her heart race. He was always so sure, so unwavering in his focus on her. It both scared and thrilled her.

“I want you to feel every second of this,” he said softly, his words brushing against her like a caress. “Every movement, every touch… I want it to be slow.”

Y/n bit her lip, her eyes flickering down to his chest for a moment before returning to his. She nodded, her hands reaching up to tangle in his hair. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Please… just like that.”

With a soft groan, Lando began to move, his hips pressing forward ever so slowly. His cock slid into her inch by inch, their bodies merging in a seamless union. Y/n gasped, her nails digging into his back as he filled her completely. The sensation was overwhelming, building slowly but steadily, like a tide rising against the shore.

“You feel so good,” he muttered, his voice strained with effort. He kissed her neck, his teeth grazing her skin lightly as he continued his deliberate pace. “So tight… so perfect.”

Y/n moaned, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. She could feel every ridge of his cock inside her, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body. Her mind felt hazy, lost in the sensation of him moving within her.

“Lando…” she breathed, her voice breaking. “Oh god…”

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against her skin. “Patience, love,” he teased, his lips brushing against her ear. “We have all night.”

But Y/n wasn’t sure she could wait. Already, the pressure was building, spiraling higher and higher with each thrust. She wanted more, needed more. Her hands roamed over his back, her fingers tracing the curve of his muscles as he moved.

“Harder,” she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please… faster.”

Lando hesitated, glancing down at her with a smirk. “You asked for slow,” he reminded her, his tone light but teasing. “Now you want it hard? Make up your mind, sweetheart.”

Y/n groaned in frustration, her hips bucking slightly against him. “I don’t know! Just… do whatever you want,” she practically whined, her eyes narrowing playfully. “You’re driving me crazy.”

His grin widened, and he leaned down to kiss her, his tongue sweeping into her mouth with an intensity that matched the rhythm of his hips. He pulled out almost completely, only to sink back in slowly, prolonging the ache between her legs. Y/n cried out against his lips, her body arching towards him as the need for release grew unbearable.

“Let me hear you,” he murmured against her mouth, his voice rough and demanding. “Tell me what you want.”

“You,” she gasped, her hands gripping his arms tightly. “Only you. God, Lando… please…”

Her words seemed to ignite something within him. His pace quickened slightly, though not enough to lose the slow, deliberate rhythm she loved. He cupped her face in his hands, gazing down at her with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice fierce and possessive. “Do you understand? Every part of you… belongs to me.”

Y/n couldn’t speak, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he claimed her again and again. His words echoed in her mind, stirring something deep within her—a sense of belonging, of being utterly consumed by him. Her body tightened around his cock, her orgasm building rapidly now.

“Lando… I’m close,” she managed to whisper, her voice trembling.

His hand slid between them, his thumb finding her clit and circling it gently. “Then come for me,” he commanded, his voice low and raw. “Let go, love. Show me how much you want this.”

The combination of his words and his actions pushed her over the edge. Y/n cried out, her body shuddering as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. She clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders as her orgasm consumed her entirely.

Lando grunted, his thrusts slowing as he rode out her climax. His grip on her tightened, his breathing heavy as he fought to maintain control. When she finally relaxed against him, he kissed her forehead tenderly, his movements still slow and deliberate.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice soft and comforting. “Let me take care of you.”

Y/n smiled faintly, her eyes fluttering shut as she nuzzled into his chest. She felt safe, protected, and utterly devoured by him. Everything about him—his touch, his scent, the way he made her feel—was intoxicating.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Please… I need more.”

Lando’s breath hitched at her plea, his eyes locking onto hers as if searching for confirmation. He didn’t want to move too fast, didn’t want to spook her or push her beyond her comfort. But her words—her need—was a fire that burned brightly in her voice, and he couldn’t ignore it.

“You sure?” he asked, his tone low and teasing, though there was an edge of urgency to it now. His grip on her hips tightened just slightly, the only indication of how badly he wanted to give her what she asked for.

Y/n nodded, her cheeks flushing with heat as she met his gaze. She could feel the weight of his desire pressing against her, slow and steady, and it sent a shiver down her spine. “Yes… don’t stop. Please, Lando.”

His name on her lips was a whispered invitation, and he couldn’t resist any longer. With a soft groan, he began to move again, this time picking up the pace just a fraction. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the quiet room, a symphony of skin on skin that only heightened the tension between them.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his fingers digging into her thighs as he lifted her legs higher, wrapping them around his waist. The new angle brought him deeper, and Y/n gasped, arching her back as pleasure surged through her.

“God, you feel so good,” Lando murmured, his voice ragged as he fought to keep his control. He kissed her neck, nipping gently before soothing the spot with his tongue. “So fucking tight… like you were made for me.”

Y/n moaned softly, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair as she tilted her head to give him better access. The way he spoke, the way he moved, it was all so deliberate, so calculated to drive her wild. And it was working. Every thrust of his hips sent waves of pleasure crashing over her, building and building until she thought she might explode.

“Lando…” Her voice broke, a mix of desperation and pleasure that made his heart race.

“What do you need, baby?” he asked, his tone dripping with sweetness and seduction. He slowed his rhythm, pulling out slightly before sinking back in, drawing out the moment just to see her reaction.

Y/n groaned in frustration, her nails lightly scratching down his back. “I need… faster. Please, faster.”

He chuckled darkly, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “Patience, love. Just let me hear you beg a little more.”

Her jaw dropped, a mixture of surprise and indignation flashing across her face. But before she could protest, he picked up the pace again, this time rocking into her with a steady, relentless rhythm. The sound of their flesh meeting grew louder, more urgent, filling the room with a primal energy that left no room for doubt about what they were doing.

Y/n’s head fell back, her breath coming in short, gasping breaths as she clung to him. The pleasure was overwhelming, cresting higher with each movement of his body. She could feel herself getting closer, the pressure building inside her like a storm waiting to break.

“Lando… I’m…” she tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat as another wave of sensation washed over her.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice softer now, less teasing and more intent. “Let go for me, Y/n. Let me feel you come apart.”

His words were her undoing. With a cry that echoed through the room, she arched her back, her body tightening around him as she reached her peak. Her walls clamped down fiercely, milking every ounce of pleasure from his cock as she rode out her third orgasm.

Lando growled, his thrusts growing erratic as he felt her pulsing around him. He had been so close already, and watching her fall apart pushed him over the edge. With one final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside her, his release hitting him like a tidal wave.

For several long moments, they remained locked together, their bodies trembling with the force of their shared climax. Lando’s forehead rested against hers, his breathing heavy as he struggled to catch his breath. His arms wrapped tightly around her, holding her close as if afraid she might slip away.

“God… Y/n,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You have no idea how much I needed that.”

She didn’t respond right away, still caught in the haze of her own thoughts. But when she finally looked up at him, there was a softness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. A vulnerability that she rarely showed to anyone.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lando’s heart clenched at her words, at the sincerity behind them. He cupped her cheek in his hand, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “Don’t thank me, love. This… whatever this is between us… it’s not just about tonight. It’s about everything. About us.”

Y/n’s breath hitched, her eyes searching his as if trying to find the truth in his words. For the first time since they’d met, she allowed herself to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he meant it. If he saw something in her worth fighting for, worth loving.

Before she could say anything, Lando leaned down, capturing her lips in a slow, tender kiss. It was different from before, softer and more reverent, as if he was savoring every second of being close to her.

The bed beneath her shifted slightly as he leaned closer, his hand brushing gently against her cheek. When he pulled back, his eyes searched hers, filled with warmth and something deeper that made her breath catch.

A playful smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he whispered, “Comfortable enough?”

Y/n let out a soft laugh, her cheeks flushing as she realized how easily he’d made her feel at ease despite the rush of emotions coursing through her. “I think so,” she replied, her voice light but edged with nervous excitement.

Lando grinned, clearly pleased by her response. He shifted, propping himself up beside her, his fingers trailing lazily over her arm as if he couldn’t bear to break the contact. The intimacy of the moment was overwhelming, but in the best way, her heart racing under the weight of his gaze.

“Stay right here,” he said softly, his tone carrying a mix of playfulness and command that sent a shiver through her. “I’ll be right back.”

She watched as he rose from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of running water filled the silence, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Her mind raced, each second feeling impossibly long as she tried to steady her breathing.

Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the blanket, a nervous habit she couldn’t seem to stop. Why am I like this? she thought, pressing her lips together to keep from laughing at herself. But just as quickly as the nerves bubbled up, they faded when the bathroom door opened, and he returned.

Lando’s smile was soft and reassuring, his movements unhurried as he crossed the room to rejoin her. He sat beside her, his hand reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from her face, his touch grounding her instantly.

“Still okay?” he asked, his voice low and filled with genuine concern.

Y/n nodded, her lips curving into a small, tentative smile. Whatever happened next, she knew she could trust him.

[kiwriteswords]

Could I please get a fake dating or like Hotch jumps in to be Reader's date for a wedding or something story?

Everybody Loves Somebody

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: I keep telling myself that I want to post something every day of December, so let's see if I can keep this up! This one I fought myself back and forth if I liked it, so I hope you guys do! I also need to update my masterlist...like bad.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader||Word Count: 13.5k

Tags/Warnings: Female Reader, BAU Reader, Hotch and Reader are Best Friends, Reader is being breadcrumbed by another guy, insecure reader, reader does not know her worth, weddings, mentions of alcohol in a wedding setting, smut, smut with feelings, smut that you have to use your imagination for in some points, not specified, but unprotected sex, one-bed-trope, romance, fluff, angst, eluding to reader being in toxic relationships before, hurt/comfort.

Sypnosis: At a wedding filled with laughter, romance, and unexpected revelations, You and Hotch find yourselves navigating the fine line between friendship and something more. What starts as a favor soon becomes a night of quiet truths and unspoken emotions, as the two of you grapple with feelings that can no longer be ignored.

Aaron Hotchner had long considered himself an observant man. It was, after all, an essential trait in his line of work. But when it came to you, his closest friend and confidant, observation was more than professional—it was personal. He prided himself on knowing you better than anyone else, even if the knowledge sometimes brought him a frustrating ache he didn’t dare examine too closely.

That ache flared again today as he glanced across the bullpen to where you sat at your desk. To the untrained eye, you were simply busy—typing emails, jotting notes, occasionally furrowing your brow in concentration. But Hotch knew better. The tight set of your jaw, the way your leg bounced beneath your desk, and the fact that you hadn’t laughed at any of Morgan’s jokes all afternoon—those were your tells. Something was wrong.

He waited until the team dispersed for lunch to approach. You didn’t notice him until he leaned against the edge of your desk, his arms crossed, and gave you one of his signature looks—the kind that said he was waiting for answers.

“What?” you asked, feigning innocence as you glanced up at him.

Hotch raised a brow. “You’re upset.”

You scoffed lightly, turning your attention back to your computer. “I’m fine.”

The evasion only confirmed his suspicions. “You’re not fine,” he said softly. “Talk to me.”

For a moment, you hesitated, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then, with a sigh, you leaned back in your chair and crossed your arms defensively. “It’s nothing, Hotch. Just... plans fell through, and I’m annoyed. That’s all.”

But it wasn’t nothing. He knew exactly what—or rather who—was behind this.

“Let me guess,” he said, his voice hardening despite himself. “It’s him.”

Your silence was damning.

Hotch felt his stomach twist. He hated this—hated how that man, who didn’t deserve an ounce of your time, could still have this hold on you. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen you like this—hopeful one minute, crushed the next. He clenched his jaw, reigning in the frustration that wasn’t entirely directed at the man.

Hotch remembered every instance in painful clarity.

The blown-off phone calls. The texts left unanswered for hours, sometimes days. The signs of interest one day, only for them to vanish into disinterest the next. It was a cycle so predictable it made Hotch’s blood boil, not just because it hurt you but because you still held out hope every time that this time would be different.

And then there were the worst moments—the ones that left marks even you couldn’t brush off.

There was the time you’d shown up to work after a rare weekend off, a hopeful sparkle in your eye as you mentioned that things finally seemed to be turning around with him. Hotch had wanted to believe it for your sake, but he’d barely had time to hope before you confided—over lunch in the BAU’s break room—that the man had stood you up for dinner, citing a “misunderstanding.” Hotch had gripped his coffee mug so tightly he thought it might crack.

Through it all, he’d stayed quiet. He’d been your friend, your colleague, your confidant. He’d listened when you needed to vent, offered advice when you asked, and let you lean on him when the weight of disappointment became too much. But inside, he’d been screaming.

Screaming at the man who couldn’t see the incredible person standing right in front of him. Screaming at himself for letting it go on for so long without saying more.

“What happened?” he asked, forcing his tone to remain gentle.

You sighed again, this time heavier. “My friend from college and grad school, Annie, is getting married this weekend. I had a plus-one, and—well, he was supposed to come with me.” Your voice wavered just slightly. “But he bailed last minute. Said he couldn’t make it because he’s ‘too busy.’”

Hotch’s jaw tightened further. Too busy? The excuse was laughable, infuriating, and so painfully predictable. He hated seeing the way you tried to downplay your disappointment as if his latest betrayal were somehow your fault.

“I don’t get it, Hotch,” you continued quietly, staring down at your desk. “I thought things were finally going somewhere this time. But he’s always—” You shook your head, blinking back tears. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m just—”

He wanted to tell you why. Wanted to tell you that you hoped because you were good, because you believed in people even when they didn’t deserve it. He wanted to tell you that your hope was one of the things he admired most about you—and the thing that tore him apart when it was weaponized against you.

“Stop,” Hotch interrupted, his voice firmer than he intended.

You blinked up at him in surprise.

“This isn’t about you,” he said, holding your gaze. “It’s about him. He’s a coward who doesn’t see what’s right in front of him. You deserve better than this—better than him. You do this because you care. But he doesn’t deserve it.”

You smiled weakly, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Thanks, Hotch. But it’s not like I have a backup plan. It’s just one weekend. I’ll survive.”

Hotch watched as you tried to bury your hurt under a mask of indifference, but it didn’t fool him. He wasn’t sure when he made the decision—it was instinctive, like every protective impulse he felt when it came to you.

“Then let me go with you,” he said, the words spilling out before he could overthink them.

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“I’ll go with you to the wedding,” he repeated, his voice calm and steady. “If you’ll have me.”

The stunned look on your face made him wonder if he’d overstepped. But then your lips curved into a genuine smile—a rare one that he hadn’t seen all day.

“You’d really do that?” you asked softly.

He nodded, his own lips twitching into the smallest smile. “Of course. That’s what friends are for.”

You laughed—a light, incredulous sound that made something warm bloom in his chest. “Aaron Hotchner, my wedding date. Who would’ve thought?”

“It’s a first for me, too,” he admitted, his tone light but sincere. “But I promise, you won’t regret it.”

For the first time that day, Hotch saw a flicker of hope in your eyes, and he silently vowed to make good on his promise. Because whether you realized it or not, you deserved someone who saw your worth—someone who would never dream of leaving you hanging.

And if that someone couldn’t be him, he’d at least make sure you saw what it was like to be treated the way you deserved, even if just for one weekend.

Aaron Hotchner wasn’t sure how it had happened, but somehow, agreeing to accompany you to this wedding had become the most complicated logistical endeavor of his week. Which, considering he led a team of profilers tracking violent criminals, was saying something.

He sat across from you at the round table in the break room, a notepad in hand as you went over the details for the weekend. You were in full planning mode, leaning forward, your fingers tapping rhythmically against your coffee cup.

“So,” you began, grinning. “The wedding is in Stafford. I already booked a room because I wasn’t sure how late I’d stay, but now that you’re coming, I can probably cancel that and just—”

“You should keep it,” Hotch interjected.

You raised an eyebrow, your grin morphing into something sly. “Aaron, are you worried about your reputation? Afraid of being seen walking out of my hotel room in the morning?”

His lips quirked into the faintest smile. “I’m worried about getting enough sleep and having to share a room with someone who steals the covers.”

“Wow,” you deadpanned, pretending to clutch your chest. “Accusing me of being a cover thief without evidence. Profiling me already, Hotchner?”

“Call it an educated guess.”

Your laugh was light and easy, the sound wrapping around him in a way that momentarily made him forget you were planning this trip because someone else had let you down. He knew better than to dwell on that, though, especially now that you were in good spirits again.

“So,” you continued, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “you’re driving, right? You’ve got the serious FBI Dad car that won’t break down.”

Hotch raised a brow, unsure what quick-witted joke you were making at him. “FBI Dad car?”

“Yeah, you know,” you teased, gesturing vaguely. “Sturdy, reliable, no-nonsense. It practically screams, ‘I’m an authority figure, and I have juice boxes in the back seat for emergencies.’”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Yes, I’ll drive.”

Before you could respond, Morgan’s voice drifted in from the hallway.

“Sounds like we’re right after all,” he said, loud enough for both of you to hear.

Hotch turned to find Morgan, Prentiss, and Rossi standing in the doorway, all wearing expressions ranging from smug to amused.

“Right about what?” Hotch asked, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“Oh, nothing,” Morgan replied, but the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth said otherwise.

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow at the trio. “Okay, spill it. What conspiracy theory are you cooking up now?”

Prentiss smirked. “Oh, it’s not a conspiracy. Just a little… friendly office speculation.”

Rossi, ever the instigator, folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “Let’s just say there’s a reason the betting pool has been so active lately.”

Hotch blinked, confused. “Betting pool?”

“On what?” you asked, your tone equal parts curious and incredulous.

Morgan didn’t miss a beat. “On when you two were finally going to get together.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, simultaneously:

“What?” Hotch said, his voice clipped with disbelief.

“Excuse me?” you said, your tone higher and filled with mock outrage.

The trio in the doorway looked utterly unfazed.

“Oh, come on,” Prentiss said, rolling her eyes. “You finish each other’s sentences, you bicker like an old couple, and don’t even get me started on the way you look at each other.”

You snorted. “The way we look at each other? What is this, a rom-com?”

Hotch held up a hand, his expression stern but his tone baffled. “This is absurd. We’re colleagues and friends. That’s it.”

Morgan raised a skeptical brow. “Friends, huh? You’re going to a wedding together. And if I’m not mistaken, Hotch just volunteered to drive—sounds pretty couple-y to me.”

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table. “Oh, Derek, sweet, sweet Derek,” you said, your voice dripping with exaggerated condescension. “Are you trying to tell me that I can’t ask my best friend to be my date to a wedding without it being some grand romantic gesture?”

Morgan grinned. “Not saying it, just calling it like I see it.”

Hotch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is ridiculous.”

Prentiss gave him a mock-serious look. “It’s not ridiculous if it’s true.”

“It’s not true,” you and Hotch said in unison, which only seemed to amuse the team further.

“Uh-huh,” Morgan said, exchanging a knowing look with Rossi.

Hotch turned to you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “They’re crazy.”

“Oh, 100%,” you agreed, giving him a quick, conspiratorial grin. “But let’s not correct them. Let’s just let them spiral into their own delusions. It’ll be fun to watch.”

Prentiss smirked. “You know we can still hear you, right?”

“Then you’re welcome for the entertainment,” you shot back, standing and grabbing your coffee cup.

As the team finally dispersed, still laughing and muttering amongst themselves, Hotch shook his head, bemused.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered.

“Hey, look at it this way,” you said, bumping his shoulder lightly as you passed. “At least now you’ve got a reputation as a fun wedding date. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Despite himself, Hotch felt a small smile tug at his lips. “Right.”

Hotch arrived at your apartment a few minutes early, the morning sun casting long shadows across the quiet street. He adjusted the cuffs of his suit jacket while waiting, catching himself fidgeting—a rare occurrence. He told himself it was because of the unfamiliarity of the situation, not because of you.

When you finally emerged, his breath hitched. You were dressed simply but elegantly, exuding a confidence that he found himself noticing more than usual. As you approached the car, you waved with a teasing smile.

“Wow, Aaron, I didn’t think punctuality extended to wedding duty,” you quipped, opening the passenger door.

He smirked as you slid into the seat. “You make it sound like this is an interrogation.”

“Depends. Will there be a polygraph at the reception?” you shot back, buckling your seatbelt.

Hotch chuckled softly, pulling away from the curb. “Let’s hope not.”

The silence between you was comfortable as the car rolled onto the highway. Hotch found himself glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. You were scrolling through your phone, your brow furrowing in that way it always did when you were deep in thought.

“So,” he began, breaking the quiet, “what’s the plan for the reception? Do I stand in the corner and look intimidating, or are you expecting me to charm your college friends?”

You turned to him with a mock-serious expression. “You’re under strict orders to charm, obviously. What’s the point of bringing you along if you’re just going to brood in a corner?”

“I don’t brood,” he replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, you absolutely brood,” you said with a grin. “But don’t worry—I’ll coach you. Step one: smile occasionally. It won’t kill you.”

Hotch shot you a dry look. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

Your laugh was light, but it held an edge of something deeper—something that lingered in the air between you like a static charge.

After a beat, you shifted in your seat, your voice softening. “You know, you really didn’t have to do this. I would’ve survived.”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “I know. But I wanted to.”

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. There was something in your gaze—a mix of gratitude and something unspoken, something he didn’t dare put a name to.

“Well,” you said, your voice tinged with a sly edge as you broke the comfortable silence. “If we’re doing this, we might as well make it fun. Tell me, Hotch—how’s your dancing?”

Hotch glanced at you, arching an eyebrow as his lips quirked into the faintest smirk. “Impeccable.”

You blinked, your grin faltering in mock surprise. “Wait, really? You can’t just say that and not elaborate.”

“I don’t think there’s much to elaborate on,” he said, his tone light but confident. “Years of events, fundraisers, and... the occasional gala. I can hold my own.”

For a moment, you simply stared at him, then let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, this is going to be fun. The FBI’s most stoic agent is secretly a Fred Astaire in disguise? Who knew?”

Hotch chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Don’t get your hopes up. I didn’t say I was flashy.”

“Flashy is overrated,” you replied, leaning back in your seat. “Grace, timing, presence—those are the real markers of a great dancer.”

“And you’d know this how?” he asked, shooting you a sidelong glance.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I took some lessons in college. Turns out I have two left feet, but I’m a great judge of talent.”

He smirked. “Two left feet? I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe it,” you said, grinning. “So, looks like I’ll be depending on you to keep us from embarrassing ourselves on the dance floor.”

“I think we’ll manage,” he replied, his voice steady but laced with a quiet warmth.

There was something in the way you looked at him then, your teasing smile softening just enough to give away the unspoken tension humming beneath the surface. Hotch forced his attention back to the road, though his mind lingered on the way your presence seemed to fill the space around him so effortlessly.

“You know,” you said after a moment, breaking the silence with a playful tilt to your voice, “if you’re this good at dancing, I’m starting to think I’ve been seriously underestimating you.”

“Is that so?” he asked, his tone carrying the faintest hint of a challenge.

“Yeah,” you replied, tapping a finger against your chin in mock thought. “What other hidden talents are you keeping from me?”

Hotch smirked, but instead of answering, he let the question hang in the air, his silence calculated.

“Oh, come on,” you pressed, laughing lightly. “You can’t just drop a bombshell like that and leave me hanging.”

He shrugged, his expression unreadable but his tone unmistakably amused. “Maybe I like keeping you guessing.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.”

Your laugh filled the car again, bright and unrestrained, and Hotch allowed himself a small smile. It was moments like this—when the walls between you seemed to lower without effort—that he felt the tug of something deeper. Something he’d long ignored, even as it grew impossible to deny.

As the miles stretched on, the banter gave way to quieter moments, but the tension never left. It simmered beneath the surface, in the way your knee brushed against the center console, in the way his name sounded when you said it, in the way his gaze lingered on you just a little too long at every red light.

By the time you reached the venue, Hotch found himself gripping the wheel a little tighter, his usual composure shaken just enough to make him wonder if this was really just about being a good friend.

And judging by the way you looked at him as you stepped out of the car, he suspected he wasn’t the only one wondering.

By the time Hotch pulled into the parking lot, the late morning sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the small boutique hotel nestled on the edge of town. He stepped out of the car, grabbing your overnight bag from the trunk and trying not to notice the way your dress caught the light as you smoothed it out.

The lobby was quaint, adorned with rustic charm, and the check-in process was quick. Hotch couldn’t help but notice the faint blush that crept up your cheeks when the receptionist handed him a single key card.

“Enjoy your stay,” the woman said with a knowing smile, though Hotch couldn’t decipher if it was genuine or merely part of her routine.

As you both stepped into the elevator, you glanced at him, your lips twitching with amusement. “So, any guesses on the room situation?”

Hotch gave you a sidelong glance, his voice steady. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

But the moment the door to the room swung open, he realized "fine" was a stretch.

There it was. The single bed. Large and neatly made, taking up most of the modestly sized room.

You stopped in the doorway, your bag slung over one shoulder as you surveyed the scene. “Well,” you said after a moment, turning back to him with a raised eyebrow, “this is cozy.”

Hotch cleared his throat, stepping inside and setting your bag on the chair in the corner. “It’s practical,” he said, though even he didn’t believe the words.

You smirked, closing the door behind you. “I didn’t realize practicality came with a built-in proximity test.”

He gave you a faint look, his lips twitching despite himself. “If it’s an issue, I can take the floor.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” you said, brushing past him to set your phone on the bedside table. “We’re both adults. I think we can survive one night.” You looked back at him and had almost a nervous laugh, “Plus, I have to prove to you I’m not a sheet thief.” 

The confidence in your voice didn’t quite match the flicker of something else in your eyes—nervousness, curiosity, or perhaps the same undercurrent of tension he’d felt since the drive.

“Well,” you continued, shaking off the moment as you dug through your bag, “we don’t have much time before the ceremony, so I’m claiming the bathroom first. Try not to miss me too much while I’m gone.”

Hotch chuckled softly as you disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water quickly filling the room. He loosened his tie, sitting on the edge of the bed and glancing around. The space was neat, understated, with soft lighting that made everything feel strangely intimate.

He caught himself staring at the bathroom door longer than necessary, then stood abruptly, running a hand through his hair.

When you emerged a few minutes later, your face freshly washed and your lipstick reapplied, you looked radiant. Hotch found himself at a loss for words, though he masked it by stepping into the bathroom with a curt, “Your turn to wait.”

The cool water on his face did little to clear his mind. By the time he stepped back into the room, fully composed, you were seated on the edge of the bed, slipping your shoes on.

“All set?” he asked, his voice steadier than he felt.

You glanced up at him, your smile soft but teasing. “Ready when you are, Fred Astaire.”

He smirked, grabbing his jacket and gesturing toward the door. “After you.”

As you walked ahead, Hotch allowed himself a brief moment to exhale, the weight of the growing tension settling over him like a second skin. The day had barely begun, and already, he found himself wondering just how long he could keep his thoughts—and his feelings—in check.

The sun filtered through the trees, casting soft, dappled light on the guests as they made their way toward the outdoor ceremony space. Hotch walked beside you, the sound of gravel crunching underfoot filling the brief silence. He couldn’t help but glance at you as you adjusted your dress, the soft fabric shifting gracefully as you moved.

“You look...” Hotch began, his voice quieter than usual. He cleared his throat, glancing ahead at the clusters of chairs. “You look incredible.”

You turned to him, surprised. “Hotch, was that a compliment? Are you feeling okay?”

He smirked, his lips twitching. “I’ve been meaning to tell you all day,” he admitted, his gaze steady now. “Just... took a bit of courage.”

Your playful grin faltered slightly, your eyes softening as they met his. There was a flicker of something in your expression—something unspoken, almost vulnerable. Before you could respond, a voice cut through the moment.

“Oh my God, is that you?”

You barely had time to turn before a woman approached, her enthusiasm unmistakable. She was around your age, with bright eyes and a warm smile that radiated familiarity.

“Wow, it’s been forever! How are you?” the woman gushed, pulling you into a quick hug.

Hotch stepped back slightly, his hands tucked neatly into his pockets as he watched the exchange.

“I’m good,” you replied, your voice friendly but a bit guarded. “Hotch, this is Taylor. We were in the same program in grad school. Taylor, this is Aaron Hotchner.”

Taylor’s eyes lit up as she turned to him, her smile widening. “Oh, Aaron. You must be her boyfriend!”

Hotch blinked, the words catching him off guard. He opened his mouth to respond but paused, glancing at you as you froze slightly, your lips parting as if to correct her. But something stopped you—curiosity, maybe, or hesitation.

Instead, Hotch smiled faintly, extending a hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said, his tone calm and composed, deliberately sidestepping the assumption.

Taylor shook his hand enthusiastically. “I’ve heard so much about this wedding. You’re both going to have such a great time! Anyway, I should grab my seat before I lose it. So good to see you again!”

She darted off, leaving the two of you standing there in her wake.

You turned to Hotch, your brow raised. “Boyfriend?” you asked quietly, your voice low enough that only he could hear.

Hotch glanced at you as the crowd began to settle into their seats, his expression calm but with a glint of dry humor in his eyes. “Is ‘boss’ better?”

Your lips quirked into a smirk as you shook your head, letting out a soft laugh. “Touché.”

The ceremony began before either of you could say more, but the weight of the word lingered between you. Hotch tried to focus on the officiant’s words, the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze, and the quiet murmurs of the gathered crowd. But his mind kept drifting back to your reaction—and to the flicker of a thought he didn’t dare voice.

Maybe the assumption wasn’t as far-fetched as it seemed.

Hotch settled into his seat beside you as the ceremony began, the soft murmur of conversation fading into a respectful silence. The bride and groom stood at the altar under an archway adorned with delicate flowers, the golden light of the late afternoon casting everything in a warm, dreamlike glow.

He tried to focus on the ceremony, the gentle cadence of the officiant’s voice blending with the rustle of the trees. But your presence beside him made it difficult.

The chairs were close together, the space between you almost nonexistent. He could feel the warmth of your arm just brushing against his, a subtle contact that sent a current through him more powerful than it should have. You shifted slightly, your knee brushing his, and Hotch held his breath for a moment, willing himself to remain composed.

When the officiant spoke about love—about commitment, vulnerability, and the courage it took to give yourself fully to another person—Hotch found himself watching your profile instead of the couple at the altar.

Your expression was soft; your lips curved into a faint smile as you listened. There was a light in your eyes, one that made his chest tighten unexpectedly. You looked beautiful, yes, but it wasn’t just that. It was the way you seemed so present, so genuine, so effortlessly yourself.

And for a moment, he let himself imagine.

He imagined reaching for your hand, letting his fingers curl around yours in the quiet simplicity of the moment. He imagined what it might be like to sit beside you at a ceremony like this as something more—more than friends, more than colleagues. The thought was fleeting but potent, leaving a weight in his chest he couldn’t quite shake.

When the bride and groom exchanged their vows, their voices filled with emotion, Hotch stole a glance at you. A soft smile played on your lips, and you leaned forward slightly, your focus entirely on the couple.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” you whispered, your voice so quiet he barely caught it.

He nodded, his throat tightening. “It is.”

Your gaze flicked to him briefly, your smile widening just a fraction before you returned your attention to the altar.

The ceremony continued, the romantic atmosphere growing thicker as the couple’s love story unfolded in front of the guests. When the bride’s voice cracked with emotion as she promised to love her partner for the rest of her life, Hotch’s gaze shifted back to you.

You were blinking quickly, your hands folded in your lap, and Hotch recognized the subtle effort to hold back tears. It was a side of you he rarely saw—vulnerable, unguarded—and it stirred something deep within him.

Without thinking, he let his knee press more firmly against yours, a quiet gesture of solidarity. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you tilted your head slightly toward him, your shoulder brushing his for just a moment.

By the time the ceremony ended, with cheers and applause filling the air as the bride and groom shared their first kiss, Hotch found himself acutely aware of every inch of space between you—of how close you were, yet still not close enough.

As you turned to him, your eyes bright with unshed tears and a soft smile lighting up your face, Hotch realized he’d never been less composed in his life.

The cocktail hour unfolded in the garden, a charming space strung with delicate fairy lights and buzzing with soft laughter and the clinking of glasses. Guests mingled near tables laden with hors d’oeuvres, the scent of fresh flowers mingling with the crisp evening air. Hotch stood by your side, his hands resting lightly in his pockets, watching as you stared out at the crowd, your expression thoughtful.

You hadn’t said much since the ceremony ended. It wasn’t like you to be quiet for so long, and he could see the internal battle playing out behind your eyes. Your shoulders were slightly tense, your gaze distant as you watched couples and old friends chatter happily around you.

“Everything okay?” he asked softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You glanced up at him, your lips curving into a faint smile. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

Hotch didn’t press. He knew you well enough to know that if you wanted to share, you would. So, he waited, his presence steady and unintrusive as you worked through whatever was on your mind.

Finally, you let out a soft sigh, leaning slightly against the high-top table between you. “You ever watch something beautiful—like that ceremony—and feel… I don’t know, happy for them, but also kind of… sad?”

He tilted his head, his brows furrowing slightly. “Sad?”

You nodded, your fingers idly tracing the rim of your glass. “Not for them, of course. They were perfect. It’s just…” You hesitated, then let the words spill out, your voice quieter. “It makes you wonder if that kind of thing is in the cards for you, you know? If someone could ever love you like that—unconditionally, fully. If someone would show up for you, every single time.”

Hotch’s chest tightened at your words. He could see the vulnerability in your eyes, the doubt you were trying so hard to mask. For a moment, he was at a loss for what to say—not because he didn’t know the answer, but because the truth came so quickly and easily that it startled him.

He straightened slightly, his voice steady as he replied, “It’ll happen for you. And when it does, the guy will be the luckiest man in the world.”

You froze, your glass halfway to your lips, your eyes snapping to his. The disbelief on your face caught him off guard, and he realized too late how much he’d revealed.

He cleared his throat, quickly adding, “Not that I’d know, of course. Divorced, widowed, single father—not exactly a stellar track record.” He offered a small, self-deprecating smirk. “I’m hardly an expert on what works.”

You blinked at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. The sound was light, genuine, and for a brief moment, Hotch felt a flicker of relief that he’d managed to deflect.

“Wow, Hotchner,” you said, your laughter fading into a warm smile. “Way to lift me up and immediately knock yourself down.”

“Just keeping things balanced,” he replied, his tone dry but his eyes warm.

You shook your head, still smiling, but he could see the wheels turning in your mind. Your expression softened, and for a moment, he wondered if you were going to say something else—something that might push the conversation back into deeper waters.

Before you could, a cheerful voice interrupted.

“Oh my God, there you are!”

Both of you turned to see a small group of your college and grad school friends approaching, their smiles wide and their arms outstretched as they greeted you enthusiastically.

Hotch stepped back slightly, letting you take center stage as they enveloped you in hugs and started chattering all at once. You lit up in their presence, your wit and charm on full display as you bantered back and forth with them effortlessly.

And though he stood quietly on the periphery, Hotch couldn’t help but smile. Watching you like this—vibrant, confident, and so fully yourself—he couldn’t imagine a world where someone wouldn’t see what he saw.

But as he met your gaze briefly across the group, catching the subtle flicker of something lingering in your eyes, he knew the conversation wasn’t over. Not yet.

The introductions at the cocktail party unfolded with an ease that surprised even Hotch. One by one, your old college and grad school friends greeted him, their initial curiosity about the date you brought quickly melting into admiration. He’d never thought of himself as particularly charming—polished and professional, yes, but charming? That was usually Morgan’s department.

But as he exchanged handshakes and polite banter, he could feel their approval growing. They teased you relentlessly about him, their questions playful and occasionally pointed. And you, ever quick-witted, deflected with a grace and humor that kept the mood light, though your blush betrayed you more than once.

“He’s even more put-together than you let on,” one of your friends teased, nudging your arm.

“Don’t let it fool you,” you replied, smirking at Hotch. “He’s secretly a pain.”

Hotch raised a brow, his tone dry but warm. “Only when necessary.”

The group laughed, and you glanced at him, your smile softening in a way that made the noise around him fade for just a moment.

If your friends noticed the subtle looks passing between you and Hotch—the way your eyes lingered on him or how his posture seemed to relax in your presence—they didn’t say anything outright. But their knowing smiles spoke volumes.

By the time the cocktail hour wound down and everyone was ushered toward the reception hall, Hotch felt more comfortable than he had in weeks. He hadn’t expected to enjoy himself, but with you by his side, the evening felt lighter, more vivid.

The reception began with all the hallmarks of a joyous celebration: a lively band, glasses clinking in toasts, and the soft glow of candles casting a romantic haze over the room. Hotch and you were seated at a round table with some of your friends, their easy chatter filling the gaps between the speeches and the plated courses.

At first, the chemistry between you and Hotch was subtle—a shared glance during the bride and groom’s first dance, the way his arm brushed yours as he leaned closer to hear you over the music. But as the evening progressed, it became impossible to ignore.

“Are you going to dance?” you asked, your tone teasing as you sipped your wine.

“Eventually,” he replied, his lips twitching into a small smile. “Are you?”

You tilted your head, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “I don’t know. That depends. Are you going to make me dance alone?”

Hotch leaned slightly closer, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “I’d never let you dance alone.”

The words hung between you, the air charged with something unspoken yet undeniable. For a moment, neither of you moved, your gazes locked in a way that made the noise of the room fade into the background.

One of your friends called your name, breaking the spell, and you turned with a quick laugh, brushing off the moment as though it hadn’t happened. But Hotch noticed the way your hand lingered on your wine glass, the slight flush creeping up your neck.

As the reception continued, the moments between you grew bolder. A comment from you that lingered just long enough to feel intimate. A brush of his hand against yours as you both reached for something on the table. The way his gaze followed you when you stepped away to talk to someone else, his focus sharper, more intent than he realized.

By the time the band struck up a slower tune, Hotch found himself standing, offering you his hand before he could think twice.

“Care to dance?” he asked, his voice steady but softer than usual.

You blinked up at him, surprised for only a moment before your lips curved into a smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

As you took his hand and allowed him to guide you onto the dance floor, Hotch felt a quiet certainty settle over him. Whatever lines had existed between you—coworkers, friends, allies—were beginning to blur. And for once, he wasn’t in a hurry to redraw them.

Hotch turned to face you, his other hand resting lightly at your waist as you settled your free hand on his shoulder. The contact was light at first, almost cautious, but as the music swelled, he felt you relax, your movements fluid as you let him guide you through the gentle rhythm.

“You weren’t kidding about being a good dancer,” you teased, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “Where’ve you been hiding this talent?”

Hotch smirked faintly, his lips twitching upward. “It’s a rare occasion that calls for it.”

“Well,” you said, your voice soft but tinged with mischief, “consider me impressed.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his focus shifting briefly to the way your hand fit so perfectly in his, the way your eyes lit up even under the dim glow of the candles. Finally, he said, “You should be. I don’t make exceptions for just anyone.”

Your laugh was quiet, a warm ripple that he felt as much as heard. “Is that right? I should feel honored then.”

“You should,” he replied, the faintest hint of a smile still playing at his lips.

The conversation lulled, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The silence felt full, weighted by the unspoken tension that had been simmering all day. You swayed together, your movements perfectly synchronized, and for a moment, Hotch allowed himself to forget everything else—the cases, the team, the boundaries he usually held so firmly in place.

As the music slowed further, you tilted your head, your eyes searching his. “What are you thinking?”

Hotch hesitated, his gaze holding yours for a beat too long. “That you shouldn’t doubt what’s in store for you,” he said quietly. “Not after today.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, confusion flickering across your face. “What do you mean?”

He paused, considering his words carefully. “You deserve what you saw at that ceremony. Someone who shows up, who doesn’t hesitate. And when it happens, it’ll be because they know just how lucky they are.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, he thought you might pull away. Instead, you blinked up at him, your expression unreadable but undeniably softer. “Hotch—”

Before you could finish, the music swelled into its final notes, the moment broken as the song came to an end. Couples around you began to clap politely, the spell of the dance slowly lifting.

You stepped back slightly, your hand lingering in his for just a moment longer than necessary. “Thank you,” you said, your voice quiet but sincere.

Hotch nodded, his throat tight. “Anytime.”

As you turned to head back to the table, Hotch stayed where he was for a moment, watching the way your shoulders seemed a little more relaxed, the way you glanced back at him briefly before rejoining your friends.

He exhaled slowly, his hands falling to his sides. Whatever line you’d both been toeing all evening had grown impossibly blurred, and he wasn’t sure if it was something to step back from—or cross entirely.

The soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses surrounded Hotch as he followed you back toward the table, the energy of the reception lively yet intimate. Before either of you could sit, the bride approached, her radiant smile lighting up the room. Her white gown swayed slightly as she moved, the sparkling embellishments catching the light.

“There you are!” the bride exclaimed, her voice warm and effusive as she wrapped you in a quick hug. “I’ve been looking for you all evening.”

“Hi, Annie,” you said, your tone fond as you pulled back. “You look stunning. Everything about today has been absolutely perfect.”

Annie beamed, her hands clasping yours. “Thank you. But ook at you! And you must be...” She turned to Hotch, her expression curious and eager.

“This is—” you began, but Annie cut you off before you could finish.

“Oh, I knew it!” Annie said, clapping her hands together and glancing between you and Hotch with unrestrained glee. “I always said you’d find someone who looks at you the way he does. You deserve it so much. After everything you’ve been through. Terrible guy after terrible guy. I’m so happy for you.”

Hotch froze for a fraction of a second, her words catching him completely off guard. He glanced at you, noting the way your eyes widened slightly, a faint blush creeping up your neck.

Annie, oblivious to the tension she’d just created, kept going. “I mean, honestly, it’s about time. Look at you two—you’re such a beautiful couple. And the way he watches you? Like you’re the only person in the room? Come on.”

Hotch’s lips parted, his usual composure slipping as he scrambled for a response. Should he correct her? Deflect? Or...

Instead, he did neither.

“You’re right about one thing,” he said, his voice steady but quieter, as if weighing each word carefully. “She deserves everything. More than anyone I know.”

His gaze lingered on you as he spoke, watching the way your expression softened into something he couldn’t quite name. For a moment, Annie’s chatter faded into the background, the room seeming to grow smaller around the three of you.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Annie’s delighted laughter filled the silence first. “See? I knew it,” she said, her tone triumphant. “I knew you’d get that fairytale ending you always talked about wanting.” 

Hotch smiled faintly, his hands slipping into his pockets as Annie hugged you again. “Thank you for coming,” she said, her voice still warm as she pulled away. “It means so much to have you both here.”

You nodded, your voice unusually soft. “Of course, Annie. We wouldn’t have missed it.”

Annie turned back to the dance floor, leaving the two of you standing there, the weight of her words hanging heavily in the air.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You glanced at him, your brows knitting together slightly as if you wanted to ask something but weren’t sure where to start. He’s sure from the array of comments he’s thrown at you tonight or the charged energy building between you, you must have a few.

Hotch offered a small smile, his voice low. “She’s a good friend.”

“She’s... enthusiastic,” you said, a weak laugh escaping you.

“Enthusiastic,” he repeated, amusement flickering briefly across his face. “And observant, apparently.”

Your blush deepened, but before the conversation could go any further, another group of your friends waved you over from the bar, calling your name.

“I guess we’re popular tonight,” you said, your tone lighter as you gestured for him to follow.

Hotch nodded, trailing behind you, but his thoughts lingered on Annie’s words. He wasn’t sure what had prompted him to agree with her so openly, but as he watched you laugh with your friends, something told him he wasn’t wrong.

You deserved everything. And perhaps, just perhaps, it wasn’t impossible to imagine being the one to give it to you. He was just glad he could try, even if it was just for tonight.

The energy in the room shifted as the bride announced the bouquet toss, her cheerful voice drawing a crowd of eager participants to the dance floor. Laughter and playful shouts filled the space as single women jostled for prime positions, their eyes gleaming with competitive determination.

You, however, stayed firmly rooted at the edge of the room, leaning casually against a table with your arms crossed. Hotch stood beside you, holding the glass he was nursing on the table.

“Not interested?” he asked, glancing at you, a teasing flint in his eyes.

“Not a chance,” you replied, your tone wry. “I’m perfectly fine over here, out of the line of fire.”

Hotch chuckled softly. “Strategic decision. I can respect that.”

You grinned, turning your attention back to the bride, who was hyping up the crowd with exaggerated gestures. The band struck up a playful tune, and the anticipation in the room reached its peak as Annie turned her back to the group, bouquet in hand.

The toss was dramatic, the bouquet soaring high into the air in a perfect arc. The crowd erupted into shouts and cheers as hands shot up, grasping for the bundle of flowers.

But no one caught it.

Instead, the bouquet ricocheted off a hand, sailed over the group entirely, and arced straight toward you.

You barely had time to react before it bonked you squarely on the head.

Hotch blinked, momentarily stunned as the bouquet bounced off you and landed unceremoniously on the table beside you. There was a beat of silence before laughter erupted around the room, the crowd clearly amused by the unexpected trajectory.

You stared at the bouquet, your mouth slightly agape, before looking up at him, your expression caught somewhere between mortification and disbelief.

“Seriously?” you said, your voice rising just enough to carry over the laughter. “I wasn’t even participating!”

Hotch’s lips twitched, his amusement barely contained as he raised an eyebrow. “Looks like fate had other plans.”

“Fate needs to work on its aim,” you muttered, grabbing the bouquet and holding it up like evidence in a court case.

Hotch allowed himself a full laugh, the sound rare but genuine. “Or maybe it’s trying to tell you something,” he teased, his voice lower as he leaned slightly closer. “Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

Your eyes narrowed at him, though the corners of your mouth betrayed the start of a grin. “Are you enjoying this?”

“Immensely,” he said, his tone deadpan but his eyes gleaming with humor.

You shook your head, muttering something about cosmic irony as you placed the bouquet back on the table. But Hotch could see the faint blush creeping up your neck, and the way your lips curved into a reluctant smile despite your feigned indignation.

As the laughter in the room began to settle and the bride called for the next event, Hotch leaned slightly closer to you, his voice quieter now.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, his tone softer but no less teasing, “I think the roses suit you.” He pulled a few petals from your hair.

You shot him a look, but your smile widened, and for a brief moment, the space between you felt smaller than ever. “I’m more of a sunflower girl,” You played along. 

The band’s leader tapped the microphone, his cheerful voice cutting through the chatter of the reception. “All right, folks, this one’s for the happy couples out there! Join us on the dance floor for one last dance before we call it a night.”

Around the room, couples began to rise, hands intertwined as they made their way to the dance floor. The lights dimmed slightly, casting the space in a warm, golden glow. Hotch stayed in his seat, his gaze drifting to you as you sipped the last of your wine, clearly intent on remaining at the table.

He set his glass down with deliberate precision and stood, extending his hand toward you.

“Come on,” he said, his voice calm but firm.

You looked up at him, your brow furrowing. “What are you doing?”

“We’re dancing,” he replied simply, his tone leaving little room for argument.

Your lips parted in surprise. “Hotch, that’s for couples—”

“According to your friends,” he interrupted, his lips quirking into the faintest smirk, “we’re a couple tonight. Might as well play the part.”

For a moment, you stared at him, clearly torn between amusement and incredulity. But then you sighed, setting your glass down and placing your hand in his. “Fine,” you said, standing with exaggerated reluctance. “But if this ends up being another metaphor, I’m blaming you.”

Hotch chuckled softly, leading you to the dance floor. The band struck up a slow, tender melody, the kind that wrapped itself around you and seemed to quiet the world.

He turned to face you, his hand resting lightly on your waist as you settled your free hand on his shoulder. The contact was familiar now, but this time, the air between you felt heavier—charged. You moved together effortlessly, swaying in time with the music, your steps perfectly in sync.

“See?” he said quietly, his voice just loud enough for you to hear. “Not so bad.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, your fingers tightening slightly on his shoulder. “You really are impossible, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” he replied, his tone dry but his expression softer than usual.

The conversation lulled, and for a moment, there was nothing but the music and the quiet sound of your breaths mingling in the space between you.

Hotch’s eyes dropped to your face, taking in the way your lashes cast delicate shadows on your cheeks, the faint flush that lingered from the evening’s laughter and wine. You looked up at him then, your gaze meeting his, and the intensity of the moment hit him like a wave.

“You’re staring,” you said softly, your voice tinged with nervous amusement.

He didn’t look away. “Maybe I am.”

Your breath hitched, and Hotch felt your hand shift slightly on his shoulder as though you were steadying yourself. The tension between you was palpable now, a tangible thing that neither of you seemed willing—or able—to break.

“You’re full of surprises tonight,” you said, your tone quieter now, almost tentative.

Hotch’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “So are you.”

The song began to wind down, the final notes stretching into a soft, lingering cadence. The room seemed to grow smaller, quieter, as though it held only the two of you.

As the music ended, Hotch realized he hadn’t let go of your waist, and you hadn’t stepped back. For a brief, breathless moment, you both stayed where you were, the silence between you heavy with possibilities.

And though neither of you said it aloud, the line between what you were and what you could be had never felt thinner.

The walk back to the hotel room was quiet, the air between you and Hotch humming with the kind of unspoken tension that had lingered all night. The elevator ride was no better; you stood beside him, close enough that your arm brushed his, and though neither of you spoke, the weight of the evening seemed to settle in the confined space.

By the time the door to the room clicked shut behind you, the silence was thick. You slipped off your shoes with a sigh, placing them neatly by the door as you turned to him with a tired but genuine smile.

“Well,” you said, your voice soft, “that was... something.”

Hotch nodded, setting his jacket neatly over the back of a chair. “It was.”

You glanced at him, your smile tilting into something teasing. “That’s all you’ve got? Just ‘it was’?”

He smirked faintly, loosening his tie. “I think the bouquet toss and the dance floor antics speak for themselves.”

You laughed, the sound warm and familiar, and Hotch felt his shoulders relax slightly despite the tension coursing through him. He watched as you moved to your bag, pulling out a pair of comfortable clothes before disappearing into the bathroom.

The sound of running water filled the room, and Hotch took the opportunity to change into a plain T-shirt and sweats, folding his dress shirt with precise care. When you returned, your makeup washed off, and your hair pulled back, you looked softer somehow—more yourself than you had all night, and it hit him with a quiet force he wasn’t prepared for. Sure, he’d seen you in casual clothes before, but something about the soft cotton clothes, the clean face, and the messy pulled-back hair…it was a sight that warmed him somehow. 

“You’re up,” you said, gesturing toward the bathroom.

Hotch nodded, slipping past you and closing the door behind him. The cool water against his face did little to calm his thoughts, and when he looked at his reflection in the mirror, he found his usual composure slightly fractured.

By the time he returned to the room, you were already under the covers, your head resting against the pillow as you scrolled absentmindedly through your phone. He hesitated for a moment, the sight of you there—so comfortable, so familiar—stirring something deep in his chest.

“Are you going to stand there all night?” you asked, glancing up at him with a raised eyebrow.

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he moved to the other side of the bed. Sliding in beside you, he was acutely aware of the space—or lack thereof—between you. When was the last time he shared a bed with someone?

The room fell into a soft silence, the dim light from the bedside lamp casting long shadows against the walls. You set your phone down, turning onto your side to face him, your expression unreadable but open.

“Thanks for tonight,” you said quietly. “For coming with me. For... everything.”

He met your gaze, his voice steady but softer than usual. “You don’t have to thank me. I wanted to be there.”

Your lips quirked into a faint smile, your eyes searching his as though you were trying to decipher something you weren’t quite ready to name.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the silence stretching but never feeling uncomfortable. Hotch could feel the warmth of your presence, the subtle weight of your gaze, and it was enough to make his throat tighten.

“You’re staring again,” you said, your tone light but tinged with something quieter, something unsure.

“Maybe I am,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your breath caught, and Hotch felt the space between you shrink—not physically, but emotionally, the air thick with everything unspoken.

“Why do you do that?” you asked after a moment, your voice quieter now.

“Do what?”

“Look at me like that.”

Hotch hesitated, his throat tightening as he searched for the right words. “Like what?”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Like you’re trying to figure me out. Like you already know something I don’t.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, his voice soft but steady. “Maybe I do.”

You blinked, your breath catching just slightly, and Hotch felt the air between you grow impossibly still.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the silence crackling with tension that neither seemed willing to break. Then, as if pulling yourself out of the moment, you let out a small laugh, your tone turning lighter.

“You’re an enigma, Aaron Hotchner,” you said, your smile faint but genuine as you turned onto your back, breaking the spell.

He exhaled slowly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he reached over to turn off the lamp. “Goodnight,” he said, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful.

“Goodnight,” you replied softly, your words carrying a warmth that settled over the room like a blanket.

As the darkness enveloped them, Hotch lay still, the steady sound of your breathing filling the silence. The unspoken connection between you—the moments that had lingered and stretched throughout the evening—felt as tangible as the bed they shared.

And though he knew crossing the line between friendship and something more was fraught with uncertainty, Hotch couldn’t shake the quiet realization that maybe—just maybe—you were worth the risk.

Hotch stirred awake in the dark, the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the curtains casting soft shadows across the room. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what had woken him—a sound, a shift—but then he became aware of the warmth pressed against him, the steady rise and fall of your breathing.

Somehow, in the night, the two of you had gravitated toward each other. His arm was draped over your waist, his hand resting lightly on your hip, and your head was nestled against his chest. Your hand, delicate and warm, had found its way to his side, clutching the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring yourself to him.

He froze, his breath hitching as he registered the intimacy of the moment. Every instinct told him to pull away, to put space between you before you woke up, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to.

The soft scent of your hair drifted up to him, and without thinking, his thumb began to trace small, absent circles against your side. The simple act sent a rush of warmth through him, a tenderness he couldn’t quite contain.

You stirred slightly, your body shifting just enough for him to realize you were waking up. His breath caught again, his heart thudding heavily in his chest as he waited—half expecting you to pull away or panic.

But you didn’t. Instead, you tilted your head up, your eyes blinking sleepily in the dim light as they met his.

Neither of you spoke. The silence between you was thick, electric, the air charged with a tension that felt almost unbearable.

Hotch’s hand stilled on your side, his palm now resting against the curve of your hip. He watched you closely, his eyes searching yours for any sign that he should pull back. But you didn’t move away. If anything, you seemed to lean into him, your gaze softening as you stared at him in the quiet.

His chest tightened as he felt the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you. The feelings he’d been trying to push aside for months—years, maybe—were suddenly impossible to ignore.

And then, you moved.

Your hand slid upward, hesitating briefly before coming to rest against his chest. Slowly, tentatively, you shifted closer, your lips brushing his in a kiss so soft it sent a shiver down his spine.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the kiss tender and delicate, as though you were both testing the boundaries of something fragile and new. But then he felt your hand tighten against his chest, and his restraint broke.

Hotch deepened the kiss, his free hand sliding up your back to cradle the base of your neck, his fingers threading gently through your hair. Your lips parted for him, and the kiss grew more heated, more insistent, as though all the tension that had built between you over the years was finally finding its release.

You shifted closer still, your body pressing against his, and Hotch couldn’t help the quiet sound that escaped him. He felt your hand slide up to his jaw, your fingers brushing against the stubble there as you tilted your head to deepen the kiss even further.

It was slow but consuming, a meeting of everything unspoken and everything undeniable. He couldn’t tell where he ended, and you began, the lines between friendship and something more completely and utterly erased.

When you finally pulled back, your breaths mingling in the dark, your forehead rested against his as you looked up at him with wide, searching eyes.

“Aaron,” you whispered, your voice soft but steady, filled with something he couldn’t quite name.

He swallowed hard, his fingers still tangled in your hair, as he let out a shaky breath. “Say my name like that again,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles.

You laughed softly, your hand brushing against his cheek as you leaned in again, this time with more certainty.

And as your lips met his once more, Hotch felt the last of his walls crumble, leaving only the quiet, undeniable truth: he didn’t want to hold back anymore. Not with you. Not ever.

Hotch’s pulse quickened as your lips met his again, this time with a heat that left no room for hesitation. The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate but charged with the kind of intensity that came from years of unspoken longing. Your hand slid from his jaw to his chest, your fingers splaying against the fabric of his shirt as if grounding yourself in the moment.

He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. The world outside this room ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you tangled together in the dim light of the night.

When your leg shifted, brushing against his, a low sound escaped his throat—a soft, guttural hum that he hadn’t meant to let slip. You froze for the briefest moment, your eyes flicking up to his, and the sight of you—so close, so vulnerable, so his in that instant—was almost too much.

“Is this okay?” you whispered, your voice breathless and tinged with something fragile, like you were teetering on the edge of disbelief.

Hotch cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he nodded. “It’s more than okay,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

You smiled softly, and he couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward, pressing another kiss to your lips. This one was slower but no less fervent, his hand sliding from your face to rest against the curve of your waist, pulling you closer.

Your body shifted against his, your hands wandering—tentative at first, but quickly growing bolder. One hand curled around the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in the short hairs there, while the other slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, your palm pressing against the warm skin of his chest.

Hotch’s breath hitched, his own hands growing less restrained as they skimmed your back, tracing the line of your spine. The soft, sleepy rhythm of your breathing was broken by quiet, barely audible gasps as his hands found the curve of your hips, pulling you flush against him.

“Aaron,” you murmured against his lips, the sound of his name sending a shiver down his spine.

His lips left yours, trailing a path along your jawline to the soft curve of your neck. He felt the way your body arched into his touch, the subtle press of your hips against his igniting something deeper, something he could no longer hold back.

“You have no idea,” he whispered against your skin, his voice low and uneven, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

Your fingers tightened against him, and when he pulled back to look at you, your eyes were glassy, your lips slightly parted. “Me too,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

His restraint was unraveling with every second, every touch, every soft sound that escaped your lips. But he forced himself to pause, his forehead resting against yours as he took a steadying breath.

“Tell me to stop,” he said softly, his hands stilling against your waist even as every fiber of his being begged him to keep going. “If you need me to, I will.”

You shook your head slightly, your fingers brushing against his cheek as you leaned up to kiss him again, slow but filled with unmistakable intent. “I don’t want you to stop,” you whispered, the words a quiet promise.

Hotch exhaled shakily, his lips capturing yours again as he shifted, rolling onto his back and pulling you with him. The weight of you pressed against him, the warmth of your skin beneath his hands—it was everything he hadn’t let himself dream of, and now that it was happening, he couldn’t imagine ever letting it go.

The kisses grew more urgent, more consuming, the sleepy haze between you dissolving into something sharper, hungrier. His hands roamed your body with a reverence that bordered on worship, memorizing every curve, every tremble, every quiet sigh that spilled from your lips.

Hotch’s breath hitched as you shifted over him, your hands braced on his chest for balance. The delicate weight of you, your thighs straddling his hips, was intoxicating in a way he hadn’t anticipated. Pressing your center against him, a breathy groan left his lips. His hands found their way to your waist, his fingers splaying across the soft fabric of your shirt as though memorizing every detail of this moment.

Your hair fell slightly into your face, and you looked down at him with a mixture of nervousness and desire that sent his pulse hammering in his chest. He met your gaze, his eyes dark and searching, trying to convey everything he felt but couldn’t say aloud.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low, the words a quiet plea for confirmation. He knew after this there was no going back. 

You nodded, your smile soft but steady as you leaned forward, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that was equal parts tender and heated. “I’ve never been more sure,” you whispered against his mouth.

The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate at first, but quickly growing more fervent. Your hands moved to his shoulders, gripping him as though anchoring yourself to him, while his hands slid upward, pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it to the side.

For a moment, he simply looked at you, his gaze tracing the lines of your body, the soft glow of the moonlight making your skin seem almost ethereal. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

You flushed under his gaze, but instead of shying away, you leaned down, kissing him again with a new intensity. Your hands found the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward until he helped you remove it entirely. The cool air brushed against his skin, but all he could focus on was the warmth of you, the way your touch left a trail of fire in its wake.

As the last remnants of clothing were shed, the barrier between you dissolved entirely. You settled back over him, your bare skin pressing against his, and he let out a low, shaky exhale as his hands gripped your hips, steadying you.

“God, you have no idea what you do to me,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion as he looked up at you.

You smiled softly, your hands resting on his chest as you leaned down to kiss him again, slow and deliberate, as though savoring every moment. “I think I’m starting to figure it out,” you murmured against his lips, your voice filled with a quiet confidence that made his chest tighten.

Hotch’s hands guided your movements, his touch firm but reverent, as though you were something precious—something he didn’t want to break. The connection between you was electric, every touch, every kiss deepening the bond that had been building for years.

As your bodies moved together, the world around you faded completely, leaving only the quiet hum of your shared breaths and the unspoken promise that whatever had changed between you tonight was something neither of you could—or would—ever take back.

As you rocked against him, his breath hitched, and he couldn’t stop the quiet groan that escaped him. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his hands cupping your face as he pulled you down into a kiss that was as tender as it was consuming.

When you pulled back, your gaze locked with his, your expression soft but filled with intensity. “I never knew it could feel like this,” you admitted, your voice quiet but raw with emotion.

He swallowed hard, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he whispered, “Neither did I.”

The words hung between you for a moment, the weight of them adding a new depth to the passion that had overtaken you. And as you moved together, Hotch felt a sense of completeness that he hadn’t known he was missing—something he realized, in this moment, he could never let go of.

Hotch’s breath came in uneven gasps, his body attuned to every shift of yours, every quiet sound that spilled from your lips. His hands gripped your hips, his fingers pressing into your skin just enough to guide you, to hold you steady as you moved together.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured again, his voice thick and low. His eyes traced the line of your jaw, the way your lips parted as you moved, your body responding to his in a way that made his pulse race.

Your hand slid up his chest, your fingers curling lightly around the base of his neck as you leaned closer. “I don’t think you realize,” you said softly, your voice trembling with emotion, “what you’re doing to me.”

His lips curved into a faint, breathless smirk as he leaned up, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was deep and consuming. “I think I have an idea,” he murmured against your lips, his voice a husky whisper. “But I wouldn’t mind hearing it.”

You laughed quietly, the sound trailing off into a soft sigh as his hands slid up your back, pulling you closer. “You make it hard to think,” you admitted, your tone teasing but edged with something deeper, more vulnerable.

“Good,” he replied, his hands shifting to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. “Because right now, all I can think about is you.”

Your eyes met his, and the intensity of your gaze made his chest tighten. “I want this,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. “I want you.”

Hotch exhaled shakily, his forehead resting against yours as he slowed your movements, savoring the connection between you. “You have me,” he said quietly, his voice steady but filled with quiet intensity. “You’ve always had me.”

Your lips parted as if to respond, but instead, you kissed him again, your fingers threading through his hair as you pressed closer, deeper, until there was no space left between you.

The rhythm between you was slow but deliberate, each movement, each touch, carrying a weight that neither of you could ignore. It wasn’t just passion—it was everything you hadn’t said, every unspoken feeling finally given form.

When you pulled back slightly, your breath brushing against his lips, Hotch found himself gripping your hips just a little tighter, grounding himself in the reality of you above him. Your skin glowed in the faint moonlight, and the look in your eyes—dark, heavy with desire—took what little restraint he had left and shattered it.

“Aaron Hotchner,” you whispered, your voice breathless, a mix of teasing and reverence. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

He let out a low, quiet laugh, his hands sliding up your back, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate lines. “I could say the same about you,” he murmured, his voice rough as his lips brushed the curve of your jaw.

You shivered under his touch, your lips curling into a small, wicked smile. “Are you saying I’m full of surprises?” you asked, your tone playful, your hips rolling against his in a way that made his breath catch.

Hotch let out a soft groan, his head tipping back against the pillow as his hands found their way to your thighs. “I’m saying,” he said, his voice low and filled with heat, “that you might just be the death of me.”

You leaned down, your lips hovering just above his, teasing him with the barest of touches. “I guess that makes us even,” you whispered, your words trailing off into a kiss that was anything but tentative.

The kiss deepened, your movements growing slower, more deliberate as your hands roamed over him, pulling him impossibly closer. Hotch’s fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, his other hand tracing the curve of your back in a way that made you arch into him.

“You feel incredible,” he breathed against your lips, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “Like you were made for me.”

As the room filled with nothing but the quiet sound of your breaths and the faint rustle of sheets, Hotch couldn’t help but marvel at how natural this felt—how right it was to have you like this, in his arms, every unspoken word replaced by the undeniable connection between you.

And as the tension between you reached its peak, he realized with startling clarity that this wasn’t just a fleeting moment—this was something neither of you could ever undo. And he didn’t want to.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Your face was still buried against his neck, and he could feel the rapid thrum of your heartbeat gradually slowing against his chest. Hotch tilted his head slightly, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there as he tried to find the right words for what he was feeling.

It wasn’t fleeting. It wasn’t casual. It was something far deeper, something he hadn’t allowed himself to believe he could feel again.

You stirred slightly, shifting so you could meet his gaze, your hair falling messily around your face. Your eyes searched his, and the vulnerability there—soft and unguarded—made his throat tighten.

“Well,” you murmured, your voice quiet but tinged with a nervous laugh, “that just happened.”

Hotch’s lips twitched into a faint smile, his thumb brushing lazily against your back. “It did,” he replied softly, his voice steady despite the emotions threatening to bubble to the surface.

You blinked down at him, your brow furrowing slightly. “Are you okay?” you asked, your voice carrying a hesitance that tugged at his heart.

He shifted beneath you, his hands settling on your hips as he met your gaze. “I’m more than okay,” he said, his tone quiet but firm. “Are you?”

Your lips parted slightly, your gaze flickering between his eyes as though trying to read him. Slowly, a small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Yeah,” you said softly, nodding. “I think I am.”

The tension in his chest eased slightly, but his thumb continued its soothing motion against your hip. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I don’t—” He paused, exhaling quietly. “I don’t want this to be something you regret.”

“Regret?” you echoed, your smile widening faintly. “Hotch, do I look like someone who regrets this?”

He let out a quiet huff of laughter, his fingers tightening slightly against your skin. “No,” he admitted, his voice lighter now. “But I had to make sure.”

You leaned down, brushing your lips against his in a kiss so soft it made his chest tighten all over again. “You’re impossible,” you whispered against his mouth, your tone teasing but filled with affection.

“And yet, here we are,” he replied, his lips curving into a smirk as he kissed you again.

You laughed softly, resting your forehead against his as your hands slid to his shoulders, your touch light and lingering. “Here we are,” you repeated, your voice quieter now, almost reflective.

Hotch let the silence stretch for a moment, his hands tracing gentle patterns along your sides as he memorized the feel of you against him. Whatever this was—whatever it had turned into—he wasn’t going to let it slip away.

“You should probably get some sleep,” he murmured, his voice tinged with humor as he glanced toward the faint glow of the bedside clock.

“Sleep?” you teased, raising an eyebrow as you shifted slightly, your lips brushing against his jaw. “After all that? I’m not sure that’s possible.”

Hotch chuckled softly, his hands sliding up to cradle your face. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You grinned, leaning into his touch as your eyes softened. “Good. You should.”

As the quiet settled over the room once more, Hotch let his eyes drift closed, your body still pressed against his, your warmth anchoring him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. For the first time in what felt like forever, the world outside could wait. All that mattered was here and now, with you.

Hotch wasn’t sure how much time had passed, the quiet rhythm of your breathing against his chest blurring the line between minutes and hours. His hand rested against your back, his fingers tracing slow, idle patterns along your skin, grounding himself in the reality of your presence.

“You’re quiet,” you murmured after a while, your voice soft and drowsy, the words more of a thought spoken aloud than a question.

He glanced down at you, your head still resting on his chest, your hand lazily draped over his ribs. “I’m just... thinking,” he admitted, his voice low, the weight of the night settling over him in a way that felt both overwhelming and comforting.

You tilted your head up to look at him, your expression sleepy but curious. “About what?”

His fingers paused for a moment, resting lightly against your side. “About how different this feels,” he said honestly, his eyes meeting yours. “How right it feels.”

Your lips parted slightly, your expression softening into something vulnerable, open. “It does,” you agreed quietly, your hand sliding up to rest against his chest. “It scares me a little.”

Hotch’s chest tightened at your words, but he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “It scares me too,” he admitted, his voice steady but filled with quiet emotion. “But not enough to make me stop.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers tracing small circles against his skin. “What does this mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “For us?”

Hotch exhaled, his hand moving to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “It means I don’t want to go back to what we had before,” he said softly. “Not after this.”

You blinked up at him, the weight of his words settling between you. “Me neither,” you said after a moment, your voice carrying a quiet strength.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, the unspoken understanding between you growing stronger with each passing second. Hotch shifted slightly, pulling you closer against him, his arm wrapping around your waist as if to keep you there, to keep this moment from slipping away.

Your fingers curled against his chest, and you tilted your head up, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that was softer now, slower, as though sealing the unspoken promise you’d just made.

When you pulled back, your eyes searched his, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I guess we’ll figure it out,” you said softly, the words carrying a quiet certainty that made his chest tighten.

“We will,” he replied, his voice low but firm.

Hotch lay awake long after you’d drifted off, your body warm and relaxed against his. The weight of what had happened between you lingered in the air, a heady mix of tenderness and an undeniable shift in the foundation of your relationship.

He let his fingers trace idle patterns along your back, his touch feather-light as he memorized the curve of your spine, the subtle rise and fall of your breathing. For years, he’d been disciplined in keeping the boundaries of your friendship intact, maintaining the line that separated what was and what could never be. But tonight, that line had dissolved completely, leaving in its wake something deeper, something that felt achingly right.

You stirred slightly, letting out a soft sigh as you nestled closer to him, your hand sliding across his chest as though instinctively seeking him even in sleep. His chest tightened, a quiet warmth spreading through him as he pressed a soft kiss to your hair.

He’d spent so much of his life thinking he wasn’t allowed to have this—not after everything he’d been through, not after the sacrifices he’d made. But with you, it didn’t feel like he was taking something he wasn’t entitled to. It felt like finding something he hadn’t realized he’d been searching for all along.

Tomorrow would bring its own questions, its own complications. The team would notice the shift between you, and the world wouldn’t wait for you both to navigate whatever this had become. But for now, in the quiet sanctuary of the room, with you tucked safely against him, Hotch allowed himself to just be.

And as the first light of dawn began to creep through the curtains, he held you a little closer, silently vowing that whatever came next, he would be ready. Because for the first time in a long time, he felt whole. And he wasn’t about to let that go

Hotch’s gaze lingered on your sleeping face, soft and unguarded in the early light. A quiet determination settled in his chest, stronger than anything he’d felt in years. You deserved to know—without question or hesitation—that you were worth everything. Worth the quiet moments and the stormy ones, the laughter and the tears, the time and the effort. Any man too blind or foolish to see that had only done him a favor, because now, you were here with him. And he would never take that for granted. He would make sure, every single day, that you never doubted your worth again. Because with you, Hotch finally understood what it meant to have something—and someone—he could never let go. And he wouldn’t let you forget it.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

[theinnerunderrain]

Bound by Moonlight [Yan!Long-distance boyfriend x Fem!Reader]

Warnings: Yandere themes, manipulative behaviors, the yapping goes crazy, slightly suggestive themes towards the end, victimization, gaslighting, etc.

+

"I think we should break up."

Yujin's eyes flickered open, awakening at the sound of your words. Slowly, his orbs focused on your face, and in a swift motion, he sat up from your lap. The warmth of your embrace briefly withdrew, leaving him staring into your eyes. He resembled a deer caught in the gaze of headlights—frozen, with a palpable sense of confusion enveloping him.

"What....?"

His lips could only muster that simple word, as though the syllables you had uttered before were alien, like an unexpected symphony he never fathomed hearing.

"I think...I think we should break up."

You summoned your courage and spoke once more, aiming for bluntness to conceal the cracks of fear hinting at your vulnerabilities. Inhaling deeply, you braced yourself, allowing your gaze to momentarily dance away from his hazel eyes, as if an invisible force compelled you to divert your attention, perhaps to shield yourself from the intensity within them.

"I just think...this long distance relationship isn't working out...."

"But, why?"

Yunjin's voice, a gentle inquiry, reached out to you, his fingers delicately intertwining with yours. The warmth of his palm brushed against your cold skin, creating a subtle contrast that sent shivers down your spine. His eyes flickered, teetering on the brink of tears, evoking a momentary pang of sympathy within you.

"I... I've done everything you told me to...I don't understand, [First Name]".

He spoke once more, drawing near until his face hovered just inches from yours, his breath gently caressing your cheeks. In that intimate proximity, the subtle fragrance of his cologne and the hint of peppermint gum enveloped you, creating an alluring blend that lingered in the air like a captivating spell.

"It's not you, Yujin. You're a great person and a wonderful boyfriend.. It's just that...."

In a brief pause, you step away, a fleeting attempt to distance yourself and reclaim mental clarity from Yujin's unsettling presence. However, he remains oblivious to the subtle cues of your discomfort, persistently closing the gap until your shoulder meets the unyielding warmth of his chest.

"It's just... it's just what?"

"I don't think I can live like this. I can't live to see my significant other only once a year, I can't live to talk to you through a phone."

In a rare display of vulnerability, your confession spilled forth, your voice delicately meek, a stark contrast to the depth of your emotions. A suspended hush enveloped the bedroom, the sole symphony being the distant echo of passing trains and the gentle hum of cars traversing the street. In the hush that followed, several minutes wrapped themselves around the scene before Yunjin's voice pierced the stillness. Astonishingly clear, his words resonated despite the recent brink of tears that had gripped him just moments before.

"Yes, you can."

His words shocked you for a moment, for its bluntness and coldness, contrasting the usual warm-hearted and kind Yujin.

"I've worked so hard for you. Worked so hard for us. Yet, you still want to walk away? After everything I've done for you?"

Your gaze remains locked on the wall opposite, your heart quickening its pace. It's a dance between fear and anxiety, the rhythmic thud resonating within you. You sense his gaze, a piercing intensity, as if it could solidify into a tangible force on the side of your face.

"[First Name]."

His words cut through the air, and you couldn't help but flinch visibly. Your name, once a melody on his lips, now escaped in a cold manner, a cadence foreign to your ears. It was a stark departure from the usual warmth that usually accompanied the utterance of your name, a departure from the loving tones and heartfelt renditions.

"Please look at me while I am talking to you."

With a momentary hesitation, you succumb to curiosity, your gaze slowly finding its way to him. Eyes meet in an unspoken exchange beneath the enchanting moonlight. Its gentle dance against his skin paints a paradox – a cold expression softened by the lunar glow, rendering him unexpectedly youthful and almost innocent in appearance.

"I did everything for you. I make sure we have enough money to meet up, I take such good care of you. I cooked for you, I showered and washed you, I take care of you."

With every uttered sentence, his words sharpened, each syllable a dagger cutting through the air. Simultaneously, his grasp on your wrist tightened, the pressure escalating with the cadence of his spoken disdain.

"So I don't understand why you're being so cruel to me? Why you're breaking up with me over such a petty matter? You haven't lost anything, [First Name]. You never did anything to contribute to this relationship, it was all me. But now you're leaving me?"

Continuing with relentless determination, his other hand pressed firmly against your chest, orchestrating a forceful retreat onto the plush expanse of the bed. Your back met the yielding mattress, and despite your instinct to squirm away, he skillfully straddled you, asserting dominance.

In a calculated move, he corralled both your wrists to the sides of your head with his own, rendering any resistance futile. Despite your valiant effort to defy his control, the palpable strength gap between you two became an insurmountable force, leaving you entangled in a struggle where every ounce of resistance seemed to dissipate against his unwavering authority.

"Yujin...!"

Words escaped your trembling lips as you contorted beneath him, his weight bearing down, leaving scant room for escape.

Fear clung to you.

Yujin, known to you for over two years as a soft-spoken and cheerful soul, now morphed into an unsettling entity. His transformation invoked a visceral sense of terror, as though a stranger had replaced the person you thought you knew.

"You don't get a say in this relationship, [First Name]. You don't have the right to decide if we break up or not."

As your wrist gracefully ascended to the crown of your head, delicately supporting itself with a single hand, his deft touch traced a daring path beneath your shirt. A momentary stillness gripped you, an electric pause as his other hand stealthily ventured into the realm beneath fabric, enticing an involuntary pause in the cadence of time.

"Yujin....What are you doing?"

His hands ventured, exploring the contours of your form, causing a shiver to cascade through you as his touch ignited a delicate dance on your most sensitive terrain. In that fleeting moment, his gaze locked onto yours, revealing a hesitant flicker within his eyes, akin to a wavering candle casting uncertain shadows in the cold embrace of the night. Amidst this charged atmosphere, his hand remained suspended, a tantalizing pause in the symphony of sensations.

"Making you stay. Don't worry about catching the flight home tomorrow, I'll contact your family and tell them that you're going to be staying with me for a while."

Without a chance to voice your protest, he leaned in, planting a tender kiss on your lips. Your defenses crumbled, and your lips parted almost on autopilot, surrendering to the rhythmic dance of his tongue against yours. He momentarily withdraws, his eyes glazed and cheeks ablaze with a rosy hue. In the next heartbeat, he leans back in, not for a kiss, but to gently press his forehead against yours, as if sharing an intimate moment. Once more, he spoke, and this time, his voice cradled a returning tenderness, resurrecting the familiar cadence of Yujin that you both knew and held close to your heart.

"So please," he breathed the words, his nose gently brushing against yours in an affectionate caress. Despite the tenderness in his voice, the firmness of his grip on your wrist created a striking contrast. His fingers clamped down with such intensity that his nails seemed to embed themselves into your skin, as though afraid you might take flight like a liberated bird should he dare to release his hold.

"Be good, and stay with me. Forever."

[kinzhae]

He Only Dated You For Your Sister

Gojo X Fem!Reader

Part 2

You always thought love would save you. That it would sweep in and make everything hurt less—less lonely, less empty, less… you. And for a while, with Satoru Gojo, it felt like it had.

He wasn’t just charming; he was magnetic. His presence filled every space, his laughter echoing louder than anyone else’s. He made you feel seen, plucking you out of the background you’d been relegated to your whole life. He chose you, or at least that’s what you told yourself.

But the truth is, he never chose you.

You see it now, in hindsight, with a clarity that cuts like broken glass. The signs were always there, but you ignored them because you wanted to believe in the illusion. You wanted to believe that, for once, you were enough.

The final blow came the night it all unraveled.

You had planned a quiet evening—dinner at home, candles flickering on the table, the kind of intimate moment you craved but rarely got. He arrived late, as always, with a lopsided grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. You tried to ignore the ache in your chest when he barely glanced at the effort you’d put into everything.

Halfway through the meal, your sister’s name slipped into the conversation. Again.

“She’s doing amazing, isn’t she?” he said, his tone laced with admiration. “I mean, she could do anything she wanted.”

You froze, your fork hovering mid-air. It wasn’t the first time he’d talked about her, but tonight, something snapped.

“Satoru,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside you. “Do you even realize how often you bring her up?”

His expression faltered, surprise flashing across his face. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that I can’t go a single day without hearing you talk about her,” you said, your voice rising despite yourself. “I’m talking about the way you look at her. The way you… God, the way you light up around her.”

He blinked, leaning back in his chair, his usual confidence suddenly absent. “You’re imagining things,” he said softly, but the guilt in his eyes betrayed him.

“No,” you shot back, standing now, your heart racing. “I’m not. Don’t you dare lie to me. Not anymore.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. You could feel your hands shaking, your breath coming in shallow gasps. And then, in a voice so quiet it was barely audible, he said the words you’d been dreading.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

The room tilted. Your world tilted. You gripped the back of your chair to steady yourself. “What didn’t you mean, Satoru?”

He didn’t answer immediately, and that pause—that damned, suffocating pause—told you everything. Finally, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I care about you,” he said. “I do. But…”

“But it’s her,” you finished for him, your voice breaking.

The look on his face was answer enough.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The weight of his betrayal pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe. You had known, deep down, for so long. But hearing it—seeing it—was something else entirely.

You grabbed your coat, your vision blurry with tears, and headed for the door.

“Wait,” he called, his voice laced with desperation. “Don’t go. Please. We can fix this.”

You turned, your hand gripping the doorknob so tightly it hurt. “Fix what, Satoru? The fact that I was never enough for you? The fact that you used me to get closer to her?”

He flinched, the weight of your words hitting him like a slap.

“You don’t love me,” you said, your voice trembling but firm. “You never did. And I won’t stay where I’m not wanted.”

And with that, you walked out.

---

The night air was freezing, but you didn’t feel it. You walked aimlessly, your chest hollow, your tears blending with the light drizzle that had started to fall. You thought breaking up with him would bring some kind of closure, some kind of relief.

But all you felt was loss.

Loss for the person you thought he was. Loss for the love you thought you had. And most of all, loss for the part of you that still wanted him, even now.

When you got home, your phone buzzed relentlessly—texts from him, voicemails pleading for another chance. But you knew there was nothing left to salvage. He had never truly been yours to begin with.

You deleted the messages, one by one, until your phone was silent.

And in the quiet, you made a promise to yourself: you would heal. Not for him. Not for anyone else. For you.

[reaper2187]

Caitlyn kiramman x female reader

The escape plan

Ghosts of the Past

The safe house Caitlyn had arranged was a modest hideout on the outskirts of Piltover. It was quiet, secluded, and far enough from prying eyes to allow them time to regroup.

Y/N stood at the window, gazing out at the city lights in the distance. Her posture was relaxed, but her mind was far from still. Vi sat at the small table, drumming her fingers anxiously, while Caitlyn was in the corner, tinkering with her rifle.

The silence stretched until Vi finally spoke. “You’re gonna tell me what’s going on, right? About Jhin?”

Y/N’s lips twitched into a faint smile, though her gaze remained fixed on the window. “You really want to open that box, Vi?”

“Yes,” Vi said firmly, leaning forward. “You disappeared for years, and now I find out you have a brother—a brother who’s infamous, by the way. How does that even work?”

Caitlyn looked up, intrigued. “You’re Jhin’s sister?”

Y/N sighed, turning to face them. “Jhin and I...we’re complicated. He’s my brother, yes, but we’re not close in the traditional sense. We share a bond, but it’s one built on understanding, not affection.”

“What kind of understanding?” Caitlyn asked, her tone cautious.

Y/N stepped closer to the table, her expression unreadable. “We both see death as more than an end. For Jhin, it’s art—a masterpiece to be created with precision and care. For me...it’s a host. Something inevitable, something I’ve embraced. Death isn’t cruel or kind. It simply is.”

Vi frowned, her frustration evident. “That doesn’t explain why you never told me about him.”

Y/N’s gaze softened, a rare flicker of vulnerability breaking through. “Because it wasn’t your burden to carry, Vi. Jhin and I have our own paths, our own ways of dealing with the world. Bringing you into that would’ve only made things harder.”

As the conversation settled, Caitlyn found herself drawn to Y/N’s perspective. “You speak about death as if it’s a friend.”

“In a way, it is,” Y/N replied, leaning against the wall. “You’d be surprised how much clarity it brings. Most people fear it, run from it, but it’s the one constant we all share.”

Caitlyn studied her, her curiosity growing. “And Jhin? Does he share that clarity?”

Y/N’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Jhin sees the beauty in it, the symmetry. For him, every kill is a performance, a statement. I respect that, even if I don’t always agree with his methods.”

“You respect him?” Vi asked, disbelief lacing her voice. “The guy’s a psycho.”

“Maybe,” Y/N admitted, shrugging. “But he’s also a genius. You can’t deny that.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of Y/N’s words settling over them. Caitlyn found herself wondering what it would be like to see the world through Y/N’s eyes—a world where death wasn’t something to fear but something to understand.

Later that night, while Caitlyn and Vi were sleeping, Y/N sat alone by the window. The faint hum of the city outside was a stark contrast to the stillness of the room. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, intricately folded piece of paper.

Unfolding it, she found a single line written in Jhin’s precise, elegant handwriting: “Every stage needs its performer, sister. When will you embrace yours?”

Y/N smirked, the faintest hint of amusement in her eyes. Jhin always had a flair for the dramatic. She folded the paper carefully and tucked it back into her pocket, her thoughts drifting to their shared past.

Jhin had always been the artist, the perfectionist. Even as children, he had a fascination with detail, with creating something beautiful out of chaos. Y/N, on the other hand, had been the realist, the pragmatist. Where Jhin sought beauty, she found purpose. Their views aligned just enough to coexist but diverged enough to keep them apart.

The next morning, Caitlyn found Y/N sitting on the steps outside the safe house, her expression distant. She hesitated for a moment before joining her.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Caitlyn asked.

Y/N shook her head. “Too much on my mind.”

Caitlyn sat beside her, her rifle resting across her lap. “I’ve been trying to figure you out.”

Y/N chuckled softly. “Good luck with that.”

“You’re not what I expected,” Caitlyn admitted. “When Vi mentioned you, I thought you’d be...different.”

“Different how?”

“Angrier. Bitter. But you’re...calm. Like you’ve made peace with everything.”

Y/N turned to her, her gaze piercing. “Making peace doesn’t mean forgetting. I’ve done things I can’t undo, Caitlyn. But I’ve also accepted that those things are part of who I am.”

Caitlyn nodded slowly, her respect for Y/N growing. “You and Jhin...do you think you’ll ever see him again?”

“Probably,” Y/N said with a faint smile. “Our paths tend to cross when we least expect it.”

Caitlyn hesitated before asking, “And when they do, what happens?”

Y/N’s expression softened, a rare glimpse of vulnerability breaking through. “That depends on him.”

As the days passed, the group worked on building a plan to stay ahead of the enforcers who were undoubtedly hunting them. Y/N proved invaluable, her experience and resourcefulness keeping them one step ahead.

Despite her initial reservations, Caitlyn found herself drawn to Y/N—not just her skills but the quiet strength beneath her stoic exterior. There was a complexity to her, a depth that Caitlyn couldn’t help but admire.

Vi, too, seemed to be healing. Though she and Y/N still had their differences, the bond they shared was undeniable. They often sparred in the mornings, their playful banter a reminder of the sibling-like relationship they had once shared.

But the shadow of Jhin lingered over them all, an unspoken reminder of the danger that still lay ahead.

Hope you enjoy part 4 someday now, if you have any requests send them my way, and ye hope you like it

[prettyboykatsuki]

your kind of like | h. suo

✮ tags ; fem!reader, tomboy / athlete!reader, friends to lovers, third-year suo but its not super important, mutual pining, silly shoujo tropes lol, i headcanon tsubaki using she/they pronouns

✮ wc ; 2k (??????)

✮ a/n ; based on violets request for suo + my tomboy reader delusions. reader is a himbo but a girl and i love her.

also sorry if i completely butchered this guy LOOOL

The first time Suo lays eyes on you, you're half-way up a tree - a few feet from the ground, trying to coax and old lady's cat to jump on you and come down safely.

He remembers it in great detail since it left a lasting impression. How you rolled your skirt up so it wouldn't get in your way, how your face and hands were covered in scratches - and most particularly, how you smiled the entire time. How you were loud as you clicked your tongue but soft to it once it jumped into your arms.

You had jumped onto the soles of your feet with great force but the kitty seemed calm in your arms after a while. Bright as the sun and twice as warm, you returned the cat to it's owner and then, met Suo for the first time.

You give him your name, your age, your birthday - and then ask him for the same. When he gives it to you, you clap a hand on his shoulder and tell him it's so good to meet him.

Suo does not believe in love at first sight. Koi no yokan—love at second sight, or the feeling when you meet someone that loving them is your destiny. If Suo could put a name to that feeling, it was probably that.

He was bound to love you from that very instance.

For the last two years, he's been going straight down that path with no resistance and insurmountable clarity.

It's natural for Suo to make comparatives. It's the type of person he is, the kind of fighter he sets himself up to be. Primarily a martial artists with a preference to keep calm requires strategizing.

Drawing connections comes to him as easy as breathing.

So, if he had to compare him to you, there's no end of things that make you incredibly different. Almost opposite in all ways except your decency. Compared to Suo, you are loud and brutish and strong. You're easy to read in a way that reminds him of Sakura, but denser. Your nature is tough and absurdly honest.

You don't often fight outside of your sport for one reason or another, but when you do - you prefer to tank hits instead of avoid them. Everything you feel always shows on your face.

He's never met a girl so earnest in his entire life.

He's never really met anyone like you in general.

After your first meeting, you began to get friendly with him and Bofurin in general. A student athlete in an all-girls school in the same town, you're often in the area doing odd jobs for money. You live with your brother who works in the city, and you're the youngest of your family. You're incapable of lying, even when it might benefit you and you like sweet things.

You're nice to everyone and like to chat up whoever's around, but you like Suo especially. You often ditch class to go to Furin and hang out with them and you're rarely intimidated by anyone. You're comfortable with his friends, though you seem especially fond of Nirei and Sugashita. Sakura too, though he has yet to know how to act around you even this many years later.

Your relationship is as normal as any other friendship, but maybe that's part of the problem. You treat Suo as thoughtful as you would any other friend - even when he refuses to tell you about himself. You're not hurt by the fact he's got walls up so high, and you don't hound him when he can't be straight with you.

You understand Suo as a friend and don't bother with any other details. You just.. get him. So effortlessly. And even when you don't, nothing changes.

The nature of Bofurin after all, leads Suo to fights that leave him in emotional tatters. Moments where anyone else would ask to open up, you remain steadfast. Your friendship is a lot like you, sturdy beyond his understanding

(Countless times, Suo has shown up at your door unannounced - often covered in bruises and battered. You worry and anger, but you always let him. Take care of his wounds, let him borrow your shower. Even going so far as sneaking him into your room when your brother was home, just so he didn't have to be alone with his thoughts.

He can't count how many times he's slept across from you in your bed. Dense. An honest idiot. A girl with no self-preservation who's letting a guy sleep alongside her with no care.

Suo always feels apologetic the next morning and you smile and go along like nothing happened. It might've been true in your case, but in his - he fell in love a little more each time.)

Because you're that way - Suo finds it hard to deal with his feelings. With the enormity of them, the intensity of them. You're not totally clueless - but when people talk about relationships or dating, it always seems like it has nothing to do with you.

If you were anyone else, he thinks it'd be easy to confess to you. If you had been another girl, or less of a friend.

But it's you. The bright, earnest, tough, you. He can't even bring himself to flirt with you or treat you idly despite how much he likes you. He knows better than anyone how good you are, and can't pretend to be anything less than honest about it. He adores you so utterly that it'd be pointless to even try to pretend to have the advantage.

He can be a tease. A flirt, if he wants to be. With anyone else it'd be easy. But with you, the love is so genuine it's impossible. He just wants to cherish you. Wants to shower you in affection, wants to spoil you and give you all of his time.

Friends is such a hard line in the sand. The minute Suo crosses it, there's never going to be anyway to go back to how you were before. He's been careful in being content with just friends, because he'd rather keep you in his life than not have you at all by scaring you away with his feelings.

He thinks it'll all be fine until Nirei tells him word on the block about a recent confession.

__

"A kouhai from a different team asked you out?"

Suo reaches out to wipe the grain of rice from the corner of your mouth as you eat onigiri. Your carelessness endears him but he's too distracted by the rumor to pay it any mind. You nod, swallowing with a sip of water.

"Uh-huh. Akira-kun. Dun' know his first name, but he's a good kid. Super tall for being younger, though."

Suo was sure he would never have to worry about this since you went to an all-girls school. To think you'd get a confession from a fellow student athlete, a boys member of an opposing team. He tries not to get irritated at the thought.

"Are you interested in him?"

You pause. Suo feels his heart race before you answer with a shrug and continue to eat your bento.

"Dunno the guy enough to like 'im. He seems nice. I told him as much but he said that was fine," You pick at the veggies in your bento, taking a bite out of one. "So he asked me on a date instead so we could get to know each other."

"Oh?" Suo forces himself to smile and keep his voice even. "Are you going to go?"

You nod and Suo feels his heart stop. Shit.

"Really? I'm surprised."

You hum. "Well, you know, I've never been on a date," You say, suddenly smiling. You look so genuinely happy Suo can't bring himself to be totally upset. "But, it sounds super fun! We're gonna go to a batting cage in another prefecture."

He looks at you in surprise. "A batting cage?"

"Well, he thought I'd like that more than other date ideas, but I'm not all that picky since I've never been."

"You already talked about it a lot then."

"Uh-huh. He laughed when I said I wanted to go eat meat after. Said that was just like me... somehow I don't get it, but I'm happy anyway. I hope it'll be fun."

Suo smiles his best business smile and tells himself beating the shit out of his friends kouhai for flirting with her is wrong. "Hm. Are you prepared to go on the date?"

"You sound like Tsubaki-chan," You lament. "She made me go get nice clothes and everything."

....

"She did, huh? That sounds just like her. Did Kotoha-san go too?"

"Mhm. They just picked it out for me since I'm not good with any of that. Tsubaki-chan is so beautiful so I trust her."

"Mm,"

"What's wrong?"

You're looking at him with such clear eyes it makes Suo guilty. He knows if he says nothing now, you'll drop it without question. That's just how you are. But for once he doesn't really want to drop it. It's too impulsive and entirely rash but he really...

"You know, if you wanted go on a date - I could've just taken you."

You pause then grin a little. "Dates are for people in like, you know."

Of course you would assume it was a joke. Suo pauses, suddenly looking serious.

"So, if I told you I liked you - would you consider going on a date with me?"

"Sure," You smile because you definitely still think he's joking. But it's a pretty, honest smile anyway. "But Suo-kun doesn't need to ask me for anything. We can always just go together."

He still himself as he scoots in closer to you where you sit, pushing your lunches out of the way and closing the distance to look at you closer. You blink in surprise but don't back away or flinch.

"I'm being serious you know?" He hums softly. It's less hard to say than he thought, but maybe it's because he's already been willing to put everything on the line for you from the start. "I really like you. In that way."

You blink. "...Huh?"

He can't help himself. He'll apologize later. Your breath is warm and soft when he leans in and presses his lips to yours for too long. You don't push him away, uncannily receptive to the touch. You taste salty. Suo kisses you for as long as you'll let him and pulls away only for breath.

He isn't sure what he's expecting, but the jump from pure shock to pure embarrassment surprises him. You put a hand on your shoulder, jaw open in disbelief.

"....So it was like that," You mumble, in shock. "It was... really like that?"

"For a long time, now"

"I also like Suo-kun, but how shocking."

Suo stares at you. "Are you sure your like and my like are the same? I get the feeling that -"

You press your lips to his as if to prove a point, pulling away and brushing it off just as quickly. He can feel the heat rise to his neck in immediate disbelief. You frown at him "Between us, I'm the one who's good at being honest so don't be like that,"

He just... stares. He's elated but completely confused. "Why didn't you confess earlier?"

You smile sheepishly. "Being your friend is also good, so I was okay with not changing it. It's hard to tell what you're thinking and I didn't think it was important."

He laughs in disbelief, dropping his head down to your shoulder. He didn't think he would be this happy. He didn't even think it was possible. "How could that not be important?"

"You're more important to me than that," You say easily, though he can hear your beating from where his head is. "I'm happy we like each other but I care the most about Suo-kun's feelings and being with you since you're important to me. I want to be with you for a long time."

Ah. In some regards, it seems like Suo is never going to be able to one-up you. He laughs in disbelief as his arms snake around your waist, crushing you more tightly in his arms than he can bear. You giggle so sweetly when he does he thinks he might really be done for. His usual demeanor comes in easy, calm and collected but absolutely estatic.

"It sounds like a proposal." He mumbles, almost lovesick.

"We could get married but you have to ask my brother first."

Suo laughs brightly against your neck. "Be less casual about something like that," And then a little softer. "But yes, we'll stay together as long as you want."

He holds you like that a little bit longer.

[theblackfemininesociety]

💎 Our Top 10 Tips for Making The Best out of The New Year:

Tip #1: Allow God to be your foundation.

God has to be the firmest foundation in your life. Go to him with and for everything. With the Most High, you are not only protected, corrected and forgiven, you are also loved beyond measures and guided to your highest potential. This year there will be many obstacles but remember Jesus is The Prince of Peace (Isaiah 9:6) and you are never alone!

Tip #2 : Be Intentional.

It’s as simple as it sounds, do everything with intention 💎 you simply can not afford to play with your potential this year. You are too valuable. Every decision, every action, and every thought should be aligned with your deeper purpose. When you approach life with clarity and focus, you create a ripple effect that transforms not only your own experience but also those around you. Embrace this mindset, and watch how opportunities flourish, relationships deepen, and fulfillment becomes a consistent part of your journey. Intentional living is not just a practice; it’s a lifestyle that leads to profound growth and connection. Always speak life into yourself and your situation. So, take a moment to reflect on your intentions and let them guide you toward a life that resonates with your true self.

Tip #3: Learn when & how to say NO.

As the new year approaches, remember that being selfish can be a positive trait. We're not suggesting you become like Ebenezer Scrooge, but it's important to know when to prioritize yourself. You cannot pour from an empty cup. Saying "no" doesn’t mean you’re failing those who love and respect you—keep that in mind.

Tip #4: If it doesn’t align, let it fly.

As the new year approaches, it's the perfect time to confidently reflect on your experiences—recognizing what worked and what didn’t. This year, you'll master the art of identifying what truly aligns with your goals and what you need to release. Trust yourself and embrace this journey ahead.

Tip #5: Self-care isn’t just a luxury, it’s a necessity.

As a woman, it's crucial to prioritize self-care. Women of BFS understand that self-care is an essential part of their journey. When you feel empowered and confident, you'll align yourself with becoming the best version of yourself. Self-care isn't just about pampering your outer appearance—though that is important—but also about nurturing your mind and soul. This is how you heal and effortlessly exist in your femininity. So, this year, self-care is a must sis. Take care of yourself.

Tip #6: If you can’t afford to buy it twice, don’t buy it once.

We told you, There is nothing soft about being broke (see post here) a game changer this year will be how you decide to invest and save your money. If you can’t afford to buy it twice, don’t buy it once. How you handle $100 will determine how you will handle $1000. Luxury is a mindset thing before an aesthetic. The fools will blow it, the wise will multiply it.

Tip #7: Stay Exclusive

Tap into your IT GIRL energy this upcoming year. Dont let everyone have access to you. This includes your body, ladies! You must protect your energy. Being exclusive also means staying true to who you are. This is how your aura is created... Have you ever seen a woman who is so authentic that she draws people in effortlessly? Her confidence radiates, and her presence is felt long after she has left the room. It's as if she has a magnetic yet mysterious quality that sets her apart from the rest. This woman is YOU this year. Tap into HER! 💋

Tip #8: Dont double back & stand on it!

9 times out of 10, you’ve been released from that experience for a reason. Whether is a job, a man, a friendship or even a bad habit! You must avoid returning to what caused you pain and hindered your purpose. Take your L’s as lessons and move forward with more wisdom and knowledge. What’s behind you can rarely comprehend what’s ahead of you, don’t bring dead weight into this new year!

Tip #9: Don't be afraid to be SEEN!!

Listen, we know all too well how much an isolation season is needed but so is your pop-out season sis. God didn’t put you in that season for you to hide all that he’s been working within you. You can do this and still be humble, and kind and still give thanks to GOD. When you pop out think of it as being released from the shackles of the enemy! THEY CAN'T HOLD YOU DOWN! So many times we get too comfortable in our preparation season; we start sleeping on the very thing we were designed to become! Don’t let that be your reality this year babe.

Tip #10: Take The Risk.

Bet on yourself! This is a year that you will be happy to do things that scare you! Believe in yourself! This is the year to embrace challenges that intimidate you! View this as a chance for personal growth and development. You will learn that when the year is done, you will appreciate the fact that you have stepped outside your comfort zone and tried; putting you in positions you never thought you'll be in! You miss 100% of of the shots you dont take. 💋

────── ⋆⋅🩷📲🫂⋅⋆ ──────

We’re basically besties now!

Let’s stay connected! 🫶🏽🫶🏿🫶🏾

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[quartzteph]

HAPPY 10TH ANNIVERSARY TGS!!!!!

I've had this design for a recombined Jekyll rolling around in my head for months now, so I finally took the time to draw him. For the sake of clarity I'll refer to him as Re!Jekyll (short for Recombined Jekyll) (also the prefix "re-" feels kinda fitting for him, since he is whole once again). I have many ideas/headcanons for him, but I'll put all that under the cut :)

As for the drawing itself, I tried to mimic the look of the comic for the most part. (Note: Many of the colors used here were colorpicked from the comic to ensure accuracy.) I wanted him to look less like a 50/50 mix of Jekyll and Hyde and more like a Hyde-ish Jekyll, so I opted to give him the same face and hairstyle as Jekyll, but with some Hyde-like qualities. Aside from the obvious blonde streak, his hair is fluffier, messier, and a bit longer. The hair tuft/sideburn things in front of his ears are based on a mix of the hair tufts that hang in front of Hyde’s ears and university Jekyll’s sideburns. While he mostly wears red, he likes to include a touch of green, as seen here in his cravat. Also he gets the dark eye circles, as a treat. (I just really like Hyde's dark eye circles and don't have enough self-restraint to not give them to Re!Jekyll.)

Bonus doodles cause i love my freak son:

Various headcanon ramblings about him (plus drawing process) under the cut:

When he's trying to look more respectable, he uses his now-longer bangs to hide his green eye. At first, he also attempts to make his hair look neater, but this is a near impossible task that he eventually gives up on. (He is doomed to live out the fuzzy-headed mad scientist stereotype.)

When people question his sudden change in appearance, he claims his blonde streak and green eye are the result of a chemical formula splashing him in the face (á la Two-Face). Yeah this sounds a little far-fetched, but he is charming enough to get away with it. (Besides, he knows way more about alchemy than they do, who are they to question it?)

This sudden merging of identities is initially super disorienting. It takes him a while to get used to it. (In the first few days, he keeps referring to himself with "we". He eventually breaks this habit tho.)

Has a bit of an identity crisis. (I'm specifically envisioning a scene of him staring at his wardrobe, mostly full of reds and greens, and getting stuck because he doesn't know what color to wear.)

Jekyll and Hyde were so used to having someone constantly there, listening to them and yapping in their ears (or in their heads, rather). Now, for Re!Jekyll, life feels so quiet. It's peaceful, but also a little lonely.

Has a bad habit of talking to himself aloud. When he's alone, he sometimes has whole conversations or debates with himself.

Struggles more with the mundane parts of his job due to having Hyde's impulsiveness and wanderlust. He occasionally has to take little breaks from all the paperwork when he becomes too restless.

He's still goopy. Moments of extreme emotion (stress, anger, excitement, etc.) can trigger the green goop. (Think that one scene in Ch. 14 when the priestess startles Hyde, causing goop to spew from his face.) I like to imagine the guilt of everything he's done hitting him and causing him to have a "that one scene in Howl's Moving Castle" moment.

In rare moments of severe inner turmoil or repression, he may even go into convulsions in addition to the goop, as if his body is trying to transform. (Feel free to disregard this one if you wish, this is 100% just me being super self-indulgent cause I love angst.)

Despite his many newfound struggles, he’s actually very happy! He now knows that Lanyon loves and accepts every part of him, and this helps him to better love and accept himself.

And now drawing process images! Shoutout to that one Re!Jekyll who is way too excited about something:

[aspidisnothere]

Presence. Viktor x Sapphire (Arcane OC) blurb below the image!

Her presence wrapped around him before her body did, a current of warmth and understanding that seeped into his soul. Cloying and refreshing all at once, her essence never sought to overwhelm him, only to anchor, grounding the chaos in his mind while fanning the flame of their shared connection.

Her thoughts no longer vied to replace his but wove seamlessly into the fabric of his consciousness, a delicate symbiosis of two minds moving as one. When her chest pressed to his back, the quiet rhythm of her heart syncing with his, until he couldn’t say if he hears one heart or two at once. Her need blanketed him with delightful heaviness, making him pliant, giving him the opportunity to lean back into her, to surrender, in a way.

His senses parsed her chemistry instinctively, with reverence of a lover. Every molecule was a hymn to their bond, a hymn that spoke of trust deeper than words, a love built on the unshakable foundation of shared understanding. She was the only one who could dismantle him so completely and rebuild him stronger in the same breath.

Her giggle bubbled up in his own throat, light and unrestrained, a sound so rare it startled him into opening his eyes. The echo of her laugh ringed in his mind, while her lips stayed closed and her joy spilled into him like sparkling wine trough the intricate wires connecting their consciousness. He turned his head, catching her mischievous smile.

“Something amuses you, Sapphire?” he asked, though he didn’t need an answer. Yet, he asked anyway, because hearing her voice was a pleasure he would never take for granted.

She laughed then, actually laughed. A soft, velvety sound that vibrated against his skin as her hands slid up his chest. “Something… someone…” she murmured, her voice a whisper that settled over him like silk. Maybe a little deeper than remembered, like she grew more confident in her own body.

Her hands slowly slide up his body, hard planes of his hexed flesh throb beneath each caress and Viktor lets out a short sigh, just as Sapphire hums in appreciation in the space between his uncovered shoulder blades.

She chuckled again and Viktor felt the corners of his lips tilt upward.

He stopped her hand, intertwining their fingers and lifting them into the light filtering through the greenhouse glass. The interplay of shadow and glow caught the metallic threads in his hexed flesh and reflected in the delicate human softness of hers. Their bond was there, palpable in every shared glance, every unspoken thought. Her consciousness brushed against his, tentative but present, giving him a taste of her emotions, her unwavering trust, her unspoken devotion.

“You’re cataloging scents again,” she teased, her voice carrying the gentle lilt of her amusement. “A brilliant mind that refuses to rest even for something so trivial...”

“Scent? Trivial?” Viktor’s voice dipped into incredulous disbelief, though there was a faint curve of amusement to his words. “You do realize how much information a single molecule carries? How it can tell a story, mark a moment, or even warn of danger?”

Sapphire’s smile widened, and she tilted her head to nuzzle into the nape of his neck, lips grazing metal etched into the spines. Her voice a low, teasing whisper. “I realize you’re the only one who could turn my perfume into a philosophical debate.”

Her breath ghosted over his skin, pulling a quiet hum from deep in his chest. “Hardly philosophical. Perfume, as you call it, is merely a layered compound, designed to—”

She cut him off with a playful squeeze of his hand. “—to distract and delight. You love it because it reminds you of me, not because of the molecular structure.”

He paused, turning his head just enough to catch the edge of her grin. Her words disarmed him, as they always did, wrapping him in that strange, contradictory comfort she embodied. She was his chaos and his clarity, and it left him feeling both unbalanced and utterly centered.

“I…” His voice softened, hesitant but honest. “I love it because it’s you.”

For a moment, the light filtering through the greenhouse caught in her hair, turning the strands into threads of liquid amber. Her smile softened, the teasing glint in her eyes giving way to something quieter, something far more dangerous to his carefully guarded heart.

“You see?” she whispered, leaning forward until her lips touched the sensitive skin of his neck again. “Even you can admit it. You’re not as logical as you like to think of yourself, Viktor.”

“Mm,” he murmured, his lips quirking again, this time with a hint of self-deprecation. “And you’re not as gentle as you pretend, Sapphire.”

For a long moment, they stayed there, quiet in the haze of the greenhouse, her warmth sinking into his back, his pulse slowing to match hers. Viktor finally broke the silence, his voice a whisper meant only for her.

“It is a lot of power to hold over someone. I wouldn’t want to abuse it.”

Sapphire smiled into his skin. “You can have it.”

[ma1dmer]

Call of Duty - Vladimir Makarov NSFW

the first time I went on a date with a slavic man my mother turned to me and told me "I didn't immigrate, for you to be going out with Ivan from the village" anyways, here is ivan from the village

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex): surprisingly he talks, he'll go on and on about the small things in his day to day, his shitty day, the things he's seen since he last saw you, his plans for the future ,especially if you speak his language, in the darkness of your room pressed against each other naked like that, he almost opens up to you

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): he loves legs, he is a man who can appreciate a good high heel to elongate them, loves fucking you in the tights and heels combo, very particular about them too, he sees you walking around in a skirt with a slit up the thigh and heels and he's pulling you to him, asking if this is his present

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically): in the heat of the moment he's so into the idea of cumming on you, messing up that pretty face of yours or leaving his mark on you in a way, but the second that post nut clarity hits he is absolutely disgusted, quickly throws something for you to clean up with while wiping his hand

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): he is a bit of a masochist, its just one of those things he'll never admit and you better not bring them up at any point in any conversation, but it gets him so riled up when you have the balls to slap him back, he doesn't encourage your behavior outside of very specific moments in the bedroom though, it's rare for him to actually allow it, but you can immediately tell when he's in one of those moods, he'll be lost in the feeling of you wrapped around his cock and suddenly yank your hand to wrap around his throat and growl at you to go on

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?): a man with a lot of experience, mostly anonymous hook ups here and there, so it's tough to get him to get used to an actual serious commited relationship, but it's nice, he won't complain with having someone to always warm his bed or wait for him to come back home

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying): the basics, on your back holding your legs as he fucks you, he'll kiss your forehead or cheek growling filth against your sweaty skin, if you turn away from his kisses he forces you to look at him, gets very petty about that

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.): serious and very very intense

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.): all natural, not particularly hairy but he doesn't do anything to it, he always smells very very strongly of cologne as well

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect): not exactly romantic, if you keep him content and his bed warm, he spoils you outside the bedroom, that's his way of showing he cares and his commitment to you, but he keeps his distance in general, he is a greedy greedy man, he wants your full attention but won't give you his unless he is forced to do so

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon): before he thinks of jacking off he first texts you, if you don't answer his texts, he calls you, asks you if you are busy, not really caring for any answer other than "no, my love, what do you want?" ,he'll be stroking himself through his pants as he asks you to come over or tells you he's about to pop in for a bit, if you happen to be busy he'd rather take a shower and wait for when when he can next see you again

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks): power dynamics, impact play, choking etc

L = Location (favorite places to do the do): he keeps his private business behind closed doors, can't stand the idea of other men ogling you

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going): a short skirt, high heels, red lipstick, play a bit of dress up for him, he's a simple man who can still enjoy the simple pleasures of life

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): he does not share, he gets angry with you when another man looks at you, can't even comprehend the thought of bringing someone else in the bedroom, if you even suggest it, you are out, he's gone, and he's fucking every single woman within a 100 mile radius as revenge

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.): loves receiving, he is not particularly gentle with it though, he likes things very specifically so he orders you around or straight up moves your head like his personal fleshlight, he also enjoys having a finger or two in him while you give him head, won't talk about it outside the bedroom, but always lifts his hips up or straight up moves your hand to his ass when he fucks your mouth to let you do your thing

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.): rough and fast, he'll take his time to prepare you but once he's inside he's almost single mindedly chasing his own pleasure, you have to keep up with him and take matters into your own hand, enjoys the show greatly

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.): not a big fan, if he is at work, he is at work, you don't intrude during that time and he hates nothing more than an impatient brat

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.): not really, he likes things very particularly done, its difficult to convince him to do something new, he's not unmovable but if you insist too much he gets stubborn and will keep denying you

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?): it really depends on the context, how long since he last saw you? how pent up is he? after a success or a failure? how generous is he feeling that night? is he spending the night or needs to fly out in a couple of hours? everything moves with his schedule

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?): he's quite possessive and very self absorbed, he doesn't like the idea of you using them by yourself when he's gone, but can definitely be convinced with something he can control for you

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): he is pretty straight forward, isn't so much a tease as he has a bit of a mean streak, he enjoys the little jump you make when you think he's gonna spank you ,but instead he just gently cups your ass or thighs, will smirk and ask you if you are scared of him or something, tells you to relax and stop being so tense, even though you have legit reasons to be worried

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.): grunts and groans and a lot, a lot of dirty talk, especially if he sees it gets a rise out of you, you'd expect him to be quieter but no not really, he makes these deep guttural grunts as he fucks you and curses up a storm, especially in russian

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character): he is a pussy slapper, he eats it with precision and great enjoyment, but he's so mean about it, will coo at you in russian when you flinch at his touch

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes): average length but very thick with a slightly thinner crown, very hard to adjust to

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?): very average, it's common to send you off with a wave of his hand if he is busy, but when the need arises in him he does expect you to drop everything for him

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): this man is a little spoon, he will never admit it or ask, but every night he turns his back to you and expects you to hug him at some point