#undercover blood bonds

[cat-or-kitten]

That's not fair how hot Jericho and Sam are 😭 I really have a Problem i mean ahhhhhhh i want them to be real and i don't care that they are walking red flags... 😃

[uranometrias]

✮ꜜ : ❛ long time coming : aaron hotchner x fem! reader

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau! reader

summary: after getting hurt out in the field, you're on leave for a month. coming back felt long overdue, that is until your plans with the team lead you to a situation that feels a bit too close for comfort after such a traumatic time. what's worse, your feelings you've harbored for your boss have no choice but to come to light when he makes the odd choice to address you as 'agent' rather than your name after one month of being apart, and years and years of back and forth will-they-wont-they.

content warnings: making out. allusions to sexual assault + r4pe (but only in the context of the case). reader has slight signs of PTSD. anxiety/panic attacks. reader runs into a few pushy men while out at the club. drinking / drunk confessions. reader has a crush on her boss, it is also implied that reader finds derek attractive, and he reciprocates these feelings. hotch is very good at calming reader down. no usage of y/n. reader is described as having shoulder length hair (can be read as a wig/weave) angry/disappointed hotch! reader has been hiding her anxiety / nightmares / memory issues from the team. mentions of vomiting. kissing. mentions of elle & the events of the fisher king. no distinct timeline, but can be read as s7 with the iconic team (hotch, emily, derek, jj, penelope, rossi, & spencer)

"Okay, I didn't know we were going all out. I would've prepared better." you smile shyly as Jennifer pulls you into a tight hug. When Penelope had called you early that morning with an excited decree that you'd been cleared to return to work you hadn't been sure how to feel. You hadn't bothered to ask how Garcia of all people was privy to information you hadn't received from your bosses yet, there was no getting a straight answer when it came to the Technical Analyst.

It had been her idea for the entire team to get together. You'd been out of the office for a full month, and in that time you'd tried your hand at maintaining your bonds with the rest of the group. It of course wasn't the same, but you knew that you'd needed the time. The last time you'd joined them on a case things had gone horribly wrong. You shudder at the thought, you had been doing so good at forgetting about it all, but seeing them again made it all come back.

The unsub had been your run-of-the-mill anger excitation rapist, a creep that had been using an elaborate ruse to entice and entrap women. It had been Emily's idea for the two of you to go undercover, the unsub had been killing two women every week, women who in many ways were polar opposites of one another, a trait that you and Emily shared. Long story short, in the midst of your plan to lure and trap the Unsub, you'd been separated from Emily and cornered.

You’d been carted off by the creep who kept you stuck for three hours before the team used his mistake to find you. By then though, the damage had been done. You remember the look on Rossi's face when he and Hotch came busting in, and found you looking bruised up with a bloody face, and a gun barrel to the side of your head. You'd never seen Hotch quite as scared, at least not since everything with Foyet nearly three years ago when he lost Haley and almost Jack.

You'd been too out-of-sorts to hear the way they'd tried to reason with the Unsub. And you hadn't realized your abdomen was losing blood until a gunshot rang out, bullets whizzing past your head as the unsub curled into himself before falling to the ground. You didn't know much, you thought maybe your eardrums had exploded with the way they were ringing, and you'd half expected to smack your head against the ground and end up with an annoying concussion.

Instead, you'd been met with the sight of your boss. He'd yelled something you weren't privy to, mouth moving as he seemingly forced the rest of the team out of their stupor long enough to get a medic inside to look you over. It was like you said, the details were fuzzy, but nothing had managed to wipe Hotch's worried expression as he fussed over your safety, out of your mind. However, if you were honest with yourself for one measly second, that was nothing new.

Nothing seemed to fill up your mind the way your boss did, and it was stupid, and deplorable all things considered. But it's not like it had even been something you'd asked for. It just happened one day. You shake these thoughts of your near paralyzing emotions away, pulling yourself back to the present as you took in JJ, who despite her perceived candor looked great. "Oh come on Jaige." you huff, and you appraise her more openly. "You look amazing, as usual."

She grins, albeit shyly, and she's waiting, maybe for your approval maybe for something else. She's trying to be discreet as she sweeps your for obvious reminders of what happened, and you feel nervous. Most of your injuries had healed up well enough, and the scratches that littered your face had been covered in a smattering of makeup. You felt comfortable in your pretty girl cocoon, all done up with a bright smile on your face that was surprisingly believable.

"Can I hug you?" she asks, and you can tell she's been holding it in, waiting to ask. You nod your head, a quiet chuckle escaping you as the blonde seems to scoop you into her arms. She's careful not to squeeze too tight, but the love is felt all the same. "God, it's been so weird without you around." she hums, and while the rest of the team is already huddled inside, probably in a booth Penelope picked, you're so happy she's the one here telling you this now.

"Now you know how we all felt when they sent you to the Pentagon." you whisper back, and you hear her bemused giggle as she steps back, and she takes you in again. Your red minidress was a stark contrast to the usual business-casual attire you wore everyday to work. Your hair was curled, pinned back with a gold claw clip, hair just barely ghosting over the divots of your collarbones. You'd opted for a shorter do' following everything with the unsub.

"Never leave us again." she pleads, and you feel this warmth blossoming in your chest at the way she's staring at you, almost like she really means it. You'd joined the team back when Elle and Gideon had still been around. At one point you'd been the rookie, the new girl nobody knew what to expect from. JJ had been right there beside you, even back then. She had been sweet, assertive, your first real friend on the team. She'd welcomed you before anyone else.

In time of course, things had changed, JJ had a husband, kids, a hoard of other units that were plotting on her skills at all times, but she was still JJ. Still that same first friend that helped you to see the Behavioral Analysis Unit was the only place for you. "I'll do my best." you promise, and she grins. She links arms with you before you both head inside the bar. There was music playing, some alternative indie song that wasn't half bad.

"Here's the girl of the hour now." Emily exclaims, and it's clear they've already started tossing back shots. JJ's head is instantly shaking in mortification. So it was going to be one of those nights. Penelope meets you both, pulling JJ from your arms and leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek sweetly, before she's turning to you. She's got tears already brimming in her eyes, and you can't help but giggle at the dramatics of it all.

"I'm so happy to see you." she squeals, and you find yourself hugging back despite the sting of your abdomen. "You look so beautiful." she adds a second afterwards. "What are you looking to get lucky?" she asks, as she uses her hands to push you away slightly, hands resting gently on both of your shoulders. You feel your face growing hot at the implication, and you see the way she's looking at your facial expressions for a signal of your lies. Curse her proximity to profilers.

"I just wanted to look nice." you reply and Penelope lets you off the hook. She leads you to the table, and you're just in time to hear the group finish up their hellos to JJ. She's sitting next to Morgan, who's bright-eyed as he looks up at you. You find yourself fussing with your hair, playing it cool as you press your lips together, re-smearing your lipstick as you waved your hand.

You weren't sure why you felt like the new kid all over again.

"It's good to see you, pretty girl." he croons, and you grin. Morgan was flirty, had been since you met him, and if you weren't so disastrously into Hotch, you think he'd be all on your mind. Well, you know... more than he was. There had been times where you'd been partnered together, and it almost felt like the tension was going to cut you in half. Sexual tension aside though, Derek was your friend.

They all were, and despite what your mind tried to tell you as you sobbed yourself through nightmares during your break from work, they were genuinely happy to see you. "I'm glad you're okay." your eyes flit over to the youngest member of the team. Spence is looking relieved as he too looks up at you with eyes full of relief. He's next to Emily, and she's already downing another drink. She'd be complaining about a migraine the next day, you could hear her now.

"Thanks, Spence." you coo, and you offer him a wink as your eyes fall on the only present member of the team that hadn't addressed you. Rossi had made a point to send his hellos, but due to a previous standing appointment, he wouldn't be joining tonight. You couldn't hold it against him, Rossi was scoping the prairie for wife number four. He offers you a faint smile, the group instantly falling into chatter.

"H-Hey Hotch." you mumble, and he's closest to you, sitting on the outside of the booth as the rest of the team tried their hardest to pretend they weren't expecting this. He doesn't say anything for a moment, instead he takes you in. He wasn't blind, he'd seen you before, you'd always been beautiful, but there was something about you done up like this. Red dress, red lip, bold makeup, and heels that showed off your legs, and accented your model-esque posture.

It was obvious that you were still a bit nervous about being out and about, and you were out of practice with being around the team. He imagined after a bit though you'd be back to yourself. You, and the rest of the girls would be falling into a rhythm in no time. He stands to his feet, much taller than you, as you take a small step back to give him space. "It's good to see you up and about, Agent." and his voice is low, clearly as a courtesy to the bustling of conversation behind you.

"Agent?" you repeat, and the word is so foreign. It makes you take another step back, the bottoms of your Louboutin's clacking against the ground. You looked a bit hurt, but you played it off quickly. "Come on, Hotch. I think we're a little past those formalities." you chuckle awkwardly, and you find yourself looking towards the bar. Yeah, you were definitely going to need a drink. He seems to curse under his breath, but you're not sure if that's due to you, or some internal conflict you weren't privy to. You don't wait to figure it out either.

He doesn't have the opportunity to reply to your correction, because you're looking to Emily, JJ, and Garcia. "Wanna get some shots?" you ask, and you sidestep Aaron, making sure you don't look his way again, as the girls immediately exclaim their agreements. Penelope's sliding out of the booth first, Emily and JJ following her example as they head straight towards the bar. JJ's shooting you a knowing glance as she looks between Hotch and yourself.

"You coming boys?" you extend the invite to Derek and Spencer, who are quick to nod along, both men trailing after the others as they head to the counter to order more drinks. You prepare to follow after them, ready for the welcome respite from your mind swimming in circles.

"I didn't mean to offend you." you stop short, spinning on your heel to meet the gaze of your Unit Chief.

"Well you did." you reply, and your voice is small. "I've known you for almost seven years, and here you are treating me like a stranger." you mumble, and you find yourself tugging at your dress. "I mean, I know it's been a while, but geez Hotch, it's still me." you say and he winces. You're not sure what the last month has been like for the others, but you know what they've been like for you. Torturous. It's been Hell.

"I know." he says, and your eyebrow raises, unmoved by his words. "And again, I didn't mean to offend you." he promises, and he clenches and unclenches his fists by his side. "After everything that happened, I guess I just assumed you'd prefer a more professional approach." he mutters, and you scoff quietly. Classic Aaron Hotchner, running away from interpersonal conflict with his tail tucked between his legs. "You don't even seem comfortable with us tonight."

You blink. Okay well he had a point there, but you were trying.

"It's not that I'm not comfortable." you mutter, and you look over your shoulder at the rest of the team. "I guess I just didn't expect to feel so out of place being out and about." you shrug your shoulders bashfully. "Everyone's normal, everything seems the same." you continue, and you notice the way that Hotch's lips have pressed into a hard line. "And it's like no time has passed at all for anyone else, but for me it's like I never moved." you blink, shivering at the thought.

Hotch's eyebrows furrow inwardly as he takes in your words. "I still feel like I'm-" you trail off, feeling a wide lump growing in your throat. "It's like I never left." you course correct, eyes shutting briefly, lashes brushing against your cheekbones. "Like no matter how much time passes, it still feels like I'm there with him and I'm-"

"I understand." he cuts you off, you think maybe to salvage your pride or to keep you from having a panic attack at the thought. "And you're certain you're ready to come back to work? You know you can take all the time you need." he reminds you, and you are immediately nodding your head as you wave a tired hand his way.

"I can't stay cooped up in my house anymore." you mumble. "It's becoming counterproductive." you huff. "I'm ready." you add a second later. "Apart from this awkwardness, I'm also perfectly fine." and it's a lie, you'd been having nightmares every night. Restless, sleepless evenings full of dread, and jump scares of your own creation. "I mean, I'm here aren't I?" you offer a tight smile as you reach out and tap Hotch's shoulders twice, a tense little conversation ender.

You don't want to stay huddled up with him anymore, not while he was looking at you like he was trying to see into your soul. You turn on your heel, dress swishing side to side as you head for the group. You find yourself in between Emily and Penelope, the blonde to your left immediately sliding a drink in front of you. You down it in a second, the intense burn as the alcohol rested in your chest was a welcome reprieve from the anguish and anxiety you'd been feeling.

You forget about Hotch, and all your heavy feelings by the time you're on your third drink. Your heels feel much too heavy under your feet as you stumble into Emily, the brunette chuckling vibrantly as you hang off each other, the music playing overhead lulling you into a false sense of security. It was nice being like this again after so long, laughing at the dramatic banter between Derek and Penelope. You wondered if they'd remain purely platonic forever.

Trading gossip back and forth with Emily and JJ was always a treat, especially as Spencer tried to keep up with eyes wide as saucers while Emily finally cracked the secrets of her coveted Sin-To-Win weekends. You weren't sure what was funnier, the peeks into Emily's life outside the unit, or the horrified looks that crossed Spence's face with every new tidbit of knowledge he learned about his coworkers. You found your eyes flickering over to Hotch again.

He was stoic as ever, but looser than he would be in the office. He seemed to enjoy being a quiet observer much more than he preferred to be in the mix. He leisurely swirled his glass of scotch, and you felt that familiar buzz of warmth in your chest when you managed to catch him smiling as he quietly passed conversation back and forth with a newly drunk Penelope, and Derek, who looked exasperated.

"Are you just gonna stare at him all night?" you jump a bit, turning to face Emily with surprise swirling in your irises. "If you keep it up, he's gonna catch you." she adds a second afterwards and you tense, head nodding as you scold yourself. You peel away from the bar, drink clutched in your hand. You had to get away from the bar for a second, maybe the cluttered dance floor would be the best distraction.

"Sorry." you mutter, and Emily offers a airy laugh. "He's just usually so serious." you lean into Emily, who nods along. She'd met Hotch after you, but still she'd managed to become so close to him it was almost surreal. She seemed to always know what he was thinking, they were in sync. Unlike you, who seemed to always be on the other end of a hard stare from the man. For a while you just began to assume he hated your guts. Or better put, he was indifferent to your existence.

That was why his look, that look he'd given you as he cradled your head while he waited for backup had been burned into your skull. All that went out of the window the second he'd labeled you 'Agent' though. God, how stupid were you? Emily's amusement makes your eyes roll. "Can I be honest?" she asks, and you nod. Penelope and JJ have migrated to the dance floor, JJ grabbing the good doctor and bringing him along with them. He looks incredibly uncomfortable.

"Sure, Em. If you think it will help." you reply audibly.

"I haven't seen him this relaxed since everything went down." she admits, and you're surprised. As if somehow your presence had been enough to set the stone-serious man at ease. "The first few days after your accident he was a mess." she adds, and she's got a surprising about of stability to her tone to be as inebriated as she was. She lowers her voice some as she leans into you, "He showed up late." she mutters this like it's some sworn secret just meant for the both of you.

"I'm sure Strauss was just riding him about another mishap in the unit." you try, and Emily looks unconvinced and unimpressed with you. "He's our boss, it's kind of his job to worry about us." you finish.

"Yeah, I guess so." Emily concedes, and she looks like she's done talking about it, so you find yourself relaxing. "Still. I've never seen him go that hard against an unsub, maybe you're not the only person that's feeling something." she leaves you with that, trying to keep from tipping as she marched towards the group. You chuckle quietly to yourself, ignoring Emily's words as you focus on finishing your drink. It seemed you'd inadvertently been trying to be alone all along.

You felt some of the tension melt from your shoulders now that you were standing at the bar, away from those prying eyes you couldn't lie to. There's this sound of heavy footsteps, and then the clearing of a throat, as you turn to be met with the sight of a man. He looked to be about your age, cheeks and nose covered in a little smattering of freckles. He's got a head full of shaggy hair that hangs in his face. He takes a quick step, sliding up against the bar beside you.

Way too close.

"Hey." he mumbles, and you appraise him boredly. It's not like he was ugly or anything, but despite Penelope's words you were not looking to get lucky tonight.

"Hi." you offer a dry greeting, shuffling your weight from one foot to the other as the bar seemingly became a beacon for thirsty men. Just as you were politely stepping away from the freckled man, you found yourself bumping into another man who'd slithered up to the bar, your ass pressing against his crotch as his hands wound around your waist. A sleazy chuckle escapes the man's mouth as you gasp. "I'm so sorry." you exclaim, and you're quick to peel away.

You feel trapped though, there were at least four guys, they all seemed to be friends, they all seemed to be in kahoots.

There's a third and fourth man joining the fray, they all looked to be about the same age, height, and weight class. This was probably their routine: approach and overwhelm whatever drunk girl they might have happened upon. It looked like you were tonight's target. "Hey, what's the rush?" the guy closest to you drawls, and you wonder where all your years of training have gone. His arm raises, and it feels like he might hit you so you flinch way too violently.

"Stick around, we'll order the next round." the next demands, and his breath smells like booze. It stinks, and it's hot as it puffs across your face. You almost break your heels backing away from them, suddenly feeling self conscious a`nd way too vulnerable in your short dress.

"No, it's alright, really." you try, and you stumble again. "My friends are right over there." and you point in their general vicinity. "Have a great night though." you offer politely, and you're trying to make your grand escape. One guy, a shaggy blonde haired man is quick to grab you by your forearm, and it's like you're back to that day. Your bureau appointed therapist had been talking to you about your anxiety, how a range of things could become triggers and transport you mentally.

"That wasn't a question. Stay a while." You're stuck, absolutely frozen in place as your entire body tenses up. Some Special Agent you were, the bureau would be so disappointed in you. Your team would be so disappointed in you. All it took to turn you into a pile of nothing was a bit of confrontation. You could remember a stronger version of you, that girl would've had these men on their knees for even thinking of laying hands on you. God, you missed that girl.

His grip on your arm tightens, fingers digging into you harshly as you find yourself surrounded on every side.

"L-Let me go." you huff under your breath, and you crane your neck. You spot JJ, the blonde's eyes locked on yours as the reality of what's going on forces her to sober up. "I just-" and you jerk away, stumbling back completely. You're surprised you don't scream as your glass drops to the ground shattering as glass sprays in every which direction. You feel like your ankle's twisted as you fall back on your ass. You expect to feel the embarrassing thud that came with smacking your ass on the hard floor of a bar, but it never comes.

Instead you feel cocooned by a familiar scent. Strong arms are looped around you, but you suppose your lack of disgust at the action is just a testament of your comfortability. "Are you alright?" it's mumbled against your ear, and the low tone of his voice makes you shiver. All you can really offer is a tight nod as Aaron's guiding you behind him. You don't get to see Hotch in action, not when JJ, Penelope, and Emily are flocking you like Charlie's Angels.

You feel the first signs of the need to barf pricking at you, and you know that you need to get some air. You needed to breathe.

"God, are you okay?" Penelope asks, and you're not sure if you are being dramatic. I mean, it wasn't like they'd done anything really. Now you were gonna look like the freak that ruined a fun night.

"I'm sorry." you chirp, and you miss the way Jennifer and Emily share a hard glance. It's not until you're feeling brisk air whipping around your face that you realize they've taken you outside, and you haven't stopped apologizing. I'm so sorry. Penelope's got wide eyes, quickly brimming with tears as you find yourself crumbling to the ground. Your hand's quick to clutch around your chest as you try to inhale. The dramatics of it all made you even more nauseous.

You should've stayed at home.

"Hey, hey, hey..." Emily's cooing, and it seems being out like this has sliced through her tipsy stupor. She's focused just like she would be on any regular sort of day. "I need you to breathe." she instructs, and JJ's crouching down in front of you, brown eyebrows draw inwardly as she takes in your clearly frantic state. Every puff of air that escapes you is tight and sounds like it hurts. You can just barely hear the sound of a commotion taking place inside.

You do hear JJ's quiet exclamation of "I'll stay with her, go check on Hotch and Derek!" before Penelope and Emily are heading back into the packed building. She calls your name, and it takes a while for you to regain your voice. She's devoid of pity, which you appreciate. JJ knew more than anyone how much you hated being seen as a burden, or someone to be sorry for. Pride was a killer. "Can you try and take a deep breath for me?" and it's then you realize your choppy little intakes of air weren't doing you any favors.

It takes a great deal of effort for your vision to be less blurry. Your ears were full of cotton, and your head was swimming. You feel bile again in the back of your throat, and you jerk away from JJ's reach. You feel like you're suffocating, transported away from the random bar in the middle of Virginia, and back to a place you'd fought so hard to escape. You were certain you'd remember that unsub forever. His evil eyes, the way he tried to use your entrails like paint.

You remember how Elle had changed after she'd been attacked by Garner. How she had changed so much that she had no choice but to step away from the Unit. Would that be your life? You didn't want that life, but it was clear you needed something, you needed help. You couldn't focus on anything else, but what had happened. You'd ruined a night out because the act of being cornered was enough to transport you back.

JJ's still peering at you as if she's waiting for you to start panicking, and maybe you were. "I'm sorry." you huff again, and JJ's shaking her head at you.

There's a deep frown etched into her face as she sighs herself. "Stop apologizing." she insists, and your lashes are wet with unshed tears. "You didn't do anything wrong. Those assholes should've never put their hands on you." she proceeds. "You know that don't you?" she continues, and you don't know how to respond, so you don't. JJ reads you like an open book, and she smacks her teeth. "Well now you do." she says this firmly. "And I'm sure Hotch and Morgan are teaching them that lesson right now." you tense up again.

"I didn't mean to ruin the-" JJ's offering you a hard glare that shuts you up. Another bad habit you'd picked up since the incident. You were working on it, trying not to blame yourself for things you didn't cause. "I'm sorry." and this time it's not because of tonight. "I was so nervous about tonight.-" you take in a hiccupped breath. "I just wanted to prove that I could bounce back." you explain, and it's the first insight you've allowed anyone. "I figured if I pretend everything's normal, soon enough it would be, but it's too much." you huff.

"And that's okay." she promises. "What you went through isn't something anyone's expecting you to forget about in a month, alright? It's gonna take time, and there will be days where it'll hurt a lot more, and there will be days where you're feeling like your old self again." she promises. "What you need to understand is that we-" she pauses as you take it in. "are your family." she finishes, and your lips start to twitch, you're not sure if you'll smile or cry.

"I know-" you proceed, and she holds a hand up in front of you.

"Let me finish." she pleads, and you inhale before nodding. "I don't- none of us want a repeat of what happened with Elle." she says quietly. "None of us want to show up to the unit one day and see your badge and gun sitting on your desk." JJ sighs. "So if you ever start feeling anxious, or terrible, or just like you're back... there." and you wince at the mention. "I want you to call me, call one of us. Don't deal with this alone, alright? Not when you don't have to."

JJ hugs you before you have time to respond, but her words sink deep and make you feel warm inside. "Thanks, Jaige." you mumble against her hair. She squeezes you tighter, and you believe it's to make up for her shyer hug earlier.

"You're welcome." she mumbles back, and then she's pulling back. You don't have much respite, Penelope practically tackling you in a hug of her own. You hadn't even realized the rest of the team has left the bar, you were sure the mood of the night was much lower.

"I'm so glad you're okay!" Penelope exhales, and you do too, breathing fine again, save for a few hiccups that escaped you every so often. She lets you go after a beat, and you're quick to take a small step back, suddenly feeling anxious once more.

"Yeah, I'm fine now." your eyes meet Derek and Emily's. "Thank you." and you're chuckling quietly as Derek pulls you into his side. He plants a kiss on the top of your head, and you warm inwardly. Spencer does hug you, and it's a shock. One of those hugs that you never take for granted, because it could be a while before you get another. Once he's pulled away you find yourself still hovering, listening quietly as they all decide the night's not over.

You respectfully bow out, you'd had enough for one day. It's then you notice that Hotch is all by himself. You quietly excuse yourself, but you find that they're not really listening now that you were safer. "Are you alright?" you ask, and your voice is very quiet. Hotch looks up from his phone as if he's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. You take in his face, and it's clear he's been in some sort of scuffle. Most notable due to the fact he's got blood smeared under his nose.

"I should be asking you that." he retorts, and your eyebrows furrow in.

"Y-You already did." you remind him, eyes darting away. "Why are you over here by yourself?" you shoot off a round of questions, the wind whipping around, and making you crave the comfort of your bed. You maintain a respectful balance, you weren't in any rush to be all up in someone's space.

"I think I've had enough of crowds for the night." he retorts. You don't realize until it's happened though, your hand reaching up to swipe at the blood that's slowly drying on his upper lip.

"Get into a bar fight?" you ask, and you hold your breath for the answer. Hotch looks down at you, and there's this unreadable expression on his face. You realize that this is nothing new. Hotch had never been easy to read, he was one of the greatest profilers you'd ever met, one of the greatest people. But he'd always been an enigma. His emotions were an Alcatraz all on their own.

"You should see the other guy." the classic rebuttal to a question like yours. It doesn't make you smile, mostly because he's not smiling either. "Are you okay?" and he's got you by your wrist, eyes zoned in on the harsh mark the guy from the bar had left behind. "He never should've touched you." his voice lowers, and there's an annoyance attached to his tone. "I'm so sorry." you find yourself huffing.

"You shouldn't have fought him." you say matter-of-factly. Your fists fold up at your sides, your lips pulling down into a frown. "It'll give everyone the wrong idea." you say, and you wrench your hand away from his grasp.

"Everyone?" he repeats, and he looks confused, classic Hotch.

"Me." you correct, "I'll get the wrong idea." you whisper. "I might actually think you like me." you admit quietly.

"We wouldn't want that." he replies, and his tone is far from mocking. You hate that it makes you crack a smile. You hate that he's always the one that manages to get that reaction out of you.

"Hey, are you two coming? We're all heading to Mo's." Emily calls, and you snort at the fact that their alcohol riddled mind had caused them to forget you'd already declined. You take a step away from Hotch, and you hate that you stumble. You were hating a lot of things tonight. Maybe you weren't as sober as you'd thought.

Aaron looks to you as if he's waiting to see your answer before giving his own, and maybe he was. The second you're politely explaining that you're ready to head home, Aaron is offering to drive you. Derek is whistling, Emily and JJ offering you smug little smirks. Penelope is trying to keep herself secured to Earth. "He's gonna take her home." he whispers to no one in particular, and it's a horrid attempt.

"We all heard, babygirl." Derek replies to her, and you find yourself a bit stuck. The thought of spending the eighteen minute car ride with your boss make you want to scream, but you'd taken a cab. Your own car was parked in the driveway of your place. And he doesn't look like he' taking any goodbyes either way. Rounds of goodbye and see you laters are soon offered. "Take care of our girl, Hotch." Derek calls, and you hear Spencer as he starts to rant about Derek's turn-of-phrase.

Our girl. Hotch finds that the words repeat in his head like an obnoxious echo. "Why are you doing this?" you question quietly. "If you're just trying to make up for the whole Agent thing, there's no need." you proceed, and you take a small step back.

"I'm not trying to make up for that." he replies quickly. "But, you're drunk, and you've been through a lot tonight." he reminds you as if you're ditsy or something. "It wouldn't be smart to leave you by yourself." he continues, and he inhales deeply. He watches the way you watch him, like you're unsure, like you're suspicious. "That isn't a testament of whether or not I think you can handle yourself... and neither was fighting that man at the bar." he promises, and you blink.

"No?" you ask, and your tongue feels extra dry. Like you've licked a stripe of sandpaper.

"No." he reaffirms. "You mean a lot to the team. We wouldn't be the same without you." he says this bit like he means it, and you can't find any trace of a lie residing in his face. He does mean it.

"Thank you, Sir." you reply under your breath, exhaling the word. The chill of the night finally gets to you, and you shiver.

"Can I take you home?" he asks, and you know you're reading into it more than you should. You know what he means, what he's really asking, but delusion was healthy every now and again, right?

"Y-Yeah." your head nods, voice wavering slightly as you take hold of the bottom of your dress. "Yes." you say more firmly.

"Okay." you stand there for a few moments more, passing charged glances back and forth. "You never answered my question earlier." is what he says to break the moment. "About how you were doing..." he proceeds. "I've asked you twice, and both times you-"

"Deflected?" you offer, and his head nods. "I guess I'm just scared you'll see right through whatever my answer is." you admit, and you cross your arms, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. "Emily and JJ will at least humor me." you explain. "Penelope won't ask... mostly because she's scared of the answer." you chuckle awkwardly. "Derek and Spence, well I guess they're like you too... but you're here, and they're not... so here we are."

Hotch appraises you for a second, but he doesn't say much else. You're grateful for that, but equal parts annoyed that he wasn't leaping to tell you that you were harder to read than you thought. No such luck. Still, you're surprised when Hotch grabs you by your arm, much gentler than earlier, and he's slowing his stride to be in step with yours. You don't realize you've leaned fully into his side until you feel him tense up. He doesn't say anything though.

A win is a win.

You didn't know much about the inner workings of Aaron Hotchner's mind, but you did know that if he was uncomfortable with your proximity, he would have said so. The walk back to Hotch's car is silent. At least outwardly, inside you were panicking. He opens the passenger side for you, and you imagine a world where this was normal. Where it didn't take you being hit on by sleazy men at a bar to be having these moments with Hotch. But it was impossible.

"Did it hurt?" you ask, once the car is moving. He's adjusted the temperature, a soothing warm pooling from the vents. You're surprised at how quickly he drives, you'd half expected him to be one of those slow as molasses drivers. Hotch looks over at you incredulously, his eyebrows raise, but he doesn't look agitated nor annoyed with you breaking the silence again.

"You'll have to be more specific." he replies, and you hum. You pause for a second, trying to find the right words. At the last second you decide saying it straight would be just as good as anything else.

"Punching that guy?" you ask, and Hotch's lips quirk upwards, he was amused with you. In truth, he had no idea what he was thinking. As soon as the girls had ushered you away, he'd found himself swinging before he could think of the repercussions. All he knew was that you'd sounded scared, you'd sounded unlike yourself in a way that made him angry. Everyone saw how you had changed, the elephant in the room was hard to ignore. But you were trying, he could give you that.

"No." he mumbles, and that likely has a lot to do with the fact that he hasn't come down. He's still on edge, still watching you like you might at any moment start spiraling. "Besides, it was worth it." and he says this a bit under his breath, you hear it all the same. "I doubt he'll try it again." he admits, and you feel liberated. It was nice to have someone fighting for you, fighting the fights you weren't capable of.

"Thanks, Hotch." you hum, and it triggers a yawn.

"Back to Hotch?" he asks, and you look over at him confused. You kick your feet back and forth, careful not to dig your heels into the plush of the car's floor.

"Would you prefer I call you sir?" you ask, and he is tapping on the brake, the car slowly peeling to a stop as you come up on a red light.

"No." he answers sternly. "It's not like you." he admits, and the light is turning green again. He steps lightly on the gas, the car surging forward "Especially if you're only calling me Sir, as payback for me calling you Agent." he says, and even though you had tried your hand at pretending the greeting hadn't bothered you, it was obvious he had read right through you.

"Why'd you do that?" you question and your tone is a lot more clipped than you had intended.

"So it did offend you?" he retorts, and you feel anger flaring up. You swallow this feeling, hands balling up by your side.

"Hotch." you snap, and he smirks fully, eyes back on the road. "Can you be serious, please?" you ask, and you probably sound pitiful.

"The last month I've just been..." he trails off momentarily, and you wonder if he's emotional, or just being dramatic. "I should have known better." he expresses. "I should've been there to make sure that what happened didn't." he says, and you tense up. "He never should have gotten the chance to get close enough to cart you off." he completes his thought, and you're shocked. You never would have guessed Hotch blames himself for what happened to you.

"That wasn't your fault." you promise, and you mean it. You'd never once thought of blaming Hotch for what went down. "You were confident in the plan, you were putting your faith in the team."

"There is a very thin line between confidence and arrogance." He rebuttals instantly. "We got cocky, and you suffered because of it." he looks so destroyed as he says this. "And then you showed up tonight, and tried to pretend everything was fine." he notes as you remain silent. "It just reminded me that we're too close." he tightens his grip on the steering wheel. "The longer you stay in the unit, the more you become numb to the things we see. You start to ignore the signs that you're not alright." he says, and you'd never thought of it that way.

"Hotch..." you exhale.

"I called you Agent to set up a boundary, or at least I tried." he says this like he's beating himself up. "But then I saw the way it hurt you." and he looks ashamed. "And I never want to be someone who does that to you." you're warring with your heart then. "So I wont do it again." he promises, and he looks to you briefly. "I'll call you by your name, I won't deflect." he adds as your mouth drops open just briefly.

"But, it's not right for someone your age to be so closed off. It's not right for you to pretend to be okay just to keep up with the people around you. If you weren't up to being out, you should've stayed home, our opinions don't outweigh your safety." he lectures you. "They never will." he adds a second after, and he's so sure as he says this. He's slowing down, coming up on your place.

Your leg is shaking slightly, that pesky feeling of anxiety creeping back up on you. "We're here." he says under his breath as if you weren't aware. You don't budge, you can't. You have so much to say, but where do you start. Hotch has shut his car off, almost like he too has a lot sitting on the tip of his tongue.

"I just wanted to prove I could handle it." you admit, and you're crying. "I didn't want to be another Gideon or Elle... or Spence." you cringe at the memories. "I didn't want you guys to handle with me with kid gloves. I didn't want you to see me as the girl who needs the kid gloves." you express honestly, and now your tears are falling in quick precession. "I'm sorry..." you swipe at your face. "I don't know why I'm crying, this is so stupid." you hiss at yourself.

"No, it isn't." the response earns him a surprised glance. "It's good... this is good." Hotch is quick to use a hand to swipe at your tears. He hates the sight of them, but loves what they mean. Your heart's still soft, pliable. You haven't fully succumb to the horrors of the job. "Consider this me atoning." he prompts. "You have my ear, say whatever you need to say." he looks over at you again, and seems to mentally backtrack. "If it'll help you." he adds.

You sniffle audibly, hands clenching and unclenching as the car suddenly feels much too hot. "It's not your fault, okay?" you repeat, and you say it with more certainty. "I just need you to know that." you sniffle again, but your tears keep falling, even as you try to blink them away. "Hotch, you're our leader for a reason, and you were there to save me that night, and you were here to save me tonight." you remind him. "I don't want you to pull back, not when I'm finally making some progress with cracking that hard exterior of yours."

Hotch's lips quirk at your words, and he looks down at his lap. "I've never meant to pull back from you." the inflection with the last words sticks. "I thought I was doing right by you... pulling the band aid off before you got in too deep." he says. "But that was wrong of me, I can admit to that. I'm sorry." and his apologies are like kisses. They wash over you, and force you to believe him.

"Don't apologize to me." you plead, "Just promise not to leave me behind, treat me like an outsider again." you continue as his head nods, and you can trust that he's listening.

"I can do that." he promises.

That seems to be the key to unlocking the dam of your emotions. You choke on the feelings, a quiet sob escaping you as you clasp a hand over your mouth. How dramatic, and pathetic, and God awful were all these feelings. But they'd been years in the making, right?

"Are you alright?." he asks under his breath, worry palpable.

"Do you know that the only thing that kept me from losing it that day was you?" you ask, and your boldness won't leave you, clearly it was now or never. "You told me to 'keep breathing'... you said it over and over and over, and I listened." you explain, and he remembers the day too well. "Even though everything hurt like hell, and there was so much blood." you reminisce. "And I don't know, maybe I'm just crazy, but there was this look." you exhale sadly. "This look you had on your face that made me think... 'maybe it's not just me'"

It isn't. He knows that instantly. You've plagued his mind so severely for so long that he can just barely remember a time where you weren't one of the only things he thought about, worried about, cared about. But he had his post to think about, he was the Unit Chief, your boss, your superior. What would the team think? What would Strauss think? Did it matter? In the grand scheme of things, did those worries outweigh his need, his innate desire to see you safe and protected from harm? Absolutely not. So what was the real problem?

"Hotch..." you inhale deeply, voice cracking distractingly as he gives you his full attention. Something you'd dreamed of, wanted more than anything since the first time you'd ever laid eyes on him. "Aaron." you correct, and you breathe again. "I've been thinking of how to say this... i've been rehearsing it over and over again, because I wanted to get it right, and I just knew tonight would be the night I'd have to have the balls to either say it or let it go forever." you admit.

"Say it..." and he's rushing you, but you suppose that's deserved. You were still stalling, dragging this out way more than you needed to.

"I'm in love with you." and it was out there, and you couldn't take it back. You stare him down, worried about his reaction, about how he would respond. "And it took me getting hurt, and being sent home, away from the team for me to realize." you inhale shakily. "I kept having these-these dreams about that night. All these different scenarios about how things could've turned out different, how I could've died had one thing been out of place." you process.

"You're the reason I'm still here, you're the reason why this team can function, and you're the reason why I- why I came tonight even though my anxiety told me it wasn't safe. Because, somehow I knew that as long as you were here... I'd be okay, and I am." you say, and it's a lot, too much maybe. His reaction is hard to read at first, face just as stoic as most times, but his eyes.... his eyes hold the truth. They melt, pools of warm honey dancing in the darkness residing there.

"And it's inappropriate... and wrong... and silly... but- I couldn't go another day without you knowing, without you hearing from me." you explain. "When you came up to the bar tonight I just... I've never felt this way before... lucky, protected, safe.... and-and I'm not asking for anything from you... I'm not expecting something in return, I just wanted to get it out there... I think we both know it's been a long time coming..." and your words are being swallowed as Aaron leans forward. The middle console is a bridge, a roadblock.

It doesn't deter him though, not from using a hand to gently cup your face, mouth slotting against yours as if it belonged there. You're dizzy, shocked, surprised, but you don't let this mess you up. You can't possibly allow anything to mess up this moment. Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two... the seconds tick by with neither of you moving to break the kiss, hands and tongues and breaths fanning over one another as you get acquainted in the most perfect way.

Still, life dealt lots, and yours consisted of a need for oxygen. It's the only reason why you break apart with heady gasps, eyes dilated and fogged with emotions much too heavy to really explain. "Oh, you can't do that." you explain, and Hotch's bemused, eyebrows raising upwards, as his thumb brushes over your cheekbones.

"I can't?" he asks, and he sounds so much lighter now.

"No, you can't. I'll get the wrong idea, you know." you explain, and he smiles brazenly at your callback to earlier. "I'll actually believe you're in love with me or something." you say, and Hotch is slow as he leans back in, a peck being placed right on your lips as your eyelashes flutter, and your heart beats out of control.

"We can't have that, can we?" he's following your lead with the callback, and your cheek presses into his palm.

"I don't know." you answer, and your voice is faint. "I'm scared this'll be a dream." you proceed as Hotch's eyes scan over your frantic face. "I'll wake up and find out that this was all in my head, and the only memories I get to hold on to are from that night." Hotch's lips purse, head shaking in denial as you inhale shakily.

"No, not this time. an ambitious remark. "This time it's real." he promises. "This time I'm here with you to make sure that all those things you felt that night, and earlier by the bar, are how you keep feeling about me." he answers truly. "I'm here to love you back for as long as you'll have me. Is it alright for me to feel that way?" he asks, and your hand jumps up to keep his squished in place against your face.

"You can feel however you want." you reply, and he laughs, a full blown chuckle escaping him as his face seems to light up like a thousand suns. His eyes glisten, twinkling as he looks down at you, like everything was right in the world. And to him it was. Nothing and nobody could hurt you here.

"Good. Then I choose whatever this between you and I leads to, I choose the feelings that come with that." You smile grows to an almost blinding brightness as you reach across the console to hug him, and pull him into your arms. He's quick as he presses a peck to the top of your head, eyes still dancing over you as if he was seeing you for the first time. And maybe he was, that part wasn't your business, all you knew was that loving Aaron was easy, it could be.

A long time coming, but a wait well worth it. Lucky you.

[astonmartinii]

astonmartinii’s masterlist

if you would like to support me or send me a coffee, please go here ko-fi.com/astonmartini !!

max verstappen 

teacher’s pet 

babysitter duty 

play date 

pen pals 

study bug 

college 

teddy bear 

into the arms of another part two part three part four 

worlds biggest fan part two 

behind the camera 

we don’t play about halloween 

passion for fashion

bite the hand

charles leclerc 

big reputation | part two

home ties

all is fair in love and war 

birthday wishes  

the student life part one / part two 

love languages

motormouth 

cat mom 

author 

big girls do(n’t) cry 

tight knit 

friendship bracelets 

you and me got a whole lotta history 

angel baby, devil child 

undercover verstappen

nonsense... or is it? | a very nonsense christmas

oscar piastri 

rookie love

a spoonful of sugar

cherry lip balm 

i am the rockstar, girlfriend 

witchy business 

peas in a pod

southern charm 

kiss it better

nothing good ever happens at the work christmas party

daniel ricciardo 

ric number three 

cooking up a storm 

rockstar 

wedding bells 

big apple lovin’ 

ultimate wing man 

i don’t wanna be funny anymore 

lewis hamilton 

raw chemistry 

doggy day care 

get the bag 

top secret 

signed up for life 

spice up your life

sebastian vettel 

racing royalty 

family ties 

pierre gasly 

we never go out of style 

final(ly) girl 

mick schumacher 

summer breaking 

opposites attract 

lando norris 

lonely hearts club 

suck up 

team bonding 

best friends 4 ever

frost bitten 

dj got us falling in love 

big time rush 

loving on a sunday

head in the clouds

reluctant cupid

bad blood (lando's version)

ballad of lovebirds and puppy dogs

just add water

george russell 

george russell’s the type of guy 

first impressions matter

esteban ocon 

always the ones you least expect 

carlos sainz 

journalist 

old money 

are you going to be my girl?

toto wolff 

falling for you 

alex albon 

nine lives 

careful what you wish for

yuki tsunoda

guess who?

logan sargeant

pick of the crop

lance stroll

brother's best friend

mamma mia 

mamma mia  

no more ace to play 

honey, honey

age of no regret 

a wonderful thing 

a very mamma mia christmas

if you need me, let me know, gonna be around

guilty as sin masterlist

[palajae]

eastside.

PAIRING... agent!riki x agent!reader | GENRE... partners! au, romance, angst, mentions of violent, blood, guns, death implications | WC... 1k | “i’m not doing to die, you idiot.”

it’s pretty simple, really. 

you and your partner were sent out on an undercover mission—as a couple on vacation. you thought that last bit was unnecessary, but for some reason your partner insisted on the cover story. it made it all the more believable. 

whatever, you were used to it. after all, working together for four years made your teamwork and bond the best of the best. it wasn’t everyday that you were assigned to a s-class mission. that is, until your cover was blown. 

luckily, everyone had been evacuated before the resort had gone under fire, leaving you two to deal with the remaining mess.

“when’s backup coming?”

“it’s gonna take at least thirty minutes. we’re not exactly in the most accessible of locations.”  his voice sounds rather exasperated through the earpiece. 

everything seemed clear, it was just up to you two to get out of the place. you duck down, avoiding as much crashing and falling debris as possible. you needed to get to him. stealthily, you’re able to make it to the exit, peeking around the corner to spot your partner. 

right as you’re about to run over, you feel the hairs on your arm rise. quickly, you scan the area, only to spot a flash of movement from above. there was still one straggler remaining. you curse when you notice the gun in his hands.

you were just out of his view, but your partner was in his plain sight. and he was completely oblivious, you knew he looking around for you like always. 

“ki, i need you to fall back.” you try your best to keep your voice steady and calm, although the slight quiver at the end of your words gives you away. 

“what?” he stops in his tracks, glancing around in confusion. 

“do it!” you beg. he falters, having never heard such desperation in your voice. 

“you trust me.” 

it wasn’t a question, but a statement. everything you needed to say, everything he needed to hear, was conveyed in those three words. 

you inhale, rushing into the open area and aiming your gun at the guy. he spots you as soon as ni-ki begins to retreat. 

please, you beg. 

for what exactly, you’re not sure. 

as soon as the shot goes off, ni-ki spots you and rushes to your side. heart pounding, he scans the area. since when was there another guy left? either way, the man is effectively taken out. 

“fifteen more minutes, guys.”

ni-ki could care less. he brushes a few stray hairs off your clean face. 

“y/n, you-“

why are your eyes closed? 

his blood runs cold when he pulls his hands back.

all he sees is red. 

“o-oh god y/n? listen, you’re fine. right? you’re okay.”

ni-ki tightens his hold around your limp body, eyes never leaving the sight of the red continually blooming from your stomach. he keeps pressure on the wound, doing his best not to freak out even more, but when he doesn’t receive any sort of response or reaction, his mouth dries. 

he calls out your name again and again, placing a hand on your face and shaking slightly as if that would immediately wake you up. 

"no, please! you just…you can’t leave me like this-“ his voice cracks. 

your eyes fly open in annoyance. “ni-ki! will you just shut up for a minute? i’m not going to die, you idiot.”

you sigh. you can feel it. 

he’s trembling. even worse, it’s the first time you’ve seen unshed tears in his eyes. 

you place your hand over his on your cheek, squeezing slightly as if to comfort him. that action is enough for you to allow your eyes to flutter shut. 

you felt really, really exhausted. so much to the point where everything seems to fade away, the sound of your partner’s panicked cries and the throbbing pain coming off in waves from your side.  

you put in countless years and years of hard work with no rest or relaxation—all the blood, sweat, and tears—just to get to this point. 

maybe, just for a brief second, you could rest. 

a/n ▸ so like�� sorry? hope you enjoy this gift tho lovelies <3

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[rad-batson]

The Batkids and The Arts (Feral Edition)

They’re all musical theatre nerds. Every single one of them. Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Cass, Jason, Steph, Tim, Duke, Damian. They go see Broadway shows together then don’t stop talking about it for like a week. It is the one bonding activity they will never pass up.

Jason and Steph once entered a ballroom dancing competition and won after some pompous rich kids insulted their moves during a gala. Since then, they’ve entered a competition every month or so just for fun. (And for the prize money :P)

Tim is an avid believer that Culinary Art is one of The Arts. (Can he cook? Absolutely not. It was Bernard that convinced him, but he stands by it.)

Duke talks through every single movie he watches. He always promises to be quiet at the beginning, but then he gets too excited and whispers commentary to the people around him. This habit has since bled into the entire family. They are no longer welcome at the local AMC.

Every single one of them is pretentious about something.

Dick is pretentious about any and all performance arts featured at the circus. Once, someone made a joke about going to “Clown School” and Dick screamed at them about how not even their pinky would have the privilege of being admitted into clown school.

Jason is pretentious about classic literature. They can no longer tell if his jokes and references to Shakespeare and Jane Austen are correct or if he’s just fucking with them.

Cass gets pretentious about martial arts being a performance art. She is also pretentious about ballet being a martial art. She could kill a man in fifth position without losing her balance, and that’s a fucking fact.

Stephanie is very good at acting pretentious about the arts. She absorbs everything she’s learned from the rest of the bat family’s interests then pretends to be pretentious about it to mock them while sneaking in just enough correct information so no one can call her out on it. (Her true interest is graphic design.)

Tim has no professional experience with photography, but he will be pretentious about it like he knows everything. (Bruce: Tim, why is there a filter on this evidence photo you took? Tim: I thought it looked nicer that way. Really makes the blood splatter pop.)

Duke isn’t exactly pretentious about writing, but he will lay down his life for the Oxford comma. (Bruce didn’t use it until Duke called the punctuation in his mission reports “insulting.” He now uses it.)

Damian is pretentious about studio art. If he ever hears his family or friends say, “I don’t get it,” at an art museum, he will make them look at it for five minutes as he explains in painstaking detail what’s so revolutionary about it.

The kids decided to take an improv class together once for their undercover work while Bruce and Alfred were out of town. It was so fun that they still play improv games when they’re bored.

Cass is secretly a metalhead.

Whenever one of the younger kids needs to write an English paper, they will just walk up to Jason, riddle off a dumb opinion about the book or poem they had to read, and record whatever Jason ends up lecturing them about. The most recent incident resulted in an award-winning paper about how the theory that William Shakespeare never wrote his own work is deeply rooted in classism.

Damian always has paint under his nails. It just never comes out.

Dick has personally taught everyone in the family how to do The Perfect Backflip. They all get a little ceremony once they’ve mastered it. There is cake.

Whenever Cass is standing around with nothing to do, she’ll practice her foot positions for ballet. The others always notice and follow her lead.

Jason: dramatically recites a poem in the living room Steph: starts beatboxing

Steph is always the first to find typos or continuity errors in a book, play, or movie. She doesn’t intend to; it’s just second nature to her. (She is now Duke’s official proofreader.)

Duke: So how’d you like the movie? Damian: I really loved the mise-en-scène, especially during the breakfast scene and that one shot near the end with the warehouse doors. Duke: *nods thoughtfully* Everyone Else Leaving the Theater: wtf is a meez on sen?

When Duke is finished writing something and wants to share it with his family, he’ll give it to Jason and Cass first.

Jason and Duke have frequent passionate arguments discussions about who is the best poet. Never bring up Dickinson, Poe, Shakespeare, Hughes, Plath, Wilde, Kipling, Sappho, or Angelou in their vicinity unless you want to start it up again.

Damian is surprisingly good at acting. Too good.

Dick knows your music taste before you do. He has a carefully curated playlist for every single family member, every possible combination of family members, and every possible mood at the ready.

They can and will correct anyone who mistakes Gothic architecture for Victorian or Gothic Revival and vice versa. (It’s really a Gotham thing.)

Tim: How dare you call The Grand Budapest Hotel the best prison break movie when it’s clearly The Shawshank Redemption! Jason: Well, as someone who’s BEEN TO PRISON, I think I should know! Dick: It’s clearly Chicken Run! You’re all just Chicken-ist. Duke: But what about Midnight Express?! That one’s so good! Steph: Has anyone mentioned Toy Story 3 yet? No? Damian, watching from the sidelines: I liked Escape from Alcatraz. Cass: Same.

There are several art pieces in the manor that have been positioned directly over top of bullet holes and other suspicious damages.

Damian and Duke made an animated short film once for the Gotham Film Festival. Dick and Cass were their models for the concept art. Tim did historical research. Jason helped Duke edit the storyboard, and Steph was the continuity supervisor. It was about a British super spy working for MI6 that saved the world in the late 70’s. It was titled Agent A.

[deadboyween]

DEADBOYWEEN PROMPTS!!

Text-version Prompt List and inspiration below the cut!

Oct 21st: Day 1 - Colours

We made sure to include a few vaguer prompts for a wider range of creative ideas!! Colours could really be anything: Niko while she's possessed by the sprites, a different character having a run-in with a similarly colourful creature, or even something that just uses colour connotations or symbolism!! Get creative!

Oct 22nd: Day 2 - Comfort

One of the non-spooky prompts for day 2. It could be the boys comforting each other after a particularly difficult case, or a character study about something they find comfort in, or even just characters having a well-deserved day off from the Horrors

Oct 23rd: Day 3 - Disguise

The obvious one here would be Charles and Edwin's human disguises, but there's so much to play with. Works could perhaps feature the group going undercover on a case, or maybe the Cat King causing mischief again with his shapeshifting

Oct 24th: Day 4 - Orbs

Okay, you just know we had to put this one in there, everyone needs more Orbwin and Chorb content in their life right? What are our favourite glowing balls of light up to now? Why are they orb-ed? Is it a willing transformation or a result of exhaustion?

Oct 25th: Day 5 - Family

Family can mean a lot of things. Blood family? Could be an introspection into Charles's family back when he was alive, or Crystal trying to reconcile with her parents, Niko's grief, Monty's relationship with Esther... Or could be found family: the group choosing one another over everyone else, forming their own bonds more important than blood. Works can encompass many different character dynamics so go crazy!

Oct 26th: Day 6 - Casefic

The group are on a case!! Works could be a retelling of one of the show cases, or maybe one from the comics, or an entirely original one. It could be a simple run-of the-mill haunting or perhaps one that runs deeper, one that affects one or more members of the agency in some way

Oct 27th: Day 7 - The Endless

In the show we meet Death and Despair, but this prompt could feature one of the Dead Boy Detectives characters meeting one or more of the Siblings. Maybe they visit the Dreaming, or have a run in with Desire

Oct 28th: Day 8 - Free Day

No prompt for this day!! Works can be anything you like, unconnected to any of the suggested themes!!

Oct 29th: Day 9 - Myths / Legends

Charles referenced Orpheus and Eurydice in episode 7 but there's so much to work with with mythology from all over the world. These works could be a retelling of a story from an ancient mythology, or imagining the characters meeting a creature from a legend

Oct 30th: Day 10 - Hell

Really getting into the Horrors of the event now. Hell is such an important part of the series, especially for Edwin. These works must simply incorporate Hell in some way. Perhaps it's set during Edwin's 73 years in Hell, or maybe another character has an experience in the place, or with one of its many creatures. Really looking forward to seeing the potential body horror with this one

Oct 31st: Day 11 - Halloween

Day 11 is the main event. For such a spooky show, there's got to be a lot of Halloween inspiration. What do ghosts even do on Halloween? Do they dress up? Party? Haunt the living? It's entirely up to you!

Nov 1st: Day 12 - Psychic

These works must involve something psychic. Whether it be Crystal and her powers, another person with similar abilities, or any other creature that really gets in the head of the characters

Nov 2nd: Day 13 - Pre-Canon

There's so much to work with before the 2023 setting of the show. Over 30 years of the Dead Boy Detective Agency, the ghosts' lives, Edwin's Hell. Even for other characters: what happened during the Cat King's first two lives? What has Esther been up to for the last several hundred years? What's the Night Nurse's job like when she hasn't got two tricky ghost detectives to deal with?

Nov 3rd: Day 14 - AU

The only rule is: put those characters somewhere else. It could be a different time period, or characters could be different in some way. What if the Alive Girls were the Dead Girls? Or Charles and Edwin were Charlie and Edith? So excited to see everyone's ideas for every prompt, but especially this one, this fandom is so creative when it comes to AUs!!

Happy creating!!

[ssa-dado]

9 - Folie à Deux

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader Genre: fluff, slow burn, so much tension it hurts. Summary: After being called to Houston to solve a gruesome case involving a dancing, folie à deux couple, you and Hotch are forced to go undercover, posing as a couple at a dance event. The operation brings you closer, revealing unspoken emotions as you navigate dangerous waters both on and off the dance floor. Back at Quantico, a matchmaking mission further blur the lines between partners, friends, and something more, solidifying your unique bond. Warnings: The case in this one is very graphic! Mentions of blood. Word Count: 14.1 k - I know, but trust me on this one Dado's Corner: My job with this one was simply to make your heart flutter, and I hope I’ve succeeded. I’m especially proud of this chapter (I secretly titled it “the ovulation chapter.” in my drafts). Unintentionally, it also works as a stand-alone one-shot. Consider this a small treat for all the suffering you’ve endured so far. Please comment and let me know what you think!

previous chapter ; masterlist

A few months had slipped by since you had finally admitted to yourself that you had a crush on Aaron Hotchner - your stoic, impossibly composed coworker but also your unexpectedly humorous friend. Accepting it didn’t make it any easier, though; it only sharpened your awareness of him, turning every stolen glance and fleeting smile into a secret thrill you could never quite tame.

His voice, deep and steady, lingered in your mind long after meetings ended, and every accidental brush of his hand felt electric, sending your heart racing in ways you couldn’t control. You found yourself memorizing the little things: the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the rare warmth of his smile that made the room feel lighter, and the quiet strength he carried that drew you in without trying. Working alongside him became a careful balancing act, a daily routine of holding back when all you wanted was to lean closer, to let your feelings spill out in ways that terrified and thrilled you all at once.

That day especially felt different, it wasn’t just any morning at the BAU; it was the day Hotch would owe you his 200th coffee - a milestone you had secretly been counting down to with a mix of excitement and fondness. What had started as a friendly wager between two competitive colleagues had evolved into a cherished ritual of ‘ constantly reminding you of your failures’, a small but meaningful connection that gave you an excuse to be near him, to share something uniquely yours in the chaos of your demanding jobs.

You stopped by your usual coffee shop on the way to work, picking up two cups of your favorite blend to mark the occasion. And because you couldn’t resist, you brought along the book you’d bought for him months ago but didn’t have enough courage yet to hand him due to the reminders of the dreaded night at Peter’s welcome back party - Hegel for Dummies. You couldn’t wait to see his reaction. Every detail, every inside joke felt like a small victory in your ongoing, unacknowledged crush on him.

As you walked into the bullpen, the morning light was filtering through the windows, casting a soft, golden glow over the quiet office. The light caught Hotch just right, illuminating him like some kind of ethereal portrait, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but marvel at the sight. He was sitting at his desk, engrossed in a stack of case files, the crease between his brows deepening with concentration.

His hair, usually so meticulously combed back, was already starting to rebel, a few strands falling loose and grazing his forehead in a way that made your heart skip. You loved how those little imperfections softened his usually sharp, composed appearance, making him look a touch more human, a little less like the untouchable rising star agent and more like the man you admired.

His eyes, a deep, rich brown that turned to liquid gold when the sunlight hit them just right, glanced up from his work as you approached. The way he looked at you, warm and attentive, made your breath catch. Those eyes, so often serious and guarded, held a softness that in your delusional mind he seemed to reserve just for you. It was like he saw you, really saw you, in a way that only a few else did, and that small, silent acknowledgment never failed to make your heart flutter.

“Good morning, partner,” Hotch greeted, his voice low and rich. It was a voice that always wrapped around you, grounding you in a way you couldn’t quite explain. The way he said “partner” felt special, loaded with a meaning you were too afraid to fully unpack.

“Good morning,” you replied, setting the coffees and the book down on his desk with a playful smile. “Today’s a special day, so I thought we’d celebrate.”

Hotch’s eyebrow quirked, his mouth curving into a teasing half-smile that made your stomach flip. God, you lived for that smile. It was so rare, so fleeting, and every time you saw it, it felt like a personal victory. “Special day? What did I forget?”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a grin as you watched the subtle play of emotions on his face - curiosity, amusement, that faint twinkle of mischief that always caught you off guard. “Come on, Hotch. Today’s the 200th coffee you owe me. Two hundred times you’ve somehow managed to beat me at this ridiculous game, and I’m starting to think you have a secret strategy you’re not sharing.”

He chuckled softly, a sound that was low and quiet, but so genuine that it made your chest tighten. There was something about the way his face softened in those moments that made you want to memorize every line, every subtle shift. “I’ve been wondering when you’d bring that up,” he said, his voice laced with that familiar, dry humor you adored. “At this rate, you’ll owe me another 200 before you even come close to winning.”

The banter between you was effortless, filled with a warmth that made every exchange feel like a private little world the two of you inhabited. You leaned against your desk, studying him like you always did - quietly, reverently, as if each glance was a stolen moment.

There were so many things you loved about Aaron Hotchner, so many small details that made your crush feel like a living, breathing thing. The way his tie was just slightly askew, hinting at the frantic rush of his morning. The way his hands moved as he spoke, precise and deliberate, fingers that always seemed to know exactly what to do, whether they were flipping through case files or adjusting the cuffs of his perfectly pressed shirt.

“You know, by now, you owe me more than $200 worth of coffee,” you teased, unable to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “I think it’s about time you start paying up.”

Hotch’s eyes gleamed with that playful challenge you loved, the one that said he was always three steps ahead but still enjoyed every second of sparring with you. “Only if you can actually manage to win, which -let’s be honest - could take you an eternity. A philosopher I know once told me the story of Achilles and a turtle”

The lighthearted exchange was cut short when something on your desk caught your eye: a small, neatly wrapped box nestled under your lamp. It was a simple package, wrapped with an almost meticulous care, and you felt a surge of curiosity as you picked it up.

Hotch watched you, his expression softening, as you carefully unwrapped the box, revealing a sleek, elegant gel pen - the same kind he used religiously, except this one had a small “200” engraved near the clip.

Your heart skipped a beat, the significance of the gift hitting you like a tidal wave. It was just a pen, but it was also so much more than that: thoughtful, personal, and unmistakably him. You held it delicately, almost reverently, as if it were a secret you weren’t quite ready to share with the world.

Before you could find the words, Hotch spoke, his voice gentler than usual, tinged with that rare, intimate tone he reserved for moments like this. “I know Gideon never remembers anniversaries,” he began, his eyes flickering with the inside joke you shared, “but I’m not Gideon. And this is my promise that you won’t ever have to storm around like Rossi did on our first case together.”

It was such a simple statement, but the way he said it, so earnest and sincere, made your throat tighten. You couldn’t help but focus on the way his mouth moved, the slight pull of his lips that revealed just the faintest hint of dimples when he smiled. “Hotch, this… it’s perfect. You didn’t have to do this.”

He shrugged, effortlessly brushing off your gratitude in that casual, understated way that always made your heart ache. "I wanted to. It's my favorite kind of pen, and I thought you should have one too. The only difference is the ink color," he added, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. "I've noticed you always use blue... a bit of an unusual choice, but hey, if it works for you."

You couldn’t stop staring at him, your chest fluttering at the way he noticed your quirks and habits. His attention to detail, his thoughtfulness, made you feel seen in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying. It was as if he’d quietly gathered the pieces of you - those you tried to keep hidden and the small, silly traits that made you who you were - and somehow found them all worth celebrating.

“Thank you,” you managed, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Hotch. You’re… you’re the best partner I could ever ask for.”

He smiled, that small, almost imperceptible curve of his lips that felt like a reward, and it made your heart soar. He leaned back, crossing his arms in that familiar, confident way that somehow made him look both commanding and completely approachable. “I could say the same about you,” he said, his voice carrying that rare sincerity that made you feel special. “Though I’m still waiting for the day you actually beat me.”

You laughed softly, your gaze locked on his. “This is so thoughtful, it almost makes me want to kiss you on the cheek… if you weren’t so against physical contact, of course.”

Hotch’s smile turned mischievous, a rare twinkle lighting up his eyes that made your heart flutter uncontrollably. “Well, unlike Rossi and Gideon, we’re not married, yet.”

Though it was meant as a joke, it felt layered with something deeper, like a hidden promise disguised as banter. “Yet?! Are you planning on proposing? Because after all this thoughtfulness, you just might get a yes out of me,” you teased, your tone playful, even as your heart raced with the weight of your own words.

Hotch’s gaze lingered, his expression softening into something almost vulnerable. “I’ll make you another ‘lawyer’ deal,” he said, leaning forward, his voice dropping to that low, intimate register that made your skin tingle. “I’ll propose by the time I owe you a thousand cups of coffee. So, you’d better start winning, or you might just be stuck with me forever.”

The words were light, meant to tease, but there was a sincerity in his gaze that made your breath hitch. Your heart pounded, the beat echoing in your ears as you tried to think of a witty retort, but all you could focus on was the way his eyes lingered on you, the faint curve of his lips, the way his presence filled the space between you.

“Be careful what you wish for,” you managed to say, your voice wavering slightly despite your best efforts to sound composed. “You know that if you give me a deal like that, I won’t be able to help but accept.”

Hotch’s smile softened, and for a split second, his expression was almost tender, a quiet vulnerability that he rarely allowed himself to show. “Forever,” he murmured, as if testing the weight of the word, as if it were something fragile and precious.

“You’re a lawyer, Hotch,” you teased, though your voice was softer now, tinged with something you couldn’t quite name. “You should know better than anyone that divorces exist.”

Hotch’s gaze held yours, steady and intense, the faintest hint of a smile playing at his lips. “Forever,” he echoed softly, the word hanging in the air like a quiet dare.

You tucked the pen into your pocket, feeling its weight like a promise, a small, tangible reminder of the connection you shared, the quiet care that threaded through every interaction.

As Hotch turned back to his files, the brief flicker of vulnerability and humor slipping into the familiar stoic composure he reserved for work, your thoughts couldn’t help but drift to that thousandth day. A small, impossible hope lingered in the back of your mind, quietly daring to imagine what might happen when that moment finally came.

☐ ⬛

“Well, if it isn’t my two favorite night-owls gracing me with their presence,” Rossi greeted, his voice carrying its usual mischief as he glanced up at you and Hotch. “Hope you’re ready to pack up, we’ve got a situation in Houston. Local police just found a second victim, and it looks like this one’s escalating fast.”

There was no hesitation. Within hours, you, Hotch, Gideon, and Rossi were on a train bound for Houston, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels on the tracks a relentless echo of the urgency ahead. The details of the case gnawed at your mind, filling the air with a heavy dread that clung to you like a second skin. This wasn’t just another case, it was darker, more depraved than anything you’d encountered in recent memory. Two victims in two weeks, seemingly random but bound by the sheer, almost ritualistic brutality of their deaths.

The first victim, Lauren Fields, a 21-year-old English literature student with bright eyes and a future full of promise, had been found hanging from the ceiling of a derelict warehouse. But it wasn’t just the fact that she was dead, it was how she had been killed.

Her body was marred by deep, deliberate cuts, as though the unsub had taken their time, savoring the act. He had let her bleed out slowly, cruelly drawing out her final moments. The scene was a nightmare of gore: blood sprayed across the walls, congealed in thick pools on the floor, smeared in what almost seemed like purposeful patterns. The blood on the floor told a grim story of its own, scattered in ways that suggested not just violence, but movement.

The second victim, Eric Watts, a 36-year-old plumber, had been found in much the same state. Another warehouse, another scene of calculated carnage. His body hung from the ceiling, suspended like a grotesque puppet, slashed with the same cold precision. His blood had pooled beneath him, the same sickening patterns left behind, as if the killers found joy in the desecration of human life.

There were no obvious connections between Lauren and Eric: no shared history, no common threads, but the horror they endured bound them together. The only connection was the sheer sadism behind their deaths, the terrifying reality of what they had suffered.

When you and Hotch arrived at the latest crime scene, the atmosphere was suffocating, the heavy stench of decay mixing with something far more sinister - a creeping, invisible darkness that seemed to pulse from the walls and seep into your bones. The warehouse was cold and damp, every step echoing in the cavernous space, amplifying the feeling of dread that settled under your skin. The scene before you was like stepping into a nightmare: blood was smeared across every surface, splattered like a grotesque and violent artwork that told the story of terror in a language only the twisted could understand.

The victim’s body still hung from the ceiling, pale and lifeless, suspended like a gruesome puppet left to rot. The stark contrast of crimson against the cold concrete created a macabre impressionist masterpiece, each streak and spatter of blood capturing the chaos and suffering of the final moments.

But it was the floor that truly made the scene unbearable: bloody footprints crisscrossed the entire space, overlapping and swirling in erratic patterns, turning the ground into a nightmarish dance floor painted in red. It wasn’t just the sight of the blood; it was the story those prints told, a sickening ballet of violence and madness performed by the killers who saw their victims as props in a twisted dance of death.

Hotch moved through the scene with his usual composed intensity, every step deliberate, every glance calculated. He had a way of grounding you even in the most horrifying moments, his presence a constant reminder that you weren’t alone in facing this darkness.

You watched him closely as he crouched near the center of the room, his dark eyes scanning the bloody prints with the kind of focused calm that never wavered. There was something impossibly magnetic about his concentration, how he could look at chaos and find the patterns hidden within it. It was reassuring, and you couldn’t help but feel even more attracted by him every time you watched him work.

Hotch leaned in closer, tracing the jagged, uneven edges of the footprints with the tip of his pen, his expression hardening as he took in every detail. “There are two sets of footprints,” he observed, his voice steady and sure, cutting through the suffocating silence. “One left by a man, the other by a woman.” His focus was absolute, as if he were piecing together a puzzle only he could see.

You stepped closer, feeling the coolness of the blood-slicked floor through your shoes, the sticky sensation almost making you shudder. As you looked down at the prints, your mind raced, trying to make sense of the bizarre choreography. The shapes and patterns were hypnotic against the blood-stained concrete, swirling and merging in ways that felt oddly deliberate, almost purposeful.

You could feel Hotch beside you, his presence a steady anchor amid this violent tableau, and you leaned into that unspoken support, drawing strength from his calm.

“They’re not just walking around,” you said softly, your voice almost lost in the vast emptiness of the warehouse. The realization struck you suddenly, sharp and undeniable. “It’s almost like they’re dancing.” The prints weren’t just random; they moved in loops, turns, and steps that followed no logical path but instead mirrored something more fluid, more rhythmic. It was as if the unsubs were performing, dancing in the blood of their victim as they died above them.

Hotch’s head snapped up, his eyes meeting yours in an intense, electrifying moment of shared understanding. You could see the same chilling realization dawning in his expression, the pieces clicking into place with a horrifying clarity. You were both thinking the same thing, and when you spoke, the words tumbled out in perfect, uncanny sync: “It’s a folie à deux.”

Folie à deux - madness shared by two. The way the killers had moved around their victims, the sickening dance in their own blood, it all pointed to a couple lost in their own twisted world, feeding off each other’s delusions.

Hotch’s gaze lingered on yours, his expression a mixture of determination and something deeper, something that mirrored your own emotions, an unspoken acknowledgment of the darkness you were about to face.

The air between you felt charged, every breath heavy with the weight of what you had uncovered. In that brief moment, you felt a rush of warmth that cut through the chill of the crime scene, a reassurance that whatever horrors lay ahead, you would face them together, side by side.

You turned your attention back to the scene, but the connection lingered, a silent promise that neither of you had to say aloud. This wasn’t just about catching killers; it was about understanding the twisted minds that had found solace in each other’s madness.

☐ ⬛

Back at the police station, the atmosphere was tense, the air thick with the urgency of finding a connection that seemed maddeningly out of reach. The four of you were gathered around a large conference table, the crime scene photos spread out like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that refused to fit together.

You watched as Hotch leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes fixed on the images before him. You couldn’t help but steal glances at him, admiring the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the way he absentmindedly tapped his pen against the table, little quirks you had memorized in the quiet moments between the chaos.

“They have no connection,” Rossi said, frustration evident as he flipped through the victim profiles. “One’s a student, the other’s a plumber. Different neighborhoods, different circles. There’s nothing that ties them together.”

Gideon nodded, his usually sharp eyes clouded with concern. “Lauren was outgoing, well-liked in her classes, no known enemies. Eric kept to himself, lived alone. They were single, no significant relationships that would tie them together. No overlap, no common link.”

You studied the crime scene photos, trying to piece together the senseless brutality into something that made even a fragment of sense. The killers weren’t just murdering—they were performing, re-enacting something deeply personal.

A thought struck you, a theory that felt like it was teetering on the edge of insanity, but you couldn’t shake it. “Maybe the connection isn’t between the victims,” you said slowly, your voice trembling slightly as you spoke. “Maybe it’s about the killers. They’re choosing substitutes, victims that represent something to them. They’re killing themselves over and over, using these people as stand-ins. It’s the only way they can keep their bond alive.”

Hotch leaned back, his gaze fixed on you, piecing together the fragments of the theory you’d just laid out. There was something about the way he looked at you - sharp, attentive, and with a hint of pride that sent warmth flooding through you. “If that’s the case,” he said thoughtfully, “then the unsubs must have a significant age difference. At least ten years, maybe more. One victim is young, the other is older, they’re acting out their issues, punishing each other through these surrogates.”

Gideon’s expression tightened, urgency pressing down on him. “But now we’re running out of time. The pattern is clear: they’ve killed one victim every Friday. Today is Thursday. If we don’t catch them soon, we’ll be looking at another body tomorrow.”

Silence filled the room, heavy with the weight of the ticking clock. The profile was solidifying, but you were still searching for that key piece that would lead you to the unsubs before they struck again.

Rossi tapped his pen against the table, drawing everyone’s attention. “They’re not picking these people at random. The way they kill, it’s theatrical, ritualistic. It’s personal. It’s like they’re putting on a show for each other.”

You pointed to the photos of the bloody footprints, the twisted dance steps that had been burned into your mind since you’d first seen them. “The dance. The way they move around the bodies - it’s coordinated, like a rehearsed routine. Both victims had connections to dance events in the city. Lauren was part of an improv dance group, and Eric attended open dance nights with his niece. They’re targeting couples who, in some way, remind them of themselves.”

Hotch nodded, the pieces clicking into place. “The unsubs are drawn to these events. They’re either participants or observers, targeting couples who challenge their twisted ideas of love and connection.”

Gideon and Rossi exchanged knowing looks, their expressions shifting from grim determination to something almost playful. There was a hint of amusement in their eyes, a rare break from the tension as they turned their attention back to you and Hotch.

“You know what that means,” Gideon said, his tone laced with a sly undertone that hinted at more than just strategy. “We need someone who can really get under their skin, challenge their so-called ‘love.’”

Rossi leaned back in his chair, a smirk spreading across his face as he glanced between you and Hotch. “And who better than the two of you? You fit the victimology like a glove - twelve years apart, just like their preferred targets. Plus,” he added, his voice dripping with mischief, “you two have pulled enough late-night sessions over case files. Now you get to do something a little more… interactive.”

He gave a wink, clearly enjoying the irony, and you could practically feel the teasing energy radiating off him. It was all too clear that Rossi and Gideon were having far too much fun at your expense. They knew exactly what they were doing, and the thought of you and Hotch going undercover as a couple was like handing them a golden opportunity to poke at both of you.

They didn’t just see partners, they saw the unspoken chemistry, the way you worked together like a well-oiled machine, and they weren’t going to miss the chance to play matchmaker, even if it was in the guise of catching killers.

Rossi’s grin widened as he saw the look on your face, and you could tell he was reveling in every second of this. “It’s fate,” he said with a chuckle, barely able to contain his amusement. “Out of all the things you two have faced, this might be your greatest challenge yet.”

Gideon nodded, barely suppressing his own smile. “So, go on. Pack your dance shoes. Time to see if you can keep up with the unsubs.”

The suggestion hit you like a freight train, sending your thoughts spiraling. The idea of going undercover as a couple with Hotch was equal parts thrilling and terrifying. It wasn’t just about pretending, it was about pretending with him.

Every time you looked at him, you felt the undeniable pull of your own feelings, the crush that you’d tried so hard to keep hidden, now bubbling dangerously close to the surface. Being this close to him, touching him, dancing with him… it was everything you wanted and everything you were afraid to confront.

Hotch caught your eye, a small, almost teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Out of all the things I signed up for when I joined the Bureau,” he said, his voice edged with humor, “I never thought I’d end up dancing.”

You tried to suppress the nerves fluttering in your chest, forcing a playful smile in return. “Be careful what you wish for, Hotch. Remember the deal you made back in Quantico? That you’d propose when you owed me a thousand cups of coffee? Well, here we are—on our anniversary, rehearsing for what could be our first dance.”

Hotch chuckled, his smile widening, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Guess we’re ahead of schedule, then. I might have to get that ring ready sooner than I thought.”

You both laughed, but beneath the banter, there was a flutter of something real, something that made your heart skip. The weight of your joke hung between you, laced with the kind of unspoken longing that you’d been trying to ignore for far too long. If only he knew how much you wished those playful words were true.

☐ ⬛

Later, back at the hotel, you found yourself in the lobby, staring down at the dance steps outlined in the file Gideon had handed you. It was a romantic routine: timeless, intimate, and designed to draw attention. As you studied the sequence, you felt Hotch approach, his presence warm and grounding.

You looked up to find him leaning casually against the wall, jacket draped over his shoulder, his sleeves rolled up to reveal the strong lines of his forearms. You couldn’t help but notice how his hair was starting to fall loose, framing his face in a way that made him look almost boyish, at how he was effortlessly handsome.

“You ready for this?” Hotch asked, his voice a low, comforting rumble. There was a lightness in his tone, but you could see the hint of nerves in his eyes. It was oddly reassuring to know that he was feeling the same strange mix of anticipation and anxiety that you were.

You shrugged, trying to keep your voice steady. “The Bureau never prepared me for undercover ballroom dancing. I think the last time I slow danced, I tripped over my own feet more times than I care to admit.”

Hotch’s laugh was warm, genuine, and it sent a ripple of something achingly sweet through you. “Well, it’s not exactly standard training. But you’ve got rhythm, you’ll pick it up. And hey, if we can survive a shootout together, we can handle a dance floor.”

You arched an eyebrow, teasing. “I’m starting to think you’ve been hiding some secret dance skills. Were you secretly moonlighting as a dance instructor?”

He shook his head, grinning. “Not quite. But I did take a few lessons back in college. Thought it’d be a good way to meet people. I was terrible at first - tripped over my own feet more times than I’d like to admit.”

You laughed, the image of a younger, awkward Hotch struggling through a dance class making you smile. There was something endearing about the thought, something that made you feel like you were seeing a part of him that few ever got to see.

Hotch extended his hand, his eyes meeting yours with a gentle challenge. “Ready to give it a shot?”

You took his hand, the touch of his skin sending a rush of warmth up your arm. “Not even one bit.”

The song Gideon and Rossi chose for the two of you was ‘It’s All Coming Back To Me Now’ by Celine Dion. The music began, soft and slow, filling the lobby with a melody that felt both timeless and intimate. As you moved together, each step felt like a tentative exploration of something more than just a dance.

Hotch’s hand on your waist, the subtle strength in his hold, the way his eyes never left yours, it was all so much more than you’d expected, and you couldn’t help but feel the weight of every unspoken feeling between you.

“Careful,” Hotch teased as you stumbled slightly, catching you effortlessly. “Can’t have you falling for me on the dance floor.”

You shot him a playful glare, your cheeks burning with the double meaning behind his words. “If I do, it’s entirely your fault.”

Hotch’s smile softened, his thumb brushing against your hand as you continued to move in sync. “I’ll take full responsibility.”

The song played on, each step bringing you closer, each touch making it harder to ignore the truth you’d been hiding. Dancing with Hotch felt like stepping into a dream you didn’t want to wake from, a dangerous, beautiful dance where every move whispered of what could be, if only you were brave enough to reach for it.

As the song ended, Hotch pulled you close, his voice low and teasing. “Guess we really are rehearsing for our first dance.”

You laughed, trying to ignore the way your heart pounded in your chest. “Yeah, and just think, you’ve still got 800 coffees to go before you have to propose.”

He smirked, a twinkle in his eyes. “Better get to work beating me, then. I’m not planning on waiting forever.”

The words hung between you, playful yet laced with an unspoken promise. You knew it was just banter, just another layer of the teasing that had become so natural between you. But standing there, wrapped in the lingering closeness of the dance, it felt like so much more.

You stepped back slightly, breaking the intimate proximity but not the connection that buzzed between you. Hotch’s hand lingered at your waist for a second longer than necessary, and you felt the warmth of his touch sear through the fabric of your blouse, leaving a ghost of a feeling that you knew you’d carry long after this moment was over.

The silence stretched, not awkward but charged, both of you caught in a rare moment of vulnerability. Hotch’s gaze remained fixed on you, his dark eyes searching yours as if trying to read the unspoken words that hovered just out of reach. For a moment, you thought he might say something, something real, something that would bring down the walls you’d both so carefully built. But instead, he broke the tension with a soft, knowing smile.

“You did good,” he said, his voice a low, comforting murmur that sent a thrill down your spine. “I think we’ve got this.”

You nodded, trying to muster your usual bravado even as your heart thudded in your chest. “Yeah, well, it’s not every day I get to dance with a lawyer. I’d say that’s worth at least a few points in my favor.”

Hotch chuckled, a sound that was all warmth and affection, and you couldn’t help but bask in it, soaking up every second. “Just remember, you’ve still got a long way to go before you catch up. But I’ll admit,” he said, tilting his head with a playful glint, “you’re getting closer.”

The lightness of his words belied the heaviness in your chest, the way your feelings for him felt like a secret you could no longer keep hidden. You wanted to say more, to let him know just how much these moments with him meant to you, how every joke and every stolen glance was a lifeline amid the chaos.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to risk the delicate balance of your partnership, the friendship that had grown into something far more complex than you’d ever imagined.

Instead, you settled for a smile, one that you hoped conveyed at least a fraction of what you felt. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Hotch. And who knows, by the time we hit a thousand coffees, maybe I’ll have you dancing circles around me.”

Hotch’s smile turned softer, almost wistful, and for a fleeting second, you thought you saw a flicker of something more in his eyes, something that mirrored the quiet longing you carried for him every day. “Maybe,” he said, his voice tinged with a kind of quiet sincerity that made your heart ache. “But if you ask me, you’re already leading the way.”  

The moment passed, but the unspoken sentiment lingered between you, a promise wrapped in uncertainty, an almost that hung just out of reach. As Hotch turned back to the files spread out on the table, his focus already shifting back to the task at hand, you couldn’t help but steal one last glance, committing every detail of this moment to memory. It was hard not to get lost in the fantasy of it, to imagine that maybe you and Hotch were dancing for yourselves, not just to catch a pair of killers.

Because even if it was just banter, just a playful dance of words and what-ifs, it was enough.

For now, it was enough to be by his side, to share the weight of the cases and the late nights and the stolen moments of something that felt almost like happiness.

For now, you’d keep dancing around the truth, holding onto the hope that someday, the steps would lead you to something more.

☐ ⬛

The atmosphere in your accommodation felt charged with an energy that was hard to ignore. You and Hotch had just finished a long day of preparation, your bodies still buzzing from the adrenaline of the evening.

This was the first time you had shared a room with him since you realized your feelings for him had deepened into something more, and you were painfully aware of the tension that hung in the air.

You were both drenched in the aftereffects of your undercover mission. The dance had felt so intimate, so dangerously close, and now you found yourself grappling with those emotions in a more personal setting. The idea of showering was both a relief and a distraction, a way to wash away the sweat and tension from the evening.

As you stepped beside the bathroom, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the moment was significant, that it marked a turning point between you and Hotch. You had shared hotel rooms on countless occasions, but this felt different. This time, there was an awareness, a hint of vulnerability that made your heart race.

“Do you want to go first?” Hotch asked, ever the gentleman, as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. You nodded, grateful for the moment to gather your thoughts, to shake off the lingering tension of the evening.

After your shower, you dried your hair and slipped into a comfortable shirt and your usual pajama shorts, taking a deep breath before reentering the main room. As you emerged, you found Hotch sprawled out on the bed, a bemused expression on his face as he flipped through the pages of the book you had given him, Hegel for Dummies.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sight of him attempting to wrestle with philosophical concepts a delightful surprise. “Look at you, and I thought I was the official philosopher of our duo,” you teased, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe. “I never thought I’d see you actually reading a book about philosophy. I was sure you were too serious for ‘Hegel for Dummies’.” you emphasized the word “dummies” with a smirk, savoring the rare chance to poke fun at his usually serious demeanor.

Hotch glanced up, his dark eyes twinkling with a rare spark of amusement. “What can I say? I’m already feeling a bit wiser,” he replied with a dry smile. “But hey, who wouldn’t want their mind expanded by ‘Hegel for Dummies’?” He emphasized the word with a smirk, playing right into your joke. “Though, I’ll admit, this wasn’t exactly how I envisioned unwinding after a long day on the job.”

“Just promise me you won’t start quoting him at me,” you said, dropping into the chair opposite him with a playful grin. “I’m not exactly in the mood to have my brain twisted around philosophical notions of love and duty - especially not whatever version of that ‘Hegel for Dummies’ is peddling. That sounds like a headache waiting to happen, that could get overly-simplified.”

Hotch stood up and stretched, his muscles flexing beneath his shirt as it rode up slightly, revealing a teasing glimpse of the firm, toned skin at his waist. You caught yourself staring, heat flooding your cheeks as you quickly looked away, caught between admiration and a surge of embarrassment.

“I’ll do my best to keep the heavy philosophy to a minimum,” he said, his voice low and slightly teasing as he moved toward the bathroom. “But I can’t promise I won’t slip up.” The way he glanced back at you, a subtle challenge in his eyes, left you feeling a little breathless, as if his words were more than just about Hegel for Dummies. 

As he stepped into the bathroom to shower, you couldn’t help but stare at the closed door, the lingering warmth of his presence still in the air. It was a mix of nerves and excitement, and you were acutely aware of how much you wanted to cross that invisible line between partnership and something more.

When Hotch emerged from the bathroom, his hair was still damp and tousled, messy in a way that made him look effortlessly handsome. Droplets of water clung to his skin, trailing slowly down his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt, drawing your eyes to the strong lines of his throat and the hint of muscle beneath. For a moment, your breath hitched, and time seemed to stretch as you took him in - disheveled, raw, and undeniably attractive.

He exuded a quiet confidence, his body a blend of strength and subtle elegance that was captivating, even in his exhaustion, you couldn’t tear your gaze away, admiring the man who, even at his most worn-down, was impossibly magnetic.

“Are you okay?” he asked, catching your gaze. His voice held a hint of concern, a gentle nudge back to reality.

You shook your head, trying to focus on the task at hand. “Yeah, just… lost in thought.” Your voice sounded distant even to you, the weight of everything lingering in the air. “Oh, and Peter just called. He’s in Los Angeles on a case, and he wanted to know if we’d be up for grabbing drinks when we get back.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, concern and curiosity mingling in his gaze as he studied you closely. “Are you okay with that?” he asked gently, his voice softening with genuine care and a quiet, almost protective undertone. He hesitated, his eyes lingering on yours, as if trying to unravel the emotions you kept hidden just beneath the surface. “And what about the date you had with him? How did that go?”

You sighed, feeling the weight of the unspoken truth bubbling up before you could stop it. It wasn’t easy to admit, especially to Hotch, but something about his presence made it impossible to hold back. “Honestly, it just reinforced what I already knew,” you confessed, your voice tinged with a mix of frustration and resignation. “We’re compatible as friends, but when it comes to being a couple, there’s… something missing.”

Hotch leaned against the doorframe, his posture relaxed but his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. His expression was open, his concern genuine, and it was clear that he wasn’t just asking to be polite; he wanted to understand. “Missing how?” he pressed, his voice low and full of quiet curiosity that pulled you in.

You hesitated, grappling with the vulnerability of sharing the deeper truth, a truth that you hadn’t even fully admitted to yourself. “I don’t know,” you said slowly, searching for the right words. “It’s like there’s no spark, no real connection that makes me feel… grounded. I keep trying to find this balance within myself, this sense of who I am and what I want, before I dive back into dating. With him, I just felt like I was going through the motions, hoping for something that wasn’t really there.”

You watched as Hotch absorbed your words, his expression shifting with a flicker of understanding. There was a look in his eyes that told you he got it, maybe more than anyone else ever could. “You’re being honest,” he said softly, his tone filled with quiet respect. “That’s important. And it sounds like you’re making the right choice, prioritizing what feels true to you instead of forcing something that doesn’t fit.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, warmth spreading through you at his validation. “Thanks,” you murmured, feeling the comfort of his support like a gentle embrace. But beneath your gratitude, there was a lingering ache, a nagging wish that you could tell him the other real reason you were so hesitant to start something new with anyone else. The truth was, it wasn’t just about finding balance within yourself, it was also about him.

Hotch studied you for a long moment, his gaze never wavering as if he were searching for something deeper, some hidden truth that you hadn’t yet found the courage to voice. “Just remember,” he said, his voice gentle and laced with a sincerity that made your heart flutter, “it’s okay to take your time. There’s no rush to figure it all out, and no rulebook you have to follow.”

His words were simple, but they carried a weight that hit you straight in the chest. Hotch wasn’t just talking about your reluctance to date; he was offering you the space to breathe, to heal, to find your way without pressure or judgment. It was the kind of reassurance you hadn’t realized you needed, and it made you feel seen in a way that was both comforting and terrifying.

You offered him a grateful smile, feeling a surge of affection for him that was impossible to ignore. “Thanks, Hotch. That means a lot,” you said softly, and you meant it more than he would ever know.

“And, by the way,” you added, trying to lighten the mood, “Even if you are the philosopher now, I don’t think you have to worry about being proposed to anytime soon.”

Hotch chuckled, his voice playful  “You never know. A thousand coffees and a philosophical debate might just seal the deal.”

You laughed, trying to shake off the weight of your feelings. “Well, I’ll just have to make sure I’m ready for that day, then.”

Hotch turned away, rummaging through his bag for a fresh shirt, and your eyes couldn’t help but follow the movement. As he pulled off his damp shirt, you caught a glimpse of the toned muscles in his back, the way they flexed subtly under his skin. The faint sheen of moisture made his skin glisten, his hair clinging damply to his forehead in a way that was both rugged and impossibly enticing. Your breath hitched, heart pounding as you watched him, captivated by the effortless grace of his movements.

You were drawn to him in ways that you could hardly admit, even to yourself. It wasn’t just his looks - though the sight of his broad shoulders and the curve of his spine definitely didn’t help your situation - it was everything he embodied. He was stability, strength, and an unwavering presence that grounded you even in the darkest moments. He was everything you craved, everything you told yourself you shouldn’t want, and yet here you were, heart racing and pulse quickening at just the sight of him.

You shifted on the bed, trying to focus on anything but him, but it was useless. Every movement he made drew your attention. The way he absentmindedly ran his hand through his wet hair, ruffling it in a way that left it messier than before. The subtle tilt of his head as he absorbed your words, genuinely invested in what you had to say. He made you feel seen, and that was more dangerous than any undercover mission.

“So,” Hotch said as he slipped his arms into his shirt, the fabric hugging his shoulders in a way that made your heart race, “do you ever regret it? Not… dating, but just how all of this can make things so complicated?”

You looked up, surprised by the question. The vulnerability in his tone caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. “Honestly? Sometimes,” you admitted, your voice soft. “But I think it’s normal to feel that way. The job… it demands so much. And sometimes I wonder if it’s worth the trade-offs. But then I remember why I started, why I wanted this, and it keeps me going.”

Hotch nodded, his gaze distant as if he were sifting through his own set of regrets. “I get that,” he said quietly. “It’s easy to lose sight of things, to get caught up in the job and forget what you wanted in the first place.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. It was a rare, intimate glimpse into Aaron—the man beneath the stoic exterior, the version of himself he reserved only for moments like these, moments shared with you outside the rigid confines of work.

It was moments like this that made your feelings for him feel far deeper than a simple crush. It wasn’t just a fleeting infatuation; it was something profound, something that had quietly grown over time through every shared late night, every unspoken understanding, and every instance of mutual respect and unacknowledged care.

“Hotch,” you began, hesitating as you searched for the right words, “I don’t think I’ve ever told you, but… I really look up to you. You’re the reason I push myself every day. Because you set this standard that I want to live up to. Not just as an agent, but as a person.”

Hotch glanced at you, his eyes softening with a hint of something you couldn’t quite place. Gratitude? Affection? Whatever it was, it made your pulse quicken. “You don’t need to live up to anyone but yourself,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “You’re… you’re better than you realize. And I’m glad to have you as my partner.”

The sincerity in his words settled over you like a warm blanket, soothing the frayed edges of your nerves. You wanted to say more, to tell him how much his opinion meant to you, but the lump in your throat made it impossible. So instead, you just nodded, hoping he understood the depth of your appreciation.

Hotch finished to dry his hair with the towel, and for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to imagine a different scenario. One where this wasn’t just another case, where you weren’t just colleagues sharing a hotel room for the sake of the job. You imagined lazy mornings, quiet dinners, and dances that were just for the two of you, moments untethered from the weight of your work.

“You know,” Hotch said, breaking the silence with a teasing smile, “for someone who’s supposedly my biggest competition, you’re pretty soft.”

You rolled your eyes, grateful for the lighthearted shift. “Don’t let it get to your head, Hotchner. I’m still gunning for that 1,000th coffee win, and when it happens, you’ll be the one stuck making breakfast every morning.”

He laughed, the sound rich and genuine, and it made your heart swell. “If that’s the price of losing, I think I can live with it.”

He sat down on the edge of his bed, picking up the book again, flipping through the pages as if searching for something to focus on. The sight of him engrossed in philosophy, his brow furrowed in concentration, was both endearing and a little surreal. You hadn’t expected him to take to the book so earnestly, but here he was, deep in thought, as if dissecting the nature of existence itself.

“Never pegged you as the type to dive into Hegel,” you teased lightly, hoping to steer your thoughts away from the yearning you were struggling to hide. “I thought you’d find it too abstract.”

Hotch glanced up, his smile small but genuine. ”Hegel for Dummies” he corrected you “Well, you did say it’d make me the official philosopher of the team. Besides, it’s… interesting. Challenging. A good distraction.”

“A distraction from what?” you asked, curious but careful, not wanting to pry too much.

Hotch hesitated, his eyes briefly clouding with something unspoken. “Just… life, I guess. It’s a lot easier to focus on someone else’s theories than to get lost in my own head sometimes.”

You nodded, understanding the sentiment more than you could say. “Guess we all need a distraction every now and then.”

He smiled at that, and for a moment, the room felt lighter, the heaviness of the day lifting just enough for you to breathe a little easier. Hotch stood up, stretching his arms up again, the hem of his shirt lifting slightly to reveal a glimpse of toned muscle beneath. You quickly averted your eyes, focusing on anything else, the artistry behind the pattern of the carpet, the flowers motives taking inspiration from 1800’s Art Nouveau… anything that wasn’t him.

Hotch caught your flustered expression and chuckled, the sound warm and unexpected. “If there’s something you want to say, you can just say it. I’m not a mind reader, you know.”

You fumbled for words, desperately trying to mask the fact that you’d been caught staring. “No, it’s nothing,” you stammered, your mind scrambling to come up with a quick distraction. “I was just thinking… once this case is over, maybe we should figure out a way to hand this undercover gig back to our two lovebirds. You know, let Rossi and Gideon get a taste of their own medicine. They’ve had way too much fun at our expense.”

Hotch paused, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You mean like turning the tables on them?” he asked, his tone light but carrying a hint of something more devilish beneath it. “Maybe set them up with a little undercover operation of their own. I bet Gideon would look great in a dance ensemble.”

You laughed, enjoying the image of the two seasoned profilers stumbling through a dance routine. “Oh, definitely. Maybe we should get them to ‘rehearse’ with us. A little late-night surprise choreography. We could even record it, strictly for case review purposes, of course.”

Hotch’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he leaned in, clearly enjoying the idea. “We’ll make them pay for every smug look and every teasing comment. Let’s call it payback with a side of public humiliation.”

“Partners on the job, partners on the dancefloor, and partners in crime,” Hotch said, his voice laced with a mix of playful mischief and sincerity.

You grinned, feeling a rush of warmth at the thought of plotting with him. “The unholy trinity. They should have known better than to pair us up in the first place,” you said, savoring the moment.

Hotch’s expression softened slightly, his smile still lingering. “We would’ve found our way, no matter what,” he said, his voice laced with a quiet conviction that sent warmth flooding through you.

☐ ⬛

The next evening, the dance hall was alive with a soft, romantic glow, illuminated by chandeliers that cast a warm, golden light across the polished wooden floors. The air was filled with the soft murmur of conversations and the gentle strains of a live band playing in the corner.

Elegantly dressed couples moved gracefully around the room, their easy smiles and carefree movements masking the dark reality that lingered just beneath the surface. But for you and Hotch, this wasn’t just another night out, it was a hunt, and the dance floor was your stage.

Hotch was dressed in a tailored black suit that hugged his frame perfectly, exuding both authority and elegance. The crisp white shirt beneath his jacket added a touch of classic sophistication, but it was the open collar and the absence of his usual tie that gave him an air of relaxed charm that was rarely seen. His presence was magnetic, drawing eyes even in a room full of polished strangers.

You wore a sleek, simple white dress that softly hugged your curves, the fabric flowing with every step and catching the light as you moved. It was elegant yet daring, a statement piece that matched the confidence you needed to exude tonight. The neckline dipped just enough to be provocative without crossing the line, and the slit at your thigh gave you the freedom to dance with ease, a pair of dance heels completing the look.

Hotch’s hand rested lightly on your lower back as you entered the dance hall, his touch warm and firm, a silent reassurance that anchored you in the moment. You could feel the heat of his hand through the thin fabric of your dress, and every gentle press of his fingers sent a shiver up your spine that was impossible to ignore.

It was part of the cover, you reminded yourself, just an act to make you look the part. But every time he leaned in close, every whisper of his breath against your ear, it felt like so much more than that.

“Remember, stay close,” Hotch murmured, his lips brushing your ear as his voice rumbled low and intimate, almost sending a shiver straight to your core. “We need to blend in, keep it natural. And if you see anything—”

“Signal you,” you finished, your voice steady despite the pounding of your heart. You shot him a teasing smile, trying to mask the way his proximity made your pulse race. “I’ve got it. Just don’t step on my toes, okay?”

Hotch’s smile was quick and genuine, his eyes twinkling with a rare playfulness that made your breath catch. “No promises,” he said, his tone light but laced with the familiar seriousness of the job. “But I’ll try to keep the damage to a minimum.”

The music shifted, and the opening notes of “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now” filled the room, the familiar melody wrapping around you like a soft embrace. You took your places on the dance floor, and as Hotch’s hand found yours, a current of electricity passed between you. This was the routine you’d rehearsed endlessly, designed to lure the unsubs into revealing themselves. But as you stepped into the familiar movements, it felt like more than just a strategy.

Hotch’s grip on your waist was firm but gentle, guiding you effortlessly across the floor. His other hand clasped yours, fingers interlacing in a way that felt both intimate and natural, as if you’d done this a hundred times before – and actually you did last night.

Each step was precise, each turn fluid, but it wasn’t just the choreography that made your heart race, it was the way Hotch’s eyes never left yours, dark and intense, as if you were the only two people in the room. His movements were smooth, confident, and you couldn’t help but be drawn to the quiet strength that radiated from him.

With every spin, you felt the brush of his suit against your dress, the closeness of his body sending heat coursing through your veins. You were acutely aware of every touch, every shift in his posture as he pulled you closer, his breath mingling with yours in the space between.

The dance was supposed to be a lure, a means to an end, but in that moment, it was easy to forget the purpose behind it. It felt like an unspoken conversation, every movement a confession of the emotions simmering beneath the surface.

As Hotch twirled you around, your back pressed against his chest, the world seemed to narrow to the rhythm of the music and the warmth of his touch. For a brief, dizzying moment, you weren’t just undercover agents, you were two people lost in each other, sharing something that went beyond words.

He leaned in, his mouth hovering near your ear, his voice barely audible over the music. “You’re doing great,” he murmured, and the sincerity in his tone made your heart flutter. It wasn’t just praise; it was a reminder that he was with you, that you were in this together, not just on the dance floor but in everything.

As the song built to its powerful crescendo, you felt the weight of the room shift. Eyes were on you - some admiring, others envious, and two pairs watching with a chilling intensity. The unsubs had noticed you, just as you’d hoped. But in that moment, it was hard to remember that this was all a performance, that the heat between you and Hotch was supposed to be an act.

“Doing okay?” Hotch asked, his voice low and steady as he pulled you closer, his hand resting at the small of your back.

You nodded, meeting his gaze. “Yeah. I think we’ve got their attention.”

Sure enough, as you continued to dance, you noticed a couple standing off to the side, watching you with an unsettling intensity. The man was tall and rigid, his expression dark and brooding. The woman beside him was younger, with a delicate, almost ethereal appearance, her eyes flickering between you and Hotch with a mix of curiosity and thinly veiled hostility.

Hotch’s grip tightened ever so slightly, a silent signal that he’d seen them too. “They’re watching us,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t make it obvious. Just keep dancing.”

You nodded, trying to maintain your composure as the unsubs edged closer, their movements purposeful and predatory. The woman’s gaze lingered on you with a kind of disdain that made your skin crawl, as if she were sizing you up, looking for weaknesses. You felt Hotch shift slightly, positioning himself between you and the male unsub, a subtle but deliberate move to protect you.

As the music swelled, Hotch spun you in a graceful arc, his hand firm against your back, guiding you effortlessly. The dance felt like an extension of your partnership: fluid, unspoken, each movement a testament to the trust you’d built.

“This is it,” Hotch whispered as he dipped you low, his face inches from yours. You could feel the tension in his hold, the urgency mixed with something else, something that made your breath hitch. “They’re coming in. Just a little longer.”

You nodded, eyes locked with his, feeling the weight of the moment. When he pulled you back up, you spotted the unsubs moving toward you, their expressions dark and taunting. They joined the dance, circling you and Hotch with a menace that was palpable. The woman moved erratically, her steps sharp and aggressive as if mocking your movements, daring you to falter.

The man sneered, his presence looming as he matched Hotch step for step. “You think you’re good enough to keep up with us?” he spat, his voice dripping with disdain. “This isn’t just a dance.”

Hotch’s expression remained calm, but you could see the fire in his eyes. “It’s not about being good enough. It’s about knowing when to stop.”

The tension reached a breaking point as the woman lunged at you, but Hotch was faster, pulling you back and shielding you with his body. The room erupted into chaos as undercover agents moved in, surrounding the unsubs with practiced precision. You were yanked out of the way, Hotch’s hand never leaving yours as he guided you to safety.

The man fought back viciously, but the agents overpowered him quickly, wrestling him to the ground. The woman was dragged away, her screams echoing in the dance hall as she cursed and spat, her eyes wild with fury. It was over in a matter of seconds, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins made it feel like an eternity.

Hotch stood beside you, his breathing ragged but controlled, his eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before you. “You did great,” he said softly, his voice tinged with a mix of pride and exhaustion. “We did it.”

You turned to him, the weight of everything hitting you all at once “Yeah,” you replied, your voice unsteady. “We did.”

“Guess our partnership does extend to the dance floor after all,” Hotch said with a faint smile, echoing your earlier banter. His eyes held yours, warm and familiar, and you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope for whatever might come next.

You laughed softly, squeezing his hand in return. “Yeah, but I’m still holding you to that deal, Hotch. A thousand coffees, remember?”

He chuckled, his expression softening in a way that made your heart skip, he teased. “You just might get it.”

And for the first time, you let yourself believe that maybe, someday, you would.

☐ ⬛

Back at the hotel, the adrenaline of the night had finally worn off, leaving you both drained. Hotch was seated at the small table in your shared room, his usually sharp posture softened by fatigue, sleeves rolled up. He had his jacket carelessly tossed over the back of a chair, his face illuminated by the soft glow of a desk lamp as he flipped through the case notes one last time. The quiet rustle of paper filled the room, a familiar sound that normally calmed you, but tonight, it only reminded you of how much had happened in the span of a few hours.

You sat across from him, cradling a cup of coffee that had gone cold a while ago, but you didn’t care. Hotch glanced up, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, the exhaustion in his expression softened, replaced by something gentler, more personal.

“You handled yourself well out there,” he said, his voice low but filled with a sincerity that sent warmth rushing through your chest. “That wasn’t easy, but you kept your head, and… I couldn’t have asked for a better partner.”

You felt your cheeks warm under his praise, the knot of tension in your chest loosening ever so slightly. There was something about the way he said it, the way his gaze lingered on you, that made you feel seen in a way you rarely allowed yourself to feel. “Thanks, Hotch. I couldn’t have done it without you… literally,” you said with a soft smile, trying to keep your voice light despite the emotions stirring within you.

Hotch chuckled, the sound low and warm, a rare softness that made your pulse quicken. “I think we made quite the team tonight. I’d say Rossi and Gideon were right for once.”

You both laughed, the sound easing the lingering tension in the room. You could almost hear Rossi’s smug voice ringing in your ears, the playful teasing he’d surely throw your way once you were all back at the office. But as the laughter faded, the reality of the night settled back in, leaving you with a quiet, contemplative moment that was all too fleeting.

“It was strange,” you said softly, your gaze dropping to the coffee in your hands. “Being that close to… everything. To you.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, vulnerability lacing your voice, and you quickly tried to cover your tracks with a joke. “Especially because you’re not the most physical person I know—and this comes from another relatively not-so-physical person.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned back in his chair. “Well, as I’ve already told you, you’ll have to wait until the 1,000th coffee before you get any kind of physical contact.” His eyes sparkled with amusement, the joke a reminder of your earlier banter, but underneath it, you sensed the deeper acknowledgment of the closeness you’d shared on the dance floor.

“Be careful what you wish for, Hotch,” you teased, your voice light but tinged with genuine affection. “With the way things are going, we’re not just approaching our 1,000th coffee; we’re practically rehearsing for our first dance.”

Hotch shook his head, his smile widening as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Maybe it’s all part of Rossi’s master plan. Get us so tangled up in undercover work that we forget how to do anything else.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes at the thought of Rossi’s meddling. “If this is his idea of fun, then I’d hate to see what he has planned for our next assignment.”

The teasing between you felt like a lifeline, something solid and real to hold onto amid the chaos. But even as you joked, there was a flicker of something deeper in Hotch’s eyes, a quiet recognition that this was more than just another case, more than just another day on the job.

Eventually, Hotch set the case notes aside, his focus shifting entirely to you. He leaned back, studying you with an expression that was equal parts admiration and something softer, something you dared not name. “You should get some rest,” he said gently, his voice carrying a note of concern that tugged at your heart. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow, and I think we’ve both earned a break.”

You nodded, feeling the exhaustion tugging at your limbs as you stood and made your way toward your bed. But before you turned off the light, you glanced back at him, unable to keep the small, grateful smile from spreading across your face. “Goodnight, Hotch. And… thank you. For not having stepped on my toes.”

Hotch returned the smile, his eyes lingering on you in the dim light. “Goodnight,” he replied, his voice soft but resonant. “And thank you, for the dance.”

☐ ⬛

When both of you were back to Quantico, the bar was buzzing with the lively hum of weekend chatter and soft music playing over the speakers. After the intensity of your recent cases, you, Hotch, and Peter had agreed to meet up, seeking some semblance of normalcy amid the chaos of your jobs.

The three of you were seated at a circular table, dimly lit by the glow of a nearby lamp. Peter was talking animatedly about his case in Los Angeles, recounting the details with a mix of exasperation and pride, while you and Hotch listened, nursing your drinks.

You watched Peter with a fond smile, grateful for the easy camaraderie you shared, but also feeling the weight of recent revelations about your own feelings. As he talked, you couldn’t help but notice how animated he became when he was excited, the way his eyes lit up when he was deep in a story. It was moments like these that made you value his friendship so much, but also reminded you of why things between the two of you could never be more than that.

Your gaze drifted absently around the bar, soaking in the low-lit ambiance and the scattered patrons enjoying their evening. The clinking of glasses, murmured conversations, and soft laughter created a comforting buzz in the background.

But something else caught your attention: a woman at the table next to yours, just out of Peter’s line of sight, was eyeing him with a mix of curiosity and barely concealed interest. She was attractive, with an easy smile and bright eyes that flickered over to Peter whenever he wasn’t looking. Her body language screamed intrigue—subtle glances, a quick smoothing of her hair, and the nervous excitement of someone contemplating making the first move.

Instinctively, you glanced over at Hotch, who was already watching you with a knowing smirk, as if he’d been waiting for you to catch on. His dark eyes gleamed with the unspoken mischief you both shared, reading your thoughts without a single word.

It was one of those moments that felt like a silent conversation, a shared understanding you’d perfected over years of working together. You both knew what this was: Peter deserved someone who saw him, who could give him the attention he deserved, something you were too tangled up in your own unresolved feelings to offer.

Hotch leaned in, his voice low and conspiratorial, his breath warm against your ear. “We should give him a chance,” he murmured, his lips twitching into a subtle smile that sent an unexpected flutter through your chest.

You nodded, catching on to his plan immediately, your own smile mirroring his. “We just need to find a way to leave him alone. Got any ideas?” you asked, your voice playful yet filled with anticipation.

Hotch’s eyes sparkled with a mischievous gleam, and you could practically see the wheels turning in his head. He had that look—the one that told you he was already five steps ahead, crafting a plan with the precision of a seasoned strategist. “Follow my lead,” he said, amusement lacing his tone. Hotch stood up, stretching casually, his movements drawing subtle glances from the surrounding tables. He made it look effortless, but you knew it was all part of the act.

“I’m going to grab us another round,” he announced, loud enough for Peter to hear but casual enough to keep up the ruse. He glanced back at you, a hint of challenge in his eyes. “You want anything, Y/N?”

You caught on without missing a beat, slipping into character with practiced ease. “Yeah, I’ll come with you,” you said, shooting Peter a quick, reassuring smile. “Keep our spot warm, okay? We’ll be right back.”

Peter, engrossed in his latest story about a wild case from the past, barely glanced up as he waved you off, too wrapped up in his own world to notice the unfolding setup. As you and Hotch made your way toward the bar, you risked a glance over your shoulder, just in time to see the woman take her chance.

She moved quickly, sliding into the seat next to Peter with a confident smile, striking up a conversation as though she’d been waiting all night for this moment. Peter’s expression shifted from surprise to a genuine, pleased smile, his posture straightening as he turned his attention fully to her.

Hotch watched the scene unfold, his smile turning smug with satisfaction. “Another mission accomplished, partner” he said softly, his voice carrying a quiet pride that mirrored your own. It wasn’t often you got to play matchmaker, but seeing Peter’s face light up made it all worthwhile.

You stifled a laugh, feeling the thrill of a plan executed perfectly. “I think he’ll thank us later,” you quipped, sharing a quick look with Hotch that was filled with conspiratorial delight. It was a simple moment, but one that cemented the bond between you.

Hotch returned with two glasses of whiskey in hand, the amber liquid catching the dim light as he handed one to you. He raised his glass, a playful glint in his eyes. “For love at first sight,” he toasted with a grin, the humor in his voice unmistakable.

You couldn’t resist adding your own cheeky touch. “And maybe to something a little more… physical happening tonight.” You clinked your glass against his, the sound crisp and satisfying, and took a sip, savoring both the taste and the success of your little scheme.

Just as you settled back, the familiar, haunting opening notes of “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now” began to play over the speakers, the dramatic chords filling the room with a nostalgic charge. The coincidence was surreal, almost eerie, and you both froze, exchanging a look of incredulous surprise, as if the universe was nudging you with a playful elbow.

“What are the odds?” you laughed, barely able to contain the mix of surprise and amusement bubbling up inside you. Hotch shook his head, smirking as he read your thoughts with ease.

“No,” he said firmly, though the smile playing at his lips betrayed his resolve. “I don’t think we’re going to do another show tonight.”

You leaned in closer, teasing him with a sparkle in your eyes. “Oh, come on, Hotch. Can you imagine the looks we’d get? It would be priceless. Plus, I bet drinks would be on me for the rest of the night.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, his expression a blend of challenge and barely restrained laughter. “You don’t even have to ask me twice, then” he said, his voice low, filled with that familiar warmth and a hint of mischief that made your heart skip a beat.

Without another word, he set down his drink and extended his hand to you, his eyes gleaming with a mix of playfulness and something deeper, something that had been simmering between you for longer than either of you cared to admit. You hesitated for just a second, your gaze locked with his, before taking his hand, the contact sending a rush of exhilaration through you.

Hotch led you onto the dance floor, his grip firm but gentle, guiding you into position with a confidence that made it easy to fall into step. The music swelled, and suddenly it was just the two of you, surrounded by the soft glow of the lights and the muted conversations of the crowd. There was no case to focus on, no killers to catch, just you and Hotch, moving in sync to a song that seemed to echo every unspoken feeling between you.

His hand settled on your waist, his touch warm and steady, and you couldn’t help but lean into it, your body responding instinctively to his. Every spin, every step felt like a conversation without words, a silent dance of emotions that had been building between you for longer than you cared to admit. When he pulled you closer, his breath mingling with yours, the rest of the world seemed to fade away.

As the final note of the song hung in the air and the applause continued, you found yourself still standing impossibly close to Hotch, your breaths mingling, his hand still warm against yours. There was something thrilling about the moment, something unspoken passing between the two of you as the crowd around you slowly came back into focus.

Hotch smirked, his gaze flicking briefly to the bar. “Well, I believe someone owes me at least two rounds of whiskey,” he said, his voice teasing yet still carrying that low, rough edge that made your heart skip a beat.

You chuckled, your chest still heaving slightly from the dance. “A deal’s a deal,” you replied, your own grin widening. “And I’m nothing if not a woman of my word.”

He let go of your hand reluctantly, the absence of his touch leaving a small void that you couldn’t quite ignore. But there was warmth in his eyes, that familiar sense of playfulness that had surprised you earlier in the night, and it softened the space between you. As the two of you made your way back to the bar, you glanced around, catching sight of Peter and the woman still deep in conversation. A small part of you felt a sense of satisfaction, your matchmaking mission had been a success.

Rossi, ever observant, caught your eye from across the room and raised his glass in a mock toast. You couldn't help but laugh under your breath, giving him a subtle nod in return. He’d undoubtedly have something to say about the impromptu performance on the dance floor.

As you approached the bar, Hotch leaned casually against it, his presence commanding even in the relaxed setting. He waved the bartender over and ordered two whiskeys, his expression calm but his eyes still gleaming with the aftereffects of your shared moment. You had seen him in so many different roles - coworker, partner, friend - but this side of him, lighter and more playful, felt like a rare gift you hadn’t quite expected.

“So,” Hotch began, turning toward you as the bartender placed the glasses in front of you both, “think the unsubs would’ve been impressed with that performance?”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking as you lifted your glass. “They would’ve been running for their lives,” you quipped, taking a sip of the smooth whiskey. The warmth of it spread through you, mixing with the buzz of the evening. “You should see the way you move out there. If profiling doesn’t work out, I’m sure Broadway could use you.”

Hotch let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he lifted his own glass. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied, his voice still low, but there was an unmistakable amusement in his eyes. “But I think we should leave the dancing to the professionals.”

You clinked your glass against his, grinning. “Agreed.”

Before you could say anything more, Rossi sauntered over, his trademark smirk firmly in place. “Well, well, well,” he drawled, swirling his drink in his hand as he looked between you and Hotch. “I never thought I’d see the day. You two make quite the pair on the dance floor. I’m starting to think we missed our chance to send you undercover at a ballroom competition.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re just jealous you didn’t get an invite.”

“Jealous?” Rossi feigned offense, his hand over his chest. “I’m just glad I got a front-row seat to the show.” He winked, clearly enjoying himself far too much.

“Don’t worry, Rossi,” Hotch chimed in smoothly, his voice dry but full of that subtle humor you’d been seeing all night. “I’m sure there’ll be another opportunity. We’ll make sure you’re prepared next time.”

Rossi chuckled, clearly entertained. “I’ll hold you to that, Hotch. But next time, I expect a full routine, choreography and all.”

As Rossi took a swig of his drink, Peter wandered over, his face flushed with a combination of excitement and, likely, a couple of drinks. “Hey,” he said, slightly breathless, his eyes darting between you and Hotch. “That was… something. I didn’t know you two could move like that.”

You exchanged a quick glance with Hotch, both of you trying to suppress smiles. “Just trying to keep things interesting,” you said lightly, noticing how Peter kept glancing back toward the woman he’d been talking to earlier.

Hotch, always perceptive, raised an eyebrow. “Seems like you’ve had a good night yourself.”

Peter’s grin widened, and he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly pleased with how things were going. “Yeah, actually. I’m kind of surprised, but… she’s great. I think we’re going to grab dinner next week.”

You felt a surge of satisfaction at that, knowing that your little matchmaking effort had paid off. “That’s great, Peter,” you said genuinely. “She seems like a good match for you.”

Peter beamed, clearly grateful, before excusing himself to rejoin her. As he left, you turned back to Hotch, the playful energy between you simmering just below the surface.

“Well, look at us,” you mused, swirling the remaining whiskey in your glass. “We’ve played matchmaker, stolen the show, and now I owe you drinks. I’d say tonight’s been a success.”

Hotch tilted his head, that familiar smirk making an appearance again. “Not to mention you’ve proven I can dance without stepping on your toes,” he teased.

You laughed, the sound genuine and light. “I’ll admit, you exceeded expectations. Though, if I remember correctly, you said something about ‘no promises.’”

He raised his glass in mock defeat. “Guilty.”

As the night began to wind down, the bar’s atmosphere softened around you, the conversations fading into a gentle hum beneath the dim glow of the hanging lights. You found yourself more at ease than you had been in a long time, just sitting here with Hotch, sharing drinks and easy laughter, without the shadow of a case looming overhead. And in those quiet minutes, you felt the undeniable bond that went beyond your roles as agents, reaching into something more personal, more real.

Hotch seemed to sense your thoughts, and he turned toward you, his expression softening in a way that was so rare for him—vulnerable, unguarded. “Thanks for tonight,” he said quietly, his voice low and filled with sincerity. “For playing along… and for everything else.” The weight of his words lingered, filled with unspoken appreciation for the comfort of your presence, both on and off the field.

The simple, heartfelt acknowledgment made your chest tighten with warmth, a feeling of closeness that was hard to describe. “Anytime, Hotch,” you replied softly, meeting his gaze and feeling that familiar rush of something deeper between you. “A philosopher I know once said, ‘partners on the job, partners on the dancefloor, and partners in crime.’”

Hotch laughed, the sound rich and genuine, his dimples making a rare appearance that you couldn’t help but adore. “I wonder who that wise man might be,” he mused, his tone playful and self-deprecating.

You grinned, leaning back in your chair, savoring the moment. “Oh, just the real advocate of the ‘Hegel for Dummies’ philosophical current,” you teased, your voice dripping with mock seriousness. “The man who’s mastered the art of the unholy trinity.”

Hotch chuckled, rolling his eyes but playing along effortlessly. “Ah, yes. The esteemed ‘Hegel for Dummies’ dialectics—a groundbreaking philosophy,” he said, putting on an exaggeratedly thoughtful expression that made you laugh. “It’s all about the triad, right? The unholy trinity: partners on the job, partners on the dancefloor, and partners in crime. A revolutionary approach to teamwork.”

You couldn’t contain your laughter, enjoying the easy back-and-forth. It was moments like these that made you feel like you and Hotch were more than just friends, you were partners in every sense of the word, sharing in the lighter side of life that was often overshadowed by the darkness of your work.

As you sipped the last of your whiskey, a mischievous thought struck you, and you leaned closer to Hotch, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “What do you say we sign Rossi up for the karaoke list? A little payback for all his teasing.”

Hotch’s eyes gleamed with delight, his smile widening at the suggestion. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said, his voice filled with that familiar blend of amusement and quiet mischief that you loved. “I’m sure he’s got a rendition of ‘My Way’ just waiting to be unleashed.”

The two of you moved with quiet stealth, slipping over to the karaoke sign-up sheet while Rossi was engrossed in conversation with a couple of admirers at the bar. You exchanged a quick, mischievous glance as Hotch scribbled Rossi’s name onto the list with a flourish, choosing the most dramatic ballad you could think of, something that would make Rossi’s grand, showman personality shine, but also give you and Hotch a much-needed laugh.

Rossi’s name was called moments later, and the surprised look on his face as he stepped up to the microphone was priceless. Hotch leaned in close, his arm brushing yours as you both watched Rossi take the stage. “This might be the best decision we’ve made all night,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear.

You nodded, unable to keep the grin off your face as Rossi launched into a hilariously over-the-top performance, complete with exaggerated hand gestures and dramatic pauses that had the entire bar captivated, and you and Hotch doubled over in laughter.

It was the perfect end to an unexpected evening, a night that reminded you of the simple joy of being around people who knew you deeply and cared without question. And as you stood there beside Hotch, sharing in the moment, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the twists of fate that had brought you here, partners on the job, partners in crime, even if you always hoped for something even more.

[wannab-urs]

Pedro Pascal Character Fic Recs | Vol 43

AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist | The Spreadsheet Masterlist

Hello Friends!

Welcome to the 43rd installment of the Spreadsheet Digest! I did a lot of reading this week and I'm very excited to share it with y'all. All summaries and tags are provided by the author, unless they weren't - then I filled them in.

Want to be on the digest? Tag me in your work and I'll do my best to read it <3

Let Them See - Dave one shot by @sizzlingcloudmentality

he gets you off in front of the other guys

explicit, smut, no use of y/n, reader is ablebodied, d/s dynamics (duh), voyeurism, exhibitionism, very affectionate degradation (it's Dave, of course he calls you a slut), female masturbation, male masturbation, unprotected p in v, very affectionate possessive talk, creampie, petnames (baby), choking

This is so hot... Like... SO hot

Let Them Feel - Dave one shot by @guiltyasdave

(author's note) yesterday the lovely em @/luxurychristmaspudding posted this poll with the compelling question in a room full of p boys, who is getting you off (in front of everyone else 👀)?, which led to the lovely daphne @/sizzlingcloudmentality posting let them see (go read that asap!), which then led to me asking "hey do you mind if i continue this?" and then writing 2k words in a state that i can only describe as possessed

explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), able-bodied reader, reader has hair that can be grabbed, no use of y/n, dom!dave, exhibitionism, lowkey group sex tbh, rough oral sex (m receiving), fingering, degradation kink, praise kink

After reading Let Them See, I was dying for more because it was so good and then the lovely Jana gave me more and it was everything.

Eros and Psyche - Dieter series by @schnarfer

Dieter is a modern day Greek God Eros. We’re going full existential dread rom-com, actually.

Vaguely inspired by the Greek myth of Eros & Psyche, soul mates, yearning, emotional torment, drugs and alcohol references, lots of swears, slow burn, discussions of death and mental health, eventual smut. Dieter is a walking red flag. Reader is named (Psyche) but physical descriptions are minimal. Time is meaningless but also always marching on. Lots of Dieter POV. Fleabag coded.

this fic... I adore the soulmates trope as sort of a guilty pleasure, but this was beyond anything I've ever read within that trope. It's sweet, a bit sad at times, and just perfect in every way. The descriptions, the characters, the everything. Despite my rambling I feel like I'm speechless because I can't quite articulate why I think this fic is perfect. Just trust me.

Do it Like Madonna - Dieter one shot by @covetyou

Being Dieter Bravo's plus one to a party isn't always all it's cracked up to be, and sometimes, just sometimes, it puts a smile on your face anyway.

no smut. nudity. mention of Dieter Bravo's dick and balls. drug and alcohol use/refrence, improper use of party hats. cameos from Javi G, Oberyn, and Santos (all the P-Boys are there!) gn!reader

This is so fucking funny and so quintessentially Dieter. Perfection

Bloodlust - Din series by @dindjarindiaries

A daring favor from Boba Fett sends you and your long-time business partner, Din Djarin, undercover together—as a married couple.

fake marriage, fluff & angst, hurt/comfort, eventual/mild smut, sexual references, injuries & blood, canon-typical violence

this fic was adorable, and the plot was so interesting. I love their love ugh. It's just so cute and earnest and everything I needed.

Waiting Game - Din/Ez one shot by @northernbluess

din quite literally crashed into your life when you least expected it. injured and seriously stubborn, you took him in and as you tenderly nursed him to health, your bond grew in quiet shared moments. the day came when he was recovered enough to leave you, except he never did. now, you find yourself in a similar predicament, taking in another wearied stranger just as you had with din. he ensnares you, pulling you into his orbit, with his silver tongue, stolen touches, and hungry eyes—but what happens when you find out that he has seemingly charmed din too?

threesome, m/m/f, voyeur ezra, possessive din, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected PIV sex, unprotected anal sex, double penetration, fingering, slight dom!din, ezra is a bit of a creep at first, major canon divergence (no grogu, no cee, ezra still has his arm, etc.), choking/breathplay, biting, squirting, one (1) slap, lots of tension, panties(?), mutual pining, probably OOC, pure filth tbh. no use of y/n.

I am unhinged about this. DinEz is my favorite ship and I adore MMF threesome fics with them. This was breathtakingly good.

Thy Kingdom Cum - Ezra one shot by @absurdthirst and @storiesofthefandomlovers

The new priest's arrival to your parish has you doubting your commitment to God.

Blasphemy, inaccuracies with nuns/religious inaccuracies, religious guilt, lust, desire, demonic possession, dark intentions, sexual corruption, loss of innocence, virgin reader, oral sex (male and female receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, derogatory language, sex in a confessional, cock riding, pregnancy, mentions of prophesy, end of times, unnatural childbirth, death

Always love a good demon!Ezra, and I loved the steep fall into corruption little bird went through ugh. This was so good. The innocence of reader and the depravity of Ez was such a good contrast. I love this

Sit Back, Baby - Frankie one shot by @almostfoxglove

You've got a crush on your neighbor across the hall and finally get the chance to show him you care.

Smut (m!oral), pwp, drinking (not during smut), sorta sub!Frankie.soft,

subby frankie is forever one of my favorites. I just wanna take care of him dammit. Can't resist a good blowjob fic either. All around wonderful in every way.

Bad Idea - Javi P one shot by @murder-wife

A lil quickie on the couch never hurt anyone

fingering, unprotected PIV, panty sniffing, couch sex, the sex blanket makes an appearance! *LEAVING SOME THINGS UNTAGGED TO AVOID SPOILERS* proceed with caution, nothing dark, everyone is of age and constenting

I love everything about this. The whole premise is perfect. The plot twist??? to die for, truly.

You Can Be My Daddy - Javi P one shot by @thesummerpetrichor

Your soon to be husband leaves you at the altar, but you should have guessed since the practice seemed to run in the family. It’s hard to be upset however, when his father comes to repent for not only his own but his son’s wrong doings. Aka fiancé’s dad Javi fucking you in your wedding dress after his son ditches you at the altar.

Minimal editing, unspecified but thicc and legal age gap, infidelity, daddy kink, heavy breeding kink, insane dirty talk, toxic father son relationship, reader is delulu, praise kink, petnames, sex in front of a mirror, veil pulling??, a few spanks, creampie, Javi fucks you into the mattress, unprotected P in V [don’t do it!!].

Getting left at the altar sucks, but getting fucked into the mattress by your would-be father-in-law makes it alllll better. God damn this was hot

A Litany of Lethe - Javi P one shot by @kiwisbell

Working on his father’s ranch, Javier Peña tries to leave Colombia behind. The new housekeeper reminds him how much he enjoys a challenge.

post-narcos s3 canon, slow burn, catch the much ado references and i’ll give u a cookie, second chance, enemies to lovers, i take liberties with some geography, javi suffers from foot-in-the-mouth syndrome, angsty javier, angsty reader, angsty everything, bickering, tension of all varieties, emotional constipation from both parties, chucho being wingman no. 1, discussions of past sexual relationships, mentions of domestic abuse (not against reader), implied child neglect/abuse, grovelling king javier peña, we call him grovi, implied age gap, it's been 10 years since javi left for colombia bc i said so, reader has hair, javi is a munch, oral sex (f receiving), grinding, bickering during sex, javi is not a brat tamer but he is a brat handler (thank u mya), unprotected PIV, creampie, dirty talk, fingering, pussy pronouns, lots of biting, javi vampire confirmed??

This reads like literature or poetry or some shit. I loved Javi's internal monologue so much. I loved getting inside his head like that. The smut is so worth the wait too ugh. I love a long ass one shot <3

Touch Tank - Javi P one shot by @thundermartini

Javier helps you get over a little self-confidence crisis.

it’s self indulgent porn with plot guys. smut, kissing, oral sex - f! receiving + m! receiving, shower sex, mention of piv sex, allusion to vaginal fingering, established relationship, domestic fluff, pet names, soft!javi, blue shirt javi (but picture any javi you want), a lot of feelings again, reader has hair, insecure reader (mentions of her not fitting in the lingerie she chose as she would love to but no further descriptions so you can imagine whatever you want).

Obsessed with Javi being into lingerie, first of all. I blame @iamskyereads Lie to Me for that. Secondly, this was so hot and sweet. I love how they make each other feel better. So fucking cuuuuute

Me on You - Joel one shot by @luxurychristmaspudding

after a night out dancing and a lift home turns into something more, you learn something about your dad's buddy.

it's smut, y'all. everything you've come to expect. respectable age gap (10 years ish), tiny bit of spanking, one (1) gentle pussy slap, lil bit of daddy kink, joel miller eats it from the back (oral (f&m)), edging, unprotected piv (do better), creampie, feelings, joel miller's whore mouth.

Joel Miller fucks and it is so unbearably hot

Lost in the Darkness - Joel one shot by softlybarnes (AO3)

Joel wants you. The only problem is you're the on the arm of one of his partners.

Angst, Abuse, Abusive Relationships (not between reader/joel), Smut, Biting, Insecurity, Self-Worth Issues, Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Anxiety, Dissociation, Canon-Typical Violence, Torture, Blood and Injury, Past Sexual Assault, Character Death

Ohhhh I love this. The way they're both fucking feral ugh. It's so good.

There's a Place and Time - Joel one shot by @penvisions

Moving back to your parents house wasn't part of the plan, neither was being a thorn in your neighbor's side. but you roll with the punches, and hey, he's kinda cute when he gets huffy.

age gap (joel is mid 30's / reader is mid 20's), angst, biting words, argumentative language, joel is a lil meanie but so is reader, grief, off-screen loss, depictions of depression, comfort, mushy stuff

Joel has foot in mouth disease lmaooo. I liked the depiction of grief in this a lot. Very sweet fic with some excellent banter and even better softness.

So Much to Lose - Joel series by @auteurdelabre

Newly settled into Jackson city and forced to go on patrols with the miserable Joel Miller sets off a chain of events and encounters that have you questioning everything, including your own heart.

Enemies to Lovers, Ellie & Joel Bonding (The Last of Us), Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Joel Lives (The Last of Us), Hurt Joel (The Last of Us), Joel Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (The Last of Us), Dom/sub Undertones, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Eventual Happy Ending, Shameless Smut, Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Fingerfucking, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Reader-Insert, Face-Fucking, Lesbian Ellie (The Last of Us), Drama & Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Outdoor Sex, Forced Bonding, Cooking, Guitars, Love Confessions, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Trauma

The thing I really love about this fic is the way the side characters are integrated and just as important as reader and Joel. Jennifer, Luke, Ellie, Maria -- they're all important. I also love the slow transition from mean!Joel to soft!Joel, the way it isn't exactly linear, and the motivations behind his behavior. It's so rewarding to watch him open up over time UGH. So Good.

Scarlet Haze - Joel series by @katiexpunk

Life in the QZ was fairly predictable. That was, until Joel Miller showed up on your doorstep covered in blood. Since then, you've helped him more times than you can count. Now it's his turn to return the favor.

SEX POLLEN. SEX POLLEN. SEX POLLEN. Set in the TLOU universe in the Boston QZ. Buckle the fuck up for a lot of filthy, feral smut. Check chapter warnings for specifics.

GOD I love sex pollen fics. so so much. This series is unfinished but you get smut in part two and it's entirely worth it. So fucking good.

I Know You By Heart - Joel/Ezra series by @sixhours

Joel and Ellie settle into their new lives in Jackson but it's not the easiest transition. Thankfully Jackson has a counselor to help with that.

Joel is bad at feelings and relationships, Ellie is a little shit (affectionate), canon-compliant with season 1, SMUT, gay sex, anal sex, anal fingering, blowjobs, bisexual!Joel, period-typical homophobia, light angst, angst with a happy ending, romance, alcoholic behavior, age gap (~10ish years so barely a thing)

Obsessed with this pairing. Ezra and Cee in Jackson?? I love it so much. The smut is so good... Like... SO GOOD. I love me some gay pedro boys and I love gay dads in love. HMU for more gay dads in love fics, bc I have a couple recs.

Fortnight - Lucien one shot by @pedgito

it was never a favor, allowing him to take up space in your apartment. but, time after time, he finds his way back and somehow, it brings an unexpected normalcy to your life.

the uninvited spoilers, set post-movie, roommates to lovers, enemies to lovers, reader works in the film industry, financial hardship, shitty living situations, lucien is a schmooze and a drunk, but also a sweetheart, angst, feelings, reader has shit luck with dating, there's also smut in here somewhere i swear (oral, couch sex, unprotected piv, all the good stuff)

Oh Lucien the pathetically sexy man that you are. This was everything I wanted it to be and more.

Prima Nocta - Marcus Acacius one shot by @fuckyeahdindjarin

Tomorrow, you will marry your husband-to-be. But tonight - it belongs to his father.

DUB CON only due to nature of prima nocta, both parties enthusiastically consent, twist on prima nocta, unspecified age gap, loss of virginity, dirty talk, oral sex (F receiving), fingering, dry humping, unprotected sex, unrealistic descriptions of first sexual experience, all manners of historical inaccuracies and linguistic anachronisms sorry not sorry, ignores the events of the movie so you can consider this an AU, Marcus is widowed and has a son, shall we call this bfd: Ancient Rome version lmao

This is the first Marcus Acacius fic I've read and it was fucking incredible. Def will be reading more of him from now on. UGHGHGGH this was so hot.

Cosmic Love - Marcus Acacius/Marcus Pike one shot by @kedsandtubesocks

a missing statue, a handsome ancient roman general, an equally handsome museum visitor - and you caught in the magical (and wonderful) mess of it all

MAJOR GLADIATOR 2 SPOILERS. time travel AU, magic elements, pining & yearning, fluff but with touches of angst, implied age gap (Acacius being older than both reader & Marcus), light use of gendered language, bi!Marcus Acacius & bi!Marcus Pike, brief mention of death & existential questioning, spicy themes, smut (threesome, m!oral, one moment of spitting) M/M/F & M/M dynamics, polyamorous exploration that leads to eventual poly relationship, no use of y/n

I love a time travel AU, it reminds me of Kate and Leopold. This fic was so cute, had just the right touch of angst, and was so hot UGH. I loved how sweet Acacius was and how down bad Pike was and just... everything really

Strawberry Sugar - Oberyn one shot by @guiltyasdave

Your boyfriend spoils you on your birthday morning. In some... unexpected ways.

explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, food play, dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), ridiculous amounts of fluff

Delicious, filthy, fluffy, just wonderful, really.

Happy Reading!

[ac3sp1d3r]

What ultimately gets me every time about Star Wars(including the Star Wars Jedi Apprentice series) is how much Obi-Wan suffered throughout it all, as well as his destiny of infinite sadness. From before he had even become a man, he was fighting for the light and for good and it backfired in every instance. He worked hard as an initiate to find a master to take him on, but was ultimately unsuccessful until Bandomeer where Qui-Gon finally decided to take him. He did his best to be a good padawan and still follow the will of the force, especially once Melida/Daan happened and he chose to stay with the Young to help them fight. He still ended up leaving the order and breaking his bond with Qui-Gon to stay and help the Young. But Cerasi still ended up dead anyway and so he went back to the Jedi. We also know that Obi-Wan had a mission on Mandalore when he was still a padawan, where he was assigned to protect Duchess Satine Kryze, and where he consequently fell in love with her. Obi-Wan himself confirmed that he would have left the order(again) and chosen to stay with Satine if she had only asked him, but she never did. Obi-Wan wasn’t allowed that happiness or love. Then later Obi-Wan has to watch Satine be murdered by Maul right in front of him as he is helpless. He had to watch as Qui-Gon freed Anakin from slavery and decided to take Anakin on and thrust Obi-Wan into the knighting trials when he was clearly not ready. Obi-Wan had to watch as Qui-Gon dropped dead from Maul’s killing strike while protecting him and Anakin that same week. Obi-Wan had to promise to Qui-Gon to train Anakin, a challenge that Obi-Wan was in no way prepared or ready for as a freshly padawan-turned-knight. Obi-Wan had to suffer through slavery on Zygerria with Rex, an experience where he became severely injured and suffered immensely from both his physical injuries and the mental and emotional injuries of witnessing the other slaves hurting too. How about the Rako Hardeen mission? Obi-Wan had to do what the council(and the chancellor) asked and follow through with the mission, changing himself bodily and suffering mentally in the process. Obi-Wan was harassed over the mission and the fact that he did not inform people of the mission prior. Yet he was only doing what he had to- an undercover mission where the details HAD to be classified. How about Anakin’s betrayal? Obi-Wan had to watch as the boy he RAISED and loved like his own son or younger brother fell. Watched him turn so dark that he had to put him down. Obi-Wan had to force himself to do what needed to be done to keep Anakin from taking any further harmful and murderous actions. Obi-Wan had to deal with the fallout of his SON falling hard to the point where he slaughtered the jedi younglings in cold blood and turned away from everything Obi-Wan had taught him. Obi-Wan had to help Padme through her pregnancy and then urgently rush to find them good homes where they can be raised safely away from their father. Obi-Wan had to suffer through Order 66 and watching his men that he cared deeply for turn on him. Obi-Wan had to witness the chaos of Jedi masters and knights and padawans dropping one after the other from the betrayal of the clones(since the Jedi did not know of the inhibitor chips at the time- making it even more heartbreaking for them). Obi-Wan had to exile himself on Tatooine after everything that had gone down, withering away in both appearance and spirit. And then, he had to die, die by being killed by his own ex-padawan- his son.

[slitherinfest]

🐍 Slither In Fest Masterlist

Huge thank you to all of our talented participants! We love and appreciate all your enthusiasm for bottom Tom | Voldemort content in this fandom. 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

Here is a list of all our fantastic entries this year! (Please comment here if you don't see your Tumblr @'ed, so we can add it!)

💚 Karma’s a bitch by @albondiguilla007 4,130 | Completed | E | Ship: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle

Tom betrays Harry. Harry’s not happy about it.

💚 Resonating Souls by @endlessburningdarkness 4,063 | Completed | E | Ship: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort

Minister Riddle has an unusually dream filled night.

💚 To Corrupt a Unicorn by beanclip 4,766 | Completed | E | Ship: Tom Riddle/Hepzibah Smith, Tom Riddle/Original Male Character(s)

Blood, fear, and ancient, untouched books. Amortentia.

💚 To be Entwined by @cyandenial 5,055 | Completed | E | Ship: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle

Harry and Tom grew up together, and it's more than just a brotherly bond that connected them.

💚 as sweet as blood red jam by @cindle-writes 4,974 | Completed | E | Ship: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle

Tom meets Harry for the first time at a Ministry function that Tom’s attending as Minister Diggory’s plus-one.

💚 delicatus by @cindle-writes 4,974 | Completed | E | Ship: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle

Lord Voldemort is an instructive Lord-Father-God-Master-Papa.

💚 forgive me father by @cindle-writes 2,396 | Completed | E | Ship: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle

Tom sneaks into his father’s bed and touches himself while Harry lies sleeping next to him, unawares.

💚 Pink Shorts by @crowcrowcrowthing 5,574 | Completed | E | Ship: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort

Tom was very good at pilates. Harry had a problem with that.

💚 Aliquot (sequel to Pink Shorts) by @crowcrowcrowthing, @cindle-writes 4,644 | Completed | E | Ship: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort

Harry and Tom continue fucking on every available surface.

💚 synoptic by @duplicitywrites 1,380 | WIP | E | Ship: Tom Riddle/Tom Riddle

Fifty years in isolation is enough to drive anyone a bit mad.

💚 Is It Baby Trapping if I Didn’t Actually Want to Trap You? by @dearestdo3 12,398 | WIP | M | Ship: Orion Black/Tom Riddle, Walburga Black/Orion Black, Walburga Black/Tom Riddle

Tom Riddle just wanted to scam Lord Black so he'll have enough money to run away from Wizarding Britain for good.

💚 french affair by @heyob 2,693 | Completed | E | Ship: Rodolphus Lestrange/Tom Riddle | Voldemort

Rodolphus Lestrange was willing to do anything to avoid getting married, even if he has to get caught fucking the Dark Lord.

💚 Premium Pussy by @hopeforthewitch 3,200 | Completed | E | Ship: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle

Tom shouldn't, but he has favourites, case in point: James Black.

💚 Fake Boyfriend by J0305 2,432 | WIP | M | Ship: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle

Tom needs a boyfriend, and Harry is the perfect one for him.

💚 Taking Feet Pics Is Serious Business by Just_praises 2,151 | WIP | E | Ship: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle

Tom didn't think selling feet pics would end up sustaining his entire livelihood.

💚 Slow Soak by @lyceana 1,431 | WIP | E | Ship: Rubeus Hagrid/Tom Riddle, Whomping Willow/Tom Riddle

These tender roots need to soak in water. They'll slowly grow, but it will be worth the wait, or this it what he's praying for.

💚 Your Wish, My Command by @moontearpensfic 3,987 | WIP | E | Ship: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle

Tom wants to deepen his relationship with his father. If only his "mother" wasn't in the way…

💚 throne sex by @zolpidem105 Art | Completed | E | Ship: Harry Potter/Voldemort

harry potter is an undercover auror. voldemort is lord voldemort.

💚 family friends by @reggieblk 12,279 | Completed | E | Ship: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle

Harry had always considered Tom to be a little brother of sorts.

💚 Make a wish by @sri-verse 2,664 | WIP | E | Ship: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Horcrux/Harry Potter

An attempt to fulfill an innocent childhood wish of a gold cauldron has some unforeseen consequences for Harry James Potter.

💚 i wanna have sex with you (your sweet caress won't do) by @ujiin 8,061 | Completed | E | Ship: Tom Riddle/Tom Riddle Sr.

Tom Sr is horrified to find out that his son is the lowest of the low in society.

💚 compromising positions by @virgil-anon 2,294 | Completed | E | Ship: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort

He was Tom Riddle! (He was Tom Potter) ((He was Lord Voldemort))

💚 An Abundance of Riddles by Anonymous 1,223 | WIP | E | Ship: Tom Riddle | Voldemort/Tom Riddle | Voldemort

November 1st, 1981, Tom Riddle wakes up in the cave and learns that he used to be the Locket Horcrux.

💚 Time in a Whiskey Bottle by Anonymous 5,401 | Completed | E | Ship: Rubeus Hagrid/Tom Riddle

Stripper Tom & Rubeus Hagrid fall in love at the club.

💚 Ride it Like It's Quidditch by Anonymous 2,163 | Completed | E | Ship: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort

Tom hates Harry and plans on making him kneel.

[shadowbriar]

Five Hargreeves — Daddy Issues

Pairing : Five Hargreeves x (she/her) CIA!Reader Word Count : 3.3k Warning : Angst. Character death. Snogging but nothing too graphic. Season 4 references. Synopsis : He promised himself that he would not let her come near his family madness, but the marigold was melting his blood vessels and none of his siblings look like they’re ready for a real fight. Notes : Inspired by The Neighborhood - Daddy Issues. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

The lack of presence on the other side of the bed made him pull himself entirely out off of drowsiness. Five’s frown was deep when he pulled the blanket up to cover his body, half sitting up with his elbows as support as he scans the room. It was far too early for his liking.

He caught her standing by the bookshelf, his white shirt hanging loose on her shoulders. A small satisfied smile tugs in the corner of his lips. The sight was too pretty for him to not appreciate. She was lost in her own world, caught in her own thoughts. Too busy reading the scribbles of some crumpled paper to realise that the other person in the room has awakened.

“Found something you’re looking for?”

She looks up to see him with a wide smile, looking slightly sheepish of being caught red handed, “No, but I found this,” She took out the fake moustache she found, placing it on her face “How do I look?”

“Ridiculous,” Five says, rolling his eyes “Come here so I can rip it off of you.”

Her grin only becomes wider as she comes closer to the man. She sits on the edge of the bed, leaning so that he could take the silly moustache off of her.

“What’s the story?” She asks, still curious about the peculiar item “Any exciting undercover stories you want to share?”

“You know I can’t even if I wanted to. And I don’t,” He remarks, giving her a playful disapproving look “What were you doing rummaging my stash?”

She shrugs, “I was just bored. You always wake up much later than I do.”

“It’s only what— 6 am? It's not my fault you have sleeping problems.”

She rolls her eyes in response.

Five bite down his smile as he leans in, kissing her softly.

This wasn’t what Five had in mind when he ran through the portal six years ago. Losing his powers and having to build a new life in a strange timeline was certainly not in his to-do list, but developing some clandestine affair with a girl from work was a bigger mindblown for the mentally sixty three years old man. Romance and any other personal relationship were practically out the window the moment he understood about the Apocalypse. Yet now, after one too many timelines, Five has found himself entangled with the knots of love.

He would never admit it out loud. Afraid that a confession would only spoil the fragile bond they’ve created. Hell, this was never even a proper relationship. It was just a simple deal made by two adults. A little roleplay they do whenever they’re alone. Nothing too serious, nothing too monogamous. Strictly business.

But he knew he was doomed the moment he tasted her. There was no other drug that could be as intoxicating, no other substance as addicting. The way that she knew just how much of a dose to give to get him crawling back for more. How she would push further than she pulled him. A little game she does that he’d never grow tired of.

There was only one rule— no rules within these four walls. He could show her how much he cares, how much he worships her, whenever she comes over. Not an inch of her skin left without his kiss. Five was whipped beyond saving whenever the door closes, but even with such intense affection, neither of them dared to pop the question.

“What are you thinking about?” She asks, staring deep into his eyes.

“I’m thinking whatever you’re thinking about.”

She bites her lower lip, climbing on top of him. She pulls him for a proper kiss, clinging her arms around his neck as he rests his hands on her hips.

“Tell me something I’ll forget,” She whispers, kissing the corner of his lips “Something you might have to tell me again.”

Five hesitated. The words were hanging by the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill in any second. Her gentle touch was melting his walls, breaking each and every fortress he’s built over the years. For someone who thought that he’s seen all the things in life, Five was once again caught by surprise.

“How bout I show you instead?” He offers, swapping their positions that she’s now laying on her back with him on top of her.

One of his hands travels to cup her cheek, deepening their kiss as he changes their course of action. Five could feel her smiling through the kiss, giving him the courage to continue his venture. His thumb brushes the skin of her cheek gently. Years of being a cold blooded spy had made him think that there’s no tenderness left in his soul. A broken shell of a man is all he is. Yet, he was once again proven wrong by her. Always her, only her.

It’s crazy what you’ll do for a friend.

—-

“Tell me about your past lovers.”

His grip on her hand loosen a little, brows rising from the unexpected request. It was fortunate of him to have her back leaning on his chest. This way she wouldn’t have heard the slight spike of his heart nor seen the surprise he had in his face. How he blinked and furrowed his brows as his brain tried to digest her words.

He lets go of her hand and rests his arm around her shoulder, silently caging her in an embrace in case the words he utters would make her flee, “Lover. There was only one woman.”

“What’s her name?”

“Dolores,” He sighs, the rare forlorn look in his eyes were potent “Her name was Dolores.”

“What happened between you and Dolores?”

There was a brief pause. His chest hitches as he struggles to find the words, “I.. Left her.”

“Why?”

“I had to.”

“Is that what you’re going to do to me too?” She questions. The fragility of her voice made him wince. Voicing her words barely above a whisper.

“I might,” He confesses with a heavy heart, swallowing a lump in his throat “Will you hate me then?”

She turns her head to face him, nodding like it was a promise, “I will.”

She wanted to ask more. To know deeper about what happened between him and Dolores. If their separation was recent or if he ever tried to come back to her. She wanted to know what made him leave. If there was a bigger story to tell, a bigger secret to share. She wanted to know if he loved her, if he would use his hands to trace the invisible stars on her skin and mark it with his kisses, if he would tell her the word she’s been dying to hear from him. She wanted to know it all.

And Five wanted to tell. He wanted to tell her about the fights and all the running he’s done for the past years. He wanted to tell her how Dolores was the only thing keeping him sane after being trapped in the post-apocalyptic wasteland for forty-five years. He wanted to tell her how tired he is, how he misses his powers and secretly hoped that he never got out of that hotel alive. He wanted to tell it all.

But both of their words die in their tongues. Crestfallen from all the silence that they’re bound to be stuck in. Their eyes tried their best to convey the message their lips couldn’t utter, hoping that the invisible string between them was strong enough to connect their hearts better than words ever could.

Her fingers gently tucked the stubborn strand of hair off of his face. She studies him, trying to see any trace of deceit or vice, but all she could see was the love bleeding out of him like a muck. His eyes were warm, radiating with that one sentiment she’s never seen on anyone else.

She cups both of his cheeks, softly kissing his lips, “I wish you’d let me in.”

Five shakes his head, “I’d never put you in such danger.”

“I can take care of myself,” She argues, an impressed smile decorating her face “Have you forgotten? We’re literally CIA agents.”

He smiles, pulling her head to his chest.

They would never admit it but tender moments like this scares the living out of the both of them. It felt too real, too personal to what they signed up for, but they would rather lose a limb than to miss it. For some reason such delicateness felt like it would dissipate in a moment. Like a bitter farewell was looming behind, ready to catch them off guard and without a fight.

And so they keep quiet. Letting the frail second to fall gracefully like the first drop of snow. His fingers entangle themselves with her hair while she listens carefully to the steady rise and fall of his chest. They make notes of one another, recording each and every little thing the other does before their time turns into bittersweet memory.

—-

Five hesitated. He taps on the payphone with uncertainty, doubting if he should dial her number and ask for the favour. He promised himself that he would not let her come near his family madness, but the marigold was melting his blood vessels and none of his siblings look like they’re ready for a real fight. Whatever this dry cleaner’s daughter kidnapping was about has certainly gone a notch more serious than it ever was.

He weighs his options. The only thing he could make out of her were the pleasant times they’ve spent. The laughter and the stolen glances they would exchange when nobody was around. The sun has always shone on top of them, no rain nor shade to ever taint their story. It feels as if they’ve been living in a fairytale despite all the secrecy he hides from her.

But Ben’s tails were stubborn and Lila’s laser eyesight was not boosting his confidence enough to follow through with this rescue mission. His family might have gotten their powers back, but it was an overstatement to say that the team was officially back on. Their bodies were still trying to readjust themselves with the liquid gold, whatever it might mean now.

The bitterness in his tongue sets thicker as his decision comes to a final. For some reason believing that calling her would compromise the charming affair they have. Not from the squabbles his family might show, but from other perils he couldn’t foresee.

“Hello?” She answers right on the second ring “Who is this?”

Five’s words were caught in his throat, unable to continue his action.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” He finally says. 

“Five? Is everything okay?” She questions, worry evident in her tone as she proceeds to speak in whisper “I know we promised not to talk during work hours, but I heard that you’re taking a sick leave and now you’re calling and I just— I’m worried.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” He answers, his tone heavy with regret “I’m fine. I’m just— Look, there’s something I need to tell you,” There was a pause, clearly still debating if he should end the call and just face whatever’s to come alone with his family.

“Five? Are you there?”

He nods, his voice strained with anxiety, “Yeah, I just— I’m going to Maine. There’s something I need to do there with my family.”

“Oh, okay. Will you be back soon?”

“No, I.. I don’t know,” He answers in surrender “Listen, I know I’m asking too much of you but.. Could you meet me there? In New Grumpson?”

A few seconds of silence, her confusion thick in her voice, “You.. Want me to come to your family gathering?”

“Well, it’s not really a gathering,” Five struggles to explain, running a hand through his hair “It’s more of a.. Rescue mission? I can’t explain the details through the phone, there isn’t enough time.”

“I can’t just drop things off and drive to Maine, Five. I’m in the middle of a case,” She reasoned.

“I know, but I need you to come. I need you to help me,” He begs, his heart beating fast inside of his chest as if it could already see the disaster this phone call would bring “I promise to tell you everything. I’ll explain everything—about my family, about myself, about Dolores, about us. I’ll tell you everything. I just— I need to do it in person. Please.. Please come and meet me there.”

There was still silence from the other side of the phone.

“I promise to let you in,” He continues, his voice faltering in despair “I’ll tell you what you want to hear. What I needed to tell you a long time ago.”

Silence hung heavy in the air. Beads of sweat were breaking in the back of his neck, afraid that he’s just lost everything before it even started. There was no going back now. Not even with the power that he’s just gotten back.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, fuck it,” She answers, having zero sense of hesitation left in her voice “But you better tell me right after I get there.”

“I will, I promise.” Five bites his grin, taking a deep breath of relief before he finally says the magic words “I love you. And I promise to say it again when we meet.”

—-

She has to admit, driving countless hours down to New Grumpson with little to no context, might not have been one of her brightest moments. She should’ve asked more about the plan, where to meet and what time, before hanging up and picking her car keys. God knows how she would meet Five now. Who’s to tell just how big this town is or if he’s even in the city yet. She was blind. Completely lost in a random town thousands of miles from home.

Between finding some covers for the windows that Victor broke and frequent bathroom breaks, the Hargreeves siblings could only reach their destination when the sun was already at its peak. Not to mention the bickering that they have to resolve every other ten minutes. The eight of them are certainly behind schedule but without any means of communication, there was no way for her to know his whereabouts.

Now sitting in a diner, she wonders just how long she should wait before leaving this town. There’s something eerie about this place. The people were kind, sure, but she couldn’t help but feel like she was being watched. Like these people were not just civilians but someone placed to fill certain roles to make up the city folks.

She watches as a man enters the diner. He was kicked out the first time by the diner’s owner, but supposed the kind lady could see that this stranger was in need of a shelter. He looks like a tourist, too. A little lost and too peaky to be a local.

And that’s when she heard it, the first gunshot outside. She reaches for her own gun, hiding it under the table as she tries to assess her surroundings. The people in the diner now corner the strange man and the diner lady, commanding the woman to come with them with their guns pointed out.

Good God, what is this place? She thought as she cocks her gun.

Just as the two people ran out through the back door, another shot was fired and it was enough reason for her to take the small mob down from behind. Whatever their reasoning is, the people of this town are certainly not the friendliest to tourists.

She runs outside, trying to help the other three people that were being gunned down by a bunch of the town folks. She watches as the biggest man shields the other two. An act that shouldn’t be logically possible.

She tries to help out, shooting the crazy goon with her own gun. It was a no match with the numbers of these lunatics and their AKs compared to her handgun, but it was enough to give a window for the three people to run further away.

One down, another ten appears. The people in this town just so happen to be complete terrorists who shoot on weaponless people, she reckons.

Out of the blue, Five blinks to the road and joins in the shield of the big man. It took her a couple of seconds to believe the sight she just saw— Five appearing out of thin air and hiding under the protection of the big guy who’s bearing all the gunshots fired at them. None of this was making any sense. Not the city, not the people, not the events she’s witnessing. But she didn’t have time for questions, not yet. Her finger pulls on the trigger nonstop, refilling her magazine as soon as she can before more madmen come.

But her hands weren’t fast enough. There was not enough time for her to raise her gun. To point and pull another shot before a couple bullets were aimed at her chest. She was hit. Too many times for her to count as she fell limp to the cold concrete, gasping for air.

“No!” She could hear Five’s echoing scream. In a blink of an eye, he was kneeling by her, lifting her body to be in his embrace. His hand was shaky, trying his best to give some pressure to the holes in her chest as his other arm pulled her close, “I’m here, I’m here.”

No words came out of her lips. Breathing hurts as blood starts to come out of her mouth. Colour was draining from her face, skin turning cold as her ear rings.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Five apologises, his tears flowing down to her face “This wasn’t supposed to happen, I’m sorry.”

“S-Say it,” She whispers, gasping “You promised.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” He confesses, cupping her cheek with his bloodied hand “I’m sorry. I love you. I love you so much, I’m so sorry.”

The light in her eyes slowly dims out. Her laboured breathing quiets down as the interval widens before it eventually stops. Her hand that was holding his wrist fell gently, no longer having any care that the shreds of mirror were creating new cuts to it.

“I’m sorry. I love you. I’m so sorry.”

Those three sentences were flowing out of him like a broken record. Five holds her close, planting tear stained kisses to her cheeks as if it would give her another breath of life. He calls for her name like a prayer, begging for her to look at him just once more, but the magnetism that would always fill those orbs were gone. They were staring into the empty space without a blink. Gone were the eyes that would stare into him with so much love and tenderness.

Five looks up to see his siblings. They were looking down with pitiful, sorry eyes. Never had they ever seen the collected brother be this broken, drowning in the anguish of a lost lover.

“It was Dad,” Luther says bearing the bad news “They were all Hargreeves goons.”

Another tear escaped his eyes. Five’s sobs were getting louder, whispering his apologies to her now deaf ears. He was sorry about everything. About asking her to come, about promising to tell her some complete nonsense, about falling in love with her. Even with his powers, Five was utterly helpless. He couldn’t undo what was done— save the life that he’s lost and keep her away from harm. The one thing that matters most to him has finally been ripped off of his hands.

There was a sense of resentment brewing in his heart. He thought that he could not be any more hollow than he already is, but now that she’s dead in his arms, now that the better half of him has disappeared, Five has ultimately become that one broken shell of a man he once thought he was.

If only she was his little girl, he would’ve run away and hide with her.

[shiorihyugawrites]

The Devil's Bride

Aurora Jaeger, Eren's long-lost childhood friend, was taken from him when they were children. After years of suffering under Marleyan control, Aurora is reunited with Eren while he’s undercover in Marley, igniting a bond neither of them expected. Despite her gentle nature, Aurora breaks her vow of pacifism to save Eren’s life, solidifying their deep connection. Secretly married before the Raid on Liberio, Aurora is swept into Eren's world of chaos and destruction. As the Scouts learn of her existence, tensions rise on the airship home. Mikasa’s heart shatters, and Levi demands answers. And Eren will stop at nothing to protect the only light left in his dark world—his bride, Aurora.

In this journey of love, loyalty, and war, Aurora must reconcile her innocent heart with the brutal reality of the man she loves, while Eren faces the truth of what he’s become. (Eren x OC)

Chapter Thirty Two

The command center in Marley was a scene of boiling frustration and simmering tension as Pieck and Reiner stood before the gathered generals. The room was austere, its dark wood panels and high, narrow windows casting grim shadows as the sunlight fought to break through the gloom. General Calvi sat at the head of the table, his sharp gaze boring into both warriors as they delivered their report.

Reiner was stiff, his shoulders heavy with shame, while Pieck maintained her usual calm facade, though tension gripped her jaw.

“You mean to tell me,” General Calvi growled, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the edge of the table, “that you not only failed to kidnap Aurora Jaeger and assassinate Queen Historia Reiss, but you also allowed Porco Galliard to go rogue?”

Reiner flinched, but Pieck’s voice remained even. “The situation was unpredictable, sir. Galliard acted… emotionally. It wasn’t something we foresaw.”

“Emotionally?!” General Magath, who had been leaning against the far wall, pushed himself forward, his voice rising. “He abandoned the mission and left you two to drag yourselves back here empty-handed! Empty-handed!” His hand slammed against the table, the sound echoing sharply.

Calvi’s face twisted with disgust as his gaze fixated on Reiner. “You’re an embarrassment, Braun. A goddamn failure. Do you have any idea what this means for us? That bastard Eren Jaeger still has Queen Historia alive and well. You know what that means, don’t you?”

Reiner’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. He knew exactly what it meant. It meant that Eren could still use Historia—turning her into a royal-blooded Titan—to activate the full force of the Founding Titan. Their entire mission had been to eliminate that possibility, to cripple Paradis’ chances of standing against Marley and the rest of the world. And they had failed.

Calvi didn’t wait for an answer. “It means Jaeger has the power to flatten the world. And now we don’t have his wife to dangle over his head; nothing to hold over him. Nothing!” He roared, slamming his fist onto the table, papers scattering across its surface.

Reiner didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He just stared blankly at the floor, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he absorbed the insult.

General Magath stepped closer, his voice colder this time. “The Armored Titan is a disgrace under your leadership, Reiner. This is the third failure under your belt. You couldn’t bring back the Founder four years ago. You failed again in Shiganshina. Now this.”

Calvi turned his venomous glare to Magath and then back to Reiner. “It’s time we consider passing your Titan down to someone more… competent. Gabi Braun would make a fine candidate. She’s younger, sharper, and infinitely more useful than you’ve been.”

Reiner’s head shot up, his face pale and his voice cracking as he stumbled forward. “No! Not Gabi—she’s just a kid! Don’t do this to her!”

“Then what do you propose, Braun?” Calvi sneered. “Let you fail again? Do you think Marley has an infinite number of second chances to give you?”

Reiner’s chest tightened, his breathing shaky. “Please. Just give me one more chance. I can make this right. I’ll make it right—I’ll—”

“Enough!” Calvi barked. “You’ve proven you’re not capable of getting the job done. You’re done here, Braun. You’re nothing but a broken relic at this point.”

The words struck deep, a wound layered over years of failure and guilt. Reiner’s shoulders sagged further, but Pieck stepped forward, her calm voice cutting through the chaos.

“Reiner may have failed,” she said carefully, “but Marley still needs the Armored Titan. Throwing away one of your most experienced warriors is short-sighted. We still have time before the next assault. Reiner can still redeem himself.”

Calvi glared at her, his eyes narrowing. “And you, Pieck? Should I remind you that your mission was just as much of a failure as Braun’s? You were sent to kidnap Aurora Jaeger, and you failed.”

Pieck kept her composure, though her lips thinned. “You still need me, General Calvi. The Cart Titan’s mobility and endurance are unmatched, and you know that.”

Calvi didn’t respond immediately. He leaned back in his chair, glaring at them both. “Get out,” he finally spat. “Both of you. We’ll decide what to do with you later.”

Reiner’s shoulders slumped as he turned to leave, but Pieck hesitated, her eyes darting toward the generals. “Understood,” she said softly before following Reiner out.

Once they were gone, General Calvi’s face twisted further in anger. He shoved his chair back violently and stood, flinging the papers off his desk with a guttural growl of frustration. “How hard is it to kill one woman and kidnap another? They were handed the opportunity on a goddamn silver platter!”

Magath watched him silently, his jaw tight. Calvi continued, pacing angrily. “Now what do we have? Eren Jaeger still has the Founding Titan and access to Historia Reiss. He’ll unleash the Rumbling, mark my words. That devil will flatten everything we’ve built.”

Another general leaned forward, hands clasped. “The world is moving too slowly. The Global Allied Forces are taking far too long to rally. We need to act now.”

“And do what?” Magath snapped. “We don’t have the forces to take Paradis ourselves without the Allied Forces.”

“We don’t need all of them,” Calvi growled darkly, his eyes gleaming with malice. “We just need enough Eldians to maintain our Titans. The rest? Wipe them out. All of them.”

Silence fell over the room. Then another general spoke, his voice cold and calculating. “The Eldians in the Internment Zones…”

“Gone,” Calvi confirmed. “We’ll cull them. Their time is up. We don’t need their kind spreading their devil blood any longer.”

Magath’s gaze flickered to the door, but he said nothing. His face remained unreadable as Calvi continued his rant.

“We’ll keep enough Eldians to maintain our Titan weapons, no more. A handful of slaves to pass the powers down—nothing else.”

What they didn’t realize was that Pieck had stayed behind, pressed against the other side of the door, her sharp ears picking up every venomous word.

Her heart pounded in her chest as the full weight of their plan hit her. Cull the Eldians. Wipe them out.

Her father. The families of the Warrior candidates. Innocent people—all of them.

Pieck’s fists tightened at her sides. Her calm mask cracked, her teeth gritting as anger simmered deep in her chest. She slipped away silently, her mind racing. They don’t care about us. They never did.

The murmurs of the generals continue to filter through the heavy wooden door, each word scraping against Pieck's very being like jagged glass. Her breath was shallow, her body pressed tightly to the wall, as if the force of their words might physically push her back.

“The Eldians have outlived their use,” General Calvi’s voice growled through the crack in the door. “We’ll filter out the strongest. Fifty. No more. The healthiest children with the most potential—trained, molded, and kept under watchful eyes. We’ll select them as young as possible.”

Another general chimed in, his tone detached, clinical, as though discussing livestock. “The rest—the thousands of devils that plague the Internment Zones—will be rounded up, led to the outskirts, and blown to hell. We’ll rid Marley of this filth for good. Their existence is a stain we should’ve wiped away long ago.”

Pieck clenched her jaw, bile rising in her throat. Her fingers trembled against the cool surface of the wall, nails digging into the wood for some semblance of control. They were talking about her people. Families. Children. Entire generations, cast aside without a shred of remorse.

General Magath’s voice was more measured, though his neutrality only made it worse. “That’s no small operation. It’ll take time—months of planning. Resources, manpower.”

“We have seven months,” Calvi interrupted, his tone resolute. “The Global Allied Forces will be ready by then. We strike Paradis and the devils in the Internment Zone on the same day. Two strikes. One glorious purge. The end of Eldian filth.”

The room fell into agreement, murmurs of approval rippling through the generals. Pieck’s heart pounded so violently she thought they might hear it from the other side of the door. Her knees felt weak, but she forced herself to stay steady.

Seven months. That was all they had left. Seven months before the slaughter began—before her father and every other innocent Eldian in the Internment Zone were wiped out like vermin. Before Marley would pour every ounce of firepower they had into obliterating Paradis.

Pieck’s stomach churned with nausea. She’d been loyal to Marley all her life, willingly enduring grueling battles, sacrificing herself, even bearing the burden of a Titan that robbed her of a normal existence. And for what? This? To be little more than a tool? A pawn to be discarded once they decided her blood was no longer worth saving?

Her hands shook, her knuckles white from gripping the edge of her coat. And then another thought crossed her mind—Porco. Her heart sank into her gut. He knew. He might not have known the full extent of their plan, but his instincts had been right. He had chosen to abandon Marley, and for the first time, Pieck wasn’t sure he was wrong.

Maybe we should have stayed with him.

The thought terrified her. Marley had always been her anchor, her purpose. She had clung to it, believing in the promises of “redemption” for her people. But now? Now the mask of righteousness had shattered, revealing the monsters underneath.

The conversation in the room resumed, but Pieck couldn’t listen anymore. She knew enough. The horror of it weighed on her like a stone as she backed away silently, each step deliberate, careful. Her mind was racing—she needed to get to Reiner. They had to decide their next move, and fast.

…

Reiner was slouched against a wall in the dimly lit hallway outside, his head in his hands. His composure was in tatters, the weight of their failure and the mounting pressure gnawing at him. He didn’t look up when Pieck approached, but his voice was strained and hollow.

“What did they say?” Reiner murmured, as if he didn’t want to know the answer.

Pieck crouched beside him, her face pale, her usually calm expression cracked with unease. “It’s worse than we thought,” she whispered, her voice low and urgent. “They’re planning to wipe out all the Eldians in Marley. They’re keeping fifty children—the healthiest and most promising. The rest? They’ll kill them. All of them.”

Reiner’s head snapped up, his eyes wide in disbelief. “What…?” The word barely escaped his lips. “No. That can’t—”

“They’re serious, Reiner,” Pieck cut him off, her tone harsh but steady. “They’ll do it. And they’re going to coincide it with the attack on Paradis. Seven months from now, Marley will burn everything to the ground. Everyone. Us. Them.”

Reiner’s expression crumbled, the color draining from his face as he leaned back, his hands gripping his knees. “They’ll give Gabi my titan. And my mother…” His voice cracked. “They’ll kill them all.”

Pieck’s expression softened, though her eyes remained sharp. “This is what we’ve been fighting for, Reiner. And look at what it’s led to.”

Reiner didn’t answer. His breaths came quick and shallow as he stared into nothing, the realization sinking in like lead. Everything he had sacrificed—his friends, his sanity—had been for a nation that saw him as nothing more than a disposable weapon.

Pieck touched his arm, trying to ground him. “Reiner, listen to me. We can’t stay loyal to Marley anymore. If we go back, they’ll use us until there’s nothing left. And then they’ll kill us, too.”

“What are you saying?” Reiner’s voice was a mix of anger and desperation, though he already knew the answer.

Pieck hesitated, her mind flickering to the people of Paradis—the very people they had been taught to hate. The ones they had invaded, destroyed. Ymir’s memories. Porco. Historia. “I’m saying… maybe Porco was right.”

Reiner recoiled as though she had slapped him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” Pieck said firmly, standing up. “We have to make a choice, Reiner. Do we keep clinging to Marley and let them slaughter our people, or do we find another way? A real way. For us. For Gabi. For everyone we care about.”

Reiner stared up at her, conflicted and broken. The hallway was silent except for the sound of his uneven breathing. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he whispered, “What do we do now?”

Pieck’s jaw tightened. “We survive. And we figure out a way to stop them.”

With that, she turned down the hallway, leaving Reiner sitting there in stunned silence. For the first time in years, Pieck felt something shift inside her—a flicker of resolve that Marley hadn’t placed there. It was hers. And it was burning.

….

Two months later on Paradis…

The wind carried the gentle scent of spring across the Jaegerist compound, brushing over the grassy fields that stretched far into the distance. The air seemed quieter than usual, almost as if the island itself was holding its breath.

Aurora Jaeger stood outside the farmhouse, her hand resting protectively on her slightly rounded belly. At four months pregnant, her baby bump was finally visible, a small but beautiful reminder of the life growing inside her. It was a source of immense joy for both her and Eren, a beacon of hope amid the darkness of their reality. Yet, as Aurora stared out toward the edge of the forest where the tree line stood ominous and silent, her heart was heavy with guilt.

For two months now, she had been hiding something—someone—from her husband. Porco Galliard, the Jaw Titan, was still on the island. Somehow, miraculously, he had managed to evade capture, slipping through the cracks of the Jaegerists’ patrols. With Historia’s inside knowledge of their routines, Porco knew exactly when to move, when to hide, and when to appear. He lived in the dense woods near the compound, close enough to remain in contact with Historia but far enough not to risk discovery.

Aurora didn’t understand how they hadn’t caught him. Floch and the Jaegerists had hunted tirelessly, scouring the forests, hills, and coastline for weeks, determined to locate and destroy the Jaw, Cart, and Armored Titans. But when no trace of them could be found, they finally declared that the remaining Marleyan forces must have retreated. Despite their retreat, the Jaegerists’ guard remained up. Patrols were stricter, Eren himself ensuring no corner of the island went unchecked. Yet still, Porco remained hidden—an unrelenting secret, his presence gnawing at Aurora like a festering wound.

She sighed, looking down at her belly as she whispered softly. “What would your daddy say if he knew I was keeping secrets from him?”

The mere thought of Eren’s reaction sent a chill down her spine. He would be furious—no, beyond furious. Eren had always been resolute, unwavering in his belief that the Rumbling was the only solution. For him, their baby’s future came before everything. He would see Porco as a threat, and Aurora knew it would shatter his trust in her to learn that she had been helping Historia cover this up.

She looked toward the forest again, the shadows stretching longer as the day waned. Porco was still seeing Historia every night, or Historia would sneak out to him, claiming that they were “strategizing” a way to save everyone without relying on the Rumbling. But Aurora wasn’t stupid. She could see the way Historia’s eyes lit up whenever Porco was mentioned, the flush on her cheeks when she returned. They weren’t just strategizing—they were in love.

Aurora sighed heavily. “Idiots,” she muttered under her breath. “Both of them.”

Still, she couldn’t find it in herself to betray Historia. Historia was her friend, one of the few she had on this island, and Aurora understood her desperation to cling to hope, to love, to anything that made her feel alive. And Porco—despite everything—had done nothing hostile. He was risking his life just to be with Historia, and Aurora couldn’t help but feel… conflicted.

…

Inside the farmhouse, Eren was at the large wooden table surrounded by scattered papers and half-drawn maps. His eyes were sharp and unwavering as he plotted, his mind focused entirely on the inevitable: the Rumbling.

“Eren.” Aurora’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. She stepped inside, the sunlight framing her in the doorway like a halo. “You’re still at this?”

Eren looked up, his expression softening when he saw her. He stood and crossed the room to her in a few strides, his hands finding her waist as he gazed at her belly. “I’ll always be at this,” he said quietly. “For you. For our baby.”

Aurora swallowed, her guilt spiking painfully in her chest. She placed her hands over his and forced a smile. “You need to rest. You’ve been at it all day.”

“I will,” Eren promised, though his eyes didn’t lose their fire. “But we’re out of time, Aurora. I’m not waiting for the world to attack us again. When Zeke comes to Paradis, we’ll make contact, activate the Founder’s power, and we’ll end this.” His voice hardened, resolute. “We’ll be free.”

The words hung heavy in the air. Aurora couldn’t deny the pull in his voice—his unrelenting determination. And yet, something in her couldn’t help but hesitate. She thought of Historia’s quiet hope, of Porco’s presence, of a future that didn’t involve flattening the world beneath colossal titans.

“What if…” She trailed off, unable to finish the thought. What if there’s another way? But she already knew Eren’s answer.

Eren cupped her face gently, leaning his forehead against hers. “There’s no ‘what if,’ Aurora. This is the only way to protect you and the baby. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Aurora closed her eyes, leaning into him as his words wrapped around her like a shield. “I know.”

But even as she said it, her thoughts drifted again to the secret she carried, the one that threatened to crack the fragile peace between them.

…

Meanwhile, in the forest just beyond the compound, Porco stood leaning against a tree, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. The sky was turning a deep orange as the sun dipped lower, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before Historia arrived. He hated sneaking around like this, hated hiding like a coward. And yet, every time he saw her face, felt her touch—he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

“Dammit,” Porco muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “What the hell am I even doing?”

He thought about his comrades back in Marley. Pieck, Reiner. The mission they’d failed. He thought about the hatred burning in Marley’s generals, about the imminent war on the horizon. Then he thought of Historia—her compassion, her strength, her quiet plea for him to help them find another way.

“You can help us. Maybe there’s another solution we haven’t thought of.”

Porco scowled and kicked a rock, frustration bubbling up inside him. “Another solution,” he mumbled bitterly. “What a joke.”

And yet, he was still here.

…

Back in the farmhouse, the other scouts—Hange, Levi, Mikasa, Armin, Jean, Connie, and Sasha—sat around the table with grim expressions. For weeks they had been racking their brains, desperately trying to find an alternative to the Rumbling. Hange’s eyes were sunken with exhaustion, Armin’s face etched with frustration. They had nothing. No plan that would hold up against the overwhelming power of the world.

“We’re out of options,” Jean muttered, his voice low. “There’s no way we can defend this island without the Rumbling.”

Armin clenched his fists. “There has to be another way. We just… we haven’t found it yet.”

Mikasa’s gaze flickered to Eren, who had joined the group with Aurora. “Eren,” she said cautiously, “are you sure about this?”

Eren’s gaze was steely as he looked at each of them. “The world has made its choice. They’re coming to wipe us out. I’m not waiting for that to happen. I’ll end this—on my terms.”

The room fell silent, no one daring to challenge him further. Even if they didn’t agree, none of them could offer an alternative.

And that silence said everything.

Aurora stood by Eren’s side, her hand over her belly, and thought quietly to herself: Historia… Porco… whatever you’re planning, I hope you figure it out soon. Because we’re running out of time.

Eren ran a hand through his hair as the meeting dispersed, the heavy silence lingering in the air as the scouts filed out one by one. His sharp gaze swept over the group before landing on Aurora, who was standing off to the side, looking lost in her own thoughts. Eren frowned slightly.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softening as he stepped closer to her. “Have you seen Historia lately? She’s been absent a lot.”

At the mention of Historia, Aurora’s body stiffened ever so slightly, a subtle movement, but one that didn’t escape Levi’s sharp gaze from across the room. The man was no longer on his crutches and back to full health. His expression was unreadable as he studied Aurora for a moment before looking away. He didn’t comment, but the suspicion was evident in his eyes.

Aurora forced a smile, keeping her voice steady. “She mentioned not feeling well. She’s probably just resting.”

Eren’s brows furrowed in concern. “She’s been saying that a lot. I’ll go check on her.”

Aurora nodded quickly, brushing a strand of platinum blonde hair behind her ear. “I’m sure she’s fine, Eren.”

Eren gave her a lingering look before turning away. “I’ll feel better if I see for myself.”

…

Historia was just about to leave her quarters, her cloak draped over her shoulders, ready to slip out and meet Porco at their usual spot near the forest. She’d been careful—painstakingly careful—for two months now, but she couldn’t deny the thrill and anxiety that came with these late-night visits. Every time, she told herself she was doing it for the mission, for finding another solution to save Paradis without the Rumbling. But deep down, she knew it was more than that.

Her hand was on the door when she suddenly froze, hearing footsteps approaching.

No…

The knock at the door made her heart lurch. “Historia? You in there?” came Eren’s familiar voice.

Her blood ran cold. Why now?!

For a moment, she considered not answering, pretending she wasn’t there. But she knew Eren—he wouldn’t leave if he thought something was wrong. Forcing a composed expression onto her face, she opened the door, only to find Eren standing there with his arms crossed, his green eyes sharp with concern.

“Eren,” she said, her voice a touch higher than she intended. “What are you doing here?”

Eren tilted his head, taking her in. “I came to check on you. You’ve been absent a lot lately, and I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine!” Historia replied quickly, her voice a little too cheerful. “Really, I’m just… not feeling well. I was about to lie down.”

Eren’s expression didn’t change. “Yeah?” He took a step forward. “Mind if I come in for a minute?”

Historia’s stomach dropped. “Oh, um, now’s not a good—”

But Eren was already stepping inside, gently pushing past her and closing the door behind him. He turned to face her, his posture relaxed but his eyes far from it. “Sit,” he said softly, gesturing to the small chair near her desk. “I want to talk to you.”

“Eren, really, I’m fine—” Historia began.

Eren cut her off with a look, his voice quiet but firm. “Historia. Sit.”

Realizing she had no choice, Historia sighed and sank onto the chair, fidgeting with the hem of her cloak. Eren stood in front of her, his expression softer now as he spoke.

“You’ve been through a lot lately,” he began. “I know that the incident with the Jaw Titan shook you up. And after everything we’ve been through, I get it—you’re carrying a lot on your shoulders.”

Historia’s heart pounded in her chest. “Eren, it’s really not that…”

But Eren wasn’t backing down. He knelt slightly, lowering himself to her eye level, his voice gentle. “Historia, you were there for me when I was at my lowest point. Back in the Reiss Chapel, when I wanted you to eat me and take the Founder… you were the one who told me to keep living, to keep moving forward. You gave me the strength I needed.”

Historia blinked, caught off guard by his words. She opened her mouth to speak, but Eren wasn’t finished.

“You’re my friend,” he said. “If there’s anything bothering you—anything at all—you can tell me. You’re not alone, Historia. You never have to carry this weight by yourself.”

Historia swallowed hard. Her mind flashed back to Porco—to their late-night conversations, to his reluctant smiles and the way he seemed just as lost as she was. She thought of the kiss they’d shared, the way it had felt so natural and yet so complicated.

“I promise, Eren,” she said finally, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m fine. I’m just tired. That’s all.”

Eren studied her closely, as if trying to read her thoughts. After a long, silent moment, he sighed and stood up. “If you say so.”

She watched as he turned toward the door, pausing to glance back at her. “If you ever need to talk… I’m here. Don’t forget that.”

“I won’t,” Historia whispered, her voice barely audible.

Eren gave her one last look, his concern evident, before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him.

As soon as he was gone, Historia let out a shaky breath, her entire body trembling. She turned to the window, staring at the darkening forest where she knew Porco was waiting.

“How long can I keep this up?” she wondered, her heart heavy with guilt and longing.

Aurora’s words from earlier echoed in her mind—her friend’s unspoken suspicions. If Eren were to find out, if the Jaegerists were to find out… everything would fall apart. And yet, she couldn’t stop herself. She needed Porco—they needed him. For the plan, for herself.

Gripping the edge of her desk tightly, Historia whispered to herself, “I just need more time.”

…

Meanwhile, Aurora stepped out into the cool evening air, the weight of her guilt sitting heavily in her chest. She wrapped her arms around herself as she paced back and forth near the edge of the compound, her footsteps kicking up small clouds of dust. The guilt was eating her alive—two months of lying by omission to Eren. How much longer could she keep this up?

The wind rustled through the trees, and the faint sound of Jaegerist patrols echoed in the distance, but Aurora barely registered it. I can’t keep lying to him… she thought. She looked up at the rising moon, its soft glow spilling over the treetops. If Eren finds out from someone else… or worse—sees Porco himself—he’ll never forgive me.

Suddenly, a chill ran down her spine.

Aurora froze mid-step as she felt a pair of eyes on her. Slowly, her gaze drifted toward the tree line.

And there she was.

The same ghostly figure she had seen before, two months ago: the little blonde girl with vacant, milky-white eyes and a tattered dress, standing at the edge of the forest. Her thin, delicate hands gripped a small, weathered wooden bucket. Aurora’s blood ran cold.

Her heart began pounding against her ribs as she instinctively wrapped her arms around her stomach, protecting the small life growing there. The girl didn’t move. She only stared, her hollow gaze fixed—not on Aurora’s face, but on her belly.

Aurora’s breath hitched. Her voice caught in her throat, unable to scream as fear paralyzed her limbs. No… this can’t be happening again. Twice now… Twice! She blinked rapidly, praying the apparition would disappear like last time, but the girl didn’t vanish.

Instead, she moved.

The girl’s head tilted slightly upward, her expression blank but unshakably intense. Then, her head drifted back down to Aurora’s stomach. She took a single step forward.

It was such a small movement, so slow and deliberate, but it was enough to break the hold of fear that pinned Aurora in place. A strangled shriek ripped from her throat as her legs finally obeyed her, and she spun around, bolting in the opposite direction as fast as she could.

And then—

WHAM!

Aurora collided hard into a solid wall of muscle and stumbled back, gasping. Hands shot out to steady her, and when she looked up, she found herself staring directly into the deadpan gaze of none other than Captain Levi.

Levi looked down at her, his brows furrowed slightly. “Oi,” he grumbled, catching her arms before she fell over. “What the hell is wrong with you? You look like you’ve seen a titan.”

Aurora was breathing heavily, her face pale as a sheet. “There’s a ghost!” she blurted out, her voice high and frantic. “There’s a ghost on the compound! I saw her again—I swear!”

Levi’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “A ghost,” he repeated flatly.

Aurora spun around, pointing wildly toward the trees. “There!” she cried, her heart still racing as she searched the edge of the forest. But the blonde girl was gone.

The space where she had been standing was empty, just dark trees swaying innocently in the breeze.

Levi followed Aurora’s trembling finger, his sharp gaze sweeping the area. Seeing nothing, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I told you to stop messing around with all those strange plants,” he deadpanned, shooting her an exasperated look. “Now you’re hallucinating things.”

Aurora whirled back to face him, indignation replacing her fear for a brief moment. “I’m not hallucinating!” she snapped. “I saw her! Twice! The first time was months ago, and I thought it was just a weird dream, but this time she was real!”

Levi raised a brow, unimpressed. “So, what? You’re telling me some little ghost girl is wandering around here at night, and no one else has seen her? What’s next—she’ll be holding a candle and floating through walls?”

Aurora scowled at him. “I know what I saw, Captain! She was there, and she was staring at me! Specifically at—” Aurora stopped herself, hesitating as she instinctively placed a hand over her belly again.

Levi’s sharp eyes didn’t miss the motion. He frowned slightly but kept his voice steady. “Staring at your belly? Great, now you’re just trying to freak yourself out.”

“I’m not making this up!” Aurora protested, her voice tinged with frustration and fear. “She looked… wrong, Captain. Her eyes… they were white—just empty. And she had a bucket! What kind of ghost has a bucket?”

Levi’s expression remained blank, but there was the faintest flicker of amusement in his voice when he replied. “Maybe she was a ghost gardener,” he deadpanned.

Aurora’s jaw dropped. “This isn’t funny!”

Levi sighed and crossed his arms. “You’re right. It’s not funny—it’s stupid. You’re scaring yourself over nothing.” He gave her a pointed look. “If you’re really seeing things, maybe you need to get more sleep. Or stop hiding things from Jaeger.”

Aurora stiffened. Levi’s sharp gaze bore into her, clearly seeing through her. For all the irritation he gave her, she knew he cared—probably more than he was willing to admit. But his words hit too close to home, and she couldn’t meet his eyes.

Levi tilted his head slightly, observing her carefully. “What’s really going on, Aurora?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “You’ve been acting strange for weeks.”

Aurora opened her mouth to answer, but before she could, Levi added with a faint smirk, “If you’re going to say ‘ghost’ again, I’m walking away.”

Aurora groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “I swear you’ll see her one day, and then you’ll owe me an apology.”

“I’m not holding my breath,” Levi quipped, but his tone was lighter now, almost teasing.

Aurora shook her head and turned her gaze back to the dark forest. The trees swayed softly, the leaves rustling in the faint wind. It looked peaceful… but she knew better.

The image of the blonde girl—her vacant gaze, the bucket, and the way she had looked at her belly—burned into her mind. Aurora shivered.

“I’m telling you, Captain,” she muttered under her breath, “something’s not right.”

Levi glanced at her, his face neutral but his voice steady. “Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it. You’ve got bigger things to focus on.”

Aurora looked up at him, her heart still uneasy, but she managed a small nod. “Yeah… you’re right.”

Levi snorted softly. “Of course I’m right.”

But as she turned to head back inside, Aurora couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder one last time.

The forest was empty… yet it felt like something—or someone—was still watching her.

But before she could take another step, a firm hand snatched her collar.

She let out a startled yelp as her feet left the ground, and she found herself being held up effortlessly like a disobedient cat.

“Not so fast, you little pregnant brat,” Levi’s flat, unimpressed voice cut through the night air.

“Captain!” Aurora shrieked, wriggling in his grip as he held her at arm’s length like she was some kind of unruly child. Her legs kicked uselessly beneath her, and she grabbed at his hand to steady herself. “Put me down! You can’t just—”

“I can, and I will,” Levi interrupted, his voice as deadpan as ever. “You’ve been acting shady for weeks, and I’m not buying it anymore. What’s going on with Historia?”

Aurora froze mid-wiggle, her wide blue eyes darting to him. “Historia? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her voice just a little too high-pitched. “I haven’t seen her much lately—”

Levi narrowed his eyes, and Aurora felt his grip tighten just enough to remind her who she was dealing with. “Don’t play dumb. I saw your reaction when Eren asked about her earlier. You stiffened like a frozen twig.”

“I did not!” Aurora protested, trying to sound indignant, but her voice betrayed her guilt.

“You did,” Levi shot back, and then to drive his point home, he gave her a light shake in his grip.

Aurora yelped, her hands flying up to keep her balance as she dangled helplessly. “Captain, stop! This is manhandling—literal manhandling!”

Levi’s brow twitched, unimpressed. “You’re avoiding the question. What’s going on with Historia?”

“I-I don’t know anything!” Aurora stammered, but Levi wasn’t buying it. His gray eyes narrowed into a steely glare, and he gave her another little shake for good measure.

Aurora let out an exasperated groan. “Captain, I’m pregnant! You’re going to shake the baby loose!”

Levi scowled. “The kid’s fine. You, on the other hand, are running out of excuses.”

Aurora felt the pressure building, her guilt bubbling up like a tidal wave. Levi wasn’t going to let this go, and the way his cold stare bore into her made it impossible to keep up the act. She squirmed for a few more seconds, but finally, with a defeated sob, she broke.

“Fine!” Aurora cried dramatically, tears of guilt welling in her eyes as Levi carefully set her down. She stumbled slightly, glaring up at him even as she broke under his relentless scrutiny. “Fine! I’ll tell you the truth! Just stop shaking me like I’m a sack of potatoes!”

Levi crossed his arms and stared her down, his expression unreadable but expectant. “I’m listening.”

Aurora took a deep breath, wringing her hands nervously. “It’s Historia. She…she’s been sneaking out for the past two months.”

Levi’s gaze sharpened instantly. “Sneaking out? Where?”

“To see someone,” Aurora admitted weakly, flinching under Levi’s stare.

His voice dropped to a deadly calm. “Who?”

Aurora hesitated, her heart pounding as the truth finally spilled from her lips. “Porco Galliard.”

Silence.

The night seemed to hold its breath as Levi just…stared at her. Aurora bit her lip, cringing as the full weight of the words sank in. Levi’s brows twitched, his mouth parting slightly, but no words came out at first. His usually unreadable face flickered between shock, disbelief, and pure what-the-actual-hell.

“Wait,” Levi finally said, his voice almost unnervingly calm. “The Jaw Titan? That Porco Galliard?”

Aurora nodded miserably. “Yes.”

“The same Jaw Titan who kidnapped Historia and then let her go?” Levi pressed, his tone growing sharper.

Aurora winced. “Y-Yes.”

“And you’ve known about this for two months?”

“Please don’t kill me,” Aurora mumbled, unable to meet his gaze.

Levi’s eye twitched, and for a moment, Aurora genuinely thought steam might come out of his ears. “You’re telling me,” he growled, voice low and dangerous, “that Porco Galliard—a titan shifter—has been sneaking into our compound to see Historia, and no one caught him? And you let it happen?”

“He’s not hostile!” Aurora blurted out defensively. “I mean, if he wanted to do something, he would’ve done it already! He’s just—he’s here for Historia. They’re…” She trailed off awkwardly, her face turning crimson. “They’re, uh…together.”

Levi blinked at her, his expression completely blank. “…Together?”

Aurora nodded, her cheeks burning. “In love. Or something.”

Levi stared at her like she’d grown three heads. “Historia is in love with the Jaw Titan,” he repeated slowly, as if he couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of his own mouth.

“Yes!” Aurora wailed, throwing her hands up. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you or Eren, but what was I supposed to do? She’s my friend, Levi! She made me promise not to say anything.”

Levi pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath. “Unbelievable. I can’t believe I’m hearing this. I need my tea.”

Aurora peeked up at him nervously. “So…you’re not going to tell Eren, right? Right?”

Levi shot her a withering glare. “You really think I’m going to keep this from Jaeger? He’s going to lose his damn mind.”

Aurora barely had time to process Levi’s sharp glare before he turned on his heel and began storming inside.

“Captain, wait!” she called out, scrambling after him. “You can’t tell Eren yet!”

Levi didn’t slow his pace; if anything, he moved faster. “Are you out of your damn mind?” he shot back over his shoulder, his tone low and deadly. “This isn’t about ‘keeping secrets for friends,’ Aurora. This is about security. The enemy has been here for months, seducing our queen.”

“Seducing—” Aurora sputtered as she struggled to keep up with him. “It’s not like that! He—he cares about her! They care about each other!”

Levi abruptly stopped and turned to face her, his gray eyes cold as steel. “Oh, is that supposed to make me feel better? That the Jaw Titan has been cozying up to Historia for months right under our noses? That he’s been skulking around this compound, evading patrols, and we haven’t noticed? You think him ‘caring about her’ makes it less of a threat?”

Aurora swallowed hard. “Captain, it’s not what you think—”

“What I think?” Levi cut her off, his voice dropping to a dangerous calm. “What I think is that we have a massive security breach. You don’t know for certain that Porco isn’t manipulating Historia. Hell, Historia doesn’t even know. For all we know, he’s feeding her lies while gathering intel to use against us. And you’ve known about this for two months?”

Aurora flinched, guilt washing over her. “I—Historia made me promise not to tell anyone! She said he wasn’t hostile, and I believed her!”

Levi’s jaw tightened, his patience clearly wearing thin. “You believed her? And what happens if you’re wrong? If this is all just an elaborate setup to tear us apart from the inside? You and Historia might have all the trust in the world for Galliard, but I don’t. That bastard’s a titan shifter. One of Marley’s warriors. His loyalty isn’t to her, and it sure as hell isn’t to us.”

Aurora opened her mouth to argue but found herself unable to refute his words. Levi wasn’t wrong, and deep down, she knew it. Historia’s judgment was clouded—anyone could see that.

Levi pointed a finger at her. “I don’t care how ‘in love’ they are. The security of this compound and everyone on this island comes first. You think I’m going to keep this from Eren and everyone else? The enemy is sleeping under our noses, and you want me to just ignore that?”

Aurora shook her head frantically. “I don’t want you to ignore it—I just…” She hesitated, her voice cracking. “Eren will go ballistic, Captain. You know he will. He won’t think rationally. He’ll tear everything apart before we even have time to understand what’s really going on.”

“Good,” Levi snapped, stepping closer to her. “Maybe tearing everything apart is what needs to happen. At least then we’d know for sure whether or not Galliard is a threat. I’m not waiting around to find out.”

“Captain, please,” Aurora pleaded, desperation lacing her voice. “Give Historia a chance to explain herself. Give Porco a chance to explain himself. If you tell Eren now—”

Levi cut her off with a look so cold it could freeze fire. “I don’t give second chances to enemy spies, Aurora. Neither should you. This isn’t a game, and you know it.”

Aurora clenched her fists at her sides, biting her lip to keep herself from yelling at him. Levi was unrelenting, as always. But this wasn’t just any situation—it was Historia. And no matter how much she trusted Historia’s judgment, she couldn’t deny the gravity of Levi’s words.

Without another word, Levi turned back toward the compound, his mind made up. Aurora stood there frozen for a moment, watching him disappear into the building.

Eren was going to find out. And when he did, all hell was going to break loose.

~

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[pickledpascal]

Be My James Bond?

Pairing: Patch!Logan x Native American OC!Maya Imik

Warnings: sexual tension, violence, claws are OUT, smoking.

A/N: i love you patch logan and your .5 seconds of screen time in d&w. for context, maya is a mutant who can manipulate water/liquids.

Word Count: 1.8k

Hugh Jackman Masterlist

It was another one of those missions, the kind where Maya and Logan had to go undercover in some fancy casino that seemed way too good to be true. Which it was. These kinds of missions were somewhat trivial, at least in Maya’s eyes, but they always impacted mutant lives somehow. So of course she went on them.

Seeing Logan dressed up didn’t hurt either. And she knew Logan didn’t mind seeing her in a dress.

This time, she wore a strapless dress in a deep blue color that pooled onto the floor, a slit that went all the way to her mid-thigh. Her light sepia skin was on display for everyone to see. The scars never threw anyone off, they seemed to draw them in. She found it was a conversation starter which is what she needed on a mission like this. It also helped that she was usually the only Native in any room she walked into and people could tell.

She walked around the casino, keeping an eye on Logan as he played at a poker table. He wore a white blazer with a nicely fitting waistcoat and black bowtie. Classy. In all the right ways. And his eyepatch, which he wore no matter what seemed to tie the whole look together.

She went up to the bar to order a drink and get some information. This part of the casino was exclusive, meant for the high-rollers only.

Her presence had men flocking to the bar so she plastered a smile on her red-painted lips, sipping at a martini as she chatted with the men, pulling out bits and pieces of information from them as she lightly and expertly flirted with them.

Soon, Maya could feel a familiar presence make his way to the bar. She excused herself from the man she was talking with and moved further down the bar.

“Having any luck, River?” Logan asked, a hand around a crystal glass filled with whiskey. The color was similar to her left eye. He had also lit up a cigar which he had currently hanging from his lips.

Maya smirked, their shoulders brushing up against each other. She breathed in the smoke of his cigar as it swirled around them. “The best. How ‘bout you, Patch?”

Logan huffed under his breath, plucking the cigar from his lips between two fingers. “I’m working on that.” Maya was about to say something else when a man she previously talked to went up to her.

He was a little shorter, younger, and handsome man who was certainly way in over his head. “Hey, pretty girl.” He crooned as he stood between her and Logan. He slid a hand up her arm. “You wanna get out of here? This old guy must be bothering you.”

Mistake number one when talking to Maya in front of Logan: Never assume she is yours. She’s not. And Logan will make you not so nicely understand.

A light laugh escaped her lips while Logan seethed as he looked at the man. He was resisting the urge to slam his face into the bar top. It would be a shame to stain it with his blood.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” She tried to let him down gently, as a mercy. She hoped he would be smart and turn the other way. “I’m not the kind of girl who goes back to a hotel room with someone after a few drinks. I’m sure you understand.” She smiled politely.

The man huffed and turned around. “Bitch.” He mumbled under his breath.

Mistake number two: Never insult Maya.

Logan pulled the other man by his hair and slammed his head against the bar top, hard enough for his nose to break and bleed. His other hand extended his claws slowly. “Wanna try that again, bub? That’s my wife you’re talking to.” He ground out, eyes narrowed like he wanted to kill him.

All the activity around them seemed to stop, but no one made any move to try and help the man who was unfortunately at the mercy of an angry Wolverine.

The man tried to shake his head but it was hard to since he was held against the counter. Logan roughly let him go, pushing him away. “Get the fuck outta here.” His claws retracted back into his knuckles.

Maya couldn’t contain the sly smile on her face as she watched the young man fall into a heap on the floor before he got up and scrambled away.

“Was that really needed, Patch?” She asked, tilting her head as the smile on her lips widened.

Logan went back to smoking his cigar, the tension in his shoulders dissipating. “Wasn’t it, River?” His lips quirked up into a lop-sided smirk. “Can’t have someone thinking they can have you, can I?”

Maya was glad they got the information they needed so they didn’t have to stay in the casino any longer. With the way Logan’s eyes roamed over her body and how he broke someone’s face, it was best they got out of there.

She pushed their hotel room open, toeing off her heels so she sat at her normal height. With them on, she was taller than Logan rather than being almost exactly his height. Logan pushed the door closed behind him and locked it before he wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed soft kisses to her neck.

“Always so goddamn tempting when you dress like this.” He murmured against her skin. “Almost like you want to torture me.”

Maya turned in his arms and cupped his face, kissing him softly. It wasn’t her fault the revealing dresses made more men want to talk to her. And it wasn’t her fault she could be easy to talk to when she wanted to be.

Logan’s shoulders slumped as she kissed him. She relaxed him like no other person could, rendering him limp at times from just a simple touch.

She pushed Logan onto the couch and let out a soft breath as she looked down at him. And he looked up at her, pulling her close by her hand so she stood between his legs. He pressed the back of her hand to his lips, thumb rubbing against the wedding rings that sat on her fingers.

Her other hand lifted to push his eyepatch off his face, revealing the milky white eye underneath. He wasn’t completely blind in that eye but he was self-conscious about how it looked. Maya didn’t mind. She liked seeing his face in its full glory. Her thumb traced underneath his left eye, causing him to let out a breath of contentment.

The deformed eye was a result of getting shot, but it never quite healed right. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with his healing factor, it was fine with everything else. Just that one eye. However, he counted himself lucky that it didn’t look worse.

Logan huffed softly and leaned forward, burying his face in her solid but still plush stomach. He wrapped his arms around her hips as he nuzzled his face against her. He could feel her body rumble underneath him as she laughed. Her hands cradled the back of his head as he kept rubbing his face against her torso. A low purr escaped his chest.

He tugged her onto his lap, hands on her hips as he pushed his face into her neck to breathe in her scent properly. Now, it was mixed with a perfume which he had complained about many times before. It made it harder for him to pick up her smell.

Maya pressed a kiss to the side of his head, a light and easy smile on her face. One that she only had when she was with Logan and he was being affectionate like this.

“I love you.” Logan pulled away from her neck to look her in the eye when he said it. He was loyal to a fault for Maya. He’d kill for her, easily. If he could die, he would give up his life in an instant.

Maya’s eyes roamed over his face, her smile widening. “I love you too.” She pressed a kiss to his left eyebrow. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment.

They sat in silence for a while, drinking in each other's presence like they did most nights they were together. It was routine Logan wasn’t used to but he found that he loved it, even during missions like these.

He grabbed a cigar from his blazer and lit it. The light cast a harsh shadow over his face and illuminated him with a warm light, if only for a few seconds. Maybe less. Maya always thought he looked pretty when smoking a cigar and, sometimes, Logan would use that to his advantage.

He took a puff from the cigar and smirked as he blew the smoke in her face. She stared at him with an amused look in her eyes, largely unphased. She sat up a little straighter on his lap and raised an eyebrow with interest.

“Logan—” Maya breathed.

He cupped her chin with his free hand, thumb tracing her bottom lip. “C’mon, pretty girl,” He called her the one thing he knew would make her melt. “Open up.”

Maya’s eyes darkened, pupils blown wide that the color was only a thin ring. Her jaw clenched before she finally did comply, her lips parting.

Logan grinned as he took another drag from his cigar, sharp canines barely made an appearance between his lips. Maya noticed. He blew the smoke into her mouth like he had done it a hundred times before. He has. It never got old. She sucked in the smoke and blew it right back at him.

He pulled her chin close so he could kiss her, to taste the cigar on her lips. He would light up a cigar just to taste it on her lips a lot. He found it was more addicting than the tobacco they were made of.

“Can never get enough, can you?” A sly smile appeared on Maya’s lips as Logan pulled away, putting the cigar between his lips.

“Of you? Never.” He tilted his head, an eyebrow raised as he looked at her. His hands dropped to cradle her hips. “I married you, isn’t that proof?”

Her heart beat louder, harder in her chest when he mentioned they were married. She could never get used to it—his ring on her finger and her ring on his finger. How he stared at her with such love and adoration that she felt like her chest was an overflowing waterfall.

“If I recall, I proposed first.”

“True, but you beat me only by a week.”

“Mm, sure.”

Logan might have claws but he also had the ability to bend that waterfall to his will, subconsciously or not.

[sitp-recs]

Hi Liv,

Do you have any fics when an event acts as an “emotional catalyst” for either Harry or Draco? Like one them being hurt or in a near death situation that triggers some moment of clarity or confession of feelings? Thank you.

What a great ask, anon! Here are some fics that came to mind, not all of them involve danger or near death situations but I hope they work all the same :) enjoy!

the keys to your kingdom by thistle_verse (E, 7k)

It was nothing so elegant as fucking, the first time they came together. It was teeth just a little too sharp— against a collarbone, on the right-side curve of a jaw, drawing blood from the plushest part of a bottom lip. It was the doorframe digging into the curve his spine was making of its own volition: closer, harder, more.

Night Changes by Writcraft (E, 10k)

Draco and Harry have spent years dancing around one another, but Potter’s straight and married. Until one day he isn’t.

What Real Thing? By loveglowsinthedark (E, 12k)

They don’t cuddle, they don’t talk about their relationship (or lack thereof) and they certainly never fall asleep in each other’s arms.

White as Snow by bixgirl1 (E, 19k)

After a quick escape from danger, Harry and Draco find themselves trapped in a blizzard, a small cabin their only refuge from the storm. It's the perfect place to recover and regroup — and to have a long-overdue conversation or two.

Don't Stop It Before It Begins by mischieviolet (M, 19k)

“I don’t understand how this is of any concern to you, Malfoy,” Harry said, crossing his arms over his chest. Draco blinked at the use of his last name, something that Harry only used with him in jest these days. “I’m merely spending time with my Auror partner, who is from another country, and has no one here. I would do the same if it were you.”

The Partner, The Rival and The Very Big Case by oceaxe (E, 24k)

When Harry and Nott are paired up to go undercover as fake boyfriends, Draco is disappointed not to get the assignment. It's just professional jealousy that's making him feel so upset. Obviously. He's engaged to be married to Astoria, after all.

Time and Again by lauren3210 (E, 28k)

Draco has an important research assignment, and he needs Auror protection. Harry’s a little concerned, not only because he can’t even pronounce the places Draco’s dragging him off to, but because there’s the slightest chance he might do something stupid, like tell Draco all about that little crush he’s been harbouring for a while now...

(The Piece) I was Missing All Along by lauren3210 (E, 30k)

Draco and Harry have been flatmates and best friends for years, and Draco thinks life is just perfect that way. But when something comes along and threatens to take all that away, Draco has to decide what it is he really wants, and just how hard he's going to work to get it.

Potential Gravity by zeitgeistic (E, 32k)

Draco is not good at Cards Against Humanity, but Harry’s not good at being human, so it all works out. Except for the explosions. And Harry’s inability to live when Draco’s not around.

What Dreams May Come by firethesound (E, 36k)

If Harry had to get called into work on his day off, at least he was able to get Malfoy called in too.

Highly (in)Compatible by daisymondays (T, 36k)

Draco’s been shagging The Prat Who Lived on and off for a few months when his soul mark starts to change. Draco’s had to accept a lot of adjustments to his life, but accepting that Harry Potter could be his soulmate is one step too far. It can’t be true? Can it?

Merlin Works in Mysterious Ways by lordhellebore (M, 82k)

When Harry is forced to form a Blood Bond with Draco Malfoy under threat of death, he thinks his future will consist of a cold home and sexual frustration. But when a group of left-over Death Eaters decides to stir trouble, their lives change completely – and it takes them both some years to figure out whether it’s for better or for worse.

[imaginesandbandfiction]

Triad Part 7 — Trouble in Paradise

A Cazriel x Reader Headcanon

A/N: MFW the silly little smut drabble series I started over winter break starts developing a plot :o

Lmaooo I should have seen this coming. Be patient with me, I'm in a creative writing MFA program so fanfic isn't my priority rn but this series is begging to be written so I'm going to follow those vibes as far as they take me, just bear with me if updates are sporadic.

Click here to be added to the taglist so you never miss an update!

Warnings: Angst, some smut

Of course, there’s a learning curve that comes with a Triad Bond. Sex is the easy part—being in a relationship with two bullheaded Illyrian males is more complicated.

Rhys tried his best not to send any of you on solo missions but, inevitably, something came up and Azriel had to go undercover in the Court of Nightmares. It’s a top-secret mission and he has to block you and Cassian out the entire time he’s there, lest someone learn the true reason for his visit.

And… it was a lot easier to be a spy without two mates waiting for him back home. His mental shields are ironclad, trapping all the frustration and sadness behind closed doors, but it seeps out in other ways. His shadows are way more vicious than they normally are and, after long days spent playing nice with Keir and his cronies, as soon as his bedroom door locks behind him, he fists his cock in quick strokes. It takes a matter of minutes for him to spill himself into the mattress with how pent-up he is.

Things aren’t much better in Velaris. Sure, you and Cas have each other, but the bond hates the dark hole where Az should be and no matter how hard you try to soothe the ache, it never goes away.

Cassian throws himself into training; on days he doesn’t have other work to do, he flies out to Windhaven and spends the day beating the shit out of anyone who dares challenge him. When he comes home late at night, you patch him up with soft, delicate touches and hold him until his tears dry up.

Sex isn’t the same without Azriel there, either. You try to hold out; it feels wrong without him, but everything boils over a week into his absence.

Cassian spent the day in Windhaven, again, and you wait up with a book and a cup of tea but it’s morning when he slams through the door drenched in blood and reeking like the mixed-together contents of a liquor cabinet.

“Cas?” You mumble, lifting your head off the couch cushion and rubbing your eyes as you push yourself into a sitting position. He stomps past you into the bedroom and you hear the water running as he fills the bath. Stifling a yawn, you push through the nausea swirling in your gut and follow him on your tiptoes.

When you push the washroom door open, you see his broad shoulders bent over the edge of the half-filled tub, bloodied and shaking with the force of his sobs.

You surge forward and fall to your knees next to him, wrapping your arms around his middle.

“Shhh, it’s okay, baby,” you whisper, rubbing his back. His head drops to your chest and you feel his rumbling anger in your soul.

Y/N? It’s Rhys’ voice in your head, tentative and sheepish. Is he okay?

No, you snarl back, immediately feeling guilt for the harshness of your words. But Ariel is gone, Cassian is broken, and your heart is torn in two. You force yourself to be gentler as you ask: Is there something I should know?

Rhys hesitates. Devlon called me in to fetch him this morning and… it wasn’t pretty. I’ll send word to Madja and tell her you’re going to be out for a few days.

Before you can protest, he continues. I know you’ve been working overtime. You’re running yourself ragged, Y/N. You need a break just as much as he does.

Rhysand cuts off the mental connection in the middle of your indignant huff, but the gears in your mind are turning. Instead of turning to each other in Az’s absence, you’ve been burying yourselves in solitude and work. Clearly, something has to change.

You loosen the strip of leather holding Cas’s hair up and sprinkle deep purple healing magic into it as you run your fingers through his thick locks. It’s just enough to calm him down, sobs tapering off into shuddering breaths.

“Cas?” You ask when he finally stills, slumping boneless against you. “Whose blood is this?”

He tilts his head back, guilt filling in every line on his face, and your heart clenches. No wonder Rhys offered to talk to Madja for you; he probably needed her to fix whatever damage Cassian’s misplaced anger had caused.

“‘M sorry,” Cas whispers, burying his face in your neck again. “I didn’t mean to, I just…”

“Shhh,” you shushed him, curling one arm to cradle his head. “I know you didn’t, baby. Rhys does too. This is new territory for all of us, and there were bound to be some kinks to work out.” Cas nods against you and you squeeze him as tight as you can, channeling love and healing magic through the bond. Behind you, the tub is full of steamy hot water, so you wave your hand to get rid of Cas’s clothes and help him into the bath.

When he’s settled, you shed your nightgown and get in with him. He rests his head against the side of the tub and lets you run a bar of soap over the planes of his muscles, healing bruises and scrapes as you find them.

"Thank you," he whispers once you’ve finished. He reaches one hand out and pulls you against his chest without opening his eyes.

The bond settles as much as it can without a third anchor to tether itself to. You lay there, basking in the soft glow of your mingling magic, until suddenly Cassian stands up, pushing you off him.

“Sorry,” he grunts when you fall forward, splashing into the water. “I just…” You follow his gesturing hand down the V of his hips and the problem stares out at you—long, thick, and hard. “I dunno, it feels wrong without Az.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, torn between the mouth-watering sight of him on display, just inches from your face, and the guilt bubbling up inside you. In the end, the bond makes the decision for you, practically shoving you forward to pull Cas’s cock in between your lips.

His protests are dead on arrival; you don’t even hear them, too focused on pouring all your pent-up sexual frustration out onto him.

After just a few minutes, his hips are bucking wildly and he forces himself to pull back. You look up at him with wide eyes and saliva dripping down your chin, and he growls, tugging you out of the tub so he can shove you against the wall. He drops to his knees and drapes one of your legs over his shoulder, devouring you like a man starved.

With no patience left for teasing, he fucks you with his tongue, plunging deep into your core until you’re writhing against him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, tumbles out of your head and into his as the pleasure builds and builds.

That's it, baby, he sends back down the bond, digging into your sweet spot with one of his fingers. Let go for me.

Your body follows his command, the tightly wound coil inside of you snapping as soon as you have permission. He grins against you as you fuck his face, riding out your high.

As soon as he pulls away, he’s got his hands under your ass, hauling you up into his arms as he presses his cock into your slick folds. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively as your head drops back against the wall.

It’s quick and dirty. Without Azriel there to force you to slow down and savor each other, you’re teetering on the edge of a second orgasm before you’ve fully recovered from the first. Cassian’s thrusts grow sloppier and you feel through the bond that his release is looming.

When he ducks his head to pull one of your nipples between his teeth, both of you lose the last of your self-control. Cas drives his hips into you and fills you up, tipping you over the cliff. You clench your walls around him as your release comes gushing out.

Meanwhile, in one of the training rooms under the mountain, a wave of something washes over Az as he’s running through drills against a training dummy with Truth Teller. At first, he thinks it’s nausea and regrets not stopping by the kitchens to grab a bite earlier, but the ache is too low to be coming from his stomach.

When he reaches one gloved hand to palm himself through his leathers, he’s shocked to find his cock solid and straining against the fabric. He thanks the Mother that he’s training alone today and makes quick work of it.

Three weeks into Az’s mission, Mor heads under the mountain to check on him under the guise of visiting her father. She enters the dining room and immediately realizes that something is wrong. There’s a woman sitting to Kier’s right, and Az is on her other side. His shadows nip at Mor’s toes like she’s the enemy as she takes her seat on her father’s left.

He refuses to speak to her, but when they make eye contact during dessert, his eyes are dark and stormy, filled with shadows of their own.

When she retires to her room later that night, she reports back to Rhys who orders her to pull Az out as soon as she can.

Despite the fact that they haven’t slept together in decades, it’s easy to slip back into old habits. The next morning at breakfast, she lays it on thick. By dinner time, her father merely waves them off when she requests the Shadowsinger for her own personal reasons.

“Go on then,” he grunts, rolling his eyes. “I’ll let the High Lord know when I require your presence next.”

As soon as they’ve both gathered their belongings, Mor winnows them away. When his feet touch solid ground, Az shoves her away with a snarl. His shadows surge forward to cushion her back and prevent her from falling; even blinded by his anger, he doesn't want to hurt her.

“What the fuck,” he growls. “I wasn’t done!”

“I have orders to pull you out of there. Rhys thinks you’ve gone in too deep.” Az growls like a feral animal being forced into a cage.

“Rhysand needs me in there now more than ever. Something’s happening, Mor. Something big, and I was working my way in, I—“

Mor cuts him off, holding a hand up to silence him.

“You think I don’t know that? Whether I like it or not, that’s my father. I know something’s up, but Rhys needs you in there, Azriel. And you’re not you right now. You’re cold and ruthless, not thinking clearly after too much time away from your mates.”

Az deflates and drops onto the sofa behind him. It’s the worn old leather one in Rhys’s mother’s cottage, in Windhaven. Mor sits down next to him, rubbing a hand across his shoulders, careful to avoid brushing against his wings which are rigid and full of tension.

“It’s not your sole responsibility to save the world, Az. You’re an excellent spy, but you’re more than that, too. Don’t let the tunnel vision take over.”

Az drops his head into his hands, letting out all of the air in his lungs with one deep sigh. He knows she’s right, that the bond should be a strength and not a weakness, but he’s terrified that something will happen to his mates. He couldn’t risk it, not when he was down there.

But that wasn’t his decision to make alone. The more he fought against the bond, the more it fought back, rattling his brain and tugging at every one of his senses. The effort to keep it bottled up drained his energy until all he could see was the mission, his purpose. Gathering information about the woman, Amarantha, became the most important thing in his life.

So he feels like a bit of an asshole when he turns up on your doorstep with his rucksack slung over one shoulder and only a faint shimmer of the bond left flickering inside his chest. It’s not enough to keep him tethered to the two of you, so he has no idea how you're feeling, but he forces himself to knock on the door, anyway.

“Hi,” you whisper, letting your arm drop from the doorknob to your side. On your end, the bond bursts into bright golden flames that shoot down, making a beeline for Azriel.

It tugs at Cas’s side, too, and then his head pops up behind your shoulder.

“Hi,” he says, flashing the dopiest grin that Azriel has ever seen.

Taglist: @wallacewillow0773638 @hnyclover

[morganwrites12672]

An Unfortunate Turn of Events

Rowan Whitethorn x Reader

Summary: "I imagine something where the reader was kidnapped and is being tortured, maybe she was undercover but everything went wrong, and now Rowan has to save her? Just something cute please"

A/N: Thanks for the request! I loved this ask so much (I had to cut out some of it so it wasn't too long but I read the entire thing and I am very grateful).

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It was rather unfortunate. It was supposed to be a simple assignment. In and out. Just gathering a little bit of intel, and then heading back to home.

If only it had gone that way.

The past twenty-four hours ran through Y/n's head as she sat there, tied to the chair. She hadn't even realized it had been a trap until it was too late. Someone knew she was undercover gathering intel. Someone had given her up. Whenever she returned, she would find the bastard herself.

Ignoring the pain she was in, and the stiffness of her body, she thought about Rowan. He had always worried about her, and she had always tols him not to. She was highly trained, she would be fine. Or so she thought.

Her eyes snapped open as the rusty door was jerked open. Her blood practically ran cold as a man walked in, accompanied by a metal cart. The items on the cart sent a shiver down her spine. She had been trained to endure far worse.

She wasn't worried about herself or what this man was about to do to her, she was worried about Rowan. How would he react to finding out her assignment had gone South?

By now, he was probably scouring the lands. Looking for her. She knew he would. Hell, he probably half the entire Cadre looking for her. He wouldn't leave his mate in a cell. He would go insane trying to find her.

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Y/n groaned, a loud noise awaking her. She hissed in pain as she tried to move. She could see the fresh wounds littering her bruised body. The only thing that had kept her sane was the thought of Rowan. She wasn't able to escape herself. The chains were made of pure iron.

A man walked in the room, a human. She instantly noticed the lack of pinged ears. She felt the mating bond thrum in her chest before she saw him, Rowan. He practically stormed in the room. The man Rowan had brought quickly picked the locks on her wrists, midsection, and ankles.

She almost sobbed in relief as Rowan helped her stand. She could feel the anger radiating off of him. He was pissed. Seeing the bruises and cuts across her body, it only made him even more determined to find the bastard who had given up her identity.

"Is there anything fatal?" He asked, his voice a low growl. She could see the concern on his face as he helped her walk out of the room. She shook her head, still not able to form words.

He gave a curt nod of acknowledgement. The earlier chaos she had heard earlier had died down, the base was quiet. Too quiet. She looked to Rowan, wondering whom he had brought with him.

He didn't even look at her. He simply navigated his way out of the base. She would make him answer her questions once they were in a secured location.

"You're going to be okay, we're almost out of her," His voice had lost the earlier harshness. His concern for her outweighed his hatred for the situation.

A faint smile graced her lips despite the pain she was in. He had come for her. The second she hadn't returned on time, he had began his search. Every hour she wasn't accounted for, his desperation grew.

"I know. It was just... a an unfortunate turn of events," Y/n said. Attempting to brush off this entire event. She would try and control his anger.

His voice was a growl as he spoke, "An unfortunate turn of events?" He stopped walking for a moment. "You were kidnapped and tortured! I'm going to find who did this," He murmured as he continued walking with her.

She sighed, there was no convincing him other wise. He was far too angry over this for her to convince him of anything short of finding the man and making sure his death was as slow as possible.

Before she knew it, they were out of the dark building. She squinted her eyes as she was adjusted to the brightness of daylight. She saw the few horse waiting for them.

God's above.

He really had brought most of the Cadre. Fenrys, Lorcan, and Gavriel all waited on horses. So Rowan had sent them out once the guards were down. She was in awe as she mounted Rowan's horse (more of Rowan placing her on top of it).

"I'll always find you," He whispered as he mounted on behind her, taking the reigns.

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I had so much fun writing this! I love getting Rowan requests. Send some more my way!