#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.

[albondiguilla007]

Drarry as Hogwarts Professors

✨ Finely Drawn Lines / 61k / Draco doesn't consider himself an artist (though the dozens of sketchbooks lining his shelves might suggest differently). Yet ever since Potter returned to Hogwarts, accepting a teaching position alongside Draco, his drawings have taken on a rather singular focus. From the curl of his lips to the exact number of lines that form at the corners of his eyes when he laughs, Draco has catalogued every shade of one Harry James Potter between the pages of his sketchbook.

So long as Potter remains none the wiser, Draco will have no trouble controlling his crush.

But when Potter comes to him with a dangerous proposition, Draco fears things are about to get so much more complicated.

✨ head over heels / 21k / Everyone in Harry's life thinks he's engaged to Malfoy. The solution to this is not pretending to date Malfoy, but here he is doing that anyway.

✨ A Lick and a Promise / 55k / Something sinister stirs in Hogwarts!

When magical creatures and students at the school are hit with a debilitating blood curse, Minerva McGonagall approaches the Ministry for help.

Star Auror Harry Potter seems to be the obvious choice to go undercover-as

DADA Professor, naturally. He's going to need the help of the Ministry's foremost expert in blood magic to get to the bottom of the mystery, though, and he's not entirely convinced that going back to Hogwarts with Draco Malfoy is a good idea.

Things are complicated between them-what's new?-but they know they have to learn to work together (and keep their hands off each other in the corridors) in order to solve this case.

Luckily for them, Hogwarts itself wants to lend a hand.

A tale of love, lessons, and learning to really live.

✨ Darkest Before the Dawn / 47k / The last thing Draco wanted was to show up at Harry Potter's door, cursed blind and holding a boxful of his friends Transfigured into snakes, but here he was.

Between breaking the curse, adjusting to life without sight, and teaching his Defence Against the Dark Arts classes, Draco's got his hands full. Being forced to live with Harry Potter might just be the death of him.

This is a story about the bonds of friendship, fairy tale endings, and learning to ask for help (even from Gryffindors).

✨ how can i love what i know i'm gonna lose? (don't make me choose) / 8k / Harry's soulmark is his scar, but he doesn't know that. He thinks he has no soulmate.

And Draco, who has Harry Potter's scar on the inside of his hip, is not planning on ever telling him. Ever. It would break him in two.

But when Hogwarts institutes a Health Ed week where Draco is tasked with the topic of soulmates, he begins to think maybe Harry needs to know.

✨ The New Potions Professor / 33k / Harry wearily entered the teachers’ lounge to meet the new Potions professor. After much convincing by McGonagall, Slughorn had finally agreed to retire and take better care of his health.

So now some new Potions master was taking his place, and they had arrived today.

Harry went inside and froze immediately.

“You’ve got to be joking.” He said.

or

Harry has taught Defense Against Dark Arts for over a decade and a half and Malfoy thinks he can just waltz into Hogwarts and teach too? Absolutely not.

✨ Phoenix in the Fire / 28k / Harry never expected to have a hot summer fling with Draco Malfoy when he agreed to mind the castle with him. He also never expected that it would all have to end on August thirty-first. What happens when casual sex with Harry’s ex-enemy turns not casual after all? And how the hell is he going to stop Draco from making one of the biggest mistakes of his life?

✨ Two Shadows in the Night / 81k / Five years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry returns to his old school to claim the position of DADA teacher.

The way he's been ignoring his issues and trying to live up to everyone's impossibly high expectations is catching up to him. Will a certain blond ex-Death Eater be able to help him finally heal?

✨ Most Favourite Bedtime Story / 46k / Scorpius' most favourite bedtime story? The story of how his parents fell in love. And his grandmother tells it the best!

��� Living in a Muggle World / 22k / After getting together during Eighth year, Harry and Draco move to Harry's cottage in the Scottish countryside and Draco starts working in a muggle library.

Or

My flimsy excuse to write the sappiest, cutesiest shit with almost no plot and love-letters and cheesy poems and I have absolutely no excuses or regrets.

✨ Spoiled Little Brat / 9k / Harry won't stoop to Malfoy's level.

Really, he won't.

(He will.)

[mockerycrow]

REWRITTEN: Undercover I (Soap x GN!Reader)

undercover masterlist | next (original)

summary; you’re apart of an undercover joint task force between the CIA and MI6, meant to infiltrate Makarov’s ranks. Your mission is thrown out the window when Makarov finds you out, and the 141 takes you in for interrogation after finding you half dead.

A/N: THIS IS REWRITTEN! I’m rewriting it all, major plot points aren’t really changing but I kept rereading my work and I hated it. please enjoy new and improved undercover. 3k words.

[warnings; gore, description of injuries, descriptions of torture, near death experience(s), waterboarding, medical and military inaccuracies. watch out for pov switches.]

Everything fell apart due to the intense lack of communication; something anyone could’ve seen coming from a thousand miles away. Information staying classified, secret—it was a death sentence the second more eyes landed on Him. Maybe the death sentence was written into existence the moment I breathed in the air in that conference room where my teammates sat. We’re the guys they call for the dirtiest work they need to get done; it isn’t something I’m proud of, of course.. Not when your death has been faked numerous times, stitching together new stories and burying your old ones. To an extent, I wish it wasn’t like this, living in a world where this type of work is necessary, but humans are inherently violent and animalistic. 

Someone would’ve started this cycle eventually. 

You curate a mask to wear so perfect you find yourself believing your own lie. The shit you make up sticks with you, too. The stuff you end up doing as a result never leaves, either. Imagine making up an entirely new life and living it for years only for a tiny slip up to break the new reality you’ve been living. Having to break genuine bonds, having to disappear on people you knew you were using, but sometimes cared about? It hurts more than I like to acknowledge. You get used to the guilt in your gut and the blood coating your hands, the red puddling at your feet. Sometimes, you can’t tell whose it is. Yours? Theirs? The innocent kid who got too involved? It all feels the same at the end of the day.

Most people lose themselves in their lies like I said, but not me. I know exactly who I am.

One one hand, I’m Zhenya Antonenko; one of Makarov’s most trusted right hands. Zhenya, a big brother with an unstable past and a bloody trail following me.

On the other hand, I’m myself. Just me, myself, and I.

I only have myself, except for my Captain, the only person I’ve properly trusted for a couple of years now; can you blame me when you’ve lost so many people to the mission? Whether from discovery leading to death, or legitimately believing the lies you’ve been spewing to yourself? Nobody understands having to gun a person down you started out with just to keep yourself safe; keeping the operation safe.. Because the mission comes first. 

“We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful who we pretend to be.”

“..status?” “...alive…..”

Searing pain—deep aching pain. Rough, calloused, careless hands—

“...one of his—...” Fuck. That accent; it’s not Russian. Not Slavic at all in general.

It’s Scottish. What the fuck? Did I fuck up?

You’re in terrible shape; critical condition. Soap wishes he didn’t have to untie you and tend to your wounds; you’re one of his. You deserve the slow, painful death your injuries would bring onto you. 

His gloved fingers wedge themselves into the knots of the rope tied around your wrists. It’s a little slippery; the rope is stained with your blood, either from your wrists due to struggling or any of your pre-existing injuries. You’re alive, barely—but they have to act fast if they wanna keep you alive. Your skin is visibly.. Off; lacking its usual color, maybe. You’re shivering in the chair, your clothes soaked in freezing water, mixing with the blood already embedded into the fabric. Price is untying the ropes around your ankles. 

“Alright,” Price gruffs out, his voice low and rough. “Grab ‘em. Off to the truck.”

Soap hooks his arms under your armpits as Price grabs your limp legs, both men grunting quietly as they lift you. They shuffle together in tandem, working their way to the truck in the back of the warehouse. The truck is running as Gaz opens the backdoor for Soap and Price to shove you in there. Soap steps up onto the truck and sits in the backseat, dragging your body inside with him. He takes the opportunity to assess your wounds in a surface level manner first. Soap almost grimaces—almost.

Your lips are parted ever so slightly, the skin chapped and a light layer of dried blood on them, dried so much that it would flake off if you tried to rub them together. The blood is likely from you biting your tongue, or the fact that your top lip on the right side is split open so badly you need stitches, or perhaps from the fact that your nose is broken. The structure of your nose is noticeably out of place and there is blood trailing down your lips and chin, thick and dried droplets down the front of your already ruined shirt. The left side of your jaw, near the hinge—swollen and out of place. Torn, maybe? Broken? Fractured? All possibilities. Your left eye is swollen shut, your left eyebrow split open, too. Like you got your face smashed, but they somehow managed to mostly hit your left side over and over. 

“Wonder what the bastard had to do to earn all that.” Soap mutters, his voice low with a slight bite to his tone. He leaves you untied; if you woke up, he’s sure you’d immediately slip into shock. You’re not a threat, not in the state you’re in. Soap watches you struggle to breathe; labored and uneven. It almost is similar to agonal breathing, something the body does in a desperate attempt for a proper source of oxygen. Maybe some of your ribs are broken. His eye’s trail your abdomen—the red seems to spread, dribbling onto the seats below your body, slicking his skin. Soap tugs up your shirt, and he swears under his breath from the gaping wounds in your belly, his hands reaching down to apply pressure.

Price is about to comment, catching sight of the stab wounds when Ghost exits the warehouse with a couple of documents—a laptop, a thumb drive. All items that were left behind. “Seems like they didn’t see us comin’.” Ghost utters, his voice rough as he stuffs the items into a backpack left in the bed of the truck. “Makarov was here.”

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that followed; your struggle to breathe breaking the silence. You gasp, almost like a gurgle, reminding them of their finds; documents, technology, and you.

…Am I dead?

Is this Hell? Did Makarov finally end me? ..It’s funny, really. I thought I would’ve died from—

Oh, welcome back.

I feel heavy as I suddenly come to, like I’ve been drugged. My tongue is dry and heavy in my mouth and it almost feels too big. Tastes like metal.. Blood. I barely manage to lick my lips which I immediately regret, my cotton like tongue swiping over the split in my lip, lighting up my nerves—however, I don’t have the energy to properly react to the tingling pain. My head feels… full, like there’s pressure. My thoughts are.. Fuzzy, almost. As if there’s something in my skull, blocking them. My ears are ringing, and fuck, it feels like someone is bashing the inside of my head with a metal baseball bat. Ironic.

I feel so incredibly heavy, my limbs comparable to anvils. The fucking pain crawls up my back and into my nerves as I wriggle my fingers, fuck, fuck! Fuck, fuck fuck fu—

“They’re awake.” Utters a gritty, low voice, borderline baritone; British. I manage to open my right eye as my left.. Is seemingly swollen shut, but I regret it from the corneal pain as I close my eye again, the luminescent light above us burning deep into my eye.

A gloved hand roughly grabs my jaw, which fucking hurts. Something is seriously wrong with my jaw, the ache is fucking terrible feels bone deep. I look up, a looming figure over me. My eye refuses to focus for a moment, but I can tell the guy is wearing a mask, a vest—a rifle. I blink languidly and—oh. In front of me, stands a large man; broad shoulders, stocky. A wide chest, and a pair of eyes that make me wanna curl in on myself. He’s staring down at me as if I’m Makarov himself. Big and brown, empty…

I can tell that he is not a man Makarov has worked with before. Who is he?

I shakily inhale and I shut my eye as his fingers dig into my jaw, causing me more pain and nausea bubbling up from it. Fuck. 

“Zhenya Antonenko.” His voice is full of venom, deep and gritty. He’s mocking me—he’s British. I hiss softly as he finally lets go of my jaw, and he holds up my I.D., my fake I.D.. I look at the man in front of me, who is wearing some sort of skull balaclava mask thing. I wanna stay in character, spit or curse or something, but the pain in my mouth is enough to keep me silent as well as the exhaustion. My head tilts forward, my neck incredibly sore and aching. His fingers push under my chin, bringing my head back up. “You’ve worked for Makarov for years, yeah? Makes me wonder what you did to make the man leave you behind.. Bloody and beaten, no doubt.”

I don’t respond—of course I don’t, there’s no reason for me to. I gotta keep up my mask, y’know? It fucking sucks, having to keep the act up, but I don’t know what could happen to the operation if I let it slip. Ugh.. maybe I fucked it all up anyway, considering Makarov found me out. The guy in front of me looks like he wants to tear me apart, limb from limb. Huh. I survived Makarov’s torture.. I’m sure I can survive his.

I want to throw up, despite not having anything in my stomach. My head is reeling and fuck, I just.. I’m aching so badly. Every sensation is blending together. 

My head whips to the side with a blooming, stinging sensation against my cheek—He slapped me. “Pay attention.” The man hisses—Skull-face, I deem him in the moment. I blink and I turn my head to face Skull-face as he walks over to a tray nearby, his boots heavy against the ground. The door behind him opens, my eyes flickering over to it and three more men walk in. Shit.

The first man I see is young, tall; he has dark skin and even darker eyes; brown, I think. There’s a small atrophic scar under his eye. His shoulders are wide but nearly as bulky as Skull-face’s; he’s definitely well built. I watch him cross his arms across his chest. My gaze flickers to the next man that catches my eye—he’s also tall and built, maybe a bit beefy. He’s pale with brunette hair and… mutton chops? Odd choice.. But alright.. Mutton-chops is leaning against the wall of whatever this room is. His eyes are trained on me like a cat who is hunting. It makes me shudder a little bit. The last guy I see; a bit shorter than the others, but he isn’t lacking any muscle. Thick forearms, for sure. He’s pale, brown hair and blue eyes, mohawk. Pfft, mohawk.. Who has a mohawk these days?

I flinch as Skull-face pats my jaw to get me to pay attention, making me hiss as he purposely chooses the bad side. God, it has to be swollen by this point. 

I can barely think.. Jesus. 

“I’m only repeatin’ myself once, y’hear? You’ll know what Hell truly feels like, you only got a taste with Makarov.” Skull-face threatens. I swallow harshly; I can’t afford another beating, or whatever this fucker has planned in case I don’t follow the rules. I already feel so light headed and dizzy. Hesitantly. I nod as a response instead of using words. “Why don’t y’tell us what Makarov was doin’ in that warehouse, hm?” He utters, glancing over to a tray and picking up a few papers—the text that I can make out, they look vaguely familiar. Must’ve been documents they grabbed from the warehouse. I wheeze a little, wincing, my chest spasming. Fuck.

He waits for a response. I swallow again, my eye fluttering as I utter out, “I took an oath.” Weakly. I feel a bead of sweat drop down from my temple, down the side of my face. I’m sweating from pain, that deep ache in my ribs, in my jaw—everywhere, honestly. I don’t know what doesn’t hurt by this point. “An oath.” Skull-face murmurs, almost as if he’s amused but I hear no humor in his tone. He walks closer towards me as he sifts through the documents in his gloved hands. “An oath for a terrorist.”

I see the way his eye twitches when he looks at me; to be fair, all I can see is his eyes but folks say the eyes are the road to the soul, right? And what his eyes are telling me right now is that he’s holding himself back from wrecking my shit further. I glance away for a moment, but he shoves the documents in front of my face, all typed up in Russian. “Y’know what this is?” 

My eyes scan the paper, recognizing it—”It’s Makarov’s plans, his plans on how he will slaughter entire cities with the biological weapons he’s trying to get his bloody hands on.” Skull-face gruffs out. His throat is tight, I can tell he’s furious. 

I know what the plan is—I’ve read those exact papers several times myself. I’m more shocked by the fact that they know that he was searching to get his hands on weapons like that in the first place. My head buzzes as I shift my eyes to Skull-face, who is staring at me as if he’s expecting an answer out of me.

I swear to God my vision whites out when he lifts my fucking shirt and opens the shitty stitches across my stomach—

Hot liquid spills from my belly and immediately soaks the spandex of the waist band to my pants, choking and wheezy noises leave my throat as I reel from the fucking pain. God, the pain.. My eyesight blurs back into colors, but no focus yet. I gasp quietly, trying to get a hold on my pain. However, Skull-face doesn’t give me a chance as he viciously grabs my jaw again, squeezing so harshly my lips part and my jaw feels like it’s being ripped out of its hinges. “My deal is simple. Fill in the obviously missin’ gaps, an’ we’ll let the medics work on ya.”

I try to get a steady breathing pace again, breathing through the pain. I close my eye, my throat bobbing as I swallow. “I have nothing to say to you.”

Someone grunts and walks towards me—more like stomps towards me, so I naturally open my unswollen eye only to see Mohawk seething in front of me. “Y’dont seem to understand the situation yer in. Do you understand that you fell for a trap?”

Mohawk grabs the front of my soaked shirt—tears, blood, water and whatever else—as he barks in front of my face. I struggle to focus on his face—rugged and young, sporting some light stubble with an atrophic scar across his chin. His jaw is strong and so is his nose. His eyes—blue and fierce. 

He wants to kill me. I can tell. I don’t blame him.

I wince as he tugs on the front of my shirt, peeling it from the open wound on my stomach. I feel sick. “Makarov does not care for you!” Tell me something I don’t know..

I’ve known that since the beginning. He doesn’t care for anyone, not really. We were always just pawns to him. Everyone is.

I must’ve spaced out again because I snap back to reality when something squeaky is rolled into the room. I lift my head—oh fuck. Mutton-chops has a big bowl of water on a cart, wheeling it closer. “I told ya, I wouldn’t repeat myself.” Skull-face gruffs out and my heart drops to my fucking stomach, my eyes widening. Someone must’ve noticed the change in me because I hear someone laugh. My leg kicks out instinctively when the cart is rolled closer—That one guy, the basic dude, scar on his cheek, his hands shoot out and hold down my leg. 

I barely get enough time to react before a hand is grabbing a chunk of my hair and forcing my face into the water. I struggle against my binds, against the hands on me, against the fucking bowl of water that’s against my face. I fight and fight, my wrists screaming for relief as I give myself rope burn because I’m fucking drowning, I’m fucking drowning, I’m gonna die and it’s all going to be for nothing—

My head is ripped out of water, making me gasp and choke, spitting out water that I inhaled. The dread from the feeling of drowning remains as I sputter and wheeze, the water running down my face and neck, soaking the neckline of my already damp shirt. 

Fuck, I’m gonna die. I’m gonna fucking die.

I keep gasping for air, trying to level out my breathing. I feel exhausted, all of the fight in my soul having already left my body. My limbs feel heavy, like there’s weights tied to them like before. My vision is blurry as I lift my head, looking at the three men in front of me. I have to bite back an angry laugh because I know they’re just going to stand there and watch me die. Maybe they’ll resuscitate me like Makarov did—just to remind me how much power they have over me right now. 

Makarov.. He held me under the ice cold water until I passed out. I don’t know what happened after that, I don’t know how long he left me like that or if he left me like that at all. All I remember is being on my back on the cold concrete below me, my hands remaining tied behind my back as I sputtered water out of my throat and nearly inhaling it back in.

He did it more than once to me. I don’t know how many times. Maybe it’s the brain damage making me forget. 

Fuck. I don’t know. I just don’t fucking know.

My head falls forward as my vision is filled with black dots, and then—I’m out, water dripping off of my chin and face, my pants wet with my blood from my stomach.

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[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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[airosuiren]

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔊𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔰 𝔗𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔊𝔲𝔞𝔯𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔊𝔞𝔱𝔢

A/N: You ever watch people climb a ladder you built with your own blood? That’s this chapter. [Y/N] and Karma aren’t chasing applause. They’re the shadows behind the stage, the hand that pushes the scalpel deeper when justice needs to hurt. The world sees students. The staff sees assets. The other students? They don’t know what they’re looking at anymore—and that’s exactly the point. This chapter is about walking into enemy territory with a smile on your lips, a knife in your belt, and a partner at your side who never blinks when you burn too hot. You’re not here to fit in. You’re here to outlast everyone who doubted you.

𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 1, 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 2, 𝔖𝔦𝔡𝔢 ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯

The transition from operatives-in-training to full-fledged agents should have been jarring. But for [Y/N] Midoriya and Karma Akabane, it felt more like slipping into clothes they had long since outgrown.

They were already killers. Already protectors. Already unshakable.

Now, they were official.

And that changed everything.

Their new assignment came with increased freedom—and increased danger. No more hand-holding. No more simulated threats.

Kasuma called them in one final time for a private briefing.

“You’re not children anymore,” he repeated, like a mantra. “You’re ghost agents. Assets. The moment you step into this, you belong to no one and serve only the mission.”

He paused, then looked at them—not the badges on their jackets, not the files they held.

Them.

“I’m proud of you both,” he said quietly.

[Y/N] felt something tight twist in her chest. She nodded. Karma smiled, just barely.

That was the last time they saw Kasuma for a while.

He left for an overseas operation that would last months, taking Irina with him. He gave them a contact in Tokyo and warned them: Stay sharp. UA might need you sooner than expected.

They didn’t know then just how right he was.

In the weeks that followed, Karma and [Y/N] established a base in a small apartment on the edge of the city.

They weren’t exactly living undercover, but they also weren’t public heroes. They moved through the world like ghosts, slipping between crowded alleys and rooftops, collecting information and building networks.

Their targets weren’t low-level thugs anymore.

They were watching names whispered in fear:

People tied to the League of Villains.

Underground arms dealers.

Corrupt businessmen sponsoring bio-enhanced quirk tech.

Karma enjoyed the tension.

[Y/N] thrived on the structure.

They operated like one mind in two bodies—flawless coordination, unspoken cues.

And slowly, as nights turned into weeks and weeks into months, their bond deepened.

They didn’t talk about it.

Not directly.

But it was there in the quiet things:

The way Karma always saved her the last strawberry milk in the fridge. The way [Y/N] always patched up his wounds before her own. The way they gravitated toward each other when things were too loud, too heavy, too real.

It was natural. Unspoken. And undeniable.

One night, after a long mission that ended in fire and fractured ribs, they collapsed on their apartment floor, bruised and breathless.

Karma’s shirt was torn. [Y/N] had blood on her knuckles.

She lay on the floor, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“You ever think,” she said quietly, “that we’re the only ones who get it?”

Karma was silent for a beat.

Then: “Every day.”

She turned her head. He was already looking at her.

The moment stretched long and quiet.

Then Karma reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.

[Y/N] blinked.

“You didn’t,” she said, trying to sit up.

He opened it.

Inside was a ring. Silver. Clean. A thin band etched with a symbol only they understood: a flame crossed by lightning.

“It’s not what you think,” Karma said quickly, ears turning red. “It’s not… I mean, not yet. It’s just…”

She took it before he could finish.

Slid it onto her finger.

“It’s perfect,” she whispered.

And that night, for the first time, they didn’t sleep in separate beds.

Not for sex. Not for comfort.

Just to be close.

To know they were real.

To remember they were alive.

Their next mission came sooner than expected.

A deep investigation into a string of disappearances tied to illegal quirk experimentation.

They found a lab buried beneath a seemingly abandoned hospital.

What they discovered made even Karma’s cocky grin fade.

Children.

Dozens.

Hooked to machines, wired for data extraction.

[Y/N] nearly vomited. Karma stood frozen.

And then they moved.

The operation burned that night.

[Y/N] created a dome of air to shield the children. Karma melted the power grids and iced every escape route.

The scientists didn’t escape.

Neither did the armed guards.

The media was never alerted.

The story never made headlines.

But the kids lived.

That was enough.

They spent a week off-grid after that.

Recovery. Sleep. Therapy in the form of video games, bad takeout, and long walks along empty rooftops.

[Y/N] didn’t cry. Karma didn’t joke.

They just existed. Together.

It was during that quiet week that the second kiss happened.

The first had been months ago. A heat-of-the-moment adrenaline spark after a close-call mission.

But this one…

They were sitting on the apartment balcony.

Karma said something stupid. [Y/N] laughed.

He turned to look at her. She turned at the same time.

Their eyes met.

And suddenly, it wasn’t a question.

It was inevitable.

He leaned in. She met him halfway.

Soft. Slow. Real.

When they broke apart, Karma pressed their foreheads together.

“Don’t leave,” he said quietly.

[Y/N] smiled.

“I never do.”

They didn’t define it. Didn’t label it. Didn’t need to.

It was theirs.

And that was enough.

By the end of the month, they were called in for a special briefing.

Kasuma, back from his mission, met them at a secure facility.

“You’re going to U.A.,” he said, without preamble.

[Y/N] blinked.

“What?” Karma said.

“You’re not enrolling as students,” Kasuma clarified. “You’ll be embedded. Posing as transfers, but you’re there as internal operatives.”

[Y/N] folded her arms. “Why us?”

Kasuma looked at her evenly. “Because I trust you. Because you’re smart. Because you’re powerful. Because if anyone can keep that place from collapsing, it’s you two.”

Karma raised an eyebrow. “You’re not worried we’ll… y’know… start chaos?”

Kasuma smiled faintly. “I’m counting on it.”

He handed over two sealed envelopes.

“Inside are your contracts. Your permissions. Your mission parameters. Don’t lose them.”

They didn’t.

The night before they left, [Y/N] and Karma stood on the rooftop of their building, looking out over Tokyo.

“It’s going to be different,” [Y/N] said.

Karma nodded.

“We’re going back to being students,” she added.

Karma snorted. “Sort of.”

She turned to him.

“What if they hate us?”

He shrugged. “Then we make them wish they didn’t.”

[Y/N] laughed.

“You’re terrifying,” she said.

Karma leaned closer.

“I’m yours.”

And she kissed him.

Under the stars.

Bonds forged in fire. In blood. In quiet promises and loud declarations.

Unbreakable. Unshakable.

The world had no idea what was coming.

But it would learn.

Because [Y/N] Midoriya and Karma Akabane were no one’s background characters.

They were the storm.

And they were heading straight for U.A.

U.A. High School was louder than she remembered.

[Y/N] Midoriya stood in front of the dorm building, one box levitating behind her as she used a casual breeze to float it into her hands. Her other arm was looped through Katsuki Bakugou’s as she babbled happily about the dorm arrangements, the bland uniforms, and the god-awful lighting in the girls’ bathrooms.

Katsuki Bakugou carried the heavier boxes with minimal complaint. Not because he was kind. Because he knew better than to let her get bored.

“Can’t believe they’re making you set up alone,” he muttered.

“Oh, I’m never alone, Kats,” she chirped, skipping ahead as her wind quirk lifted a box through the air behind them. “I’ve got voices. And glass. And you.”

“...I’m not comforted by that.”

“I didn’t say you were. I said I am.”

“Seriously, Kats,” she said in a sing-song voice, “I think the hallways are actually designed to suck the soul out of people. Like, one big soul Hoover.”

Bakugou grunted. “You’re just pissed there’s no pink tile.”

“I ASKED for lavender. That’s not unreasonable.”

He didn’t reply, but she caught the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

From a distance, Class 1-A watched the interaction with a mixture of fascination and suspicion.

Bakugou? Willingly letting someone talk his ear off? Letting them touch him? Letting them use him as a moving wall to carry her dumbass decorations for her room?

It was chaos.

And then she turned.

Bright green eyes landed on the gathered students with that same cheerful gleam—too bright, too wide, like a neon sign that flickered too much.

“Hiya, Class 1-A!” she chirped, twirling once as her hair fluttered in the wind she summoned. “I’m [Y/N] Midoriya! Twin sister of your very own Izuku~!”

The silence hit like a slap.

All eyes turned to Izuku.

He turned pale.

“You never said you had a sister,” Uraraka said quietly.

Izuku swallowed. “I-I didn’t think it was important.”

Ouch.

[Y/N] grinned wider.

“Oh, don’t worry, Deku,” she said sweetly, floating a small wind-blown leaf onto his head. “It’s not like I’ve been alive this whole time or anything.”

Bakugou snorted. Kaminari blinked. Todoroki tilted his head, eyes narrowing.

“She’s quirkless, right?” Sero asked.

“NOPE!” [Y/N] beamed, hands on hips. “Got mine before Izuku even knew what a quirk was. But I kept it a secret to make him feel better.”

Another silence.

Izuku looked like he was going to pass out.

“That’s… insane,” Momo said cautiously.

[Y/N] cocked her head. “Awww, thanks! I try.”

Bakugou stood beside her, arms crossed, and for once, he looked smug.

“Don’t try to figure her out,” he said dryly. “You’ll go nuts before she does.”

Aizawa called her in that afternoon for a quick assessment.

“You know the rule,” he said. “Sparring introduction. You’ll be matched with Todoroki.”

“Oh, Todoroki~?” [Y/N] sang, clapping. “The one with fire and ice? Cute.”

Izuku stood immediately. “She’s too unstable. She shouldn’t—”

A gust of wind slammed him back into his chair.

“Oopsies,” [Y/N] said, not looking at him. “I twitch sometimes.”

Aizawa sighed deeply and waved her toward the arena.

The match lasted three minutes.

Todoroki opened with ice.

[Y/N] melted it mid-air with a snap of her fingers.

He followed with fire.

She swallowed it with a vortex and spit it back at him in a wave of scalding steam.

Then she surrounded him in a prison of rock and danced just out of reach, laughing.

No quirks, no weapons, no tricks—just raw elemental dominance wrapped in a pink ribbon of madness.

When it ended, Todoroki stared at the ground, humiliated.

[Y/N] patted his shoulder.

“You’re very pretty when you’re confused,” she said sweetly. “Like a sad puppy who forgot where the door is.”

The class stared at her like she was a ticking bomb.

Later that evening, Izuku cornered her in the hallway.

“You humiliated me,” he hissed.

[Y/N] smiled like sunshine. “Did I?”

“You told everyone about your quirk. You—”

“I pretended to be quirkless for you,” she said brightly. “Because you were crying. Because Mom hit me when I tried to say I had powers. Because she said it would ‘hurt you.’ So I waited. And waited. And then you got powers and didn’t even tell me.”

He flinched.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d care.”

That made her laugh.

Not a soft giggle.

A high, wild laugh that echoed through the dorm halls.

“I don’t care,” she said, still laughing. “You’re just not my brother anymore. You’re a guy I used to know. Now I’ve got a best friend who actually likes me and a boyfriend who brings me strawberry milk.”

She walked away without looking back.

Katsuki was waiting by the dorms. He gave her a once-over and passed her a soda.

“Deku crying again?”

“Always.”

She popped the can open with a flick of ice and grinned.

The next week, Karma arrived.

He walked into Class 1-A like he owned it, two buttons undone, blazer flapping, strawberry milk in hand.

Iida tried to lecture him.

Karma tossed the empty milk carton into his chest and kept walking.

[Y/N] launched herself at him. They kissed in front of everyone.

The room combusted.

Iida screamed about propriety. Kaminari short-circuited. Mineta nosebled and passed out.

Only Bakugou rolled his eyes and muttered, “Took long enough.”

Karma grinned. “[Y/N] missed me so bad she almost burned a building down.”

“I only set the bathroom on fire,” [Y/N] huffed. “That doesn’t count.”

“Hi,” Karma said to the class, slipping an arm around her waist. “I’m Karma. I like strawberry milk, chaos, and her. Try to touch her, and I’ll break your kneecaps with a smile.”

Uraraka stepped back. Even Todoroki seemed uneasy.

Izuku looked like he was going to explode.

From that point on, Class 1-A gave them space.

[Y/N] dragged Bakugou around, repainted his room lavender, stuck googly eyes on his grenadier gauntlets, and kept calling him “BoomBoom BFF.”

Bakugou let her.

The Baku Squad hated it.

The Deku Squad hated her.

The rest kept their distance.

Aizawa didn’t bother interfering.

“You’re not here to make friends,” he muttered during homeroom.

“Nope!” [Y/N] replied cheerfully, balancing a pencil on her nose. “I’m here to make trauma fashionable.”

He stared at her. Marked her present. Moved on.

At night, she slept in Karma’s dorm. They curled under too many blankets, whispered about strategy, giggled at dumb inside jokes, and practiced hand-to-hand in the common room after hours.

They were chaos wrapped in chemistry.

And U.A. didn’t know what to do with them.

[Y/N] didn’t need approval. Didn’t crave love from people who once ignored her existence.

She had Karma. She had Katsuki. She had her own strength.

And that was more than enough.

Because the girl who had once stayed silent had found her voice.

And it was cheerful.

It was twisted.

It was absolutely, unapologetically psychotic.

And she loved it.

[Y/N] Midoriya liked her new dorm.

Mostly because she didn’t actually stay in it.

Her official dorm was neat, full of sparkly figurines, mood lighting, and a whiteboard of unfinished elemental theories. But her real home? That was Karma’s room, where the walls smelled faintly of cherry detergent and strawberry milk.

Sleeping there was normal. Comforting. Strategic.

Until Principal Nezu decided to “reassess arrangements.”

“You’ll be placed in separate dorms permanently,” Nezu said, paws folded neatly on his desk. “We believe it’s for the best.”

[Y/N] blinked. “Best for who?”

“For the morale of Class 1-A. For appearances. You understand.”

She smiled. Too wide. Too sweet.

“Oh, I understand just fine,” she said in a singsong tone. “And I’m telling you very gently, Nezu-san… fix it before Karma comes back from his mission. Or you’ll be the one applying emergency morale patches.”

Karma had been called to Tokyo. She, on the other hand, was given one job: get comfortable. That was laughable. Comfort and U.A. didn’t mix, not after everything she’d heard and seen.

Aizawa, who had been silent up to this point, exhaled slowly. “She’s not bluffing.”

Nezu chuckled nervously. “We’ll consider it.”

They didn’t.

So she waited.

The day Karma returned from Tokyo, he didn’t enter U.A. like a normal person.

He kicked the door open.

Strawberry milk in one hand, dorm key in the other, blazer tied around his waist.

[Y/N] launched into his arms before the dust settled.

“You smell like fire and deadlines,” she murmured against his collar.

“And you smell like you haven’t slept in days.”

“I haven’t. I threatened a rodent.”

“Good girl.”

“You’re saying what now?” Karma asked later that night, tilting his head as [Y/N] ranted, pacing in a circle in their shared—secret—study room.

“They want us in separate dorms, Karma. Like they forgot the clause in our contract that literally says we operate as a team unit and we share living quarters for control and coordination. They said it might ‘make other students uncomfortable.’”

Karma rolled a coin between his fingers. “What’s our authority level again?”

“Above theirs,” [Y/N] said sweetly.

“Neat. Let’s burn the paperwork.”

“Nope. Better idea. We’ll let Aizawa do the talking. Then we’ll make friends with the support course. I want to build a thermal-proof ‘Do Not Disturb’ field around our dorm.”

He smirked. “You’re adorable when you’re scheming.”

“You’re hot when you’re complicit.”

Aizawa held an emergency meeting with the faculty.

“They have security clearance higher than half of Japan’s military. I don’t care if it makes Mineta nervous. Let them share a room or deal with the fallout.”

Principal Nezu reluctantly agreed.

“Very well. But we announce it.”

“Effective immediately,” Aizawa said flatly the next morning, “Karma Akabane and [Y/N] Midoriya will be rooming together. This has been authorized and approved. No discussion.”

There was so much discussion.

“THAT’S NOT FAIR!” Mineta cried.

“She sleeps in his T-shirt!” Kaminari shouted.

“Why do they get to act like royalty?” Iida barked.

“Because we are,” Karma said with a smile.

[Y/N] sat beside him, swirling a tiny tornado in her teacup. “We’re not normal students. We’re contractors. You remember the part where I folded Todoroki like a beach towel, right?”

Todoroki raised a hand. “I’m not part of this conversation.”

Uraraka’s eyes narrowed. “So you’re just above us now?”

“No,” [Y/N] said, licking her spoon. “We’re beneath you. Like ghosts. That protect you while you sleep. Or choose not to. Depending on how annoying you are.”

Silence.

Behind the scenes, things were moving fast.

The League of Villains had made three indirect attacks in a month.

U.A. needed insurance.

[Y/N] and Karma weren’t just students.

They were insurance with trigger-happy smiles.

Their official mission briefing, written by Kasuma himself, was clear:

Maintain cover as elite student transfers. Monitor League movement. Neutralize threats. Protect critical assets.

In short: babysit the hero children. Eliminate anyone who tried to hurt them.

It was a mess.

And they were perfect for it.

Karma adjusted quickly. He got along with some of the Baku Squad when they weren’t acting like territorial cats.

[Y/N] continued to rub everyone the wrong way.

“Why do you only talk to Bakugou?” Jirou asked one afternoon.

“Because BoomBoom is the only one who doesn’t flinch when I touch a blade.”

“You used wind to send Sato’s cake into the ceiling.”

“Poor structural integrity.”

“You set Iida’s notes on fire.”

“They were boring.”

“You replaced my shampoo with glitter.”

“That one was Karma, actually.”

“TRAITOR!” Karma called from the common room.

Despite the chaos, the missions kept coming.

Small ones at first.

Interventions off-campus.

Scouting dangerous areas.

U.A. didn’t announce it, but the staff all knew who to call when the police were too slow.

[Y/N] and Karma answered every time.

No fanfare.

No reports.

Just results.

One night, they got called to intercept a rogue bio-enhanced villain on the edge of Musutafu.

Aizawa handed them the file.

“He’s armed, unstable, and strong. Try to de-escalate. But if he throws the first punch—”

“He’s done,” Karma said, slipping on his gloves.

[Y/N] grinned. “Got it. Dinner after?”

“I’m thinking noodles.”

“Spicy?”

“You read my mind.”

They were gone in seconds.

Thirty minutes later, the villain was unconscious, tied to a lamp post, with a sticky note on his forehead that read:

‘Try again never.’ –The Ghosts of U.A.

Back at school, things grew tenser.

Izuku cornered [Y/N] one morning.

“We should talk,” he said, hesitant.

“We just did,” she replied.

“Seriously. I want to understand.”

“Now you want to understand?”

“I didn’t know how much I hurt you.”

She stopped.

Looked at him.

Then leaned in close.

“You hurt me a lot, Izuku. But I’m over it. I’m not angry anymore. I just don’t trust you. That’s different.”

He swallowed hard.

“But maybe one day,” she added with a sad smile, “we’ll be family again. If you earn it.”

And she walked away.

At night, she sat on the rooftop with Karma, twirling a spark of light between her fingers.

“They’re starting to hate us more,” she said.

“They’re starting to fear us more,” he corrected.

“Same thing.”

Karma shrugged. “Let them. We’re not here to win a popularity contest.”

She sighed. “No. We’re here to keep them alive.”

“And we will.”

She looked over at him.

“Thanks for coming with me.”

He leaned over, kissed her forehead.

“Always.”

They sat in silence.

The two bodyguards of U.A.

Invisible to most.

Essential to all.

A/N: They never wanted her power. They just didn’t want her to use it. Now? Too late. [Y/N] Midoriya isn’t just strong—she’s untouchable. Karma’s not just her match—he’s her mirror. Together, they aren’t classmates. They’re contingency plans. You don’t have to like them. You just have to survive long enough to realize you needed them. The ghosts are watching. And they don’t miss.

— Author, absolutely unwell over rooftop kisses, sibling detachment arcs, and U.A. accidentally housing its own secret endgame duo.

Taglist: @feral-childs-word, @trashlanternfish360, @astro-girly1, @suneaterscape, @thatcatladywrites, @arislia, @kittzu, @ottjhe, @tinybrie, @wpdarlingpan, @ryuushou, @simpingpandas, @lettucel0ver, @moonxmio, @sirenetheblogger, @xzmickeyzx, @ironsaladwitch, @lithiumval, @starsdotalk, @fortunatelydifferentqueen, @ocean-mochi, @bunniotomia, @sept3mberchild, @sweetheart4you, @mayhem-k

Let me know if I missed anyone

[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!

[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.

[xxquesadiaxx]

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.

[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 One

The airship trembled as it flew over the remnants of Liberio, the chaos and destruction Eren had unleashed still visible below. Inside the dimly lit cabin, the scouts were silent, their expressions taut with disbelief and horror. Blood, dirt, and the smell of gunpowder clung to their uniforms as they processed the events of the raid.

Mikasa, standing at the far end, couldn’t stop staring at Eren, who sat quietly near the back of the ship, his head lowered, his long brown hair falling in front of his face. His hands, still bruised and bloodied from his transformation, rested protectively around a petite woman who leaned into him, trembling slightly.

Aurora Jaeger, her platinum-blonde hair cascading in soft waves down her back, looked terrified, her delicate hands clutching Eren's shirt as if it were her only lifeline. She had been silent since he had carried her into the airship, her wide, ice-blue eyes darting nervously around the cabin at the faces of the scouts who stared back at her with confusion and suspicion.

Levi’s sharp gaze narrowed on Eren from across the room, his voice cutting through the thick tension. "Who is she?" His tone was low, demanding. His eyes didn’t leave Eren for a second.

Eren didn’t answer immediately. His hold on Aurora tightened ever so slightly, his jaw clenched, as if bracing himself for the inevitable confrontation. Aurora’s grip on his shirt tightened in response, and she buried her face into his shoulder, seeking comfort in his presence.

Mikasa’s heart twisted painfully at the sight, the familiar pang of jealousy and heartbreak swelling in her chest. The way Aurora clung to Eren, the way he held her—so gently, so protectively—it was a side of him Mikasa had never seen before. Her fists clenched by her sides, but she remained silent, her eyes burning with unspoken questions.

Levi took a step forward, his impatience growing. "Eren," he barked, "I asked you a question. Who is she, and why the hell did you bring a civilian on board?"

Finally, Eren lifted his head, his green eyes dark and unreadable, yet simmering with an intensity that made everyone freeze. His voice, when he spoke, was steady, emotionless. "She’s my wife."

The cabin fell into stunned silence. The word seemed to hang in the air like a bombshell, and every pair of eyes shot toward Aurora, whose face was now hidden against Eren’s chest. Mikasa’s breath caught in her throat, her body going rigid as the realization hit her like a punch to the gut.

"Wife?" Jean was the first to break the silence, his voice filled with disbelief. "You’re telling me you got married while we were out there risking our lives?!"

Eren didn’t flinch. His gaze remained fixed on Levi, as if daring anyone to question him further. "Yes. Aurora is my wife. And no one is going to touch her."

Levi’s eyes darkened, but his voice remained calm, cold. "You expect us to believe that you married some Marleyan in the middle of a mission?"

Aurora flinched at the sharpness in Levi’s voice. Eren’s hand shifted to her back, rubbing soothing circles against her trembling form, his expression softening only for her. "She’s not a threat," Eren said quietly, his voice firm but laced with an edge of protectiveness. "She’s with me. That’s all you need to know."

"Not a threat?" Levi’s voice rose slightly, his frustration clear. "Eren, we just went through hell in Liberio, and now you’re telling me you brought a Marleyan civilian—a woman—on board, claiming she’s your wife, and we’re supposed to just accept that without an explanation?"

Aurora’s heart raced as she felt the hostility in the room rising. She pressed herself closer to Eren, her hands trembling as she gripped his shirt tighter. She had never seen Eren's friends before—these were the people who had fought alongside him, who knew the part of Eren she had only begun to understand. She had always known Eren as the man who loved her, who held her close and spoke softly to her. But here, surrounded by these hardened soldiers, she saw the part of Eren that terrified her—the ruthless warrior, the devil of Paradis.

Mikasa’s voice finally broke through, soft but filled with pain. "Why didn’t you tell us, Eren?" Her words were fragile, like shattered glass. "Why did you hide this from us?"

Eren didn’t look at her. He kept his gaze on Levi, his voice unyielding. "Because it wasn’t your business. I don’t owe any of you an explanation."

Aurora could feel the tension rolling off Eren in waves, and her heart ached for him. She knew how much he had been through, how much he had suffered. And now, seeing him face off against the people who had stood by his side for so long, she felt a deep sadness settle in her chest. She wanted to say something, to defend him, but the words wouldn’t come. Her throat felt tight, her mind a whirlwind of fear and uncertainty.

Levi stepped closer, his eyes narrowing, his posture radiating authority. "You forced our hand, Eren. We followed you into Marley because we didn’t have a choice. You put all of us at risk. And now you’re bringing a civilian into this mess? You better have a damn good reason."

Eren’s gaze was like steel, unwavering. "I brought her because she’s mine," he said, his voice low, almost possessive. "And I’m not leaving her behind."

Aurora’s cheeks flushed at his words, a mixture of fear and affection swelling inside her. She leaned into him more, her heart pounding. She didn’t understand everything that was happening, but one thing was clear—Eren was her anchor in this storm, and she would follow him no matter where it led.

Levi’s jaw clenched, but before he could respond, Mikasa’s soft voice cut through the tension once more. "Eren…" Her eyes were filled with a desperate need for answers, for understanding. "How long has this been going on? How long have you kept this from us?"

For the first time, Eren’s expression faltered, a flicker of something passing through his eyes. His voice, however, remained steady. "Since before the raid," he admitted quietly. "I met Aurora while I was undercover. We…" His gaze softened as he glanced down at Aurora, her eyes meeting his briefly before she shyly averted them. "We got married before the attack."

The shock in the room was palpable. Jean cursed under his breath, and Connie’s eyes were wide with disbelief. Sasha, who had been silent this whole time, looked between Eren and Aurora with a mixture of confusion and concern.

Mikasa’s face went pale. Her hands trembled at her sides, and she swallowed hard, the pain in her chest almost unbearable. She had always been at Eren’s side. Always. And now, here was this woman—this stranger—who had somehow taken that place without her even knowing. The realization was like a knife twisting in her heart.

Levi’s eyes flicked to Aurora, who was still curled up in Eren’s arms, her small frame barely visible against his larger form. "And you trust her?" he asked, his voice cold. "You trust her enough to risk everything?"

"I trust her with my life," Eren replied without hesitation. "And that’s all that matters."

The cabin fell into an uneasy silence, the weight of Eren’s words hanging over them like a storm cloud. Aurora, feeling the weight of so many eyes on her, squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her face further into Eren’s chest. She had never wanted to be part of this world of violence and war, but now, she was bound to it—bound to Eren, the man she had chosen above all else.

In the quiet, Levi’s gaze lingered on Eren for a long moment before he finally spoke again, his voice low and resigned. "We’ll deal with this when we get back to Paradis."

Aurora felt Eren’s hand tighten protectively around her as he gave a curt nod. The war wasn’t over yet, but she knew, as long as Eren was by her side, she would face whatever came next—no matter the cost.

But not everyone was satisfied with Eren’s reply.

Jean stood up abruptly, his fists clenched as his eyes burned with frustration. His voice cut through the air like a blade.

“What the hell is this supposed to be?” Jean’s glare was fixed on Eren, his words dripping with disbelief and anger. “We nearly died back there, all because of your insane plan to get the War Hammer Titan's power—and now you show up with her? Claiming she’s your wife?!”

Eren remained silent, his expression as unreadable as ever, but the air around him seemed to shift, a palpable tension growing in the space between them. Aurora flinched at the harshness of Jean’s voice, her hands instinctively tightening around Eren’s shirt as she tried to make herself smaller.

Jean wasn’t finished. He took a step closer, his rage boiling over. “While we were out there risking our lives—worried sick about where you’d been—you were off playing house with her?” He gestured sharply toward Aurora, his words laced with bitterness. “We haven’t heard a damn thing from you since you ran off from that forum held by the Subjects of Ymir Protection Group. And then you make yourself a hostage in Liberio, force the scouts to come after you—because without you, there’s no future for Paradis. You forced our hand!”

Aurora felt her heart pounding in her chest, the hostility in the air almost suffocating. Jean’s piercing gaze turned toward her, and for the first time, she felt the full weight of the scouts' anger, their confusion and disbelief. Jean’s eyes bore into her, and she took an involuntary step back, her grip on Eren tightening.

Jean’s voice lowered, dangerously close. “Who even are you? What gives you the right to—”

Before Jean could finish, Eren moved. In an instant, he stood up, the sharp sound of his boots hitting the metal floor cutting through the tension. His hand shot out, pushing Aurora protectively behind him, his body shielding her from Jean’s advancing form. The movement was quick, precise, and filled with an intensity that made everyone in the airship freeze.

Eren's green eyes, usually cold and distant, were now burning with a fierce, unrelenting fire. He stared Jean down, his expression dark, his jaw tight. The air seemed to hum with danger as he spoke, his voice low and filled with barely contained anger.

“If you want to be mad at me, Jean—fine. But don’t think for a second I’ll let you or anyone try to intimidate my wife.”

Jean’s eyes widened slightly, taken aback by the sheer force of Eren’s words, but his anger didn’t waver. He stepped forward again, refusing to back down, his hands trembling with rage. “Your wife? Eren, we nearly died out there because of you! We lost comrades, people we cared about, and you’re telling me that while we were out there fighting, you were getting married?!”

Eren’s body tensed, his hands flexing at his sides as if ready for a fight. “I did what had to be done,” he said through gritted teeth. “And I’ll keep doing it. I don’t owe you an explanation.”

Jean’s frustration erupted, his voice growing louder. “That’s bullshit, Eren! We followed you—because we believed in you! We thought you had a plan, that we were doing this for the future of all of us. But now it feels like this is just for you! For whatever the hell you think is right!” He gestured sharply toward Aurora again, his voice filled with disbelief. “And now you bring her into this mess? What’s next, Eren? Huh? You think we’re just going to follow you blindly while you drag us into whatever twisted game you’re playing?”

Aurora’s breath hitched as Jean’s harsh words cut through the air. She could feel the tension rising, the raw emotion in the room building like a storm about to break. Her eyes flicked to Eren, who stood rigid in front of her, his broad back shielding her from Jean’s gaze. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the barely controlled fury simmering beneath the surface.

Eren took a step forward, his eyes locked on Jean. His voice, when he spoke again, was dangerously calm. “I didn’t drag you into anything, Jean. You made your choice to follow me. If you have a problem with that, take it up with me. But leave her out of it.”

Jean’s lips curled into a snarl, his fists trembling at his sides. “You think we’re just going to stand here and accept this? After everything we’ve been through? After everything you’ve done?”

Eren’s gaze darkened, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You don’t have to accept it. But you’re not going to touch her.”

The air in the cabin was suffocating, the tension thick and oppressive. Mikasa, who had been standing silently in the background, finally stepped forward, her expression a mix of hurt and confusion. “Eren… we deserve answers. You owe us that much.”

Eren’s eyes flicked to Mikasa for the briefest moment, but the hardened expression on his face didn’t soften. His attention returned to Jean, his stance unyielding. “You’ll get your answers when the time comes,” he said coldly. “But right now, we’re going back to Paradis. That’s all that matters.”

Jean looked like he wanted to say more, his anger still burning brightly, but Connie stepped forward and placed a hand on Jean’s shoulder, a silent plea for him to back down. Jean hesitated, his eyes flicking between Eren and Aurora, before he finally let out a frustrated growl and turned away, storming to the other side of the cabin.

The tension in the room remained, thick and heavy, but no one dared speak again. Eren stood protectively in front of Aurora, his body still tense, his gaze never leaving Jean’s retreating form.

Aurora, who had been silent the entire time, finally looked up at Eren, her heart still racing from the confrontation. She reached out, her hand trembling slightly, and placed it gently on his arm. “Eren…” she whispered softly, her voice filled with concern.

Eren’s posture softened ever so slightly at her touch. He turned to her, his expression still hard, but his eyes softened when they met hers. Without a word, he took her hand in his, holding it tightly as if grounding himself in her presence.

The airship continued its journey back to Paradis, the weight of the unspoken words and unresolved tensions hanging heavy in the air. But in that moment, Aurora knew one thing for certain—no matter what came next, Eren would protect her, even if it meant standing against the people he had once called his friends.

…

Levi’s sharp eyes didn’t miss a single detail of what had just happened. From the moment Jean stepped too close to Aurora, to the instant Eren’s entire demeanor shifted—protective, fierce, almost primal. It wasn’t something Levi had seen in Eren before, at least not like this. He’d seen Eren angry, desperate, and vengeful, but this was different. This wasn’t about Eren’s usual righteous fury or his deep-seated thirst for freedom.

No, this was something else entirely.

Eren's intense reaction toward Jean told Levi more than words ever could. This woman—Aurora—wasn’t just another chess piece on Eren's board. Eren had a habit of manipulating people, using them to further his own goals. But the way Eren shielded Aurora, the possessiveness in his stance, the way he pushed her behind him with such certainty, it was clear that she wasn’t just some pawn.

Levi’s eyes narrowed, his mind working quickly through the implications. Eren genuinely cared about her. He could tell by the tension in Eren’s shoulders, the way his body seemed to coil protectively around Aurora like a steel trap ready to snap shut at any moment. It wasn’t just protection. Eren was acting as if the world might collapse around them, and he would still be there to defend her. That kind of reaction only came from something deeper.

Love.

Levi’s lips thinned slightly. In love? Since when? Eren had left them all behind seven months ago, disappearing from the summit of the Subjects of Ymir Protection Group without a word. Since then, he’d been in Marley, undercover and unreachable. No one knew where Eren had gone or what he had been doing during those months. But now, seeing this strange, innocent-looking girl clinging to him as if he were her lifeline…Levi couldn’t help but wonder.

How the hell did they fall in love? It was almost impossible to comprehend. Eren had always been focused—obsessed, really—with the future of Paradis, with freeing their people. Love had never factored into the equation before. He wasn’t the kind of person to be distracted by such things. Yet here he was, practically snarling at Jean for even daring to get too close to her.

Levi’s eyes flicked to Aurora. She looked fragile, almost too soft for someone who had just witnessed the absolute carnage in Liberio. Her delicate hands clutched Eren’s shirt, her body trembling slightly from the confrontation, and yet she stayed with him. She had seen Eren at his worst—unleashing pure, merciless brutality on the people of Marley, transforming into the Attack Titan and slaughtering everyone in his path. And yet, she stood here, still holding onto him.

Levi couldn’t help but wonder… What kind of woman is she?

It was one thing to stand by a soldier. It was another to stand by a man who had just transformed into a literal monster, tearing down buildings and crushing his enemies without a second thought. Eren had used the Jaw Titan like a tool, cracking open the War Hammer Titan’s crystal in the most savage way possible, all to gain its power. It was horrifying, the level of violence, the coldness in Eren’s eyes as he carried out his plan. And Aurora had watched it all.

How much did she really know about Eren? Did she understand that Eren was a man consumed by a greater purpose, willing to destroy anything in his path?

Levi’s eyes never left Eren. He needed to know. He needed to understand what was really going on here.

Levi finally broke the silence, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “Eren.”

Eren glanced at him, his expression still hard, but Levi didn’t miss the way his hand stayed wrapped protectively around Aurora’s. “What is this?” Levi’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. “You went off the grid for months, forced us into this mission, and now you show up with… her?”

Eren didn’t answer immediately, his jaw tightening as he seemed to weigh his words. “She’s my wife, Levi. I told you that.”

Levi’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, you mentioned that. What I want to know is why. Why now? How did this happen? You’ve been gone for seven months. We didn’t hear a word from you, and now suddenly, you’ve got a wife?” His gaze shifted briefly to Aurora, then back to Eren. “What kind of woman marries someone like you after what you just did in Liberio?”

Aurora flinched at the harshness in Levi’s voice, but Eren remained calm, his voice low and steady. “She knows who I am. She knows everything.”

Levi’s brow furrowed slightly. “Does she? Does she really know the full extent of what you’ve become, Eren? The lengths you’ll go to?”

Eren’s gaze was unwavering, his tone firm. “She does.”

Aurora’s voice, soft and hesitant, broke through the conversation for the first time. “I know… I know who Eren is,” she said quietly, her eyes flicking nervously between Levi and Eren. “I know what he’s done… but I also know why he’s doing it.”

Levi’s eyes shifted to Aurora, his sharp gaze assessing her. There was something about the way she spoke, the tremble in her voice that indicated fear, but not fear of Eren. It was fear of the situation, fear of the unknown. Yet, despite that, she was still standing by his side.

“How much do you really know?” Levi pressed, his voice cold and calculating.

Aurora swallowed, glancing up at Eren for reassurance before answering. “I know he’s fighting for Paradis. I know he’s willing to do whatever it takes to protect his people… to protect me.”

Levi’s jaw clenched slightly at her words. Protect her? That wasn’t the Eren he knew. Eren had always been focused on the bigger picture, on freeing their people from the shackles of oppression. But this… this was different. This was personal.

Eren’s voice, quiet but filled with conviction, broke through Levi’s thoughts. “She’s with me, Captain. That’s all you need to understand. I’ll protect her, no matter what.”

Levi studied Eren’s face for a long moment, searching for any cracks in his resolve. But there were none. Eren was deadly serious, and that was what unsettled Levi the most. This wasn’t a boy anymore. This was a man who had seen the world for what it truly was—ugly, brutal, and unforgiving. And yet, in the midst of all that darkness, he had found something worth protecting.

Levi’s eyes flicked back to Aurora. He still didn’t trust her, not fully. But if Eren was willing to go this far for her, there had to be more to the story than they were seeing.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Eren,” Levi said quietly, his voice laced with a hint of warning. “Because if she’s with you, then she’s in this for the long haul. And there’s no turning back now.”

Eren’s gaze was steady, his grip on Aurora never loosening. “I know.”

Levi gave a small nod, his expression unreadable, before turning his attention back to the rest of the room. The tension still hung thick in the air, but for now, it seemed, the matter was settled.

Aurora pressed closer to Eren, feeling the weight of everything that had just happened. She knew the road ahead would be difficult—filled with danger, uncertainty, and pain. But as long as she was with Eren, she would face whatever came next.

And Eren, with his fierce determination and unwavering resolve, would do the same.

But in the corner of the airship…something else was unraveling.

Mikasa stood in the corner of the airship, her entire body trembling as the weight of everything crashed down on her like an avalanche. Her heart felt like it had been ripped out of her chest, shredded by the scene unfolding before her. The woman—Aurora—was nestled against Eren, her hands clinging to him as if he were her entire world. Eren sat there, calm, protective, and completely unfazed by the chaos surrounding him.

Wife.

That single word echoed in Mikasa’s mind, over and over, like a hammer pounding against her skull. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.

Months. Months. Eren had disappeared without a trace. No word, no clue as to whether he was alive or dead. Every day, every night, Mikasa had been consumed by the gnawing worry that something terrible had happened to him. She had barely slept, barely eaten, her mind constantly replaying worst-case scenarios. Was he hurt? Was he captured? Was he... gone?

And then, out of nowhere, they received his letters. Eren’s cold, calculated plan to raid Liberio, dragging them all into a nightmare. She had followed him, like she always did, because what else could she do? Eren was everything to her. Everything. He was the reason she fought, the reason she survived. Even when he pushed her away, even when he said those horrible things to her—things that had shattered her soul—she couldn’t stop caring about him.

But now?

Now Eren was sitting there, with this woman beside him. This stranger. His wife.

Mikasa felt like she was going to throw up. Her stomach churned violently, and her hands clenched so tightly into fists that her knuckles turned white. She felt like the ground beneath her was crumbling, like her entire world had just collapsed in on itself.

How? How had this happened? When had this happened? They had been worried sick about Eren, risking everything to save him, and he had been—what? Falling in love? Getting married?

Her chest tightened, the air around her suddenly feeling suffocating. She tried to breathe, but it felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Eren and Aurora, the sight of them together making her vision blur with unshed tears.

“Mikasa…” Armin’s soft voice broke through her spiraling thoughts, and she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Breathe. Just… breathe.”

Mikasa blinked, her wide, hollow eyes turning to Armin, who was looking at her with a mixture of concern and disbelief. He was doing his best to console her, but even he couldn’t hide his shock at the situation. His face was pale, his lips pressed into a thin line as he tried to process everything that had just happened.

Armin's gaze flickered toward Eren and Aurora, his brow furrowed in confusion. “I… I don’t understand it either,” he admitted, his voice shaky. “I don’t know what Eren was thinking. But we’ll get answers. We’ll figure it out. Just—try to stay calm.”

But Mikasa couldn’t calm down. How could she? Eren—the boy she had loved her entire life, the boy who had been her reason for fighting, her reason for living—had just declared that he was married. To someone else.

Her breath hitched, and she turned away, unable to look at them anymore. Her vision swam, and her heart pounded so loudly in her ears that it drowned out everything else.

How long had Eren been with this woman? How long had he known her? They hadn’t heard from him in months, and in that time, he had somehow fallen in love, gotten married, and kept it all a secret.

Why hadn’t he told them?

The thought stabbed at her like a knife. Why hadn’t he told her? Mikasa had always been by Eren’s side, no matter what. She had protected him, fought for him, even when he didn’t ask for it. She had always been there. And yet… Eren had never looked at her the way he was looking at Aurora now.

Mikasa felt her heart break all over again.

Armin’s voice was soft, but it carried a weight of understanding. “Mikasa… I know this is hard, but we need to stay focused. We don’t know what’s going on with Eren right now. But we’ll find out. We’ll talk to him.”

Mikasa nodded numbly, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of betrayal, the overwhelming sense of loss that was consuming her. Eren had always been distant, but this… this was something else. He had built a wall between them, and now, standing on the other side of that wall was Aurora.

Armin gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, his own expression still clouded with confusion. “He’s still our friend, Mikasa. We’ll figure this out. Don’t lose hope.”

But the truth was, Mikasa had lost hope. Because no matter how much she tried to deny it, the sight of Eren sitting there with Aurora, holding her close, protecting her with such intensity… It was clear.

Eren had already moved on.

And Mikasa didn’t know if she could ever recover from that.

…

Aurora’s heart ached as her ice-blue eyes drifted toward the corner of the airship, where Mikasa stood, pale and trembling, her face etched with a mixture of devastation and disbelief. The emotions were raw, painfully clear, and Aurora could see the subtle tremor in Mikasa’s hands as she tried to hold herself together. Armin stood next to her, speaking softly, though his expression mirrored the confusion and shock that had gripped the entire airship.

Aurora’s fingers unconsciously tightened around Eren’s arm, but her thoughts wandered to the stories he had told her about Mikasa and Armin—the two people who had been by his side for most of his life. He had spoken of them with a strange fondness, though his tone had grown colder over time. He had told her how, after she disappeared all those years ago, he hadn’t had any friends. She had been his first companion, his first confidant.

But then came Armin, the soft-spoken boy who shared Eren’s dreams of the world beyond the walls. And then, not long after that, there was Mikasa, the girl Eren had saved from a horrific fate.

Aurora remembered the way Eren’s voice had darkened when he spoke of that day, of the rage he felt when he discovered that Mikasa had been kidnapped by human traffickers. He had been just a boy, barely nine years old, and yet he had killed two men with his own hands to protect her. Eren had described how Mikasa had been frozen in fear, unable to defend herself, until he told her to fight. His words had given her the strength to kill the third man and save herself. It was a memory that had clearly stayed with Eren, and it had defined his relationship with Mikasa ever since.

But as Aurora looked at Mikasa now, the pain radiating from her in waves, Aurora couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. Was this woman in love with Eren? From what Aurora could see, Mikasa’s feelings went far beyond friendship. Her reaction wasn’t that of someone seeing a friend in a new relationship—it was far more personal, more intimate.

Mikasa’s eyes weren’t just filled with confusion and shock. They were filled with betrayal.

Aurora’s chest tightened as she realized what she was seeing. Mikasa wasn’t acting like someone who saw Eren as a brother or a childhood friend. She was acting like she had lost something, something precious and irreplaceable. Like she had lost Eren himself.

Aurora swallowed hard, her eyes flicking between Mikasa and Eren. She had known, deep down, that the bond between Eren and his friends ran deep. But she hadn’t expected this. She hadn’t expected Mikasa to look at Eren as if she were about to break into pieces right in front of them.

“Eren…” Aurora’s voice was soft, hesitant. She wasn’t sure if she should even bring it up, but the weight of Mikasa’s reaction gnawed at her. She leaned in closer to him, her voice low enough so only he could hear. “Is that… Mikasa?”

Eren’s eyes flickered to the corner of the airship, landing on Mikasa for a brief second before turning away. His expression remained as cold and distant as ever, but Aurora could see a flicker of something—regret, perhaps—cross his face. “Yeah. That’s her.”

Aurora hesitated, her mind racing. “She looks… devastated,” she murmured, feeling an uneasy knot twist in her stomach. “Does she… care about you more than just as a friend?”

Eren didn’t answer right away. He sighed quietly, his gaze fixed on the floor. “She’s always cared about me,” he said, his voice low, almost tired. “But it’s not like that. Not for me.”

Aurora’s heart sank as she listened to his words. It wasn’t a full answer, and she wasn’t sure if Eren even understood the depth of Mikasa’s feelings. But Aurora could see it clearly now—Mikasa loved Eren. Not just as a childhood friend or a protector, but as something much more. It was in the way Mikasa was staring at him, her wide, hollow eyes filled with unspoken pain.

And here Aurora was, Eren’s wife, sitting next to him as he held her protectively in front of the people who had followed him into hell and back. Mikasa’s devastation made sense now, and it filled Aurora with a strange guilt she hadn’t anticipated. Mikasa must have thought she would always be at Eren’s side, protecting him, fighting for him. And now, she had to witness someone else—the woman Eren had chosen to marry—take that place.

Aurora’s hand gently rested on Eren’s arm, her voice even quieter now, almost a whisper. “Eren… does she know about us? About me?”

Eren’s jaw tightened again, his green eyes hardening once more. “She does now.”

The coldness in his tone made Aurora flinch slightly, but she didn’t press further. She knew Eren well enough to understand that when he spoke like this, when he shut himself off emotionally, there was no getting through to him. But the reality of the situation weighed heavily on her. Mikasa’s feelings for Eren were painfully obvious now, and Aurora didn’t know what that would mean for the future—for them.

She didn’t want to be the source of anyone’s heartbreak, least of all Mikasa’s. But what could she do? She loved Eren. She had chosen him, despite everything, and he had chosen her. They were bound together now, by vows spoken beneath the stars and promises made in the darkest of times.

But in doing so, Aurora realized, they had left others behind. And the fallout was only just beginning.

Aurora’s eyes lingered on Mikasa for a moment longer before she looked away, leaning into Eren’s side, seeking comfort in his presence. She had made her choice, and no matter what, she would stand by him. But as the tension in the airship thickened, and the pain in Mikasa’s eyes grew more evident, Aurora couldn’t help but wonder if their love had come at too high a cost.

Because it was clear to her now—Mikasa didn’t just see Eren as a friend. She had been acting like she had lost her lover.

Eren sat still, his body tense as the airship hummed with the strained silence that had settled over everyone. His eyes shifted toward Mikasa in the corner, her face pale and her expression shattered. The sight tugged at something deep inside him, something that had once been a constant between them. He could see how distraught she was, her shoulders trembling with the weight of her emotions, and it wasn’t hard to understand why.

But Eren had made his choice.

And his choice was Aurora.

He felt her presence beside him, her small hand still clinging to his jacket as if he were her anchor. He gently squeezed her hand, reassuring her without words. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about Mikasa—how could he not, after everything they had been through? But things had changed. He had changed. And Aurora was the one thing in this cruel world that had reawakened a part of him he thought had been buried long ago.

Eren’s thoughts drifted back to the day he thought he’d lost her forever. He was only a child back then, but the impact of Aurora’s disappearance had been profound. One day, she was there in Shiganshina—his first friend, his first crush—and then suddenly, she was gone. No explanations. No goodbyes. Just gone.

His parents didn’t know what had happened. The neighbors had no answers. It was as if Aurora and her family had vanished into thin air, leaving behind nothing but a hollow ache in Eren’s chest. He had searched for her, in the way a child would, hoping he would run into her on the streets of Shiganshina or catch a glimpse of her familiar figure at the market. But days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. And eventually, even his hope began to fade.

But he never forgot her.

Aurora had been his only friend back then. He had no one else, and her sudden disappearance had left a void in his life. He never told Armin or Mikasa about her. Not because he didn’t trust them, but because Aurora’s memory felt too personal, too sacred. He held onto it tightly, as if speaking her name aloud would somehow make the memory slip away.

Throughout the years, he thought about her often, wondering where she had gone. What had happened to her?  Was she safe? Was she happy? Was she even alive? He imagined what she would look like now. Would they still be friends? Or… something more?

It was a thought that had haunted him, especially on the lonelier nights, when the weight of his burdens pressed down on him. Aurora had been the first light in his life, the first person who had made him feel seen. And then she was gone.

And then, as if fate had a cruel sense of humor, he saw her again. In Marley of all places.

Eren had been deep undercover, the rage and determination fueling him as he prepared for the attack on Liberio. His mind had been focused on the mission, on the destruction he was about to unleash, when he heard the faint sound of someone singing. A voice that, though older, still carried the same softness he remembered. It had stopped him in his tracks.

He thought he was hallucinating at first, that the exhaustion and stress of his mission had finally gotten to him. But when he followed the sound, he saw her. Sitting beneath a tree, her platinum-blonde hair glowing in the fading light, her voice carrying softly through the air.

He had thought he was seeing a ghost.

His heart had nearly stopped in his chest, his body frozen as he stared at her. But he recognized her immediately. He’d know those eyes anywhere. The same icy-blue eyes that had once looked at him with such warmth, such kindness.

Aurora.

She hadn’t changed, not really. She was older, yes, her features more refined, more delicate. But she was still her. And in that moment, the years fell away, and Eren was once again that little boy, desperate to reach out to her, to make sure she was real.

It took everything in him not to break down right then and there. He had spent so many years thinking she was gone—dead, even. The fact that she was alive, right in front of him, nearly brought him to tears.

Aurora had been afraid at first, not recognizing him immediately. But when their eyes met, and she saw the boy she had once known in the man standing before her, something shifted. It was like the world had stopped turning for a brief moment, and they were just two people, reconnecting after years of separation.

It had all come flooding back then—the memories, the feelings he had buried, the quiet hope that had stayed with him through all the pain. Eren had thought he’d lost her forever. But now she was here, with him, and he wasn’t going to let her go.

He glanced down at Aurora, who still leaned against him, her soft presence grounding him in a way nothing else could. He had chosen her. He had chosen to protect her, to keep her by his side, no matter what came next.

Eren’s gaze shifted back to Mikasa, who was still staring at him with those broken eyes, and he felt a pang of guilt twist in his chest. He knew what she was feeling—he could see it written all over her face. But he couldn’t undo what had already been done.

He had made his choice.

Aurora was his, and no one—not even Mikasa—could change that.

His voice, low and steady, cut through the tension in the airship. “Mikasa.”

Mikasa blinked, as if pulled from a trance. Her wide eyes met his, and for a moment, she looked like she was about to say something—anything. But the words never came.

Eren’s expression remained calm, though there was a faint sadness behind his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, though he wasn’t sure if he was apologizing for what had happened, or for something much deeper. Something he couldn’t give her.

Mikasa’s lips trembled, and Armin’s hand on her shoulder tightened, as if trying to steady her. But Eren could see the devastation in her eyes, the realization that no matter what she had hoped for, no matter what she had believed… he had chosen someone else.

Eren didn’t look away. He couldn’t. Because in that moment, he had to make sure she understood.

“I made my choice,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “And it’s Aurora.”

The silence that followed was deafening, and Eren could feel the weight of it pressing down on all of them. But he didn’t regret his decision.

He never would.

~

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[areyoufuckingcrazy]

Hi! I had a fun idea for maybe a Bad batch or even 501st fic where it’s clones x fem!reader where’s she’s trying to be undercover as a guy and is trying her best not to get caught (like how mulan plays ping in Disneys Mulan) bit of crack but maybe some spice if it fits?

Love your writing, it’s so addictive! Xx

“Call Me Pynn”

501st x Fem!Reader

The Republic needed a local contact for a black ops infiltration on an Outer Rim moon run by a rogue droid manufacturer supplying the Separatists. The factory was buried under city sprawl, well-guarded, and impossible to breach without drawing too much attention. So the plan was simple: go in quiet, sneak through the underworld channels, and shut down the operation from the inside.

And for once, you were the contact.

The catch? You had to go in disguised—a young male merc, neutral in the conflict but “curious” enough to lend his skills. Intel said the droids had been tricked into recruiting unaffiliated guns. All you had to do was get in, get the layout, and feed it to the Republic.

Of course, the Jedi had “improved” the plan. Now you were being assigned to a squad for deep cover infiltration—the 501st.

And they thought you were a boy.

⸻

You were barely five minutes in when you walked into the wrong locker room.

“Yo, Pynn! Took you long enough,” Fives called out, peeling off his blacks like it was a kriffing spa day. “Locker’s open next to mine. You sharing with Jesse—he snores, so wear earplugs.”

You blinked. “Wait—I thought I had quarters—”

“No time,” Rex interrupted, walking by with a towel over his shoulder and absolutely no shame. “We’re shipping out at 0600. Briefing in twenty.”

Anakin, sitting on a bench with a datapad, looked up and smirked. “You’ll get used to the smell.”

You stood there, frozen. You were still in partial armor, hair short under your helmet, chest bound so tight you could barely breathe. You hadn’t even figured out how to change in private yet.

Then Fives pulled you in, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “You showerin’? C’mon, kid. You’re part of the team now. No secrets.”

Oh no.

⸻

You managed to fake an urgent comm call to avoid the group debrief butt-naked shower bonding time.

Now, sitting stiffly between Jesse and Kix, you studied the holomap.

“Droid patrols here, here, and here,” Anakin said, pointing to the glowing corridors of the factory. “You and Pynn go in first, disguised as freelancers. The rest of us follow once the back door’s open.”

Rex narrowed his eyes. “You sure he’s ready for that?”

“I’m standing right here,” you muttered, lowering your voice an octave.

“Relax,” Anakin replied. “Pynn’s more experienced than he looks. Isn’t that right?”

You nod. “Seen worse gigs.”

“Where?” Kix asked. “Nar Shaddaa? Ord Mantell?”

You pause. “…Yes.”

“Which one?”

“Both. At the same time.”

Kix blinked. Fives let out a low whistle. “Damn. Respect.”

You were barely holding it together. Between the compression binder, the fake voice, and the constant fear of discovery, your nerves were fried.

And yet… you caught Jesse watching you from the corner of his eye. That half-grin. Suspicious. Too suspicious.

⸻

Barracks

Lights out. You’d pulled your bunk curtain shut and were lying stiff as a corpse in full blacks, binder still on. You couldn’t risk changing. Not here. Not yet.

Then came the whisper.

“Hey… Pynn.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin.

It was Fives.

You pulled the curtain back just enough to peek. “What?”

He grinned. Way too close. “You snore like a frightened tooka.”

“I do not.”

“You do. Also—you sleep fully dressed. Bit weird, huh?”

You stared. “Cold-blooded. Like a Trandoshan.”

He chuckled. “Alright, alright. Just checking.”

Then he leaned in a little more, eyes flicking down your face.

“You ever kissed anyone, Pynn?”

You choked. “What kind of question—”

“You know. Just asking.”

Pause.

“…What would that make you if I had?” you shot back, trying to channel swagger instead of fear.

Fives winked. “Confused. But not uninterested.”

⸻

The city smelled like burnt copper and damp oil. Steam hissed from vents and flickering lights strobed against wet duracrete. Jesse walked ahead of you, dressed in stolen merc armor and moving like he’d always been on the wrong side of the law.

You trailed behind, posture low, helmet tucked under one arm, trying not to look like a girl bound so tightly her ribs wanted to snap.

Your alias was “Pynn Vesh”: rogue merc, unaffiliated, decent with tech, better with blasters. That part was true. The part where you were definitely not a woman infiltrating a droid facility with the Republic’s most observant soldiers? Not so true.

“Factory gate’s two klicks east,” Jesse muttered over his shoulder. “You good?”

“Fine,” you rasped, lowering your voice.

“You always sound like that, or is this just your merc voice?” he teased.

“Puberty was… weird for me,” you muttered.

Jesse gave a huff of amusement but didn’t push it. Thank the stars.

You slipped through the outer checkpoint without issue, your stolen ident chip scanning green. Jesse grinned at the droid guard, real smooth.

“Name’s Jax. This is my partner, Pynn. We’re here to see Garesh. He’s expecting us.”

The droid blinked in binary.

“Proceed.”

As you stepped through the blast doors into the factory interior, Jesse leaned close.

“You’re pretty quiet for a merc.”

You glanced at him. “Quiet doesn’t get me shot.”

He smirked. “Fair. But I still can’t figure you out.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No,” Jesse said easily. “Just makes me curious. You got anyone waiting back home?”

You froze.

“What?”

“You know—girlfriend, boyfriend, someone who writes you sappy comms? Never thought mercs got the chance.”

Oh. Oh no.

Behind you, another voice crackled through the comm.

“Pynn?”

Anakin.

You flinched.

“Y-yeah?”

“Signal’s clean. You’re in. Factory’s wide open on thermal—mostly droids. You’ll need to plant the beacon by the east terminal. That’ll give us access.”

“Copy.”

But Jesse wasn’t done.

“Seriously though. Someone’s gotta be missing you.”

You blinked fast, keeping your face neutral. “No time for that.”

Fives cut in over comms, voice full of amusement. “You mean you’ve never hooked up? Stars, you’re worse than Rex.”

“Hey.” Rex barked.

“Just saying!” Fives laughed. “We fight, we bleed, and apparently some of us die virgins.”

You almost choked.

“Would you all shut up?” you hissed.

Jesse chuckled. “You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m—shut up.”

“Wait,” Anakin said suddenly. His voice changed—focused. “Zoom in on Pynn’s thermal feed.”

You stopped cold.

“Why?” Jesse asked.

There was a beat of silence.

Then Anakin’s voice again, casual but sharp. “Something’s… off.”

You started sweating under your armor. The binder tightened like a vice around your ribs.

Jesse looked at you sideways. “You sick or something?”

“I’m fine,” you snapped, too quickly.

“Pynn,” Anakin said. “Stay sharp. Jesse, watch his six.”

You reached the terminal, hands shaking. Plugged in the beacon. Light turned green. Done.

“We’re clear,” you breathed.

“Copy that. Pull out—quietly.”

You started to move—then froze again.

A droid had turned.

Its photoreceptors locked on you.

“Unauthorized personnel detected—”

“Shab,” Jesse growled.

“Engaging—”

Blasterfire lit the air.

“GO!” Jesse shouted, grabbing your arm.

You bolted, ducking bolts, binder cutting into your chest, heartbeat like a drum. Jesse covered your back as you both ran into the alleys.

⸻

Back at the safehouse, breathless and bruised, you collapsed into a chair. Jesse paced, helmet off, frowning.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” you gasped, trying to discreetly loosen your chest wrap under your shirt. It was soaked with sweat.

“You sure? You were… wheezing.”

“Kriff, let a guy breathe.”

He stared at you. “…You are a guy, right?”

Your heart stopped.

The room went dead silent.

You opened your mouth.

Before you could say anything, the door opened.

Anakin stepped inside.

Slowly.

Staring straight at you.

You froze.

He cocked his head.

“…Pynn,” he said, voice low. “We need to talk.”

You stood rigid by the supply crates, breathing hard through your nose as Anakin Skywalker stared you down like you were a broken protocol droid confessing to murder.

Jesse sat slumped on the couch behind you, fiddling with his helmet, clearly confused but too tired to start asking weird questions. Yet.

Anakin took one slow step forward, arms crossed over his chest.

“You want to explain what that thermal scan was?”

You clenched your jaw. “I was told this op was need-to-know, General. Even your team wasn’t supposed to know.”

“Uh-huh.”

Another step. He was studying you like a puzzle. You hated it.

You lowered your voice, just enough. “I was sent in under deep cover. Female operative, disguised as male. Assigned contact for internal breach. Command wanted eyes inside without the boys sniffing it out.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Oh,” he said finally. “So you’re not a guy.”

You scowled. “What gave it away?”

Anakin cracked a grin. “Besides the thermal? You run like you’re trying not to split a seam.”

“I am.”

He huffed out a laugh.

“Okay. Well, you’re a crap dude.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Voice is too soft. You’re skittish as hell. And you make weird eye contact with Fives. Which honestly just made me think you were scared of him, but now I’m guessing you were trying not to get flirted into oblivion.”

“I was absolutely scared of him.”

Anakin chuckled again, shaking his head. “Stars help you when they find out.”

You stiffened. “They can’t.”

“Relax. I’m not going to say anything.”

You blinked. “You’re not?”

“Nope.” He smirked. “But you’ll crack. That’s not a threat, it’s a guarantee. I give it two days before Jesse walks in on you binding your chest or Fives tries to play strip sabaac.”

You groaned, dropping your head against the crate with a dull thud.

“Don’t remind me.”

He leaned casually against the wall. “So what’s your name?”

You hesitated. Then sighed.

“Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” His grin widened. “You know, this is probably the least chaotic thing to happen to me this month.”

“That’s horrifying.”

“Tell me about it.” His tone grew a bit softer. “You handled yourself well out there, by the way.”

You blinked.

“Thanks… General.”

“But seriously,” he added, already halfway to the door, “the second Fives finds out, he’s going to combust.”

You buried your face in your hands.

Fives paused by the safehouse wall, where he’d been leaning casually with a ration bar, totally not eavesdropping. His eyebrows were furrowed in deep confusion.

He looked at Jesse, who had joined him during the tail end of the conversation.

Jesse blinked. “Did—did General Skywalker just call Pynn she?”

Fives chewed his bar, brow furrowed. “I thought he said they.”

Jesse squinted at the door.

“I think I need to sit down.”

⸻

The worst thing about pretending to be a guy?

Sleeping with the guys.

You’d been given a cot shoved between Jesse and Kix. Jesse snored like a malfunctioning speeder bike and Kix talked in his sleep—violently. And you? You’d slept curled under a blanket, stiff as a body in carbonite, binder nearly slicing into your sides.

Now it was morning. And unfortunately, your binder strap had snapped.

You stood frozen in the refresher, one gloved hand holding the compression vest tightly closed, staring at yourself in the cracked mirror.

There was a knock.

“Pynn?” Jesse’s voice.

Your soul left your body.

“You good?” he called again. “You’ve been in there for like… thirty minutes.”

“I’m fine,” you croaked, voice cracking so hard it practically betrayed everything.

Jesse paused. “…you sound weird.”

“I’m constipated!” you blurted.

Silence.

“…Okay,” Jesse muttered, “well, drink water or something.”

You slapped a hand over your face. Kriffing hell.

You had managed to throw on your chest plate and keep things moderately together, but something was off. The guys were starting to notice.

Especially Jesse.

He was watching you.

Not like in a creepy way. Just—watching. Narrow-eyed. Curious.

And Kix? The medic?

He kept frowning at the way you moved. At your stiff posture. At how your breaths came shallow. You were doomed.

“Hey, Pynn,” Jesse called while twirling a blaster idly. “Come run drills with me.”

You nearly flinched. “Drills?”

He grinned. “Yeah. Hand-to-hand. See what you’re made of.”

“No thanks,” you said quickly. “I, uh—pulled something.”

Fives piped in from the corner: “What, your integrity?”

“I will shoot you.”

Jesse kept smirking. “What are you so afraid of, Pynn? Losing to me? C’mon. Don’t be shy.”

You were about to answer when you turned too fast—your vest caught on the table edge—and a rip echoed through the air.

Time slowed.

Your chest plate dropped.

Your binder loosened.

And suddenly, you were holding the front of your shirt together with both hands, eyes wide in pure panic.

Fives blinked.

Hard.

Jesse straight-up choked.

Hardcase—Force bless him—walked into the room mid-moment and said, “Hey, are we outta rations?—Oh kriff.”

Everyone froze.

You didn’t breathe.

Then Jesse’s eyes dropped. His jaw dropped lower.

“…You’re a girl,” he whispered.

Fives made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a prayer. “That’s why you wouldn’t shower.”

“I knew something was off,” Kix muttered, half in awe, half scandalized.

You were burning alive.

Anakin appeared in the doorway with a cup of caf, took one look at the scene, and sipped slowly.

“I gave her two days,” he said smugly.

Jesse looked back at you, face suddenly unreadable. “…Well,” he said, clearing his throat, “guess the mission really was classified.”

Fives leaned on the wall and grinned at you. “You know, you’re a lot prettier when you’re not pretending to be constipated.”

“I hate all of you.”

[wizardingworldlibrary]

Accidentally Taking A Potion Masterlist

A little bit confused but not at all surprised (ao3) - indigospacehopper Draco/Harry, Hermione/Ron, Luna/Ginny M, 103k

Summary: When auror-in-training Harry Potter accidentally drinks a truth potion, he’s sent straight to St Mungo’s for their expert potions master to help him.

The problem? Draco Malfoy is the expert potions master, and he’s having far too much fun taunting Harry about his problem.

However, more sinister things are afoot and whilst Harry and Draco bicker and flirt, dark forces prepare to make their move…

Beer, Potions, and Unwise Notions (ao3) - HeyJude19 Hermione/Draco M, 13k

Summary: The adverse effects of unknowingly imbibing Babbling Beverage while intoxicated include the urge to chatter incessantly, dizziness, short-term memory loss, and spilling your secrets to a fake version of Draco Malfoy.

Bewitched Honesty (ao3) - LeesBitch69 Draco/Harry E, 1k

Summary: Draco accidentally drinks a love potion gone wrong and is instantly affected by the aphrodisiac, which was not meant to be there. Interesting enough, his work partner was Harry, who didn't know that Draco has had a crush on him for the longest time

Brewed Confessions (ao3) - elcieford Hermione/Draco G, 946

Summary: Hermione and Draco are partnered in an 8th year potions project. When they both accidentally ingest a bit of Veritaserum, true thoughts and feelings start spilling out.

Draco's New Family (ao3) - orphan_account Draco/Harry, Hermione/Ron, Sirius/Remus T, 46k

Summary: When Draco accidentally drinks some of Neville's botched potion and starts to dream about Harry Potter he finds himself on a different path to a new family.

"For a moment it looked like Potter was going to attack him but instead he ungracefully fell in between Draco and the sofa in a poor mock of a body throw. So more cuddling it was then. Maybe Potter was as touch starved as he was. "

Forbidden Potion (ao3) - San_fics Hermione/Draco E, 45k

Summary: “Malfoy, I know that you hate me,” The girl breathed desperately. “And the feeling is mutual. But if you have a drop of compassion in that evil mind of yours and one chance in life to use it, you have to fuck me…” She moaned again as her body reacted to the idea of his hard cock entering her. “Because otherwise I think I’ll die…”

“Fucking hell… Granger!” Malfoy breathed out. “What kind of a sick prank is this?!” He exclaimed.

“Potion... Wrong recipe…” She managed to say...

Harry's Craving (ao3) - literary_lion Draco/Harry G, 3k

Summary: Harry drinks Polyjuice Potion that accidentally contains some of Pansy Parkinson's hair. When Draco understandably mistakes him for Pansy and instigates a (platonic) cuddling session, Harry's (very non-platonic) feelings threaten to overflow, and he has to decide whether to escape... or enjoy the moment while it lasts.

Sanguis-Vinculum (ao3) - Meri Harry/Snape M, 67k

Summary: A potions accident creates a blood bond between Harry and Snape. It takes them 68,000+ words for them to work it out.

Sickle for Your Thoughts (ao3) - In_Dreams Hermione/Draco M, 7k

Summary: After a potions accident reveals her innermost thoughts to Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger is in trouble.

That Shrinking Feeling (ao3) - dracogotgame Draco/Harry G, 11k

Summary: An explosion in the Potions classroom sets off a chain of unlikely events.

The Softer Side of Draco Malfoy (ao3) - QueenofThyme Draco/Harry M, 29k

Summary: When Harry Potter's experimental potion ends up all over Malfoy, and he starts behaving differently, Harry is left wondering: what the fuck is wrong with Draco Malfoy?

Thistle & Thorn (ao3) - MarionAveoneLuther Hermione/Draco T, 13k

Summary: Or Auror Draco works undercover on a case and ropes Hermione into helping him with a plan that involves slipping a babbling potion into someone's tea. The only problem? He accidentally drinks the spiked tea himself and ends up revealing more to Hermione than he ever intended.

Where's Granger When You Need Her? (ao3) - playout Draco/Harry M, 11k

Summary: Hogwarts' Potions Master is working on an experimental brew. He really should know better than to turn his back on an unstable potion. Now if only there were someone in the castle who could help...

White Lies (ao3) - cassisluna Draco/Harry, Hermione/Ron, Remus/Snape, Neville/Blaise T, 171k

Summary: Draco drinks a potion that makes him know if a person is lying, and Harry, apparently at fault that Draco is this way, is forced to 'help' him with the effects of the potion. For the first time, they deal with each other with no lies to hide behind.

Whoops? (ao3) - That_sexy_raindrop Draco/Harry, Hermione/Ron, Luna/Ginny N/R, 29k

Summary: A potions misshap forces Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy to share memorys, magic, and personal space.

[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).

。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

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.

。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

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.

。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

I had so much fun writing this! I love getting Rowan requests. Send some more my way!

[fafodill]

I'm glad you liked my (perfectly reasonable and canon compliant) ship suggestions to glacierberries. I also have a little additional bellambrige piece written in the reblogs, because evil wlw rules.

Want your opinion on those ones:

- Gilderoy Lockhart/Voldemort (narcissists, unite!)

- Severus Snape/Augusta Longbottom (Neville is hysterical)

- Lily Evans/Horace Slughorn (he talks of her SUSPICIOUSLY well)

- Sirius Black/Fenrir Greyback (if the fandom wants Sirius to bang a daddy werewolf – fine, but at least pick an actual daddy werewolf)

And our newest addition – ✨️kreagulus✨️

Regulus definitely was unhealthily obsessed with Kreacher. I mean, why else would he betray Voldemort, am I right? He just wanted to fuck him😔 #elfcelregulus

I shit you not I almost CRIED laughing as I read those. These are AMAZING!

✨Lockmort is a banger. They'd meet because Gilderoy would keep on stealing competent wizard's work, including undercover DE and leaving them with memory brain damage. Voldemort is pissed and demands to have the responsible captured. Once they finally meet (read: someone yeet Gilderoy in the room and he's on the ground at Voldy's feet), Gilderoy is absolutely shaking in fear like a newborn bird but then Voldemort (who's pretty disappointed already) gives him a compliment about his charm skills and cleverness in avoiding detection and Gilderoy gets on his feet and puff his chest in pride and they start talking. And to Voldemort's horror, the man is a HUGE moron but he's also strangely clever in his own way? (he's ravenclaw after all) Greet schemer, very good liar, very ambitious, totally narcissistic but if Voldy gives him attention and fame, then the guy might give him GREAT IDEAS to pull wool over important people's eyes and get a fuck-ton of money. Like, he's an expert con-artist! And also, he's a total whimpering sub in bed, especially when you make him look at himself in a mirror. 8.5/10, Voldy would use snakes as bondage ropes on him. 🐍

🐦‍⬛Snaugusta (I'm wheezing), I can see them bonding over Augusta coming to school one day and - as an involved guardian figure - ask to talk with the Potion Professor with whom her grandson is having so much trouble with. She's pretty pissed at first but find Severus's sternness very refreshing and totally agrees with him and his methods. They have similar old-school views about school and what is to be expected from a proper wizard. Also she finds him very attractive. Had she been 30 years younger she'd have asked him out. She won't tho, she's too well-educated to meddle with her grandson's professor. Also Severus would have said no for approximately 12 diff reasons. 6/10. IF she was to hit on him in a post-war AU and he's a bit drunk, I can see it happening. Why the fuck not, he's not even supposed to be alive and life makes no sense. It wouldn't last tho, she's way too bossy in bed.

🍷Slugvans, I mean you're right, he's clearly talking about her a bit too much and too fondly. But how could he approach her with James AND Severus ready to pounce on him if he made an inappropriate move? No, he'd have to meet her outside of school, after her graduation. He'd take her out on a lunch date on Diagon Alley and be totally prepared to be her daddy. I see him as an old gentleman, he's not lusting after her per say (he'd even blush so hard if she was to take his hand, oh my!). If we go with the idea that Lily was interested in James because of his status and the protection it would give her, then Slughorn is also a safe bet! And he's got tons of connections! She could be his dear trophy wife/sugar baby and not have to worry about getting pregnant because if they did the do, he'd be super cautious about it. Lily lives, no Harry, no prophecy, Sirius kisses James while they're drunk one night and everybody is happy. Though they wouldn't last a lifetime as she's way too fiery for his old bones and she'd get bored and leave him a few years along the line. No bad blood though. A solid 7/10.

🐺GreyBlack, yes, THIS is the werewolf daddy fanon!Sirius deserves. The problem is, Sirius is bigoted towards werewolves so if he doesn't want Remus, he won't want Fenrir. BUT he would find his 'fuck society' stance really sexy. Fenrir would so be his leather daddy after school. Sirius would act as if he's not interested then finally cave in when the man would shove him against a wall and rip his clothes apart. But also... would Sirius run the risk of getting transformed? I don't believe Fenrir doesn't use teeth when he fucks. So yeah, werewolf!Sirius entering the ring for sure! But he'd loose Remus friendship for good and I don't think Fenrir would appreciate his rebel posh ass for long before tossing him out of the pack so 4/10, not compatible enough imo.

💎Kreagulus is, since I saw the post a few days ago, absolutely canon. Kreature was the only nice person towards poor old Reg' in this godforsaken house. Their love and loyalty towards one another is endless. But I like them tragic, so Reg' never confessed his feelings, except when he wept about it as he was dying while drinking the cursed potion. Kreature has been heartbroken since. He's never going to get over it, 12/10.