#i was sitting on this joke for two months

[arcadia-of-pluto]

Casually calling them "daddy" LADS

Word count; 1,913

Themes; slightly barely there suggestive content, fluff, established relationship

Warnings; mention of "daddy" ofc, fluff

Notes; So these turned out more fluffy than I originally intended...honestly, thought they'd be more smutty, but I've learnt that it's really difficult for me to write smut. Or at least, smut with little to no context before it all goes down. I might eventually write some smuttier drabbles, but regardless of smut, I hope you enjoy this little thing I wrote!

You saw that there was an old trend about calling your boyfriend “daddy” and videoing their reaction so, obviously, you wanted to give it a try…

Xavier 

It's been almost a year since you and Xavier started dating– and it was a wonderful eleven months! He told you everything about himself. What his future with you was like, all of his feelings throughout the centuries, and you listened. You wholeheartedly believed him, because it would be one hell of a lie if it wasn't true…and you didn't think Xavier had the time or energy to come up with a complex lie like that. 

But even if you now know, time moves on. There's not much you can do about your future self, so you can't really change the future in that way though…Xavier's here now, in the past, and that's all that matters to you. 

Anyway, today was just a normal day as any. 

You were sitting at the counter, keeping a close eye on Xavier– who was attempting to follow, yet another, cooking tutorial. The man was desperate to cook a decent meal for you. His heart dead set on making you something edible for your upcoming year anniversary…and while that was cute, you also wanted to mess with him. 

You push your cup just out of your reach and make a big show of trying to reach for it, before sighing loudly. 

“Daddy, can you pass me my drink please?” 

You can hear the clang of a spatula hitting the floor and you watch Xavier’s body comically whip around to face you. 

“What?” His head cocks to the side as his wide eyes were set on your face. “Say that again..”

“Hmm? I said ‘Xav, can you pass me my drink, please’.” You copy his head tilt and he quickly shakes his head.

 “No, no you didn't.” He takes a few steps toward you before grabbing your hand in-between both of his. “Say it again.” 

You couldn't resist his sweet puppy dog eyes, so you hold back a smile as you meet his eyes. “I...called you daddy.” 

“Really?” He seems unusually excited. “So are we…?” His gaze lowers to your stomach and you can’t help the giggle that slips from your lips. 

Gosh, he was so cute. 

“Baby– no, no. We're not pregnant.” You run your fingers through his hair with a smile on your lips. “Are...you disappointed?” 

“Mmh..” Xavier hums thoughtfully for a moment before he shakes his head. “No. We can just make it a reality later. No need to rush.” 

Zayne 

You and Zayne have only been dating for six months, but it felt like much longer. Having known each other since you were little, you both had always been close– well, your definition of close and his were probably different. You always thought of him as a friend while he tried to keep a distance and thought you hated him. But time brought you both back together with him as your primary care physician. 

The two of you had been flirting up until his birthday and finally made it official once he blew his candles out on the cake you made for him. It was a sweet time, but that was six months ago. 

Now, though, you really want to fluster the man. 

He always embarrasses you and makes you feel nervous, but you never get to see him that way. Sure, his ears will turn red and sometimes he won't meet your eyes when you get too intense with him, but you've never seen him absolutely shocked. And you just wanted to see one look of surprise from him. 

So, what did you decide to do? 

You decided to casually call him "daddy” as a joke.

That should definitely go over well. 

Zayne is seated behind his desk at the hospital, sorting through papers as you longue on his sofa. Your eyes continuously glancing toward the windows to make sure the door was shut and the blinds were closed. 

“If you keep staring at the door, you just might burn a hole through it.” Zayne says, though he didn't even look up from his paperwork. He was attentive like that and probably already knew you wanted something or you were ready to go home. And he was right. 

“When are we going home…daddy?” You ask as you kick your feet in the air behind you. You were on your stomach, resting your cheek against your arms as you watched his expression…which didn't change at all. 

"Just give me a few more minutes, angel, and I'll be done.” Zayne pushes his glasses up with his index finger and clicks his pen, jotting down a few notes. 

“I–” You puff your cheeks out with a small sigh and decide to keep going with it. “I want to go home now, daddy.”

“Didn't I just tell you to be patient?” Now Zayne finally looks up at you with one of his brows raised. “I'll deal with you when we get home.” 

Rafayel 

It's been four months since Rafayel asked you out. Four months since you tugged Rafayel down into the bath with you, which set off a chain reaction of a steamy night, followed by him asking you out the next morning; he also complained that you both went out of order, but he wasn’t too upset when you continued where you left off…

Now, though, you moved out of your apartment and to Rafayel's home, ‘Mo Art Studio’ at Whitesand Bay. 

It was definitely odd at first, but it was a good change of pace. Always being by the ocean, able to take your morning walks together on the beach and collect seashells. You had a whole collection on your desk at work. He'd always give you the most unique and prettiest shells, saying “only the best for his cutie”. 

He was also so easy to fluster. 

You immediately knew you had him wrapped around your finger every time his ears would turn red. That same crimson slowly made its way from his ears to his cheeks, all the way to his whole face. So you assumed your little ‘prank’ would also have the same effect. 

You were sitting on a beach towel in the sand with an umbrella blocking your eyes from the bright sun. In front of you was Rafayel, painting your visage, with an easel. His hand deftly moves across the canvas as he sketches the outline for his new painting. 

Lately, you are the only thing he can paint. Always asking you to stop what you're doing so he can run and get his sketch pad. You could be doing something so normal and mundane, but he'd be struck with the inspiration to record your very image. 

As much as you loved it and thought this was very sweet, after almost two weeks of this…You wanted some form of payback. 

“Hey, daddy, can we take a break for a second? It’s really hot out here.” You squint your eyes to try and see Rafayel's face, your hand fanning at your body because you, seriously, are hot out here. 

“Huh?” 

It's like Rafayel is frozen in time, or buffering. He's just blankly staring at you with a confused expression on his face until his pencil drops into the sand. That's when he quickly stands up  and makes his way toward you. 

“Again.” 

Now, it's your turn to be confused. 

“Raf, what–” 

“Not that, say the other word again.” His ears were red as he crouched down in front of you, a look of determination in his eyes. 

“No– you're making it weird!” You put your hands on his shoulders, trying to put some distance between him as your face turns red. 

“Please, I really need to hear you say it again! I'm seriously going to die if you don't.” There's your overdramatic fishy. 

“Fine, but just this once.” You grumble, turning your head to look away from him. “Daddy…” Though you say it as low as you can and Rafayel groans, tilting his head back. 

“Louder.” He rests his forehead against yours. “Come on, cutie. If you don't…I might want to change that to my new nickname.”

Sylus

It's been about…a year? Yes, definitely a year since you and Sylus started dating. Well, you both have differing opinions on when exactly you started dating. Sylus claims it was the moment he laid eyes on you in the N109 Zone, while you claim it was only about six months ago– which is when you and Sylus made a bet. 

It was a bet where if he came back safely from his mission, he'd leave you alone. He wouldn't bother you anymore, wouldn't talk to you, contact you, anything of the sort…and you won, but you didn't realize he'd actually do it. So whenever you seeked him out to make sure he was safe, and he ignored you, you realized that maybe you did want him in your life. 

This led to you running across the street to him and jumping into his arms like this was a hallmark movie, and you claim this was when you officially started dating Sylus.

But between us, you just agree with Sylus when he says a year, because if you don't, he'll pout for the whole day. 

...And today was one of those ‘pouty Sylus’ days. 

You went on a mission that was probably way too dangerous, even though you told Sylus you were going to slow down on your Hunter's work. But you couldn't just ignore endangered civilians. If any of them would have died, that would've been too much for your sympathetic heart to handle. 

And even if Sylus understands your reasoning, he's still upset that you left without telling him– having woken up to a cold bed without you by his side sent him spiraling into a panic. 

So, when you got home, you noticed he was sulking in the kitchen as he made dinner. 

“Sy…” You take your shoes off by the door, nervously fiddling with your fingers as you tentatively walk into the kitchen. Standing behind the counter, you sigh, “I'm reeaally sorry...” 

“If you're reeaaally sorry, then help me make our dinner.” He says, not looking up at you and that doesn't make you feel any better. 

“Okay..” You finally step past the counter and you look around. “So…what do you need?” You were trying to figure out something– anything that could make Sylus feel better when a thought comes to your mind. 

Most guys probably like it when their girlfriend calls them daddy…right? 

“In the cabinet, top shelf. I need a bottle of garlic powder.” 

Okay, you got this. 

You take a deep breath and open the cabinet, straining your arm to try and reach the seasoning bottle, but your fingertips barely brush it and knock it over. “Shit…” You swallow back your nervousness before continuing, “Daddy, can you grab it for me?” 

The room fills with silence for a moment, but then you hear Sylus chuckle. 

“Sure, kitten.” 

Your back suddenly feels warm as a firm chest presses against it and Sylus reaches up from behind you to grab the bottle. 

“I ask you to do one simple thing and you can't even do that.” Sylus chides, clicking his tongue as he pops the bottle open to pour some into the pan on the stove. 

“Da–”

“If you think a few empty words will make me feel better, kitten…you've got to try a lot harder than that.” 

I'd like to say, this is definitely one of my better drabbles– one of my favorites, in fact!

I have like...six more ideas for drabbles and then I'll need to come up with some more. Like these new cards and Rafayel's student photoshoot event really had me thinking of how seriously the LADS men would take roleplaying– and that spawned a whole different drabble idea, so you can definitely look forward to that!

I'm trying to come up with new ways to do my drabbles, so that's why I did a little prelude before I started writing for the guys. Please let me know any feedback yall have for me! Especially with the coloured dialogue, I'm not too sure if I like it, but it seems really pretty and probably makes it easier to tell who is talking apart. (I won't use it for my fic though, only the drabbles!)

Anyway, I have a small personal project I'm working on this weekend so I probably won't be able to write any chapters for my 'Divisa' fic, but I'm still going to post chapter nineteen of 'Twist of Fate' and try to write at least two more chapters since I'm only on twenty-three or so.

I hope you all enjoyed these drabbles and I hope yall have a great night/day! 🩷

[morganas-pendragons]

sweet and soft | elrond peredhel

okay LISTEN

I read this prompt about the elves ears DAYS ago and it has not left me alone. it being their most sensitive part of their body along with touching their ears meaning you want courtship.... and I then had a dream about this with Elrond

not a drop of angst in here, I want to kiss him so bad

enjoy!

***

Sunlight cradles the two of you from where you sit among the gardens in Lindon. It is a rare day where the High King has given Elrond reprieve from his duties as Herald, and you both took the opportunity to spend the time together in the gardens where you’d met.

Elrond only had one condition: You had to play for him. As your skill with a violin was renowned, you’d earned your place as High King Gil-Galad’s violinist who was often called upon for important events. It was what had initially drawn Elrond to you, seeing you playing at Gil-Galad's feast.

That was almost six months ago. Now you find yourself enraptured by the Half-Elven man with his head in your lap, your fingers idly carding through unruly curls as you recite lines of poetry from the book he’d brought to read.

Your first mistake in being so engrossed in your poetry is that you miss Elrond’s breathing hitch when your fingers ghost the tips of his ears. He is aware, as are you, what the implications are behind touching the ears of another elf. Elrond has never made the depth of his feelings for you known.

He is cognizant of one detail, at minimum. Elrond wants to court you.

He is also aware that his cheeks are burning as he turns to press his head into your thigh.

Your fingers curl just beneath the neckline of his shirt before dancing upward once again and repeating the same motion. Out of the corner of his eye, Elrond catches the faint smile upturning your lips as you peer down to meet his gaze. His eyes are astonishing already, but washed in the glow of the morning sun, he almost seems as if he is sent straight from the Valar themselves.

“Is something wrong, Elrond?” You ask innocently. He reaches up to snap the poetry book shut, allowing him the opportunity to sit up and face you. “I thought you were enjoying the poetry. This is our weekly routine, after all.”

He takes those next few beats of silence to allow his eyes to sweep across your face. Elrond has known you to be somewhat of a mischievous person, feigning innocence and naivety in situations where repercussions are demanded if fault is admitted.

“I was simply admiring the person who chooses to spend their waking hours with me instead of making practical use of their time,” Elrond remarks, voice stuttering as you curled your fingers into the lengthening curls at his temples to tug him close to you. “And how devious you are.”

You grin widely at him. Elrond is the only person you have ever allowed yourself to be genuine with. Being in Gil-Galad’s favor means that you so often have to wear a practiced facade of grace and poise. There is no room for child like behaviors.

Being with Elrond allows you to truly, truly embrace the very being of who you are. That is one of the many characteristics you have come to love about him.

“Me? Devious? Surely you are joking." You tease. "All I did was-“

He catches your hand before you can do it again. The two of you sit there in silence for a brief moment as you stare at your hand caught in his own. It’s the first time he’s really taken it. Sure, the two of you have walked with one another in these gardens plenty of times, but only as friends.

You have wanted Elrond for what feels like lifetimes. For the sake of yourself and for him as parts of Gil-Galad’s court, you chose to love him from afar. You didn’t want to impose upon Elrond. He already carried enough.

However, given the way he’s looking at you, part of you quietly wonders if he feels the same way and chose not to speak it for fear of your rejection.

Elrond takes each one of your fingers and spreads them apart, laying a kiss on each fingertip before enclosing your hand with his own. Your breath stuttered in your chest as he leaned impossibly closer.

“You know what it means to touch the ears of another elf,” Elrond said lowly. It almost sounds like barely concealed restraint. “Do not tread upon a path you do not wish to walk down.”

You hum softly and grab his chin with your fingers so he will look at you. Trepidation lingers in the depths of the gray irises that stare back into yours. “And if it is a path I wish to tread upon?” You whisper. “Let it be my choice.”

Elrond shudders as your fingers trail upward to tangle in his hair again, and he finds himself unable to breathe as you slowly shift your positions so you can settle yourself into his lap. It's a bold move considering you have done little else outside of resting your head on his shoulder and holding his arm as you venture Lindon's gardens. You're quietly praying that you have not overstepped a boundary.

Elrond doesn’t push you away. He welcomes it. He welcomes you.

He tries to focus on the sights around him to avoid the fear of disappointing you lingering in the back of his mind. You are a sight to behold among Lindon’s gardens. Despite the wonders of the sights around him, none of the flora and fauna that have grown here over the centuries are comparable to you.

“Hey,” You call softly. “Where did you go, nin mel?”

Elrond is not usually one to fumble over his words, but they roll off his tongue before he can stop his rambling, “I do not want to bring any disappointment if I am not what you wish me to be.”

You’d be lying if you said the statement didn’t make you melt. He was so earnest and sweet when it came to ensuring he lived up to what other people wanted but so often gave himself such little credit. “Elrond,” You began, taking his hands into your own to press them against your waist. “I have wanted you for so long. You could never disappoint me, meleth nin.”

You bend your head to the juncture where his jaw meets his neck and place a kiss thereupon. As you anticipate, Elrond groans low in his throat and grasps you more tightly. “Please,” He breathes, breath hot against your ear as you drum your fingers against his neck. “Please touch me.”

It was the closest to a declaration you were going to get at that moment. He wants you to be near to him, to touch him, to be witness to the rawest and most vulnerable parts that he so often hid from everyone else. He had to hide. Who would want to see the human side of the Half-Elven Herald of the King?

You tilt your head and gently graze your fingertips over his ears as he bends his own head to meet your mouth halfway. It's cataclysmic. You've been dreaming about this moment since the first time he asked you to play for him at the very end of one of Gil-Galad's feasts with the other elves who dwelt in Lindon.

Elrond shudders as you come together and lifts a hand to touch your jaw just beneath your own ear.

The action alone causes you to gasp just enough for him to take the opportunity to kiss you more deeply, licking into your mouth with a low groan as you wind your fingers through his hair.

"Elrond," You breathe. The two of you pull away just enough to feel the warm breath of the other on your skin, your fingers twirling circles against his temples as he worked at undoing the braids that hung over your shoulders. You want more of him. You want to bury yourself in his heart and never let anyone hurt him again. "That was-"

"I would very much like to do it again. And again, and again, until you are rendered breathless," Elrond whispers, reaching to the side to pluck a lily from the flower bed before tucking it behind your ear. There is hope lingering on the edge of his tone as he looks at you. A hidden promise for something that you both can chase, not a futile dream he has to chase alone. "But only after I hear you play."

You stand to your feet and motion for the violin case beside him. "One on condition," You reply as you tuck your chin into the base of the instrument and poise your bow against its strings. "There must be more kisses at the end of this song."

You swallow the knot in your throat as the melody begins to echo in the gardens, allowing Elrond the opportunity to lean back on his elbows and peer up at you from his spot on the blanket. "I believe that can be arranged. Is there anything else?" He asks innocently. You raise a brow and pause as his shirt shifts to reveal the skin beneath. Warm, tanned skin that you wanted to... "You're staring. You're going to mess up your song."

"You are distracting me." You retort. "I do have one more condition."

There are several beats of silence between you two as Elrond goes quietly, enraptured by the melody that seems to encompass your entire being as if it comes from the very heart of you. You are the very essence of what makes music beautiful.

When your final note decrescendos into the serenity of the garden's life around you is when you open your eyes to look at Elrond once again.

"What's that final condition?" Elrond asks.

"A date, Elrond Peredhel." You muse, leaning down to return your violin to its case before swooping in to press a kiss to reddened cheeks. "Anywhere and any time. I will leave the rest up to you."

He does not dare move as he watches you walk back towards your rooms. You truly are a marvel, a sight to behold. You are the brightest light that has entered his life since he lost Elros. He would not dare to dim that light.

"Anytime and anywhere," He whispers to himself as he traces his fingers over his cheek. "For all my life-time."

[kiddiesmores]

𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞 𝐓𝐞𝐝𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐭 𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐲𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞: 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐥

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐢𝐤𝐞: bello! this is the prequel to the college ted smut fic LOLL, this is gonna be a cute little series. more headaconish if anything, everyone say thank you @michibap !! this series is less edited, and i’ll talk abt them as i please, but if you ask for more i’ll probably tell u more abt them so, you never know. ok enjoy!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smutty towards the end.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.2k

and as always!! dividers by @cafekitsune

Ted was the RA of your hallway yalls freshman year

At your first meeting you kinda sat in the chair with your roommate next to you a little geeked out

Those stupid glasses and collared shirt had a grip on you it really did

But outside of the occasional room check (which he literally does nothing but stand and look side to side before leaving) you don’t see him much

However on your walk home from your friend's dorm across campus, your roommate gave you a heads up that she’s having a person over, and if you could stall an extra 30 minutes or so that would be great.

Whatever, you’ll hang out in the common area

That was at 9pm. It’s 11.

And you’ve blown this girls phone up and fucking nothing, and it’s not like you’re not LITERALLY RIGHT OUTSIDE THE ROOM so you know whoever it is hasn’t left yet.

And you’ll be damned if you sleep in room with your roommate and her victim of the week.

So you decide to suck it up and text your friends who’s dorm you were just at and asking if you could sleep on the floor tonight and just bitch at her tomorrow

“You locked out?”

Your angel, saving grace, Ted Nivison

“Nah just um, trying to be a good roommate.” you joke, pointing at the pink scrunchy on the doorknob that your roommate used to signal she has someone of “importance” over

He laughs a bit to himself, “Well, I can keep you company, or better yet kick whoever it is out, yk, can’t have opposite sex over past 10pm and all”

You sigh, “I don’t even know if it’s a man in there or not so, we can hold off on that one”

He sets up next to you on the common area couch, “Then I guess I'm keeping you company.”

Your brow raises, “Don’t you have any RA duties to finish, like i dunno, loud sex complaints or people smoking out their shoe box?”

And he laughs again, you got this man giggling, you’re so in

“I’m off duty now, finished my last walk around so, you want me here or not?”

You pretend to think for a moment, “Yeah, you wanna see pics from my cadaver internship?”

“Forgot I'm on the floor with the freaks.”

From that point on you two were in contact with each other

Walking back from class and checking his door to see if the wheel on his door said he was inside or not before knocking

Always thinking it’s another resident but it’s just you with a bag of chick fil a from the student center and a stupid smile while sweat drips from your forehead

The two of you sitting in his floor sharing fries and discussing class and the drama from your opposing friend groups

Finding out he’s a theater and film kid from all the playbills and movie posters scattered across his single bedroom

Complaining about how it’s been months and you get no play and have to just suffer and live through your roommate

And he’s just eyeing you like 🌝

So yall start hooking up! for the plot

He was kinda waiting for you to just lean over and just start kissing him but a win is a win

Eventually you’d be sleeping over all the time and one night yall are watching a movie on his laptop

And he has an arm around you and just looks down at you like “Are we like?? Dating??” Cause atp it’s been going on for months

And you shrug and you’re like “We can be”

And he’s giddy but tries to stay cool about it

But the cuteness aggression gets to him and he just starts hugging you tight as fuck and rolling around violently and you’re like “bro chill” but you like it so it’s whatever

Fast forward to sophomore year and yall are out of the dorms thank fucking god

Yall end up living in the apartments close to campus where all of your older friends used to stay

But the real issue is debating if you’d wanna live TOGETHER or not

You decided against it because the thought of living with a man is driving you crazy, you get enough testosterone when you see him and schlatt together you don’t need that evil energy near you at all times

Speaking of Schlatt, that dumb ass sigma chi president

When you first met it was when Ted drug you to one of the parties they threw, something about getting the “full college experience” or something who knows

Schlatt approaches you both and he kinda looks at you funny?? So you look at him funny?? But you know that look, you’ve seen it from the girls and twinks in the Fine Arts building whenever you go in and sit with Ted before class starts

He wants your guy and now you’re on guard

You end up going shot for shot with him at the next party to assert your dominance over him but you both just end up drunk and shoeless down the road eating half frozen burritos he took from the house fridge

Ted notices you both are missing and tracks your location and drives to find you both sitting on a curb leaned against eachother

“How the fuck did you guys get here?? And what the fuck are you eating??”

“Rito..” you mumble, mouth full of tortilla and you even hand it to him as a peace offering

He sighs and takes a bite before lifting you up and throwing you over his shoulder with a “hff” from you, and looking down to see Schlatt falling over since you were his ledge

“Get up man, you’re embarrassing the hoes” and Schlatts at full attention and stumbling to the car

So yall fucked with eachother after that, hangover the next morning went CRAAZY and yall sent each other snaps back and forth showing how fucked you both looked

When yall decided to get the apartments, schlatt was there, in Ted’s ear about how Tucker and Charlie would be happy to live with them if you didn’t want to

And you look at him like ???? cause since when was he moving into the apartments

“If I stay another year in that house and see those pledges everyday and hear them try to butter me up, I might burn the house down.”

“Type shit”

Even at separate houses Ted still loves to be in yours.

Sleepover? Yeah if it’s in your bed. Wanna fuck? Yeah but only in your bed.

Girl house energy is so much better than chuckle house.

You’ll wake up to him tucked into your side or laid on top of you, face in your neck and snoring softly.

No shirt on, hands on your hips and sleepy mumbling in your ear, you don’t even mind how hot his body temp is because he looks so precious on top of you.

Loves when you rub on his back and whisper his name to wake him up, slowly waking up and squinting at his lack of vision and because of how tired he is before smiling softly when he sees you.

Yall are so codependent it’s sickening.

Loves touching you, like LOVES IT. CRAVES IT.

When you’re out together he will have his hand on yours or hand on your waist or hip.

Hanging out with friends? He needs to be sitting next to you, thighs touching or head resting on top of yours, hands interlocked and kissing your fingers while staring at you softly while you speak.

Mornings after sleepovers he’s stood behind you while you cook or move about in the kitchen, hands around your waist and leaning against you while trying to force himself awake.

“You’re gonna make me trip if you don’t move Ted.” “Buh.”

Off chance you’re at his place, it’s never just you and him time. It’s you, Ted and Schlatt time.

You’re cuddling? Schlatt is sitting at the bottom of the bed or in the office chair at the desk on his phone. You wanna smoke? Schlatt is sat between you both as a footrest for you and someone to lean on for Ted.

Yall have a group chat called “Bottoms n Schlatt”

He always oddly fits in with you two.

You learn that he and Ted had a weird aura when they first met. Not knowing if they were just close friends or wanted each other but inevitably never doing anything about it.

And you only found out when one drunken night at a party you found your boyfriend and schlatt talking oddly close to each other in a corner, giggling and poking at each other while Schlatts hand tightly gripped your boyfriends hip to stop him from running from his playful gnawing.

But you weren’t upset at all! In all honesty it was hot! And it’s not like you and schlatt haven’t fooled around before.

That drunken night as yall sat on the curb was only the beginning.

It’s where he admitted his distaste for you because he thought you were stealing his bestfriend. And how he found you both so attractive it made him mad.

To which you replied, “Type shit” and let him kiss you, only stopping when he pulled back and grumbled about having to throw up, making you go “eugh” and rub his back as he did so.

You told Ted the next morning, a bit guilty as you guys had JUST started dating but he wasn’t phased at all.

“Did you like it?”

“Huh?” you mutter, still twiddling with your fingers anxiously. He smiled sweetly, slowly sliding his hand over to yours to interlock them, leaning in closer. “Did you like kissing him?”

You think for a second, dumbly blinking with slightly widened eyes. “I mean, for the 10 seconds before he had to hunch over I did..” “Eugh..” “I had the same reaction.”

He laughs and kisses your cheek, squeezing your hand before murmuring a low, “M’not mad, I think this is definitely a conversation for all three of us to have though.” To which you nod and softly kiss his lips.

To this day that conversation never happened. You all kinda just hit on each other whenever you were all together.

At a party and talking to Ted while stood next to Schlatt but Schlatt’s hand is on your hip as he sips his drink, and both their eyes are locked on you.

How you and Ted cuddled in an empty room while everyone else went crazy down stairs suddenly shifted to Schlatt sitting in the room with you guys quietly but then turned into all three of you sandwiched together, drunkingly giggling and whispering to eachother.

How you caught them making out in a dark corner and only whined because you wanted to be included.

To which they took turns kissing you while being passed around in their arms.

Multiple pictures in the digicam of you three, the taller two holding you up while you pout or the three of you teasingly sticking your tongues out at each other while the tips touch.

But your personal favorite, was the one of them both between your legs, smiling goofily with glistening lips and dazed eyes, Ted's glasses crooked.

It started off playful, you laid back in Schlatt’s arms and play fighting with ted, small kicks and giggly grunts as you tried to keep him away from you, only for Schlatt to end up holding you down while Ted tickles you.

Once the tickling stopped he’d lean up to kiss you, still between Schlatts legs as you kiss him back, letting his tongue slip into your mouth. You let out soft moans, starting to forget that you’re both quite literally between schlatts legs until he lets out a low huff, making you pull back with a trail of spit between your lips to look up at him.

“Well don’t let me stop you.”

Ted’s face ends up buried between your legs with Schlatt’s hands under your sweatshirt toying with your tits and locking you in a hot sloppy kiss, grunting into your mouth when you moan out for Ted.

Pinches your nipples and it makes your back arch, causing Ted to groan and rub his nose against your clit as he eats you out.

Schlatt marks up your neck, huffing in frustration because he needs MORE

Does a weird shuffle to move from under you, confusing you a bit because where are you going??

Regardless he manages to get from under you and lays you against the headboard, walking around to the end of the bed to join Ted between your legs.

Pushes his face over with his hand like “Move over.” “Guh”

Your eyes kinda widen because what are they gonna-oh wow.

TWO MOUTHS???

THEY’RE ALTERNATING

This is a planned attack, has to be.

Regardless you enjoy it, two mouths lapping at your cunt, two mouths to clean up the mess. Efficient!

In your haze you notice the digicam on the bed stand, shakily reaching over to grab it with a wicked smile.

The two of them are rutting against the bed and cleaning you up, Ted whimpering and Schlatts low groaning giving you a good contrast of the two.

“Say cheese boys!” you tease with a playful cunning smile, causing them both to look up and press a cheek to either of your thighs.

Both looking just as pitiful as the other, only difference is Ted’s glasses are all fucked up and he’s way redder than Schlatt is. But they enjoyed it an equal amount!

So yeah y'all are all kinda locked in after that.

[love-fictional-ppl]

number 17 (smut)with Sirius Black plss!(u can always say no :) )

(Can I be roach anon?)

Ofccc 🙏🏻 ty for the req🙏🏻

Too Sweet

Summary: Your boyfriend, Sirius Black, asks to eat you out for the first time.

Pairings: experienced!Sirius Black x virgin!Fem!reader

Warnings: language, smut, oral(f receiving), fingering, making out, color system, spit, cumming in pants, hair pulling, pet names, squirting, a smidge of overstimulation, being walked in on, etc.

Prompt: 17.) “Sit on my face”

A/N: reader and Sirius are in their 7th year and are aged to 18 but you can imagine them however you want. Title is inspired by the song Too Sweet by Hozier.

You were sure you hadn’t heard him right. Or he had to be joking. You were hanging out with Sirius in his empty dorm, the two of you had only been dating for a few months now, friends even longer than that. Sirius was your first boyfriend, he was practically your first everything. The only first he could never take was your first kiss which had been stolen by James Potter.

Earlier in the day the raven haired boy had invited you to his dorm when classes end, his roommates all busy in the afternoon. You expected your usual routine, listen to music, talk, smoke, make out.

Everything went as planned until the two of you were making out. You were laid on Sirius’ bed, him on top of you massaging your tongue with his. He pulled away from you suddenly, out of breath, “Sit on my face.”

“Pardon?” You were’t sure how to react.

“I said sit on my face. If you’re not ready yet that’s just fine, darling.” Sirius reassurance made you feel better and you would be lying if you said you weren’t soaked.

“Um, are you sure?” You had no idea why you were asking him if he was sure.

“Of course I am, darling, I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.” The pervert in you got wetter at his words.

You pulled the male forward into a searing kiss. Sirius took that as a yes and flipped you so that you were straddling him. You pulled away, unbuttoned your dress shirt and pulled off your tie. Sirius moved to kiss down your neck, leaving hickeys in his wake.

“You’re so beautiful,” the compliment caught you off guard.

You shoved the boy’s face between your bra-clad tits. Sirius waisted no time with unclasping your bra so he could latch his mouth onto your chest without a barrier.

The minute Sirius got a view of your bare chest he was in awe. Sirius latched onto one nipple and started pinching and slapping at the other one.

“Mm! Too much!” The force he used was borderline painful. Sirius pulled back with an apologetic expression, “I’m sorry, love. You want to move on to the main course?” And just like that, his devilish smirk was back.

You stood up wordlessly and peeled off your plaid skirt and panties in a seductive manner. You gave Sirius a mini-show and when you turned to face him you could see he was incredibly hard.

You went to climb back on top of the boy but he stopped you. “First I need to hear you say you want this,” Sirius spoke.

“I want you, Sirius. I want to sit on your face.” You sounded desperate and you couldn’t care less.

“Are you familiar with the color system?” He was so sweet with the way he asked. You shook your head, unsure. “Green means we’re good to keep going, red means stop. Simple enough?” You nodded your head.

Sirius pulled you onto him and adjusted you to hover over his face. Your bare pussy was about an inch from his face, Sirius spat on your clit and circled it with his thumb.

“Fuck- Sirius,” you moaned out.

“You’re already soaked. Me kissing you got you that worked up?” He asked rhetorically.

You nodded your head, your eyes with shut tight and your bottom lip was between your teeth. You were shocked by how different Sirius’ fingers felt compared to yours, his were so much more rough and larger. Sirius slapped your ass and gave it a squeeze before he ducked his hand down to finger your pussy from behind.

Sirius inserted a finger into your tight hole, he worked his fingers to match the same pace as he rubbed your clit and thrusted his finger inside of you. After a few minutes like that Sirius inserted another finger inside of you, as well as replacing his left hand, which had been circling your clit, with his mouth.

Sirius pulled your weight down onto his face and started lapping at your cunt. Sirius pulled away for a second, “What color, Sweetheart?”

You responded quicker than you ever have in your life, “Green!” And then Sirius was back to work. You felt like he was making out with your pussy but you were in utter bliss. Your hands moved from the pillows to Sirius’ hair, you heard him groan in pleasure when you tugged on his black locks of hair. You did it again and ground into his face.

Sirius used his free left hand to grab your ass roughly. You were moaning pornographicly, you were sure the two of you were going to get in trouble. Sirius lapped at your folds, not a care in the world.

“Sh-shit! Just like that!” Sirius was alternating between sucking on your clit to lapping at your folds and clit. His fingers worked a fast, steady rhythm. He curled his index and middle fingers to hit that spot that made you see white.

Sirius groaned against your pussy and praised you, “Such a good girl f’me.”

You could feel yourself getting closer, you started practically riding Sirius’ face and fingers. At first Sirius paused to get a sight of such a beautiful scene but quickly kept going. He changed his fingers pace to meet yours and started devouring your pussy. Sirius was enjoying this as much as you, he had already came in his pants, he felt like he was in a fantasy right now.

As you practically rode Sirius you think about how lewd this entire thing is. The sound of him slurping on your juices and the clapping of your ass against his hand, the stench of sex, the sight of him under you, it was all so addicting. As you got closer to your high Sirius plunges a third finger inside of you and curls his fingers inside of you.

Immediately you squirt everywhere. On his face, shirt, hand, sheets and pillows, everywhere. And Sirius fucking loved it, he swore he could cum again if he hadn’t already. He withdrew his fingers and licked them clean when he was done he licked a stripe up your pussy causing you to squirm in overstimulation.

Sirius was in awe at the entire situation before him, he swore he had died and went to heaven. Sirius allowed you to pull yourself off of him and lay next to him. You tried to catch your breath, still in shock. You couldn’t help noticing the wet patch on Sirius’ pants but before you could call him out, the door opened.

In came, James, Remus, and Peter. The three boys stopped in their tracks jaw dropped, Remus simply shut the door and left you two alone. You simply looked at each other in shock, laying there.

“Uh oh.”

I hope you enjoy, 🪳 anon! Sorry this wasn’t longer. Not Proofread!

[liminalmemories21]

WIP Wednesday

tagged by @welcometololaland, @heartstringsduet, @strandnreyes @whatsintheboxmh - thank you!

Sorry I've been MIA the last week or so - work was insane, and then there was a friend's multi-day wedding thing going on (A+ wedding, would let her plan all future weddings I go to). Also, please bear in mind I have not actually had a chance to see the episode yet, because see above about A+ wedding related shenanigans.

But ....

He’s late to Elian’s birthday. He didn’t mean to be. He never means to be late these days. “I just need to stop by the station," he said this morning as they were getting ready. He'd caught the way TK’s lips tightened, but all he’d said was. “I’ll come with you." “No, baby, you’ll just have to sit in the car.  That’s no fun.” TK eyebrows had gone sky high.” I’m not allowed in the station anymore?” “That’s not what I mean.“ TK’s muttered, “are you sure?” is just soft enough that he ignores it. And now he’s late, the one thing he wanted to check turned into five things and then a conversation with Campbell and a lead to check on.  It wasn’t wasted time.  But by the time he makes it back out to his car there are two messages from TK on his phone — a few months ago he thinks there would have been more, and he’s not sure when TK decided to stop trying so hard to get him to come home.  There are messages from his mother and sister too. He ignores them and sends TK a text / on my way /. Doesn’t get a response, which makes sense — he’s at Elian's party, probably helping Ana, or letting the kids use him like a personal jungle gym.  The party is still going strong when he pulls up to Ana’s house, but the look she gives him when he walks in is unimpressed. His mother looks worried, and all TK says is, “You made good time, light traffic?” “Yes. “  Smiles at Elian who has appeared at TK's elbow, “Happy birthday!” The eyebrow Ana gives him promises a longer conversation, and he’d be grateful that Luisa couldn’t make it out from LA, but he’s sure Ana will fill her in on all the ways he’s failing to live up to their father’s standard. Their father had never missed a birthday, or play, or recital. He doesn’t understand how. Wishes he could ask.  He can tell TK's pissed when they leave from the set of his shoulders, isn’t sure if it’s better or worse that they’d come in separate cars and can’t drive home together. Manages to catch him before TK gets in his car. “Hey, I’m sorry. I lost track of time.“ “I figured.” “I’ll make it up to Elian. He probably didn’t even notice I was late there were so many people here.” “He’s 8,” TK says flatly. “He absolutely noticed that his favorite uncle didn’t make it in time for cake and presents.”  Carlos winces, but tries for the joke anyway. “Pretty sure you claimed favorite tio a while ago.”  Regrets it the second he says it.

tagging @freneticfloetry, @carlos-in-glasses, @reyesstrand, and @lemonlyman-dotcom

[notes-of-nari]

Stray Kids as the Friendly Ghost

I.N •You were intrigued for many years about the mysterious boy who lives in your twin house. You have seen him randomly either in your shared garden or at the doorstep of his side of the house. Even though you had always wanted to strike up a conversation with him you always decided to do it later because you were afraid that you might embarrass yourself by going there and stuttering (cause you knew pretty well that you were most probably having a crush on him)

•Speaking about crush, it all comes crashing down when you tell a friend of yours about him and she goes on to reveal that the other side of your twin house is actually empty?? You don't believe it until a little call to the person who sold you the side of your house reveals that the other side is indeed empty.

•however when you walk back home you find him sitting on the swing in your shared garden his eyes closed as he silently seems to sing along to a song that plays from his headphones.

•You trip on a stone and nearly fall. He opens an eye and looks at you and notices you look at him. His eyes widen in surprise as his palm flies towards his mouth. he then runs towards his side of the house.

•Your mind is completely in turmoil as you wonder who this mysterious person is. After a sleepless night, you decide to find out the truth for yourself. So you march up to his side of the house and loudly knock on the door. You earn a few suspicious glances from your neighbours but no one answers the door. •You wonder if studying too much has made you go crazy and see things. But this guy was your crush! Is his presence also like your non existent love life?

•However your efforts are fruitful. One day as you stand at his doorstep ready to knock on his door,he opens the door right at that moment. "oh hii" you greet him and his eyes widen again before he shuts the door right in your face. "rude.." you mutter before he opens the door again and looks at you in disbelief. "you can see me?" he asks. "yeah" you shrug. "no wayyy...no.." •you notice a few tears falling down his eyes as he suddenly hugs you. He seems to be shaking as he sobs. You are frozen unable to understand what's happening but you pat his back hoping he would calm down. • "No freaking wayyyy" It is now your time to express your disbelief as he reveals that he is a ghost? He introduces himself as Jeongin. • You are soon able to accept that he is indeed a ghost. (rip your non existent love life/and crush) • Even though you both were awkward at first after some time you both become good friends. However a few days later you wake up to find seven ghosts glaring at you. "If you hurt him we will kill you" One of them threatens while holding a knife at your direction. "No minho is just joking. we won't kill you but please take care of Jeongin yeah?.." the ghost with an Australian accent says before he pulls his friend away and the seven of them disappear.

•"Jeongin the ghost" as you now fondly call him ,drags you on his random late night walks as he explores various parts of your little town. •Judges your fashion taste like Anton ego judges food. What kind of garbage are you wearing in this household? This is uhh a hoodie.. skirt and trousers.". Shakes his head in disappointment while mumbling something that sounds like "looks like a Disney series came to life"

•you wake up one day with a whole fashion critic report on your bedside table. you only have three black hoodies,two jeans,one skirt,and 2 black tee shirts? Let's go shopping bitch.

•Every messy person like you who has a gold fish memory deserves a friend like him. "Did you see my note book?" "You left it on the chair" "Did I visit the doctor last month" "yes you did..you even brought a guide to crocheting on the way back here" " oh shit I forgot that I brought such a book" "jeongin did you take my chocolate chip tart?" "You ate it last Sunday remember?" •Helps you pack your clothes for your three day college trip.But he literally overpacks amidst your protests. "come on jeongin it's just a three day educational trip. I don't need 5 t shirts" He is not pleased about the fact that you removed all the extra clothes he had packed for you. So later that night when you are asleep he adds all those clothes back into your suitcase. Fast forward- 1st day of the trip night, you open your suitcase to find a whole ton of clothes. "YANG JEONGIN!!!!!" ------The ghost who is chilling back at home suddenly sneezes. "I guess she is thanking me for adding the extra clothes" He smiles and shrugs. •If you need someone's true and honest opinion on anything he is the number one choice. No sugar coating just the honest hard truth. •When you ask him if he can help you with your college assignments, "do i look like someone who survived past the 1st year of college?" he deadpans before disappearing. • He gifts you with a pair of shoes and a cake on your birthday. You are so happy and grateful so you try to hug him. But he runs away out of your reach. "come on dude let me hug you once.." "no" he runs around the house ( he doesn't disappear like usual though?) "you hugged me first" you remind him of the day he hugged you after he realized that you could see him. "that was a one time thing" he shouts as he leaps away from your reach. BangChan / Lee Know/Changbin/Hyunjin/Han/Felix/Seungmin

[daysofyellowroses]

pumpkin

richie jerimovich x afab!reader | 1.3k | part one of two | warnings: none

hello, i am (kind of) back! due to work/being prone to depressed slumps i have not written anything for a long while but (tmi alert) my last period was the worst i have ever experienced, and towards the end of it the only thing that made me feel better was the thought of literally just sitting on richie's lap like it got me through, then that thought spiralled into this, which will have a second part that will basically just be plotless fun! hopefully you enjoy this, and if you're still reading then i will use the opportunity to shout out @thecapricunt1616 she is the actual best so go check out the most amazing blog you'll ever see 🫶🏻💗🌼

🐻

You know when you can tell a storm is coming, but that doesn't make you feel any more calm about the storm? That was the feeling you'd been having for a few days. Your period tracker app had told you that you were due soon, but the pain had started a little earlier than usual. It was never a good sign. Some months your period came and went without a fuss, other months it was like torture, and evidently it was going to be one of those months.

You threw yourself into work to try and distract yourself for what was coming. It was perfect timing, the bear had officially opened and service was beyond elevated. You'd been a waitress in the Beef for a couple of years, but that mainly consisted of handing over hot dogs, wiping down the occasional table and rolling your eyes (affectionately) at yet another terrible joke.

Now you were in at the deep end. The restaurant was was different, the clientele were certainly different, your uniform was different, your attitude had to be different. No more sneaking out back with Richie for a quick cigarette, stealing his hoodies when it was cold, no more hanging around in the kitchen chatting with the chefs.

You focused on doing your job perfectly, trying to ignore the PMS burning inside you. It wasn't easy, but you managed to style it out.

Until the day came.

You woke up in more agony, barely able to drag yourself out of bed for some aspirin. You still hadn't officially gotten your period but you knew it wouldn't be long. In most other jobs you would have a Saturday off or be able to call in sick, but that wasn't an option. Everyone was needed, there were no backups, no subs to be drafted in at the last minute.

Most of the day was spent in bed, layers of blankets wrapped around your aching body, willing the pain away.

It didn't go anywhere, rather it intensified as the day went on.

Taking a shower and getting ready was agony, all you wanted was to get right back into bed and forget the world existed, not go into a busy restaurant competing for a Michelin fucking star.

When you arrived, Richie was giving his usual speech/pep talk. He gave you a nod which you returned before standing beside Sweeps and trying to take in what Richie was saying.

Before service, you were standing by your locker taking a moment to breathe deeply and attempt to focus yourself when your solitude was ended.

"Hey," Richie gave you a nod. "You okay?"

"Yeah, all good," You lied, looking over to him with as much of a smile as you could muster. "Thanks."

"Just making sure," Richie raised a brow, watching you for a moment. "I'll see you out there, let's do this."

For a brief moment, you thought you would be okay. It would just be more bad PMS then tomorrow when your period actually made an appearance you could sleep it off.

But life could never be so simple.

It was already hot in the restaurant, every table full, the lights and the music making you feel overwhelmed, the heat and noise every time you walked into the kitchen not helping.

It all happened at once, you were taking the mains to table 10, your mouth beginning to water, not from hunger but from bile rising in you throat.

You delivered the food as calmy as possible, being the perfect waitress before you made your way to the bathroom as quickly as possible.

You barely made it into a stall before you were on your knees hugging the bowl.

It could have been hours or minutes later, you weren't sure, but eventually you heard a knock on the door.

Slowly getting up, you took a breath, grabbing some tissue to wipe your mouth before opening the door.

To your immense surprise, Richie was standing on the other side, a serious look on his face. You braced yourself for a scolding, ready to snap back if needed.

Instead, he touched your arm gently, his expression softening.

"You should have told me if you weren't feeling well."

"What does it matter?" You sighed, glancing behind you and tossing the tissue in the bowl. "You can't lose a waitress tonight."

"I'm down one right now aren't I?" Richie raised a brow. "We'll survive for a minute. I wish I could send you home but since I can't..tell me what I can do to make life easier for you right now."

You looked at him for a moment, the feeling of his hand on your arm making you feel calmer.

"Right now I need a tampon and some pain relief," You told him, taking a breath. "There's some in my-"

"I got it," Richie was already halfway to the door, waving his hand. "If you could get out there and keep Fak outta trouble that'd be great thanks."

You stood for a moment before quickly fixing yourself up and heading back out to the restaurant. There was no sign of Richie, but you threw yourself back into work. You didn't feel any better, and the need for protection was growing, but you tried to power through.

Around 15 minutes later, Richie re-emerged on the restaurant floor and caught your eye. You made your way over to him, half expecting him to subtly pull a tampon from his shirt cuff.

"Everything you need is in the office, you got five minutes," Richie told you, giving you a small grin before striding across the floor. You watched him for a moment before heading into the kitchen, ignoring the noise and heading to the office.

What looked like half of the entire feminine care aisle of a pharmacy was laid across the desk, along with a couple of bars of chocolate and a bag of candy you had a fondness for. You took what you needed and headed to the bathroom, feeling a little more calm and unable to stop yourself smiling.

After service, you were feeling better, though more than ready to go home and sleep through most of the following day.

When everything was done and everyone was getting ready to leave, you noticed Richie hanging back despite being ready to go. When you were heading out, chocolate and candy safely in your handbag, (the feminie care aisle had been left in tbe office for future emergencies) Richie joined you.

"Are you not driving?" You asked, raising a brow as you passed the car park.

"Not tonight," Richie shrugged, looking ahead before glancing over to you. "I'm making sure you get home safe."

You rolled your eyes with a grin, linking your arm through the older man's.

"It's just my period Rich, I'm not gonna die."

"I know," Richie scoffed. "Just let me be a gentleman once in my life."

So, you were joined on your commute home, the train ride and walk to your apartment feeling much quicker. Before you knew it you were hanging up your coat and dropping your handbag on the table.

"Are you gonna be okay?" Richie asked, glancing around your small living room.

"Do you need anything else?"

"You can drop the gentleman act now, it's getting old," You teased, touching his arm.

"But thank you for everything."

"Least I could do," Richie nodded, looking back at you and holding your gaze for a moment as you gently squeezed his arm.

"Well I uh..I should let you..get some rest."

"How very thoughtful of you," You smiled, letting go of his arm. "Are you sure *you're* going to get some safe? I would offer you the couch but your lanky ass would probably snap it in half."

You laughed as Richie gave you the middle finger, giving him the same back.

"I'll see you Monday, god help me," Richie sighed, stepping a little closer to you. "Now go get some rest."

"Yes, sir," You grinned, leaning up and placing a soft kiss on his cheek before stepping back.

"Let yourself out before the neighbours start a rumor."

"You should be so lucky," Richie grinned giving you a wink before heading out of your apartment.

You went to the kitchen and got yourself a glass of water before heading to your bedroom, the smile never leaving your face.

[schluttforschlatt]

Bartender Reader x Patron Schlatt

You’ve had your fair share of working in shitty dive bars, having been in both big cities and small towns

The patrons were always predictable, their life stories printed in the creases around their eyes and mouth

The bigger cities attracted a younger crowd, while the smaller townships collected middle aged farm hands and dock workers

You were currently working two part time jobs: waiting tables at a family owned diner in the morning, and bartending at a sleepy tavern in the evenings

You had your regulars at both establishments, but the bar goers definitely tipped better than the diner guests

Of course there were sleezeballs trying to feel you up at the bar, but you were desperate to make rent and didn’t mind an extra $30 for a light tap on the ass; men are simple creatures after all and you were able to brush it off by the time you were clocking out

However, every Friday night you noticed a solitary young man, gruff expression and wild facial hair with uncharacteristically soft eyes, tucked away in a booth occasionally sharing banter with other bar crawlers

You’d heard stories of him tipping measly dollars to your coworkers, the other bar tenders always disappointed after he would close out his tab and walk out the door

But when it was you cashing him out, he’d slide you a crisp $50 with a subtle wink, and you’d blush whispering a “thank you” every time

This would go on for a few months, him slipping you $100s closer to holidays. The first time, you pleaded with him to keep the money and use it for his own needs and care, but he smiled down at you and shook his head, muttering “you’re too sweet for this place, doll. Tips all yours.”

You came to eventually know him as Jay, who would slink in and order a top shelf whiskey or bourbon, then seat himself in a booth in the far corner of the bar. He would only speak when it came time to pay his tab, unless it was you

He would ask you about your life, what you were studying and why you were passionate about it. He’d ask about your hobbies and interests, offering input if it was something he was familiar with. And of course, he loved it when you’d sit in the booth across from him, scrolling through pictures of your cats at home.

On one occasion, you’d had an actually deep conversation about working two jobs and studying, struggling to find a balance between the three while maintaining a social life and personal interests

You’d become acquaintances with him, and just as you opened up to him, he would open up to you, sharing pictures of his own cats (“I don’t trust someone who doesn’t like cats, there’s just something untrustworthy about it.” He’d say to you one night) and his travels across the states and abroad

One night in particular, he asked about a tattoo you had on your left forearm. You said it was from your favorite video game, which launched the two of you into a passionate conversation about console vs PC, then building your own PCs and rigs

He pulled out his phone and opened the Steam app, eagerly asking to add you as a friend with the possibility of playing together, which you happily obliged

He tipped you $250 that night, his bill originally only $45. That was the largest tip you’d received. There was no physical contact made, nor did he try to feel you up at any point, unlike other reoccurring patrons

The next time he sauntered in, he gave you a shy wave before ordering a whiskey neat, then retiring to the same dim booth. You’d taken notice of his messy hair, the usual Yankees cap missing this evening, and the stressed look on his face

On your break you made your routine appearance at the booth, scooting in with a warm smile. His eyes seemed distant this time, almost anxious. You opened the conversation joking about his missing hat, to which he let out a soft chuckle and cracked a half smile. He indulged about his current woes, how his job was weighing on him and he felt like he was hitting a wall

This was the first time you’d asked about what he did for a living, and suddenly the larger than average tips made sense.

He prattled on about running multiple successful YouTube channels on top of owning several smaller business ventures. He opened up about the podcasts he was apart of, and explained how Patreon patrons were the backbone of his multiple communities. It was endearing to see someone young, close in age to you, express the realities of burnout despite loving your craft

As your lunch conversation came to an end, you boldly asked for his number, if anything just to continue the discussion after your shift

However, he’d do you one better and invite you over to his place after your shift to talk shit about life and play old Nintendo games. He’d still given you his number, of course, but he’d also filled out his contact information with his street address, email, and had taken a silly selfie for the contact photo and poster

As you clocked out that night, he waited for you outside the entrance, scrolling through Reddit

You told him you couldn’t stay too late, as you worked your second (well, first, technically) job in the morning and needed at least a good nap before you’d have to get ready

He was more than happy to offer for you to stay the night at his place, and so you two made the walk to your apartment (you said you were fine to go by yourself, but he insisted on making sure you got to your destinations safe and sound). You opened up the door and invited him in, introducing him to your three cats and leaving them in the small living room while you packed an overnight bag. You could hear needy meows through the hall of your youngest cat, begging this new kind stranger for treats. Once she started, the other two kitties joined in, a chorus of

“I don’t know where your mama keeps them! But if I find them you’ll all get some!” You’d heard him whisper yell, smiling at the thought of this new found friend bonding with the most important things in your life

Once your bag was packed, you locked your bedroom door and waltzed into the cramped kitchen, pulling out a bag of cat treats and handing them to Jay

“I spoil them so give them each a small handful,” you smiled at him, handing the bag over. “But be careful of Mellie, she’ll bit a finger for a treat.” He chuckled and offered a smile back, eyes brighter now than they were at the start of the night

After getting the cats to settle down, you’d scuttle down the stairs of your apartment, and begin your trek to Jay’s

Coincidentally, he only lived a few blocks away, no more than a 15 minute walk. It was brisk outside, and you were hoping the pajama shorts you packed would keep you warm through the night

Once arriving at his condo, he unlocked the door and let you in. His own cats came skittering to the front door, immediately begging you, now the stranger to these cats, for treats of their own

“Guys, leave our guest alone, I know your feeders went off less than an hour ago,” he’d bent down to pet one of his cats, an orange one you recognized as Jambo, before throwing a mouse toy into the hallway, both cats running after it

“Did you want to change? The bathroom is down that hall to the left,” he informed, pointing you in the direction. “I’m gonna get the Wii set up in the living room, so take your time, Doll.” That was a pet name he’d use for you often, and you never thought anything of it, only that he was a nice guy who essentially paid for your groceries and gas in his tips

You smiled and nodded, taking off for the bathroom while he took off his jacket, draping it over the arm of the loveseat

It was a nice condo, you thought, colors fitting together charmingly. Blues and browns accented the walls, along with framed awards and trophies. It wasn’t braggadocious, you thought, but rather cute

You found the bathroom, which was also put together nicely, and began your nightly routine. Once you were changed out of your sticky uniform and with a washed face, you made your way to the living room, socked feet making gentle padding sounds to announce your presence. He turns and smiles at you, a gleam in his eye

“Here, lemme put your bag in my room,” he offers with an extended hand, and you gladly let him store it for later

You plop down on the couch, picking up a Wiimote and securing the wrist strap. You hear heavy steps from behind before a “You really use the wrist strap on these things? Pft-“ he joins you on the couch, you, player two, on the right side, and he, obviously player one, on the right

“Your place looks nice, and I don’t have the money to buy you a new TV if I go too hard in Wii Sports,” you quip back, earning a small laugh from the larger man

He continues to set up Mario Kart, turning back to see if you approve of his choice

“Ain’t worried ‘bout the TV, Doll,” you blush at the use of the pet name again. “Only worried about kicking your ass in Moo Moo Circut.”

It wouldn’t be long until both of you were shit talking each other, subconsciously scooting closer to each other, shrieks and laughs echoing through the room

Jambo and [Redacted] had found their places next to you and Jay, and something about this made you feel at ease, allowing you to loosen up a bit and sink into the comfort of his couch

A few hours had passed, and a handful of circuits had been played before you sheepishly asked for a blanket. He obliged, standing up to grab a giant plush blanket, draping it over your lap, then pulling the slack over his own after sitting back down. He’d throw a sheepish grin your direction after knocking your knees together

He’d subconsciously reach over and rub the spot under the blanket, causing you to gasp at the contact of his cold hand. He’d apologize and withdraw digits, refocusing on the TV screen, but you could see a faint blush begun to crawl up his ears

Another hour or so had passed before you were ready to head to bed, your need for sleep making its presence by intense yawns dragging themselves out in quick succession to one another, then contagiously spreading to Jay

Standing up from the couch and stretching, you’d follow behind the large man, with the cats following behind you, to a decently sized bedroom with a neatly made bed

“Beds all yours, I’ll take the futon,” he’d declare, causing you to blush, and insist he take the bed, and you the futon, but he’d stand firm on his decision. “‘S probably gonna be the only time you’ll sleep on a bed this nice, when you come over, y’know?” The smirk on his face told you everything you needed to know, so you’d nod and climb into the California King, feeling like the distance to himself on the futon was several zip codes away

The bed was indeed comfortable, but you tossed and turned because of how unbelievably cold the room was, the sheets feeling like blankets of ice and snow

Desperate to feel warmth you decided to slink over to the man on the futon, placing a freezing hand on the back of his neck. He jumped at the contact, a string of expletives leaving his mouth, before looking at you with concerned eyes. You bluntly said you were cold, and wanted him to either turn the AC off and give you a few more blankets, or join you. In the bed. The one bed. He gave a dopey grin

“All you had to do was ask, Toots.” And he came, pulling him onto the bed with him. And God, that was the best sleep you’ve ever had

~ lmk if anyone wants like an actual fic of this bc I fear I have motivation ~

[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.

[bedsyandco]

♡ 𝆬 𝐖𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝓹airing , quinn hughes x leilani tocchet

quinn doesn’t know what he’d do without his brothers and he hopes he never has to find out. him and jack have a habit of meeting at the lake house kitchen when quinn feels like the ground is about to swallow him whole. (wc ; 1.2K )

꒰ 𝓷ote , this is the first piece of my new au (sweet nothing). It’s a prologue of sorts. I am already completely in love with this universe, dad!quinn and everything that’s coming. this takes place before the ‘23-‘24 season. please feel free to drop by the inbox and tell me all your thoughts about quinn, lani and ro ꒱

quinn doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting at the kitchen counter, counting the drops that are falling into the sink from the leaking faucet. considering he’s counted to 600 something each time, 4 different times before losing count again, one might say a little too long.

drop , drop , drop . . .

the longer quinn stares at the sink, the more annoyed he gets. what a perfect analogy for what his life has been looking like the past few years. problem after problem dropping into his lap, like those drops in the sink, and he’s just supposed to figure out a way to solve them all.

except, much like the leaking faucet he still hasn’t fixed, quinn can’t seem to get a moment to catch his breath before another thing gets added to the long list of problems and responsibilities he has.

the latest wrench thrown in his plans showing up as a 6’2, green eyed Australian whisking his child’s nanny away down under. quinn lets an amused sigh escape, rubbing a hand down his face, and taking a long sip of the warm beer from the can he took out of the fridge hours earlier.

it’s not like this was totally out of the blue. the nanny and the Australian have been dating nearly three years and got engaged last summer. surely quinn should’ve anticipated this move. but for some reason, probably all the other things clouding his brain on a daily basis, he didn’t.

and despite the 2 month head start she gave him on replacing her, quinn still hasn’t found a suitable replacement that meets his standards.

a shadow moving on his left catches quinn's attention but before he can even give a reaction a fist is flying towards his face and hits him square in the jaw, sending his head rearing to the other side.

"what the fuck?!" jack yells, laying a palm flat on his chest, right over his erratic heart, looking at quinn like he was the one who threw the punch, and wasn’t on the receiving end of it.

"jesus jack. the fuck are you doing?" quinn grumles, rubbing his palm over his jaw, the rough hair against his fingers reminding him that he needs to shave.

"what am I doing? what are you doing? sitting here in the dark like you’re contemplating all your life choices,” jack half-jokes, sending his older brother one of his signature grins, but when quinn only releases a sigh as a response jack’s demeanour immediately changes and he pulls out the chair next to quinn’s at the breakfast bar, letting them both bask in the silence for a few seconds.

“last time we had a little bro-to-bro meeting in this kitchen at 4A.M. was when you told me about Rowan. And look, Ro is the best thing that ever happened to this family, but if you’re about to tell me you got someone pregnant again I’m really gonna freak out. I love being an uncle but you gotta learn how to wrap it up—“

“I’m not having another kid Jack. I can barely cope with the one I do have as it is,” quinn mutters, sending his brother an annoyed look that his mind would even jump to that conclusion. Not that he could blame him.

“Thank God. Besides my bet is on Luke and Vi having a kid next. Those two go at it like rabbits, at least now that Luke’s gonna be in Jersey it’ll lower the chances you know?” Jack says and Quinn lets out a soft laugh at his little brother’s disgusted tone.

“Let’s not put that out into the universe,” quinn jokes and jack hums in agreement.

“so if there’s not another little quinn on the way, what’s keeping you up this time of night Quinny?” jack asks softly, bumping his shoulder into his brother’s and Quinn lets out a shaky breath as he meets jack’s worried, blue eyes.

Maybe it’s because those blue eyes remind him so much of his mom’s that Quinn’s resolve melts away immediately as he tells his brother about the latest predicament he found himself in.

“well just start start up interviews again when you get back to Van. Ask some of the guys on the team who has kids, maybe they can recommend you someone they trust,” jack suggests as if quinn hadn’t already thought of and done that himself. jack must have seen the expression on quinn’s face because he doesn’t even let him get a word out before he speaks again.

“I don’t remember you being this selective when we were younger,” jack mutters and quinn scoffs

“yeah well I’m not choosing what toy to play with or who share my snacks with on the playground jack. this is my child’s happiness and safety on the line, I’ll be as selective as I damn well please,” quinn snaps, and jack puts a hand on his brother’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

“it’s gonna be okay. I’m sure you’ll find someone before the season starts. and if you don’t, and it comes to that, i’m sure mom and dad will fly out and be there as long as you need them,” jack suggests and quinn can’t help it as the feeling of panic settles in his chest and wraps around his throat at the idea of his parents rearranging their lives because he can’t get his own together.

he’s the oldest brother. he’s the captain. he’s the dad. he’s supposed to be the one looking after people; helping them figure things out and supporting them, not the other way around.

the thought of burdening others with his problems, physically made him ill. or maybe it was the thought about why he needed a nanny at all. the fear that he wasn’t present enough in his own son’s life. that he was an absent father.

with a mother that couldn’t get rid of him fast enough and a father that couldn’t even put him to bed every night. quinn was bound to screw his kid up for life.

jack’s face comes into view as he twists quinn’s chair, forcing him out of his deprecating thoughts.

“hey , no matter what happens. we got you, okay? someone’s gonna be there. mom, dad, me, luke, someone will be there if you need us quinn. I don’t care if I need to take a leave of absence from the team for a few weeks and be babysitter while you figure some stuff out. If that’s what we need to do, we’ll do it. And we’ll cross that bridge if and when we get there. I don’t say it nearly as often as you deserve to hear it but you’re a good brother Quinny, and you’re a great dad, and you’re about to be the best leader in the league,” jack says and quinn struggles to swallow past the lump in his throat

“crosby’s not retired yet you know,” quinn replies to the “best leader” comment and jack sends him a grin

“I know. My big brother’s always gonna be the best at everything in my eyes tho,” the words slip past jack’s lips and he laughs as quinn shoves him away slightly

“now you’re just trying to make a grown man cry and it’s mean,” quinn says and jack squeezes his shoulder one more time before going to grab a glass out of the cabinet. the original task he was coming down here to do…

“go to bed. i’m sure Ro is gonna wake up any minute and be looking for you,” jack says

“he’s passed out between luke and vi actually,” quinn says, grinning cheekily as jack laughs

“well that’s one way to keep them quiet.”

[a-swamp-creature]

goddamn like….

there was an extremely sus “bridgerton ball” held downtown this last weekend that turned out to be a dashcon-level scam. probably couldve guessed that from the ads/website being littered w spelling errors, but anyway…listing a few of the things i know of:

-it was supposed to happen last month but the organizers (Uncle & Me Events) sold 1500 tickets for a venue w a max capacity of 450. Venue cancelled, of course. Organizers sent out one (1) email two days before the thing was supposed to happen. A lot of ppl didn’t even see the email so people were showing up to an empty venue in downtown Detroit wearing regency-era ballgowns. Security apparently told some of them that the event was a scam but idk how true that is. Anyway it was rescheduled at a new venue for a month later.

-valet parking was promised, not delivered. parking downtown is a pain in the ass in general but these people were also wearing ballgowns lmao

-nobody checking tickets at the door. there was a tiered pricing scale for tickets starting at $100 and going up to $1000 (a fool and his fukkin money i s2g) so all these ppl from the suburbs who paid hundreds/THOUSANDS of dollars to be treated like VIPs were pissed

-because nobody was checking tickets, people were just kind of wandering in off the street lmaaaaoooo so ppl were just kind of milling around in normal clothes eating the buffet, which leads me to…

-the food was bad: pasta w marinara, canned green beans, meatballs, and undercooked/raw chicken wings. people were expecting a sit down meal apparently? but I think that might just be the expectations of ppl more accustomed to tea parties than actual large scale events - ain’t no way they were ever going to do full-service dinner for 1500 people. it was always going to be a buffet.

-NO ALCOHOL lmaaaoooo the event info said open bar, there wasn’t even a cash bar. no shit, they had water and “mocktails”. check out the menu:

ITS ALL LEMONADE LMAAAOOOO but wait!!! ppl who bought VIP tickets also got hawaiian punch !!!

-see the tablecloth in that pic? the decorations were bad. like dollar store bad.

-they were supposed to have a bunch of different activities: dance lessons, costume contests, carriage rides. neither of the first two happened. the carriage rides did, but you had to pay extra and they only did them for three hours. again, 1500 people.

-that’s not to say there was no entertainment. they had a dj playing pretty standard birthday party dj fare: the hustle, cha cha slide. he also played hiphop which really upset a lot of the ppl larping as wealthy colonizers for SOME reason 🤔 disclaimer: i assume they were expecting classical music but a looooot of people specifically complained about the hiphop

- oh there was also a single exotic dancer stationed in the middle of an empty room. i am not joking. im not in the business of posting photos of strangers but the photos are out there and they’re tragic. this poor woman just took a gig and ended up with a bunch of middle class pearl clutchers complaining abt her on fb. that being said, my understanding is bridgerton is smut for ppl who want to pretend they’re above watching porn so idg why a dancer is such a big fucking deal, just sit down and watch ffs. oh wait-

-there was nowhere to sit lmao

-and no refunds

seems pretty clear that after overselling and losing the first venue, the organizers lost all their vendor contracts and had to scramble to have anything at all. could’ve just cancelled. btw the no refunds thing included if it was cancelled - they’ll just credit you for the next event lol

now listen. i do feel bad. I don’t think anyone deserved this really. I DO find it very funny that a bunch of of ppl who can afford $1000 tickets to dress up in expensive costumes and pretend to be aristocrats got scammed big time by Detroit.

[rokishimizu4]

A big brother’s sick day

Sorry everyone for such a long wait, from family drama to being sick, it has been a month and I want it to be done.

For @gaytransratboy, thanks for the request.

Enjoy this little snippet of my BatFam story

TW: Reader being sick and mentions of Joker venom

The frantic pounding of heavy combat boots against the carpeted hallway as Alfred struggles to get his suit jacket over his pajamas, but a swift kick against Alfred’s bedroom door made him give up on that idea entirely.

“Master Jason! What on?” He was quickly silenced as the bedroom door was kicked open and Jason rushed in with a squirming bundle of black and purple goo in his arms, his eyes wide and face paler than the moon outside.

“Grandpa!!” Jason yells in pure panic as he rushes into Alfred, almost knocking them both over if Alfred didn’t right himself up with the help of the struggling child, or Sleeper as they like to be called.

It has been quite some time since Alfred has taken care of a sick child, since Damian rarely gets sick and Tim is too stubborn to be taken care of for more than an hour or so, and it does not fill his heart seeing the agony on his youngest grandchild’s face.

“I don’t know what happened! Sleeps just literally dropped in on me as I was patrolling and Mare (Symbiot’s name for now) was screaming about the cold and how it burns!” Jason tries to explain as Alfred carefully takes Sleeper away from Jason and carefully sets them down on his bed.

A short, but quick, examination allows Alfred to see that somehow Sleeper breathed in some Joker venom, which made them have something similar to the flu.

“Master Jason, I need you to go start the bath. Set it to warm, not hot like you and your brothers like and not cold. I will also need our best towels, the softer the better, and a clean pair of pajamas.” Alfred turns away from Jason to allow him to carry on his new tasks, and to deal with the most difficult task.

“Master Bruce, Master Dick, I have been a butler for the Wayne family since Master Bruce was a baby. I have already gave Master Damian a list of what I will need for the human half of Sleeper. I will be damned with I cannot take care of another child in my care!”

Alfred turns to the whimpering mass of alien and child, withering in pain as he carefully wraps them into his soaked blankets and carry them into the connecting bathroom, where Jason sits testing the water with his hands and adjusting little by little.

“Should be warm enough, don’t know how our little sleep demon can get sick, but I just..” Alfred cuddles Sleeper in his other arm as he places a hand on Jason’s shoulder.

“Her and Mare will need all the rest that they can get. You are doing your job as their big brother by helping me get them cleaned and warmed back up. Have faith in yourself young man.”

“Heh, alright Bruce two.” Jason jokes as he helps Alfred unwrap Sleeper from the massive burrito blanket roll and watches as Mare slowly pulls away from their human half, only to start throwing up in the toilet.

“There there, let it out. It will do the body much better to get that bloody gunk out of your system.” Alfred takes a cold rag from Jason and holds it against Mare’s thick leather-like skin, only to take it away when it hissed at him.

“So cold equals bad, thanks for telling us.” Jason grumbles as Mare pulls far enough away, or sinks in Jason couldn’t be bothered to ask, for him to see Sleeps sickly pale skin, thankfully not a hint of green in sight.

However, both him and Alfred stops when they see the ace bandages wrapped tightly around Sleep’s chest. They both turn to look at Mare, who was trying to get rid of the taste of bile.

“Sleeper is us, We are Sleeper.” Was his only response as he spits some more bile down into the toilet bowl, before returning to their body, to deal with the rest of this so-called ‘Joker Venom’.

“So a they, yeah lets just go with that.” Jason grumbles as he unwraps the dirty ace bandages, and lets Alfred handle the rest.

“I will be in charge of Master Sleeper’s care for the time being. Master Jason..”

“Yeah, I know.” Jason says as he cocks a few hand guns on his person, setting out to do damage control, both inside the manor and outside.

Alfred turns back to Sleeper and allows Mare to help him clean them off. “Don’t worry Master Sleeper, no one will ever harm you again.”

Hope you guys enjoy. I don’t really know what I want to name the Symbiotic and the Reader. I want to do a fear and sleep theme. Let me know what you guys think. Also, I don’t like using Y/N or You for my stories unless it’s in the reader’s POV. Don’t ask me why.

[fishbeanstew]

what if his face isnt blurred, instead he has a big ass qr code on it

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Flagrant Favourism.

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[patrice-bergerons]

Do you remember that insane Bergy and Marchy interview from last year, which among many other things, featured this exchange?

Anyway I was going thru my bergy tag last night when I came across this other article snippet from 2019

THIS IS THE BASEMENT MARCHY WANTS TO MOVE INTO

[donaviolet]

Friendship is the most special thing in the world because no award could be give me bigger happiness than jumping around in my room and smiling because my pookie asked me if I wanted to match pfps