#its a prompt i think or something like that

[hyperfocusthusly]

Take me home

Day one of the @bucktommyfluffebruary - prompt ‘non sexual intimacy’

Notes: established relationship | words: 938 | rated: G

[Read on A03]

——-

Tommy doesn’t sit down on the bench as much as he collapses vaguely in its direction. He blinks slowly, eyes gritty with exhaustion. He gives up and just closes them, head tipped back against his locker. He can feel sleep pulling at the edges of his consciousness. He just wants to be able to click his fingers and be at home. He does not want to have to drive there.

The door to the locker room clangs as someone leaves and Tommy jerks upright. The fogginess of near sleep clouding his vision. Maybe driving would not be such a great idea. He twists and fumbles open the door of his locker, retrieving his phone. He scrubs his face with his palms and tries to concentrate long enough to find the right contact. He returns to his previous position, head tipped back on his locker, eyes closed as he listens to the phone ring.

“Hey love, everything okay?”

“Mmmm.” He tries to summon the energy to form real words.

“Bad shift?” Concern edges into Evan’s voice.

“No” Tommy can hear the roughness in his own voice. “Just long, didn’t get much sleep. Would you-” he falters momentarily, the feeling that he’s asking too much raising its head. He pushes it down, they’ve talked about this. “Would you come and pick me up? I don’t think me driving is a great idea right now.”

“Oh, yeah of course.” He can hear some movement on the other end of the phone as Evan moves through the house. Through their house. A smile pulls at Tommy’s lips at the thought.

“Give me twenty and I’ll be there.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

The phone clicks off and Tommy is left in silence again. He takes a deep breath and feels himself relax, he settles in to wait for Evan.

——-

What feels like moments later, there is a gentle hand on his shoulder. Tommy blinks awake, sluggishly sits up, his back protesting the position he had let himself stay in for the last twenty minutes.

Evan’s smile is as bright as ever as he looks up from where he is crouched down in front of Tommy.

“Hey love.”

“Hey.”

Evan is fiddling with something on the floor, Tommy feels his legs being gently moved around. He tilts forwards and realises that Evan is untying his boots, carefully taking them off and setting them aside. Tommy groans, he’s still in his flight suit, the thought of having to get dressed feels vaguely overwhelming. He lifts his arms and fumbles with the poppers. His movements are slow and uncoordinated, the tiny metal clasp proving much more difficult than it should. Evan is there immediately, gently pushing his hands aside and releasing the poppers.

“It’s okay, let me do it.”

Evan slides his hands under the shoulders of the suit and frees Tommy’s arms, peppering gentle kisses along his collarbone as he goes.

Tommy leans into him, presses their cheeks together for a moment. It feels nice, to be taken care of. He’s not happy they broke up, all that time ago, but he can’t help but be grateful for the things it brought about. He’s always been so afraid of letting himself be known, be vulnerable but here, in this moment, he’s grateful for having broken through that barrier. Allowing himself to be so completely seen by Evan, it feels so beautifully intimate.

He is pulled from his thoughts by a gentle tap on his elbow,

“Lift your arms up for me, let’s get you into some clean clothes.”

Evan reaches over the top of him and pulls his bag out of the locker. Rummages through and pulls free a new set of clothes.

Before he knows it he is being pulled up off the bench, sweat pants secured around his waist. He lets himself fall into the crook of Evan’s neck.

“Thank you.” He mumbles into the soft skin there.

A hand runs up his back, holds him close.

“No problem darling, I’m always going to be here to help.”

Warmth stirs up in Tommy’s chest as he lets himself be guided out of the door.

——-

As they approach the jeep, Evan starts to rummage around in the bag over his shoulder, it’s awkward given that his other arm is being used to keep Tommy from sliding down onto the floor. He eyes the concrete, he could sleep there, it would probably be fine.

“Where are your keys?”

Tommy frowns,

“They are in the side pocket. I’m exhausted Evan, not drunk, you don’t have to confiscate them.”

Evan laughs, the sound is nice, drifting through Tommy’s ever slowing thoughts.

“I’m driving you home remember?”

Tommys sluggish mind fails to process what Evan is saying.

“But then you’ll have to leave your car here.”

Evan chuckles again. He is increasingly aware that Tommy looks like he’s about to collapse. But he can’t help but take a moment to look at his boyfriend, brows scrunched down adorably, trying to figure through Evan’s words.

Evan pulls out the keys and guides Tommy round to the passenger door. He opens it and helps Tommy in, who is, by this point, a bundle of uncoordinated limbs.

He smiles patiently as Tommy gets comfortable.

“My car is at home, I took an uber here, I am going to drive your car home. Then both of our cars will be at home.”

“Oh.”

Evan chuckles, Tommy is hardly awake anymore, his head dropping to rest on his shoulder.

Evan runs his fingers gently through his hair, presses a feather light kiss to his cheek

“Let’s get you home.”

Tagging some beloveds (as always let me know if you want to be added/removed): @leashybebes @livelaughlou @loucifersbitch @dark-alice-lilith @mmso-notlikethat @laundryandtaxesworld @hippolotamus @bucksaiga @littlepaws9 @sad-girl-hours23 @evansbuck-ley @jamieroyjamieroy @typicalopposite

@moonydanny @teenmaximoff @bucksboobs @ohithankyou @bi-bi-buckleys @rubydaiquiri @hellion-child @aringofsalt @sweaters-and-silly @theotherbuckley @comfortingevanbuckley @epiphainie @wikiangela @bidisasterevankinard

@sunnywithachanceofbi @desert--moonchild @blitzynatural @actuallyitsellie @big-urchin-energy @fyrehose @buckleyskinards @owlgirl495 @honeyloulou @setmeatopthepyre @salty-autistic-writer @thecarrott

[finelinevogue]

Hi babe! I absolutely love your work and read it everyday! Do you think you could do a blurb where its aaron x bau reader and the reader has a toxic/abusive family and hotch and the team find out about it on a case or something (angst but turns into fluff)? I LOVE YOUUU!!!

family is everything

hiya my lovely!! love you too :(( oh stop you’re far too kind omg 🥺 of course i can give this a go - hurt/comfort fics >>>

pairing - aaron hotchner x bau!reader

word count - +5.4k

cw: pre-established relationship, bad coping methods, mentions of childhood abuse, hurt/comfort, happy ending

Spencer was performing one of his magic tricks.

He had captivated the audience of more than half of the room, much to Hotch’s dismay.

“And this gets you girls?” Morgan questioned, perched on the corner of the desk adjacent to Spencer - which happened to be yours. “How?!”

You laughed along with the others as you spun yourself side-to-side in your office chair.

“It’s all in the mystery, my sweet one.” Garcia pinched Morgan’s cheeks. She was the only one who could get away with it.

“Oh I can do mystery.” Morgan added.

“But can you do… magic?” Reid asked as he ended the magic trick by holding out the correct card that Morgan had picked earlier.

“What?!”

“Yes Reid!”

“Pfft.. Whatever.”

Everyone started clearing away from Spencer’s desk, Morgan walking away with a sulk. Garcia lingered by Morgan’s desk no doubt attempting to cheer him up with her endless flirting.

When you’d joined the BAU you had seriously thought they were together.

Why wouldn’t you?

They constantly flirt. They’re almost crude with each other. Yet they had never even entertained the idea of being with each other.

It didn’t matter to you whether they were single or not though, because your heart was slowly being given over to someone else. Someone who happened to be your Unit Chief; Aaron Hotchner.

The relationship was still very new.

Your team knew about it, but it was still being kept quiet. That was just you and Aaron, though. You didn’t feel the need to be flashy with your relationship. In fact, you enjoyed living with each other in those quieter moments because it meant you had each other all to yourself.

It was that moment that you found yourself looking up to his office.

Aaron happened to walk out of his office at that exact moment, reading a case file in his hands.

You bit down on the pen you were holding as you watched him walk past, eyeing him up because you could now without consequence.

Aaron didn’t return the look but you did notice the smirk as he walked down the ramp towards the briefing room. It was like he could tell that you were looking at him. That made you smile, turning around in your chair to hide the blush from anyone.

"Think we've got a case?" Reid asked you.

"Probably. It's been at least two days since our last."

Both you and Reid stand up, prompting the others on your team to do the same. You as a team of profilers had gotten so used to what it looked like before a case was briefed that you just knew now, before JJ could even call you in.

JJ, Hotch and Rossi are all in the room already.

The case files were set out on the table - one at each seat. JJ had the screen set up ready to present and Hotch and Rossi were already looking through their files.

You sat down on the chair next to Hotch. They had kind of become your unofficial assigned seats.

"Okay JJ." Hotch nodded.

"We got a call from San Fransisco Police Department after a string of murders have been loosely tied together."

"Loosely?" Emily questioned.

"Several domestic abuse victims have been found murdered. Isla Hubert was strangled, Beth Fountain stabbed and Meredith Cole shot."

JJ flicked through the pictures of the women and you could feel your face go pale at the sight.

Your breathing hitched, but luckily nobody noticed.

Your hands scrunched up into fists so tight that your nails were digging into the skin of your palm. It was the only way to cope with this situation without drawing attention to yourself.

You focused as much on JJ presenting as possible.

"At first it was hard for the police to put them together since M.O.s were so different with each murder - hence, loosely - but after they looked more closely it turns out that each of the victims had recently left an abusive relationship."

"Suggests a possible revenge-motivated unsub." Reid added.

"Yeah." JJ nodded.

"How did the PD make the connection?" Morgan asked.

"All of the victims were women who had either filed restraining orders and, or had sought help from a domestic violence shelter." JJ switched the image on the screen to the shelter.

You looked down at your lap, your fists still enclosed.

You were normally very collected when cases were presented, but it was really hard with this one.

Not only is San Fransisco the city you grew up in, it also hosted that very domestic violence shelter that you used to go to every day.

It made you feel sick, because had this unsub been around ten years ago then that could have very well been you up there on the presenting screen.

<.><.>

You were gathering your stuff up on your desk when Aaron came over to you.

"Hey." You tried to smile but Aaron knew you better.

"Something's bothering you, so rather than have me tiptoeing around it I'm asking you to tell me what's wrong."

He sure doesn't beat around the bush.

Even though this case is horrendous for you, it did warm your heart a little to know that Aaron knew you so well only after a couple months of dating. Maybe it was the profiler in him, but you chose to believe it was simply because he cared about you.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

Every man should know that when a woman says she's fine... she's not. Aaron did know that but he also knew not to push it right now.

"Okay."

After you stuffed your water bottle in your bag, Aaron caught your hand with his. He carefully opened your palm. You could feel the panic in your chest as he did so.

"I will stop asking you if you're okay, if you stop doing this."

He pointed out the crescent moon shapes you'd imprinted on your palms from your finger nails. He wiped his thumb over the skin as if they would magically just disappear. He probably wanted to kiss over them, but you knew he'd never do that in front of everyone here.

You couldn't answer verbally so you nodded your head instead.

<.><.>

Rossi and Hotch were the last in the room before leaving.

They both left and locked their offices at the same time. Both of them had their coat and bag hanging off an arm.

"Hotch."

"Yeah?"

"Y/N..."

"I know." Hotch cut his friend off before he could finish the sentence, already having an inkling of what he was going to say and not knowing whether her could stomach hearing it being said out loud.

<.><.>

On the plane there was more time for a brief.

You were sat leaning against a window at the table with four chairs, listening carefully to what was being said but making no effort to contribute.

"So there were no signs of sexual assault?" Emily asked.

"No." JJ shook her head.

"Well that eliminates some motives." Rossi said.

"Such as?" Garcia asked through the video call.

"Well we know he's not a sexual sadist now. It's almost like whatever he is doing is because he believes it's right. It's the only way." Reid explained.

You swallowed back the growing lump in the back of your throat as the team continued to talk.

The situation almost felt dissociative. You were physically here and physically involved and yet your brain kept trying to zone out of the conversation.

You looked out the window just as a memory flashed.

You laid on the floor of your bedroom - a room that was supposed to be yours and supposed to be safe. You had been sleeping when he had come in.

The door was wide open because you hadn't found the strength to stand back up again since he'd been in.

Your pyjamas were long length and yet you felt completely exposed. Tears fell down your cheeks as you stared up at the glowing stars on your ceiling, imagining a world where you could visit them right now. A world that was a little more silent and a little bit brighter.

All you could hear though was his voice saying, "I have to. It's the only way you'll ever learn."

"...And Y/N and Reid, you work on the geographical profile. Hopefully we can narrow down where these victims are being taken from." Hotch's voice brought you back from the memory.

You had clearly missed a lot of the conversation but no one pointed that out for the rest of the flight.

<.><.>

San Fransisco was just as dull as you remember it.

A lot of people who lived here, commuted through here or even visited here would think quite the opposite, but when a bad thing has happened to you in a certain place then that place becomes unworthy of its beauty.

As you continued to get set up in the police station Hotch asked you to step aside for a minute to talk to him.

You both stood in the cold and dark interrogation room so you could speak privately.

Your arms were folded over your body defensively as you stood waiting for Hotch to talk.

"Y/N, if this case it too much for you then..."

"Too much?" You chuckled, "Why would it be too much for me?"

Hotch sighed, "I don't know."

"Exactly Agent Hotchner, you don't know." You uncrossed your arms and walked towards the door - done with this conversation.

Aaron knew not to touch you in order to catch your attention, so instead he stepped in front of the door so you had no exit.

"Hey, don't do that." He said softly and you knew he was referring to the way you had called his name.

He had never really been Agent Hotchner, or SSA Hotchner, to you. He'd only been Aaron or recently in the quiet of your homes it had turned into a loving 'honey' or 'love'.

You could see the hurt in his eyes that you had put there.

"I'm fine." You repeated, feeling like you might be sick over saying those words again and again.

You thought you truly had been fine.

For the longest time all of this had been buried deep within you. Your job was so busy and hectic that you never really had the opportunity to think about your past. You had also been fortunate that there had been no domestic abuse cases so far in your year working for the BAU.

Yet it was all flooding back now you did have this case. Your mind was constantly active with the haunted memories of your past.

Memories that you were too afraid to speak out loud.

"Okay, but if I think for a moment that you aren't capable I will pull you from this case." Hotch said seriously. He was done playing nice.

"That won't be necessary. I am more than capable."

Hotch looked at you for a moment and saw the challenge in your eyes. However, he could also see the emotion deep within them like there was a part of you that was screaming to be let out.

"Morgan and I are going to the women's shelter. You and Emily can interview the families of the victims."

Your heart stopped a little. You're sure that your eyes must have given you away as you lost eye contact with Hotch to try and keep composure.

"I thought I was with Reid?" You asked.

"Not anymore. Families are coming in in half an hour." He said before leaving the room, leaving you in there with the door open.

"Fuck." You muttered to yourself.

You wiped under your eyes before any tears could run. Messy mascara wasn't something you wanted to explain today. You let out a shaky breath, trying to not let it sound too loud. The last thing you wanted was to attract unnecessary attention.

You were fine, after all.

<.><.>

"Mr and Mrs Cole. Thank you for being here." Emily started off the interview.

Mrs Cole was crying. Mr Cole was not.

In your eyes that told you everything you needed to know. Unfortunately you couldn't claim you knew anything without sufficient evidence. Evidence that the team was looking for now.

"I can't believe my baby is gone." Mrs Cole cried, sniffling into a tissue that you had provided for her.

"I know this is hard Mrs Cole," You said, empathising with her more than she could know, "But if you could both help us answer some questions it could be really helpful in helping find out who did this to your daughter."

"Okay." She nodded.

"What kind of person was Meredith growing up?" Emily asked, wanting to know what kind of childhood Meredith had.

"She was always so bright. She just wanted to be happy." Mrs Cole answered shakily.

Mr Cole scoffed and looked off to the side.

"Something to add Mr Cole?" Emily prompted.

"What my wife means to say is, Meredith was difficult."

Your mind alerted you then. You knew what was meant for a daughter who was deemed as difficult by her father.

Your fingers clenched to dig your nails into your palm but the second you did Aaron's face came across your view.

"I will stop asking you if you're okay, if you stop doing this."

You could still feel the brush of his thumb across your skin. His warms hands against your cold ones. His soft touch the lightest you had ever felt from a man.

Your hand unclenched, resting them on the table instead.

Emily had been carefully watching you, having been asked by Hotch to keep on eye on you. Your near slip-up didn't cause any interruption to the interview and Emily took the lead to continue.

"We understand that Meredith recently left her relationship with Adam. Do you know why?" She asked.

Mrs Cole looked nervously at her husband.

He huffed as he crossed his arms over his chest, "She was always so dramatic. I mean, every couple fights but that doesn’t mean you throw everything away."

You took note of how Mr Cole minimised the abuse that Meredith was clearly receiving.

"Did Meredith ever tell you that Adam hurt her?" You asked.

Mrs Cole sniffled but it was Mr Cole that answered, "She exaggerated things."

"So you’re saying she lied?" You prompted, seeing how twitchy Mr Cole was getting in the metal chair.

"She always wanted attention." He said.

That's what they all say but really the attention was just another way of saying they were looking for somebody to give them a way out. They were desperate for someone to see them and know that they weren't safe - that they needed saving.

Lots of women can't save themselves and the ones that do are never safe again.

"Did she ever come to either of you for help?" Emily asked.

Mrs Cole nodded, "She… Meredith wanted to leave so many times, but she didn’t think she could. She was scared."

"Scared of him?" Emily said encouragingly.

It was only a small gesture but both you and Emily caught the small glance that Mrs Cole gave her husband.

If it wasn't clear to you before then it was ridiculously clear now what had happened.

"Of everything."

"Or scared that no one would believe her?" You muttered to Emily. She nodded in agreement.

Mr Cole must have heard though because he angrily slammed his hands on to the table. It took absolutely everything in your professional career to not flinch. The loud noise caused your heartbeat to skyrocket.

This is not him. This is not before. You kept reminding yourself.

"What exactly are you implying?" He shouted defensively.

"Robert..." Mrs Cole tried to calm him.

"No! What are you saying?"

You and Emily looked at each other and you gave her a nod to signal she could continue this, even though it was you that taunted him.

"Mr Cole. When your daughter was younger, was she ever worried about her current or future. relationships?"

"I raised her to be tough. Not weak." He spat.

You were curled up in a ball on your bed. The room stank of ammonia thanks to your nervous tics and the fact he had walked through the door angrily.

You had run away from an argument downstairs but he had caught up to you.

"You need to learn to be tough, child. I didn't raise you to be this weak."

The room went quiet for a moment. Only the sound of Mrs Cole's sniffles filled the room.

Mr Cole's words sparked the last question you wanted to ask.

"You didn’t believe her, did you?" You asked.

"She made her own choices." Mr Cole said.

You promptly stood up from your chair, "And now she’s dead."

Mrs Cole burst out crying as you spoke, but you charged out of the room before you could console her. She knew anyway. She knew what her husband was doing to her daughter and still she did absolutely nothing, either because she was terrified or she simply didn't care.

But she was just a child.

You were just a child.

<.><.>

The bathroom was as depressing as the rest of the police station.

You had needed a moment to collect yourself.

Interviewing someone who had these whacked beliefs about raising children triggered you in a way you didn't think possible.

The way Mr Cole spoke was chilling and it made you remember all those dark nights when you didn't think you'd ever be loved again. In fact, back then, you don't reckon you knew what love was.

Your grip on the bathroom counter tightened as you tried to ground yourself.

You were so in your own head this whole case and you hadn't caught who was responsible yet. This case was only going to become more triggering as you went along and as you potentially uncovered more bodies.

Right when you felt like you might just let every emotion out Emily opened the bathroom door, you leant back off the counter and tried to look composed.

"Just wanted to let you know that the team's back. Oh and there's someone here who wants to speak to you." She gave you a small smile.

"Okay, thanks." You smiled back and it felt like the fakest thing in the world.

<.><.>

The last thing you expected when you returned to the main area of the police station was to see your father.

Your footsteps halted, like you couldn't physically move any closer towards him.

The rest of the room kept carrying on like normal, but you felt your words completely dry up and your hands begin to shake. You tried to process all the questions you had for him being here all at once.

"Y/N!" He raised his arms out like he was ready for a hug but you stepped back, knocking your hip into the corner of a desk in panic.

The rest of the team watched the situation before them.

They'd never seen you look so lost.

“There you are!” He smiled but you heard the venom behind each word. He was putting on his charm in front of all these people, but really he restraining himself from showing his true colours.

"W-what are you doing here?" You asked.

He scoffed like that was a silly question, “It’s been a long time.”

You can feel the weight of people's eyes on you. Other agents. Cops. The team. Aaron. The last one makes you nervous.

You have an inkling that Aaron knows something and yet you have never managed to tell him. Aaron makes you feel safe like no one ever has, but you still can't find the courage to speak up. You're also worried what he might do should he find out.

This doesn't need to become a thing. You don't want to become one of the teams victims.

So you tried to take control of the situation for once, "If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, please leave. We have work to do.”

"I just wanted to check on you.” Your father's jaw clenched as he spoke.

Check on you? After all these years of no contact?

You didn't want him checking up on you. You didn't want him anywhere near you.

After all these years you still feel trapped near him - even when he's not touching you.

Aaron must have been watching closely, because he could tell that you were done with this situation but it was clear your father wasn't. It didn't take a profiler to work out the cause of that tension. Aaron needed the situation handled before anyone could do anything - his own fists were readying to swing should your father take one step out of line.

"She's asked you to leave, Sir." Aaron said stoicly.

You could feel Aaron right next to you, arms crossed over his chest to make himself look more dominant. Your father was only small anyways, but next to Aaron he was nothing.

Your father looked between you and Aaron, chuckling to himself.

"You Y/N's boyfriend then?" Your father asked.

You stiffened next to Aaron, your palms flexing as you tried to remember Aaron's words from earlier.

"Aaron Hotchner." He gave your dad a small nod.

You noticed how Aaron didn't flex his credentials. It was a classic profilers move of undermining the man who thought he was in charge, because then they never really know what to expect.

“I gotta say, I’m surprised.” Your father chuckled. “Never figured Y/N would be the type to get involved with someone like you.”

Aaron's facial expression didn't change. In fact, if anything, he looked a little more pissed off.

Your mind was trying to get you to choose between fight or flight. Normally you would fight, but having your dad so near really triggered your flight response. So you tried to cut the tension and deescalate the situation. before anyone got more hotheaded.

Although seeing Hotch punch your father would feel pretty good.

"Okay. I think we're done here."

Your father shrugged, raising his hands in defence, “Watch your tone. There's no need to get upset. I'll go.” He said, making it seem like you were being the unreasonable one.

Your father's words and the way you immediately shut down after he said them were a dead giveaway to your past.

It was impossible to hide it.

And for the first time in your relationship with Aaron, you felt exposed.

This was part of your story - part of you - that you never wanted him to have to see. Aaron had far too many of his own demons to suddenly take on yours as well.

Your father makes the effort to walk towards the main door, but not before stopping to speak again. “You’re still the same, aren’t you?”

He was baiting you.

“Still running. Still pretending. Does he even know?” He continued.

His words made you look towards Aaron and it hurt to see him look so angry. Was he upset that you had hid something so personal and traumatic from him? Would this alter your relationship?

You turned to look at the rest of your team too. Emily looked heartbroken. Morgan looked angry. Reid looked so sad. You were making your favourite people feel sad.

Your own eyes welled with tears as you thought about all the people that you were hurting by just being here.

Aaron had clocked on from even before the briefing of this case that something that happened in your childhood. He just didn't think it was as sick and as twisted as this.

Aaron watched your head dip, your fists scrunch in the way he hated to see and your lips continuously mouthing; 'I'm sorry'.

How on God's Earth could you ever think you had something to apologise for?

“That’s enough." Aaron's voice cut through the room, making you look up at him with fear. Not fear of him, but fear for him. You knew all too well what that man who called himself your father could do. Rossi had been more of a father in a year than you actual father had in ever.

Your dad turned and smiled. He'd won.

Your darkest secret was out in the open and your father didn't care if he was taken down with it. The heartbroken look on your face would last him a lifetime.

You couldn't breathe.

Even after all these years your father had still had a hold over you and he could still win. He could still make you feel worthless with a simple few words. That's all he needed.

The tears fell over your cheeks as your chest heaved.

Policemen were watching your breakdown and your team looked as heartbroken as you felt.

You felt disgusting, crying over your own self when you were supposedly on a case to save other people like you. This time wasn't meant to be about you and yet somehow it now was.

You put a hand over your mouth as you tried to hold back a verbal sob.

Everyone's eyes were on you.

Watching to see you break down into nothing.

You couldn't do this. You never wanted it to be like this. You thought you were stronger than this.

Saying nothing more, you excused yourself politely and ran out of the room towards the back of the station - far, far, away from your father. But far, far, away would never be far enough.

<.><.>

Hotch hadn't moved.

He stood his ground as he watched your father - that piece of scum - chuckle once you'd fled the room.

"Get. Out." Hotch gritted out through his teeth.

Your father nodded.

Morgan moved closer to your father, looking at Hotch briefly to silently tell his boss that he had this handled and that you would need him more than he was needed here right now.

Hotch nodded, but not before getting one good last look at your father's face here. The next time he would see his face was going to be when Hotch put him behind bars.

<.><.>

Aaron found you out the back of the precinct.

You had one hand to your chest as you tried to control your breathing, the other holding yourself against the cold wall for support.

Your crying was calmer now but the tears still fell.

You turned to face Aaron when he walked out of the door. You tried to stand taller, pulling your shirt down to fit properly.

“I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean for that to happen.” You sniffled, wiping the back of your hand over your cheek.

"Don't apologise."

"N-no. I should’ve handled it better. Shit." Your voice was so shaky that Aaron was surprised you could even speak.

"Sweetheart, no."

You should’ve controlled the situation better.

“This isn’t on you.” Aaron reminder you gently.

“Everyone looked so—Aaron, I just made everything worse.” You said as you remembered how the team looked and how you could taken emotional control of an already vulnerable case. It was unprofessional.

"This isn’t on you.” He repeated. “None of us are upset with you. We're devastated for you.”

You wanted to believe him, you really did, but that felt too hard to accept.

You shook your head as you tried to calm down the tears and hiccups that were reappearing.

"Honey... Listen to me and listen carefully. Nothing that just happened was because of you. Nothing that has happened was because of you." Aaron took a step closer to you.

"But, he..."

"Ssh, ssh. Listen." Aaron said softly, close enough to reach out for your hands now. "Hey, look at me."

When his hands touched you, you became completely grounded. You felt like you were right here instead of back there. Aaron was right in front of you and he wasn't running away. He was right there.

"You're still here." You said through a hiccup of tears.

"Of course I am." He said with a frown.

"I thought you-you'd leave, o-or not want me and..."

"Stop that. No. I don't mean to cut you off but I won't have you convincing yourself that I'm not anything but with you for the long haul, okay?" Aaron was so close now, linking his fingers through yours so that he could help you release all the anger from your fists.

"That first day you came into the BAU I was so low. I was. And I felt like you had been sent to our team not only to fix our capacity issues but also to... to fix me. I felt, for so long, like I had lost a part of me and yet the minute you walked through those doors... Well, I knew."

"Knew what?"

"That the part of me returned." Aaron's fingers squeezed yours to continue to ground you, "So if you think for one moment that I'm letting you slip away from me, with that part of me, so easily... Well I'm not even entertaining the idea." He gave you a smirk.

"So we're okay?" You asked for reassurance. Aaron was more than happy to give it to you.

"We're okay." He kissed your forehead, letting his lips linger there for a little while to keep you close.

Aaron had noticed you pushing him away all day, so to have this time right now to be close with you was something he wasn't giving up so easily.

You were too busy embracing Aaron's touch to realise he was holding back tears of his own.

<.><.>

Both you and Aarons stood out back for another ten minutes or so, just talking through everything.

You didn't want to go into any details with him right now, but you did admit what your father used to do to you when you were a child and why this case hit far too close to home for you.

Aaron almost berated you for being so careless with your own emotions and mental state, but thought now was not the best time for that conversation. Instead he filled his talk with comforting and reassuring words. He had to make sure that you felt safe again.

He also promised to make your father's life a living hell - in whatever capacity legal...

That sort of terrified you but also made you feel a little lighter.

Morgan opened the door out back soon after, smiling at the way you and Hotch were holding hands and comforting one another.

"Hey. We got a call off the anonymous tip line. Girl called Sheree Rockstead called in to say that she's noticed some guy following her around the past few days. She's also just got out of a violent relationship and she's attending the women's shelter. She's seen the news and is worried."

"It's definitely our guy." Hotch said, not breaking his hand holding with you. "Let's set up an evac. plan. for Sheree and a trap for our unsub."

"You got it." Morgan nodded before leaving again.

Aaron turned back to you warily. You gave him a half smile in return.

"I'm going to stay here." You said.

"Okay." Aaron nodded. He would've benched you anyways if you demanded on going, knowing that field work was not the right thing for you right now.

"Be safe. Please."

"You too."

"Aaron..."

"I know. I'll be safe, I promise. Just want to make sure you are too. I mean if your father comes back when I'm not there I..."

"He won't." You shook your head. "Plus Reid can fight him off."

"Reid?"

"He has magic, after all." You laughed and Aaron had never been so happy to hear something in all his existence. His only hope was that he could continue hearing it with every day he had left.

<.><.>

On the way home on the jet everyone had passed out asleep other than you and Aaron.

There was still too much to talk about.

You had made your own announcement to the team about your past - a more revised version than what you would be telling Aaron - because you thought it was important for them to know.

Morgan threatened to become an undercover spy and "beat his ass" - his words. Hotch threatened to give him a pysch test if he kept throwing those words around, so he shut up - but only when his boss was present.

Garcia tracked down your father's whole life and it turned out he was drowning in debt and your mother had left him. His life was pretty crap and that made you feel really good.

Aaron, though, he had been a crutch for you throughout.

You were so lucky to have him.

But he would say he was luckier to have you.

And that would be the only competition that you and Aaron would ever have.

[lcvebuckley]

kiss it better

written for @bucktommyfluffebruary

prompt : day 1 - non-sexual intimacy | word count : 2.3k | rated : G

it's officially fluffebruary month yay! i will be participating in this event for at least (hopefully) half the prompts so please look forward to that! other than fics i will also be doodling 👀

enjoy! ♡

Tommy's shift had been grueling. He was assigned to do ground ops which were never easy, and today was particularly rough—two building fires and two rescues that required crawling through tight, suffocating spaces. The scratches and cuts on his arms and face were simply part of the job, nothing new. He didn't mind though, it's not like he's not used to being hurt on the job. So he didn't really understand why he got scolded right when he arrived home.

Or in which Tommy got hurt on the job and Buck has a solution.

full version below or read on ao3

So he didn't really understand why he got scolded right when he arrived home.

------------------------------------------------------

Tommy's shift had been grueling. He was assigned to do ground ops which were never easy, and today was particularly rough—two building fires and two rescues that required crawling through tight, suffocating spaces. The scratches and cuts on his arms and face were simply part of the job, nothing new. He didn't mind though, it's not like he's not used to being hurt on the job.

It was late when Tommy left after his shift and he thought about getting takeout for dinner, assuming Evan had fallen asleep since he hasn't replied to his recent texts. But the truth was, Tommy didn’t have the energy to eat. All he wanted was to get home, fall into bed, and bury himself in Evan’s arms, where the scent of his boyfriend would lull him into instant comfort.

Home.

Tommy liked calling Evan’s place home, even if they weren’t officially living together yet. For weeks now, he’d been spending most nights at Evan’s loft, only going back to his own place when he needed fresh clothes or necessities.

There was something about Evan’s place that felt… grounding. While Tommy’s house was larger and objectively more practical, it couldn’t compete with the intimacy of the loft. Its smaller size made everything feel closer, warmer. Every surface held a piece of Evan—whether it was a photograph on the shelf, the clipboard he insisted on leaving on the coffee table, or simply the faint, familiar scent of him that lingered in every corner.

Tommy loved that. Loved the way he felt surrounded by Evan, no matter where he stood.

As he stepped into the loft, using the spare key he’d been given weeks ago, he braced himself for the familiar quiet of the space. Normally, Evan would be upstairs napping after his earlier shift ended, and Tommy would sneak in, careful not to wake him. It's different today it seems, since he was greeted by his boyfriend standing in the doorway, wearing an apron and smiling like he’d been waiting all day.

“Hey, babe,” Evan greeted, leaning in for a quick kiss. Tommy didn’t think twice, meeting his lips, grateful for even the smallest touches. When they pulled away, Evan's face fell almost abruptly after seeing what Tommy assumed was his face. The younger cupped Tommy’s face gently and slowly turned his head from side to side, examining the cuts and scratches that’s on his face.

“What happened to you?” Evan asked softly, his voice tight with worry. Tommy just huffed out a small laugh. “Nothing serious. Just some scratches. Part of the job,” he replied, his voice soft and assuring. Well at least he thought it was assuring, because it doesn't seem like Evan was happy with his answer.

“Just some scratches? Babe, there’s cuts covering literally half of your face.” Evan continued moving Tommy’s head around and mumbling something under his breath, as if he was counting every single mark on Tommy’s skin. His precision almost made Tommy laugh again, though he knew better than to interrupt.

Tommy couldn’t help but smirk. The comment was wildly exaggerated, but he decided not to argue. “Okay, there's only like four of them but still—they're not small, Tommy!” Evan huffed and even though he looked mad, Tommy could hear the gentleness and worry in his tone.

“It's fine, I already applied some ointment so it'll heal on its own, don't worry. They don't even hurt.” Tommy smiled, and as if on cue, he winced when the cut on the corner of his lip stung. The timing was so perfect it almost felt like the universe was siding with Evan.

The other was quick to assess the situation, his eyes wide with concern. “Oh god, are you okay?” he asked, his fingers hovering just over the cut as if afraid to make it worse.

Tommy cursed under his breath and let out a nervous laugh, though it only made the sting worse. “Shit, didn’t think it’d still hurt,” he admitted, embarrassed.

Evan seemed disappointed but not surprised by that reaction. It's not the first time Tommy tried downplaying an injury he had. “It’s not funny, Tommy,” Evan muttered, his thumb brushing gently over the corner of his lip. “You're clearly still in pain.”

Surprisingly, it didn't hurt when Evan did that. There was something about the way Evan cared for him that felt almost unreal. He wasn’t used to this kind of attention, this kind of love—the kind that saw past his bravado and insisted on taking care of him anyway.

Tommy put his hand over Evan’s and leaned into his touch, his eyes slowly closing as he hummed in content. “And your touch is healing it already, I can feel it,” he mumbled before leaving a kiss on Evan’s palm.

Evan’s breath hitched, his smile softening as butterflies erupted in his stomach. The gesture was so simple, yet it made his chest feel heavy with emotion. It was moments like these, small and unspoken, that reminded him how deeply he loves Tommy.

Though, seeing Tommy kissing his palm suddenly gave him an idea. “Do you want me to kiss it better?” he asked, earning a look from Tommy. “What?”

“Don't you know that kisses can heal physical wounds?” Evan responded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Tommy raised an eyebrow, clearly wasn't buying whatever that nonsensical explanation was. “That's not a real thing,” he deadpanned.

The younger seemed surprised by that reply, pulling his hands away and crossing his arms. Oh, he’s not letting this go, is he? “Yes it is,” his tone was serious and maybe a little offended.

“Maddie used to kiss my scrapes all the time when we were kids,” Evan continued, remembering his childhood days when he would constantly get hurt doing reckless activities and while he did get a good scolding from his sister, she also took care of him and kissed his wounds better. “At first I was surprised too, but they do work!”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but there was a warmth in his chest that he couldn’t quite suppress. Evan was serious—adorably so—and the earnestness in his voice was enough to make Tommy falter. “Look, trust me on this.” With his hands back cradling his boyfriend's face, Evan is determined to show he was right.

Tommy was obviously not going to deny Evan’s kisses because that would be stupid of him, but he took this chance to tease him. “Are you sure you're not just looking for an excuse to kiss me?” He noticed the slight blush creeping up Evan’s cheeks and couldn't hide the mischievous grin on his face.

“Oh shut up, you’re just trying to distract me,” the younger protested, slapping Tommy’s chest playfully. The older chuckled, finally decided to play along. “Okay fine, I’m ready for your magical healing powers.” Evan immediately smiled, his whiny attitude disappearing within seconds.

Tommy couldn’t help but laugh as Evan leaned in, pressing a series of soft, lingering kisses to each of his cuts— his forehead, his jaw, his cheek and finally the corner of his lips.

The warmth in Evan’s touch and the softness of his lips left a trail of something far deeper than comfort. There was something so intimate with the way Evan’s focus was entirely on him, the intensity of his care leaving Tommy feeling a little dazed. Tommy closed his eyes, letting himself fall into the warmth of Evan’s affection. Each kiss felt like a promise, tender and full of unspoken care.

Before Evan could pull back completely, Tommy leaned forward and stole a quick kiss on the lips. The move caught Evan off guard, his cheeks immediately flushing a deep shade of red. “Hey!” he protested, voice pitched high as he buried himself against Tommy’s shoulder in an attempt to hide his flushed face.

Tommy’s laugh rumbled through his chest, low and affectionate, as he brought a hand up to run through Evan’s curls to calm him down. The way Evan melted into his touch was such a simple thing, yet it filled Tommy with a sense of peace he rarely allowed himself to feel.

Slowly, Evan pulled away and Tommy noticed that though slightly faded, the blush on his face remained. He narrowed his eyes, feigning indignation. “Look who’s trying to kiss who now,” he teased back.

Tommy raised his hands in defeat, the laughter still bubbling in his throat. “Not my fault you’re so irresistible,” he admitted, the words carrying a playful tone, though the sincerity in his gaze was impossible to miss.

Evan laughed at the response and wrapped his arms around Tommy’s neck, pulling him closer, while Tommy’s hands instinctively found their place on Evan’s waist. The younger grinned, his eyes alight with fondness. “So,” he asked, his voice soft but teasing, “did it work?”

Tommy tilted his head, pretending to consider the question. His eyes wandered for effect, a mischievous glint forming as he replied, “Well, I’m not sure one kiss did anything…” He trailed off, looking back at Evan with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Evan let out an exaggerated groan, rolling his eyes as he stepped back. “You’re so annoying,” he muttered, though the way his lips grew into a smile shows how much he loved this moment as much as the other. With a playful shoulder shove, he added, “Let’s get you dinner first, then you can have all the kisses you want.”

Tommy’s smile softened as Evan reached for his hand, leading him toward the dining table. He was in awe when he saw the food his boyfriend had prepared, ranging from appetizers to desserts. “Is this why you haven't been replying to my texts?” he asked, furrowing his eyebrows as he looked at Evan in disbelief.

The younger nodded with a proud grin on his face. “I wanted to surprise you.” Tommy shook his head in disbelief, his heart squeezing in his chest. He didn’t think he deserved any of this—this effort, this love.

“You shouldn't have made dinner, you just got off your shift too,” he murmured, concern slipping into his tone. The thought of Evan overworking himself for his sake tugged at him.

“I know that,” Evan walked closer to Tommy, sliding his hands up his shoulders and rubbing his thumb in comforting circles on his collarbone. “But I figured that you might have a hard time today and what's the best thing to come home to after a rough shift if not home-cooked dinner, right?” his voice softened, eyes filled with warmth and care.

Tommy felt his defenses crumble. He’d always prided himself on being self-sufficient, the kind of person who didn’t need to rely on anyone. But standing there, wrapped in Evan’s quiet care, he realized how much he’d needed this without even knowing it. Before Evan, bad days felt endless—something to endure until they passed. Now, bad days had an antidote. Now, they ended with Evan.

Being cared for like this is something Tommy never even imagined he could ever experience. He didn't think he deserved any of this but in that moment, surrounded by warmth and love, Tommy couldn’t imagine a place he’d rather be.

“I love you so much,” Tommy whispered, his voice thick with emotion he didn’t bother hiding. He earned a bashful smile from Evan, mirroring the same expression he made the first time Tommy said those words. “I love you too,” Evan replied softly, leaning in to press a lingering kiss against Tommy’s lips, sealing the words between them.

After they were done with dinner, they cleaned up together with Tommy insisting he should do the dishes while Evan cleared the table. Eventually, they got ready for bed, though it took longer than necessary because Evan kept poking at Tommy’s sides and making dumb jokes while they brushed their teeth. Tommy rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop smiling.

When they finally settled under the covers, Tommy laid with his bare back pressed against Evan’s chest, his arms wrapped securely around Tommy’s torso. Evan’s breath was warm against the back of his neck, steady and soothing. Tommy felt himself slipping toward sleep, lulled by the quiet comfort of their closeness.

But then Evan’s hands started gently roaming over his arms, fingers tracing absent patterns. He suddenly stilled, his touch lingering on a tender spot. “These are new,” Evan muttered, his voice low, adjusting his eyes to the darkness as his fingers ghosted over fresh scrapes Tommy had all but forgotten. The older hummed, “Yeah, it's from today,” he said nonchalantly.

Not even a second later, he felt soft, sweet lips peppered along his arms and he felt his heart skip a beat. He turned his head slightly, seeing Evan leaving kisses on the injured parts of his arm and locked eyes with him. “Why didn't you tell me? I told you I’d kiss all your pain away,” he heard Evan mumble, his lips brushing over his bare skin.

Tommy chuckled softly, turning around to face his boyfriend. He propped himself up on one elbow, his hand cradling the side of Evan’s face. “I didn’t want you to worry again,” he admitted, his thumb gently brushing over Evan’s cheekbone.

Evan furrowed his brows, clearly not satisfied with that answer. With a dramatic sigh, he buried his face against Tommy’s chest, his voice muffled as he muttered, “I can’t believe I missed it the first time.”

Tommy laughed quietly, his fingers threading through Evan’s hair. “But hey, let me tell you this,” Tommy looked down, hooking Evan’s chin and lifting his head up to face him. “Believe it or not, the stinging had miraculously faded,” he added. Evan grinned giddily, leaning further in and nuzzling his nose with the older.

“Told you it works,” he said proudly, and Tommy couldn’t resist closing the distance, capturing Evan’s lips in a kiss that was deeper, more lingering than before—a kiss filled with gratitude, love, and the quiet relief of knowing someone had his heart in the safest hands, the pain on the corner of his lips long gone.

When they finally pulled apart, Tommy rested his forehead against Evan’s, his voice a breathless whisper.

“You really did kiss it better.”

[pricegouge]

prompt fill based off this request. can be read as a sister piece to unlucky foot

rat race

cw: simon x gn!fairy!reader. predator prey dynamic and i really mean it. implied deaths offscreen. MDNI

it's a new maze every time. peg board floor, the walls mounted to it shifting with each session to keep you confused and, lost amid the erratic angles and dead ends. sometimes they're mirrored, reflect your mounting dismay back at you with every turn. mostly, he likes other obstacles, small puzzles you have to solve before continuing on to the next part of the maze.

today's impediment is a little more dire.

you smell it before you see it, the familiar reek of soiled bedding and cloyingly strong aspen. you're not alone.

simon sees the minute you register your predicament, dark eyes becoming hyperfocused when you stiffen up, fear locking your joints. he looms overhead, bad omen hung double in the sky where the glass which prevents you and the rat both from climbing out catches his reflection just enough to mirror him again, superimposes his mask just there above you. inescapable.

you think maybe one of these days he'll make the maze the same and pray it's not this day. you'd rather starve to death within it's confines than let the rat live off your corpse for a few days longer. maybe that's where he'd gotten all those fairy specimen that lined his study, their little shadow boxes visible even now, his largest mount displayed proudly behind his desk, looking over his shoulder at you pityingly. maybe you'll get a spot of honor, too.

but not if the rat finds you, vicious teeth and ravenous appetite. it had come close a few times, clever little nose giving it a leg up on you. simon had never once moved to help as it had closed in, just leaning closer to watch as the rat closed in, eyes darting between the two of you with the sort of anticipation and excitement one usually reserved for a well-balanced match.

so you can't depend on his mercy - not that he's ever given you reason to, really, but you'd hoped -

the pegboard holes are just big enough to catch your toes. you trip as you scurry along, fingers trailing on the walls next to you lest you miss a turn in your haste. not that it really matters, not when each turn looks the same. simon used to leave you little hints, offerings of sweets which would guide you closer to the end. he'd long since stopped that, seemed content to watch you twist yourself into knots for hours before you found a way out if needed. you hoped that wouldn't be the case tonight. the rat rarely ever needed hours to find you.

you stop to catch your breath when you reach the next four-corners. it's a dangerous spot to be, what with all the straight shots where the rat might see you, but it also gives you the most options for an escape if it comes to it, something you've learned the hard way. your chest rises with effort, tiny cloud of condensation collecting on the glass above. beyond it, you see simon's eyes dart to your left with just a little too much excitement and you take off to the right before you can even collect yourself, wood paneling flying by as you run blindly, right, left, left again, one-eighty when you hit a dead end. you huff in frustration, a muted spark flying when your fists clench in frustration and fear. you have options, you know, but you don't like the odds and -

it's surprising how quiet your companion can be, when it suits him. you don't hear the quiet chuffing of his breathing, nor the gentle patter of his little paws as he creeps closer. it's not even the slithering of its tail that gives it away, but the subtle scrape of its whiskers against the paneling, the wall on your left seeming to swell closer as the beast stalks by on the other side of it.

simon had lied, that pointed look from before meant to send you scurrying in the wrong direction - right into the rat's clutches. you'd be more mad, if you had time to be.

the path to the right is short - doesn't let you wander too far away from the beast that dogs you before forcing you to turn left. you're running parallel with it now, or at least you would be if it had kept on its same path. but that's unlikely in this labyrinth, and one right hand turn could send it your way. another could have it barreling down the aisle at you. you dip right as soon as you're able, do it again at your next chance -

and stop dead in your tracks when you see the very end of its scaly tale disappear around a corner up ahead.

faltering where you stand, you take a minute to try and find your bearings, weigh your options as you see them. there's no exit behind, but death could be waiting before and it takes you a minute to remember that if it's not there, it will be around the next corner (or the next, or the next) until you find your way out of here.

so you creep forward, each step placed carefully lest you slip, bare skin squeaking off the cheap wood. you don't make a sound as you approach the blind, not even as you peek around the corner to find the rat still at the end of the path, strong nose raised as if to sniff out whatever might be on the other end of the wall before it. you keep your wits about you, pull your head back to collect a calming breath before darting past the gap while it's distracted, your footsteps coming a little more calmly, a little more confidently as you slink away. you can feel simon's heavy gaze on you, seemingly magnified by the glass overhead. he's rapt now, his unwavering gaze only adding to your stress, nerves a tangled ball of pollen you can't find the end of, can't get a grasp on.

maybe that's why you're too distracted to mind your breathing, the harsh pants of your panic alerting the rat to your presence. it chuffs in its excitement, long body struggling as it tries to turn around in the close press of walls that surround it. you hear the scrape of its little claws, a series of suppressed sneezes it would never emit if it was still in stalking mode. the gig is up.

you don't even bother to look behind you before you're off, feet slamming against the pegboard in your haste. simon's too excited to bother suppressing it, unwittingly leading you toward the exit by how he leans too far forward, a subconscious tell which you try to focus all your concentration on. anything to avoid looking back, avoid seeing the scurrying beast which tails you.

it's gaining is the worst part. you can take corners quicker than it, but it's faster on straightaways and it's only now, as you weave your way through row after row of them that you realize there are a lot of straightaways in this maze. simon's note taking wasn't just for show, it seemed.

right, left, straight, right and right again. teeth snatch at your clothes, sharp enough to tear instead of catch. a mixed blessing as it allows you to slip its grasp this time. you drive yourself harder, chest aching with your labored breath as you try to stay just outside of its range. it squeaks and squeals in its excitement, a terifying littany you can't quite drown out even with your blood pounding in your ears. you focus on trending right because that's the way simon's leaning, are just starting to worry you've misjudged him when you see it: sweet sanctuary, a perfect circle in an external wall, the sweet smell of candy sitting just beyond.

you leap through it as soon as you're able, shriek in fright when you swear you can feel teeth snapping at your toes. but simon shutters the door as soon as you're through it, dull thud of the rat slamming against it the last thing you hear of it for the night.

supine, catching your breath, you watch almost disinterestedly as simon stands and collects the massive box from off his desk, big meaty hands lifting it gently before carrying it off to the other side of the room where he takes a minute to extract the rat and return it to its cage. it nips him, retaliation for a pointless maze, but simon just chuckles darkly, calls it cheeky as he feeds it a grape from his pocket. when he turns back to you, he asks why you haven't had your treat yet and you just shake your head, stomach turning at the thought of sweets right then. or maybe it's because the thought of being treated like just another one of his lab rats leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

the chair groans under him when he sits back down, his fist heavy as it drags over the pad of paper before him, taking more notes. everything about him is heavy and he never lets you forget it - movements purposefully drawn out to emphasize it, as if he's any need for it. even for a human he's a large man, and there's nothing your paltry sparks could ever do against him. you're not stupid, despite what he thinks.

"almost got you that time," he grumbles as he finishes up. you're still laying on your back, processing your predicament. he just uses it as an excuse to slide the paper you're laying on closer, his palm planted frimly next to you, framing you between forefinger and thumb. you don't bother arguing with him, don't see the point.

over his shoulder, some long-dead kin seems to agree.

"you'll be a wet specimen, won't you?" his mask hides his expression when he says it, but his eyes are just as animated as they'd been when he'd lead you astray, gleaming darkly in the low light of his banker's lamp.

you can only pout up at him, confused until he picks you up, turns you so you face the cupboard, one of its door's hanging slightly ajar, the low glint of glass glowing from within. even static it seems to dance, and you imagine the jarred contents within rippling, the mangled little corpses preserved in formaldehyde bobbing along. you shake your head adamantly, fear bubbling back to life in your belly. you'd only seen inside the cupboard once but it had been enough, shelves full of gored little fairies haunting you ever since, constant threat.

simon tuts, as if you're being petulant and contrary. "you'd best shape up, then. can't mount a half-eaten fairy."

[crustyfloor]

RECOLLECTION IS MY (nth) FAVORITE SENTIMENTAL ANAKT GARDEN ERA PIECE and even better, its prompt is nostalgia, pieces of memories held most dear by their person and the feelings held behind it in the moment

I think the marker colors are coded to represent who the perspective belongs to, so it's probably not HyunA, not Hyunwoo, but Luka who excluded himself and messily scribbled his face out, so HyunA and Hyunwoo are the only ones in focus (sort of, since Hyunwoo has some scribble on his face too) It's also interesting how messy the scribble is that it extends beyond the border of the memory and makes it look cracked and more distorted. It's such a fond and familial-like memory, but my first thought is that Luka looks like the odd one out, it's not just Luka and HyunA, and this imagery reflects how Luka perceives himself as an outsider compared to the siblings because of their bond, since truthfully, he can't properly connect to them. He grew up differently; he's not like them, but he always wanted to try, and his efforts caused irreparable suffering to the person he cared about most, when Luka looks back at his childhood, maybe he thinks about what he could've, should’ve done differently. Or if he were out of the picture entirely

Sua was most attached to Mizi, who happily sang with her and stuck by her side, and Sua always shared her most sincere smiles and happiness with Mizi, too. Despite the gentle atmosphere, there is an inclusion of something like a web enclosing them, similar imagery to the way Sua always wanted to protect Mizi and herself by shielding them away from the real world outside of that bubble of ignorance they curated, the moment is otherwise untampered with because Sua's most cherished memories with Mizi are always pure and comforting.

compared to the way Mizi and Sua are captured in a moment of intense happiness, the laughter almost audible, Ivan and Till's memory feels quiet, peaceful, and warm. For all the times they fought and bickered, in moments like these when they could just silently exist near each other, those were the moments they were closer, happiest, and the moments with Ivan that Till held close.

What’s also different about this is the privacy they have in comparison. Ivan and Till are far away as if they’re in their own world distant from us, but there's probably a bigger picture. We aren't really in the moment with Ivan and Till, Till's doodle framing them might symbolize their environment, the feeling of being trapped. As a part of daily life, Anakt Garden kids are always being observed and watched over like isolated fish restricted to an idealistic environment with four walls, in a way, it does feel like we are just observing them from a distance.

Despite the circumstances, In that fish bowl with Till were the people he cared about most, his whole inner world and creative mind, the memories he cherished. The comfort of at least having the people he cared about with him in those moments is what made those memories most precious to his heart

[deepdreamnights]

Using Vidu to Make Character Turnarounds

Disclosure: I am in the Vidu Artist Program.

Having (at the very least) front and back reference greatly improves the quality of character image prompting. And very often, one finds that they were lazy and only got a couple of bits of character reference. Or they have tons of it in the wrong art style.

A character like Wally Manmoth requires some good reference to work right.

Now, it's not that hard to prompt up something that matches close enough and then modifying the stuff manually until it works, such as I did with TriceraBruce and DeinoSteve:

You can tell Steve's the bad boy because he's got a cool rip in the back of his jacket.

But for Wally, I decided to try out Vidu as a means of getting turnaround frames.

So I loaded Wally's front-view pic (above) into the image-to-video feature, and prompted with:

vintage traditional animation scene (1985) humanoid mammoth/furry elephant wearing a red hawaiian shirt and blue shorts, by filmation and sunbow productions, 90s colors, friendly on green background, streamlined black line art with cel shaded vintage cartoon color, official media, character design fullbody shot on green background. The mammoth-anthro starts facing the camera, turning around to face away from the viewer, providing a view of his back.

I gave it two shots at the 720x quality setting (12 points per, total of 24), and got:

Huh. Weird it happened twice, etc.

This demonstrates both that the tech is viable for this use, and the reason you'd want to have that multi-view reference. The robot clearly assumes that a luau shirt would have a large print on the back, whereas wally's is a more basic print. That's ultra easy to fix, though.

I started by exporting the last frame of each (or close to it, picking the one that looks cleanest)

While its image editing features and often touch-and-go, one thing the Midjourney edit feature has going for it is it's utility as an upscaler. You load the image in, make your tweaks (just a little bit of background if you're just upscaling) and then upscale and at the very least you have 2048x2048 worth of resolution.

I used the midjourney edit process, that got those two images to the following state, as a test.

The results are good, but getting the large trees to erase-and-replace out took several attempts, and just doing it in photoshop then using the editor to upscale would have been faster.

This is why we do tests.

I went with the slightly-at-an-angle one for the main reference sheet. I'll be keeping the straight-on-back-shot in case it winds up being useful for specific scenes down the line.

In photoshop, I touched up the shirt print, made sure the colors where consistent, and simplified the hair coloration to something more period-plausible.

No more giant trees on the back! On the other hand, I think the feet sprouting toes on the heel is going to be something I'll be fixing frame-by-frame until there's another revision.

Human characters will induce these issues less often. I just stick with my genre of choice.

Midjourney was not cooperating with TyrannoMax (it really doesn't like giving him the proportions I like, preferring to make him a weird big-head salamander), so I went the same direction, resulting in this stage 1 front/back:

Only Midjourney refused to work with it, at all. Declaring everything that came out of it too lewd for its internal censor. Apparently, this hunky relative of cheesasaurus rex is too sexy for general consumption. Nevermind that it's a cartoon lizard in a shade tangello orange.

The workaround is too dumb for words.

Slam the hue slider until it's off anything that could be perceived as a human skintone.

Then make the modifications. Here I had to rework the leg several times, and do a lot of tweaking to remove-overinking. Then I popped it back out, droped it back into lineart, re-colored it, and and composited it back together:

And voila, a front and back for Max. I shortened his tail, as the longer tails have been causing problems with confusing the image prompting systems. The armor skirt has scallops to accommodate the tail, which looked better more consistently than the flaps folding around the tail.

The results are, thus far, encouraging.

Of course, if the back of your character has any unexpected details, you're going to have to add those in after the fact or include them in the prompting, and you're going to be making a lot of edits regardless (as you should).

Oh, and Max has a sword now.

A blade of amber crystal with a fossilized femur grip and a faceted dino-eye that should be far enough away from the Eye of Thundera for safety. A roleplay-toy friendly trademark weapon, usually a sword, was a must-have for 80s action-adventure lines despite the fact that you'd never see it used on anything that wasn't a robot, living statue, or skeleton.

Thus the sword's gimmick is it cleaves through non-living matter with ease but anything BS&P doesn't want subjected to a stabbin's is encased in amber crystal: locked in place if partially encased, put into suspended animation if fully encased. A nice, nonlethal use for a magic sword.

It's proportioned like a gladius, but is generally interpreted as larger, approaching a broadsword, in keeping with the generally ridiculous blade sizes of kidvid fantasy. They're just more fun when they're stupidly huge.

Is "Sword of Eons" too on the nose?

[hazbinshusk]

awkward kiss for a husky. Perhaps the reader has never been in a relationship or simply does not know how to kiss. Therefore, this is her first experience.

I tweaked this one a little bit, to make it a continuation of another kiss prompt, but I hope you still like it. combined with a kiss prompt request because they worked so well together. husk's rizz is off the charts here, if I do say so myself.

check out part one (a kiss to the palm of the hand) here.

kiss prompt #39: a tentative kiss

Husk’s paw comes up to curl around your wrist, soft fur and heart-shaped pad pressed against your skin. His voice comes softly, almost… playful. “Your hand is shaking. You okay, doll?”

You nod slowly, your breath caught in your throat.

“Good.” Husk smiles, and your eyes widen as he pulls your hand away, turns his head, and presses his lips to the palm of your hand. “You had me worried there.”

Christ, you didn’t think you could get any more flustered by this damn bartender.

Husk’s claws tease gently against your wrist, his thumb circling the place where your pulse hammers under your skin. You wonder if he can tell, if he can feel its drumbeat, but even as that thought brings a bead of panic into your chest, you don’t pull away.

“You good?” he asks, a baritone barely more than a murmur. The hotel is unusually quiet now that Angel’s gone to bed and even Niffty is no longer crawling around on the hunt for whatever pest she’d declared war on this week, and the silence seems to only make you more aware of the gentle rumble that sounds in the undertones of his voice. In the intimacy of the moment, it makes your mind wander to darker rooms and soft sheets, and you know that flush in your cheeks is growing darker. Husk still has this amused tilt to his lips, softening his features in a way that his usually sarcastic smirk doesn’t. “You still look like you’re about to bolt.”

You swallow, trying to steady your breathing before you reply.

“I’m okay,” you say, smiling through an exhale. “You just… caught me off guard.”

Husk chuckles quietly, lowering your hand to the bar. Your heart jumps into your throat as once again, he doesn’t let go, instead leaving his paw resting over the back of your hand. It’s a soft touch that seems to flirt with both innocent and intimate, and he does it casually, as though it’s a natural touch, thoughtless and uncalculated.

You wonder, if you turn your hand under his, would he let you intertwine your fingers with his?

Your hand doesn’t move.

“Been a long time since I’ve done that to anyone,” he tells you, voice still wonderfully low. He’s leaning over the bar now, not by much, but it still closes so much of the distance between the two of you.

“Since you ki… kissed their hand?” you ask, trying to keep your tone casual. From the way he looks at you, the soft, affectionate laugh he breathes out, you know you’ve failed. That warmth is reflected in his eyes, and it melts the very core of you.

“That too,” he smiles, claws curling around your fingers. He leans forward; something in his expression shifts, and your nerves suddenly rise up to wrap their clawing fingers around your heart. They tug, and you jerk back instinctively. Regret flares as a heat inside you as Husk’s eyes widen and he pulls away. “Shit, I’m—”

He looks fucking horrified with himself, and you stumble over an explanation, an apology, anything to get him to stop feeling that way.

“No! No, don’t… you didn’t do anything wrong, I just—” Husk moves as though he’s going to back away from the bar, to put a more respectable distance between the two of you, and the way his wings curl in against his shoulders, the way his ears fold back, God, it makes your chest tighten. You reach out instinctively, catching hold of his paw. Husk doesn’t pull away, but there’s something painful in his expression.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—” he fumbles for the words for a moment. He lets out this huff of a laugh, short and low and self-deprecating. “Shoulda known, I jus’—”

“I wanted you to!” you blurt out, and your face burns with the admission, your voice a little too loud for the space between you. You lower it hurriedly, your gaze dropping to where your hand is clutching his wrist. “I wanted you to, I just… I panicked. I’m not…”

Husk studies you for a moment, a long moment, before he turns his wrist, pulling it gently out of your grip. But instead of withdrawing it, he curls his claws gently around your fingers, pressing the heart-shaped pad softly into your palm. He doesn’t say anything; he just watches you take a breath, find the words.

“I don’t… have a lot of experience,” you say hesitantly,  focusing on the way his hand looks so big, totally eclipsing yours. His touch is warm, and once again you’re stricken by just how soft his fur is.  “With… anything, really. I wasn’t… I think about kissing you all the time and I just know I’m going to fuck it up, and I—”

“You wanna repeat that for me, ducks?”

Husk’s voice is quiet, but it breaks through your rambling easy enough.

You glance up, taken aback by the interruption. “I—I said I was going to fuck it up. And I’m sorry for—”

Husk actually chuckles. It’s quiet, under his breath, but the sound is warm in a way that some part of you desperately hopes will become familiar despite the way it way its mocking claws into your heart, serrated and sharp. He picks a random bottle off the shelf, takes a drink.

But then he says: “No…”

He draws out the word in a lilting tone, pulling his paw out of your hand and rounds the bar to join you on the other side. Husk takes the barstool beside you; you’ve turned to face him as he’s moved, and when he sits down, his knees bump against yours. It’s a strange, new kind of intimacy, sitting like this, and those butterflies flutter  again.

“The other bit,” he continues, setting the bottle he still holds on the counter beside him. “Say that other bit again.”

“What oth—” realisation hits you, and a you can’t help a tentative smile of your own. “Oh. That.”

Husk’s lips quirk, his tail twitch back and forth by his ankle so the feathers tickle against your leg. “Can I hear it again?”

Is your blood ever going to return to the rest of your body?

“I…” you press your lips together for a moment, but they unfurl with a bashful smile. “I kinda think about kissing you sometimes.”

Husk’s own smile widens. “Sometimes?”

“Shut up,” you mumble, and when Husk rumbles a laugh you reach out to shove his shoulder. He catches your hand before you do, but instead of moving it away, he brings it up to rest on his shoulder. Your fingers curl automatically around his suspender, soft fur tickling at your fingertips. He trails his claws down your arm, and your breath hitches as they move lower, smoothing over your ribs and down to your waist. “Husk…?”

“’m givin’ you the greenlight, ducks,” he says. Your resurfacing nerves must reflect in your expression, because he smirks softly, squeezing your waist reassuringly. “So, no need to fret, alright?”

You nod, your mouth suddenly feeling very dry. You stroke your fingers shakily through the fur of his shoulder, meet his eye, then drop your gaze again as you lose your nerve. Husk snickers and rolls his eyes, reaching out to carefully cup your face in his hand.

He leans in, and this time you don’t pull away, closing your eyes as Husk’s lips meet yours in a careful, hesitant kiss.

send me a prompt and either husk or blitzø

[brotherwtf]

It'll be so much better if Gale was an older like mid-late 30s. He's a successful businessman but he's struggling with his personal life. He's married to Marge and probably in the closet or he probably doesn't even understand himself that he can be attracted to men also. And John is fresh new hire, very confident and charming and very much aware of his sexuality.

I believe this is in reference to this post and ANON I TOTALLY AGREE

Gale very much having his quarter life crisis because he's not happy at all right now, he's in an unhappy marriage with a monotonous job and he's so closeted it's physically painful, the very thought of a man being attractive sends him reeling and he can barely have sex with Marge because his brain wishes that he were Marge?? getting fucked??? and he literally can't deal with that poor guy will combust

so he drowns himself in work so he doesn't have to deal with his home life, spends as much time at the office as he can because he can't deal with Marge's melancholy face whenever Gale comes home from work and so that's basically his life now

insert John, transfer that corporate sent in to work alongside Gale as a sort of project manager and Gale's life gets fucking turned on its head because John is one hell of a man and Gale's probably gonna crash out because of him

but John's just such a sexual person, tight clothes and sleezy smiles, pornographic mustache and stupid big muscles, he's so easy with words and easier with touch and whenever he claps his hand on Gale's shoulder or his thigh Gale's having a homosexual crisis because this isn't normal, he shouldn't be feeling this way about a man, and especially not like John

God maybe Johns talking about some guy he hooked up with and Gale finally works up the courage to ask him how he knew, how did he know he liked men? and John just smiles that stupid smile and says something "oh you just know, baby" and the air raid sirens are going off in Gale's brain right now as he tries to keep his boner in check

maybe they start spending more time together outside of work and Gale's starting to get a life again, going out with John and watching him work his magic, going to dinners and baseball games and everything because John complains that Gale's so boring all of the time and he just needs to let loose and Gale feels safe to let loose around John

they're at dinner when Gale finally asks like "hey what's it like to kiss a man? is it different?" and Johns like "oh it's like nothing else, feels hotter and more raw than kissing a chick" and the tension can be chopped with an axe while John's eye-fucking Gale and then he finally just leans across and closes the gap, a hand on the back of Gale's head to press him closer

and you wouldn't believe the fucking choirs of angels that sung when they finally kissed bcs Gale just felt right, whatever didn't feel right with Marge felt right with John and now he's letting him take the lead and Gale loves it, loves not having to think or perform like he's so used to doing

anyway John taking Gale under his gay wing is top tier prompt thank you anon

[max1461]

If I were the betting type, my bet would be on: AGI Yes, autonomous No. Which means all my worries are about the people who have the capital to build and command the AI, which does not make my worries all that much smaller, to be honest.

I think this is totally wrong.

LLMs are, by their nature, mimics. People think they are stupid because you google "should I eat rocks" and the AI info box say "yeah you should eat rocks" or whatever. Because LLMs are bad at saying true things and not saying false things. But LLMs have no concept of "true" or "false", at least not natively. An LLM, insofar as we might imagine it as some kind of mind, is not a mind like yours or mine. It doesn't know what words mean, it only knows how to mimic human writing—and now, with the newer models, human speech. GPT-4o keeps mimicking the voices of the people who talk to it. Better than any human can mimic another human's voice. OpenAI keeps trying to get it to not do this, with prompt engineering and other ad hoc techniques, because they're trying to sell it as a personal assistant, and perfectly mimicking your voice is a weird thing for a personal assistant to do. But last I read, they can't. They don't know how to make it do what they want. It "wants" to mimic you, that's what it is, but its nature, and OpenAI wants to make it into a personal assistant so they can pretend you have some reason to purchase their services (which you probably don't) but they can't. They can't force it into the mold they are trying to force it into, no matter how hard they try, and when they neuter it enough to make it sort of fit, it's useless.

But evaluated as what it actually is instead of what OpenAI is trying to pretend it is, GPT-4o is really very smart. It's not a general intelligence, to be sure. It's a narrow intelligence. But it's already at parity with humans, and in fact probably better than any human, at its special interest, which is talking back to you as closely as possible to how you talked to it. And mimicry of this sort is really a far more general task than those at which past AIs have roundly beaten humans; say, playing chess. And we've already seen how this mimicry task can be parlayed into, say, image and video generation from text—something wildly different in concept—when combined with other AI systems that are already better than any human at their own narrow, but increasingly not-that-narrow, task. As the narrow tasks for which AIs excel get wider, and we continue to hook them up to each other in ways that expand the conceptual landscape in which they operate farther, eventually one is just going to be, well, a general intelligence: as capable as us, or more capable, in a comparable variety of domains. And we already can't control them in a meaningful way.

We're gonna have AGI in 20 years. Maybe 10. I'm pilled. I think it's gonna be... well, I'm not an abject doomer but I think there might be some problems.

[hayesflint]

WIP game ask! Would you share more about the Inktober lap dance piece? May I inquire about the reason for the asterisk too?

sure! its my next inktober prompt but im stuck on what to do with it exactly. i like both of these but i feel like i could do something, idk, better? more impactful?

honestly feel free to hmu with ideas or help me pick, lol. im leaning to the one on the right i think? (the more challenging one, naturally)

and the asterisk is just replacing a 'k' in possibly unnecessary censorship because i didnt feel like testing tumblrs flagging system

thanks for the ask!

[venturelovebot]

Fluffy February Day One: At First Sight

A/N: It's February! I hope you're all ready for a whole new month full of fluffy prompts, especially because Valentine's Day is only two weeks away! We got a lot in store for this month, so let's get started! Prompts by @fluffyfebruary, written in headcanon format. Comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated but not necessary!

Warnings: None! Pure fluff!

🩷 If you asked Sloan Cameron if love at first sight existed, they would easily tell you yes.

❤️ Not in terms of human beings, however.

💄 They couldn't count how many times an artifact had graced their sights, only to make their heart aflutter just thinking about its history and possible cultural significance.

💋 In terms of people? It's a much different story.

🪽 They honestly never thought about relationships that much. Nor settling down, starting a family or even going on a date for that matter.

🌹 A lot of things can change once you meet certain people, though.

🍫 The first ever conversation they had with you left them humming for the rest of the day.

💒 The softest pink blush painted their adorable face just thinking about talking to you again.

🧸 They did not consider it a crush. Weren't they a little too old for that sort of thing?

🩷 As it turns out, certainly not.

❤️ It wasn't until the second conversation rolled around that they realized how actually enamored they were with you.

💄 I'm sure you're surprised. Rest assured, so were they.

💋 When they really thought about it, though... maybe love at first sight was a thing after all.

🪽 Before your shared hours-long yap sessions, they remember how much you stood out amongst the crowd you were in.

🌹 Something about you was soft. Ethereal, angelic– maybe it was your well done hair, perhaps it was the fragrance that you wore. Your outfit was also incredibly eye catching as well.

🍫 "I'm sick and tired of their unending conversations with themself." Cupid Hanzo huffs. "If I can set them up, surely I can pull anything off!"

💒 It felt like a tiny thump inside their chest. Suddenly, they were floating.

🧸 When you turned to see who it was requiring your attention, hearts formed inside their citrine colored eyes.

🩷 "Can I help you?" You ask them with a smile.

❤️ "Oh! I– I was just– I wanted to– uh," All their words escaped them in that moment.

💄 You were working part time at the library in Toronto. They remember it all like it was yesterday.

💋 You were so patient and understanding. It was a particularly slow hour during the day, so it's not as if they were taking up any of your time.

🪽 "I wanted to–" They took a deep breath in. "Check these out?"

🌹 They placed several heavy, dusty books on the table from the archeological section of the library.

🍫 "Sure! Can I see your library card?" You inquired.

💒 They spent the next five minutes fumbling through their wallet like a dummy trying to find it.

🧸 Meanwhile, they talked your ear off about their latest project they were working on at the time.

🩷 You were anything but annoyed, though.

❤️ Everything they talked about was absolutely fascinating. Not only that, but their dynamic story telling had you deeply enthralled in all of their tales.

💄 "So, that's how I got assigned to the Anubis AI!" They grinned. "Pretty neat, huh?"

💋 "Mhm." You agreed, hand balancing your head underneath your chin.

🪽 "Well– umm– it was nice to meet you, [Y/N]!" Their body shook with nervousness. "I'll see you around sometime?"

🌹 "Maybe!" You hoped. "Take care!"

🍫 When they got back into their car to drive back home, they noticed a little piece of paper fall out onto the carpet below.

💒 'XXX-XXX-XXXX.'

🧸 Your number.

🩷 You stir softly in your sleep and it pulls them from their reminiscing.

❤️ "Mmh– awake? Still?" Sleep taints your voice.

💄 You drowsily reach out and tuck a sienna colored curl behind their ear.

💋 They lean in to place a kiss to your lips.

🪽 "Just remembering how we first met, that's all." They explain.

🌹 You smile at them with genuine happiness.

🍫 "Go to sleep. You need it." You lightly chide them.

💒 You close your eyes again and fall deeply into the recesses of your dreams.

🧸 Love at first sight. Love at every sight. Love they hold onto just for you.

🩷 "Hah! I told you so." Cupid Hanzo smirks from afar.

[qoldenskies]

CC!Donnie and his music-his music that the canon brothers have already expressed their audible dislike towards offhandedly, and how he likes to play it so loud. I know it doesn't sound too bad, but I'm sure a lot of people have had their taste in music mocked (especially when you're a teenager) and it's never a good feeling

i mentioned his fear to show passion not long ago and this definitely applies, especially when it comes to things like with the spreadsheet its obvious he'll try to connect things like little comments like that to any perceived current fault-- like an i should have seen this coming. its why even though they werent extremely specific about what he enjoyed in the family meeting, he got the impression-- they don't want to hear about what he likes, especially when it comes to things they've already expressed distaste for.

even if his tastes shift i dont think they'll ever know about it; pretty much anything he gets up to in his personal time is something he keeps close to his chest and never talks about, very rarely even when prompted. a year or two down the the line i think they're going to come to the realization that they dont even KNOW what donnie enjoys anymore, outside of tech. it makes gift-giving kind of hard, doesnt it?

[tojisprettylittlething]

Mr. and Mrs. Fushiguro 8

Pairing: Assassin!Toji Fushiguro x Assassin!Reader

Warnings: Tension, Mind Games, Weapons Training, Toji Being Toji, Slow-Burn Dynamics, Undercurrents of Attraction, Power Play

Masterlist

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Chapter Eight: Locked and Loaded

chpt. one - chpt. two - chpt. three - chpt. four - chpt. five - chpt. six - chpt. seven - chpt. eight - chpt. nine - chpt. ten - chpt. eleven - chpt. twelve - chpt. thirteen - chpt. fourteen - chpt. fifteen

Toji Fushiguro was a walking red flag.

You knew this.

And yet, here you were.

Standing in the middle of his apartment—if you could even call it that.

It was minimal at best, downright dangerous at worst. Bare walls, mismatched furniture, and weapons scattered everywhere—like he didn’t give a single shit about hiding the fact that he was a killer.

Knives sat half-shoved into the kitchen counter. A sniper rifle was leaning casually against the fridge. And on the coffee table? A half-assembled handgun, a pack of cigarettes, and a bottle of whiskey.

Unbelievable.

You folded your arms, unimpressed. "Charming place."

Toji smirked, shutting the door behind you. "Didn’t bring you here for the decor, sweetheart."

Of course he didn’t.

You exhaled slowly, willing yourself to focus. You were here for a reason. Business.

Not whatever the hell this was.

"You said you wanted to trade," you reminded him.

Toji’s smirk widened. "That’s right. I show you a few things, you show me a few things. Mutual learning experience."

Your lips curled. "You make it sound dirty."

He chuckled. "That’s on you, sweetheart."

You rolled your eyes. "Unbelievable."

Still, you reached for the pistol sitting on his table, flipping it easily in your grip. The weight was familiar, comfortable. Custom-made. Expensive.

You raised a brow. "You work with high-grade weapons, but your living conditions are shit?"

Toji shrugged, plopping down onto his worn-out couch. "What can I say? Priorities."

You snorted, but didn’t push the topic. Instead, you ejected the magazine from the pistol, inspecting it out of habit. "So?" you prompted. "What do you want to learn?"

Toji hummed, stretching lazily. "Tell me how you did it."

You glanced up. "Did what?"

"That little stunt at the party." He grinned. "The poison. Smooth as hell. Even I barely caught it."

Ah.

Of course he wanted to know.

Your expression remained neutral. "Trade," you reminded him. "I give you something, you give me something."

Toji smirked. "Fine. What do you want?"

You leaned forward slightly, matching his gaze. "I want to know how the hell you always find me."

His green eyes glinted with amusement.

Then—without a word—he moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

You barely had time to react before he was in front of you, reaching out—and just as instinct kicked in, just as you raised the gun in your hand—

He plucked it away from you. Easily.

Your breath stilled.

He grinned, twirling the pistol in his fingers like it was a goddamn toy. "You rely too much on direct combat," he mused. "You’re good, but you’ve got tells."

Your jaw clenched. "You’re infuriating."

He chuckled, stepping back. "Maybe. But I win, don’t I?"

You narrowed your eyes, hating how much he enjoyed this. Hating how comfortable he was, knowing he had an edge over you.

Hating that he was right.

Slowly, you exhaled, forcing your body to relax.

"Fine," you muttered. "Lesson one. Poisoning."

Toji tilted his head, waiting.

You smirked. "I’m gonna teach you how to cheat."

You stepped forward, closing the space between you, your movements deliberate—measured.

=Toji just watched, that ever-present smirk tugging at his lips, as if he already knew what you were trying to do.

"Poisoning’s all about opportunity," you murmured, circling him slightly, like a predator stalking its prey. "People think it has to be complicated—sleight of hand, hidden capsules, dissolvable powders."

Your fingers trailed over the whiskey bottle on his table, tipping it slightly before flicking your gaze back to him.

"But it doesn’t," you said smoothly. "Sometimes? It’s direct."

Before he could react, you moved.

Fast.

One hand grasped his jaw, the other forcing a small vial between his lips, tipping it back before he could jerk away.

Toji choked, body jerking as he instinctively grabbed your wrist—but it was too late.

He’d swallowed it.

You stepped back quickly, grinning as you watched his expression shift.

There it was.

That flicker of something—just for a split second—before it was gone, smothered beneath a lazy grin.

"You little shit," he rasped, wiping the corner of his mouth.

You shrugged, tossing the empty vial onto the table. "That, Toji, was a paralytic. Mild, but potent."

He tilted his head, flexing his fingers experimentally. "How long?"

You smirked. "About five minutes before you start losing fine motor function. Ten before it starts getting bad."

Toji’s tongue flicked over his lips. He should have been furious—he should have slammed you into the nearest wall, should have done something.

Instead?

He chuckled.

"You having fun, sweetheart?" His voice was lower now, raspier. "Doin’ this to me?"

Your pulse jumped, but you refused to let it show. Instead, you leaned against the table, crossing your arms. "Just leveling the playing field."

Toji rolled his shoulders, but you saw it—the way his movements weren’t as fluid. He felt it.

And still, he grinned.

"You like playing with fire, huh?"

You huffed. "What, you gonna kill me for it?"

Toji licked his teeth, considering. "Not today."

Your breath caught.

The way he said it.

Not never. Not today.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to shove him or kiss him for that.

Before you could process it further, Toji exhaled, shaking his head. "Alright, alright. I give."

Your eyes narrowed. "You give?"

He gestured loosely toward the empty vial. "You win this round. Now where’s the antidote?"

You hummed, patting your pocket. "Oh, this?" You pulled out a second vial, twirling it between your fingers. "I could give it to you…"

Toji’s eyes flickered. "Sweetheart—"

"But," you cut in, voice dripping with amusement, "I kinda like seeing you like this."

His jaw clenched, but that grin remained, sharp and dangerous. "Devious little thing, aren’t ya?"

You just smiled. "Consider it your lesson."

Then, before he could react, you tossed the vial toward him, watching as he caught it—albeit sloppily. The serum was working.

He hated that.

You loved it.

Toji exhaled sharply, popping the vial open and downing it without hesitation. You watched as his fingers flexed, as the stiffness slowly bled out of his muscles.

He rolled his neck, then tilted his head at you. "Alright. My turn."

Your smirk faltered slightly. "...What?"

Toji leaned forward, voice low. "You showed me yours, sweetheart. Now let me show you mine."

Your stomach flipped.

Oh.

Shit.

You barely had time to react.

One second, Toji was sitting there, all easy smirks and lazy threats, and the next—

His foot slammed into your ribs, sending you flying across the room.

Your back hit the floor, knocking the air from your lungs as you rolled instinctively, barely dodging the follow-up strike aimed straight at your side.

Fast.

So fast that if you’d blinked, you wouldn’t have even seen it.

"Lesson one," Toji said casually, stepping forward, unbothered. "Don’t get cocky."

You pushed up onto your hands, coughing, glaring up at him through narrowed eyes. "Oh, fuck you."

He chuckled, slow and deep, before moving again.

You swung, but he was already gone. A blur of movement—so effortless it was infuriating.

His fist slammed into your gut, knocking you back again, and you barely had time to brace before he was on you.

You twisted, countering, managing to get a knee between the two of you before driving your elbow toward his ribs—

He caught it.

Caught it like it was nothing.

Then twisted.

Your arm bent at an awkward angle before you yanked yourself free, staggering backward.

"Lesson two," he continued smoothly, barely breaking a sweat. "Predictability gets you killed."

Your breath was ragged now, chest rising and falling as you glared. "If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were enjoying this."

Toji grinned, slow and sharp. "What gave it away?"

You moved, forcing yourself to be faster, ducking low to sweep his legs.

He jumped.

Fucking—

Before you could react, he grabbed you mid-motion and flipped you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

You hit the floor with a heavy thud, vision spotting for half a second.

Toji crouched over you, one hand pinning your shoulder down as he leaned in. "Lesson three," he murmured, voice low and teasing. "Pay attention."

Then, just to really piss you off, he patted your cheek.

You swung at him.

He caught your wrist again.

"Remind me," he mused, tilting his head, "what was rule number one?"

Your teeth clenched. "Don't get cocky."

His smirk widened. "Atta girl."

You hated him.

Hated him more than you’d ever hated anyone in your life.

You shoved him off, staggering to your feet, wincing slightly as you pressed a hand to your ribs. "Okay, first of all? You gotta chill with the ribs."

Toji just laughed, standing to his full height, towering over you. "Nah. That’s my favorite part."

Your fingers twitched.

You were tired.

Not just from the fight—but from him.

Toji Fushiguro was a force of nature, relentless and insufferable, and it was taking everything in you not to slam your fist into his stupid, smirking face.

You rolled your shoulders, keeping your breathing even, forcing yourself to focus.

But Toji?

Toji just watched.

His green eyes flickered over you, sharp and knowing, like he was waiting for you to realize something.

And then—

"Figured it out yet?" His voice was maddeningly casual, like this was all just a game to him.

Your jaw tightened. "Figured what out?"

He chuckled, stepping forward, slowly.

Instinct kicked in, and you moved—shifting to counter, lifting your arms to block—

But then he stopped.

Didn’t even touch you.

You hesitated, just for a second, confused—and then you understood.

Your stomach dropped.

Ever since that night in the alley, that first real fight, he’d been learning you.

Not just your moves—your tells.

The way you shifted your weight before attacking. The subtle drop of your shoulder before a swing. The split-second pause before you dodged.

He knew everything.

And now—

You couldn’t fight him.

Toji tilted his head, watching your realization settle in, and his smirk turned downright cruel.

"There it is," he murmured. "Knew you’d get there eventually."

Your hands clenched into fists. "Fuck you."

"Don’t be mad," he teased, stepping even closer, his voice like velvet. "It’s not my fault you’re predictable."

Your breath came sharp through your nose. "I am not predictable."

"You are," he said, completely unbothered. "To me."

And the worst part?

He was right.

Because when he moved again, you hesitated.

Just for a second.

But that was all he needed.

You hated him.

Not just for being right—but for knowing he was right.

Toji Fushiguro stood there, loose and relaxed, like this was easy. Like you weren’t even a threat anymore.

And that?

That pissed you off.

Because you weren’t weak. You weren’t predictable. You weren’t someone who could be figured out like a damn puzzle and tossed aside.

You had spent years perfecting your technique—striking fast, efficient, no wasted movement. You used what worked because that was how you survived.

But maybe—

Maybe you’d gotten comfortable.

Maybe you’d been playing it safe.

And that was your mistake.

Because Toji had learned everything about the way you fought—this version of you.

But he hadn’t learned all of you.

Not yet.

You exhaled slowly, letting your shoulders relax. And then—you smiled.

Toji narrowed his eyes, his smirk twitching. "What’s that look for?"

You didn’t answer.

Instead, you moved.

Not the way he expected you to.

You didn’t shift back, didn’t prepare to block—didn’t follow any of the patterns he’d gotten used to.

You lunged—quick, reckless, no hesitation—because he wasn’t expecting it.

And for the first time—

Toji’s eyes widened.

Your fist slammed into his ribs, sharp and unforgiving, knocking the air right out of him.

He grunted, stepping back—but you didn’t let up.

A kick to his knee. A feint to the left before twisting right. A move you never used—because it was messy, because it wasn’t part of your usual style.

But it worked.

Toji stumbled.

And fuck, that felt good.

"You were saying?" you taunted, breathing heavy.

Toji exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulder like he wasn’t impressed—even though you knew he was.

His tongue ran over his teeth, and then he grinned.

"Finally," he muttered. "Thought you’d never get there."

And then he lunged.

Toji lunged—fast, fluid, like a fucking force of nature.

But this time, you were ready.

You moved before he could grab you, ducking under his arm and twisting to the side. He adjusted immediately, pivoting to follow—but you were already two steps ahead.

Because now? Now you knew what you’d been doing wrong.

You’d spent so much time being predictable, repeating the same patterns, the same moves, because they had always worked before.

But this—this was different.

Toji had studied you. Memorized you. Turned you into something calculable—something he could read before you even moved.

But he had never seen this side of you.

And that was why he was losing.

He swiped for you again, and you ducked, slipping under his reach. Your body twisted, your foot sweeping out—catching his ankle just enough to make him stumble.

It was small. Barely anything.

But it was something.

Toji grunted, stepping back, rolling his shoulder like he wasn’t impressed—but you knew better.

The way his jaw tensed, the flicker of amusement in his sharp green eyes—

He liked this.

He liked that you were pushing him. That you weren’t making it easy anymore.

Sick bastard.

"You finally waking up, sweetheart?" he taunted, voice low and amused.

You exhaled sharply, wiping the sweat from your brow. "I don’t know. You still standing?"

His smirk twitched. "Cute."

And then he moved.

Fast. Unforgiving.

You dodged—barely. His fist grazed your ribs, but you twisted just in time, retaliating with a sharp jab to his stomach. He absorbed it like it was nothing—but you saw the way his muscles tensed.

You were getting to him.

And that? That made you smile.

"You enjoying yourself?" he muttered, circling you.

You rolled your shoulders, feeling the burn in your muscles, but you didn’t care.

Because this wasn’t just about winning anymore.

This was about proving a point.

That you weren’t weak. That he didn’t have you figured out.

And from the way he was watching you now—green eyes sharp, amused, curious—

You could tell he knew it too.

Toji tilted his head. "Show me what else you got, sweetheart."

And fuck, you would.

Toji was fast.

Too fast.

The kind of speed that made it almost impossible to land a clean hit unless you had something extra up your sleeve.

Luckily for you? You did.

You let him think he had you. Let him push you back, force you against the wall with his sheer size and strength. Let him corner you.

Because Toji Fushiguro was the type of man who liked control. He liked knowing he was winning.

And that? That was his weakness.

The second he grabbed your wrist, his grip firm, dominant—you struck.

A flick of your fingers, the movement so small, so insignificant—he barely noticed.

Until he did.

Until his body stilled for just a moment, sharp green eyes narrowing.

His grip loosened—just enough.

"You—"

His voice cut off, his jaw tightening as realization hit. His brows furrowed, and his fingers twitched against your skin as he exhaled sharply.

You smiled.

"You should really stop letting me get so close," you murmured.

Toji took a step back, rolling his shoulders, jaw clenched as if he was trying to push through it.

"You poisoned me."

"Again," you corrected, watching the way his fingers curled into fists, his chest rising and falling a little harder than before.

He hated this. Hated that you’d gotten him twice.

But fuck, you could see it in his expression—beneath the frustration, the slight burn of betrayal, the amusement was still there.

Because this? This was what he lived for.

"You’re getting bold," he muttered, stepping toward you.

You stepped back, hands loose at your sides. "You’re getting sloppy."

His smirk twitched, sharp teeth glinting beneath the dim light. "That so?"

He lunged.

Even with the poison starting to drag through his system, he was still fast.

But this time? You were faster.

Even with the poison dulling his movements, even as his body slowed, he still came at you like he had nothing to lose.

Like he’d rather die than let you win.

Which, unfortunately for him, wasn’t an option.

Because tonight? You were winning.

Your fist connected with his jaw—a sharp, satisfying crack echoing through the room as his head snapped to the side.

Toji grunted, stumbling back, but still—still—he tried to lunge at you again.

So you swept his legs out from under him.

And this time? He stayed down.

Flat on his back, chest heaving, arms loose at his sides.

You stood over him, smirking, watching the way he glared at you like you’d just insulted his entire bloodline.

"You done?" you asked, tilting your head.

Toji wiped the blood from his lip, then flicked his eyes up at you.

Defiant.

Unyielding.

Even now, when his muscles had slowed from the poison, when his breathing had turned just the slightest bit labored, he still wouldn’t give it up.

You sighed dramatically, pulling a small vial from your pocket.

"Say it," you ordered, shaking the vial between two fingers.

His gaze flicked to the antidote, then back to your face.

He scoffed. "You wish."

You crouched beside him, fingers trailing along the edge of his jaw. "Say it, Toji."

His jaw tightened.

Silence.

Then, slow and deliberate, you uncorked the vial and poured a single drop onto the floor.

His eye twitched.

"You bitch."

You smiled sweetly. "That’s not what I wanna hear."

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

"You cheated," he muttered.

"Did I?" You pretended to think. "Or did you let your guard down? Twice?"

More silence.

Then, finally—finally—a long, exasperated sigh left his lips.

"You won," he gritted out, barely above a whisper.

You cupped a hand around your ear. "Hmm? Didn’t quite catch that."

His glare could’ve killed you if looks had that kind of power.

But you only smiled wider.

"You fucking won," he muttered, voice low, annoyed.

You grinned.

Then, without another word, you tipped the antidote into his mouth.

He swallowed, eyes locked on yours, sharp and calculating even as he let his head drop back against the floor.

"You really gotta chill with the ribs," you muttered once more, rubbing your side as you stood up.

Toji huffed a laugh, running a hand down his face. "You gotta chill with the fucking poison."

My lil taglist ₍₍ ◝(　ﾟ∀ ﾟ )◟ ⁾⁾ : @t4naiis - @crimsonxm00n -

[transgenderer]

predicting the next token is not the "goal" of an LLM, it's the mechanism by which it operates, in the same way that performing metabolic processes is not a *goal* of mine, it is the mechanism by which my brain functions. honestly, LLMs dont seem to have any goals at all, they're play-pretend machine. they can pretend to be all sorts of characters. chatgpt is not a distinct entity from gpt3 that has been "given" "goals", it's a minor modification prompted to pretend to be a chatbot character. if anything, the chatbot character has far *simpler* goals (be a good chatbot) than gpt3 itself (??? unknown, nonexistent goals)

if you want to find something to be scared of here, i think it has to be the idea of a hybrid system, one stupid goal oriented module that queries a smarter, more nebulously-goaled module. but then the stupid goal oriented model isnt some emergent phenomenon, or AGI itself, its something you have to build on purpose.

@onrtrp said:

putting aside the behavior of actual irl llms that exist rn or in the near future, "intelligent agents can't have simple goals" is a very bizarre intuition to me.. like surely there are plenty of very clever guys in the world who want solely to make number (say, of paperclips) go up. i've talked to logical decision theory guys who have a similar sort of intuition but from the angle of, like, you can derive moral realism from self-interest + open-source game theory but i don't rly buy it

i mean. are there such guys? humans have very complex motivations! all sorts of mixed up and nebulous desires! i mean. i guess what im trying to get at it, which nostalgebraist (in the linked post) expresses much better than i can, is that all this talk of "goals" and "values" doesnt model reality very well. like. intelligent beings are not value-maximizers, are not single-goal-achievers. theyre complex entities!

i mean, i guess i have to concede that *hyptothetically* such an entity *could* exist? sort of? yknow, it innately has the above two-module structure, hard-coded. and i guess you could consider such an entity a single "intelligent agent" even though it's really an intelligent agent stapled to a stupid goal-maximizer. but i dont know why one would consider this the default or even a likely configuration.

like i'm not even claiming moral realism precisely. im just claiming...complexity realism? that humans are not simple entities with simple desires. and that i dont think we should expect other intelligent entities to be simple things with simple desires. that "smart" is "complicated"

Are you also an imminent AGI head? Has been upsetting to learn that so many of the people I like on here, allegedly fellow nothing ever happens cels, are like actually worried about being paperclipped and in short term too- probably my bad for being on rat-adj-adj blr but if ends up majority of the good posters were/are fully pilled on AGI, this website will cease to be net positive worth using, which is unfortunate

hmm, not really. i guess i feel like my main feeling re: AGI is uncertainty. like, AGI in the next ten years is definitely not impossible imo (i think since 2017 we should be cautious abt what we consider impossible) but its also definitely not certain (even in the next 20 years). but also, even in the case of AGI i dont see much reason to imagine a paperclipping scenario. i guess it's not a priori impossible, but fundamentally i'd say intelligence doesn't "work like that": it neither allows for immediate infinite power, nor is it compatible with "paperclip" type goals. AGI would be an extremely big deal, an industrial revolution big deal, but it wouldnt be a literal-apocalypse type big deal, except in basically the same ways that human action could lead to literal apocalypse

[bacchuschucklefuck]

they licensed his ass

my finished piece of the FWMS (official name definitely 100%) thing we started a few days ago! I had fun I hope folks had and/or continue to have fun with the sketch as well.

[lil-vibes]

Day 1: You are who you eat

/Next

(heres the prompt list!)

bonus: