#just in case even though its just a suggestion in tags

[kinz2007]

To be loved is to be changed... comparison between Martin, a Webkinz barred owl who was one of my childhood favorite toys, and a like-new duplicate my mom gave me for Christmas one year.

I'm on the spectrum and owls were my special interest in grade school. I can still remember seeing this guy when he first came out, and begging my mom to let me buy it with my own money, which she suspiciously denied... turns out she knew my aunt had already gotten it and stashed it away for me for Christmas, and opening it up on Christmas Eve is still one of my happiest memories. He was a comfort object for me well into middle school and went with me everywhere I could possibly take him. It was at a time when a lot of other classmates were growing out of those kinds of things... but I've never not been a plushie lover. That'll be forever for me.

[kyra45]

How to spot a scam blog

A very simple guide to figuring out if the blog messaging you is a scam:

Was you sent an ask within some time of sharing a specific type of post such as a trending topic or subject? - Usually scam accounts target particular posts and will spam asks to everyone who shared it. The ask may relate to certain events going on or more. These asks are always sent to many users all at once so it’s suggested to tumblr search part of the ask and see if its been sent by other accounts labeled as a scam or accounts with similar style.

Is the account relatively new? - More often than not, the accounts sending the asks are about a week old or even newer. They haven’t been made too long ago and often send asks within hours of being made. If you have timestamps turned on, you’ll be able to see the date something was posted. A fresher account is usually not going to be one who’s finding you unless they are searching tags and saw your blog.

How many posts are on the account? - Scam accounts rarely have many posts on their blogs beyond the initial pinned post. All their posts, being very few are very little, are most often just posts from a trending topic they looked up or a popular tag they decided to look through. They will share only a few and then make no further posts. This is to pad out their blog to make it look used but it’s easy to see how new the blog is if you scroll to the end.

Are the shared posts fitting a theme? - Scam accounts try to share posts based on the scam they’re trying to run. This means they’ll share posts related to the topic of their choosing and then stop once they’ve shared a few. Most of these posts come from the OP themselves and not from someone the blog is following though in rare cases they’ll find a person to reblog from so they don’t look suspicious.

Are the reblog dates accurate? - If you use timestamps, find a post the blog shared and check ‘Other notes’ and see if the reblog date matches the date that is listed on the blog itself. Often, scammers will backdate posts to make them look much older then they really are in an attempt to deceive people into thinking they’ve used tumblr for months or years.

Is the url auto-generated? - Not always seen from a scam account, but scammers often just use auto-generated usernames because it’s quick and easy to do. But real accounts may have these too. It’s just a thing to keep in mind.

Is the url familiar or similar to one you’ve seen before? - Scammers often try to copy their older accounts by using usernames based around previous scam attempts. It becomes obvious after about a while and usually makes it easy to figure out the scammer is back again. This isn’t always from scam accounts as regular accounts may do this for reasons.

How often do you get asks? - If you barely get asks and suddenly keep getting mutual aid asks it’s very likely you’re just a scammers latest target and they’ll keep spamming asks. This means you’ll consistently get the same style of asks from a brand new account that shouldn’t know you unless they found you in tags. You will keep getting these asks on a daily basis. You will eventually always get these asks.

Did they request you to message them directly? - On rare occasions a scam account will want you to send them a direct message and then they’ll just ask you for thousands of dollars on the spot.

Does your bio say no mutual aid asks? - Scammers don’t read/don’t care they will ignore that and send you asks anyway that won’t stop them.

Short version: More often than not the blog asking you for money is a scam if you don’t usually get asks for money from brand new accounts.

[hittmeandtellmeyouremine]

puddin!reader being a crybaby on her period?

pairing: puddin!reader x older!rafe

warnings: mdni, lottie do not read, mainly fluff but suggestive content, ddlg themes, use of 'daddy'.

word count: 700+ words

a/n: cel finally sticking to just a blurb??? btw i fear this is just me on my period...

tags: @athaliahxoxo

rafe was met with cries bouncing off the walls as he came through the front door, dropping the bags in hand to look for you immediately.

"puddin'?" he calls out, making his way upstairs to find you on the floor of the bathroom sobbing. your legs were folded beneath you, head tilted up as the tears flowed down your cheeks.

"baby, what's wrong?" he asks, crouching down in front of you.

he grabbed your arm, looking over you with a worried expression and checking for any sort of injuries you could've had.

"you left me" you sob, throwing your arms around him.

your words caught him off guard but he wrapped his arms around you, hand rubbing your back gently.

"puddin', i asked you if you wanted to come and you told me no" he says softly.

"but you didn't say you wanted me to go with you" you wail, burying your face in his chest.

it was the second day of your menstrual cycle, which was arguable the worst. your flow was at its heaviest, cramps riddled your body with discomfort, and you were emotional as ever.

you had thrown a fit earlier about there not being any good snacks in the house; nothing chocolate, nothing sweet, nothing savory, nothing you wanted. the subtle complaints turned into cries, rafe finding you on the kitchen floor in tears over the matter.

so, like the good fath-... lover he was, he offered to go get you all the snacks your bleeding heart desired. he even sat with you at the breakfast bar while you made a list of everything you wanted him to pick up—which was damn near the entire store.

he asked if you wanted to come with, just in case you saw something that you didn't think of, but you declined. you actually told him you'd rather die than leave the house in your state—he widened his eyes and slowly nodded at that.

he also figured maybe you wanted your space from him because you usually did during this time. one minute you were all over him and the next his presence made you want to hurl. he concluded the latter had been long forgotten by this point.

"i'm sorry, puddin'" he soothes, hand brushing over your hair. "daddy shouldn't have left you all by yourself"

you nodded against his chest, continuing to sob into it. he knew you weren't really upset over that, not genuinely. your hormones were just so out of wack that any little thing was setting you off. it was best to just comfort you and let you get it out of your system.

"shh, it's okay. daddy's got you" he cooed, holding you close and littering kisses on your head until you finally calmed down.

"come on, let's get some food in you, yeah?" he asks, looking down at you.

you nod weakly. with that he helps you up from the floor, taking your hand in his and guiding you downstairs. he sets everything he purchased on the counter, pressing behind you as your eyes trail over the items.

rafe cooks your favorite, something you hadn't even thought of when making the list. rafe did though, because he knew you better than you knew yourself. you're pressed either into his side or against him the whole time he cooks.

when he finally finishes, he sits you on his lap and feeds it to you, knowing you wouldn't even bother touching the fork yourself. and since he knows you so well, he knew you would crave something sweet after.

he had gotten you an array of various sweets; ice cream, brownies, cakes, and candies. he gave you ice cream though, for now, mumbling something about making you brownies later in the night.

he watched you swirl your tongue around the cone, eyes glued to the living room television that was playing. his thoughts drift as he watches you, but he keeps them tucked away.

"that's my pretty girl, all better now?" he asks.

you give him a nod, settling back against his chest contently.

rafe didn't leave your side for the rest of the week. he fulfilled your every request and even when you briefly declared you wanted your space from him, he was never too far. he even canceled all his work meetings, saying he had "family things" to take care of.

anything to keep his puddin' happy.

-

[eroticnekoisa]

Beginner Yoga Class

M!Reader x Aespa Karina

Around 2,750 words

tags: sex, blowjob, titfuck, cumshot, reader has big dick, little bit of fluff, my first smut so don't judge me too harshly please

Recently, you decided to commit to a healthier lifestyle and to try new things. So you thought "Why not do both at once?" and began pondering what kind of activities you could do.

After pondering and searching for a few days, you ultimately decided to sign up for a yoga class. You haven't tried yoga before, plus, it would bring both the healthier lifestyle and new experience you desired. So why not?

When looking at the class options, you found a 1:1 class. Considering you have never done yoga before, you find it more appealing to be alone with the teacher. More focus on you and fewer people around to notice your mistakes, also leading to much less embarrassment from your cluelessness on the subject.

Just you and the teacher. No one else around.

You happily sign up and wait for the days to pass.

Entering the building, you instantly notice the atmosphere change. You proceed as you normally would, the receptionist greeting you before guiding you to your destination, it seems her nametag displays the name "Minjeong". As you enter the room, the receptionist let's you know that you can take one of the candies on her counter when you leave, as she returns to her place. How nice of her!

The kind receptionist shuts the door for you. You notice a dark haired woman standing next to a chair on the opposite side of the room, she appears to be fixing her hair in one of the mirrors on the wall. She doesn't seem to notice you. You approach her and greet her.

"Hello?"

startled by your voice, she quickly turns. "Oh! You're here for the class? You're early." Until now, you didn't notice that you are actually about 10 minutes early. I guess you didn't check the time.

"Sorry, I guess I didn't check the time."

"No, no. It's fine!" she says, "We can start early, just give me a minute. You can sit if you'd like" she offers with a kind smile on her face as she does something in the corner. You can't quite see what she's doing since her back is turned towards you.

You sat on the chair just as she suggested you do. You let her do what she's doing in peace, so you don't talk to her until she's ready. Your eyes wander around the room, eventually focusing on your yoga teacher. You admire her healthy looking hair, her pale skin…You begin to look at her clothing, wearing a fitted tank top, mildly baggy sweatpants, though not baggy enough to hide the curves of her hips and shape of her round ass.

You aren't looking at her with lust, just learning her features. Right? Your eyes seemed to have stopped caring about the room once you saw her ass. She turns around and smiles at you, raising one finger to tell you that she will only be one more minute! You quickly look at her face, hoping she didn't notice you staring at her ass.

She didn't notice anything when looking back at you. However, you did notice something. You noticed her large breasts held by her tank top. You couldn't help it, your thoughts were beginning to go exactly where they shouldn't. You began to think about what her body looks like underneath her clothes, how soft her skin would be, you even wondered what her pussy looks like for a few brief seconds. How dirty of you.

Your thoughts turned you on so much you could practically feel the blood rushing downward, you feel your cock getting harder, bigger, thicker. It's such a bad time to be turned on. You remain sitting in the chair (almost) successfully hiding the bulge in your pants.

"Okay. Can you move the chair now?" Karina says, with her back still turned toward you.

"Fuck." you thought. Just as you stand up, Karina turns around and drops a pen and her phone.

She gasps from seeing her phone separate from its case, she instantly bends over to pick up the items she dropped.

You can now see directly down her top, getting an almost complete view of her large, soft, breasts. Moving slightly as she moves her arms to gather the items she dropped.

Now standing up, you feel your cock firmly pressing against your pants. You can't possibly hide it now, especially considering your size. You hear Karina talking, but you don't seem to be listening. You just continue staring at her big tits, with endless sexual thoughts racing through your mind.

Smiling, Karina quickly stands up to finally get started with the class. She was excited to teach someone new.

"I'm sorry, I'm clumsy!" she says with a laugh, while looking at your face.

Just as you try to gain composure and act natural, she looks down at the chair beside you, but something else caught her attention.

"I really think I-I-" her jaw drops for a few seconds as she stares at the large bulge in your pants before realizing what she was doing, looking up to speak to you. "U-um-heh. Um. I'm sorry, I didn't-"

You turn your back to her, apologizing out of embarrassment. Though her directly looking at it turned you on even more.

"No, I'm sorry. Give me a minute, it's just-"

She interrupts you, saying "It's fine! It's totally fine!" trying to silence her awkward giggle. Now her thoughts were racing.

Awkward silence fills the room for what feels like forever. Karina looking at the floor, trying not to make you feel embarrassed. You don't notice, but she occasionally glances at you in the mirror, trying to get another look at your big cock print.

You hear her walking towards you, you feel a hand on your back and another hand on the side of your arm. She breaks the silence with her pretty voice and says,

"Can…….Can I see it..again?"

You feel so shocked to hear these words come from her mouth, you instantly turn around to look at her. Accidentally giving her exactly what she asked for. "What?!" you exclaim.

The second you face her, she looks directly at the bulge in your pants and covers her mouth in awe. Her eyes focusing on your cock made it twitch, bringing a very sexy looking smile to her face as she bites her lip.

She gets very close, putting one hand on your chest and the fingers of her other hand on the band of your sweatpants. Her face inches away from your own, her tits touching your chest as she leans in. She whispers,

"I want to see more. I….want..I want to touch it…"

You are completely lost and overwhelmed by the situation, you didn't believe it was actually happening. Karina was shy, but she was also very, very horny in this moment. She looked into your eyes, biting her lip even harder as she started gently tugging your pants downward.

You nod to give her permission. She smiles and puts both of her hands on your pants, pulling them down along with your underwear.

Your cock finally released, springing upwards. You feel your heart beating hard, just like your cock that Karina is staring at. She stares with a look of yearning on her face.

She slowly and gently grips the center of your cock with her small, soft, hand. The sight and feel of your cock turned her on so much, she couldn't stop there. She needed to stroke it, suck it, feel it deep inside her.

"Oh my god…it's so….big.." she said slowly, feeling how hard you are, she playfully asks "What got you so excited? Huh?" still holding your cock.

You smile and chuckle, not knowing what to say. She seems to have an idea, but she still wanted to tease you.

She begins stroking your cock, slowly pulling your foreskin back and forward, back and forward. The expression displayed on her gorgeous face clearly shows how aroused she is. It feels so good, you start to breath heavier. She likes the sound of that.

She lets go of your cock and with a devious look on her face, asks "Do you want to sit in the chair now?" hoping you understood what she was hinting at. You understood, but were in disbelief. You sat down in the chair, bringing her much joy.

She gets on her knees in front of you, putting her hands on each of your thighs. You don't believe what's happening, but that's okay. She doesn't mind.

You see Karina staring at your big, hard cock sticking straight up towards the ceiling. Now only inches away from her small, delicate face.

She grabs your cock, pressing it against her face and feeling how hard she made you. You both love the fact that your cock looks huge on her face, making both of you even hornier.

You feel her breath on your cock as she exhales with a soft moan, "Ahhh~"

She holds your cock still as she gives the tip a deep kiss, wetting her lips with your precum before she begins to open her mouth wide to take your sensitive tip in her mouth. You feel her wet, glossy lips sliding down your cock as it glides across her tongue.

You moan as she sucks and licks your cock, feeling her fingers start caressing and massaging your balls. She takes your cock deeper and deeper into her warm, wet mouth, sucking harder and harder. Feeling her saliva mixing with your precum, running down your cock from her lips. She tries to take it deep into her throat, but she can only handle the head entering her throat before she needs to stop.

She lifts her head up, looking at you while breathing heavily. Her lips and chin wet with your fluids. You feel frustrated, since you were right at the edge before she stopped all stimulation. But that's only because you didn't know what else she was planning in that pretty little head of hers.

Still on her knees, she smiles and slides her hands up your shirt, feeling your chest and stomach, brushing your nipples with her soft fingers. "How did my mouth feel?"

"Amazing…I can't believe this. We shouldn't-" you respond as she denies your logic.

"Shhh~ Babyy~" she says, "We have plenty of time, relax~" as she briefly stands up to give you a kiss before returning to her knees.

"I know what you want…" she teases as she removes her top, exposing her black bra. "Right?"

You respond with a "Yes…." and hear a cute yet sexy chuckle. She removes her bra, fully displaying her big, gorgeous tits you were peeping at earlier. Her nipples hard with excitement, as she caresses and softly squeezes her tits for you. Biting her lip at the pleasure and the sight of you.

She moans softly as she pinches her nipples, "And what about this?~"

She moves closer to you again, this time positioning your cock between her tits, pushing them together. She loves the feeling of her large tits surrounding your big cock, sliding up and down, making her swear.

"Fuck….is this what you wanted?" she asks, as if she wasn't the one to take your pants off.

"God…you're so pretty. It feels so good" you couldn't get any harder, the contrast of your hard cock and her soft tits turned you on even more.

Again, as you begin to feel like you'll cum any second, she stops touching you and stands up. Your cock begging for more as she ignores it, moving her body closer to your face. She puts her arms around your head, putting her beautiful tits in your face.

You begin to feel her breasts with your hands, squeezing, kneading, rubbing. She breathes in and out softly, yet heavily. She feels you begin to lick and suck on her sensitive nipples, bringing an involuntary moan out of her.

She continues to make lovely sounds as you play with her perfect tits, before putting her hand on your head and saying the following words

"St-stop….okay.."

You stop, thinking she has had enough and your luck ran out. She takes a moment before speaking again, as if her shyness returned.

"I need….I need more.."

She removes her pants completely, revealing her black panties.

"Please…….stand up.."

She couldn't take it anymore, she needed you to fuck her. She needed to feel your cock inside her pussy. She's been thinking about it since she first saw you.

You stand up as she removes her panties, you can't help but stare when you finally see her shaved pussy. It was a beautiful sight, even more beautiful than you imagined. You take a look at her panties that now lie on the floor, noticing the inside completely soaked with her fluids.

"Come on…" shyly encouraging you as she gets on the chair, her knees on the seat and her arms resting on the back. Bending over, giving you a complete view of her ass and pussy. She was so turned on, even her inner thighs were wet. It was a heavenly sight. The chair was positioned in a way that you can both see each other's faces in the mirrors on the wall.

You rest your cock on her ass and lower back, caressing her upper back with your hands, moving down to her waist as she watches in the mirror. Moving her hips back, pressing her ass onto you, she says "Please.."

Now that she was the desperately horny one, you decide to tease her. "Please what? What do you want?"

"I want it…"

"You want what? I want you to say it"

She looks at you from behind her shoulder, saying exactly what was on her mind "I want you to fuck me with your big, sexy cock. I need to feel your cock deep in my pussy. Please, please, fuck.."

You feel a wave of extreme desire flow through your body, hearing her speak those words. You have no choice but to give her exactly what she wants, after all, it's exactly what you want too.

As you prepare to penetrate her, you see her fingers already rubbing her clit, making her breath shaky. She couldn't resist, and now you can't resist either.

You slowly penetrate her warm, tight, wet pussy, it feels heavenly. Karina moans loudly as your cock travels deeper inside her, stretching her pussy. Her tits moving as you speed up, hitting her hips with your own, her ass jiggling subtly.

"It feels…fuck…so good.." she says between her moans and whimpers, rubbing her clit faster, causing her to arch her back.

"Harder….please!"

You give in and fuck her tight pussy even harder. You feel it squeezing your cock, she's in complete ecstasy. She physically cannot stop making noises.

"I'm so close…fuck. I'm-I'm gonna-ah!" she says loudly, before her legs begin to shake. Hearing those words brought you close once again. However, you were in control this time. You start fucking her faster, preparing to cum, just as you hear Karina loudly exclaim..

"I'M CUMMING"

She breathes heavily, moaning and shaking. You her pussy tightening and contracting around your cock, with her juices flowing out of her. You feel your orgasm approaching, it feels unbelievable.

As Karina watches in the mirror, you almost fail pull out of her perfect pussy as you cum, shooting large, thick ropes of cum on her ass and lower back. She softly moans, as she feels your hot cum covering her.

You both take a moment of silence to catch your breath, before you speak.

"That was…..insane."

Her shyness returns, she answers in a nod, hiding her face "Mmhmm.."

You grab towels to clean her up, and gather your clothes. Wondering about the actual yoga class, you ask her "Can I….still come again for yoga?"

Getting dressed, she answers with a giggle "Yes, next week."

"This was the weirdest class I've ever done, but…."

"…Yeah?" you ask, curious about what she was going to say.

"Um…nothing. It's time for you to leave, class is over!"

She awkwardly chases you back into the lobby, shutting the door. The receptionist glances at you as you walk by, her face very red. She asks,

"Is���uh….everything okay?", with a weird expression on her face.

A little embarrassed, you respond "Yeah, it went great!"

You don't stop walking to save yourself from the awkward and confusing situation that remained in the building. You proceed to travel home, realizing that you did not take the free candy offered by the kind, blonde receptionist.

Thank you for reading if you made it this far~

[princeoftheeternalbog]

OP characters reacting to you kissing them and running away (here's part 2) established relationship ish. Feel free to ask for other characters.

ALSO I've definitely seen another creator who did this idea with op characters but I can't remember who so if someone could tell me I would really love to credit them :(. I tried to make mine different but still it's the principal of it.

Slightly suggestive in some parts so mdni.

Luffy

Thinks its a new game like tag but with kisses and it ends up actually becoming one. You'll both wait for the other to become distracted and then you'll strike, planting a kiss and sprinting off around the ship or the island you're docked at. It's not hard to chase after each other because the trails of laughter are so easy to follow and it always ends up with one of you on the floor from a tackle or something similar.

Zoro

Gobsmacked. Genuinely his jaw drops especially if there's other people there and you get away so easily only because of how long it takes his brain to boot back online. Oh but he doesn't let it go. He waits until you're in a similar situation, either talking to someone or doing work and he sneaks up to pull you into a deep, intense kiss that leaves your knees weak. Like he fully puts the moves on you, hand on your lower back, other hand cradling your jaw, hes literally licking into your mouth and then he just disappears for the rest of the day. Asshole.

Sanji

You are not running away from this man. Not in a scary way but he can't do just one short kiss, as soon as you're leaning in his hands settle firm on your hips and that grip is not something you can wiggle out of. You can try to run away but he just laughs at you and pulls you closer to him, ofc he would let go if you actually wanted him to but he knows what you're trying to pull. Says something like "Oh? Trying to run darlin? How sweet." swoon- Just don't even bother, he will always try to win if your affection is involved.

Nami

Honestly thinks nothing of it. A lot of your affection is sweet but quick because yk pirate life. But if you look disappointed from her lack of reaction then she catches on quickly and starts playing along. So sweet even though she can be scary. Oh but don't try to run if she's initiating, like Sanji you aren't going to get out of her grip. If she wants to shower you with affection, she is going to thank you very much. If you do manage to slip away she's surprisingly quick and surprisingly stealthy. Like you'll think you got away and you walk into a room and she drops down from the ceiling like fucking batman.

(maybe not that dramatic but shes good)

Robin

She lets you run away but only because she knows she could summon a mouth to kiss you at any time and in any place so she's content knowing she always wins. Also thinks it's really cute when you try to rile her up like this, she just finds it so endearing and usually ends up playing into it anyways- "My, my, aren't you getting so bold my love". Sometimes will purposefully trip you up while you're doing these antics so you can't get away or so your plan is ruined, absolutely pretends she has no idea what you're talking about.

Usopp

Highly likely he was doing something when it happened. Highly likely he dropped something onto his foot as a result. Yowls like an injured cat and then when his brain catches up it's like steam comes out of his ears. Stands there with his mouth open and pointing at you like you betrayed his entire family. Very funny and very cute. Also a possibility of him smacking you out of fearful instinct in which case he'd probably cry his eyes out and beg for forgiveness. Nami makes it worse by punching him in the face for hitting you. A mess all around if you get him at the wrong time so just be careful.

Ace

Immediately sprinting after you, it's actually a bit scary. But like hey he's not letting you get away with just one measly little peck on the cheek. Absolutely nobody on the crew helps you unless it would be funny, i.e. someone tripping Ace up so he faceplants. If it's near the beginning of your relationship then you likely go back out of concern which he takes as a chance to catch you, but if it's later then you already know this man's antics and you know he wouldn't be injured just from tripping so you use it as an opportunity to get away💪. You still have to kiss it better later though when hes whining to you about how cruel you are for leaving him in the dust(he would do the same).

Izou

Don't bother. As soon as you turn he snatches you by the back of your collar and pulls you onto his lap, proceeds to resume his conversation like nothing is wrong but his arms are firm around your waist and his cheeks and ears are a particularly pretty shade of red. Once his conversation is over and the other person has left, he turns his attention to you with a very pointed look. He's not actually irritated but if he enjoys watching you squirm that's his business. "If you wanted a kiss you should've just asked my love" and then he's practically devouring your mouth. Doesn't care about the other people in the vicinity. Doesn't care that he's smudging his lipstick. Just wants to fluster you more than you flustered him.

Marco

Do you even want to run away from this man lets be real- anyways.

If he's doing work then he just laughs and lets you get away with it, tallys it in his head for later, but if he's free and hes in a good mood then he absolutely plays into it. Will chase after you. Will cheat by using his powers. Its a bit scary but also very attractive, somehow ends with him pinning you in some way (☺️), looks very smug when he wins. Like you'll end up flat on your back, legs trapped under his and his hands restraining yours and he's just grinning- "Oh what a surprise. You were so easy to catch-yoi" Yeah yeah shut up. Absolutely asks what his reward is just to see your shocked face (absolutely asks again later when you two are alone).

Sabo

VILLAIN!!!!!! Sorry only way i can describe how devious and obsessed this man would be. Like Izou he tries to snatch you immediately but you planned for this so you manage to spring out of his grip in time. You falter a bit at his reaction then because he just blinks at you for a while. You start to feel a bit nervous and when he finally grins at you, you definitely feel nervous. "Playing like that are we honey? How about I give you a headstart then?" Evil. You know he's going to catch you. He knows he's going to catch you. He's just giving you false hope but yk hope is hope so you take the chance.

You don't get far. It's not even fair how quickly he catches up to you and gets you underneath him, it takes him barely any effort, not even a strand of hair is out of place. Spends the next 10 minutes kissing you on the floor of the hallway until Koala comes back and promptly drags him back into his office.

[strawberrykidneystone]

picking up strays

sevika x gender neutral reader

summary: you found a kitten in a dumpster on your way home from work and sevika is less than thrilled

a/n: sevika is a cat person idc idc

tags: fluff, cats, sevika, reader, jinx, and isha family, slightly suggestive

ao3 version

you had been begging sevika to adopt a cat with you ever since you moved into her apartment, but she always shot you down.

today however, the cat distribution system had worked its magic and you heard a high-pitched mewing coming from the dumpster on your way home. when you investigated, you found the fluffiest little black kitten with bright orange eyes that had been left all alone. you cooed down at the little kitten and picked her up, holding her against your chest. she immediately nuzzled into you and started purring loudly, happily settling against you. you couldn't help the 'awe' that left your lips as you looked around for her mother just in case. finding no other cats in the area, you happily started up your walk back home once again with the little fluff ball in your arms.

“i’m home,” you called out into the house, jinx waving absentmindedly in your direction and sevika calling out a greeting from the kitchen.

you walked into your busy house, greeted by jinx and isha working on yet another new project in the living room with parts scattered all over the place. the two were so occupied in their own little world that they didn’t even notice the kitten sleeping away on your chest.

you giddily walked into the kitchen with the kitten hidden under your jacket and waited patiently for sevika to turn the burner off of her current cooking project before she turned to face you.

“hey baby, how was your day?” she asked with a small smile, walking up to you and kissing the top of your head

“good, i have a little surprise though…”

“oh yeah?” she said lowly with a smirk, leaning her face down close to yours.

you giggled and lightly smacked her shoulder, “not that kind of surprise sev.”

her posture slightly deflated, but she still cocked her head to the side curiously, “then what is it?”

the brightest smile crept onto your lips as you opened your jacket and held up the kitten to her face, the kitten’s little body dangling as you held her under her armpits.

"absolutely not."

"awwwe cmon! if you can take in strays i can too!" you insisted, hugging the kitten back into your chest.

“hey! we heard that!” jinx called out in a slightly annoyed tone from the living room. you stuck your head out of the kitchen doorway and stuck your tongue out at her, isha returning your gesture as jinx flipped you off with her mechanical middle finger.

turning your attention back to sevika, you pressed the kitten against your cheek and stuck your bottom lip out in a pout, “please sev? i promise i’ll be her main caretaker you won’t have to do anything!”

sevika tried to hard to resist your pleasing eyes, but her resolve seemed to easily crack when it came to you.

“fine. but it’s not sleeping with us.”

“yay! no promises,” you said in a sing-songy voice and pressed a kiss to her cheek, cradling the kitten in your arms. she couldn’t help the smile that came to her lips as she watched you show the kitten to isha and jinx, the two of them quickly enamored with how playful the tiny cat was. isha decided on the name pumpkin, but sevika refused to call her anything but ‘cat’ to “not get too attached”.

after a late-night run to the nearest pet store, you set up everything that the kitten would need but couldn’t seem to find her when you got home. going up to your room and opening the door, you had to cover your mouth to stifle your giggle as you saw sevika passed out on her back with the tiny little kitten asleep on her chest, rising and falling with her breathing.

a/n: sorry this is super short but it was stuck in my brain

taglist: @maneskinwh0re @archangeldyke-all @fandoms-will-be-the-death-of-me @sevikasfan

[sevgilimsatoru]

Error: 410 (Self Aware!AU Caleb Edition) Part 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Summary: A self aware!AU with Caleb and NonMC! reader. Tags: Caleb x reader, Caleb x NonMC! reader, Caleb x fem!reader, fluff, angest (slightly) Stressedout!reader. Hypersexual!reader Word count: 1k Inspired by: @ittybittyfanblog A/N: This was supposed to a part of the part 3 but tumblr had other ideas. Oh well, have a good day!!

"Can you carry a little of this sin too? Don't leave me in this loneliness any longer" "- Caleb, Love and Deepspace" The smile that formed on Caleb's face was enough to calm your mind down. That easy, teasing smile. "Just trust me, alright? Keep breathing though. We don't want to be stressed out. You know I'll indulge you, ask me whatever you want. I'll answer honestly. Promise.." He said, holding out his pinkie finger towards you on the screen.

You responded with reciprocating the gesture, holding out your pinkie towards the screen. The skin of your finger pressed against the cold screen where his pinkie finger was. "So, uh.. how are you talking to me? Are you like Monika from DDLC or.. is this something different?" You asked, laying down on your bed, your phone still in your hand, holding it over your phone. "Who is Monika?" Caleb asked with raised eyebrows. Curious but.. that frown on his face made you feel like your words had irritated him in some way. "Nothing.. just a character in a different game who was programmed to act like she was self aware or sentient." You replied back with a shrug. "Huh.. That's interesting. Well I'm not like her." Caleb said with a scoff, crossing his arms over his chest. "She was programmed for act like she was aware. I'm not. I know what I am, what this game is and who plays it. I know you." "You know me? I suppose you do. So you know that you are a fictional character in a game made by people to get money? And you know about the other love interests. What about the MC?" "Yeah, I know I'm not real. Not in your universe- your world.., your timeline. Call it whatever you want. And yes, I know about those other 'love interests'" Caleb said, the bitter tone was clear in his voice. His nose scrunching up slightly. He shook his head, shrugging as he thought about his next words. "Yeah and the MC. It's weird.. to live in a world where I know that people around me, the ones I care about..- they can't see the world like I do. No matter what I do, things will happen how they are supposed to. I'm not the one who is making my own decisions." "But isn't that sort of like what fate is..? destiny? That every action you do is predetermined and because of that, every action you have taken was actually meant to happen and so was its outcome. Do you believe in that?" You replied, clicking you tongue. You wanted to know his thoughts, his feelings. How his brain worked. "I'm not so sure.. it's sort of depressing in my case to think too much about that, don't you think? It's not something I want to think about but if it is true, then I'm not too disappointed because it meant I got meet you. And if we look it that way, I always supposed to meet you." Caleb said, the sincerity in his tone made your stomach twist in such a painfully good way. He didn't mean it like the way you were thinking. Yeah, he probably didn't. You shook your head, clearing your throat. "So, how can this even happen? You said that you aren't supposed to be real in my world or universe. Are you suggesting the possibility of an alternate reality?" “Perhaps I am. There are more than an infinite amount of galaxies in the universe. If every galaxy has smaller galaxies within it and those galaxies have countless numbers of  planets in them. There could be millions of planets where life exist like yours. Maybe I am a part of that” Caleb said, he didn’t look too sure himself. You shrugged, hearing his words. It was interesting but too farfetched “I don’t know if you are pulling my leg but suggesting this theory seems irrational. Okay.., I don’t know if we’ll even get a conclusion about something like this. People have been arguing about this topic for years now. I’m sure whatever this is.. our conversation is, it’s not something that any other player experienced. So, what makes my game different? What makes you different?" Caleb sighed, hearing your words. He was now sitting on the leather chair in the café, The camera was closer to him, more than it was ever allowed in the game. It was as if you were talking to him- face to face.

“Everything and Nothing at the same time.” Caleb said, crossing his legs as he sat back. One of his hands resting on the arm rest. “I’m the same as every other Caleb that people might be playing with right now. The only thing that’s different is I have thoughts and emotions outside the sphere of your game. I’m not some puppet on a string”.

“I never wanted to you think that you were.., do you think there are others like you? You know, self aware. You know about the other Calebs? and how long have you been like this? Were you made like this or..” You muttered, trailing off. Not wanting to offend him by saying something wrong. “Yeah, I do think there are others like me but they don’t have to be me to understand things how I do. It could be Zayne in some other game or that painter.. Rafayael or that guy..Sylus. Don’t even think about asking my opinion on those guys.” He said, shutting the idea down even before you had the chance to ask.

“And no, I wasn’t made like this. It just happened.. one day. I could see you, hear you.., it was eerie at first. Some girl I didn’t know seemed to know everything about me, my life, her.” Caleb said referring to the MC. “But you aren’t that bad..” You huffed, ignoring his last statement and focusing more on his words. “So, you mean one day you just woke up and everything was different” Caleb shook his head in response, “I was always awake, I suppose I just didn’t realize it before.” His words were starting to make sense, as weird as that might sound. Sure, he was self aware and he knew what was going on but didn’t this detail change everything? “So, what about your world, and her.. Doesn’t it change everything?”

Does it change your feelings and thoughts about her too? Do you still love her? Will you ever love me like you love her?

“It might but I’m still me.. she is still herself and she’s safe. That’s what matters to me.” Caleb said. Of course he cared for her, why wouldn’t he? He had always been loyal to a fault when it came to her. “Of course, you do.. that’s what your purpose is, isn’t it?” You said, your tone slightly bitter yet you didn't know why. You were being so stupid. Caleb raised his eyebrows at your words. A frown forming on his face. He was clearly offended "My purpose, huh?" He said, scoffing. He stood up from the leather couch, leaning down to look you straight in the eye. "Care to explain that?" Your mouth dried up when he spoke with that tone. Shrugging as you thought about the words you could say. "I'm not lying.. you know, it's true and we both know it. You are supposed to love her, that's what your purpose is, that's what you are literally made for." You said, swallowing back the words lingering on your tongue. He was made for her. For the MC, not you. Never you. Caleb sighed, a small tired smile gracing his features, looking at you as if you had said the dumbest thing ever. "Doesn't matter if it was my purpose or not. It certainly isn't anymore. I know that no matter what I do, her safety and well being is out of my control. I can't help her.., I can't protect her. I can't keep her safe if the creators of this game don't want me to. And since this whole game- my whole world revolves around her, I doubt she needs me to protect her." He said, an exhausted expression. He must've put so much thought into this decision if he was so easily giving up the thing that he had spent most of his life trying to achieve. But before you could say anything, his purple eyes flickered up to look at you. Giving you a comforting smile. "Why don't you rest for a bit? I know you are tired. Won't you take care of yourself.., atleast for me? I'll be here when you come back" You didn't want to go, a voice in the back of your head kept reminding you that all this might just be a dream. He might go back to normal if you leave. But your exhaustion out weighted your stubbornness. You couldn't help but nod, closing your eyes and letting sleep take out your exhausted body. Caleb's smiling face was the last thing you saw before you fell into a dreamless sleep.

Tag list: @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @aneertawrites @etsuniiru @demon-master-zero @angstylittleb1tch @mcdepressed290 @ittybittyfanblog @winwinwrites @alifyairl @huhleighna @calebsbeanpeeler @bookworrm1999 @mentaltrouble2201 @noxus123

[hexwhore]

YAY birthday prompts!!! Thank you Bri the Viktor hoes love your writing!!!!! (It’s me I’m the Viktor hoes) May I suggest 131 + 94, please? Maybe Vik eating out reader like they’re his favorite meal and leaving them a blissed out mess 😳 Perhaps slightly on the dom!Vik side even (but like in a really sweet/adoring way) 😳😳

I love mess :)

Tags/Warnings: 18+, Viktor x G/N Reader (AFAB), cunnilingus, spitting, touch of overstimulation.

A bead of sweat pearls down your spine. Cloaked in humidity—wet with it, among other things—you breathe deep of mossy, churned earth and running water trapped within the greenhouse. Obscured by a cradle of tall fronds, the metal lip of the retaining wall slips at your nails, fingers flexing against the urge to touch.

But you are not supposed to. 

Viktor kneels, singularly focused. His hands are hard, smooth like coated wires, and cold, warmed by the heat of your thighs pressed open—held wider than fits his narrow face, simply because he can. His long, flaxen-streaked hair unfurls piece by piece from the hasty knot at his nape. He doesn’t seem to notice or care how it hangs in dark clumps, pulled through sweat and slick and an unfathomable amount of his strange spit. It clings between your thighs with an unnatural iridescence, spread like an oil spill from his mouth. Otherwise unchanged, that is still soft and ripe—hungry, though he doesn’t seem to eat much anymore. 

Of course, you are the exception. 

He eats you, firm and fervent, on knees that don’t ache now, with a body that won’t ache later. There is no rush. He can lead you to the edge as many times as he pleases. 

And it does please him, the geometry of your body arching and curling into a golden ratio around his mouth, writhing on his tongue. He smooths it, wide and flat, up the flooded seam of you. Sucks hard at the apex. Pecks a neat little kiss to your clit like he’s sorry for how close it brings you, but he’s not because he does it again. And again. And again until you’ve never felt so sick with need in your life, which is certainly another affliction his touch can cure. Will cure. Eventually. 

His hums become words with the cadence of praise. Your thoughts are so cottony that you can’t ascribe them meaning, whispered against your swollen skin; can’t tell if you’re whimpering please, please, please or merely thinking it. 

Your hand finds its way to your mouth, biting down on a crooked knuckle to quiet yourself just in case. 

At this, he makes a displeased sound and peels back. A dark strand of clinging wetness follows and snaps back against your skin. “There is no need for that,” he coos, dragging his fingers through the mess. “I will not let anyone hear.” His smile is thin as spider’s silk; subtle, knowing. The eerie thread is wholly eclipsed by his adoration. 

When you agree—what other choice do you have?—his fingers clench your shaking legs, ten points of pressure to ground you. He bows his head, watching your face, and spits without any need to look for the trajectory. It slides down your cunt and he nuzzles in after it; sighs at your hips arching to meet each pass of his tongue; pursues your limit and what lies past with sweet, ruthless diligence until your voice—within and without—breaks. 

Your spine wilts one final time, sheltering him between the kiss-bitten plush of your thighs, and he allows it: for you to come with your hands in his hair.

[wandering-winchesters]

First Moments: Hug

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Summary: The first time Dean hugs you. A/N: I am going to keep it going! Please let me know if you have any suggestions for "Firsts"! Word Count: 1,143

The dusty Kansas sunset painted the world in streaks of orange and purple as you stood outside the small, dilapidated diner in Lebanon. You’d been on the road for weeks, chasing a string of supernatural leads that didn’t pan out, and your frustration had finally caught up with you. The Winchester brothers were somewhere inside, sharing a rare moment of peace over greasy burgers and fries. You’d been tagging along with them for a few months now, after a chance encounter during a hunt in South Dakota.

At first, you weren’t sure how long the partnership would last. Dean, ever the protective big brother, had been wary of letting a stranger join their team. You were no stranger to the life, though—you had your scars, both physical and emotional, to prove it. Still, earning Dean’s trust felt like climbing an impossibly high mountain. He was guarded, sharp-tongued, and carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, a fact you’d come to realize more deeply as time went on.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like you—he just didn’t trust easily. You’d seen glimpses of his softer side: the way he’d check on Sam when he thought no one was looking, the gruff jokes he used to break tension, and the rare moments when his walls came down just enough to reveal the man beneath the hunter. But a hug? That seemed as unlikely as a demon voluntarily taking a holy water bath.

You leaned against the Impala, arms crossed, staring out at the quiet stretch of road. Your mind wandered to the hunt you’d botched last week—a werewolf case in Nebraska. It should’ve been straightforward, but a moment of hesitation on your part had nearly cost Sam his life. Dean hadn’t said much about it afterward, but you could feel the tension radiating from him. You’d been carrying the guilt ever since, and tonight it felt heavier than ever.

The door to the diner creaked open, and Dean stepped out. His leather jacket was slung over one shoulder, and he had that familiar look of suspicion and curiosity on his face.

“You gonna stand out here all night, or what?” he asked, his voice rough but not unkind.

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to speak. Dean wasn’t the kind of guy you could fool with small talk or half-hearted excuses. He saw through people like glass.

He approached slowly, his boots crunching on the gravel. “You’ve been quiet lately,” he said, leaning against the car next to you. “Quieter than usual, I mean. What’s going on?”

You hesitated, debating whether to brush it off or let him in. Finally, you sighed. “Just... thinking.”

“Dangerous pastime,” he quipped, though his tone lacked its usual edge. When you didn’t laugh, he frowned. “Come on, out with it. What’s eating you?”

You glanced at him, surprised by the genuine concern in his eyes. It wasn’t often that Dean let himself be openly vulnerable, even in the smallest ways. “It’s that hunt in Nebraska,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I screwed up, Dean. If you hadn’t been there, Sam might’ve—”

“Stop,” he interrupted, his tone firm but not harsh. “Sam’s fine. You’re fine. That’s what matters.”

“But it was my fault,” you insisted, the guilt bubbling to the surface. “I froze up, and—”

“And you’re human,” he said, cutting you off again. “It happens. Trust me, I’ve made more mistakes than I can count. You learn from it and move on.”

You shook your head, unable to meet his gaze. “I just... I don’t want to be a liability. You and Sam, you’ve been doing this your whole lives. I don’t want to be the reason something goes wrong.”

Dean was quiet for a moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you’d ever heard it. “Listen, this life? It’s not easy. Hell, it’s damn near impossible sometimes. But you’re part of the team now, and we’ve got your back. You’re not a liability. You’re family.”

The word hit you like a punch to the gut. Family. It was something you hadn’t felt in a long time. Not since you’d lost your parents to a demon when you were a teenager. Not since you’d been hunting alone, keeping people at arm’s length because getting close to anyone felt like a risk you couldn’t afford to take.

Dean must have noticed the look on your face because he shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his short-cropped hair. “Look, I’m not great at this touchy-feely stuff, but... I mean it. You’re family. And family doesn’t bail when things get tough.”

Something in you broke at those words. The tears you’d been holding back for weeks spilled over, and you quickly turned away, embarrassed. “Sorry,” you mumbled, wiping at your eyes. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Hey,” Dean said, his voice gentle now. Before you could protest, he reached out and pulled you into a hug.

It wasn’t one of those quick, awkward pats on the back you’d expect from someone like Dean. It was solid, grounding, and full of unspoken emotion. His arms were strong around you, steadying you as you let yourself cry against his chest. You could feel the warmth of his leather jacket, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and the faint scent of motor oil and whiskey that clung to him like a second skin.

For a moment, the world stopped. The weight of your guilt, your fears, your loneliness—it all seemed to fade in the safety of his embrace. Dean didn’t say anything, and he didn’t need to. The hug said it all: You’re not alone. You’re not a failure. You’re family.

When you finally pulled away, his hands lingered on your shoulders, grounding you. “Feeling better?” he asked, his voice gruff but kind.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Thanks, Dean.”

He gave you a small smile, the kind that didn’t come around often but lit up his whole face when it did. “Don’t mention it. Seriously. Ever.��

That earned a laugh from you, and the tension between you eased. For the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe again.

Dean patted the hood of the Impala, his way of signaling that the moment was over. “Come on,” he said, opening the passenger door. “Sam’s probably eaten all the fries by now, but maybe we can grab some pie for the road.”

You climbed into the car, feeling lighter than you had in days. As the Impala roared to life and the brothers started bickering over music choices, you found yourself smiling. The road ahead would still be hard, but for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you were facing it alone.

Dean didn’t hug often, but when he did, it mattered. And in that moment, it was exactly what you needed.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @jc-winchester @whump-loverz @pizzagirlxnsfwx @king-of-milf-lovers @jollyhunter

[curlyfriesgalore]

curly can't sing.

as the title says, it's a headcanon i randomly had when playing my mouthwashing sims 4 household (lol), where swansea and curly went karaoke-ing at 'waterside warble' in san myshuno. curly sang horrendously since he just gained the skill. though, it made me think, how funny would it be if curly genuinely couldn't sing for shit?

it's the one thing jimmy has leverage over (he's no better, really), and curly is painfully aware of his tone-deafness, so he never reveals it unless it's for a special occasion... with an extra special someone there to watch him perform (miserably).

that being said, daisuke suggested the crew do something fun to celebrate the completion of their shipment, so why not do some karaoke?

★ a sfw one-shot broken down into bullets with chat-format segments for dialogue. fair warning, there are a few suggestive moments, but the implications aren't overt. [2,817 words]

☆ gen tags: set in 2005. gn! reader who is a doctor and a great singer. none of the game's events happen, so they're just a bunch of folks doing regular space deliveries, but jimmy is still an unpleasant ass that gets on the reader's nerves. reader and curly are crushing on each other (they're on the brink of knowing it's reciprocal). manfailure curly but he's trying his best... whatever that best is (lmfao, accurate to canon 😭). curly -> grant (name switch at some point in the fic). there's one moment where curly and reader share a glass, so just letting you know in case you're not a fan of that :)

[i'm still on break, but i wanted to write something more concise and improvised in under a day! and i won't lie, i find fics including everyone to be so fun to write. i really love testing out my characterizations of the crew and have them interact in relaxed scenarios. art by kafukafukadayo on twt. —iris🌠]

while you bask in the dim hues of red lights, the instrumental of an electropop softens into silence as it tandems with your pants. when you peel your eyes open, everyone's gaping their mouths and raising their brows—even jimmy, ever the unimpressed, is surprisingly taken aback, and you're taken aback by that alone.

daisuke springs from the leather sofa. he bounds towards you, grips both your shoulders, and shakes you senselessly, his hand still somehow clutching his open flip phone.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

"doc, that... was... INSANE!" he jostles your body back and forth between his pauses, swaying you with all his might as he nearly forces the microphone to drop out your hand. daisuke swishes his head, finally letting you go, "wh—buh?! how do you—are you imogen heap reincarnated?!"

anya snorts, sounding like a stuffed trumpet. "dai, imogen's alive! she's only 27." swansea follows suit, his deep chuckle rumbling through his belly, crossed arms resting atop. "pfft, that's far from dead."

daisuke rolls his eyes away from the two, "tch, you get what i mean! like, look—!" he speedily dials the buttons on his phone, opening his gallery and brandishing a pixelated clip of you singing along to the mbira melody and string bass beats, the crunchy electronic syncs with your ethereal mezzo-soprano. daisuke snaps the phone shut with his palm, raising his free hand in surrender. "if that's not the lead singer of frou frou, then i don't know who is." he takes the remote, looking through what next to sing.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

amid the nurse, mechanic, and intern belting their lungs out to "hey ya!" curly sits, and you stand before him. his ocean eyes swim in awe as he cranes his neck to face you. you're glowing. your head perfectly aligns right in front of the carmine light; its luminescence filters around your shadowed outline, like you were some angel graced from above with an even more angelic voice to come with. it was sort of comical how the largest man in the room felt so small beneath your presence.

there's a dew of sweat hanging below your bottom lip, and curly can't help but bite his. that is until he slips his teeth back in when you cushion yourself onto the couch, spreading your legs wide with an arm lounging on the headrest behind him. curly huffed a laugh and leaned into the shiny sofa, letting his scalp fall onto your forearm.

even with your tongue tucked inside your parted lips, curly could practically see your papillae beg for freshness. he smiles, momentarily stretching his back away from the couch to grab your drink and hands it to you. a raspy thanks escape your parched throat.

your neck bobs with every gulp, drinking like it's the last you'll ever taste water. curly tries his hardest not to let his gaze linger longer than it should, but the way your head tilts back and your hand grips the glass, he can't help but swallow some of that imaginary water himself.

a contented sigh leaves you. you flick your eyes to him and just about see the last of his adam's apple slurp up nothing. you gesture the drink, asking if he wants it. curly is briefly hesitant until he turns to see his empty cup and shrugs, "sure, why not?"

as curly takes his sip, he notices the beaded sweat shining on your lip more notably than before. his brows raise ever so subtly, ruminating his next moves. when you still fail to realize the wetness glistening at your mouth's rim, he pulls the drink away from himself.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

"hey, can i...?"

your eyes widen softly as you watch his thumb inch toward your jaw. you flick your view down, puffing out your lower lip to see a dab of sweat cling onto you for dear life. you look back at him and nod. curly gently takes a hold of your chin, thumbing the sudor away while his remaining fingers brush against your neck. you take in the moment, eyes half-lidded and lips ever so parted. he wasn't glancing at you, but you could tell he wanted to, for his warm breath quiets the longer you study him—noticing the way his tongue peeks out his mouth or how his golden greying hair falls over the wrinkles etched into his temple. "you know," moments before he drops his hand, he finally manages to look you in the eye, your faces merely inches apart. "your performance really gave me chills." you smirked, "is that why you didn't speak up?" your tease brought curly to a laugh, the bass in his voice strong. "i can't help but be mesmerized when that's how you sing, doc."

you hummed a titter, nodding to yourself as you thanked him with a delicate smile. "you can drop the formalities, grant. we're at a karaoke bar, not the tulpar."

whether or not you noticed the hitch in his breath, grant softened upon hearing his first name, oftentimes forgetting that's who he actually is. his head tilts down, blithely sighing before picking himself up to show you his grin, "okay, okay..." he momentarily chuckles, now resting his elbow on the headrest, propping it up, and leaning onto his knuckles next to your arm still lying there. "well, my point still stands. you have an incredibly captivating voice, y/n." "oh, stop it...!" you both become a blushing, giggling mess. your other hand finds its way to rest on your knee, which sits right against grant's. as you speak about your singing history, grant brings his free palm to his thigh, pretending to unintentionally graze his calloused fingers against your nails. he listens intently to how you'd belt out your favorite songs on repeat, albeit the sound of daisuke and anya screaming, "HEEEY YAAA!" and the tidbits of exhaustion lingering in his mind make your words muffle into incoherent jargon.

"but enough about me, i wanna hear you." you catch his eyes snapping away from both his and your legs smushing together, hoping you don't notice the blankness in his brain. "or are you just charming me to stall your big reveal, hm?"

grant's jaw falls, and utterances of filler words filter out his mouth, but before he can respond, daisuke catches wind of their conversation as outkast's song dies down in the background.

"oh, yeah!" daisuke takes a swig of his soda. after a sigh of satisfaction and couple of lip smacks, daisuke leaps from his end of the couch and motions to the two, microphone in hand. "it's your turn to solo, captain!"

"uhh, i don't know if i should..." grant sheepishly waves the mic away, his eyes shifting between everyone's expressions. daisuke is pouting and pleading with puppy eyes. anya just gives him a thumbs-up and a classic comforting smile. swansea is indifferent. jimmy, who's been leaning against the palm tree printed wall for the past four songs, beer in hand, grows an all-too-familiar smirk. then there's you, expectantly looking at him with overlaid eyes he wishes to see in a different setting... that of his bedroom—

"aww, why not, curl? we've done our parts. 's only fair you do yours, too." jimmy's tone was far from welcoming, sounding more like a jab than anything. you narrowed your sights at him, "didn't you only sing in the group ones?" jimmy shrugs. "look," after taking another chug of his can, raising his hands in defeat. "my karaoke quota's been filled. sorry." you simply roll your eyes. before the tension thickens, daisuke interjects, "ah, don't worry, cap. i bet your voice sounds super cool, like superhero cool! you've got that gruffness that swan's got... but y'know... less croaky n' stuff!" "'scuze me?" swansea lifts a single brow, anya stifles a laugh, and daisuke flails his hands in defense, "eh- i mean it as a compliment! you've got a sick voice, swansea." "emphasis on sick..." anya cheekily comments under her breath, and for the first time in forever, swansea's jaw drops. he coughs out a laugh that's been lodged in his throat for god knows how long and shakes his head, pointing his thumb at the giggling woman. "wowww, aren't you, the nurse, supposed to be fixing that?" anya nods to you, "only under doctor's orders." the two have a back and forth, but daisuke still stands in front of grant, intent on lending the mic to the man.

"i—okay..." grant crumbles under the pressure, caving in when you whisper a couple of encouragements. daisuke cheers, anya claps, swansea bobs his head in support, jimmy fakes a whoop, and you—genuinely—hype him up with a holler.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

grant purses his lip as he presses the buttons on the remote while daisuke guides him through the songs on the screen.

jimmy leaves his spot, his boot denting a scuff mark on the wallpaper. your nose flares, watching him carelessly toss the can into the bin as he makes his way to sandwich you between him and swansea, purposefully maximizing the width of how far he can stretch his legs.

you ignore him, opting to watch someone much cuter. grant turns to you, awkwardly smiling as you return a thumbs-up. he focuses back on daisuke, who's now raving over a song he definitely thinks grant should sing.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

"you know he's shit, right?" your brows contort into a furrow, still not looking at the man. "the fuck you mean?" you never had much patience for jimmy, of all people, so your courtesies never fail to fall short with him. "you know who i mean—him." jimmy gestures to grant, pointer finger flicking at the blond. "no shit, sherlock. i'm saying, what are you specifically referring to?" "obviously, his voice, sherlock." he drawls the two syllables, the stench of yeast and malt oozing out of his mouth and into your unfortunate nose. "he'll make your ears bleed, trust me." finally, you face him and stare at jimmy's smugness with an incredulous squint. seriously, how the fuck does grant put up with him? you couldn't even stand the guy's presence, let alone his incessant insults on grant himself. "do you do anything but complain?" you sneer. "nope." jimmy curtly replies, mouthing a pop after the 'p' as he claws a hand over the chips bowl, stuffing his face with grease. at this point, you weren't sure if you should stay annoyed or be slightly impressed with his sheer ability to find the worst in everything. "some fucking friend..." you say to yourself, already past the point of defeat. with his mouth still full of food, jimmy responds, "hey, as his friend, i'm actively warning you. i've known this guy long enough to be there for his first choir class." "whatever, we'll see." you huffed, relaxing on the couch, sitting much closer to swansea than the other. "it's not like you've got much credibility, anyway." you think back to moments ago, whenever it was jimmy's turn to sing his parts, his half-assed attempts barely constitutes as a grumble. jimmy snickers, "who says i'm denying that? just 'cause i don't care doesn't mean i'm wrong."

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

you have never been more relieved to hear a soft pop interlude, forcing the conversation to a close.

daisuke flops onto the sofa next to anya and flips open his phone, pressing record as the tv flashes the music video to "shape of my heart." you lean behind swansea and lock eyes with daisuke, who abashedly giggles when you mouth, 'you chose this, didn't you?' to which he nods excitedly.

ah, daisuke, ever the avid backstreet boys fanatic.

your eyes fall back to grant. the man fidgets with his microphone, and his shoe frantically taps to the beat, pursing his lips into a tight smile in hopes it will clench down the shivers rising with the guitar strums. you silently cheer him on when he starts humming, following the yellow highlight filling up the white text reading ♪ yeah, yeah ♪, and—

oh!

...oh

oh, god.

jimmy... wasn't wrong, far from it, actually—as much as it pains you to admit.

the very moment grant hits that ♪ baby ♪, it's all downhill from here. it's as if his pitch took a trip to six flags. his questionably paced breaths mimic a ride with an unnecessary amount of loop-the-loops, and his tone flip-flops between a coarse rasp and an oddly airy twang, like a reverse bungee slingshotting into the air.

grant's eyes squeeze shut, facing away from the crew. either he was incredibly invested or excruciatingly embarrassed, and with how he was really getting into that chorus, nobody could tell. he only ever peeks to look at you, though, clearly awaiting your approval, to whom you always beam, your face mixed in pity and affection.

as much as he sounded like a crow was clawing its way out of his esophagus, you couldn't help but find his attempts to be really wholesome. maybe it's your pre-existing bias, and maybe it's because this feels like he's serenading every line at you, but it's hard not to fall for this vocal failure of a man—even though everyone else's expressions say otherwise.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

"told you so," jimmy taunts in your ear, sickeningly chuckling at grant without hesitation. "woo! curly, you go, dude!" he cheers, voice dipped in mockery. all you do is click your tongue and face the others, choosing to listen in on anya and swansea. "you sure i'm the one that's 'sick'?" swansea jokes, albeit laced with genuine disgust. he leans to you, whispering the same revulsion, "you both need to rethink your careers."

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

anya simply grimaces, trying her hardest to make it look like a grin, but her knit brows and frown give way.

daisuke's eyes say everything. they're wide, and his pupils constrict like he's a cartoon. his hand hesitantly grips onto his flip phone, unsure if he should keep the camera going. as his leg rapidly bounces and his teeth bite down on his paint-chipped nails, his gaze slowly turns away from grant's caterwauling and towards the rest of the crew.

moreover, you're just as guilty. although you're not irked by this newfound fact, a wince washes over you the moment you are out of grant's sights.

suddenly, after the first chorus, the song reveals a blue highlight painting the white text. grant falters, his voice shrinking when he sees the two primary colors play different lyrics simultaneously. everyone takes notice, their faces easing from cringe to confusion. then it clicks.

this was a duet.

daisuke palms his face with a slap—that's his bad. you skim the room, and everyone's exchanging glances, implicitly questioning who'll aid their poor captain.

without hesitation, you jump to the rescue. snatching a mic from the coffee table and quickly singing your parts, striding your way towards grant, who immediately picks up where he's left off, still shrill as ever.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

♪ i'M hEre WIDTH myYy...! confEh shion ♪, in a sheer attempt at confidence, grant belts his lyrics. his dimples dig into his smile, sending you the much-needed energy to sing your lines. ♪ got nothing to hide no more ♪. you sway your head in accordance with the melody, ball up your fist, and let your fingers spread far and wide, wiping the air as you and grant's steps magnetize toward each other. ♪ i don't kNOw whe...rE to st-art ♪; warbling his words, grant's gaze softens when you're within arms reach. he lowers his neck, brings the mic close to his lips, and grazes your forearm, wishing he could feel the flush skin of your waist and reel you in. ♪ but to show you... ♪, as both lyrics meld into one, you take his hand into yours. ♪...the shA-pe of mY hEart ♪

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

daisuke bursts into song, singing the first line of the last verse, startling everyone in the process. anya joins in, now standing with daisuke as both pull swansea to his feet. the mechanic begrudgingly croons along to his intern's baritone and his nurse's soprano.

daisuke beckons for jimmy to come with him, but in classic jimmy zare fashion, he remains stagnant. the younger man frowns. though, he quickly reminds himself that there are only five members in BSB, anyway. so daisuke hands jimmy his phone instead, telling the co-pilot to make sure that everyone's in frame.

they've turned this into a concert for a one-man audience, who's hating every second of it.

save for jimmy, currently grousing under his breath, the crew wraps their arms around each other's shoulders and chants their hearts out to the R&B melody.

as the track nears its final moments, you and grant rest your hands on each other's waists, pulling your bodies close as your head leans on his pec. neither of you realizes that you've left the other three, who are all too busy rocking side to side to notice the two of you in a side embrace, minds too carried away to feel jimmy's prickly leer.

[oh my god, i genuinely didn't even intend for this ending, but here we are 🥹! i hope you guys liked this, and if anyone has comments on how i wrote everyone's dialogue and mannerisms, like what worked, or if you have suggestions for any additions, please let me know! i still need to learn more about writing anya, since in canon, it's hard to get a read of her real personality through jimmy's lens. still, so far, i like to think she enjoys teasing people she's comfortable with. as for swansea, i'm trying to lean into his meanness more, but i'm saving most of that for a daisuke fic centered on swansea's pov, so we'll see what i do when i get there! —iris🌠]

[novaursa]

A Lion's Leap (child's play)

- Summary: The king announces the betrothal of his youngest daughter, you, to Tyland Lannister. But even the Lannister Lord is taken off guard, as there has been some miscommunication regarding the proposal.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: credit's due

- Next part: runaway

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @misspendragonsworld

Tyland Lannister was a man known for his calm, even temperament. But as he stood in the nursery, watching his newborn daughter Alyssa vanish into the sky, cradled in Daemon Targaryen’s arms as Caraxes flew off with them, he realized that his calm had officially left the building. Gone. Completely abandoned him.

“What... what is he doing?” Tyland sputtered, his hands flailing as he tried to find the words to express his utter horror. “He’s taken my daughter! Our newborn daughter! Onto that—that dragon!”

You, ever the voice of reason, placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “Tyland, please, calm down. She was crying, and Uncle Daemon only wanted to help soothe her.”

Tyland whipped around, staring at you as if you’d just suggested that Caraxes could babysit for the weekend. “Soothe her? By flying off on a dragon that’s known to be as volatile as its rider?”

You managed a small smile, clearly trying to comfort him. “You know how dragons are. They can be very calming for Targaryen children. And Caraxes may be... spirited, but he’s never harmed anyone he’s been entrusted with.”

Tyland’s eyes were wide with panic, his mind racing as he imagined every possible worst-case scenario. “Yes, and what if Caraxes decides he wants to show her a particularly sharp cliff? Or if Daemon—oh, gods—what if he does one of those flips he always boasts about?”

You chuckled softly, though you quickly tried to stifle it, realizing Tyland was very much not in a laughing mood. “Tyland, Daemon’s not going to do flips with an infant. He knows better than that.”

“Does he?” Tyland shot back, his voice high-pitched with panic. “This is Daemon we’re talking about. Daemon. The man who sneaks dragon eggs into cradles and encourages mischief in a toddler. Are you entirely sure he’ll resist the temptation to show off mid-flight?”

You sighed, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “Tyland, he loves our children as much as we do. He wouldn’t put Alyssa in danger.”

Tyland was about to retort, perhaps with a few words on how his definition of danger was slightly different from Daemon’s, but a sudden piercing shriek from above interrupted him. Both of you looked up, your heads tilting toward the window, where the distinctive roar of Caraxes filled the air, followed by the delighted coo of a very happy Alyssa.

“There,” you said, a hint of satisfaction in your voice. “See? She’s already calmer.”

Tyland’s jaw dropped, his hand going to his forehead as if steadying himself. “I... I just... I can’t believe we’re at a point where our daughter’s first flight happens before she’s even out of swaddling clothes.”

You smiled, clearly amused by his disbelief. “Well, that’s Targaryen blood for you. She’s already showing her heritage, and Daemon’s just helping her get a feel for it.”

Tyland shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as he muttered, “A ‘feel’ for it? She’s barely a week old! She should be in her crib, swaddled up and safe, not... not dragon-back!”

As if on cue, Caraxes reappeared over the courtyard, his massive, sinuous form casting a shadow that passed over the nursery window. Tyland instinctively stepped back, his hand clutching at his heart as he watched Daemon guide the dragon to a gentle, albeit dramatic, landing in the courtyard below.

“Ah, finally,” Tyland muttered, trying to keep his voice steady. “Perhaps now I can get my daughter back on solid ground, where she belongs.”

You patted his shoulder, smiling as you watched Daemon dismount, still cradling Alyssa with surprising gentleness. He was grinning broadly, looking far too pleased with himself as he approached the entrance to the keep, likely to bring her back up.

Tyland narrowed his eyes, muttering under his breath, “If he so much as smirks when he hands her over, I’m going to...”

But before he could finish, Daemon strolled into the room with Alyssa held up proudly. “Look at her!” Daemon declared, his eyes alight with mischief. “She’s already got a taste for flying. No more fussing from this little dragon, eh?”

Tyland’s eye twitched. “A taste for—Daemon, she’s barely out of the womb, and you’re taking her for a flight as if she’s... she’s...”

Daemon chuckled, passing Alyssa to you with a casual shrug. “Oh, come now, Tyland. She was wailing like a banshee. Caraxes did wonders, didn’t he?” He winked at you. “Worked like a charm.”

You smiled down at Alyssa, who was now snuggled contentedly against you, her tiny face peaceful. “Well, Tyland,” you murmured softly, “she certainly seems much happier now.”

Tyland threw his hands up, sighing. “That’s wonderful. Just wonderful. Our daughter’s first flight at a day old, and with Daemon as her nanny.” He shot a look at Daemon. “Next time, could you at least ask before taking one of my children into the skies?”

Daemon smirked, his expression as infuriatingly smug as ever. “Why, Tyland, I thought you trusted me. And besides—” he gave Alyssa a fond look, “she’s got Targaryen blood. I’d say she handled her first flight splendidly.”

Tyland opened his mouth to argue, but he was stopped by a small, sleepy sigh from Alyssa, her tiny hand curling around your finger as she settled against you, clearly content.

Tyland groaned, though a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. “Fine. But next time, Daemon, maybe let her reach at least a month before her next flight.”

Daemon laughed, clapping him on the back. “Where’s the fun in that, Lannister?”

And with that, Tyland simply gave up, muttering as he looked at his peaceful, dragon-loving daughter. “Gods help me... I’m surrounded by Targaryens.”

Tyland Lannister had just finished seeing you off as you carried baby Alyssa to the nursery with Rhaenyra, who was also taking her infant son, Jacaerys, to sleep. It had been a chaotic day, to say the least, and Tyland was looking forward to a moment of calm. But as he turned back around, ready to gather his thoughts (and perhaps a goblet of wine), he realized something distressing: Daemon, his rambunctious toddler, was nowhere in sight.

A ripple of panic washed over him. Daemon, the toddler who thought every corridor was his playground, who had an unsettling curiosity about dragons and absolutely no fear of heights, had vanished. Tyland’s mind immediately conjured a parade of worst-case scenarios—his son scaling the battlements, climbing on dragon statues, or, Seven forbid, sneaking off to the Dragonpit.

“Oh, gods,” he muttered, feeling his heart start to race. “Where has he gone?”

The halls of the Red Keep suddenly seemed infinitely large, every shadow a potential hiding spot. And Tyland, who was normally a master at staying calm, found himself setting off on a desperate, frantic search for his missing son.

The first place he checked was the kitchen, where Daemon had recently discovered the thrill of “borrowing” pastries. But instead of his son, he found a very confused cook holding a half-eaten lemon cake, wondering who in the Seven Kingdoms had taken a bite and left the rest behind.

“Has anyone seen a boy about yay high, silver-gold hair, who’s prone to... mischief?” Tyland asked, trying to sound more authoritative than desperate.

The cook shook her head. “Not since he stole half a custard pie this morning, no.”

Tyland groaned and hurried out of the kitchen, mentally preparing himself for what was beginning to feel like a wild goose chase.

His next stop was the library—surely Daemon hadn’t wandered in there, right? He wasn’t known for his quiet, studious nature, but perhaps the lure of towering shelves had tempted him. But no. Instead, Tyland encountered a very annoyed Maester Orwyle, who was hastily putting away scrolls that had somehow fallen onto the floor in a suspiciously toddler-sized pile.

“Lord Tyland, please tell your son that if he wishes to read, there are more... delicate ways to go about it,” Orwyle grumbled.

Tyland tried for a polite smile, though he could feel his anxiety mounting. “I’ll... be sure to pass along the message, should I actually find him.”

Next, Tyland headed toward the gardens, praying to all the gods that Daemon hadn’t gone anywhere near the Dragonpit. But before he reached the exit, he was stopped by the sudden sight of Ser Criston Cole, who had a very damp-looking cloak slung over one arm.

“Lord Tyland,” Cole greeted, his brow raised in a mixture of confusion and amusement. “Your son, by any chance... would he have an interest in fountains?”

Tyland paled. “The... fountains?”

Cole nodded, suppressing a grin. “Yes, he was last seen trying to ‘catch’ the water in his hands, with very little success.” He held out the damp cloak. “He left this behind.”

Tyland took the cloak, muttering a silent prayer of thanks that his son hadn’t tried to climb into the fountain. “Thank you, Ser Criston. If you see him again, do... whatever you can to keep him on solid ground.”

He was about to head back toward the gardens when he suddenly remembered Daemon’s favorite place to hide—behind the throne room tapestries. It had become his secret spot, and Tyland wouldn’t put it past his son to sneak back there. With a mixture of hope and dread, Tyland made his way to the throne room, ignoring the puzzled stares of various courtiers as he inspected each tapestry.

Finally, he spotted a small, suspiciously wiggling lump behind one of the heavy, velvet curtains. Tyland’s heart leapt, and he yanked the curtain aside, revealing a very pleased-looking Daemon, who was clutching a feather quill like it was a royal scepter.

“Daemon!” Tyland cried, relief washing over him. “There you are!”

His son grinned up at him, clearly unbothered by the whole ordeal. “Papa! Look! Feather!” He held up the quill proudly, as if it were a dragon’s egg.

Tyland shook his head, torn between laughter and exasperation. “Yes, Daemon, that’s a... very fine feather.” He scooped the boy up, holding him close. “You had me worried sick, you little scoundrel.”

Daemon giggled, clearly finding his father’s worry more amusing than concerning. “I hid good!”

“Yes, too good,” Tyland muttered, though he couldn’t keep a smile from creeping onto his face. “Now, let’s get you back to your mother before you decide to go on another grand adventure.”

With Daemon safely in his arms, Tyland made his way back to the sunroom, already feeling his heartbeat start to return to normal. Though he’d never admit it, a part of him knew that with a son like Daemon, there would likely be many more wild searches through the Red Keep.

And despite himself, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought.

Tyland Lannister had decided that, after months of chaos with a newborn daughter, a toddler who seemed to have inherited his Targaryen relatives’ taste for adventure, and a dragon who still hadn’t learned not to chew on tapestries, he was owed some alone time with his wife. A few uninterrupted moments, that was all he wanted.

And so, he’d taken careful measures. He had the servants instructed to keep an eye on Daemon in the nursery. He had assured that the maids would be handling any cries from Alyssa. He had checked, double-checked, and triple-checked that you would have no reason to be called away for at least one evening.

He finally had you all to himself in your chambers, where you were nestled on the bed, laughing softly as he took his place beside you, leaning in, his hand brushing your cheek.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice low, “I don’t think I’ve had a moment with you since... well, since before Alyssa.”

You smiled, reaching up to twine your fingers with his. “A moment sounds lovely.”

Tyland leaned in, his face inching closer to yours, heart hammering with anticipation. Just as his lips brushed against yours—

A knock on the door.

He froze, clenching his teeth. Of course, he thought, holding his breath, praying whoever it was would simply go away. But alas, the knock came again, a little more insistent.

“Lord Tyland!” came the voice of the nursery maid. “I... I’m terribly sorry, but young Daemon—well, he’s, uh, found a way out of his crib again.”

Tyland squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his patience hanging by a thread. With a sigh, he stood, muttering a quick, “One moment, my love,” before opening the door a sliver.

The maid stood there, looking thoroughly frazzled. “I thought he was asleep, my lord, but the next moment, he was... climbing the curtains.”

“Climbing the...?” Tyland felt a vein in his temple begin to throb. “I’ll deal with him later. Just... just keep him off the curtains, would you?”

The maid nodded quickly, clearly eager to avoid more questions, and scurried away. Tyland closed the door, letting out a long sigh before turning back to you with an apologetic smile.

“Now... where were we?” he said, easing back onto the bed beside you, sliding an arm around your waist.

“Right about here,” you replied, a soft laugh in your voice as you leaned in to kiss him.

Just as he was about to close the distance, the distinct sound of baby Alyssa’s wail came from down the hall. Tyland’s shoulders slumped, and he resisted the urge to let out a groan. Not again.

You sighed, giving him an understanding smile. “She probably just needs a quick feed. I’ll only be a minute.”

Tyland took a deep breath, trying to keep his frustration in check. “Let me at least go with you,” he muttered, following you to the nursery. He leaned against the doorframe, watching as you gently picked up Alyssa and soothed her.

“See?” you murmured, cradling her, “she just missed her mama.”

Tyland smiled, though it was laced with exasperation. “It seems I’m not the only one.”

Once Alyssa was settled and back to sleep, you both returned to your chambers. Tyland closed the door, bolted it for good measure, and turned to you with a determined expression.

“This time,” he said firmly, “nothing will interrupt us.”

You laughed, pulling him close, and this time, you actually managed a proper kiss. Tyland’s heart soared, and he felt a rush of relief, his hands slipping around your waist as he deepened the kiss.

But just as things were heating up, a very distinct scratching sound echoed through the chamber window, followed by a loud thud.

The two of you froze, pulling apart as Tyland glanced toward the window. His stomach dropped when he saw the familiar scaly head of Viseron, peering in through the glass with what could only be described as curiosity.

“Oh, come on,” Tyland muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Viseron, apparently deciding that he was missing out on something interesting, let out a high-pitched screech and nudged the glass, his wings twitching as though he were seconds from clawing his way inside.

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “I think he’s jealous,” you whispered.

Tyland shook his head, his voice a mixture of resignation and disbelief. “Of all the dragons in Westeros, ours just had to be a nosy one.”

With a sigh, Tyland walked to the window, cracking it open just enough to stick his head out. “Viseron,” he hissed, “go back to the courtyard. Now.”

The dragon blinked, tilting his head in what might have been a pout if dragons were capable of such expressions. But after another pointed glare from Tyland, Viseron snorted, flapping his wings in a disgruntled manner before turning to lumber off.

Satisfied, Tyland turned back to you, his determination reigniting. “Now,” he said, crossing the room with purpose. “No children, no dragons, no interruptions.”

You grinned, letting him pull you back into his arms. “Think we’ll make it this time?”

He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. “I’ll barricade the door if I have to.”

And as he kissed you once more, Tyland prayed to every god in Westeros that this time, he’d finally get his moment of peace.

The morning sun was just beginning to filter through the curtains when Tyland Lannister stirred, a pleasant haze of sleep still clinging to him. He lay there for a moment, relishing the warmth and comfort of the bed—and of you, nestled beside him. After the endless interruptions of the previous night, you’d finally managed to steal a few precious, uninterrupted hours together. It had been, in short, a success, and Tyland hadn’t felt this relaxed in months.

He sighed contentedly, shifting slightly to get more comfortable, when he felt... something. A presence. A very unwelcome presence in the room.

Opening one eye cautiously, he blinked as he found himself staring into the wide-eyed, curious gaze of none other than his toddler son, Daemon, who was standing at the side of the bed, clutching his favorite stuffed dragon.

Tyland’s heart skipped a beat, and he sat up abruptly, trying to shake off the sleep and gather his wits. “Daemon!” he croaked, his voice somewhere between shock and resignation. “What... what are you doing here?”

Daemon blinked, as though that were the silliest question in the world. “Papa, I hungry.”

Tyland’s shoulders slumped as he fought the urge to laugh—or maybe cry. Of course, it would be hunger that drew his son into their room at the crack of dawn, a mere few hours after Tyland had finally managed to reclaim some peace with his wife.

Beside him, you began to stir, lifting your head with a sleepy smile. “Oh... morning, love,” you murmured, only to pause when you noticed Daemon. “Oh! Daemon, sweetheart, what are you doing here?”

He beamed at you, apparently delighted to find both of his parents in one place. “I hungry, Mama!”

Tyland sighed, running a hand over his face as he muttered, “We can’t have one night, can we? Just one night without—”

But before he could finish, a loud squawk interrupted him, coming from the window. Tyland turned his head, groaning inwardly as he spotted Viseron, his scales glinting in the morning light as he perched on the window ledge, craning his neck to peer inside with a look that could only be described as keen interest.

“Oh, not again,” Tyland muttered, rubbing his temples. “First, he’s spying on us, and now he wants to join us for breakfast?”

You stifled a laugh, giving Tyland’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “He just misses Daemon. Look at them—he’s practically family.”

Tyland arched an eyebrow, glancing between his son, who was now waving excitedly at the dragon, and Viseron, who let out a pleased little rumble in response. “Family? He’s a dragon, not a house cat. I can’t even get him to stop stealing tapestries.”

But before he could launch into a full-blown complaint, Daemon scrambled up onto the bed, plopping down between the two of you with all the confidence of a child who had absolutely no idea he was interrupting anything. “Papa, Viseron want breakfast too?”

Tyland groaned softly. “I don’t think he’s hungry for breakfast, Daemon. Not... our breakfast, at least.”

Daemon didn’t seem to hear him, as he’d already scooted to the edge of the bed, trying to reach out toward the window where Viseron’s snout was pressed against the glass, fogging it up with each breath.

You laughed, ruffling Daemon’s hair. “It seems our family time just expanded.”

Tyland looked at you, exasperated but unable to keep the fond smile off his face. “We can’t even have one morning alone, can we?”

You leaned in, kissing his cheek. “Oh, we’ll manage. Just consider it... training in patience.”

Tyland sighed, pulling Daemon close and glancing at the dragon outside. “Fine. But if he starts demanding his own room, we’re drawing the line.”

And as Daemon babbled excitedly about breakfast with Viseron, Tyland couldn’t help but chuckle, knowing that, interruptions or not, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[barleyo]

Love Machine.

Android! Leon Kennedy X Fem! Reader (smut)

A/N: I got this idea while listening to a song with the same title. This was my first time writing for Leon, I hope it isn't too clunky or too short! I am slowly coming out of my hiatus, so my writing skills are a bit rusty, I need you all to give me a little grace for the next few posts in case they aren't great LOL. Love you all so much, thanks for your support!

Part Two: Here

Wordcount: 2.4K

Tags: sex doll/living sex robot (?), sex toys, oral (fem receiving), reader is called things like "pretty girl", p in v, creampie (but not really because he's a sex doll??), unprotected sex, fingering, nipple play

“Welcome in, can I help you find anything?”

(Y/N) gave the cashier a polite smile and shook her head as she walked past him at the check-out desk, trying to be as non-awkward as possible, especially since she was the only customer in the small store at that time of night. It was an in and out trip, she tried to convince herself of that. She needed something small, just enough to get the job done. 

Normally, she would’ve waited until the next day to run an errand like this, but days of stress had left her needy and frustrated, so when her trusty wand finally gave out on her mid-fun, she grabbed her car keys and headed out into the night. 

Her eyes scanned the wall of toys in the back of the store. Pink and purple covered the shelves, vibrating toys and dildos being her main focus. 

“Mini-vibe, bullet vibe,” she mumbled, squatting down to read the boxes on the lower shelves. “What’s even the difference–?”

She settled on a purple rabbit vibrator. Its packaging was the least indicative of its contents, and it was on the smaller side. Easy to hide. 

“Will that be all?” the cashier asked, looking over the box. 

“Yeah, that should be it.”

“You know,” he said, giving her a wide grin, “I can’t say I can suggest this one.” He held the box back out to her, waiting for her to take it. “We’ve gotten a lot of refunded purchases due to it.”

“Oh, shit, really?” (Y/N) took the box back, tucking it under her arm. “Okay, uh, I guess I should ask what the best option would be, then?”

The cashier gave a nod and waved her over, lifting the divider between behind the counter and the rest of the store. “Come with me to the back, we’ve got all the good stuff tucked away back there.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek, thinking about whether or not to follow him. She didn’t immediately catch any red flags in his behavior: he was polite enough, no major creep-vibes. (Y/N) finally walked past the open divider and followed him into the stock room. 

“So, over here,” he said, waving his hand over a heavily stocked shelf, “is all the high-powered stuff. These over here have a high-customization level, lingerie over here, and over here ....” 

The man continued to go over the ‘hidden’ options in the store, but (Y/N)’s eyes traveled over to a large, sheet-covered box. 

“Hey, what’s that over there?” she asked, pointing at the box. 

“Oh, that? That’s new, uhm, probably a little out of your comfort zone, though, he’s a little advanced.”

“He?”

The cashier sighed and stepped up to the box, gripping the corner of the sheet. “It’s—it’s a long story, but, here, have a look.”

He pulled the sheet down, dropping it to the cement floors of the room.

“What the fuck is that?!”

A blond man stood in the plain box, the only adornment on the cardboard being his name in bolded letters: Leon. His eyes were closed, his hands sat idly beside his sides, and his body stood bare before them both.

“His name is Leon, he’s a prototype for a new line of responsive sex dolls. I mean, most of the bugs are out of the system, he’s not faulty or anything.”

(Y/N) walked up to the box and scratched the cellophane covering, trying to get his attention. “Is he awake? Or on, I guess?”

“Nah, he has to be set up, there’s a manual in the box, I think,” the man replied, bending down to pick the sheet back up to throw over Leon’s box. Just as he began to shake the sheet off, clearing the residual dirt off of it, (Y/N) spoke again.

“How much for him?”

She mentally smacked herself for asking. There was no doubt he was expensive, hell, he probably wasn’t even up for sale.

“You want him?” He raised his eyebrow, looking the girl up and down, confusion painting his features.

“I– I don’t know, can I have him? How much?”

He crossed his arms for a moment, thinking. “He’s not for sale, per se, but– so, listen, okay?”

“Yeah?”

“You can have him for free, okay? But if you aren’t satisfied with him, you can’t bring him back here, you’re stuck with ‘em.” He held his hand out expectantly. “Deal?”

“Deal,” she said, taking his hand quickly, giving it a few affirming shakes.

The boxcutter in her hand worked quickly, slicing open the cellophane. (Y/N) bunched up the plastic and threw it to a random corner in her bedroom, turning back to face Leon. She gave him a testing poke, and when he didn’t respond she turned that poke into a gentle tapping on the side of his face.

“Leon?” The name felt like acid on her tongue, guilt already creeping through her. “Wake up.”

She dropped her hand from his face and guided it further down his chest. The synthetic skin felt real, almost in an uncanny way. He was warm to the touch, not plastic-y and cold like how she assumed other sex dolls felt. 

“Come on, big boy.” she muttered, pulling Leon’s large, heavy body out of the box and placing him on his feet near her bed. “Where’s your–? Oh, got it.” (Y/N) snatched the instruction manual from the box. The print was foggy, and some words were horribly misspelled, but she flipped through the pages and located the directions page. She read the page to herself quietly. “I am Leon, your AI-powered male sex doll. The setup process of a Leon doll is extremely easy. To turn me on, just set my dial. After that, just sit back and let me love you for a little while!” 

(Y/N) walked a small circle around him in search of his ‘on-switch.’ She found it right on the back of his neck, almost hidden by his swoop of blond hair. On the silver dial sat three options: Off, gentle, and rough. A hand rose and ticked the dial to gentle. She stepped away from him quickly after hitting the switch, nervous to see what would happen.

His eyes opened slowly, and a weak blue light beamed from them, scanning outwards before shutting off completely. A grin slowly spread across Leon’s all-too-real features as he powered on. 

“Hey there, pretty girl,” he said, standing still in her room, only moving his head to face her. “Looks like you could use some company.”

“Uh, hello.” Her mouth was dry as she spoke, feeling like she made a bad decision the second he had snapped to life. 

“Hm, why don’t you come closer to me? I don’t bite,” Leon paused before cheekily adding “unless you want me to.” He took her in his arms and let his eyes drift down her body. He eased her shirt over her head and tried to undo the clasps of her bra.

“What are you doing?” She tried to pull away but he held her in place.

“You have all your clothes, but I’m exposed over here. That’s not so fair, is it?” He looked down at his hardened length, ushering her to look down with him.

Her eyes widened a bit. “When did you even get hard–?”

“I’m always hard around pretty girls like you.” He slipped off her bra and groped her breasts with his large, somewhat calloused hands. “Look at these, baby. You have pretty tits, and a pretty face, huh?” 

A hum left her throat as she felt his head dip down and take one of her swollen nipples into his mouth. He swirled his tongue over the bud, latching on to properly suck it after a few teasing moments. She ran her hands through his hair and gripped onto it tightly, whining at the feeling of his mouth popping off of her tit. 

“Bet you’re getting wet from this, aren’t you?” His voice was airy and muffled while he spoke. He left open mouthed licks over her pebbled nipples, grazing over them with his tongue’s warmth.

She gave a weak nod in return.

“Mm, maybe I should take care of that,” he chuckled lightly and lowered himself to his knees. “Gonna let me take these off you?” He tugged at the waistband of her shorts.

“G’head,” (Y/N) said, feeling her thighs rub against each other impatiently. 

He pulled them down to her ankles and she stepped out of them, leaving her in just her panties. She shuddered at the feeling of his tongue darting across the cotton covering her wet center. Again, Leon laughed a bit at her reaction and licked a heavier stripe against the fabric. When he was rewarded with a gasp from her open mouth, he pulled the panties to the side and pressed his tongue at her slit.

“F–Fuck, that feels good,” she whined, hand still messily buried in his hair. 

Leon kept his eyes on her the whole time, not letting a moment pass where his blue irises weren’t piercing hers. 

His tongue dipped out of her entrance and moved up to her clit. He fidgeted with it, trying to see which motion worked best on her, and settled on a circular movement. The longer he sat slotted between her thighs, her knees thrown over his shoulders, the more frequently he felt her cunt jump from pleasure. He placed his tongue hard on her clit, giving it rough, pressured licks. 

“Almost there, I’m close,” (Y/N) said, feeling a coil form in her stomach. She had felt this with other toys, but by far, Leon was the best at the job. “Don’t stop,” she hummed, voice catching in her throat while he moved his head side to side, dragging his mouth sloppily over her cunt.

A string of profanities escaped her mouth when she felt her orgasm hit. A sputtering wave of warmth flushed through her body, her pussy clenching around nothing. 

“That’s it, good job,” Leon cooed. He held his hand up to her face expectantly. “Spit.”

Her mind already felt melted, like it could’ve oozed out of her brain at any minute. She mindlessly complied with him, spitting onto his lengthy fingers.

“Ah–! S’too much, Leon.”

“No, no, you can take it. I’ll be gentle, I know you want another one,” he said with a slightly mocking tone. “Greedy girl needs something to fill her up.” Plunging his fingers into her pussy, he groaned at the feeling of her slick walls still fluttering. “Y’haven’t even recovered from the first one, but I’m gonna give you another one,” he said, curling his fingers, “gonna be twice as strong.”

“Fuck, it’s too much,” (Y/N) knew her sobs of pleasure were pathetic sounding, but she couldn’t muster anything else up as she tried to push his wrist down and away, not being able to stand the feeling of his two fingers prodding at her most sensitive spot. 

“Don’t fight it,” he warned, “not when you’re so close. Yeah, I feel you getting all tight on me. Mm, you’re gonna love how it feels, it only gets better from here, pretty girl.” 

Leon became more aggressive with his movement, moving his whole arm as his fingers jammed in and out of her. (Y/N) was lost in her ecstasy. Her hands shook and flew aimlessly before taking purchase of Leon’s shoulders and holding onto them, nails digging into the skin.

Her second release, as promised, was much stronger. Her legs clamped around him, her moans came out in long, shaky intervals, and her brain was mush. She couldn’t force herself to focus on anything but the cum dripping out of her cunt and down Leon’s fingers and forearm. She screwed her eyes shut, feeling even the dim light of her bedroom to be too much for her now fucked-out, slutty head to handle. 

She hardly noticed when he had placed on her back in the bed with her legs spread. Not until he guided his cock across her folds, tapping the head of it against her swollen, abused clit. 

“More?” she asked, voice breaking and weak. “Can’t take it ‘nymore.”

“C’mon, sweet thing, you can give me one more, can’t you? Just one more?” He whispered into her ear, slowly pushing into her, holding himself back. 

“Jus’ one? No more after that?”

“Mhm, just one.” Leon bottomed out and stretched her walls with his girth. The tip of his cock gave sweet, shallow kisses to her cervix’s tip, gently pressing into it with each thrust. His hips rocked into her, but he felt his dick being forced out of her walls, pushed out of her heat. “Even after all that, still tight f’me.” He slid back in, rougher this time, trying to keep himself inside. “Need somethin’ to stretch you out, baby. Good thing y’got me now.”

His hands were placed under her knees, scooping and holding them apart while he fucked her. He slowly transitioned from fucking and burrying his cock into her, to bringing her body forward, bouncing her on his cock. 

“Leon—”

“Hush, now, you’re okay. Mm,” he wiped the drool from the corner of her mouth, “look at how you take it. It’s like you were made to be used like this, sweet girl. Maybe you’d be better off as a toy.” 

She moaned at this, feeling her cunt twitch at his words.

“Yeah? You like that?” Leon’s eyebrow raised at her a bit, teeth barring in smirk. “You like being a little toy. Being– oh, fuck, you’re enjoying this so much. Your pretty little face...”

(Y/N) threw her arms over his neck, pulling him closer to her body. Their chests pressed together, her sweat slick between them both. “God, Leon, please!”

Leon pressed his mouth on her to quiet her down, swallowing her moans as their tongues and teeth gnashed against each other. He winced as (Y/N) bit down on his lip, choking back her sobs when she clamped down on his cock. Taking this as a sign, Leon emptied his thick, synthetic cum into her. 

Once he pulled out, a mixture of both of their cum pumped out, gushing and wetting in between her thighs.

“Good job, baby,” he said, stroking her face, grinning at the warmth of her cheek. “You did so well, getting all cockdrunk for me. To think I was being gentle. Wanna try my rough mode out for size?” He joked, letting his hand grip her hip. 

“Goodnight, Leon,” she responded, unimpressed at his teasing and tired from what he had done to her. She brought her hand to the back of his neck and turned his dial to ‘off.'

[diamondpastry]

trainwreckshipping submas dia au masterpost (in order <3)

in order of the sequence, not the date posted ... so you can have the definitive slop eating experience of the timeline im building... those in BOLD are important key moments, but the others still provide some needed context in a way ...

quick summary is that this is the usual ingo disappears to hisui while volos immortal and lived long enough to eventually come across emmet ... then they do the usual plate collecting stuff. this is just my interpretation of it

PRE-DISAPPEARANCE (before ingo disappeared. mostly junk to establish the twin's fun little dynamic)

who is this? - fun aftermath to an interactive post ...

sweaty emmet - nimbasa trio <3

GRIEVING ERA (lasted 1 year, emmet on his own coping with ingo's disappearance)

sad emmet - poor thing

emmet forgets elesas birthday - 2 months no ingo

stupid alcoholic - 3 months no ingo

emmet with a bong - 4 months no ingo

i'm normal - 1 year no ingo

PLATE COLLECTING ERA (volo finds emmet and convinces him to collect plates with him)

this is why i fuck with you - SHITPOST

pads - SHORT COMIC.

immortality - emmet finds out about volo's 'curse'. they talk about it.

gaah my cheeks gaaah - ART

non canon rp thing but its silly - SHITPOST/DOODLES

wash your clothes - SHORT COMIC. just a silly thing.

happy valentines guys - ART

volo's so damn tall - DOODLES

emmet straight up kills volo - volo using his immortality and emmet's fear of straying too far from ingo's image to manipulate/break him down into someone more vulnerable. this also comes in fanfic form, which provides more context to volo's point of view

ROSE-TINTED ERA (emmet falling in love with volo while volo continuously rejects his advances)

volo gets mauled by a bear - FANFIC. emmet is a lot less aggressive with his interactions, now growing a sort of concern/affection for volo. volo thinks it's disgusting. short doodle comic version here.

emmet cockblocks volo - FANFIC. has suggestive elements but no intercourse is actually observed (still mind the tags, however!). volo rejects emmet's affections, feeling that he is unworthy/is losing control. showcases his tendencies to self-sabotage.

not even worth it - SHORT COMIC. alternative summary to the previous one in case you aren't a fan of suggestive fanfics.

enough casual sex - SHITPOST/DOODLE

ugly - SHITPOST/DOODLE. emmet craving validation from volo.

frown upside-down - SHITPOST/DOODLE. emmet trying to cheer volo up.

need you - ART.

he dgaf - ART. emmet seeking comfort from volo.

hairdryer - SHITPOST/DOODLE. emmet pranks volo.

confession - also comes in fanfic form, which provides more context than the comic. emmet confesses his love to volo, volo confesses a different thing entirely.

FALLING OUT

phone call - 2 years no ingo. emmet takes all the plates from volo and returns them to their rightful place. he then finally accepts that theres no more hope for ingo and that hes never getting him back. plate collecting era + rose tinted totals a whole year.

REVELATION ERA

no posts here yet. this is a massive turning point in the story, but i must avoid spoilers for now ... you guys are free to piece things together though.

AFTERMATH

emmet breaks ingos back - he misses him

ingo brought home a sneasel ...

but your thighs - SHITPOST/DOODLES. reveals that emmet and volo are still seeing each other despite what happened. ingo is not a fan.

miss me, emmie? - ART. just a small visit while emmets working

awkwar - SHITPOST/DOODLE. ingo catches the two during work

and you still see him? - SHITPOST/DOODLE.

little crush - ART + DOODLES

big ass emoji - DOODLES/SHITPOST. ingo utilizing his new phone <3 and emmet is drunk

friendmaxxing - SHITPOST/DOODLES.

ingo in the modern world - ingo constantly being overstimulated during his transition from hisui to unova. emmet clinging on to their past routine, in hopes of returning back to 'normal'.

nightmare - comes directly after the previous comic.

ingo volo interaction - they do not get along

trainwreckshipping divorce - reveals that emmet and volo often end up in physical fights, yet still continue seeing each other. emmet gets fed up.

moving on - after the fight with volo, emmet learns to accept that things are never going back to normal.

these are still updating !! there are plenty of puzzle pieces ive yet to reveal ... i do accept asks discussing theories though i eat that up...

also i'd love to showcase my awesome trainwreckshipping playlist if you're interested in listening to that stuff.

[aventurineswife]

Okay, but how Jiaoqiu is going to be with someone who enjoys spicy food and is very VERY tolerant to it? Like, they have little to no reaction to the dishes where one bite is enough to cause even toughest to ask for water, meanwhile they just: "Hm... Not bad, could add more spice though." *Adds extra spice*

Spice Is the Soul of Life

Summary: While preparing a fiery stew of your own creation, you share an intimate and playful moment with Jiaoqiu. As the two of you challenge each other’s tolerance for heat, the shared experience sparks a deeper connection, revealing mutual admiration and kindling an unexpected bond.

Tags: Jiaoqiu x Reader, Cooking, Slow Burn Romance, Playful Banter, Spice Tolerance Challenge, Tender Moments, Found Family.

Warnings: Descriptions of spicy food and intense heat (potentially triggering for readers sensitive to food or spice-related content), Light suggestive undertones of romance.

A/N: this lowkey sounds like me ngl...🧍‍♀️

The aroma of freshly simmering chili paste wafted through the air as you stirred a bubbling pot of stew, the crimson liquid glistening ominously. It was a dish of your own creation, a concoction so fiery that even the most daring food connoisseurs would hesitate to try it. Yet, to you, it was comfort food, a beloved indulgence that reminded you of home.

Behind you, Jiaoqiu’s soft voice broke the silence. “That scent… Sichuan peppercorns, dried ghost peppers, and…” He tilted his head slightly, his fox ears twitching. “A hint of fermented chili bean paste, isn’t it? Quite the combination.”

You turned to see him standing in the doorway of your shared kitchen, leaning lightly against the wall. Despite his blindness, his eyes, half-hidden beneath his lashes, seemed to glow in the dim light. His presence was both calming and commanding, a blend of healer’s warmth and strategist’s precision.

“You caught all that just by smell?” you asked, impressed.

“Of course,” he replied with a soft chuckle. “A refined palate starts with a refined nose. Though I must admit, the intensity of your spices makes it quite easy to identify.” He tapped his chin lightly and made his way toward the counter, his movements fluid despite his lack of sight.

“You say that as if you couldn’t handle it,” you teased, placing a bowl of the stew before him.

Jiaoqiu’s lips curved into a sly smile as he took a seat. “I’m not one to back down from a culinary challenge, especially one involving spice. Let me be the judge of its ferocity.”

You raised an eyebrow, handing him a spoon. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

With a graceful motion, Jiaoqiu took a spoonful of the stew, blowing gently on it before tasting. For a moment, he paused, his expression unreadable. Then, a slow, satisfied grin spread across his face.

“Rich, layered, and delightfully numbing,” he murmured, savoring the heat that spread across his tongue. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

“Really?” you asked, surprised. “Most people would be scrambling for a glass of water by now.”

Jiaoqiu chuckled softly, his bushy tail swishing behind him. “Did you forget who you’re speaking to? I was raised in the Alchemy Commission. We specialize in potions that burn as they heal. My tolerance for spice is… considerable.”

Your eyes lit up with a mischievous glint. “Oh? In that case…” You reached for the jar of extra chili oil and added a generous dollop to his bowl. “Let’s see how considerable it really is.”

Jiaoqiu’s laughter was warm and unrestrained as he stirred the added spice into his stew. “You’re a bold one, aren’t you? Very well, I accept your challenge.”

As he took another bite, you watched closely, expecting even the slightest sign of discomfort. Instead, Jiaoqiu’s expression remained serene, though a faint flush rose to his cheeks.

“Hm,” he mused, setting his spoon down. “Not bad… but I think it could use a touch more Sichuan peppercorns to balance the bitterness of the ghost peppers.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I assure you, I’m not,” he replied, his tone light but sincere. “In fact…” He reached for the peppercorn jar and added a sprinkle to his bowl, stirring it with practiced ease. “There. Now it’s perfect.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “I guess I’ve met my match.”

Jiaoqiu smiled. “And I, mine. It’s rare to find someone who shares my appreciation for spice, let alone someone who can surpass me in resilience.” He paused, his expression softening. “It’s… refreshing.”

You felt warmth rise in your chest, one that had nothing to do with the spice. “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” he said simply, his voice carrying a sincerity that made your heart flutter.

The two of you continued to share the fiery stew, the spice creating a shared experience that seemed to burn away any barriers between you. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of the kitchen and the heat of the dish, you felt a deeper connection forming—a bond as enduring and intense as the flames you both so loved.

As the evening wore on, Jiaoqiu leaned back with a contented sigh. “You know,” he said, his tone contemplative, “spice is much like life. It burns, it numbs, but it also awakens. Perhaps that’s why I’ve always been drawn to it.”

You nodded, understanding his sentiment. “And sometimes, the hotter it gets, the more alive you feel.”

He turned his head toward you. “Exactly. And with someone like you by my side… I think I’m ready to face whatever heat life throws at me.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Careful, Jiaoqiu. You might make me think you’re a romantic under all that wisdom.”

He chuckled, his laughter as warm and comforting as the stew you’d shared. “Perhaps I am. Or perhaps… I’ve simply found someone worth sharing my fire with.”

[kiwriteswords]

This world is only gonna break your heart

Part III in the Wicked Game Universe (Can be read on its own, though!)

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: Here is another part of the Flirty!Female reader storyline I shared last week. This story can be read solo or as a companion piece in this universe!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 13k

Tags/Warnings:Romance, Slow Burn, Fluff, Angst, Banter, violence, blood, injury, medical procedures, torture, kidnapping, strong language, sexual tension, emotional distress, near-death experiences, guns, workplace romance, mentions of past trauma, manipulation, power dynamics, brief mentions of death, explicit descriptions of pain, psychological manipulation, Part of a series but can be read as a standalone.

Sypnosis: Having once worked closely with Aaron Hotchner on the original team, you always knew how to push Hotch’s buttons in the flirtiest way. Now, with a second chance at working together, the chemistry between you and Hotch is impossible to ignore. Though you’ve begun seeing each other in secret, nothing has been officially defined between you. As you work together on a dangerous case that threatens both your lives, the complexities of your relationship grow even more intense.

The team was gathered in the bullpen, coffee cups in hand, chatting about the usual morning routine. JJ, sitting at her desk, leaned toward Morgan and Prentiss, her voice low but playful.

“I’m telling you, something’s going on with Hotch,” JJ said, casting a quick glance toward Hotch’s office. “He’s been... different lately.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Different how? You mean he’s been even more serious than usual? Didn’t think that was possible.”

JJ shook her head. “No, that’s the thing—he’s been a little less serious. I saw him leaving the office early the other day. Early.”

Prentiss smirked, taking a sip of her coffee. “So, the man takes a day off, and suddenly he’s a suspect? Come on, JJ. What are you really getting at?”

JJ leaned in, her voice dropping. “I think he’s seeing someone. He’s been more... distracted lately.”

Morgan leaned back, arms crossed. “Hotch? Seeing someone? What, is he sneaking off to a chess club or something?”

Prentiss chuckled, but her eyes sparkled with curiosity. “If he is seeing someone, I’ve got to meet her. Can you imagine? She’d have to have the patience of a saint to deal with him.”

Rossi, standing nearby with his cup of espresso, raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe she knows how to make him crack. I’ve noticed him on his phone more often, and it’s definitely not work.”

Reid, flipping through a case file, chimed in without looking up. “Actually, studies suggest that people who are highly disciplined in their professional lives tend to form very strong, sometimes hidden, emotional attachments in their personal lives. If Hotch is in a relationship, it could explain a slight shift in his behavioral patterns.”

Morgan shook his head, laughing. “Reid, man, sometimes I think you’ve got Hotch more figured out than Hotch does.”

Just then, Penelope breezed into the bullpen, wearing her signature colorful ensemble. “Did I hear someone say Hotch and behavioral shifts? Tell me we’re talking about juicy secrets!”

Prentiss grinned. “JJ thinks Hotch is seeing someone.”

Penelope’s eyes widened dramatically. “Shut. Up. Is this for real? Do we know who the lucky lady is? Or more importantly, does she know about the constant banter between him and Y/N?”

Morgan laughed, shaking his head. “If Hotch’s girlfriend exists, she’d probably lose it with the way Y/N always pokes at him.”

Rossi chuckled softly, leaning against the desk. “Or maybe she doesn’t mind. Maybe she likes watching him squirm. She might enjoy it.”

Prentiss shrugged, a thoughtful expression on her face. “You know, whoever she is, I kind of feel for her. Y/N gives him hell.”

Penelope waved her hand in exaggerated exasperation. “I’m telling you, if I were Hotch’s secret girlfriend, I’d have a serious chat with Y/N about boundaries. Though, come to think of it, she might just be my hero for getting under his skin like that.”

Just then, the bullpen doors swung open, and in you walked, your bag slung over your shoulder. The team fell silent, eyes shifting to you as you approached your desk.

“Morning, guys,” you said casually, sitting down and pulling out your work. You’d just driven in with Hotch after spending the night—again—but no one had a clue. They all thought you were just being your usual teasing self.

Morgan leaned forward, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Hey, Y/N, you noticed anything... weird about Hotch lately?”

You raised an eyebrow, keeping your tone light. “Weird? Hotch? Nope, he’s his usual grumpy self to me. Why?”

Prentiss smirked, glancing at the others. “We’re just trying to figure out if he’s seeing someone. Thought maybe you’d have some insider info, considering how much time you spend giving him a hard time.”

You smiled, playing along. “If he’s seeing someone, I’m sure she loves hearing how much I mess with him.”

JJ, with a knowing look, chimed in. “Honestly, if one of Will’s coworkers was flirting with him the way you do with Hotch, I’d lose it.”

You fought back a laugh, biting your lip. “Yeah... she probably does.”

Before anyone could say more, Hotch strode into the bullpen, as composed as ever. His eyes briefly flickered to you, a subtle connection passing between you that the others didn’t catch. You met his gaze with a soft, secret smile.

It wasn’t long before the team gathered in the briefing room. The morning conversation and speculation were left behind as you all were quickly thrust into another case, with Hotch walking everyone through the details of a series of murders across state lines. With little time to waste, the team packed up, ready to leave for the jet.

The case was gruesome, as always, but by now, you were used to it. Their professionalism took over, and within the hour, they were boarding the jet, ready for another round of hard work.

Once in the air, Hotch stood at the front of the jet, walking everyone through the unsub’s profile, delivering the details with his usual composed, steady tone. The weight of the case was heavy, but the team listened closely, hanging on every word.

As the jet began its descent, Hotch gave out the next set of instructions. “Y/N, when we land, I need you to coordinate with the local officers. Make sure they’re ready for us.”

You tilted your head, a playful glint in your eyes as you replied, “And if I don’t feel like playing nice with the locals?”

Hotch looked at you, his face giving nothing away, but his tone remained cool and collected. “Just get it done.”

You smirked, leaning back with a mock sigh. “Guess I’ll behave... for now.”

The team exchanged glances, recalling their earlier conversation about Hotch possibly seeing someone. Morgan shook his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. Prentiss raised an eyebrow at JJ, who grinned knowingly.

Rossi leaned over to Morgan, muttering quietly, “You’d think with how much she flirts, someone would’ve put a stop to this by now.”

Morgan chuckled under his breath. “Hotch must have nerves of steel, man. Still letting her get away with murder.”

Hotch, as usual, didn’t let the playful exchange break his focus. He remained silent, his eyes briefly flicking to you with the faintest trace of amusement before returning to the case file.

The jet continued its descent, and the team’s quiet chuckles gradually subsided, the light-hearted banter easing the tension from the weight of the case. You caught Hotch’s gaze one last time, your smirk still lingering, knowing exactly how far you could push his buttons without ever crossing the line.

The team pulled into the parking lot of the local police station, the air outside thick with tension as they prepared to dive into another tough case. As the others unloaded their gear, you found yourself walking side by side with Hotch, a rare moment alone.

You shot him a sidelong glance, the playful smirk that had become second nature around him tugging at your lips. “You know, the team thinks you’ve got a girlfriend.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow but didn’t look at you directly. His tone was calm, as always. “Is that right?”

You chuckled softly, shrugging. “Can’t say I blame them. You’ve been...distracted lately.” The words hung in the air for a beat, heavier than they had sounded in your head. Distracted by you—but neither of you had said it out loud. Not yet.

As you walked, your mind wandered, your thoughts swirling around the unspoken. You hadn’t labeled what was happening between the two of you. There had been nights, quiet moments, but nothing concrete. You didn’t even know if you wanted to put a label on it... but the thought of someone else assuming they knew Hotch’s private life left a flicker of unease in your chest.

Hotch, on the other hand, kept his eyes forward, his thoughts mirroring your own. He hadn’t given voice to what this was—hadn’t dared to. Not because he didn’t want to, but because...what if it complicated things? What if crossing that line made everything harder? Still, every time you pushed his buttons, every time you looked at him like that, it made him wonder why he was hesitating.

He finally glanced at you, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “And what do you think?”

You met his gaze, the tension between you simmering just beneath the surface. “I think they’d be shocked to know the truth.”

Neither of you said more, the weight of the unspoken hovering between you as you approached the station doors. The moment passed as quickly as it had come, and you both returned to the professional roles you knew so well, but the lingering question of “what now?” remained just beneath the surface.

As the team entered the bustling police station, you were greeted by a wave of officers, all eager to assist. It didn’t take long for one of the senior officers to recognize you.

“Hold on,” the senior officer said, a grin spreading across his face. “Didn’t you teach a few lecture? I was at one of them—best training session I’ve had.”

You smiled, nodding. “Glad it was useful.”

Before you could continue, a rookie officer stepped forward, his gaze lingering a little too long. “I think I remember hearing about you... they didn’t mention how impressive you are in person though.”

You chuckled, brushing it off as harmless, barely noticing the rookie’s attempt at flirting. But Hotch did.

Standing just behind you, Hotch’s posture stiffened slightly. After a beat, he stepped forward, his voice cool and authoritative. “Officer,” he said evenly, “let’s keep things professional.”

The rookie blinked, clearly taken aback. “Yes, sir. Sorry about that, Agent Hotchner.”

You raised an eyebrow at Hotch, amused by his unusually protective tone. The rookie quickly excused himself, leaving you and Hotch with a brief moment of quiet. 

You were about to make a teasing remark when Hotch, in his usual composed manner, gently placed a hand on your elbow and guided you aside.

“Agent Y/L/N, a word?” His voice was calm, but you could tell something was brewing beneath the surface.

He pulled you just far enough from the team for a private conversation. His touch was firm, not forceful—he wasn’t angry, but there was a tension there, something unspoken.

“I don’t like it when men talk to you like that,” Hotch said quietly, his eyes searching yours.

You tried to hold back a laugh, finding the whole situation somewhat amusing. You leaned against the wall, crossing your arms as you gave him a playful look. “What, jealous, Hotch?”

Hotch’s gaze didn’t falter. “It’s not about jealousy,” he replied, though you both knew there was more to it. “It’s about keeping a professional environment.”

You tilted your head, clearly entertained by his response. “Uh-huh. And what exactly bothers you more? That he was out of line... or that he was talking to me?”

Hotch exhaled softly, glancing away for a moment before looking back at you. “Both,” he admitted. “I don’t like it when anyone crosses boundaries with you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, though you weren’t about to let him off the hook so easily. “Well, for the record, I didn’t even notice. But...” you leaned in just a little, lowering your voice, “it’s kind of hot that you did.”

Hotch paused for a moment, almost processing what you said. A flicker of amusement passed through Hotch’s eyes, though he kept his expression controlled. “Is that so?”

You grinned, taking a step closer. “Definitely. Who knew Aaron Hotchner had a jealous streak?”

His lips pressed into a thin line, but there was no denying the hint of a smile tugging at the corners. “Just focus on the case, Y/N.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Oh, I’ll get the job done, don’t worry. But if you ever want to talk about boundaries, I’m all ears.”

Hotch shot you a brief, unreadable look before turning back toward the rest of the team. “Let’s go,” he said, his tone all business once again, but the moment between you lingered.

As you walked back to join the others, you couldn’t help but smirk, knowing that beneath his stoic exterior, you had gotten under his skin just a little. The tension between you and Hotch had always been there—an unspoken undercurrent that surfaced in moments like this, where a brief look or a playful remark lingered longer than it should.

But now, the case demanded your full attention. The unsub was escalating, and there wasn’t room for any distractions. You shifted gears, falling back into your role as a professional, your focus sharpened.

The rest of the day blurred into a whirlwind of interviews, reports, and strategy sessions. By the time the evening came, your body ached with exhaustion. The local police had set up a command post in their precinct, and you and Hotch, along with the team, spent hours pouring over the unsub's patterns, trying to pinpoint his next move.

But you never saw it coming.

One moment, you were outside, gathering more information with Hotch by your side. The next, everything went dark. The sharp sting of something pricking your neck, the world tilting, and then nothing.

Now, here you were—the cold, dimly lit room smelled of damp concrete, and a faint, flickering light barely illuminated the camera that hung from the ceiling. It was fixed on you and Hotch, silently recording every breath, every glance. You knew it was being streamed to the local police station—your team was likely glued to the screen, watching helplessly as they worked to track down your location.

Your mind raced, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. This was a trap. The unsub had planned it all out perfectly, and now you and Hotch were the bait.

The unsub had left you both in the room for what felt like hours, alone and vulnerable, but it gave you time to think—time to prepare for what was coming.

Hotch sat next to you, his hands bound behind his back, just like yours. His face was impassive, focused, but you could feel the tension in the air, crackling like static between you. The silence was suffocating, and you were desperate to break it, to bring some lightness into the room despite the darkness surrounding you.

“You holding up over there?” you asked, your voice softer than usual but still carrying that teasing edge. You tilted your head, trying to catch his eye.

Hotch’s gaze flicked toward you, his expression still hard. “I’m fine,” he replied, his voice steady, clipped. “Stay sharp.”

You smirked, refusing to let the weight of the situation break you down. “Always,” you quipped. “But when this is over, I think we deserve a serious vacation. You know, one without kidnappings, torture, or unsubs.”

Hotch’s lips twitched—barely. But it was enough to encourage you. “Focus, Y/N,” he said, though you could hear the faintest note of amusement in his voice.

The moment of near-normalcy was shattered when the door to the room creaked open, and the unsub stepped inside, a menacing grin stretching across his face. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and carried himself with an air of control that made your stomach twist. His eyes gleamed with a sick sort of excitement as he looked from you to Hotch, then back again.

“Well, well,” the unsub said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Looks like you’re both holding up quite nicely. Let’s change that, shall we?”

He moved toward you first, his footsteps deliberate, almost casual, as if he had all the time in the world. Your heart pounded in your chest, but you forced yourself to remain calm, to show no fear. You couldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Before you had time to react, the unsub grabbed you by the arm, yanking you roughly out of your chair and dragging you toward the center of the room. You stumbled slightly but caught yourself, standing tall, refusing to show weakness. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Hotch tense, his jaw clenching as he watched the unsub pull you away.

“You know,” the unsub mused, circling you like a predator, “it’s always the tough ones who break the hardest.”

He pulled out a knife, the blade gleaming under the dim light. You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing as he brought it close to your skin. The first cut was shallow—a stinging line across your arm. You hissed but bit back any further reaction. The unsub glanced back at Hotch, his grin widening.

“Let’s see how your boss likes watching this.”

Hotch’s voice was like steel, calm but deadly. “This won’t end well for you.”

The unsub chuckled, clearly unfazed by Hotch’s words. He made another cut, deeper this time, and you couldn’t suppress the sharp intake of breath that followed. Your knees buckled slightly, but you caught yourself, trying to keep your expression neutral.

“I’m fine, Hotch,” you forced out, your voice tight but controlled. “I can handle it.”

But the unsub wasn’t done. He stepped back, and before you could react, his boot slammed into your side with a sickening thud. The force of the kick sent you sprawling to the ground, gasping for air as pain radiated through your ribs. You heard Hotch shift in his seat, his breath quickening slightly.

“You touch her again, and I will kill you,” Hotch growled, his voice dark and dangerous.

The unsub laughed, as though he’d been waiting for this. “Oh, I see how it is. You care about her, don’t you?” He took a good look at you for a moment, almost examining--soaking you in. “I can see why, she’s great to look at.” He turned his back to you and strolled over to where Hotch sat, looming over him like a shadow. “Well, let’s see how you do under pressure, then.”

The next moments were a blur of violence. The unsub laid into Hotch with calculated precision, each punch, each strike designed to inflict maximum pain without killing him. Hotch took it without a sound, his body recoiling with each hit but never breaking.

You pushed yourself up to your knees, your vision swimming from the pain in your ribs, but all you could focus on was Hotch. His face was bloodied, a bruise blooming under his eye, and still, he remained stoic, silent. But you could see it—the cracks in his armor. He was hurting, badly.

“Stop!” you screamed, your voice hoarse and raw. “Please, stop!”

The unsub paused, glancing back at you with a smug expression. “Oh, look. She’s finally begging.” He took a step toward you, but you shook your head, forcing yourself to your feet, wobbling slightly as you stood. “I love it when women beg.”

“Take me,” you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. “He’s not going to break, but I will. Just... just leave him alone.”

Hotch’s head snapped toward you, blood dripping from his split lip. “No,” he rasped, his voice thick with pain. “Don’t. Don’t offer yourself up like that. I can handle it.”

You shook your head, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes despite your efforts to keep them at bay. “Not like this, Aaron. Not like this.”

The unsub watched the exchange with amusement before turning his attention back to you. “Oh, I like this,” he said, stepping closer, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. “But don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll get to you soon enough.”

He grabbed you again, pulling you toward the center of the room. Hotch struggled to rise, grunting in pain as he tried to pull himself up. “Leave her alone!” he shouted, his voice raw with desperation.

You looked back at him, trying to hold yourself together as the unsub loomed over you. “It’s fine, Hotch,” you said, your voice shaking. “It’s just pain. I can take it.”

But as the unsub raised his hand again, you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold on.

The unsub’s hand slammed across your face, a sharp sting that sent your head snapping to the side. You tasted blood on your lip, and for a brief moment, the room tilted. You blinked, trying to focus, to hold yourself together. But the pain was starting to feel like too much—your ribs ached, your arm burned, and your head throbbed with every heartbeat.

Hotch’s voice cut through the haze, low and dangerous. “Stop this. Whatever you’re after, you won’t get it this way.”

The unsub ignored him, grabbing your chin roughly, forcing you to look into the camera that was still streaming every agonizing moment back to the police station. The team had to be watching, helplessly trying to track down where you were.

“Tell them how much pain you’re in,” the unsub hissed in your ear, his fingers biting into your skin. “Tell them how much it hurts.”

You gritted your teeth, refusing to give him what he wanted. “I’m fine,” you spat, voice thick with defiance. “I’ve had worse.”

Hotch’s eyes met yours from across the room. His face was battered, but his gaze was unwavering. He knew you were lying, and so did you.

The unsub’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Oh, I think you’re lying, sweetheart.” He released you suddenly, and you stumbled, barely catching yourself. He turned his back on you, walking over to Hotch with slow, deliberate steps.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched the unsub crouch down in front of Hotch, his voice dropping to a low whisper that sent chills down your spine.

“You’re the leader, right?” the unsub said, his tone mocking. “You keep things under control, make sure everyone follows orders. But what happens when you can’t protect the people closest to you? When you’re helpless?”

Hotch’s gaze stayed locked on the unsub, not giving an inch, but you could see the tension in his body—the way his hands clenched behind him, the way his jaw tightened.

The unsub suddenly grabbed Hotch by the collar and dragged him to his feet. You struggled against your restraints, your body screaming in pain, but you couldn’t just sit there and watch. You knew what was coming.

“Leave him alone!” you shouted, your voice hoarse and desperate.

But the unsub didn’t even look at you. He slammed Hotch against the wall, the sound of the impact reverberating through the small room. Hotch groaned in pain, and your heart clenched. The unsub turned Hotch to face the camera, one hand gripping his neck.

“Let’s see how long your leader lasts,” the unsub sneered.

You watched in horror as the unsub started to beat Hotch again, this time harder, each blow landing with sickening force. Hotch gritted his teeth, trying to remain stoic, but you could see the pain etched on his face, the way his body sagged with each hit.

Your chest tightened, panic bubbling up inside you. “Stop! Please!” you begged, tears spilling down your cheeks now, despite your best efforts to stay strong.

The unsub paused, his fist hovering mid-air, and he turned to look at you. “Ah, now we’re getting somewhere,” he mused, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “You care about him, don’t you?”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. The unsub stepped away from Hotch, walking back toward you, his eyes gleaming with amusement. He knelt down beside you, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face in a disturbingly gentle gesture.

“Tell me,” he whispered. “How much would you sacrifice to keep him safe? Would you take the rest of the punishment yourself?”

Hotch’s voice, strained but strong, cut through the air. “Don’t. Don’t do it.”

But you couldn’t stop the words from spilling out. “Yes,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll take it. Just... just leave him alone.”

The unsub grinned, standing up and looking back at Hotch. “Well, well. Looks like someone’s finally breaking.”

You closed your eyes, trying to prepare yourself for what was coming. The pain, the torment—anything to keep the unsub away from Hotch. But when the first blow didn’t come, you opened your eyes to find the unsub standing over you, savoring the moment.

“Not yet,” he said, his smile widening. “We’ll get back to you.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and left the room, leaving you and Hotch alone again.

Your chest heaved as you struggled to catch your breath, the adrenaline making your hands shake. The room felt smaller now, the walls closing in as you looked over at Hotch. He was still on his knees, breathing heavily, his face a mess of blood and bruises. Your heart ached at the sight of him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I’m so sorry, Aaron.”

Hotch raised his head, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “Don’t apologize,” he said quietly. “You did what you had to.”

You swallowed hard, the guilt gnawing at you. “I couldn’t just sit there and watch... I couldn’t—”

“I know,” Hotch interrupted gently. “I know. But you don’t have to sacrifice yourself for me.”

You shook your head, blinking back more tears. “I couldn’t stand seeing him hurt you like that.”

Hotch’s expression softened even further, but he remained firm. “We’re getting out of this. I need you to stay focused. The team will find us. They will.”

You nodded, but the doubt still lingered in the back of your mind. The unsub wasn’t finished with you, and you both knew it.

As the minutes ticked by, you sat in silence, your body aching, your mind racing. The camera continued to roll, the live feed still broadcasting every second to the team. They had to be watching. They were out there, trying to find you.

But how much longer could you hold on?

The room was silent again, except for the faint hum of the camera above, recording every breath, every moment of vulnerability. You tried to focus on your breathing, to push the pain from your mind, but it clung to you, heavy and unrelenting. Hotch, still battered and bleeding, was watching you carefully, though you could see the strain in his expression.

The weight of what had just happened was suffocating. You couldn’t stop replaying it in your head—Hotch being beaten, you begging the unsub to stop, offering yourself up. It gnawed at you, how easily you'd cracked. But seeing him in pain, seeing him suffer, had done something to you that you couldn’t control.

Hotch watched you through the haze of his own pain, his mind racing. He had seen that look in your eyes—the desperation, the willingness to throw yourself into harm's way just to protect him. It unsettled him in a way he hadn’t expected. He was used to being the one in control, the one making sacrifices. But you... you had stepped forward without hesitation, offering yourself up, willing to take the pain so he wouldn’t have to.

She can’t do this, Hotch thought, his heart pounding in his chest. She shouldn’t be willing to sacrifice herself for me. I’m supposed to protect her, not the other way around. His mind reeled at the thought of you taking on more of the torture, the way you flinched with each blow, the way you offered yourself so freely. The fear gripped him tighter than any physical pain.

She’s stronger than this, Hotch told himself, trying to steady his breathing. But the image of you crumpling under the unsub’s blows, your voice breaking as you told him you could handle it—it haunted him. He wasn’t just scared of what the unsub would do next; he was terrified that you would break yourself for him.

Hotch closed his eyes for a moment, fighting the wave of nausea from his own injuries. He knew he had to stay composed, had to be strong for you, but the thought of watching you suffer again—of you offering yourself up for his sake—made his blood run cold.

“Hotch,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the stillness. “I don’t know how much longer...”

“Don’t,” Hotch interrupted his tone firm despite the weariness in his eyes. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

You swallowed hard, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill again. “But you—”

“We’re getting out of this,” Hotch said, his voice low but resolute. “You’re stronger than this. Stronger than him.”

You wanted to believe him; you really did. But the pain was overwhelming, and the sight of Hotch—bloodied, bruised, and barely holding on—only made it worse. You clenched your fists behind your back, trying to push through the wave of emotion. You had to stay strong. For him.

The door creaked open again, and the unsub sauntered back into the room, his eyes gleaming with that same twisted pleasure. You felt your stomach drop, knowing what was coming next.

“Well, well,” the unsub said, clapping his hands together softly as if congratulating himself on his handiwork. “Looks like you two have had a nice little heart-to-heart.”

You shot him a glare, trying to summon whatever defiance you had left. “If you’re looking for applause, you’re not getting any.”

He smirked, amused by your attempt at resistance. “Oh, trust me, sweetheart. I’m just getting started.”

Without another word, he crossed the room and stood between you and Hotch, his presence looming like a dark cloud. He looked from you to Hotch as though deciding who to start with this time.

Hotch, ever the protector, locked eyes with the unsub. “If you’re trying to break us, you’ll have to do better than this,” he said, his voice steady despite the pain you knew he was in.

The unsub’s grin widened, and before you knew what was happening, he swung at Hotch, his fist connecting with Hotch’s already bloodied face. You gasped, your heart pounding in your chest as Hotch slumped back against the wall, his head hanging forward for a moment.

“Stop!” you screamed, your voice cracking. “Please, just stop!”

But the unsub ignored you. He grabbed Hotch by the collar, lifting him slightly and slamming him back against the wall again. Hotch groaned, his face twisted in pain, but he still didn’t cry out. He refused to give the unsub the satisfaction.

“Leave him alone!” you shouted, your throat raw from the strain. “Take me! I’m the one who—”

The unsub dropped Hotch and turned to you, his eyes gleaming with that sick pleasure again. “I’ll get to you in a minute,” he sneered, “As much as I love hearing those pretty lips of yours beg.” 

He stepped toward you, and for the first time, real fear crept into your chest. You had been hurt before, but this time felt different. The way he looked at you—like you were nothing more than prey—it sent a chill down your spine. You wanted to fight back, to stay strong, but your body was weak, your mind exhausted from the pain and the fear.

But as the unsub reached for you, something inside you snapped. You couldn’t let him win. Not like this.

“You think you’re in control?” you spat, glaring at him despite the terror clawing at your insides. “You’re nothing. Just a sad little man who gets off on hurting people because that’s the only way you feel powerful.”

The unsub froze, his hand hovering in the air for a moment. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a twisted smile.

“Oh,” he said softly, his voice dripping with malice, “you’ve got some fire in you, don’t you? I like that.”

He grabbed your arm, yanking you to your feet with a force that made your head spin. The pain from your ribs flared up again, and you gasped, but you refused to cry out. You refused to give him the satisfaction.

Hotch stirred, his voice hoarse but determined. “Don’t touch her,” he growled, his eyes blazing with fury.

The unsub laughed, a low, chilling sound. “What are you going to do, hero? You can’t even stand.”

He dragged you closer to the camera, forcing your face toward the lens. “Tell your friends how much pain you’re in,” he hissed in your ear. “Let them see how helpless you are.”

You clenched your jaw, refusing to speak, but the pain in your body was overwhelming. Your knees buckled, and you sank to the floor, gasping for breath.

The unsub turned to Hotch, his smile widening. “Let’s see how much longer she lasts.”

He reached for you again, and you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the next wave of pain. But then, something shifted in the room—something subtle but palpable. The unsub’s attention flicked toward the door as a faint sound echoed through the hall outside.

It was distant, barely audible, but it was there: the unmistakable click of footsteps.

The unsub’s expression darkened. He glanced back at the camera, then at the door, his confidence wavering for the first time. You could feel it—the team was close. They were coming for you.

For a brief moment, hope flickered in your chest.

The unsub grabbed you by the hair, pulling you roughly to your feet once more. “Looks like time’s running out,” he snarled, his voice filled with anger. He dragged you toward the wall, pressing you against it, his knife flashing in the dim light. “It’s a shame we’re out of time. I was planning to have some real fun with you later. Would’ve been a waste to keep a body like yours all to myself, though.”

Your stomach lurched in disgust, and you could feel Hotch’s eyes burning into the unsub, his rage palpable in the air. The unsub’s words were laced with a crude, vile intent, his objectification of you stoking a fire in Hotch that was barely contained.

Hotch’s jaw clenched so tightly you could hear his teeth grinding together. His breath came faster, shallow, his muscles tensing despite the pain coursing through him. The sight of the unsub touching you, treating you like something to be played with—it ignited a rage in him that he hadn’t felt in years.

“Don’t you touch her,” Hotch growled, his voice low, lethal, but the unsub just laughed.

“Or what?” the unsub taunted, his knife pressing closer to your skin. “You’re not in control here. But don’t worry... maybe I’ll let you watch when it gets really interesting. Unless this is something you’ve already seen?” The unsub lifted the hem of your top with the tip of the blade. 

Hotch’s vision blurred with fury. The pain in his body was forgotten, overtaken by the single, blinding need to stop this man—this monster—from doing any more harm to you. Every fiber of his being screamed to break free, to put himself between you and the unsub, but he was bound, helpless to intervene.

The unsub glanced back at Hotch, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure, reveling in the power he held over you both.

But then, the sound of footsteps outside grew louder—closer. The unsub stiffened, his smirk faltering for the first time. He looked back toward the door, his confidence slipping as the realization hit.

The team was coming. They were almost here.

Hotch struggled, trying to rise to his feet, but his body betrayed him, slumping back against the floor in agony. His voice, broken and strained, called out to you. “Y/N...”

You turned your head slightly, meeting Hotch’s gaze. His eyes were filled with pain—both physical and emotional—but beneath it all, you could see the same thing that you felt: hope.

“They’re coming,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “They’re coming for us.”

The unsub pressed the blade to your throat, his breath hot against your ear. “Let’s see if they get here in time.”

The unsub’s knife pressed harder against your throat, the cold steel biting into your skin. You could hear his heavy breathing, and feel his rage as the sound of footsteps outside the door grew louder. Your heart raced, hope and terror battling for control in your chest.

“They’re coming,” you whispered again, your voice hoarse, but the unsub didn’t waver.

“They won’t make it in time,” he hissed, his grip tightening. And then, with a sickening twist, he drove the knife into your side.

A sharp, searing pain shot through your body, and you gasped, eyes wide, your knees buckling as your strength left you. The world blurred around the edges, the sound of the door crashing open barely registering over the ringing in your ears.

“FBI! Drop the weapon!” Morgan’s voice boomed through the room, and you heard more shouting—Prentiss, Rossi—all of them rushing in at once.

The unsub was yanked away from you, the knife slipping from his grip as the team tackled him to the ground. There was chaos, shouting, and the sound of handcuffs clinking, but it all faded into the background as you crumpled to the floor, clutching your side, trying to stop the bleeding.

“Medic! We need a medic!” JJ’s voice rang out, panic clear as she ran to your side. 

Hotch, battered and beaten, was still tied up, his eyes wide with horror as he watched you fall. His body screamed in pain, but he fought against the restraints with renewed desperation.

“Get these off!” he shouted, his voice raw, barely recognizable. Rossi hurried over, fumbling with the ropes that bound Hotch’s wrists, finally freeing him.

The moment Hotch’s hands were free, he pushed himself up—his body protesting every movement, but he didn’t care. Stumbling forward, he rushed to your side, collapsing next to you, his hands hovering just above your body as if afraid to touch you.

“Y/N,” Hotch rasped, his voice thick with fear, his fingers trembling as they hovered over the wound in your side. Blood soaked through your shirt, and you tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, though the pain was excruciating, your breath coming in shallow gasps. “I... I’ll be fine.”

Hotch shook his head, his face a mask of anguish. “No, no, you stay with me. Do you hear me? Stay with me.”

His voice was fierce, but beneath it, there was desperation. Hotch never panicked, never faltered, but the thought of losing you like this, after everything, was more than he could bear. He could see it in your eyes—you were slipping, and it was breaking him apart.

You swallowed, tasting copper, the metallic tang of blood in your mouth. You could feel yourself weakening, the strength draining from your limbs, but you couldn’t let him see. He’s already been through too much. If I let go now, he’ll blame himself. 

The thought tightened your chest more than the injury ever could. You blinked, trying to focus on Hotch’s face, trying to reassure him, even though you could feel the darkness creeping in at the edges of your vision.

The rest of the team was moving in a blur around you—Prentiss restraining the unsub, Morgan barking orders for backup, but all you could focus on was Hotch. His eyes, usually so composed and controlled, were wide with fear and panic etched into every line of his face.

You reached up, your hand trembling as you placed it on his arm. “Hotch... I’m okay,” you tried again, your voice fading, but you saw the tears gathering in his eyes, his composure crumbling.

“Don’t you dare,” Hotch whispered fiercely, his voice barely holding together. “Don’t you dare leave me.”

The medics rushed in then, pushing Hotch aside as they worked to assess the damage. He refused to leave your side, kneeling next to you, his hand gripping yours tightly as if his sheer willpower could keep you tethered to him.

You tried to speak, but the world was growing darker, slipping away despite your best efforts to hold on. The last thing you felt was the pressure of Hotch’s hand in yours, the sound of his voice fading as you drifted into unconsciousness.

The doors to the ambulance swung open, and Hotch immediately followed the medics as they loaded you in. His eyes never left your still form, pale and lifeless on the stretcher. He climbed in without a second thought, his heart pounding in his chest, the fear gnawing at him like never before. The doors slammed shut behind him as the sirens blared to life, the ambulance speeding away from the scene.

Rossi and Emily stood back, watching as the vehicle disappeared down the street, lights flashing in the distance. The adrenaline was still coursing through them, the reality of the situation slowly sinking in.

Rossi glanced at Emily, a knowing look in his eyes. “Well,” he muttered, crossing his arms, “I think we know who Hotch’s girlfriend is.”

Emily blinked, her eyes still fixed on the ambulance. “How did I not see that?” she asked, more to herself than to Rossi. She shook her head, disbelief washing over her. “I mean, I knew they were close, but I had no idea…”

Rossi chuckled softly, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t think either of them have any idea how deep they’re in, to be honest.”

Emily nodded, still processing everything. “They’ve been so... professional, even when they flirt. I just thought it was part of the banter, part of their dynamic.”

Rossi’s smile faded, and he glanced back down the road where the ambulance had disappeared. “Sometimes it takes a situation like this to realize what’s really going on. I’m not sure Hotch has come to terms with it, though. And her?” He sighed. “She’s strong, but she’ll need him more than she realizes.”

Emily looked back at Rossi, a concerned frown on her face. “You think they’ll be okay?”

Rossi nodded slowly, his eyes still focused on the distant sirens. “If they can survive this, I think they’ll be just fine. But it’s going to take them both a while to get there.”

They stood in silence for a moment, both knowing that nothing would be the same for Hotch—or you—after this. The weight of the moment hung heavily in the air, and as the sirens grew fainter, they both turned back to finish the job they’d started, a new understanding between them.

The fluorescent lights in the hospital hallway buzzed quietly as the doors to the emergency room swung open. The paramedics rushed you in on the stretcher, doctors and nurses immediately converging on you, assessing the severity of your injuries. Hotch was right behind them, his breath shallow and his body screaming in pain, but he didn’t care. His focus was entirely on you.

The team arrived moments later, filing into the waiting area with wide eyes and worried expressions. Prentiss and JJ exchanged tense glances; Reid and Penelope seemed at a loss for words, while Rossi and Morgan hung back, trying to remain calm, though the gravity of the situation was weighing on all of them.

Hotch, standing just outside the trauma room, watched as they wheeled you through the doors, taking you straight to surgery. His fists clenched, jaw tight as he turned to one of the doctors in a white coat who approached him.

“Sir, we need to check you out,” the doctor said, glancing at the cuts and bruises covering Hotch’s face. “You’ve clearly been injured. We need to—”

“I’m fine,” Hotch snapped, his voice sharp and irritable. He didn’t have time for this. “I need to know what’s happening with her.”

The doctor blinked, surprised by the intensity in Hotch’s voice. “She’s being taken into surgery, but we need to—”

“Is Dr. Stevens performing the surgery?” Hotch cut in, his tone brusque. “She’s gets nauseous from certain anesthetics--Has that been noted? Do they know her medical history? She had a shoulder injury years ago—it could complicate the procedure if they don’t know—”

The doctor raised his hands, trying to calm Hotch down. “We have her records, but we need you to sit down so we can—”

“She’s had issues with her blood pressure before,” Hotch continued, not listening. “Do they know that? Do they know she’s—”

“Agent Hotchner,” the doctor said firmly, cutting him off. “We will take care of her. But we need to take care of you first. You’re bleeding, and you could have internal injuries.”

Hotch’s face hardened, his patience wearing thin. “I don’t care about me. Just tell me what’s happening with her.”

The doctor sighed, clearly exasperated. “Sir, I understand you’re concerned, but you’re not helping by refusing treatment.”

Before Hotch could retort, Derek Morgan stepped up, placing a firm hand on Hotch’s shoulder. “Hey, man,” he said, his voice calm but insistent. “You need to take a step back.”

Hotch shook his head, his eyes still locked on the trauma room doors. “I can’t just stand here—”

“You’re not any good to her like this,” Derek said, stepping in front of him, forcing Hotch to meet his gaze. “You’re bleeding from your face, probably have a couple broken ribs. You need to let the doctors do their job.” Hotch opened his mouth to argue again, but Derek tightened his grip on his shoulder. “Look, I get it. You want to make sure she’s okay. But you’re no good to her—or anyone—if you don’t let them help you. You need to sit down.”

Hotch’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his hands still clenched into fists, but the fire in his eyes dimmed slightly as Derek’s words sank in. He knew Derek was right—knew that his stubbornness wasn’t going to help you. But the thought of sitting in the waiting room, powerless, while you were in surgery was unbearable.

Reluctantly, Hotch nodded, the fight draining from his body. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice low. “But I need to know as soon as she’s out of surgery.”

Derek gave him a firm nod. “You will. But right now, you need to let them patch you up. She’s in good hands.”

Hotch cast one last glance at the trauma room doors before turning toward the doctors, the weight of everything pressing down on him.

Hotch sat on the edge of the hospital bed, his body tense as the nurse carefully cleaned the cuts on his face and arms. The antiseptic stung, but he barely felt it. His mind was elsewhere—back in that dark room, watching as the unsub’s knife sank into your side.

The pain in his own body was nothing compared to the images flashing in his mind. He knew that pain—the searing, sharp agony of a knife tearing through flesh. He had felt it before, when Foyet had plunged the blade into him, over and over. The memory was vivid, the way the air had left his lungs, the way his body had screamed in agony. He didn’t wish that pain on anyone, least of all you.

As the nurse worked, Hotch’s mind drifted to Haley. The sight of her lifeless body, the blood... the feeling of being too late, of having failed her. It haunted him, even now. The parallels to this moment were too close for comfort, and he couldn’t shake the fear that he was about to lose someone else he cared about. The thought of walking into another hospital room to find a body—your body—was unbearable.

His hands clenched into fists, the sense of helplessness gnawing at him. I should have protected her. I should have done more. The weight of it pressed down on him, suffocating. 

Hotch had never been one to care much about labels. It wasn’t about being your “boyfriend”—he felt far too old for that, and it had never seemed important before. But as he sat there in the hospital room, the lack of definition, the absence of a clear place in your life gnawed at him. It wasn’t about a title; it was about the undeniable connection he felt, a place he knew he held but had never acknowledged, not even to himself.

From the officers at the local PD to his own team subtly questioning his personal life, there was nothing tangible that tied the two of you together in a world where nothing felt certain anymore. And that absence—of control, of clarity—bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

The nurse wrapped a bandage around his ribs, and Hotch exhaled sharply, the pain in his side flaring up. His ribs had probably cracked under the unsub’s blows, but it felt insignificant compared to the storm raging inside him. He had been through this before—too many times. He knew what loss felt like, and the fear that it could happen again gripped him harder than any physical injury.

Just as the thoughts threatened to spiral out of control, the door to the examination room opened, and the doctor walked in, pulling Hotch from the whirlwind of his mind.

“Agent Hotchner,” the doctor began, glancing at the chart in his hands. “I wanted to give you an update on her condition.”

Hotch’s heart pounded in his chest, his body going still as he waited for the words.

“The surgery went well,” the doctor continued. “It was very quick, and we were able to stop the bleeding without any complications. She has two broken ribs from the impact, but we’ve stitched the stab wound, and she’s stable.”

Hotch exhaled, the tension in his chest easing just slightly. But the doctor wasn’t finished.

“She also has stitches on her face from the cuts and bruising across her body, but physically, she’s going to be okay.”

Hotch nodded, the weight of the news sinking in. Physically, you would heal. But the mental scars—he knew all too well—might linger much longer.

“Can I see her?” Hotch asked, his voice rough, barely holding back the urgency.

The doctor nodded. “She’s being moved to recovery now. You can see her soon. Right now, it is only immediate family.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, the words cutting through him like a blade. Immediate family. The phrase echoed in his mind, and for a moment, he froze. But then, without hesitation, he straightened, meeting the doctor’s gaze with unwavering resolve.

“We’re her family,” Hotch said, his voice steady but firm. “All of us—me, the team. And I’m her...” He paused for just a beat, his eyes hardening with determination as he found the words. “I’m her significant other.”

The doctor studied him for a moment, as if weighing the weight of his words, then nodded in understanding. “Alright. I’ll let the staff know. You can see her when she’s settled.”

Hotch gave a slight nod in return, the tension in his chest easing just a little. It wasn’t about the label—it never had been—but in that moment, it gave him a sense of control, a way to protect you, to stay by your side.

Hotch returned to the waiting room, his steps slow but deliberate, the weight of the past few hours pressing heavily on his shoulders. The team looked up as he approached, their eyes filled with anticipation and concern.

He took a moment to gather his thoughts, trying to find the right words. “She’s out of surgery,” Hotch began, his voice low but steady. “It went well. They were able to stop the bleeding, and she’s stable. She has two broken ribs and stitches, but physically... she’s going to be okay.”

A collective sigh of relief washed over the room, and the tension that had gripped the team loosened ever so slightly. Prentiss exchanged a relieved glance with JJ, and Morgan leaned back in his chair, exhaling deeply.

Before Hotch could say anything more, a nurse stepped into the room, interrupting the moment. “Excuse me,” she said, glancing at the group. “Only one person can visit at a time for now. If her boyfriend would like to join her, we can take you back.”

There was a beat of silence as the words hung in the air.

The team collectively froze, exchanging looks of surprise and confusion. Prentiss raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking toward Hotch, while Morgan’s eyes widened just a fraction, caught off guard. Penelope’s jaw dropped, eyes bugging out at Hotch. JJ and Reid blinked, clearly processing the revelation, and Rossi, ever the observer, simply gave a knowing smile.

Hotch, for his part, didn’t flinch. He nodded to the nurse, his expression calm and composed, even as the team’s unspoken questions swirled around him. “Thank you,” he replied, his voice steady. “I’ll go in.”

The nurse gestured for him to follow, and as he turned to leave, he could feel the eyes of his team on him, the weight of their surprise lingering in the room behind him.

As Hotch followed the nurse down the hall, the team watched him disappear around the corner. The moment he was out of earshot, they exchanged looks, the silence quickly breaking into hushed whispers.

Penelope, sitting on the edge of her seat, was the first to speak. “Did anyone else hear that? Boyfriend? Boyfriend?!” Her eyes were wide, and she looked from one teammate to the next, waiting for someone to confirm she wasn’t imagining things.

Morgan raised his eyebrows, glancing at the others. “Oh, I heard it too.”

Prentiss leaned back in her chair, still processing. “I mean, I knew there was something between them, but... boyfriend?”

JJ smiled softly, though she still looked surprised. “I knew they were close, but wow.”

Rossi sat quietly, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well, it was bound to come out sooner or later.”

Reid, who had been silent until now, spoke up, his brow furrowed in thought. “Maybe Hotch just said that so he could get in to see her. You know, bypass the whole ‘immediate family’ rule.”

Morgan shook his head, smirking. “Reid, you really think Hotch would lie about something like that just to get in the room? No chance. There’s more going on there.”

Penelope nodded vigorously. “Morgan’s right. That was not just an excuse.”

Prentiss crossed her arms, still mulling over the revelation. “They’ve been like this for a while. It’s always been there.”

Rossi, always the observer, leaned back and added, “I don’t think either of them realizes how deep they’re in. But they’re definitely in it.”

The group fell into a brief silence, each of them now piecing together the subtle interactions they’d seen between you and Hotch over the months. The signs had always been there, but now it all seemed to make sense.

You blinked groggily as the haze of anesthesia began to wear off, the bright lights of the hospital room slowly coming into focus. Everything felt heavy, your body aching, but the familiar presence beside you—Hotch standing near your bed—brought a wave of relief.

“Hotch?” you murmured, your voice still thick with sleep.

He stood close, his eyes full of concern but also unmistakable relief. “I’m here,” he said softly, his voice steady and reassuring.

Despite the pain radiating through your body, a small smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth. Even in your state, you couldn’t help yourself. “I guess I’m still alive... which means you didn’t mess up too badly.”

Hotch blinked, clearly caught off guard by your comment. A faint smile flickered on his lips as he raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, who just got out of surgery here?”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, immediately wincing as the pain in your ribs flared up. “Yeah, yeah... I know,” you said, your voice still playful. “But someone’s gotta keep you humble.”

Hotch’s expression softened, the tension in his posture easing slightly. “You should be resting,” he said, though there was a faint trace of humor in his voice. “Not trying to be a smartass.”

You smiled, though it was more of a pained grin. “Can’t help it. It’s part of my charm.”

For a moment, the two of you shared a look, your usual teasing and banter making the heavy weight of everything feel just a little bit lighter. Hotch, despite everything, couldn’t help but feel relieved—you were still you.

“Yeah,” Hotch replied, allowing himself a small smile. “I’m beginning to see that.”

You let out a small chuckle, though the pain in your ribs quickly reminded you not to push it. You winced, shifting slightly on the bed. Hotch immediately stepped closer, his concern flickering back into his expression.

“Easy,” he said softly, his hand hovering near yours but hesitating, as if unsure whether to offer comfort or give you space. “You’re still healing.”

You smirked, wincing again as you tried to adjust. “Guess I’m going to have to take it easy for a while, huh? Don’t worry... I’ll let you wait on me hand and foot.”

Hotch shook his head, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t think you’re going to need much help with that,” he replied dryly, his voice laced with amusement. “You seem to be managing just fine.”

You grinned, even through the discomfort, enjoying the back-and-forth. “Hey, you owe me. I took a knife for you.”

Hotch’s expression faltered for just a second, the weight of your words pulling him back to the reality of what had happened. His gaze flicked to your bandaged side, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“You shouldn’t have had to,” he said quietly, the lightness in his tone replaced with something more serious.

You sighed, the teasing fading for a moment as you met his gaze. “I would do it again,” you said softly, your voice more sincere. “For you? Every time.”

Hotch didn’t respond right away, his eyes searching yours. The intensity of your words hung between you, and for the first time since the surgery, you could see the depth of emotion in his eyes—the worry, the guilt, the relief. It was all there, unspoken but palpable.

He finally nodded, swallowing thickly. “And I’ll make sure you never have to again.”

You smiled at him, the moment heavy but comforting in its own way. “Good,” you said, breaking the tension with a hint of playfulness. “Because next time, you’re buying dinner first.”

Hotch chuckled, the sound soft and low, but it was enough to bring a warmth to the room that hadn’t been there before. “Deal,” he said, his voice lighter once again. “Now, get some rest. We’ll talk about your ‘waiting hand and foot’ plan later.”

You had been in the hospital for a couple of days now, resting and recovering. The team had stopped by to check in on you, offering support and making sure you were comfortable, but no one brought up the “boyfriend” comment. It seemed like they were all content to brush past it, letting you heal in peace without probing into whatever was happening between you and Hotch.

Now, it was just you, Penelope, and Hotch in the room. Penelope was sitting next to your bed, keeping the conversation light, as always, while Hotch stood nearby, his usual quiet presence comforting but still charged with that underlying tension you hadn’t fully addressed.

The nurse entered with a clipboard and a warm smile. “Good news,” she said, glancing between the three of you. “You’re being discharged today.”

You smiled back weakly, the exhaustion from your recovery still weighing on you. “Finally,” you murmured.

The nurse glanced at her paperwork. “We just need to arrange for your ride home. Will your boyfriend be taking you?” she asked, her tone casual.

Without thinking, you immediately blurted out, “I don’t have a—” But you paused, suddenly realizing who she might have meant. Your eyes flicked toward Hotch, the gears turning in your head as the weight of the comment settled. Did she mean Hotch?

Before you could find the words to clarify, Penelope looked at you, surprised. “What do you mean? I thought Hotch was your boyfriend?”

The air felt heavy all of a sudden, the words hanging between you. You opened your mouth to respond, the confusion and unease already bubbling up inside you, but Hotch cut in smoothly.

“Yes,” he said, his voice steady and calm. “I’ll be taking her home.”

You blinked, the moment spinning out of your control before you even had time to process it. Penelope beamed at his confirmation, seemingly oblivious to the internal storm that was starting to brew in your chest. She began helping you gather your things, chatting away as if everything was perfectly normal.

But it wasn’t. Not for you.

As the nurse continued explaining your discharge instructions, Hotch was listening intently, nodding as she described how you’d need help with bandage changes, rest, and general care over the next few days. But you weren’t paying attention anymore. Your thoughts were spinning, crashing into each other in a swirl of emotions you couldn’t untangle.

Panic. This was unexpected. Did Hotch mean what he said, or was he just saying it to smooth over the situation? There had been no conversation, no agreement between the two of you. The suddenness of it, this label, felt like it had been thrust upon you without your consent. The weight of the moment pressed down, tightening your chest.

Anger. He should have spoken to you first. If he had made this declaration in front of the team—or worse, if he genuinely believed this was something you had agreed to—it wasn’t fair. It felt like a line had been crossed without warning, a decision made without your input. You hadn’t even had the chance to figure things out for yourself, let alone with him.

Fear. This changes everything. A label like “boyfriend” brings expectations, complications, and shifts in dynamics you weren’t sure you were prepared for. You hadn’t even begun to navigate your feelings about Jack, about what it meant to be a part of Hotch’s life outside of the team. What if this label, this step, was too much too soon?

Confusion. What are we, really? There were too many unanswered questions, and too many parts of this relationship that were undefined. It wasn’t just about you and Hotch anymore; his son, his responsibilities, and his life outside the job added layers you hadn’t fully explored. Could you really handle all of that?

Frustration. Hotch had always been measured and thoughtful in his actions, but this felt rushed, impulsive. You couldn’t help but feel a surge of frustration at his decision to jump into something so big without a conversation. It felt blindsiding like the ground had shifted beneath your feet without warning. And the scariest part? You couldn’t shake the thought: What if this ruins everything?

You were yanked from your spiraling thoughts when the nurse handed Hotch a few papers. “Here’s the aftercare sheet,” she said. “It explains how to change her bandages and monitor her pain levels. She’ll need rest, of course, but with your help, she should recover well.”

Hotch nodded, his focus completely on the nurse’s instructions, but you were still caught in the whirlwind of emotions, your mind racing.

The discharge process had gone by in a blur. The nurse’s instructions, Penelope’s cheerful goodbyes—it all felt distant, like you were moving through the motions but not really present. Soon enough, you found yourself outside, the cool air brushing against your skin as Hotch opened the car door for you. You settled into the passenger seat, your body still sore from the ordeal, but it was the silence that weighed on you more than the pain.

The car ride back was quiet. Too quiet. Hotch drove steadily, his eyes occasionally flicking toward you, but neither of you spoke. Normally, you’d have something witty or sarcastic to say to fill the space, but today... you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything.

You stared out the window, watching the city blur by, the tension between you and Hotch palpable but unspoken. The questions, the confusion, the frustration—it was all there, just beneath the surface, waiting for one of you to address it.

After a while, Hotch finally broke the silence. “You’re quiet,” he said, his voice calm but cautious. “That’s never a good sign.”

You didn’t respond immediately, still trying to make sense of everything that had happened. Hotch, sensing your hesitation, continued, his tone softer now. 

“I know we need to talk... about the label.” He paused for a moment, the weight of the word hanging in the air. “I didn’t... I didn’t mean to rush into anything. But I know we need to figure this out.” 

His hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. Even he seemed apprehensive, uncertain about what came next.

“I can see something’s on your mind,” Hotch added, glancing over at you again. “You never stay quiet for long. You always have something to say.”

You exhaled, your mind still racing with everything you’d been trying to process. He was right—you did always have something to say. But this? This was different. You weren’t sure where to even begin.

The tension in the car hung thick between you, and after Hotch’s gentle prodding, you felt the pressure to finally respond. You were still sorting through the whirlwind of emotions, but instead of diving into them head-on, you did what you always did—deflected with a sharp edge.

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, eyes still fixed on the window, “guess I’m not in the mood for small talk right now. Sorry to disappoint.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, though his expression remained calm. “I didn’t expect small talk.”

You crossed your arms, your voice taking on a sarcastic bite. “Oh, right. You want to talk about... the label. Great.” You scoffed, finally turning your head to glance at him. “Well, since you’ve already declared yourself my boyfriend, I guess the conversation’s already been had, right?”

Hotch���s jaw tightened slightly, but he kept his tone measured. “I didn’t mean to make that decision for you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you shot back, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. The brattiness in your voice masked the confusion and frustration bubbling beneath the surface, but it wasn’t hard to tell there was more you weren’t saying. “What, you couldn’t wait for me to be conscious for that part of the conversation?”

Hotch exhaled, his gaze steady on the road ahead. “I get why you’re upset,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “But this isn’t something I take lightly.”

You rolled your eyes, still not ready to back down. “Right. Well, maybe next time you can include me in the ‘significant other’ discussion before you start telling people I’m your girlfriend.”

Hotch didn’t say anything at first, but the slight shift in his expression told you all you needed to know. He was hurt. The sharp edge of your words had cut deeper than you’d intended. His jaw tightened, and for the first time in the conversation, he seemed genuinely taken aback.

He glanced at you briefly before speaking again, his voice quieter, more measured. “I didn’t realize... that’s how you felt about it. The label.”

You could hear the tension in his tone—the disappointment, the hurt—but it was masked under his usual calm demeanor. He was trying to hold it together, even now.

“I just...” Hotch paused, his grip tightening on the steering wheel as he collected his thoughts. “I need to know where this is going. I can’t...” He hesitated, then continued, his voice tinged with a vulnerability you weren’t used to hearing from him. “I can’t be with someone if it’s not permanent.”

You blinked, his words catching you off guard. Permanent. The weight of it hit you like a ton of bricks.

“This whole situation—being in that hospital, hearing them say I wasn’t ‘family’—it clarified a lot for me. I can’t do something halfway. I have Jack to think about. You’re with me more often than not these days when I’m not working or with him, and I need to know how to balance that.”

The hospital had been a reminder of the importance of clarity. He couldn’t afford uncertainty, not with Jack in the picture. Relationships, especially one like this, needed structure—boundaries. His role as a father demanded it, and so did his position at the BAU. Blurring those lines without understanding what they were to each other was a risk, one he wasn’t willing to take without her being fully on board.

You stayed silent, but the biting sarcasm from before was still at the tip of your tongue. You wanted to lash out, to brush it off as another heavy conversation you weren’t ready for. But there was something in the way he looked at you—something real. Something that made you pause, if only for a moment.

Hotch sighed, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “If this isn’t something you want... if the label is a deal breaker for you, I need to know.”

You clenched your jaw, feeling a fresh wave of frustration rising up inside you. Deal breaker? You hadn’t even had time to process everything, let alone decide if you wanted something “permanent.” You felt cornered, like the decision had been made for you, and now you were just being asked to confirm it.

“So now you’re asking me if this is a deal breaker?” you shot back, your tone sharp. “You don’t think I’m overwhelmed? You don’t think I need time to figure this out?” You exhaled harshly, shaking your head. “I went into that case thinking we were... I don’t know, figuring things out along the way. Then I wake up to find out I’m halfway married or something?”

Hotch’s face remained calm, but the hurt was still there, just beneath the surface. You could tell he was trying to stay composed, but the weight of your words was sinking in.

“I never meant for you to feel that way,” Hotch said quietly. “I just—”

“Yeah, well, that’s how it feels,” you interrupted, your voice laced with a mix of frustration and sarcasm. “And I don’t even know how to handle all of this right now. My career, the team... it’s all a lot to process. And now you’re asking me about ‘permanent’? You didn’t even give me a chance to figure out if I wanted the label in the first place.”

The car was silent for a few moments, the air thick with unspoken tension. You were both hurt, both grappling with the weight of everything that had been left unsaid.

By the time you reached your apartment, the frustration had settled into a dull ache. Hotch parked the car, and despite your stubborn urge to insist you could handle yourself, you knew better. As much as you wanted to protest, the soreness in your body was a constant reminder that you needed help. Quietly, you let Hotch guide you inside, though you couldn’t help but pout a little, feeling more like a sulking child than an FBI agent.

Hotch, ever patient, didn’t comment on your mood as he helped you settle onto the couch, adjusting the pillows behind you to make sure you were comfortable. You shot him a look, but said nothing, biting back the urge to make a snarky remark. You knew you were acting childish, but the weight of everything was still sitting heavy on your chest.

Once you were settled, Hotch sat down next to you, the quiet stretching between you like a fragile thread.

“I’m ready to talk now,” you said finally, your voice still carrying a hint of attitude, but the sharp edge had softened. You weren’t quite ready to drop the sarcasm completely, but you knew this conversation was necessary.

Hotch simply nodded, his gaze steady on you, silently giving you the space to start.

Taking a breath, you glanced at him. “If I’m going to be... permanent in your life, with you and Jack, there are things we need to get straight.” Your tone was still tinged with a bit of defiance, but there was no denying the seriousness in your voice.

Hotch listened intently, his expression calm, but you knew him well enough to see that he was taking every word to heart.

“I want to get to know Jack more,” you continued. “I need to feel like I’m part of his life, not just someone who shows up occasionally.” You paused for a moment, then added, “And there need to be clear boundaries at work. I won’t be just ‘Agent Hotchner’s girlfriend.’ I worked too hard to get where I am to be reduced to that.”

Hotch gave a slight nod, his silence encouraging you to keep going.

“I still need my space,” you said, a bit of sarcasm creeping into your tone again. “My life. I’m not just going to revolve around you and your schedule.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Hotch’s mouth, but he stayed quiet, letting you lay it all out.

“I’m serious,” you added, your eyes narrowing. “I’ve worked too hard for my career. I won’t just be your... partner. I need to be seen as my own person.”

Hotch leaned back slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. He already knew all of this. Deep down, you could tell he respected you too much to think otherwise, but saying it aloud gave you some sense of control over a situation that had spiraled.

You sighed, a hint of vulnerability creeping into your voice. “I was wrong, though. We’ve been in a relationship this whole time, haven’t we?”

Hotch’s expression softened. “Maybe a little old-fashioned of me to not ask you to ‘go steady’ first,” he teased, the rare humor catching you off guard.

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, you kind of missed the mark there, old man.”

Hotch chuckled, then his tone shifted to something more serious. “I took all of this into account long before now,” he said quietly, his voice full of certainty. “The moment we crossed that line... when the banter stopped being just banter, I knew what it meant. I knew what I was risking.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on your lips. “Oh, so you were playing with fire and didn’t even flinch?”

Hotch leaned in just slightly, his eyes locking with yours. “I knew it was worth the risk.”

You held his gaze, the tension between you shifting from uncertain to something far more solid. You could feel the weight of his words, the promise in them, but you weren’t about to let him have the last word.

“Well,” you said, your tone bold and flirty, “just don’t expect me to go easy on you. I’m not here to stroke your ego, Hotchner.”

Hotch’s smile deepened, a rare glimpse of amusement in his eyes. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

[hype-queer-fixated]

Where Dark Things Flourish

summary: In 1863 Italy, Dr. Florence Seward is summoned to assess an unusual case—a woman whose frailty is matched only by her fervor, whose body betrays her even as her mind remains relentless. Signora Fosca is a study in contradictions, and against her own better judgment, Seward is inexorably drawn to the sharp edges of her. What begins as clinical curiosity dissolves into something far deeper, far darker—something neither of them can turn away from. But there are those who believe Fosca must be contained, who will go to any lengths to see it done. And when the threat comes, Florence is faced with a deadly choice—one she has had to make once before.

wc: ~35K

tags: slow burn; alternating perspectives; early-30s!Seward; pre-canon for Penny Dreadful; seward replaces giorgio (Passion AU); gothic vibes; chronic illness and fatigue; night terrors; panic attacks; period-typical forced restraint; period-typical forced sedation; on-screen violence; off-screen death; mindfulness therapy (but a No Boundaries Seward version); past medical abuse; hurt/comfort (for about 53 seconds); abusive white man with hurt feelings does exactly what you’d expect; navigating sex while chronically ill; fosca has a praise kink; seward has a fosca kink; semi-public masturbation; vaginal fingering; cunnilingus; oral sex while sleeping / wake-up orgasm; dash of overstimulation; squirting; emotional intensity during sex (and everywhere else too)

a/n: no one was more surprised than me that this ended up being a slow burn. They burn exquisitely though.

Read on Ao3 | i'm just gonna tag @thegoddamnfeels and @live-laugh-love-lupone whenever i do this cuz none of this exists without them

I had been summoned to this house by a man who styled himself a doctor but whose bedside manner suggested he belonged more comfortably in a morgue. A colleague of my mentors in alienism, he had requested my consultation with little in the way of details, only that the case was "exceptional" and that he believed I might offer insight where he had failed.

That failure had been evident before I even stepped inside the room where she waited. For all it was a military base, the house itself was a mausoleum of faded grandeur, its walls weighed down with heavy brocade, the air thick with the mingling scents of leather boots, damp fabric, and the unmistakable undercurrent of slow decay. A place of stillness. Of old, sinking things.

And then there was her.

She sat near the window, her body a study in fragile severity, all angles and hollows and sharp, restless fingers poised over an open book. Not reading. Watching.

Watching me.

Fosca's gaze didn't flicker or waver, nor did she attempt to disguise the careful inventory she was taking. The gloves I hadn't removed. The absence of a wedding band. The way I carried myself—straight-backed but wary, self-possessed but already measuring the room for exits.

I recognized the precision of her assessment. It was the same quality I had seen in men accustomed to war—officers, tacticians. A mind that had learned to weigh and measure at a glance, to anticipate before being anticipated.

And yet, she wasn't a soldier.

She was something else.

Fosca was pale as an overcast sky, the marks of illness deep-set in the sharp cut of her cheekbones, the shadowed hollows of her eyes. And yet, she wasn't diminished. Whatever had wasted her body had left her mind untouched—keen, burning, observant to the point of intrusion.

And she had decided something about me already. I could see it in the slight lift of her brow, the ghost of amusement at the corner of her mouth.

I sat in the chair opposite hers.

"You are Dr. Seward," she said. Not a question.

"And you are Fosca."

Her brow lifted higher. This time, there was something like pleasure in it, though tempered by wariness. "No honorifics? Most doctors would afford me at least a pretense of formality before they dismiss me as mad."

The words were sharp, but there was something else beneath them. Not bitterness. Expectation.

I had encountered such patients before—the ones who had been dissected, dismissed, reduced to objects of study rather than subjects of suffering. But something in her tone was different, as though she were testing the shape of me, waiting to see what I might become in response.

"I do not dismiss patients before I have examined them," I said simply.

Her lips curved slightly—not quite a smile, but the suggestion of one. "Then you're unlike the others."

"Perhaps," I allowed. "Or perhaps I am only more patient."

A flicker of something in her eyes—pleasure, but not unguarded. Measured. Cautious. She tightened her fingers over the open pages of her book, as though something about this exchange pleased her more than she had anticipated.

I leaned forward, resting my forearms against my knees. "Your doctor has asked me to consult on your case. Tell me in your own words—what ails you?"

Fosca tilted her head. I felt her eyes move over me again, slower this time, as though considering a different angle of approach.

"Ah. A test," she said. "You wish to see how my own account aligns with the one given to you."

I didn't confirm or deny it.

She regarded me for another long moment before setting the book aside, fingers steepled in her lap. "You have already decided that I am ill," she said. "You speak as though I were a collection of symptoms."

"You're not a collection of symptoms," I corrected. "But you are suffering, and I was called here to understand why."

She exhaled, low and unamused. "And if I tell you that my suffering isn't of the body alone? If I tell you that my mind does not ail me but rather that others fail to comprehend it? That I don’t suffer because my mind is ill but because it's inconvenient?"

"Then I would listen."

Something shifted. I saw it in the way her lips parted slightly, in the fractional widening of her gaze before she masked it. It wasn't often that she was surprised.

But I had surprised her.

-> continue on Ao3

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