#that's good enough for me i can't do this without him i can't accept it was all for nothin

[advisorsage]

Why is it so much more acceptable for straight men? Also like why? It's it because I'm AFAB so I'm "woman light" and therefore anyone attracted to women can like me? But oh wait you're going to hold lesbians to a higher standard. I know that I personally don't believe anyone who explicitly isn't attracted to men can respect my gender while telling me they want to date me. Especially when I can't bind and have a c cup chest. I get that I look feminine and might be attractive to people who like that look. At the same time, if you're on a dating app you should look at someone's bio and pronouns. Mine clearly state that I'm a genderfluid demiboy and my pronouns are he/him. While I'm not a man I view myself as man adjacent. You can't be attracted to me and not accept the masculine parts. So why? Why do straight men get more of a pass to find masculinity attractive than lesbian? Is it the he/him pronouns? That shouldn't matter. These results wouldn't bother me so much if it was a clear yes or no for both but the answer is different. I mean yeah the winning answer was "what the fuck is going on" and that's valid but I asked y'all because I've had both straight men and lesbians approach me on dating apps despite my gender being visible. I've had to put in my profile that I won't date cishet men because of this. And I figured if everyone seemed to say that straight men and lesbians can be attracted to my gender without denying it or the masculinity I occasionally identify with then I'd stop rebuffing the lesbians and straight men and see if I could have good experiences. But these results don't give me a good feeling about doing that. It makes me feel like I really shouldn't trust straight men and like maybe tumblr hasn't gotten past their hangups enough to be able to help me with knowledge about the queer community. Maybe I just need to ask the lesbians I know irl but that feels like it would come off as flirting and I really don't want to do that to anyone. I'll ask one more time. Why?

[todayisafridaynight]

This might not be anything, but while writing about your fics, the way you have the characters' mannerisms down PERFECTLY got me thinking about mirroring...

There's a lot of it in 7 (Horii is a directorial genius etc etc), most of it more intentional than these probably are, but there's something so interesting about mirroring that takes the tone of a (relatively) fond memory, a familiar gesture, and inverts it in the way shown here.

OH I'M GLAD YOU'VE NOTICED THESE TOO I think I mentioned it months back (or I drafted a post 'bout it but didn't think it was anything noteworthy) but I always really did like how the Arakawa Family mimicked each other's mannerisms (also circling back to how Jo and Masato calling Ichiban 'Ichi' presumably after picking it up from Arakawa)!

Aoki actually does the same sitting gesture too! I went back to double check and skim through the rest of the game's cutscenes, and as far as I could tell unless I skipped a scene, it really is only these three that do this specific pose:

It's such a small detail but I love it immensely and it really does highlight their connections with each other and it drives me insane

[webism]

☆ gojo is so big that you have to go slow with taking him otherwise he will break you. and he loves that fact—he’s so cocky about it, about how every aspect of him is so overwhelming to you that you can’t take his cock without crying.

and they’re good tears, tears that taste good on his tongue when he licks them from your cheeks. tears that spring hot in your eyes with every inch he manages into you—he’s too much, though at the same time you can never get enough of him.

“gonna finally take all of me tonight, baby?” he mocks you, grins at the way your eyes squeeze shut as he rubs at your clit in hopes of relaxing you a tad. “you know, i could flip us over.. let gravity do the hard work.”

you accept because it sounds good in theory. gojo flips you both over and lays on his back as you find purchase with your fingers splayed over his heaving chest. but being like this, with satorus pulsing dick still barely half inside of you, you realise gravity hates you.

because although you're dropping just that little bit further down on his cock, your legs are trembling like it's an effort to keep you off of him. and gojo, being the cocky man he is, takes hold of your hips and works you even further downwards onto his length.

"fuck," is all you can manage, he's painful and narcotic all in the same stroke and so deep inside of you that you swear he's in your stomach. you shake your head, "i can't. you're too big, im sorry."

satoru shakes his head, looks up at you with those lust-blown eyes of his and smiles. "you want me to pull out?"

and as he tries to pull you up and off his length, slow as not to hurt you, there's a look on his face that you can't miss. he's so pretty when he's plotting, but you're only given a second to admire him, because just as he's about to pull the tip of his aching cock out of you, he lets go of your hips.

and your legs fail you, your body collapses downwards and you, in turn, are impaled on his prodigious length once again. you could cry, you think you do—your cheeks are wet when you fall forwards and your gasp of shock is swallowed by gojo, who kisses you hungrily. his fingers dig into your hips as he smiles against your kiss.

you feel his cock twitch inside of you, deeper than you've ever been able to take him before, and you realise you're practically at the base. you've never felt so full... so good... so stretched out and overwhelmed. and when your boyfriend tests the waters and fucks up into you just a little, a breathy moan is drawn straight from your lungs.

"toru—"

"shh," he snaps his hips up again to stall your words. "finally gonna cum inside of you, baby, not pulling out until you're left just as full as you are now."

and if your lover is anything at all, it's a man of his words. you'll have to call in sick tomorrow.

[entitled-fangirl]

A sigil of mine.

Summary: the reader is taken from Winterfell while Cregan is at the Wall. He's a vengeful man.

Warning: kidnapping, dread, guilt, blood, scars, branding, talks of torture, our boy Cregan embodying Joel Miller when Ellie gets taken in the Last of Us

This one is dark

A/n: based on an ask! Also, fuck the Lannisters

I'll proofread later🫡

Masterlist

..............................................

"Lord Stark! An urgent letter has arrived from Winterfell!" A brother of the Wall yelled over the sound of the harsh wind that roared through the icy halls.

Cregan turned his entire body to him, a sudden pain in his stomach. What could be so urgent?

Cregan nearly rips the letter from the man's hand as he nears. The letter is stained with a dark red in places and he feels himself choke a little.

Lord Stark, Winterfell is under attack. By the time you read this, I will be long gone. I tried to protect the Lady as best as I could.  It was an honor to serve under House Stark and see you become a man. Please forgive me. Maester Tinedel

Cregan's hands shook violently as his eyes roamed over the paper another time. Then once more. His jaw set harshly as he looked up to the man that had brought such devastating news. "When did this arrive?" He growled lowly.

"Just this morning. Is it dated by any chance, my Lord?"

Cregan flipped the page and surely enough, the old maester had been wise enough to do so.

The air in his lungs escaped, creating a cloud in the cold air.

"Three weeks now."

The man stared in confusion at Cregan's sudden distress. "Is everything alright?"

Cregan crumpled the paper in his fist. "Ready my horse."

The brother of the Wall shook his head, "My lord, it is the bulk of winter. You can't possibly leave in such conditions. And you are not properly pack-"

"Ready. My. Horse. I leave within the hour."

The Warden of the North stormed away, a heaviness in his step from the sudden weight on his shoulders.

…

Cregan had always thought the travel to the Wall and back took too long on a good day.

Now, he was a mere bundle of nerves trying to tie what he could to his horse.

It would take too long. Whatever happened had happened and he wasn't there to save them.

To save her. 

He knew the guilt would eat his alive no matter how long it took him to get back. 

Surely another letter would arrive soon if things had turned for the better, but he wouldn't wait for that letter to show. 

The odds of one never arriving were too high.

"Are you certain of this, Lord Stark?"

He turned to the stable master with the hint of unshed tears in his eyes. "I'm not sure of anything. But I must return home."

The stable master nodded in acceptance, "And you're really not going to take men with you?"

Cregan huffed in frustration. "I cannot take men from the Wall. Their war is here. I cannot ask them to fight my own war as well."

"My lord, you're fighting both wars. Surely you can allow for some assistance."

Cregan hoisted himself up onto his horse. "I cannot promise when I'll return. But, should everything be righted, I will write back."

"If I may?"

"Yes?"

The man heaved a long sigh as placed his hands on his hips. "I wouldn't wish this feeling on my worst enemy, my lord. May the gods be with you on your journey and at your arrival."

Cregan bits the inside of his cheek. "Thank you."

With that, Cregan clicks at his horse, and the long journey began.

…

As expected, the journey was grueling. The cold was killing him from the outside in, but the constant need to stop and warm up was killing him from the inside out.

He couldn't even eat without thinking of the blood that stained the letter.

He couldn't sleep without thinking of the screams of his wife as another man's hands laid on her.

Even in the best case, the horror was too much to bare.

Despite his initial crumpling of the letter, Cregan kept it stashed away in his few belongings, smoothing it out and reading it every night before sleep consumed him. 

Just to crumple it again.

…

Despite the journey taking a usual two to three weeks when the weather was obedient, Cregan made it back to Winterfell in a week and half.

The consistent shiver to his bones only spurred him faster. 

He had plenty of time to consider his plan, should he truly be in need of one.

And now was the time to use it. 

…

Winterfell laid still. 

Cregan had expected fire and battle. A sound of swords clashing and men roaring.

Quietness was worse.

He had managed to get through the bulk of people with his hood up and his usual dire wolf cloak long abandoned. 

For in this moment, he was no Stark. 

He was a vengeful man.

He managed to sneak into the walls of the very place he should have been highly welcomed in.

For such a burly man, he was deathly silent. His boots made no sound on the stone floors, and his breath was so low that it may be thought that he didn't breathe at all.

He stood outside of his own chamber that he shared with his wife. He reached up and his hand faltered against the wood of the door. He couldn't dare open it.

"Oh, Lord Stark! Oh, thank the gods!" A female voice shrieked in relief.

Cregan flinched at the sound, turning on his heel to see the woman. His wife's handmaiden. He relaxed a bit.

"Oh. Sorry, milord. I didn't mean to frighten you. It's just I didn't know when you would return. Or if you'd return at all. And I-"

"Where is she?" He quietly interrupted.

The handmaiden stiffened and her face fell. "I… I dunno."

"She's not here?" He dared to ask.

She wrung her hands nervously. "You don't… you don't know?"

He tried to hold back his frustration. "Are they still here?"

She shook her head. "Left not long after the attack. Left just a few of us to pick up the pieces."

"And my wife? What happened to her?"

She let the silence set. 

He sighed in frustration and his hand moved to the chamber door.

"I wouldn't, milord," she warned.

He threw her a glare and dare to step in.

He should have listened.

The room laid in disarray. The furs from the bed were thrown on the floor. The furniture was moved, an obvious conflict had occurred. But that's not what Cregan's eyes moved to.

It was the scraps of clothing that were strewn across the room in various places. Some bloody.

His jaw went slack and he knelt down and picked up a strip of the cloth. Stark blue. 

His thumb rubbed at the fabric. He knew it well. His favorite dress on her. 

"They came in the early morning." The handmaiden spoke from the doorway. "Lady Stark had just gotten dressed for the day. I was… I was braiding her hair at the vanity when…"

"When..?" Cregan questioned. 

"It happened so suddenly. The screams."

He stood. "Who did it?"

"House Lannister."

Cregan took a deep breath. "Is she dead?"

"Milord-"

"-Was she slain by a Lannister?"

"No. Not exactly."

"What does that mean?"

"They took her. She could be dead now, I dunno. But they took her alive."

He felt a bit of relief move down his spine. "When you last saw her, she indeed was drawing breath?"

"Yes."

"Then that's enough for me. And Maester Tinedel?"

She tilted her head back and forth. "He lives. But barely."

He kept the fabric in his hand. "Take me to him."

…

"My Lord!"

"Please, don't get up on my account." Cregan stood at the elder man's bedside. "You're still healing."

The maester relaxed and leaned back against the headboard. "It takes more than a blade to change my loyalty, dear Cregan."

"You've been with me since the day I was born, old man," he teased. "And still you defend me when I am not there."

"There has been no greater honor."

Cregan pulled a chair to his bedside, sitting down. "Tell me what you remember."

"It's not a pleasant story for you, my lord. But very well." He leaned back in thought. "I was in my chamber. It was morning. I heard sounds from the corridor and I dared to go venture out. I defended as much as I could, but an old man is no match to young men with longswords. They took the lady from her room. As far as I know, they still have her-"

"-Do you know where they are now?"

"I'd assume they moved back to Casterly Rock. I have reason to believe that you have been betrayed by one of your bannermen, my lord. How else would they have gotten through the North so quietly?"

Cregan considered the man's words, running a shaky hand over his growing beard. "Who?"

The maester grunted as he sat up further. "I could hardly guess, my lord.

"Whoever it is, I'll murder him where he stands."

…

Gathering men together quickly was not a difficult task for Cregan.

Many men had skin in the game of thrones, and equally so, most were loyal unto death for their lord.

While most banner men would have answered a call to war, there wasn't enough time to gather an army while he was there, leaving the job to one of his closest bannerman, the Lord of House Bolton.

His mind laid in constant worry. 

…

In time, the men made it to Lord Reed, the last of the Northern Lords before being out of the North entirely. 

"'Tis truly a shame of what happened to the castle," Lord Reed said as he ushered Cregan further into Greywater Watch. "Any ideas of who might have done such an act?"

He shook his head, eyeing Lord Glover next to him. "No. No, we haven't. Hence why I don't have an army behind me."

"Well, that's understandable. Whoever did such a crime should be punished by all the gods alike, sneaking such an ambush like that."

Cregan nodded, "Yes, yes, they should. I thank you for housing us on such short notice."

Reed forced a smile. "Of course, Lord Stark." He continued moving down the hall. "The North would never sit by while a Lord's wife was taken from him."

Cregan's foot faltered. He paused completely. His voice was low. "I never said my wife was taken."

Lord Reed froze in pure fear at his mistake.

And he was shoved against the wall with Cregan's wolfish growl in his face. "Where is she?"

Reed gasped and fought against the man, but was no match. "I… I don't know what you mean, my lord… p… please.."

Cregan pulled him away by the throat to hit his head against the stone wall again, repeating himself. "WHERE IS SHE?"

Reed sputtered and groaned at the pain. "I… They didn't tell me… I swear…. I swear that to you."

"Your word means nothing to me." Cregan looked over his shoulder to Glover. "Write back to Winterfell. Tell them Lord Reed is dead."

"…My Lord?" Glover faltered.

"Tell them."

"Aye, my lord."

Reed shook violently in Cregan's grip. "I swear. I swear! I don't know! Please!"

Cregan leaned into the man's face. "You're gonna tell me what you do know. Aren't you?"

…

"Fucking Lannisters!" Cregan's voice roared through the Watch. "Get Glover. We're leaving now."

"My lord?" One of the men asked.

"Do what I said."

"Aye."

"May house Reed learn from its mistake."

…

Little did Cregan know yet, Loreon Lannister's brigade had been stopped by the Blackwoods, just shy of Lannister territory. 

The young Lord Benjicot Blackwood had rode out to meet them when word was sent of a brigade sneaking through his land. 

He raged at the sight of a terrified woman clad in a Stark blue dress. He vowed that the Lannisters would not see to their land should they refuse to surrender the woman to him.

Hence the small battle that had commenced.

But that was two weeks ago. 

Cregan looked over the land, the blood still staining the grass. "Think they made it?"

Glover hummed. "Lord Benjicot is a formidable enemy, I've heard. Wouldn't want to anger that boy in the slightest."

"Thank fuck!" A voice yelled over the field.

Lord Benjicot rode his horse out to the group in a fast trot. He spoke when he got closer "Knew you'd be quick but I figured it would be another few weeks."

"Don't underestimate angry northern men," Glover grimaced.

"Or Blackwoods, it seems," Cregan chimed in, looking over the field. "I believe I'm indebted to you in some capacity."

"Don't speak too soon, Lord Stark," Benjicot smiled. "You haven't asked how we faired."

Cregan's brows furrowed. "And how did you fair?"

Benjicot's smile grew. 

"We have her."

Cregan reached a hand out to steady himself on his horse from the sheer relief that swept through his body. "Gods…"

"Fucking bastards should have journeyed by sea if they were smart. Should've known that any ally of the Queen is an ally of mine."

"You have her then? In Raventree Hall?" Glover asked what they were all thinking.

"I do."

Cregan voice recovered. "Take me to her. Please."

…

"My lady?" One of the Blackwood handmaidens spoke up.

Y/n looked up at the woman. 

The faint hints of scratches and bruises were still on the lady's skin, but she had been given time to heal due to the Blackwoods' bravery. But regardless, the tremor in her hands remained. 

"I've been sent to inform you of a visitor that will soon be arriving."

Her heart leaped from her chest. She found herself moving more to the window and peering out. 

Cregan.

The man and his horse moved as one. It had always impressed her. 

Her sluggish behavior left the second he came into view. 

Not caring for her shoes, her cloak, anything, she ran past the handmaiden quicker than her feet could move. 

Tripping and stumbling along the way, ignoring the pain, she finally made it to the large doors of Raventree and bolted out of them.

Cregan had just pulled his horse to a stop when he caught sight of her.

He couldn't remember actually getting down from his horse he had gotten to her so quickly.

His strong arms held her to him in a vice grip, his hands indecisive of where to stay- her waist, her back, her hair, the constant need to feel her wholly gripped him.

Equally so, her arms wrapped around his neck firmly, as if to make sure he was real. 

"Fuck. Don't ever do this again," he sighed as he placed his chin on the top of her head. 

She sobbed lightly against his chest and her hands gripped his cloak so tightly her knuckles turned white. 

"Are you hurt?" He asked in worry. 

She hiccuped through tears. 

Cregan pulled her away, cupping her cheeks so he could study her. "Speak to me, pretty girl. Where are you hurt?"

She hiccuped again. "I… I'm fine."

"Where did they touch you?"

"Cregan…"

"Where?"

Benjicot had caught up at that point. "I wouldn't say they were delicate with her, Lord Stark. Most of it is faded, but the ones on her arms are rather nasty."

Cregan never looked away from her, keeping her eye contact. He tilted his head down, silently asking to gaze at her arms.

He hesitantly pulled her sleeves up and gawked slightly. 

Green bruises still remained at her wrists, no doubt from dragging her along. He tried to ignore the faint scabs from the scrapes that laid in various spots. 

"They did a number on you, didn't they?"

She looked at him fearfully, beyond nervous for his reaction to all of this. 

Benjicot spoke up again. "You've no idea." He placed a steady hand on the woman's back, ignoring Cregan's protective glare as he did so. "You're safe here. Why don't you show him?"

"Show me what?"

She turned to look over her shoulder at Benjicot, "Must I?"

Cregan was growing frustrated. If there was one thing he hated, it was no knowing things. "Show me."

She hesitantly nodded, and Benjicot stepped up to her, untying her bodice from the back. Once he did so, he spun her around to have her back face Cregan. Then he gently pulled down her sleeve until her right shoulder blade was exposed. 

A Lannister sigil was burned into the skin. Ugly scarring around the marred flesh. 

Her head was hung in shame as she stood there, avoiding eye contact with everyone. 

Cregan's hand came up to brush the skin achingly slow. He couldn't find words. 

Benjicot broke the silence. "Amidst this, there is good news."

"I guarantee there isn't," Cregan growled back quickly.

"I have Loreon Lannister under my care as well."

Cregan's head snapped to him. "What?"

"The man is in my dungeons, Lord Stark."

Cregan's hand moved up to Y/n's hair, brushing it aside to fully view what was exposed of her back. 

But his eyes couldn't move from the brand.

"Inside, you say? Still breathing?"

Benjicot let out an amused chuckle. "I refused to take that privilege from you."

Lord Stark's hand brushed her shoulder again. "I fear I owe the Blackwoods more than I own."

…

Not long later, Cregan stepped into her room. 

She turned her head towards him.

Cregan was covered in blood.

She stood suddenly. "Are you harmed?"

His brows furrowed, looking down at himself, as if forgetting all he had done. "Oh. None of it is mine."

"You killed him?"

Cregan sighed and shut the door. "We'll not discuss this now."

"Cregan-"

"-No. Don't ask again."

Her face fell a bit. She moved to the window and sat again. 

He watched her. "Forgive me. There's still rage in my heart."

"Still? Is it because of me?"

He faltered. "No. No, of course not." He rubbed his chin. "You did nothing wrong."

"If I had journeyed to the Wall with you that day, would you have been as angry if Winterfell was attacked?"

He paused as considered her question. "You know the answer."

She hummed and looked out of the window.

He followed her gaze. "Forgive me for taking so long."

"I watched out this window."

"I know you did."

"What if Benjicot hadn't have found me?"

He sat down next to her. "He did though."

"But what if he hadn't?"

Cregan dared to reach out and pull her hair aside, tugging her sleeve down to see the brand again. 

She finally turned to look at him with teary eyes. 

"I'd rather not think about those things," Cregan answered softly.

"Will you wash yourself, please?"

He paused, remembering the blood all over him. "Sorry, sweet girl. I didn't realize that would bother you so much. I will, I promise."

She looked back to the window. "Will we go home soon?"

Cregan stood to go to the washbowl across the room. "We will in time."

"What's stopping us, Cregan?"

He didn't have the heart to actually say that it was her. "Be patient, my girl, alright?"

…

Benjicot walked with Cregan down the corridor. "I apologize that I did not manage to capture Lord Jason. That will haunt me."

Cregan shook his head, "You've done much for the North. We'll not forget this act of kindness."

Benji grinned, "The North remembers."

"Indeed."

"Tell me something, my lord?"

Cregan nodded.

"What did you do in those dungeons?"

Cregan sighed, crossing his arms over his  chest. "I wouldn't want you to think differently of me, old friend."

Benjicot shook his head, "Nothing could do so, Cregan. You've seen me rather bloody. It's only fair."

He paused and considered his words, carefully phrasing himself. "A part of me hopes that his son doesn't find out what I've done to his father. It was almost too much to bare."

"What do you mean?"

Cregan pulled his dagger from his belt, running a hand over the blade. "I'll have to sharpen this later, if you understand what I'm saying."

Benjicot nodded. "I believe I do. But more context might be beneficial."

Cregan leaned forward and spoke lowly. "The dead man wears a sigil of mine in return."

The Blackwood's eyes looked down to the dagger and back to Cregan. "I see."

"If there truly is life after death, my friend, I hope he lives the next with my reminder."

"Surely, he would. I'd say you were merciful in ending him regardless."

…

Cregan rubbed her thigh absentmindedly as the maester inspected the brand. 

"It's healing well, but as you can imagine, it will leave behind a nasty scar."

Cregan clenched his jaw at the thought of his own wife living with a lion burned onto her. "No risk of a fever?"

He shook his head. "A clean burn like this rarely risks such a thing."

"Well, the north thanks you for your work."

The maester excused himself.

Since finding her again, Cregan had a difficulty understanding what she was going through. She was bottling everything up, he could tell. 

"Sweet girl?" He asked gently, continuing to rub at her leg.

"Is it ugly?" She responded quietly, her eyes fixed on the floor.

Cregan wasn't sure what to say to that. "It looks painful. Is it?"

She hummed, eyes still anchored. "It didn't hurt as much as the laughs."

"They laughed? While they did this to you?"

She nodded. 

Her hand moved up to pull her sleeve back up, but Cregan was quick to stop her, placing his hand over hers. 

She looked up questioningly.

"You're as gorgeous as the day I met you." His other hand moved hair behind her ear. "And as beautiful as the day I married you. As well as when I left for the Wall this winter." He leaned forward and kissed her cheek gently. "You're just changed is all."

"But the-"

"-Yes. Yes, it pains me to see it. But not because of what it is, but because you were hurt and I did not defend you as I should have."

Silence fell over them until she spoke up.

"Tell me I'm yours."

Cregan froze. "What?"

"I need to hear it. To really know."

"Well, you are. You know that."

"Please, Cregan."

Cregan stood from the bed, rounding it until he was behind her. He reached out and brushed the brand again, trying to ignore the shiver that went down her spine. "You're mine."

The words relaxed her, her shoulders moving down.

Cregan placed his hands on her shoulders, gently massaging them. "You belong to the Warden of the North." He grinned. "A vile and vicious beast intent on killing anything that nears it. Almost anything."

She smiled lightly, the first one in weeks. "And what is that one thing that the wolf likes?"

"A pretty she-wolf that brings down his defense."

One of his hands moved to the back of her neck and she all but melted, her head leaning back now. 

He continued this for a while, letting the silence sit, but he soon leaned down and placed a gentle kiss to the marred skin of her shoulder. 

"You're mine." He kissed her shoulder. "And I don't need a brand to prove so." He kissed behind her ear. "You know who you belong to, don't you?"

"…you, Cregan."

"Hmm?" He feigned. 

"You."

He smirked and nipped at her ear. "And who is that? Tell me."

She turned as much as her injuries could allow. Her voice softened as his eyes gazed into hers. "Cregan Stark. I belong to Cregan Stark."

"And I do to you, pretty girl."

He closed the distance, placing the softest kiss he'd ever managed onto her lips.

When they pulled away from one another, she spoke. "Do we get to return soon?"

He nodded, twirling her hair between his fingers. "Soon. I'm only waiting for Lord Bolton to arrive with the men."

"Th… what?"

He puffed out his chest in pride. "I don't do well with spoiled southerners. Bolton is riding an army to the border of Lannister territory, with Benjicot's permission, of course."

"An army? You can't start a war over me."

"I didn't start anything, my love." He kissed her again. "I only finish it."

.........................................................

Taglist: @strengthandstay, @twinkletwinklenotastar, @kidd3ath,@yujyujj, @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia, @ashovertheriver, @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom, @dozcan123, @wangjiangelangel, @kamitargaryen, @aegonswife, @lv7867, @helpmedecideaname

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

What about the Doors/Pressure shopkeepers trying to pretend they aren't giving their crush special treatment when in groups. Like, special inventory, discreet discounts, all that jazz

Jeff (Doors)

"Oye, I see what you're doin', Jeff. Thought you weren't one for giving out freebies."

*shrug*

"Don't play dumb! I saw you sneak the skeleton key into their bag! Even Bob's a witness!"

No matter what El Goblino says, Jeff will just wave off any accusations of him giving you "special treatment" whenever you stopped by the shop with your group.

While none of them donated to the tip jar, you were the only one who ever did...and even when you came back again and again, it was always you who showed him charity.

The rest of your group would just argue over what to spend their money on, try to rush ahead, mess with his radio, etc. etc.

But you trust Jeff, and he trusts you <3

So you get small discounts on his wares, and despite him not being able to speak, you could tell he's only looking after you.

The goblin jokes about Jeff's little "crush" on you...then he sees the entity's eyes widen and realizes "wait amigo,,I wasn't being serious do you actually like them?????"

He just shoos him away and will deny it to kingdom come, but it is true.

The moment you realized his feelings for you was when Rush attacked the shop once, and you thought you were done for-

When Jeff instinctively pulled you behind the counter and slammed the shutter down, keeping you uncomfortably close (yet somehow you've never felt safer).

When it's all over, he blushes and lets you go free.

You thank him with a small kiss on the forehead(?) and promise to see him again soon.

The next time you get duped by Dupe, or attacked by Eyes, Timothy, Screech, or a snare and need to heal...you discover a few bandaids in your pocket that weren't there previously...

Huh.

Wonder who gave you those?

Sebastian (Pressure)

Normally, Sebastian doesn't care to make personal connections with any of the expendables.

He's just there as their supplier before seeing them off on their journey, hoping they're putting his resources to good use.

But recently he's been seeing you more often, coming by with a new group or by yourself, trying your best to survive long enough to reach him.

Ofc, you've died to stupid things before (or maybe you're just trying to get all the monster documents..in which he's convinced you're some masochist), but you did have the most common sense out of your group and didn't try to annoy him.

The others just waste flash beacon charges on trying to blind the poor guy and stick the keycard in a medkit they couldn't afford...and for what?

Why do your "friends" do that? Are they stupid or something?

You tell them to stop, and it's...actually kinda nice to hear somebody willing to defend him.

People usually don't give a shit about the giant scary fish's feelings, yet for some reason you do.

Of course, Sebastian was reasonably suspicious about it.

"Are you acting this way just to get a freebie?" He assumes. "Because if you are, then you're definitely as stupid as-"

"No, I'd never do that to you." You shake your head. "You're here, helping us survive out there, risking a lot to get us those supplies...is it wrong for me to appreciate that?"

"......"

He goes quiet for a minute, but after the rest of your group leaves, he asks you to stay for a moment.

"You were looking at this Necrobloxicon for a while...you must reeeeally want it, huh?" He grins, flicking his tail where the book was strapped. "It's a rarity."

"I...can't afford that. I'm fine with this dingy flashlight-"

"It's yours for 70% off. Take it or leave it."

You do a double take. "Wait, wha-"

"70% off. Take it. Or leave it." He says through gritted teeth, impatient, only to smile when you accept the deal without further question. "Good. Now don't go telling anyone I'm offering discounts. That's your only one unless I feel generous. Capiche?"

"Gotcha. Thank you, Seb. This means a lot. I hope to see you again soon." You smile back, holding the spooky book tightly, and leave him alone with his thoughts.

And a warm and fuzzy feeling in his chest-

Wait.

"Oh no....what the fuck am I doing????? That's it! NO more discounts for anyone, Sebastian!" He scolds himself.

Little does he know, he's gonna keep giving them out, but only for you.

[lifetimeoftired]

Thought more on the 'Batfam in Danny's world' stuff.

Red Robin: What is this? -holds up a clunky early 2000s device he found in Danny's room between his pinched fingers, like it might bite him- Danny: Oh, my PDA? Tucker insisted on buying it for me but honestly I'm not really that great with tech so I don't use it much. He usually follows me around trying to manage my schedule with it. Red Robin: Concerning but, more concerning, this thing... Works? Danny: It's the latest model, so it should? Red Robin: Latest... -trying not to cringe- How do you connect to the internet on it? Or take pictures? Danny, with genuine excitement: Your PDA can do that!? Man, that sounds way cooler than the plastic that lets you see all the stuff inside! Red Robin: I'm In Hell.

Spoiler: Having villains for parents is the worst right? Danny: I mean, my mom accidentally brings the food to life and it tries to bite us. But the keyword is 'accidentally'. They're mostly harmless. Spoiler: They literally just shot at you??? Danny: They shot at Phantom. They don't know it's actually me you know? Also I don't even worry about it. They don't have very good aim since I'm not a danger to them and Dad only gets badass when mom is in danger. Mom's always a badass but it's good dodging practice. Besides, I'd be more worried about them dissecting me, what with the whole, I'm technically an entirely different species that they've been studying their whole life and don't think I'm sentient anymore. But y'know it's whatever. They're not actually all that bad and I know they love me deep down. Spoiler: I'm not sure whether to borrow Hood's guns and shoot you myself or kidnap you away from here and force Batman to adopt you. Danny: Wha-

Danny: Alright a few more adjustments aaaaand there! Signal: Oh wow! Thanks! It's nuce to be able to see again without getting black spots on my vision. There's so many ghosts around it can be hard to see. Danny, biting his lip trying not to laugh: No problem. Signa;: .... What? Danny: Nothing! You look great dude! Signal: ....... Danny: ....... Signal: What did you put on my face!? Danny: Sun glasses! Signal: -skids to a halt in front of mirror and sure enough they're sun glasses. But they're triangular and the hooks go aaaall the way up to hook around the bat-ear points and look completely ridiculous- Danny Why :( Danny: -trying to say 'sorry' through his giggles, but he's not really sorry-

Danny: Uuuuh Red Hood I can't see your face, but I'm kinda worried about how many guns you're loading right now. Red Hood: I just want your 15th birthday party to be safe, okay? Danny: I'll be fine? It'd be nice if the other ghosts gave me a day off sure, but fighting them seems safer. I don't really want my mom to bake a cake anyway. Knowing her it'd just come alive so if they forget this year it's fine. I'm just, those are real guns man. They're dangerous. Red Hood: They are. -cocks gun- For Them.

Robin: >:( Danny: It was a nice try. Robin: Do not patronize me Fenton! Danny: I don't know why or how, but that sounds even more insulting than when Dash does it... Robin: This is an indignity! Fighting immortals entities that cannot be harmed by blade is one thing- but I will not accept being spoken to like a child! Skulker will return and taste my fury! Danny: Hey calm down alright? Robin: Do not test my patience! Danny: I heard you like animals. Wanna meet my purple back gorilla friend? She's really nice and is easy to talk to. Robin: .... The gorilla... doesn't speak does she? Danny: Haha no of course not! I learned her language instead. Robin: ... You are a strange man. However I will accept your proposal for now and I insist you teach me every form of communication with her.

Orphan: :( Danny, who's always been able to understand Cass perfectly, much to the mystery of the batfam and her delight: Aw Cass, I love you guys too. It's been great having your family around- and really I'm flattered! But I can't be your new brother, I'm sorry, but we do live in different realities. Besides, I think I've had enough of people trying to adopt me. Orphan: ? Danny: Yeah my godfather is a total fruitloop. Always trying to kill my dad and marry my mom who hates his guts and get me to call him father instead. Like, he even tried to clone me and copy my brain into a new body right? Or that time he rigged the election to become mayor just to mess with me. And hiring actually competent ghost hunters so I'd quit (kinda wish I could quit actually but it's fine). His obsession with me can get out of hand sometimes you see. Orphan: >:( -cracks knuckles- Danny: What? No! I don't need protecting really! I can handle him just fine. Now that I'm thinking about it though, I dunno what he'd do with Jazz. He never seems to actually talk about her beyond that one time he tried to get her to attack me- huh? Orphan: -disappeared- Danny: ...... That probably won't come back to haunt me.

[in-class-daydreams]

Note: Gojo & the reader are ~40 in this, Sen is 18, and the guy you're seeing (if you don't already know who it is) is aged up accordingly (~30)

Imagine your and ex-husband Gojo's son Sen finding out you're seeing someone.

"You're going on a date?!" Sen asks in disbelief. "With who?"

You smooth out your outfit and check yourself out in the mirror. This look is one of your best, if you do say so yourself.

"Does it matter?" you ask neutrally. Sen is just mature enough to not blatantly freak out at this revelation, but only just. The less he knows, the better.

"Of course, it matters! I need to know who to hunt down if you disappear!" he replies, hands flying up to fist in his hair. "I need to vet this guy!"

Your ex-husband appears in your bedroom doorway. "Who are we vetting?"

Clenching your prospective clothing in your hands, you grumble, "Doesn't anyone knock any more?"

Satoru leans against the door frame like he's someone's booktok boyfriend (he used to be your booktok husband but that's beside the point). He takes in how you've cleaned up and instantly recognizes your date look. Of course, he's only seen it a million times.

"Oh, the kid didn't know you had boyfriend?" he asks.

"Boyfriend?!" Sen cries. Your temple throbs. "Who is he?"

Satoru shrugs. "I dunno, I just know he exists and his one move is sending flowers because he's basic."

"He's not basic and he is not my boyfriend!" you shout, throwing your hands in the air. "We go on dates, yes. We're seeing each other. 'Boyfriend' implies exclusivity, and none of the people I'm seeing are my boyfriend."

Your son and ex-husband stare at you wide-eyed. As Sen gets older, the black roots of his hair have become his last line of defense against looking like a carbon copy of his dad, and having both a young and old(er) Satoru look at you with their stupid big blue eyes is unsettling. Someone hurry up and blink.

"What?" you ask tiredly.

This time it's Satoru that has something irritating to say. "'People?' As in plural?"

"Satoru, don't start."

Sen raises his hand. "I'm with dad on this one. I don't trust anyone with you, not even dad--"

"Thanks, kid."

"--much less strangers."

Part of you understands that your son and ex-husband are the two people in the world that love you the most. Growing up as isolated as you did, your younger self would never have imagined having the both of them in your life. They're just trying to protect you.

The other part of you is on the verge of telling them both to step the fuck off.

You're all saved by the doorbell ringing and before you can even react, both of them are at the door interrogating whoever's on your porch. But you always met up with your dates instead of them picking you up in case of this exact scenario. There was no way he came to the door without your permission.

Sprinting to the door, you find your son, your ex, and a terrified-looking deliveryman holding a bouquet of flowers. You shoo the boys away from him and accept the flowers with thanks and a generous tip for dealing with them.

There's a handwritten note attached. It reads:

You didn't think I'd let you walk out the house without a present, right? Pretty girls need pretty flowers.

You can't hold in a grin. He always found ways to go above and beyond even without an official label.

"Well, at least he's a sorcerer," Sen says. He gestures to the note, "There's a teeny bit of residual CE on there. Not enough for me to recognize, though."

You try not to make your sigh of relief obvious. Sen was still in training and Sukuna said his ability to recognize specific cursed energy needed some work. Getting advice from his dad would help, but your son got his stubborn streak from you.

"Well, good. I don't need you tracking him down." Handing the flowers to Sen, you ask, "Put these in a vase for mama, please?"

Sen, ever the obedient son, runs off to do so immediately. You fondly watch him round the corner into the kitchen, then double back to grab you and place a kiss on your cheek.

"I don't like this, but please be safe, mama! Call me any time, I'll be there," he says, then returns to his task.

Once he's out of sight, you slip your shoes on, holding Satoru by the shoulder to stabilize yourself.

"I'll be back before 11. There's pasta in the fridge and I just washed the sheets in the guest room if you want to stay over," you tell him. Pulling up the back of your shoe, you look up at Satoru to find him stock still looking past you. You can't see his eyes, but you can tell they're fixed on the card you received.

That's when you remember that while your son may not yet be at full potential, veteran sorcerer, strongest in history Gojo Satoru knows damn well who sent you those flowers.

Shit.

Click [here] for more of Sen being mean to his dad | Ask stuff about Sen and the fam [here]

[piracytheorist]

Idk I just really like that Twilight's reaction to being told "Your wife used to be a prostitute!" is to go like

and proceed to say how honourable and worthy of respect her dedication, self-sacrifice and mental fortitude are, and how we're shown he actually means that.

And then my girl Yor sees his reaction and hears his words and for the first time in her life she goes like "This is a man who literally just met me and has no connection to me yet he not only understands my position, he's also willing to bring himself out there and have my back when other people have free bait to judge me" and like damn how important that was to her, to have someone (who doesn't owe his survival to her like Yuri does) actually see her and respect her choices and have the absolute BEST of faiths in her. Like, what Camilla says there has the societal power to make her look like a pariah. Yet this dude comes over and without knowing anything about her, he vouches for her and immediately assumes her reasons were noble and altruistic. And though he doesn't know what profession he's actually vouching for, he's completely right in his assumption about her intentions, and considering how easily the general public judges sex workers, it's no surprise this support gives Yor the courage to believe Loid will understand her and won't think bad of her if she ever disappears on them due to her work, because he's open-minded enough for his first and immediate assumption about her is that she has good intentions.

And I just wanna SCREAM because she has absolutely no idea how little he will judge her about her assassin gig. She already considers herself lucky she's come across someone who is compassionate enough to think the best out of someone who works in a profession that is not considered "morally acceptable" by the public. But she has no idea the actual jackpot she's hit, because his own profession is far more dark and sinister yet he still has the kindness and empathy in his heart to understand people who do the same as he does.

Like, that's it with her character, isn't it? She sacrificed her own youth and morality to help Yuri grow up and be educated, and that caused him to idolize her, and because he was the only family she had left, she has been desperate to not cause any of her ties with him to break. But it also caused her impostor syndrome, and she had no confidence in any of her abilities aside from killing and cleaning up after her work, because she lives in a misogynistic society that is suspicious of unmarried women (like, that judgment alone, considering unmarried men don't experience such scrutiny, can be enough to damage a woman's psyche) and because she has been working under a man cruel enough to hire orphaned teenagers as assassins and nearly kill them in tests of their abilities ever since she was a teenager. For her it was either "I'm either perfect in something or I'm completely useless and I deserve people's judgment". Because if Yuri sees she doesn't have the perfect record, she thinks he will be horrified and she'll lose the ties to her last remaining family. And she will think she deserved that. If her killing skills waver in the slightest, she will be killed, either by enemies or by the Shopkeeper doing his little "tests". And she will think she deserved that. And if she doesn't abide by the society's expectations, she will at best be judged and mocked (for not cooking at home) and at worst get arrested (for being suspected as a spy). And she will think she deserved that.

Yet again, this stranger comes along, is told she's worked a socially shameful profession, knows she's shy and with so few connections that she can't even find someone to act as her pretend boyfriend for a party, and he supports her. And then he finds out how socially unskilled she is, how terrible she is at cooking, how she can't even pretend to kiss him for their mutual benefit, how she has the tendency to get so drunk she accidentally kicks him unconscious... And those things that she considers fatal flaws of her, he says are parts of her that she doesn't need to pretend don't exist. That's who she is, and there's nothing to fix, and she can just accept them without feeling bad or ashamed of it, that pretending she's someone else, someone perfect, will only make her miserable and exhausted.

And like... fuck. How can she not feel glad she got to marry that guy?

And how much will her heart break when she finds out he's a spy and will immediately doubt all the supportive words he's told her? And how astonishing will it be when she finds out that he actually meant pretty much everything he's told her, and that he really resonates with her and believes in her?

(anime only here, don't spoil me for the manga)

[kindacreepy-kindaugly]

I wish I was stronger. This coulda been a new beginning for me. I coulda finally broken free n began a new life for myself, away from him, without him. Free.

Instead I fall right back at his feet beggin for him to explain it away, make me believe it wasn't all a lie. I don't care if it's true just make me believe it

[thevoidstaredback]

Enough Caffeine to Kill an Elephant

Listen. It was an accident. He didn't mean to! It just kinda happened.

So maybe he brought a drink with enough caffeine in it to kill an elephant within a few minutes, and maybe he forgot to put the sleeve on his cup so he could tell it apart from the others, but it's not his fault! He didn't think anyone else was going to have the exact same Yeti cup as him! It's not like he'd seen any of the others carry one before. Besides, he worked with superheros. They should be smart enough to check before drinking someone else's drink.

Danny had been summoned by the Justice League Dark a few years back in order to help with a world ending crisis and he just didn't leave. It's not like he could go anywhere anyway. His ghost half hadn't grown past fourteen and his human half had stopped visibly aging at eighteen. He'd had to leave town as Danny Fenton, but he'd stayed in Amity Park as Danny Phantom. When his parents died of old age, thank god, he'd closed down the portal, stuck around for a few more years, before traveling the world as Danny Fenton.

Anyway, he'd taken up residence in the House of Mysteries after the JLD had summoned him. Constantine, at first, had been wary, but he and the rest of the JLD had grown to accept him. He was an honorary member of the team.

At some point, just after Robin had become Red Robin, Danny had been introduced to the Justice League. He liked those guys, too, and worked with them sometimes. Though, he usually only went to bug them.

Red Robin had been very interested in the fact that his was fourteen and working with grown heros, like he was one to talk, but Danny hadn't explained anything other than saying that he had died and come back. The following conversation was an interesting one that lead to Danny knowing that Nightwing was the Batman he'd met and that Batman was lost somewhere. He'd confirmed that the man was not dead, but he hadn't offered to help look for him. He probably should have, in retrospect.

Back on topic! Everyone in the JLD knew not to touch Danny's drink. They'd all seen him make it before and had been horrified on varying degrees. It's not like it could kill him. He's already half dead! So long as he only drank this specific brew as Phantom, he'd be fine.

The Justice League, apparently, didn't get the memo. He blames Constantine because Zatanna and Raven can do no wrong. No, John, he's not biased.

The point is, Red Robin just had a sip of Danny's drink. The horror he now felt was akin to the fear he held when he'd told his parents he was Phantom. (An interaction that had gone very well, thank you very much.)

Danny knew the exact moment that the vigilante realized he grabbed the wrong drink. His eyes widened to an astonishing degree, and, if he'd been able to seen his eyes behind the mask, Danny knew that the man's pupils would've completely overtaken the irises. His hands started shaking, too. Oh, no. The man's already addicted to hellish amounts of coffee. This is only going to make it worse!

Quickly, and without drawing any attention, thank the Ancients, Danny rushed over. "You, um, you okay, man?" Obviously not, but he tends to talk when he's anxious and he was certainly anxious right now. He could've possibly just killed a man via poison!

"What the fuck is in this coffee?" Red Robin asked, going to take another sip.

Danny pulled the Yeti from his hand and gave him the proper one. "Enough caffeine to kill an elephant."

"Obviously not, seeing as I'm still alive."

"Yeah, I can't tell if that's a good thing or not."

"Excuse me?"

"I-I mean-! I didn't-! You know what I mean." Caffeine is poisonous in excess, and his drink was way beyond excess, but it's the only thing that works for him as a ghost! Superpowered metabolism and all that.

"Do I?" The laugh in his voice answered for him. He took a sip from his drink and frowned at it. "I don't think any coffee will ever be enough again."

"And that's my cue to get my drink very far away from you." Danny turned, fully intent on moving to the other side of the room. Besides, the meeting was going to start as soon as the Flash and Kid Flash arrived, which would be soon. Something about one of their Rouges getting out?

"What?" Red Robin asked, "Why?" If he was a little desperate to get another sip of that coffee, he'd rather not acknowledge it.

"Because you don't need anymore lethal coffee," he muttered, "The sip you took will already keep you awake for three days at least, and it probably jump started an addiction. Best to stop it now. Besides, I need to go have my crisis on how the hell you're still alive after even a sip of this stuff."

"Again, rude." The bird themed vigilante crossed his arms as best he could while holding his cup. "If it's so dangerous, why do you drink it?"

Danny took a deliberate sip as he locked eyes with the technically younger man. "I'm dead. I don't need to worry about my heart stopping or having a seizure."

"Excuses."

"No, it's not 'excuses'. I'm saving your life."

"You're a kid. If I can't have that coffee, then you shouldn't be having it."

"First, I'm older than you. Second, I already told you: I'm dead. This isn't going to hurt me. Third, you can't tell me what to do."

"There's no way you're older than me. You're like, ten."

"I'm thirty-eight!" He balked, "I only look fourteen because I died when I was fourteen. We've been over this."

Neither noticed the entire Justice League looking at them. The two they were waiting on had arrived a few minutes ago and everyone was ready to start the meeting, but they'd been distracted by the two's conversation. Was that true? Had Phantom really died so young? They'd all been made aware he was not living, but they didn't think he'd died so young! Though, that was probably the denial speaking.

The Justice League Dark had been fully aware of this and didn't really bat an eye. Though, someone should probably get this meeting started. A potentially world ending threat was the topic, and that was a pretty important thing to discuss.

Captain Marvel was the first to pull himself together, though that was only after Atlas and Zeus had mentally slapped him out of his stupur. "As, ah, riveting as this conversation is," he stepped between the two boys- er, boy and man? "we really need to start this meeting."

Batman did not clear his throat because he'd not lost his voice in the first place. "He's right. Everyone take your seats."

Storyboard Part 2

[bunny-1111]

Did I stutter? TN x fem!reader Part 2.

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Fem!Reader

Word count: 4.3k

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff

WARNING: SMUTTTT, Reader discretion (18+) NO MINORSSSSSSS PLS

Authors note: first smut kinda nervous... this is a long one, I hope y'all enjoy <3

Part one here

reblogs, likes and comments appreciated my loves <3

...

What the fuck now, you think, making your way to the common room.

You shake your head, trying to clear the confusion, but it’s useless. Theo’s always been hard to read, kept his cards too close to his chest, but this feels different—like he’s dropped the mask just enough for you to glimpse something darker lurking beneath. Something you’re not sure how to deal with, what the fuck is next, this sudden dominance is not hard to accept but hard to understand.

When you finally return to the common room, Pansy lounges on one of the sofas, flipping through a magazine. She barely looks up when you enter.

“Well? Did he say anything?” she asks, her voice dripping with casual curiosity, but you know her well enough to recognise the gleam of mischief in her eyes.

"How did you even see us having a conversation?" you enquire, brows furrowing

"I saw you walk past, then I saw Theo walk back The opposite way with a tiny but telling smile on his face", she smiles "So tell me, what did he say? Did he ask you to the dance?" she continues.

You toss your bag onto the floor, sinking into the chair opposite her. “No, not exactly,” you mutter, more confused than ever. Your mind still replaying the look Theo gave you, the way he practically claimed you without saying a word.

Pansy arches an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your lack of gossip. “Not exactly? That doesn’t sound like nothing. Come on, spill.”

You bite your lip, hesitating. “He asked if anyone had asked me, and when I said no, he said… ‘Good. Keep it that way.’” The words feel strange in your mouth as if they don’t belong to a casual conversation but something heavier and more serious.

Pansy stares at you for a moment, then her lips curl into a knowing smirk. “Oh, that’s rich. Typical Theo.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

Pansy tosses the magazine aside, leaning forward like she’s about to reveal some grand secret. “He’s marking his territory, babe. Telling you not to go with anyone else, without actually having the guts to ask you himself.”

Your heart skips a beat at her words. Could she be right? Was Theo staking some kind of silent claim over you? The thought sends a shiver down your spine, and not entirely out of fear. There’s a part of you—a part you’re not sure you’re ready to admit to—that likes the idea of being claimed by him.

But that doesn’t mean you’re okay with the way he’s going about it.

“So what?” you say, exasperation creeping into your voice. “He’s just going to tell me to wait around for him while he ignores me at the ball?”

Pansy shrugs, unbothered. “Pretty much. That’s how these boys work. They want you, but they’re too proud to ask. So they’ll just… hover.”

You roll your eyes, sinking further into the chair. “I’m not going to just sit here and wait for him to make up his mind.”

Pansy grins, eyes twinkling with something dangerous. “Then don’t. Go with someone else. Let him squirm.”

The idea sounds thrilling, but you know it’s not that simple. Theo’s not the kind of guy you can make squirm. He’s the kind that would shut down any attempt to get under his skin, the kind who would lash out rather than admit any kind of weakness. And yet, the thought of pushing him—of seeing just how far he’ll go to keep you—lights a fire in your chest.

That's what you will do. Push him until he can't hold off any longer.

Toying with Theo was a dangerous game to play, even if you knew that, but if he's just going to sit there and not make anything happen, then, fuck, you need to take matters into your own hands.

Yes, you could just do the normal thing and pull him aside for a conversation, but now, where's the fun in that?

The next day, arriving at charms class, you don't take your usual seat with Theo and your friends. Instead, you skip over and find a place next to Anthony Goldstein, a cute Ravenclaw boy, who you knew would piss Theo off.

"Morning", you smile at Anthony. He looks at you, confused but excited.

"Good morning," he returns, starting what would become a cheerful conversation. As you laugh and talk throughout the class, you quickly glance over at a visibly upset Theodore and a very wide-smiling pansy. She knew what you were doing, and Theodore was catching on, too.

Theo’s eyes are burning holes into the back of your head, and you can feel it. Every time you lean in a little closer to Anthony, let out a laugh that’s just a touch too loud; you know Theo’s watching. It’s exactly what you wanted—his attention, focus, and jealousy. But now that you have it, it’s making your skin prickle in anticipation in a way you hadn’t fully prepared for.

Anthony’s sweet, too sweet. He’s charming, and he’s kind, but he’s not Theo. There’s no edge to him, no danger. And while the conversation flows easily enough, your mind keeps drifting back to the boy brooding in the corner, whose eyes haven’t left you since the class began. You know he’s seething. Good. He should be. He warned you to keep away from any guy who could want something off you, but you weren’t getting enough out of Theo, so he pushed this out of you, you determine. 

As the class drags on, you notice the shift in the air. Theo’s presence feels suffocating, almost predatory like he’s just waiting for the right moment to pounce. You can’t help but glance over again, meeting his gaze for just a second—long enough to see the storm brewing behind his eyes. His jaw is clenched, his hands gripping the edge of the desk, and for a second, you think he might snap right there in the middle of class, but he doesn’t. He’s controlled, as always. And that only frustrates you more.

You knew you were aggravating him. You have no idea what the consequences are; you have a feeling brewing in your chest that you would find out sooner than later. 

When your professor dismisses the class, you gather your things slowly, lingering by Anthony’s side, pretending not to notice the way Theo’s already standing by the door, waiting for you. Anthony smiles, oblivious, and asks if you’d like to walk to the Great Hall with him. You almost say yes, just to push Theo a little further, but before the words leave your mouth, you feel a hand wrap firmly around your wrist.

You turn to see Theo, his eyes dark and dangerous, staring down at you with a look that makes your heart race.

“We need to talk,” he says, his voice low and commanding.

You don’t even have a chance to respond before he’s tugging you out of the classroom, pulling you through the corridors, a man on a mission. You stumble to keep up, your mind racing to catch up with him, but there’s no mistaking the tension in the air now. He’s pissed. And maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what you wanted.

When he drags you into a broom closet and slams the door behind you, your pulse is pounding in your ears. Theo’s still gripping your wrist, his fingers tight around your skin, and when he finally lets go, your breathe was still held tight, like he was the one who could allow you to exhale 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he snaps, his voice cold, but his eyes—God, his eyes are on fire.

You straighten up, refusing to back down. “What do you mean?”

Theo takes a step closer, his chest brushing against yours as he looms over you. “You know exactly what I mean,” he growls. “Sitting with Goldstein. Laughing with him. What was that, huh? Trying to make me jealous?”

You raise an eyebrow, refusing to show how much his proximity affects you. “Is it working?”

His jaw ticks, and for a moment, you think he might lose control. But then he surprises you—he leans in even closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, “You want to play games, fine. But you’re playing with fire, sweetheart. And I don’t think you’re ready for what happens next.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes again. The tension between you is electric, and you can feel the heat radiating off of him, the way his body is coiled, ready to snap. You know you’ve pushed him to the edge, but you’re not backing down now. Not when you’ve come this far.

“I think I can handle it,” you challenge, your voice barely above a whisper, but it’s enough. It’s enough to break whatever restraint Theo’s been holding onto.

“Are you sure?” he stalks even closer, leaning down to you, his fingers forcing your face up to his all you can do it nod as an unexpected wave of shyness hits you. Your heart drops when you hear a gentle but quick knock on the door, please, you think no one interrupts what might just finally happen. You both look at the twisting door knob, silence falls. 

“Hey, it everything ok in here? It’s Anthony” your heart drops, Theo might spiral. 

His hands loop around you, pushing you behind him, opening the door, “Everything's just fine. You don’t go following girls into broom closets all the time, do you? Shes with me. Now fuck far off,” Theo replied, slamming the door in his face. 

You hear his footsteps quickly rush off  

He flicks the lock of the door so quickly, so quick to kiss you that anything you feel melts away, in an instant, his hands are on you, gripping your waist, pulling you against him with a force that knocks the air out of your lungs. His lips crash against yours, rough and demanding, like he’s finally letting go of everything he’s been holding back. You don’t even have time to think before you kiss him back, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, harder, deeper.

It’s all heat and intensity, a wild storm brewing for far too long. Theo’s hands roam over your body, possessive and hungry, like he’s claiming every inch of you as his, his lips never leaving yours as his hands work quickly, almost frantically, to tug at the hem of your shirt. You gasp as his fingers brush against your skin, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. Theo pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and hooded with desire.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice thick with possessiveness.

You nod, breathless, your heart pounding in your chest. “I’m yours.”

That’s all he needs to hear. In one swift motion, he lifts you onto a surface, everything happening so fast you dont even know what he’s sat you on; all you can focus on is his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your skirt higher as he moves between your legs. His lips are on your neck now, kissing, biting, leaving marks that you know will be there tomorrow. 

Your hands fumble with his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours. When you finally get it off, you run your hands over the hard planes of his chest, savouring the way his muscles tense under your touch. Theo groans against your neck, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you’re sure they’ll leave bruises. But you don’t care. You want more. You need more.

“Theo,” you gasp, arching your back as his lips trail lower, his hands working quickly to undo the buttons of your blouse. He doesn’t waste any time, pulling it off and tossing it aside before his mouth finds your skin again.

He’s everywhere—his hands, lips, teeth—and it’s all too much, not enough. You’re dizzy with it, consumed by him, by the way, he touches you like he’s been starving for it. For you.

He only stops for a second, his lips not far from yours but far enough to speak, “I can’t take you in a broom closet, alright? Let’s go to my dorm; you’ll be more comfortable” he quickly says, almost out of breath. 

“Theo” you mutter “You can take me anywhere. Here’s just fine, please, I can’t wait anymore, please, I don’t want to waste another second” you whine, quickly joining your lips together again. 

He doesn’t protest; when he finally pulls back, his breathing is ragged, his eyes dark and heavy with desire. “You’re mine,” he repeats, his voice low and dangerous. “Fuck, no one else gets to touch you. Understand?”

You nod, your heart racing as you reach for him again, pulling him back to you. “Only you.”

And then his lips are on yours again, and there’s no going back this time.

Theo’s mouth crashes against yours with even more intensity, his hands gripping your hips as though he can’t stand the thought of being apart from you for even a second. It’s not just a kiss anymore—it’s a declaration of something raw and primal that neither of you have the strength to fight off any longer.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, desperate to feel every inch of him against you. You can feel the hard press of his body against yours, and it sends a wave of heat through you so intense it makes your head spin. His hands slide up your thighs, slipping under your skirt, and your breath hitches as his fingers brush over the thin fabric of your underwear. You can feel the smirk on his lips as he pulls back just enough to look at you.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice rough, eyes dark with desire as they roam over your flushed face. “All worked up for me, and I’ve barely even touched you.”

You want to come up with some smart reply, something to challenge him, but all that comes out is a soft whimper as his fingers tease the edge of your underwear, barely grazing where you need him most. Your body arches and pulses into his touch, silently begging for more, and Theo’s smirk deepens.

“Patience,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. “I’ll give you what you want, but you must tell me what you want.”

Your pride screams at you not to give in, not to let him have that satisfaction, but the ache between your legs is too much. You need him, now. So, you swallow your pride, your voice coming out in a shaky whisper.

“Please, Theo. Please”

“Tsk tsk tsk, please, what? Come on, words, sweet thing,”

“I need you to touch me Teddy, need to feel you” You practically whimper 

Your pleading seems to flip a switch in him, and suddenly his teasing stops. His fingers slip under the fabric, brushing against your soaked core, and you gasp, your head falling back as the sensation sends sparks shooting through your body

“Good girl,” he growls, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of your neck as his fingers begin to move in slow, deliberate circles. “So fucking perfect for me.”

Your hands grip his back exposed, your body trembling as his fingers work you over with an expert precision that makes it clear he’s been thinking about this for a long time. You can barely breathe, your mind going fuzzy from the overwhelming pleasure as Theo’s thumb presses against your clit, drawing out a moan that you can’t hold back.

“Look at you,” he mutters, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he watches the way your body reacts to his touch. “Falling apart for me already. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

His words, combined with the relentless pressure of his fingers, send you spiralling closer and closer to the edge, your body tightening with the mounting tension. You can feel it building, coiling in your stomach like a spring ready to snap, and you know it’s only a matter of time before you fall over the edge.

Theo must sense it too, because his pace quickens, his fingers moving faster, harder, and his lips find yours again, swallowing your moans as you cling to him. Your entire body is on fire, the pleasure so intense it feels like you might break apart at any second, and then, finally, you do.

The it hits you like a wave, crashing over you with a force that steals the breath from your lungs. You cry out, your nails digging into Theo’s shoulders as your body trembles beneath him, completely lost in the sensation. Theo doesn’t let up, his fingers continuing their steady rhythm as he helps you ride out every last shudder of pleasure. You can’t help but sink your teeth into his shoulder.

By the time it finally fades, you’re left panting, your body limp and spent as you rest against the desk, your forehead pressed against Theo’s shoulder. He’s breathing hard too, his chest rising and falling in time with yours, but there’s a satisfied gleam in his eyes as he looks down at you.

“You’re mine,” he repeats, his voice a low growl as he brushes a strand of hair away from your flushed face. “No one else. Ever.”

You nod, still catching your breath, your heart racing in your chest. “Only yours,” you whisper, and you mean it.

Theo leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, and for a moment, the intensity between you softens. His hands, once rough and demanding, now hold you gently, tenderly, like he’s afraid of breaking you. And in this moment, you realise just how deep his feelings for you run, how much he’s been holding back.

“You don’t have to make me jealous to get my attention,” he murmurs against your lips, his fingers trailing lightly over your skin. “You’ve had it from the start.”

You smile against his mouth, your hands sliding up to cup his face, pulling him into a deeper kiss. It’s softer now, slower, but no less intense. Because even though Theo might be possessive and a little rough around the edges, you know that this, you, means more to him than he’s ever let on.

“Let's go to my dorm, alright? Get you cleaned up,” he smiles, leading you out of the now very messy broom cupboard. To your surprise, Anthony is waiting for you a few metres up; Theo moves your body to the other side of him so that it is Theo that is closest to him. When you both walk straight past him he casually says, “Don’t worry about that piece of shit, Ravenclaw, I’ll fix him up tomorrow.” You wondered if that should worry you, not a problem for right now though, your mind still racing with lust and love. 

The next morning, you wake up with a warm, almost surreal feeling in your chest. Everything feels different, like the air’s lighter, the world softer, and it’s all because of him. Theo. Yesterday's intensity, the way his hands gripped you like he’d never let go, still lingers on your skin like a secret that only the two of you share. You stretch out on your bed, staring at the ceiling, letting the memories replay in your head. You can’t help but smile as your body remembers the feeling.

But then, of course, reality hits you in the form of Pansy bloody Parkinson.

She barges into the dorm room with all the subtlety of a troll, her arms full of bags from her morning Hogsmeade run. Merlin, that girl has a shopping addiction. "Good morning, sunshine," she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she drops the bags onto her bed. "You’re glowing. What did you do? Save a baby unicorn?"

You roll your eyes, pulling the covers up to your chin, trying to hide the ridiculous grin that’s threatening to spill across your face. But Pansy, being Pansy, is like a bloodhound when it comes to sniffing out drama, and she narrows her eyes at you.

"Hold on," she says, pausing mid-unpacking, one perfectly manicured hand on her hip. "What is that look? That is not a ‘just got a full night’s sleep’ look. That is a someone rocked my world last night look."

You burst into laughter, but it’s the nerves that I’m hiding something kind of laugh, and Pansy’s eyes widen like she’s hit the jackpot.

"No fucking way." She abandons her bags completely, climbing onto your bed and sitting cross-legged before you. "Spill. Now."

You bite your lip, wondering how in Merlin's name you’re going to explain this without sounding completely insane. But then again, it’s Pansy. There’s no hiding anything from her, and part of you wants to tell her, to relive every second of it by saying it out loud. So, you do.

"It was Theo," you admit quietly, your heart racing as the words leave your mouth. "Yesterday. We… we hooked up."

Pansy’s jaw drops so hard you’re pretty sure you hear it hit the floor. "Theo? As in Theo Nott? The same Theo who’s been brooding over you for months and never made a move?"

You nod, feeling your face heat up under her gaze. "Yeah, that Theo."

For a moment, Pansy is entirely silent, just staring at you like she’s processing this monumental piece of information. Then, suddenly, she lets out a shriek so loud it probably wakes up half the castle.

"Holy shit!" she squeals, grabbing your hands and bouncing on the bed like an excited child. "I knew it! I fucking knew he had it bad for you! So? Was it amazing? Was he, like, all dominating and rough like I always imagined? Tell me everything!"

You laugh, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as you think about last night—the way Theo touched you, the way he claimed you, like he’d been holding back for so long and finally couldn’t anymore.

"It was…" You pause, searching for the right word. "Intense. And, yeah, he was definitely possessive. He kept saying I was his."

Pansy squeals again, throwing herself back onto the bed dramatically. "I knew it! I knew that brooding, quiet thing was just a front. Ok, you’re my best friend you owe me the whole story, Don’t miss a detail."  as you explain step by step you watch her eyes widen and her smile grow

Before you can say anything else, there’s a knock on the door. Matteo and Blaise stroll in without waiting for an invitation, looking far too smug for your liking. Blaise immediately heads for Pansy’s bed, flopping down like he owns the place, while Matteo leans against the dresser, arms crossed, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

"What’s with the giddy shrieks?" Blaise asks, raising an eyebrow. "You two plotting something evil this early in the morning? We haven’t even had breakfast yet"

Pansy rolls her eyes dramatically. "Oh, please. We don’t need to plot evil. It just comes naturally."

Matteo snickers, but his eyes flick to you, narrowing slightly. "Wait a minute… what’s going on? Why does she look all… flustered?"

Before you can even think of a response, Pansy, being the absolute traitor that she is, jumps in with, "Oh, didn’t you hear? Our girl here finally got some action. With Theo."

Matteo and Blaise both freeze, staring at you in shock. For a split second, there’s dead silence, and then, like a synchronised team, they both throw their heads back and shout, "Finally!"

Your eyes widen as Blaise shakes his head in disbelief. "I was starting to think you two would just brood at each other for the rest of eternity."

Matteo crosses the room, sitting on the edge of your bed and giving you a playful shove. "Took you long enough."

You groan, burying your face in your hands. "Can everyone just stop? This is mortifying."

"Mortifying?" Matteo laughs. "No, what’s mortifying is how long you two have been dancing around each other. Honestly, I’m just relieved one of you finally made a move."

Blaise leans back against Pansy’s bed, smirking. "Yeah, we’ve been placing bets on when it would happen. Matteo won, by the way."

You look up, horrified. "You’ve been betting on us?"

"Of course we have," Pansy says, grinning. "It’s been, like, the slowest burn of the century."

You sigh, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. As much as they’re embarrassing you right now, there’s something comforting in the way your friends are reacting—like they’ve all been rooting for this to happen as much as you have.

Blaise stands, giving you a teasing salute. "Well, I’ll leave you to bask in your post-Theo high. Just… try not to kill each other, yeah?"

Matteo follows him out the door, tossing one last look over his shoulder. "Finally."

Once they’re gone, you collapse back onto the bed, shaking your head. "I can’t believe them."

Pansy grins, lying next to you, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I can. We’ve been watching this unfold for ages. I’m so happy for you."

“Thank you Pans”, you smile, turning as you lay closer next to her 

“Oh! I heard the most unusual thing this morning. Draco told me,” she starts 

“Go on” you giggle 

“That Anthony Goldstein practically crawled to the hospital wing this morning, black eye, bloody shirt, it seemed pretty ruff” she continued “wait, weren't you sitting by him just yesterday?” you remembered. 

Oh, Theo, he did indeed ‘take care of it’.

[reiderwriter]

Hello!I hope you are having a great day!I love LOVE your writing and I would like to request a fanfiction where the reader is Hotch's daughter who works at the bau and is in a secret relationship with spencer without her dad knowing.Spencer wants to tell the team but she is scared about how they'll react so they fight but during a case she gets kidnapped and the feelings are high,so spencer accidentally reveals the relationship.I would love if it ended in smut (possibly dom!spencer who is angry at her for being so reckless and risking her life like that) and maybe a lot of angst??Hotch could potentially be fuming but when they get her back he decides that he will let them be??I would like my emoji to be 🌼!Thank you in advance and if you write this I would absolutely LOVE to read it!🤍🤍

A/N: I love writing for a Hotchner Reader because the Hotch/Spencer parallels are so 😙👌 This was so fun to write!

Warnings: Smut/ Angst with a happy ending, Semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, case details, kidnapping, abuse, strangulation, mentions of child death/ allusions towards pedophilia etc, Hotch is a somewhat shitty/overprotective dad/boss.

Masterlist!

Falling back into a hotel bed that wasn't yours, you wrapped your legs around Spencer Reid as he furiously worked open the buttons of your shirt, his lips locked with yours in a furious exchange. 

“Spencer, Spencer, we can't-” You moaned as his lips fell down to your ear, a small tap to your thigh signalling that he wanted tour legs spread for him. Despite your vocal protests, you complied.

“Need to feel you,” he groaned, nipping and sucking his way down your chest as his big hands began pushing your skirt up and your panties down. 

“Spencer, someone will hear.” 

“I don't care who hears,” he whispered, finally ridding you of the last piece of material covering your wet sex. “I just want to make you feel good.”

His lips fell to your cunt, falling on your cunt as he began his ministrations. You loved this, the feeling of him near, his lips on you, his tongue teasing out whimper, then moan, then a scream of his name as you came undone on his lips. But that wasn't a chance you could take today. 

“He's in the next room, Spencer. Fuck, he's going to hear us.” 

You wouldn't push him off, enjoying too much the feeling of your building pleasure, so appealing to your boyfriend to do the right thing was your last resort as your hips bucked into his face, chasing your orgasm. 

He didn't stop, but held your hips down, thrusting his tongue in and out of you as his fingers came up to tease your clit. 

“Spencer, fuck-” you slapped a hand over your mouth as you shuddered below him, finally reaching your climax. 

Your hands fell limp as he worked you through the end of your orgasm before rising up to lay beside you on the bed. 

“I wish you wouldn't push it, Spencer. You're a dead man if he catches us like this.” 

“Hotch won't kill me just because I'm dating his daughter. I don't understand why you don't want to tell people.” 

You ran your hands through your hair in frustration. It was a conversation you'd been back and forward on a lot in the past six months. 

Dating a coworker was tricky, doubly so when your coworker’s boss - and your boss - was your overprotective father. Things only became more complicated when you factored in a ten year age gap and the fact that your father refused to view you as an adult, even when you were a fully qualified member of his own team. 

You'd had to fight for acceptance into the FBI and go above him to get the job on his team, a decision that he still berated you for to this day. But you'd had enough of him shielding you from reality, and it was a step you needed to take. 

Falling in love with Spencer Reid, though, that was just pure bad luck. 

You weren't sure how it had taken you until joining the team to meet the man, but you sure were glad he hadn't been introduced earlier. You'd joined the team at 24, having been in grad school until your FBI Academy application was approved, and somehow in the 10 years before that Spencer had worked under your father, you'd never crossed paths.

Of course, you knew who he was before that from context and conversations with your father, and of course, he figured out who you were quickly based on the many arguments you'd had in Hotch’s office. But that hadn't stopped you from repeatedly falling into his bed month after month, and then falling in love with him. 

Your relationship was more than the sex, but it was also a lot of sex. From the stories you'd heard, and from the look of him, you'd assumed that Spencer was a delicate little flower, an innocent in the bedroom as much as any 34 year old man could be. 

And then you'd both been offered spiked drinks at a holiday party courtesy of Penelope Garcia, and he'd proved you deliriously wrong. He'd been hooked from then on, and after waking up awkwardly in his bed the next morning to two cups of coffee and a spread of breakfast pastries he'd gone out to specifically pick up for you, you'd been hooked on him as well. 

The only problem was Hotch. 

You certainly weren't winning any daughter of the year awards already with the stunt you pulled to get on the BAU, but you didn't want to be completely and totally disowned just yet. 

“Hotch won't kill you for dating his daughter, you're right,” you mumbled back to Spencer rolling yourself back on top of him and pinning his arms down so his fingers couldn't tease you any further. 

“Thank you, now if you trust me, I've ran like four different scenarios in my head so-” 

“He'd definitely fire us both, though. And that's worse than death.”

“Y/N….” 

“Tell me I'm wrong, please. Back up your findings with empirical evidence. He doesn't want me on the team, Spencer. He doesn't even want me in the FBI. I think he'd be happy enough to ship me out of the country, too, if that helped.”

Spencer sighed and tugged your hair behind your ear as he gestured for you to sit up. 

“I know it's scary. But I love you. I don't care about the consequences because I'll still love you before and after telling him.”

“And during?” 

“I might freak out a bit, but deep down, the love will be there still.”

You hit him with a pillow and climbed off the bed. 

“Okay, get out now. I'll think about it but you really can't stay here tonight.” He nodded, grabbing his things and pulling his clothes back into place. 

“So, like we're totally done for tonight? Nothing else.”

“Spencer! Out!” You whisper-shouted the words and watched him turn your door handle as slowly as possible before he waved his goodbye and left your room. 

12 hours later, you were once again getting frustrated with Spencer Reid. And Aaron Hotchner. They may soon be enemies, but goddamn they were perfect for each other in some ways. 

“Hotch, you can't just give me nothing to do. Send me to the morgue with Rossi, or let me interview family members with Tara. I'm a member of this team, too, so let me do my job.” 

“You'll do well to remember that I'm your boss, Y/N.”

“You're acting more like my dad right now. A boss would utilize his team members.” 

You'd been stuck in this stale mate since the morning, and Reid hadn't helped at all. When giving out assignments that morning, you'd not been notably left out of crime scene investigation, suspect interrogation, and anything helpful. Reid usually asked for your assistance at times like these, but he was finally putting his money where his mouth was and keeping distance from you in the office.

So far, you'd ran coffees back and forth between the kitchen and work room and had been communicating back and forth with JJ and Derek in the field and Garcia back at Quantico. 

You'd been, for lack of better comparison, relegated to receptionist. 

“At least let me work on the geographical profile with Reid-” 

“Absolutely not.” 

You stiffened at the reaction, wondering just exactly why he would react so strongly. Spencer had snuck in a few secret kisses here and there this morning, though you'd been sure that you'd had no witnesses. 

“Why not?” 

“I don't want you to distract him.”

Bile settled in the back of your throat as you tried your best to bite your tongue and keep the bitter words in. 

“You know, sometimes, Dad, it feels like you love everyone on this team more than you love me.” 

He locked eyes with you quickly, but he glance was dismissive and stern, almost as if he was asking you ‘seriously.’ 

You turned on your heels and began to walk out before he called out from behind you again. 

“Y/N,” you stopped despite yourself. 

“Leave the gun and badge on the desk. We'll discuss this after the case is closed.”

You almost laughed. You almost blurted out your relationship with Spencer just to spite him. You followed his order and took yourself out of the office for some fresh air, finally giving him what he wanted. 

An hour of aimlessly wandering down the street, and you turned into a run-down park. 16 missed calls from Spencer and other members of the team, who'd no doubt watched you turn in your badge. 

Garcia had even called a few times, and you felt guilty for not forwarding her calls somewhere else, knowing she'd probably have key case information for someone. 

But you just couldn't handle it anymore, so you switched it off, pushed it back into your pocket, and kept walking. 

It was two more blocks before the man following you pushed a soaked rag over your mouth and nose and pushed your unconscious body into the back of a waiting van. 

×××××

Two hours of near constant complaining to Hotch had gotten Spencer nowhere in his demands to know just where you went. 

He'd called you 36 times since Hotch had told him you'd left, and he hadn't stopped freaking out since. 

“But where did she go?” 

“I sent her back to the motel.” 

“All of our cars, bar the one JJ and Morgan took to the crime scene, are outside and accounted for. The motel is a 34-minute drive away. It'll take her 5 hours on foot through our unsubs hunting grounds, and I'm not sure if you've noticed, but she matches the victim profile we just gave. Where is she?” 

A muscle in Hotch's jaw twitched, but neither of them moved, eyes locked in battle to see who would back down first.

A call from Penelope ended whatever disaster was storming between them. 

“Hotch hey, I can't get in contact with mini-Hotch, so here I am. Morgan called earlier from the crime scene. From the way they're posed, he said they could be possible stand-ins for a lost child  a daughter or a sister, so I cross checked the ownership of the vehicles that run with the tires we found prints of at the scene, and I got a name. Like one.”

“Great work, Penelope, send it over.” 

Hotch dropped the call and looked back up at Spencer, readying himself to give orders and push the issue. 

Again, their standoff was interrupted. 

“Hotch,” JJ rushed in, carrying a radio dispatcher, face white, and filled with worry. “You need to hear this.”

“Witness reported an abduction on East and 7th, patrol surveyed the scene and found a cellphone. Identifying information suggests it belongs to a Y/N Hotchner. We're bringing it into the stat-” 

Hotch stood so fast his chair almost crashed to the floor. He stood so fast that he barely had time to dodge the lunge Spencer took in his direction, fist pulled back. It would connect, given the chance  he knew it would. He'd been the one to teach Spencer to throw a punch in the first place. 

Morgan insinuated himself between the two men before, and blood could be shed, quickly pulling Spencer back as Rossi, too, rushed into the room to diffuse the situation. 

“One hour. I've been asking you for one hour where she went, and you wouldn't answer me. You made her leave her gun behind.” 

It wasn't exactly a shout, but there was something broken in his voice, as of his mouth had filled with blood and he could only spit hate at a man who'd been a mentor to him until seconds before. 

“If she's hurt- fuck, if even a hair on her head is out of place, I'll-” 

“What, Spencer? What will you do? She's my daughter. What could you do that-”

“She's my girlfriend! She's my girlfriend, she's the love of my life. God, I want to marry her, I have the ring, I have the proposal planned, all that was left was telling you and then asking her, but you've been such a dick to her about this job, and about cases, and God knows what else, that she doesn't want to say anything to you, and now you've driven her away and she's fucking gone. And she could be hurt or in danger or d-de…” 

He crumpled to the floor, Morgan still holding him as his legs gave way beneath him. 

Nobody moved for what felt like hours, still in their grief, shock, some just nervous to see what would happen next. 

“You've been in this situation before, Hotch. So have I. It's …. It hasn't ended well for us before.” 

The words were so final, so defeated that they sucked the air out of the room.

“Morgan,” Hotch started quietly, eyes still locked with Reid's, still staring down the reflection of his own despair.

“Get Garcia back on the line, I want confirmation that the vehicle that picked Y/N up is the same one that our unsub has been using to set up crime scenes. See if she can lift a name and an address. Rossi, if he's skilled enough to pick up an FBI Agent unaware, we need a SWAT team, get one on standby.”

Slowly growing in volume, he continued, as the room started moving at his signal. 

“JJ, Tara, take over where Reid left off with the geographical profile. Look at Y/N's last known location and how far a car could've gotten in the last 24 minutes.” 

He paused again, staring Reid down. 

“Reid, you're with me.” 

xxxxx

It took you a few seconds to gain a sense of your surroundings when you came to. Partially because of the drug induced migraine splitting your head, and partially because of the mess of ribbons and stuffed toys you'd woken up in. 

A change of clothes, and hands tied to what seemed to be a children's bed and you felt so grossly vulnerable your body shook with a few harsh sobs before you regained your composure and remembered your training. 

The knots on the rope holding your hands were tight. There wasn't much room to move with them pinned above your head, but you recognised them as naval knots. Your unsub had experience at sea, recreational or professional you'd yet to determine. 

Looking around again, you looked for entries and exits, wanting to know how the unsub would come in again and how you could get out. 

There were no windows, but a set of stairs leading up towards a solid door told you that you'd been locked inside a basement. A basement decorated similarly to a child's bedroom. 

Dimly lit by a mass of fairy lights, the room seemed covered head to toe in teddy bears, dolls, and children's books, a sturdy handmade doll’s house standing in the corner of the room. 

Faintly, you heard the creaking of floorboards above you before the handle of the basement door rattled and more light poured in. 

“I bought you breakfast, cupcake.” 

There was no time to feign unconsciousness again as your captor finally came into view. 

He was older than middle-aged, slightly wider around the midsection than you assumed he'd been in his youth. His hair was closely cropped and laid neatly, leading you to suspect he was former military. 

“Oh, good, you're awake. What do you want to do today, cupcake? Daddy has some time off now, I can play with you all you want.” 

You moved slowly, pushing yourself up to a seated position so you could bend your arms a bit. But you didn't look away, needing to keep him in your line of sight the entire time.

“Where am I?” You asked slowly, trying to keep your voice steady. 

“Wow, you must've had a deep sleep cupcake. You're in your bedroom, silly!”

The man's sprightly tone was disconcerting, and you could see a muscle in his forehead twitch slightly as you spoke. 

“O-of course. My mistake. Maybe I'm just still tired.”

He laid the tray on the bedside table and sat on the bed next to you. You tried your best not to shy from his touch as he stroked your hair, but every muscle in your body tensed and pulled from him reflexively. 

A quick glance to the tray and you saw the food he'd brought you was a small cup of pills and a glass of water to rinse them down with. 

If he noticed your flinch, he said nothing, grabbing a hairbrush from the nightstand and beginning to comb through your hair slowly and deliberately, taking care like one would a daughter. 

“Daddy,” you took a chance, recalling the name he'd given himself earlier. “Can we play outside today? I want to go to the park.” 

He stopped moving, and you held your breath as his smile dropped. 

“No, sweetie. You know we don't go to parks.” 

“Why not? I really want to play there, Daddy, please!”

In seconds, his hands wrapped around your throat as he pushed you back down into the bed, holding you there with his tight, suffocating grip. 

“Shut the fuck up you little slut. I said we don't go to parks, you listen. I am your father, you are not being taken by one of those sick freaks again.” 

He released you as quick as he grabbed you and stood up, pacing as he attempted to regain composure. 

“You can draw or we can have a tea party but you know we can't go out. You know that cupcake, I've told you so many times.” 

He grabbed at his hair, pulling it from its carefully styled arrangement into a mess, his fingers leaving red marks against his white skin as he pushed and pulled his head. 

He breathed deeply, and you sat up, trying to regain your composure as you watched him lose his. 

“What was her name?” You whispered, half hoping he would hear you, half praying that he'd ignore you for the sake of his fantasy. 

“W-What?” 

“Your daughter. What was her name?” 

He focused on you again, but his hands - hands that you knew could and would choke the life out of you if you did something wrong again - his hands were shaking. 

You heard the floorboards creaking upstairs and decided to push your questioning, hoping it meant what you thought it did. 

“Why are you saying it like that, ‘was?’ Is. Her name is, your name is Laura, and you're my little cupcake.” 

“What happened to her?” You filled your voice with as much sympathy and understanding as you could muster, one eye on the basement door that was being slowly pushed open. One look at Morgan at the top of the stairs had your heart rate slowing to a calmer speed. You locked eyes with him for a second, halting him, and he nodded, waiting for your signal. 

“You, you're my cupcake, you look just like… She should look just like you.” 

The man sat on the bed again, stroking a hair out of your eye as his filled with tears. 

“Fifteen years. I looked for her for fifteen years, you know. If I hadn't taken her to that park-” 

“That must have been hard.” 

He nodded as he broke down in silent sobs. 

“They said… they said she probably died a day or two after we lost her. When they found her, she was…” he rested his head on your shoulder, let him cling to you as he mourned his daughter. 

“We couldn't identify her, but she had that teddy with her. The teddy with the cupcake in its hands. She never went anywhere without it. So we…we knew.

You looked at Morgan as he slowly made his descent into the room, closely followed by JJ. 

The man looked up into your eyes again, wiping the tears from his face. 

“She was only 8.” He looked defeated, and your heart broke for him, even as you wished to get as far away from him as you could physically muster. 

Morgan pulled him up and away from you as he secured the man with handcuffs, but his eyes remained locked on you. 

JJ untied you and guided you out, but you felt his gaze bite into you ever after you'd left the basement. 

As soon as you were above ground, you let your body divest itself of adrenaline, your legs buckling as JJ tried to catch you. Another set of arms was quicker, though, and you didn't even register Spencer's arrival before burying your head in his chest and letting your sobs escape you. 

He guided you to your feet and walked you out to the ambulance, his arms protectively wrapped around you, his lips peppering kisses along your hairline and forehead, anywhere he could reach. In moments, you were bundled into the ambulance, and three gentle voices were trying to calm you, to pry you away from your comfort doll.

You wondered if you'd die like the unsubs daughter had, if they'd find you clinging to Spencer the way she had to her teddy bear.

“Y/N,” your father's deep voice was clear and smooth, the only thing that was cutting through the wretched moment of pain you were enduring. 

You remembered yourself again, relinquishing your grip on Spencer and wiping the tears from your face as you finally looked towards Aaron Hotchner. 

The paramedics took their chance and began checking your vitals, working around you in a hurry. 

“Dad, I'm sorry, I was walking and didn't notice that he was behind me, I should've been more careful-”

“Y/N, it’s okay. You're okay now.” 

You nodded as he came closer. You ignored the tears in his eyes, trying not to break down again. It had been an age since you'd last witnessed him cry, at another crime scene with another family member and another unsub. You couldn't think about how close you'd come to making him relive his worst nightmare. 

Spencer's hand was still firm in yours, and you held it like a lifeline, though you were sure your nails had to be cutting him by now. It took another moment to register that he was holding onto you just as hard, that he was unmoving, still where he was usually a series of compulsive moments, tapping, hand wringing, fists clenching and releasing. 

You glanced between the men, who had now become quiet as they surveyed you, and noticed the tension. Before you could say anything, though, the paramedics took over. 

“We're going to get you to the hospital now, Agent, one coworker can accompany you in the vehicle, preferably one with knowledge of your medical history.”

Both men immediately moved forward again, as if ready to jump into the van, before turning again to each other. 

“Shit,” you mumbled to yourself just as the buzzing in your head from the migraine grew louder. 

“Y/N, it's your choice. Who do you want to come?” Spencer said gently, his body still stiff with worry. 

“I'm her father. This isn't a question of who she likes better.”

“I have her medical records memorized, and I have more knowledge about the drugs the unsub gave her, but Y/N can choose for herself because she is a grown woman.”

You sighed and dropped the man's hand as the medics ushered you into the van fully, but the men were fully absorbed in their fight for dominance that they barely registered it. 

“JJ. JJ is coming with me,” You could see both of them turn back to you to argue, but you continued before they could. “Because I am a grown adult who knows her own medical history, and I don't need my father and my… coworker having territory wars over my wellbeing.” 

And possibly because she'd be the least awkward option to answer the questions about sexual activity and possibility of pregnancy around, but you really did not need to vocalize that. 

“Right now, I'm just a victim you've saved. Go and do your jobs and meet me at the hospital later because I am not doing overtime completing paperwork while on suspension.” 

JJ climbed up into the ambulance and the doors shut, letting you finally get a few moments peace as it began slowly making its way to whatever hospital was closest. 

“He knows, right?” You asked, covering your eyes with your hands as you braved for the answer. 

“Hotch? You could say that he figured it out.” 

“That bad?” 

“Spencer threw a punch at him. He tried to at least.” 

“What?!” Your body shot up, but the paramedic gently forced you back into a laid position, giving you a warning look to stay put as she checked your blood pressure. 

“Don't be too hard on him, Y/N. He thought he was going to lose you. They both did. I don't think either of them would survive it happening again.” 

The guilt hit you right in the chest as you nodded and dropped the conversation. 

“Maybe I should've let Spencer come with me.” 

“Why?” JJ asked, not offended bit curious. 

“Because I'm not entirely sure my father won't throw that punch back at him now he knows I'm okay. It's hard being in a relationship if one of you is dead.” 

The older woman chuckled slightly, and you settled back down, letting the car movements rock you into sleep. 

xxxxx

A few hours later and some quietly bickering voices pulled you from the rest you'd so sorely needed. Without even opening your eyes, you knew they'd both subtly scrambled to your bed to make sure you were comfortable. 

“What are you talking about?” You asked, wiping your eyes carefully as you tried to sit up, arms still aching from being tied up. 

“Oh shit-” you exclaimed after seeing your boyfriends freshly split lip. 

“Dad, what the fuck?” 

“Y/N, it's fine. It doesn't hurt.” 

“Aaron Hotchner, do you have nothing to say for yourself?” You tried to put all of tour anger into the words as you said them, bit he looked at you again with his straight face, and you crumpled under the pressure. 

“I won't…I'm not going to object. I just ask you to keep your private life separate from your work.” 

“And you're going to punch my boyfriend while I'm unconscious, so I can't defend him.” 

“I'm still your father, and he deserved it.” 

You looked back over to Spencer, who was quite notably not meeting your eyes. 

“Do I want to know?” 

“I'm leaving now. Jack will be here soon. He wants to check on you now that school is over. We told him you were hurt trying to save a sick man.” 

“Thank you, dad.” 

He nodded at you and left you alone in your hospital room with Spencer. 

“Why did you deserve it?” You whisper shouted the moment you assumed he was out of earshot. 

“The doctor came in and asked about some old bruises on your upper thighs. And ass. And chest. I had to admit they weren't sustained during the kidnapping, and Hotch wasn't pleased.” 

You huffed out a sound halfway between incredulous and a strangled moan of shame as you curcled yourself up into a ball and tried your best to die. 

“Great. Wonderful.”

“If it makes you feel any better, he thought it was signs of domestic violence and not just rough...sex.” 

“Yes, Spencer, that makes me feel entirely more comfortable with the situation.” 

Registering the sarcasm in your voice, he quieted down again, settling into the chair by your bedside and grabbing your hand. 

You sat silently together for a few minutes before either of you said anything. 

“I'm sorry. I know you didn't want him to find out.” 

“Spencer, you don't have to apologise. All things considered, this is possibly the best way he could've found out.”

“My busted lip suggests otherwise, I think.” 

“And a whole lot more would've been busted if he caught us any other time. Besides, I already lost my job, so there's not much else at stake anymore.” 

The words stung you as you said them, but you did still feel the weight of your dismissal in your chest, spreading miserably through your bones. 

“Does your head still hurt?”

“Not really, why?”

“You're not as perceptive as you usually are.”

You shot him a confused look as he smiled softly down at you, offering a nod towards the small coffee table under the window of your hospital room. 

There on your table sat your creds and your gun. The silent acknowledgement you'd been waiting for from your father. 

Spencer sat by you as you did your best to hold off the tears. He let you pretend there was something in your eye, let you wonder if your eyes had become watery because of dust from the basement. He quietly held your hand as you grinned and grinned until you pulled him in for a kiss and held him close to you. 

His lips were soft as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down on top of you even as he tried to hold himself up and off you so he didn't hurt you. 

“You know,” you said, punctuating each word with another sweet kiss. “This means- that- you're- stuck- with- me.” 

He laughed into your final kiss, finally pulling back for more air, studying your face as if he were trying to memorize it. 

“That was never the issue.” 

“Oh really, and what was?”

He kissed your again, slow and deep this time, taking his time working his hands down from your hair to your neck to cup your face so you were opened up to him, letting his lips and tongue explore everything he wanted to. He pulled away eventually and instinctively your lips tried to chase his, even as he pulled out of reach. 

“Making sure you stayed by my side.” 

[webism]

KINKTOBER DAY ONE: degradation with sub!gojo

kinktober masterlist

The strongest, the fastest, the greatest.

Satoru Gojo knows that he is all of those things—he's told it every day. People dote on him, idolise him, praise him like he's holy—and lavish worship can only go so far before it starts to feel hollow.

Satoru likes being loved, don't get him wrong, he revels in the praise he gets. To know he's so admired, such an effigy of power, is intoxicating. He's constantly in a state of egotistical bliss—which is why it's so rejuvenating when you take him down a notch.

Because as strong and tireless as he is in the real world, your Toru is the opposite in the bedroom. It's the place he gets to relax, to melt, and he takes full advantage of shedding the title of strongest, even if only for a night at a time—because god does the way your chiding roll from your lips turn him on.

You can't help but smile at the beautiful blush that dusts his cheeks, it matches the pink tip of his throbbing cock that pulses in your hand. His hair, soft and lovely, rests in a mess against the pillows as you stroke him lazily, sitting on his thighs, lips curled into the wickedest of grins. He frowns, whiney pleas escaping form his throat.

"Please, just fuck me," he's so hard it hurts, and the delicate stroke of your fists over his cock isn't enough. He needs more of you, he needs all of you.

But you just hum, "so needy. This isn't good enough for you, Toru? You think you're worth my time, honey?"

Honey. So sweet in comparison to the sickly tone you use with him. He's not worthy, not of someone like you, and the suggestion makes his hips buck. "Please," he bites.

"Fucking desperate," you let go of his cock entirely and instead ghost a nail from his base to the tip. He gasps, face scrunching up, "you know you're pathetic, right baby? What's all this about you being the strongest—you're barely holding yourself together."

A pause. Satoru swallows. His dick twitches, his cock growing thicker and harder than he thinks it ever has been. "Please, you're… too much," it comes out hoarsely. He feels pathetic and small as he begs, but you ignore him, fingers still circling his sensitive head until it throbs painfully.

"What do you want to hear?" You purr, leaning down to press a kiss to his tip. "That you're being so good for me? Because you really aren't, Toru—not until you break for me. C'mon, baby, I know you, what you are."

You reposition yourself to sit over his cock, lining him up with yourself, smiling at the ay he squeezes his eyes shut in carnal need. You lean forward a little—enough to emphasise your words—"you're my Satoru, who needs to get fucked like the desperate whore he is."

And as you seat yourself on his cock, not bothering to hide just how blissful the stretch of his overbearing size makes you feel, Gojo swears he could cry. You're right, he is desperate, a whore—achy and teary-eyed and already close to cumming with just how good you feel wrapped around him.

"Not without permission," you read the tremble of his lips. Your hips roll against his, the drag and pull of his cock inside of you enough to drive the poor man crazy. "What do you think the masses would think if they saw you like this, huh? All dumb for me, Satoru Gojo—my favourite toy. You think they'd still think you're the strongest, baby?"

"Mm, fuck," his tongue near lolls out of his mouth at your words, you can feel him twitch inside of you. "Y—y…"

"Too stupid to even use your words huh? Can't even get a decent ride out of you. Look at you, I know you're close—can't hide from me."

He's gone red in the face, and avoids the urge to hide behind his hands in favour of meeting your gaze with his beautiful blues. Glossy and pooling with lust, he looks at you like you're the god he is to worship. He wonders how anyone can think he is worthy of praise when you're right there—god, he'd lay himself down for you before any of them could even think to. He's got no choice but to accept your approval though, and if it'll get you to keep fucking him, he'll be grateful for anything.

It's too much for the both of you to handle. Your own orgasm crests just as you think Satoru is going to unravel, and you place a finger in the middle of his toned chest to ground him. "Beg me."

"Ple—"

"No," you shake your head, trying to keep your breath in check as you quicken the pace of your rolling hips. "Thank me, for giving you so much already—more than you deserve. Thank me properly and you can cum."

He doesn't hesitate, he's beyond devoted to you—if he could thank you until the end of time he would. "Thank you," he says softly, voice thick with relief. You feel him shudder underneath you, a few more thrusts of your hips and he'll come undone. "Fuck, thank you. Thankyouthankyouthankyou, I love you, god I love you."

"Prove it," a moan breaks through your sharp words. "Cum with me, Toru."

Your name tumbles from his mouth like a prayer, raw and desperate, and he gives a shaky nod. You clench around him as you allow yourself to finish, and the sight of your orgasm spurs Satoru on. As his climax crescendos and his body jerks beneath you, he's sure he can never look away from how beautiful you are in your release despite the urge to squeeze his eyes shut and bathe in the overwhelming pleasure that washes over him—nirvana.

You collapse atop him, panting. You lie there while your muscles unwind, waiting for you heart to calm and your lungs to expand enough for your breath to steady. Once Satoru has finished jerking his hips up into yours, and he starts to come back down to earth, you push yourself up to hover over him again. The stern look that had been in your eyes is gone, and replaced with a gentle softness he knows all too well—he replicates your smile with his own.

"Good?" He raises his eyebrows, ready for the onslaught of love you tend to give him after sex like this.

"Perfect," you hum and lean down to kiss the tip of his nose. "You are perfect."

"And desperate," he coos, reaching up to wrap his arms around your waist.

You nod, a smile pulling at your lips. "Yeah—that too."

tags are in the comments, because tumblr is an opp!

[pomefioredove]

So people use Kalim, right? Like pretend to be his friend because he has money-

What if Kalim's crush is just like "Yeah I grew up poor....anyways! I bought you this gold bracelet! Probably not real gold, but I thought it'd fit your style." And is just always pulling up with gifts and little trinkets and just refuses to let Kalim spend any money 😭 I also imagine if Kalim gave them a gift, they'd just start bawling because they don't know how to accept gifts-

:3c I love a little kalim posting

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ the mystery of the magi

type of post: short fic characters: kalim additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, realizing now that I went a liytle off-prompt, sorry u-u

You gave Kalim one rule.

One rule. You had no expectations, no requirements, no shopping list.

Just one rule... that happened to be impossible for him to follow.

"No money?" Jamil asks, watching Kalim pace the room. "You can't spend any money? So no clothes, no jewelry, no games?"

It's far past curfew, but even Jamil had long forgotten about that. That's how strange this whole thing is.

Kalim has never looked so worried. "Not a thaumark. They said so!"

"Did they...?"

Of course. Jamil has thought you were weird from the day Kalim started coming home with plastic toys and friendship bracelets, "gifts" of yours. But this is just absurd.

The heir to one of the richest families in the world has days to find you the perfect birthday gift, and he can't spend any money.

Kalim's eyes are wide with thought, which is a strange look on him. "They say that my presence is enough..."

"But it's not," Jamil finishes the thought for him. Kalim had always given gifts as love- handing out gold and jewels like they were candy- which made him a treat for... well, most of NRC. But not you.

"Well... there's plenty you can do without spending," Jamil says. "You could... cook something, or plan a nice date..."

Kalim pouts. "It's not enough! Everything they get me is so... perfect... I want to do the same!"

Perfect, meaning the cheap toys from claw machines, drawings, handmade jewelry, half-edible cookies... Kalim keeps everything you give him. Everything. His room is beginning to look like the prize shelf at an arcade.

"This is quite the conundrum, isn't it..." Jamil mutters. "Are you sure I can't-"

"No! I need to come up with it on my own! They're just... so good at gift-giving. I wonder how they do it..." Kalim sighs. Jamil rolls his eyes.

"Then... perhaps I can offer some advice. The sort of gift you're looking to give doesn't come from here," Jamil says, pointing to his head. He trails his finger down to his chest.

"...It comes from here."

Though that was complete nonsense, Kalim lights up. "I-I think I understand! Thanks, Jamil!"

And then he's gone.

.

Trapped in a circle of friends and Scarabia students, you awkwardly smile at their birthday wishes.

Grim's greedy little paws dig into the homemade cake before the candles are out, getting icing all over himself. You chuckle, a warm, loving sound that makes Kalim beam. Good so far.

"Time for gifts. We do have a curfew to mind," Jamil says, and Grim laughs maniacally, reaching out for the first box.

"Actually," Kalim says, smiling as if it were his own birthday. "I was hoping I'd get to give my gift first!"

You chuckle. "I don't see why not,"

Kalim returns the gesture, and he stands on the table, drawing everyone's attention to him. Jamil raises an eyebrow.

"I'm not seeing a box!" Grim shouts, and you shush him. Kalim clears his throat.

"I'm usually not so bad at this, but I had a lot of trouble thinking of the perfect present for you... until Jamil said I was thinking too much here... and not here," he says, pointing first to his head, and then lower, to his throat.

You give Jamil a confused look, but he looks just as lost.

"So... that's what I'm going to do. Happy birthday!"

Everyone watches in some mix of amusement and horror as Kalim begins to sing... in your honor.

Without any accompanying music, he performs, in front of everyone you know, a song about everything he loves about you. Even Jamil looks horrified.

When it's over, the room is quiet. Everyone is staring at Kalim as if his head had fallen off.

Then, slowly, you stand. And you clap.

You're beaming. "That was amazing! Again! Again!"

Kalim grins, unphased by the weird looks everyone is giving you two, and he hops off the table to pull you into a hug.

"I'm so glad you liked it!"

"Liked it!? That was..." you laugh, hugging him back. "That was perfect."

"I can sing it as much as you want! Every night, if it makes you happy!"

"Sevens help me..." Jamil sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Trey gives him a sympathetic pat on the back.

[bananayuyu]

Game Over

Pairing: gamerbf!yunho x fem!reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 2.8k

Summary: Trying to get your boyfriend's attention while he games is sometimes really difficult. Too bad when he finally turns his eyes on you, his only intention is to punish.

Warnings: smut, MDNI, reader calls Yunho sir, pet names (baby, princess), orgasm denial, Yunho covers reader in cum, degradation, yunho calls reader slut once, yunho slaps reader once, mean dom yunho for sure

A/n: This was inspired by a lovely little conversation I had with @yuyusbabygirl. I hope it lives up to your expectations babe! It was nice to work on something short while I'm working on a much longer and darker Yunho one shot, which I cannot wait to post. I hope you all enjoy this one! <3 (anyone else like getting slapped in the face during sex? just me?)

You walk into your shared bedroom to find your boyfriend in his favorite grey hoodie, legs stretched wide with a controller in his hand.

It was his favorite way to wind down after work, the position you found him in countless times. But after your little trip to the lingerie store this evening, you're finding it hard to accept that his attention isn't on you.

You'd purchased a beautiful pink set today, one you'd been eyeing for months now. On your walk home you'd seen it in the window, finally on sale, and you couldn't resist. The style accentuated your body in just the right way, and the bottoms were amazingly comfortable given just how tight and up your ass they were. And really, you just looked amazing in it; even you could admit that, despite not always loving your body.

You thought you'd wait until the weekend, until your planned date night to show it to him. You could make it total surprise, as he had no idea where you'd just been. But when you opened your bedroom door and he didn't even look up, you couldn't deal with the way it seemed like he didn't even notice you.

Out in the living room you strip off your clothes, hastily slipping on the lacy pink set and promptly walking straight back into your bedroom.

"Babe, can I show you something?" you ask, standing in the frame of the door. Finally Yunho's head turns towards you, after he carefully pauses his game. "What do you think?" you ask, turning in a slow circle and posing for him.

"It's beautiful baby. Those are the ones you wanted last time we were there, right?"

"Yeah, they were on sale today, so I couldn't resist," you smile, momentarily relieved that his eyes are on you and not on that damn TV screen.

"You know I could have bought them for you," he says, sighing slightly. Is he disappointed? Do you not look as good as you think? You stare back in surprise, his tone suggesting he isn't affected by this at all. And god does it irk you, enough to grab your silk robe from the closet and throw it over your shoulders. No way in hell were you taking off this beautiful set, and if he wasn't going to enjoy it, then you'd spend the evening enjoying it yourself.

You settled back down on the couch in the living room, absentmindedly scrolling your phone and texting back a few of your online friends. You got lost in it for a minute, but you'd be lying if Yunho's tone of disinterest wasn't still playing in the back of your head. You were bothered that he still hadn't come out to you, that he hadn't been affected in the way you knew he always was by your body. Was his game tonight really that interesting?

Without thinking you stood and walked back into the bedroom, walking over to the side table on his side of the bed. Leaning down to open the drawer you squeeze your chest together, knowing that from this angle he has a perfect view of your tits in all their glory.

"You good?" he asks, again his tone sounding a little distant, despite the way his eyes are glued to your chest.

"I can't find my charger, I thought I might have left it over here," you lie, closing the drawer again and standing back up, sauntering out of the room and looking back over your shoulder as you exit, seeing his eyes glued this time to your ass. You're sure now he'll come out, sure that once his game finishes he'll be pouncing on you, and you wait with bated breath, again pulling up your phone and randomly scrolling.

But again, he doesn't come. Your anger is building, and before you know it your legs have taken you back to the bedroom, this time climbing onto the bed and standing up, pretending to adjust a poster on the wall and partially blocking his view with your thigh.

"Baby, seriously?" he asks below you, tapping on your leg to try to get you to move it.

"I noticed this poster was about to fall," you lie again, pursing your lips together in a pout and staring down at him. From this angle you know he has quite the view of your center, only a very thin strip of fabric not even totally covering your outer lips. You know he loves your thighs, and this time you're sure he'll break, but again, somehow, he's still focused on his game, somehow winning the level despite the screen being partially out of view.

You sigh and head back out the living room, not sure what to do with yourself. The lingerie is getting you worked up yourself, and so is the way he's not paying attention to you. It's making you feel desperate, angry, pathetic, and you're not sure how much longer you can take this little game. You pace around the room, not even looking at your phone anymore, not able to think of anything but the throb that has started in your core and Yunho's soft, large hands sweeping deftly over that black controller.

You're stumbling back into the bedroom again, this time even less sure of your movements, and you find yourself in front of the TV, dusting the top of the picture frames that hang on the wall there.

"Hey, seriously, what's up?" you hear Yunho ask, but this time you don't even respond, carefully dusting over the top of the frames so as not to knock them down. "Baby..." he trials off, and finally you hear his tone of voice change.

"Baby, answer me," he commands, and his voice is low and almost scary in a way that's making your whole body tingle.

"I just- I've been meaning to dust these for a long time and I keep forgetting, so I thought I'd better do it before I forget again for months," you stutter, still not turning around.

"Turn around, look at me," he demands, and you turn yourself around to face him, your hands behind your back as you stand provocatively, pushing out your chest. "I think you're trying to piss me off, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not I swear," you respond, turning on those pathetic puppy-dog eyes of innocence, and it makes his blood boil that you keep lying to him so effortlessly.

"I think you're lying," he says, gently setting down his controller and pulling off his hoodie in one swift motion, smoothing down his hair that was tousled out of place. "You want my attention on you, not on my game, huh?" He cocks his head to the side, a proud smile on his lips as he knows he's right.

"Nuh-uh," you shake your head, maintaining your facade, too far in now to back out. "Those pictures really needed dusting."

"And you needed to be wearing that, while you dust? You couldn't wait till I was finished with my games tonight to do it? Sounds pretty fucking unbelievable, if you ask me," he responds, now standing by the side of the bed and staring you down, his physical presence adding to the intimidation in his tone.

"I swear," you say, pouting again.

"Look at you, lying again. What do you think stupid little liars deserve?" he asks, hands on his hips.

"I- I don't know, sir," you say, slipping into the headspace best for punishment before he can even say it.

"I think they deserve a little punishment, don't you? For being bad. Lying is bad, wouldn't you agree?" he asks, his voice dripping in mock sweetness.

"Yes, sir," you nod your head, your clit throbbing with anticipation and your eyes already heavy with lust.

"Get on the bed, princess, right there." He points to where he was just sitting, his feet not moving an inch as he watches you crawl across it and sit yourself down. "Now spread your legs for me," he commands, and you follow automatically, like you don't even have a choice. You're anticipating a slap, a pinch, something painful to start the punishment, so you're surprised when he just sits himself down in front of you, so casually you'd think the two of you were just sitting down at a restaurant for a meal.

"Now, are you going to be honest with me?" he asks, eyeing you sharply.

"Yes, sir, I promise," you squeak in response, your head already buzzing with the way your legs are spread and open for him.

"Were you lying to me, earlier?" he asks, raising his eyebrows in expectation. You squirm, your eyes darting everywhere in the room but just him, not expecting him to force this out of you.

"I- uh-" you stutter.

"Baby, eyes on me. And stop hesitating, it's pissing me off," he says, his eyes dark when you finally meet his again, the breath leaving your lungs.

"I- yes- yes I did, I'm sorry," you whine, hoping this won't add to the punishment ahead.

"I'm sorry?" he asks, head cocked to the side.

"I'm sorry sir," you rush out, tears now threatening to form in your eyes.

"And you know lying is bad, so you know you deserve this punishment, right?" he asks. You nod your head vigorously, breath hitching in your throat. "Say it," he spits, his tone angry.

"I deserve this punishment, sir," you say, your eyes getting droopy with lust, your heart pounding in your chest with all of the adrenaline coursing through you.

"So you won't beg for it to stop, will you? You'll let me have my way with you until I think you've learned your lesson?"

"Yes sir, I promise," you respond, but you know it's not true, there's no way it could be. The begging is what he likes more than anything, and you know in mere moments you'll be weeping for him.

"Good. Now put your hands behind your back and don't you dare move them till I say you can," he says, moving forwards towards you, resting on his knees between your legs. He brushes a thumb over the lace fabric covering your hips, tracing the edging down and finally past your soaking, aching core, making you moan immediately at the contact. He slowly brushes his thumb in a large oval, hitting over your clit at the top, but with the fabric in between it just doesn't feel as good as you know it can. You're waiting for a slap, waiting for a change in position, honestly, so you're shocked when he reaches into his own pants with his other hand and frees his cock, the head red and already leaking.

He begins stroking himself slowly, matching the rhythm of his thumb on your cunt, and slowly the pleasure builds, agonizingly slowly. You're trying to relax into it, but you're tense from the anticipation of what punishment might be coming, so you don't quite know what to do. Your eyes are locked on his cock, on the way his hand moves up and down it so fluidly, Yunho spitting on it and spreading the wetness around, his strokes visibly speeding up. After what feels like ten minutes, but is probably barely sixty seconds, you're sure he's not punishing you after all, and your head swims with pride for a second that he's so turned on he's forgotten his intentions entirely.

"More, yuyu, please," you whine, trying to buck your hips into his thumb to gain more pressure on your clit.

"More, who? And is that begging I'm hearing?" he growls, his eyebrows pinched together in a look of dominance and anger.

"I- I'm sorry, sir," you squeak, your eyes locked on him and your mind whirring in realization that he's still in control, still planning on seeing this through.

"Don't you get it, princess? This is your punishment. You wanted to wear that lingerie so badly tonight, well now you get to. I'll touch you as much as I can, but it's not my fault it doesn't feel as good," he chides, and you groan in response, a part of you wanting to whip your hands out and pounce on him, forcing him to fuck you well and good. "What, does that sound so bad? I'm still touching you, you know," he continues, making you squeeze your eyes shut as you try not to whimper or groan again. You guess he's just teasing you with the way he's stroking himself, showing you just what your missing, and you know you'll have to hold out a long time to get the reward you're really after. You inhale deeply and steady yourself, closing your eyes and surrounding to the weak feelings on your clit, letting the feeling of being taken over envelop you.

It feels good for a little while, now knowing this is your punishment, knowing that he's teasing you and making you wait. You can do that, you know you can, and frankly, compared to the other things you thought he might have in mind, this wasn't so bad. You opened your eyes to watch him again, his beautiful hand stroking his length hard and fast, and you swear his cock is on the brink of spilling everywhere, given just how flushed and hard it looks. It's intoxicating to watch; you wish it was in your mouth, your cunt, anywhere but two feet away and in Yunho's hand, and you feel yourself salivating at the sight.

"You wish that was inside you, don't you?" he teases, a chuckle leaving his lips at the way you don't even answer him, your body forced to swallow the large amount of spit that gathered in your mouth at your stared at him, agape. You're in shock at how long this is taking, you swear it's been more than ten minutes at this point, and your pussy is suddenly throbbing so hard that you're not able to think of anything else.

"Sir, please, don't make me wait any longer," you cry, the tears forming in your eyes now, and you stare up at him pathetically, your breathing shaky.

"What makes you think you deserve that?" he snaps, rubbing himself even harder, so turned on at the way you're a bumbling mess in front of him.

"Please sir, I've waited- I've-" you can't even finish your sentence, a small sob escaping your lips instead.

"I thought you promised you wouldn't beg, slut," he spits, his hand on your cunt coming up to slap you across the face, a moan escaping your lips at the action. Momentarily your clit is alight in pleasure, the stinging pain radiating down your face and going straight to your core, making your muscles clench down on themselves. And again you're hoping this means he'll finally break, that he finally wants to manhandle you and fuck you hard, but instead you're shocked when you feel hot ropes of his cum covering your face, your chest, and even your stomach and thighs. You look up to see Yunho's blissed out face, as he strokes himself through the last of his orgasm, his face flushed and a sheen of sweat covering him entirely.

"Fuck, you look so fucking sexy when you beg like that," he sighs, collapsing down beside you but propping up his head so he can still catch a good look at the absolute mess he's made. You're staring at him with wide eyes, your cunt still throbbing with anticipation, your body wholly unsatisfied with everything that just went down.

"What, was that not fun for you?" he chuckles, and you know from the tone of his voice that your scene hasn't ended, that maybe this one will extend until tomorrow morning. You look down at your body, your beautiful pink lace lingerie covered in his cum, your legs twitching with the remnants of anticipation.

"You ruined it," you whine quietly, still not moving, just moping in place and trying to make him feel bad.

"Baby stop sulking, you know I'll buy you a new one. Now come on, let's get you cleaned up and ready for bed. You can move your hands now."

And in the morning he's still treating you the same, making you follow his commands, eating what he's prepared for breakfast and wearing the outfit he's set out for you. He kisses you goodbye, making you promise you'll be good at work today, before handing you the lunch and snacks he's packed you. And when you finally return in home in the late afternoon, your brain tired from a day of focused work, you see a familiar looking bag on your desk. Opening it you find the same set of lingerie, the pink edging catching on the light of your desk lamp, and you sigh into your chair, hoping that maybe tonight, he'll finally let you cum.

[purinfelix]

you're here, that's the thing ˚⟡˖ ࣪ - franco colapinto

summary: your boyfriend tries his best to make your schedules, as a racer and student, work - even when miles apart w/c: 900

a/n: it's finals season for me and i needed to write something self-indulgent as a break from cramming forgive me 🙏

Being a full-time student was one thing, but being a full-time student in a relationship with an extremely clingy boyfriend, who also happened to be travelling the world to race in Formula One, was a whole other challenge.

You and Franco had had some time to adjust to a long-distance relationship since you started dating, having such different lives, and managed to make it work for the most part. But now, with him having to wholly commit to his racing and finals season rolling around for you, it put a strain on your relationship that neither of you was ready for.

It was a strange paradox - the less free time you had outside of classes and studying, the less you were able to spend talking to him, and the more you wanted just to drop everything and fly to where he was. Your morning texts and voice message updates stopped being enough, and before you knew it you struggled to go longer than an hour studying without sending your boyfriend a message to whine and complain.

You were fully aware of how immature and irresponsible this was, but this awareness did little to stop you. And it didn't exactly help that Franco seemed to share the same sentiment, telling you again and again how hard it was for him as well, how racing seemed almost impossible without you there to cheer him on. It hurt, but the two of you just had to do everything you could to get through it - for you to focus on your studies and for him to try his best at racing.

All this came to a head one Sunday though, the afternoon before one of your final exams and - because of the time difference - the night before Franco's next race. Sitting in your dorm alone, surrounded by piles of textbooks, notes and scattered pens you felt a sudden jolt of vulnerability and before you knew it you were reaching for your phone.

"Can you call?" you typed quickly to your boyfriend, your eyes lighting up upon seeing the three dots begin moving almost instantly.

"My gosh, I was just going to ask you the same thing," he replied, and before you knew it your phone was springing to life with a call from him. Clicking accept, you couldn't help but smile widely at the sight of his face.

"Hi," you say, almost shyly.

"Hi baby, how are you?"

"Good," you pause, "stressed."

He nods understandingly, "You're holding up okay, hm? Taking care of yourself?"

"Of course, Franco," you laugh at his almost motherly concern, "and you?"

"Nervous, of course."

"Well, that makes two of us." You pause after speaking, for some reason this call is turning out less enjoyable and more awkward than you hoped.

"I'm sorry, I'm just really tired," you hear your boyfriend say and when you look up you can definitely see it, his eyelids half closing over deep, dark circles under them.

"Do you want to sleep? I have to study anyways."

You watch as he chews his bottom lip, thinking of what to say though once he finally talks his voice is small, almost like a confession. "But I wanted to talk to you."

"We are talking Franco, and we can talk tomorrow once you rest."

This doesn't seem to quell his worries though, his brows still knitted in thought. "I just feel so useless knowing that you're struggling and stressed and I can't even keep you company like I normally do."

You nod sympathetically until an idea pops into your head. "We can keep the call on, carry me over to your bed - you'll sleep and I'll study."

Even through the fatigue pulling him down, Franco nods enthusiastically, doing as you say. You watch him sink into the plush white bedsheets of whatever hotel he's in, and whilst you feel a little jealous at his ability to rest right now, you turn back to your desk and start pulling out your notes.

"You'll be okay," you hear him mumble.

"What do you mean?"

"With your exams," he smiles sleepily, eyes flitting as he watches you pick up your highlighters and pens, "you're the smartest person I know."

"I don't know how much that's saying, you didn't even finish high school baby."

"Hey! I was trying to be nice," he says, feigning offence though there's a soft smile across his face.

"You're right, I'm sorry," you laugh, "you'll be okay as well, with your race tomorrow."

"I hope so."

"I know so."

"I wish you were here," he sighs, looking at you earnestly and all you can do is give him a nod in agreement.

"But for now," you wave your pen to hint at the fact that you need to get back to cramming and he seems to get the hint.

"Right, right, you won't even know I'm here," he assures you.

And despite that, the entire night passes without you once forgetting it. Not that he's distracting or anything, in fact he falls asleep mere minutes after telling you that - leaving you to work peacefully for the rest of the night. Instead, his presence, even as he sleeps, even through a screen and halfway across the world, is enough. You find yourself smiling as you study because maybe having a long-distance boyfriend, even one as clingy as Franco, has been a blessing in disguise all this time.