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jasmines-library · 2 months

Note

idea for a little spn and batfamily crossover!

imagine reader being part of the batfamily and maybe like 17-19 and also is the horseman of war. imagine the apocalypse starts and the brothers and cas come looking for her seeking her help and everything

Bringers of The Apocalypse:

Part one: Time to Wield The Blade

Note: this is such a cool concept I couldn’t say no to writing it! When I started writing I honestly wasn’t sure where to go with it at first, but as I carried on I grew to like it. I hope you all do too.

Word Count: 3.1K

BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛧ SERIES ML ⛧ SPN MASTERLIST

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

The Horsemen are drawing nearer On leather steeds they ride They've come to take your life On through the dead of night With The Four Horsemen ride Or choose your fate and die

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

It had been coming for a long while. You knew the minute that Dean Winchester was dragged off to hell and the first seal was broken that it was coming. The stench of its inevitability hung as one big fat cloud in the air but at first you still held out a little hope. A spark. A fraction of optimism that somehow someway the Winchesters would find a way to stop the seals being broken. But demons were tricky. You had never like the evil fuckers. You had hoped that Sam and Dean would notice that behind Ruby’s compelling eyes and false smile, there was a snake waiting for her prey to fall right into her trap. But it just so happened that lady luck was not on your side and the cage doors came blasting off their hinges for Lucifer to rise again. And with him would come the apocalypse.

The day was hot, the sky was cloudless and the flowers were in full bloom. It was so nice that you would have been described as perfect if your head didn’t feel like it was being pounded upon by a meat cleaver. It was was because there were there in the back of your mind, whispering away. Your brothers. The other three horsemen: Pestilence, Famine and Death. The bringers of the apocalypse. It had been many years since you had seen them, albeit they would still occasionally pop up in the back of your mind for a chat. A perk of being a celestial being you supposed. Though right now you were trying to shut them out and failing miserably. Sometimes you would find that they grew irritating, constantly disagreeing with each others actions or views. Perhaps that was the reason that after thousands of years together all of you had decided to go your separate ways. That was when you had decided to start over again in Gotham.

You remember the day distinctly. Bruce Wayne had opened you with open arms after you had decided to help them on a patrol with a particularly sticky villain. You were young. Well, younger. Time passes by strangely for a horseman. You have been alive since the very beginning. Since man decided to declare war on another. That was what you did. You aided and guided war. And it was a cruel job. You had seen a lot in your time as a horseman. Some things that made you squeeze your eyes shut until there were wrinkles on your forehead and nose. But someone had to do it. For the longest time it had just been the five of you: you, your brothers and God. For there cannot be no light without dark. No life without death. And while it had been exciting at times…it was lonely. Heart wrenching too for your entire existence was dedicated to something that caused so many people so much pain…often you had just wanted to quit.

You watched the world build foundations and knock them down again and again until it slowly morphed into what it is now. Over that time you had grown to love Earth and its people. Their complexities intrigued you. So, slowly but surely you began to build yourself a life on earth. You began to create your own human identity so that you could feel something more. And so you and your brothers split to begin lives amongst humans. To help keep an eye on things and to carry out your jobs more effectively. After all, it’s much easier to understand someone when you put yourselves in their shoes.

You kept to yourself mostly. You forged yourself an identity. Then came along Bruce Wayne and his espionage of Robins who embraced the real you instead of shunning you away. You felt loved and tried oh so hard to enjoy your time with your family. Until one night Lucifer tore that all away from you.

The feeling cut through you like a knife, tearing the wind from your lungs. Dick would have thought you were dying from a gunshot had it not been for the fact that you had been lounging beside him on the couch when it happened. You clutched at your chest tightly, clawing for breath as though you were suffocating. He was looking at you with wide eyes when you removed your hand from your chest allowing your breathing to finally slow. And there it was, shimmering against the light. Golden lines that twisted around your wrists. They were pretty like: shifting in rich shades of gold that would make even the richest of men jealous, though the meaning made you want to scream and shout. To kick your legs around like a small child just in hope of a small chance that it would disappear. Albeit instead you closed your eyes tight and took a sigh of defeat.

A binding.

Lucifer had bound you to him.

A gentle breeze drifted through the air. It was enough to make the branches dance softly as it passed through providing a small moment of relief against the warm summer's afternoon. The sun was still high in the sky, casting golden shadows against the ground that moved as she pivoted in the sky. It was truly a nice evening, so you had decided to sit in the garden to enjoy the day for once.

You had chosen a lounge chair tucked away by the flowers. They were in full bloom and adorned the garden with shades of reds, pinks and whites. It was a nice burst of colour against all of the green hedges that Alfred kept pruned back cleanly.

At first, you wanted to curl up with a book and catch a bit of sunshine but you had long since set that aside on the pillow next to you. You hadn’t really been reading it anyway; more like scanning the words blankly without letting them even register in your mind before you had moved on.

The truth was you were distracted. You had been since the minute Lucifer placed those bonds on your skin. It began to affect your everyday thinking. Every minute was consumed by the thought of him. And your brothers, whose whispers in the back of your mind grew louder and louder as time ticked by You were waiting for him to call you to him any minute. The anticipation ate away at you but you tried to ignore it and let it get stale.

Something was changing.

You had felt it coming: a ticking in the back of your mind. And you shouldn’t have been so thrown off by it: you had been watching and waiting patiently for it to arrive for years, but now it was finally here you couldn’t help the bubbling feeling in your stomach.

You sat twirling the ring around your finger: A simple gold band that fit snugly around your ring finger. It was far less ornate than the ones that the other horsemen shared, but you supposed that was the beauty of it. So war is so complex…yet simplified too much in the public eye. Being with you since the beginning, the ring was so much more than meets the eye. Holding the key to your power it was a symbol of who you are and so so much more. It was also the reason that you knew you would have to leave soon. Sooner or later you would be forced to reunite with your bothers under Lucifer’s binding to begin the apocalypse. Unless you could convince them to use the rings for good and to create the key to the cage to send lucifer back. Though you knew it would be much harder to get your brothers to give up their rings. They did not share the same values as you did.

“Y/N?” It was Damian who made his way toward you from the double doors. He had seen you leave a few hours ago and had watched you for hours as you sat trying to work through whatever was clearly bothering you. He had tried to figure it out himself: Damian had always been good at reading people, though you stumped him. He could never quite figure you out. He supposed that was one of the reasons you were so special. “Are you alright?”

“Fine.” You nodded, still twirling the band around your finger. “I’ll come back in a moment. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“Not at all.” Damian gestured to the bench and you slid over so he could squeeze in beside you. “What’s on your mind?”

There was no easy way to put it. You knew exactly what it was and you knew that you were going to have to tell them about it at one point or another. So why couldn’t you bring the words to your lips? Why were the words you had spent so long rehearsing refusing to speak? It’s not like your family didn’t know who you were. In fact, that was one of the reasons that Bruce adopted you into the family. For years and years you had known nothing but War, Famine, Pestilence and Death. And they were all so different from you. Without the same morals you were often left aside. Or sneered at when they thought you weren’t looking. You had nothing. And now Bruce and given you everything. Perhaps that was why you were so hesitant to tell him. As it meant that you would have to leave. Although you knew it was inevitable, you had hoped it wouldn’t have been this soon. The thought bothered you deeply, so with a heavy sigh you decided to just spit it out and get it over with.

“The apocalypse is beginning.”

Damian faltered, jaw nearly falling open like an old doll that had lost its jaw hinges. “So soon?”

“I am afraid so.” you chewed on the inside of your lip.

The boy fell into silence for a moment as he tried to process the information.

“They will be coming for me soon.” You told him “if I don’t go to them first.”

Hunters. Sam and Dean Winchester. They were infamous and you heard whispers that they were looking for the rings. So you knew that sooner or later they would be coming for you to use everything in their will to get their grips on your ring.

“You’re leaving. Aren’t you?” Damian asked at your silence. You couldn’t bear to meet the young boy’s gaze. Instead you opted to watch the petals fall from the flowers as the wind knocked them from their beds.

“Yes.”

“Do you have to?” Damian pleaded “why can’t you stay here in hiding? We can protect you!”

Damian’s gesture made your heart melt. You knew they would try to protect you. They had for years. But this was the apocalypse and as strong as they were, they stood little chance against the end of the world. You had told them before that this would come one day. That you would have to leave to complete something dangerous and they could not follow. So it hurt to hear Damian plead for your safety.

“Sometimes, Dami, we have duties to fulfil that we do not want to do. But we must for the greater good.”

“But what if you get hurt!? If you leave us and we can’t protect you then-

“Oh Dami.” You turned to face him, placing a gentle hand on his arm and trying to swallow down the guilt that ate away at you “I will be fine. Promise.”

Sleep did not come easily to you that night. In fact, it didn’t come to you at all. Instead you lay awake staring blankly at the ceiling as you tried to plan out how you would tell them you were going to leave. It would be difficult. For you and them. And the situation wouldn’t go down without a verbal fight between the six of you.

You had considered just getting up and leaving in the middle of the night. They would piece it together sooner or later if Damian hadn’t already told them, which he likely had, so it would save you the pain of having to tell them yourself. But you couldn’t do that to them. It was unfair. So instead you lay awake planning how you would break their hearts.

No matter how many times you tried to think it through, you just couldn’t get the words to sound right. They were always too formal or straight to the point. You could just picture their faces: Dick’s gaze refusing to meet yours, Tim’s eyes glazing over and Jason’s brow hardening. The thought of leaving there and then crossed your mind again.

But then, the decision was made for you.

Almost silently, the window to your bedroom began to slide open inching upward slowly. You moved watched it hesitantly for a second before noting the tall silhouettes that tried to keep their backs pinned to the wall of your balcony. Swiftly, you were up on your feet and moving to stand in front of the window, readying your fists in case of the the figures got too trigger happy and moved to attack you first.

When the first figure squeezed through the window, dressed in plaid, he seemed taken a back to see you standing there watching him struggle through the small space. With a flick of his head he gestured to the other man, who shared a similar likeness, and reached for his pistol holstered in his back pocket. With a flick of your hand you turned on the light.

“No need to draw a weapon on an an unarmed girl is there?”

“War?” The taller one squinted at you, leaning forward to study you.

You nodded calmly. The smaller man eyed you warily and you saw him hand inch towards his pocket where he more than likely had a weapon concealed.

“You’re… younger than I expected.” The tall one noted.

“I’m older than I look.” You told him. “How did you get in?” You asked. Security around the cave was high, but not impossible to bypass if you were exceptionally well trained like these two seemed to be, the real challenge was your family who had eyes on every window like a hawk and seemed to have a 6th sense for unwanted visitors.

“Snuck under the fence. There’s a gap between the hedges in the garden. If you stick close enough to the shadows and move at the right time the cameras have enough blind spots to get by mostly unnoticed. And besides that? We’re damn good at our job.” The older one said.

You hummed. Smart, you thought, making a mental note to tell Alfred about the fencing.

The taller one with the long hair opened his mouth to speak and you could tell from the way he shifted his feet uncomfortably that you were in for a very long winded explanation of why they needed you to come with them, so you decided to put yourself out of your own misery and to beat him to it.

“I know who you are, Sam Winchester.” You watched his face drop. “I know why you’re here.”

“Then you’ll know we need that ring.” Dean barked.

“I know. And if you’re as experienced as people say you are then you’ll know that I can’t just give it to you.”

“Well it’s either that or we take it from you, sweetheart.” Dean clenched his jaw. His voice had little to no remorse despite the fact that he knew it would end in your untimely demise. Or close to it. But he was growing desperate: the fate of the whole world quite literally depended on his actions. The fate of his brother. And Dean Winchester was not one to give in to fate.

You inched away from them, subconsciously twirling the ring around your finger savouring the coolness of it against your skin. “You know that’s not possible.”

“Listen here sweetheart. We need that ring to send Lucifer back to that god forsaken hell hole he crawled out of and-“

“I know. But I cannot give you the ring.” You told him. “I have a life here. A family. I will not give myself up just like that. And besides…” you rolled up your sleeves to reveal the shimmering binding on your arms. “He will know the second I do. I am bound to him and to fulfil in duties in the bringing of the apocalypse.”

Sam and Dean’s faces fell.

“However I am willing to help you as much as I can.”

“How so?”

“I will help you get the other rings. I will help you save Sam Winchester and I will give everything to hand you my ring to send Lucifer back to the cage on one condition.”

“Go on.” Sam nodded.

“You help find a way to make me human.”

“What?” Dean was sure he had misheard you.

“If I give up that ring. I lose everything. I will become a shell of a person. So lifeless that there is hardly any point in living. That is if I don’t die the second the my brothers, or lucifer lay eyes on me. If I become human… I can live out my life here with my family. As a Wayne.”

The two shared a look. It said a thousand more things that words could have.

“Son of a Bitch…” Dean murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

BATFAM TAGS:

@aestheticdaisies @hell-o-kittys @xxrougefangxx @mamapucket @hearts4robs @harleycao

+ SUPERNATURAL TAGS:

@defonotashleyr

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dovithedarklord · 2 months

Text

Stucked - Part 4

You're trapped in a game and a new threat is lurking.

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Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x reader, Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader

Tags: Mentions of death, Mentions of blood and gore, Blood and Violence, Sexual Scenes, Alternate Universe, No use of Y/N, Not Beta Read, AFAB Reader

Trigger Warning: Contains blood and gore, violence, some body horror, and some dubcon (lightly). Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

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Author's Note

The story gets more complicated and violent, so be prepared!

I've been watching way too many horror movies again, and I was sick too, so I gathered some firsthand experience for some of the sensations our poor MC has to face. But now I feel much better, can't say the same about her... Well, there's that :D

Have fun! :D

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

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The sound of soft laughter fills the walls of the house, painted golden yellow from the fire, and the lingering shadows of your companions loom over the carved wood like nightmarish demons. And with each step, you get closer and closer to the deceptive cheerfulness that unfolds below, which flows like a sick play around the laid table. As if an idyllic moment was snatched from a comedy movie meant for children and families, every minute of which is full of perfectly written laughter and undisturbed joy, but every giggle crawls into your ear canals on the slimy legs of a disgusting maggot, to bury itself in your brain and push you closer to madness with each minute.

You sneak closer to the stairs with careful quietness, unable to take your eyes off the scene unfolding in the middle of the spacious living room, because you're afraid that if you draw attention to yourself sooner than necessary, you won't have a chance to escape. Although the treacherous little voice in your head warns you that all your chances of disappearing from this terrible, artificial world were lost when Simon closed his arms around you.

And you reflexively look for the blond man, and as soon as your strained gaze finds his burly figure sitting at the table, terror envelopes your stomach in an icy grip. Every bit of him is deceptively calm, and he rests next to Johnny in his chair with such careless relaxation as if he always belonged there at the birthday dinner. But you see the waiting danger in his eyes, which makes him look like a wolf killing some time before finally tearing his victim to pieces, who doesn't even know that they willingly laid their neck in his open jaws. And it seems cruel how the two girls engage in a light-hearted conversation with the two men amid wild gesticulations and cozy delight, because you know exactly that each carefree sound that leaves their mouths is a precursor to a painful scream in the dead of the night.

Every member of yours is protesting against going down, and your legs tug you back like leaden weights, as you try to drag your body, heavy with fear, forward. As if with each step, the thread that binds you with weak fingers to the fleeting promise of survival is unraveling a little more. You'll have to go down though. Because if you hide, you risk the wrath of the game. You need information to get a new clue, and if you don't join this miserable charade, you'll lose any chance of finding anything. You have to do it even if every cell of yours screams agonizingly with dread.

The polished wood of the stairs creaks as you slowly descend the steps, and the eyes of the two men fixate on you almost on command, like two hungry vultures before which the delicious meal has finally appeared. And you realize bitterly that it's not so far off from reality, because you're probably only a few hours away from someone quenching their thirst with your still-warm blood after they've hunted you down like an animal.

NO! Enough! You can't think that! Even though this wretched place wants to make it difficult for you to win, you must not let it get its way, because then you'll wither away in this quicksand of raw flesh and screams, stuck in endless suffering. You must not let it win. You won't let it win.

Your determination eases the trembling that shakes your knees wildly, and as you reach the bottom of the stairs, you straighten your back out, because these two bloodthirsty monsters must not see that they were able to plant the seeds of hopelessness in your mind. Even if this bitter feeling has taken root, you should not allow them to find morbid joy in it. Because that would be equal to your defeat.

"The birthday girl is finally here!" Pam exclaims enthusiastically as she turns back to you to look at you, and for a moment her kindness breaks your heart as you let her spring up and lead you to the empty chair at the head of the table with tender, friendly love. You don't deserve a minute of her attention, even if there's nothing real behind it. A fictional creature, whose empty shell is filled with life by the game, just so that it can take this temporary existence away as painfully as possible. But still, as she pushes you down to the chair with a warm smile and squeezes your shoulder excitedly, your throat tightens painfully with pity. You gave up trying to save them a long time ago, you forgot the compassion you felt for them, yet now your brain, overloaded because of the impossible events, allows you for a moment to feel sympathy for them. "The best place belongs to the celebrated!" She chirps, and when she's certain that you've made yourself comfortable, he strolls back to her seat, with such an unworried spring in her step that you recall quite cruelly how quickly this lightness turns into desperate fear as she runs for her life. And despite this sugary-sweet show, it'll happen soon enough.

And even to you, it's strange how the whole dinner scene begins with such familiar movements, even though Simon has intruded on the well-known story as an uninvited guest. And this might be because he only occasionally interjects a short comment into the smooth flow of events, otherwise not disrupting the dialogue that you have already heard torturously many times. If he does answer, the game bends the threads of its own story so smoothly that, in spite of the new change, you end up in exactly the same place where you have always been. And this fills your soul with such fiery hope that suddenly every cell of yours ignites with the wild desire to act, because if the presence of the masked man doesn't lead the story in a completely new direction, then there is a chance that the clues will still be there where they were before you discovered them... And that makes the doubts clinging to your gut seem to withdraw, and you feel that you can finally breathe for the first time since discovering the book.

"It's so nice of Johnny to put together this dinner, isn't it?" Rebecca chimes in, lifting another bite into her mouth with her fork, carrying her gaze around on the myriad of appetizing dishes displayed on the table with real delight. And you tear yourself out of the continuing web of your thoughts with a startled wince, in which you've been immersed far away, already browsing through the series of clues you've found so far. You run your confused eyes through the group at lightning speed, and when you meet the girl's puzzled expression, you reluctantly turn your attention back to them.

"Yeah... It's very nice of him." You blurt out your scripted, well-rehearsed dialogue, and although your tongue almost goes numb under the weight of the lie, you’re able to force the faint line of an authentic-looking smile on your mouth.

Although everyone seems to calm down, you see sparks of interest in Simon's eyes. And as you carefully look at him and your gaze intertwines with his, you see the unmistakable lines of a smile appearing around his eyes in the warm light. But there is nothing comforting about this gesture, because an almost condescending kindness emanates from his every cell, and this makes him look like no more than a spectator of an unfolding sad comedy. And if he really knows that you're not from here, then all ot this is really nothing more for him than watching a movie up close, the end of which he's perfectly aware of. But you can still surprise him. Because you won't let him think he's in charge. You just have to find a clue…

And you jerk back, almost startled, as Johnny's face swims into your vision, thus hiding the sight of his friend from you, and the change happens so suddenly that you just stare into his cheerful blue eyes, blinking with bewildered surprise.

"It's nothing! I'd dae anythin' for my wee lil' Bunny!" He utters enthusiastically, and although his words don't sound like lies, fear snakes into you along his deep voice. Because this sentence has never appeared anywhere before, and it's so new to your shocked brain that you're unable to register how one of his tanned hands slowly slides onto your fist gripping the fork, wrapping around it like an anaconda on its prey. And even though his touch is light as a feather, you feel as though he's squeezing you in a way that makes all your bones crack, like a couple of dry tree branches. What's this again? Why does the story diverge if it has followed the main storyline so far?

"You're such a lucky girl! I would sell my soul to be treated so well by someone!" Pam sighs longingly, and as she folds her hands in front of her chest with feigned offense, your confusion deepens. Because suddenly this whole horrible interlude takes a turn that is completely unknown to you. Up until now, it's been Pam who has had any sort of romantic streak, because she's the one who gets killed for living out her lustful passion. Thus far, you've never been the center of attention in this way, not even at any level worth mentioning, and the realization that now this is just another complication and death flag cuts into your brain like a knife. And suddenly you feel that the taste of the food turns to ash in your mouth, the dryness of which drags the waves of nausea up your throat.

"Is there something wrong?" Rebecca's worried question cuts through your shock, and as you realize that every pair of eyes is staring at you, you’re filled with the desire to escape. But you don't even dare to move, because you're afraid that every irresponsible action you make will trigger an avalanche that will have harsh consequences.

"I think my stomach is a little upset. Maybe I caught something." You try to explain yourself weakly, and with every nerve you attempt to force authenticity into your features, slowly releasing your hand from Johnny's grip. You have to wait to see what else changes, and to have the slightest chance to search for hints later. Because if you're not careful enough, you lose all hope of even finding a clue.

"Oh, poor lil' Bunny." Johnny grumbles, and although there is some pity in his voice, a hideous undertone lurks behind the sympathetic words that make goosebumps prickle on your skin in an instant. And maybe an outside observer would think that there are indeed wrinkles of kind concern on his face, but you see the joy in his eyes. Like you've just given him something he's been waiting on pins and needles for. "Let me help ye!"

And you soon understand how he wants to help you. Because, as the chair cries out with an ear-splitting scream, when he pulls it uncomfortably close to you, then it's too late for you to escape. The wolf has already found you, and you can do nothing but watch with stunned helplessness as it starts to devour you.

Not a single sound can escape your mouth, as your protest gets stuck under the lump that jumps into your throat, and you freeze in fear as one of Johnny's big hands slides over your back with easy naturalness. And as his warm fingers begin to draw slow, soothing circles on your back, as if he really wants to drive away your growing sickness with his gentle touch, but you go as still as a statue, completely unmoving. You're unable to turn away from the man, whose gaze is fixed on you with such intense attention, as if someone had hypnotized him. But you already know better than that. You see those ice-blue eyes gliding across your face, and you know that he finds his joy in the frightened curve of your eyebrows, the motionless panic of your eyes, and the quivering line of your lips, like a hungry hyena feeding on terror. And as, during his seemingly innocent adventure, one of his fingers almost imperceptibly slips under the clasp of your bra, crumpling the soft material of your t-shirt, that hungry grin appears on his mouth, with which a beast flashes its teeth at its victim. And the scene in the kitchen takes shape in your brain so quickly that you're unable to hold back the frightened whimper that erupts from you.

"There's no need for that... I'd rather rest." You try to oppose meekly, carefully choosing each of your terrified words, and when you pull back from the man's suffocating proximity, his palm spreading over your back prevents you, holding you back as easily as if it wouldn't be more to him then just a minor inconvenience. And you’re probably right, because even though you can see the cords of the sculpted muscles dancing on his arm from the corner of your eye, his whole body still remains in your personal space with unmovable carelessness.

"Dinnae be silly!" Johnny silences your protest, and from the curve of the smile on his lips, the tentacles of anxiety growing inside you cling to every single cell of yours. Because it suddenly becomes painfully clear that you've fallen into a trap and you don't even have a chance to flee. "I'll help ye... ye'll let me, won't ye?" He inquires, but there is something very certain about his question, as if he asked it just for the sake of fun, because he already knows the answer anyway. And why wouldn't he act like that? He slyly lured you into his arms, and now it's time for him to enjoy the fact that you’re exactly where he wanted you all along.

And although your brain is feverishly working on excuses that you can use to escape, like a frightened little rabbit running from wolves, the man gets to work much sooner. His wandering hand on your back crawls up your spine with the deadly slowness of a snake, and as his fingers dance along each small bump, you instinctively get a chill from the condescending tenderness that mixes with his touch. And you feel how the tiny little hairs stand up in the wake of his fingertips, and fear spreads through all your limbs, as if a paralyzing poison had been injected into you. And if resistance had even crossed your mind, then all your stray thoughts disappear immediately, because as soon as he clamps his hand on the back of your neck to lock around it, you freeze as terrified as if you had turned to stone.

You see the cheerful sparks in his eyes as he recognizes how obedient he has made you become, and you helplessly let his free hand, which has been resting on the table until now, come to play on the feeble stage of your body. And although you’re unable to take your eyes off his face, you catch in your periphery as he touches your knee almost teasingly, and you can't suppress the trembling that moves inside of you as his fingers begin to slither toward your thigh. You can feel the heat emanating from him even through the material of your pants, and you swear that the imprint of his palm almost burns into you as he stops to grip the soft flesh.

And like a wild animal about to feast, he flashes all his teeth with the grin that moves to his face, and as he rests his forehead on the crook of your neck, the treacherous warmth in your stomach rises in addition to fear when, following the hoarse laughter that rises from his throat, as his hot breath fans over the sensitive skin.

You turn your eyes to your surroundings in desperation, but all hope is gone when you see the expression on your companions' faces. Because the mouths of both girls are frozen in languid smiles, and they're watching the obscene moment unfolding in front of them as if it were the most natural thing in the world that someone climbs on you in the middle of a birthday dinner. Like they're watching the finale of a romantic movie, not Johnny slowly eating you alive like a starved dog. But it makes you even more upset when you glance at Simon as a result of a thoughtless reflex, because you immediately regret that you dared to look at him at all. The man continues to rest in his chair with undisturbed calm, and as he carelessly throws his hand on the back of the chair and tilts his head to the side, he follows the wet path of Johnny's mouth as his lips travel to the pulsing veins on your neck with such morbid interest, as if it were nothing more to him then some light fun. And you realize with alarm that you can't hope for help, because the game is more than happy to let this whole horrible situation continue, even if it goes against its own rules...

And when you feel the blunt edge of one of Johnny's canines drawing his mark into your skin with almost mocking fondness, that something that has so far locked your body in a paralyzed shackle snap. Because now you know for sure that nothing will happen the same as before, and your only chance to survive is to disappear from here right now. An unknown strength of determination moves into you, and you tear yourself out of his arms so unexpectedly that even he flinches back in surprise for a moment as you spring up from your chair.

"That will be enough! I better rest." You break the stunned silence, and although it's impossible not to hear the fear hidden in your voice, the decisiveness grows much stronger. And despite the fact that you feel that this small rebellion is already disturbing the apparent calm of the game, you don't care. You have to escape, because if you don't get out of their sight, your hours are numbered. And you can no longer allow yourself to die irresponsibly, no matter what lies ahead.

But just as you would take advantage of Johnny's surprise to free yourself from the prison of his thick arms, someone who has been watching this madness as a silent spectator until now finally joins the events. Simon leans forward in his chair with nerve-wracking slowness to look up at you with his elbows on the table, and that's enough for the sinister spasms of panic to close around your stomach in a violent embrace. Because you see the light that dances in those dark eyes... And they tell you that you made a big mistake, and he'll punish you for it with the greatest pleasure. He warned you, didn't he?

"Sit down." The man motions his head towards your chair, and his statement sounds much more like an instruction than a request. You'd be foolish to think he's only making suggestions when you see how menacingly his hoodie stretches over his broad shoulders as he hunches over the festive table. "The party's about to start." He adds, and you don't like the amusement in his tone at all. Like he’s already amused by something, which you have no idea of yet.

"I don't want to." You squeeze it out of yourself, and although you try to put confidence on your face, it doesn't escape the masked man's attention as you force down the stomach acid pushing up into your dry throat with a frightened little swallow. Because you can see his mouth open under the dark textile covering his face, as he follows this small movement, and from the play of the light of the fire, it looks like he's grinning...

But before you can even decipher what kind of storm might be brewing, you're distracted by something completely different. And as you feel Johnny's hot breath penetrating the thin fabric of the t-shirt covering your belly, you turn back to him in fear, but it's too late. You were too irresponsible, and you lost sight of the monster, in whose claws you have been writhing on the fading edge of safety. And now, as his big hands find the round curve of your hips and his fingers playfully grip it, you already know that the fragile chance of your escape is drifting further and further away from you. You're not deceived by the innocence with which the man settles his chin on your stomach, nor by the way those beautiful sky-blue eyes stare up at you, because you feel the certainty with which he hides the escape route with the coverage of his strong body.

"And then what will happen to them?" Johnny asks, and the worry that enters his voice hits you unprepared, and the confusion instinctively takes over your features, as you take in the way the line of his troubled eyebrows meet. And from this tiny little move, his concern seems quite genuine, and it only pushes your mind even deeper into your ever-increasing shock. What the hell is he talking about?

"With whom?" The cautious question breaks out of you, because your brain, which is buzzing with stress, is unable to understand who he could be aiming at. But you don't have to wait long for him to clarify and dispel the doubts from your mind, because as his head finds a comfortable resting place on your belly, as he turns back to the table, smoothing his face against you, you immediately understand who you have forgotten about until now.

"With your friends." He answers easily, removing all the care from his tone, which he has smuggled into it so masterfully so far. There is something stomach-churningly intimate about the way he nuzzles your navel with his nose, and the way he almost burrows into the warmth of your body, which makes every cell of you instinctively scream for help. And as his arms close around you in a slow but deadly sure embrace, even though you don't fully see the horrible expression he's wearing because he's hiding in your clothes, your eyes find his reflection in one of the elegant glasses. And on the delicate surface of the glass, the corrupted, bloodthirsty smile that spreads across his lips is distorted almost like a nightmare.

"What are you talking about?" You hesitate, scared, and your voice comes out of your mouth like a pitiful whisper that it seems quite distant even to your ears. And you're unable to tear your gaze away from the glass, because you see the man's crooked smile widen further and become a twisted snarl on the glass, which suddenly brings back all the memories of when you were on the other side of that grin. With this exact expression, he plunged a knife into your beating heart and watched as the light of life faded from your eyes. And this makes you realize that, even though you waited for a soothing play, the time for bloodshed has long come.

"Dessert is comin' now." Simon joins in, and this simple little sentence sounds deceptively harmless from his mouth. But as he turns to your companions opposite him, who have been sitting in their seats in a happy stupor until now, you realize that you won't be the target now. However, this doesn't calm you down one bit. "Pam." He almost snaps at the girl, in a tone that sounds like he's asking a trained dog to show off the latest trick it's learned. And you're horrified to learn that the analogy couldn't be more accurate, because Pam shoots up with such enthusiastic joy, as if her owner had really dangled a reward in front of her nose.

"Oh, right away!" She gushes cheerfully, and for a split second, you can't understand why she reaches for the huge knife resting next to the cake so suddenly because of the fear sitting on your brain. You just watch, paralyzed, as she places her left hand on the table, and as the warm light glints on the cold metal of the blade, something quite uncomfortable grips your insides. And when the girl turns to you and her gaze sinks into yours, you see nothing but the bottomless emptiness shining in those bright eyes, as if all the life that the game had so graciously instilled in her had disappeared.

But even though she looks like a lifeless puppet, the sound of the knife piercing through bone is very real, as the next moment she cuts off her index finger with one simple and swift movement. The sick crack almost echoes in your ears, as if someone has just started slicing a deliciously fresh carrot, but as blood gushes out of the wound in rich drops and paints the snowy white of the tablecloth crimson, you know that your eyes are not fooled.

"What…. what the hell..." You stutter, and you feel your brain getting short-circuited by the sight. Because Pam just pulls out the knife buried in the wood of the table with unflinching glee, so as if nothing had happened, she raises it again and strikes the next finger with it. Moved by the force of the attack, the severed digit rolls away, plowing a trail of blood in its wake, drawing a grotesque painting among the multitude of bowls resting on the table. This awakes the pulsing nausea in you again, and you clasp your palm over your mouth to try to hold back the rest of your dinner, which starts gnawing up your throat. However, Pam doesn't even seem to perceive the outside world, the wide smile on her face stretches into a grotesque grin, and her teeth are pressed together with such force that you can almost hear them crack.

"Why dinnae ye sit down, hmm?" Johnny's voice breaks through your shock, and you startledly tear your eyes away from the horrible serenity on Pam's face to turn to the man again, because suddenly even this seems like a better idea. But as he glances up at you from under his dark eyelashes, and something quite predatory flashes in his eyes, you know that the dinner slowly soaking in blood would have been a more soothing sight. "If yer gonnae be the dessert, then she can stop..." He offers, and your stomach turns from the sugary kindness that sits in his words.

And when his arms holding you in check slowly let go of their hold, you'd think you finally can catch your breath for a moment, but much sooner the air gets stuck in your lungs, as his fingers grasp your thighs with almost painful force, and you can feel their marks soak into your skin like fresh purple bruises. His face is pressed against your lap, and his tongue sticks out of his mouth to draw a wet path along the small seam running in the middle of your pants, and you can feel the heat emanating from him even through the rough material of your jeans, then you would try to back away in alarm, but you don't get far. His grip locks you in place much more firmly, and the treacherous tingle that awakens in your frozen body pushes you towards dizziness when he finally finds that tiny sensitive bud through the fabric, which makes you tremble and grip his broad shoulders in terror. And a deep, almost animalistic growl erupts from Johnny's throat when he catches this instinctive little movement.

Another tears you out of the paralysis towards which you drift more and more surely, and as Pam, laughing joyfully, sweeps the stump of her ring finger away in the puddle of blood on the tablecloth, you're already glad that Johnny is so willing to let you cling to him. When you catch Simon out of the corner of your eye, you're unable to stop yourself and almost automatically direct your gaze to him. And you would swear that you have never seen a more beautiful man, because the lustful look with which his dark eyes fixate on you, while one hand caresses his stomach lazily, is not entirely of this world. You follow almost in a daze as his fingers dance leisurely along the bulging hardness of his pants, and only another snap brings you back to the present before you allow yourself to be lured into the trap they want to drag you into in such a vile way.

No matter the two men's angelic faces, no matter the sinful power emanating from them, it penetrates your paralyzed consciousness too strongly, as the sea of blood spreading across the table slowly reaches you and begins to drum in heavy drops on the floorboards. Because only monsters are capable of such horror, and it awakens the desire to escape in you enough that your heart rate, which is accelerating in dread, finally pumps out the adrenaline in your body so you can act.

You reach for your glass resting on the table so unexpectedly that you manage to surprise Johnny when you smash it on his head. And you know that it won't do him any serious damage, but the pain lasts just long enough for him to release you in the middle of a tortured hiss, and you can take advantage of this to get out of his arms so nimbly that by the time he comes to his senses, you're a safe distance away. No matter how much a faint sense of guilt awakens in you, when you turn your back on everything and sprint towards the stairs, for leaving your companions at the mercy of the beasts, the survival instinct raging inside you drives this weakness to the hidden corner of your skull much sooner. Because these bastards were trying to use this, and they wanted to take advantage of this to catch you...

Even through the pounding of your heart in your ears, you can hear the laughter that comes from Johnny when you reach the top floor, and you know exactly what that voice promises you. There's nothing in it but cruel amusement, and that just helps enough to speed up your steps towards your room. And as soon as the small abode finally envelopes you, you slam the door behind you with such force that its loud bang almost shakes the house. But for once, you don't care if you make noise, because the chase has already started, and there's no point in being subtle.

You lock the door with trembling hands, but you know that you won't be able to keep them out for long, because you've experienced Johnny's power enough times. That's why you rush to the closet resting next to the wall with lightning speed, and you push against it clenching your teeth, because it might delay them for a minute longer. The furniture sways with a creak, as it slowly obeys the violent urging, and as you shove it with your shoulder again and again with angry desperation, it finally gives in and falls in front of the door with an loud crash, spilling all its contents to the floor. And although a sharp ache shoots through your arm as you step back to examine your makeshift barricade, all pain fades when you hear heavy footsteps stomping up the stairs in the sudden silence. They're coming after you.

And you immediately search for a new way out, and as soon as your gaze settles on the open window, you already know what you have to do. Because even though you know that there are enough dangers out there, the uncertain darkness seems friendlier than waiting here to see what kind of retribution you'll receive for interrupting the two men's fun.

And when the doorknob turns for the first time, you're already outside on the narrow roof, and you only take one last look at the door, which is slowly beginning to shake wildly, before you disappear in the cold night.

And only one thought screams in your head: You have to survive the night.

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marvelslut16 · 2 years

Text

New Mom

prompt number: 14 "Yes. No. I don't know."

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Rating: E(veryone)

Word count: 3.1k+

Warnings: Some Beth hate. Pining. Sad Jack. Angst. Some unrequited love, but overall fluff.

A/N: This is technically a day late, but I had a funeral yesterday so please cut me some slack. I've had this idea for a while now, and fictober finally made me sit down and write. Also, It's my first time writing for CM so I have no doubt that Hotch is OOC. One last thing, this is a lot more Jack centric than I originally planned, whoops.

Jack is sitting atop Derek’s shoulders, a large sign you helped him make for his dad clutched in one hand, and the other holding your hand. Your arm is starting to hurt at the awkward position and you’re more than a little worried Jack will drop the sign and it’ll blow away in the wind before Hotch gets to the finish line. Luckily he keeps his hold of the poster board and waves it at Hotch when he crosses the finish line.

Hotch is all sweaty and it’s next to impossible to take your eyes off of him. A part of you wants to walk up to him and just lick the sweat off of his face, but you can’t do that for a multitude of reasons, obviously. Derek puts Jack on the ground when Hotch walks to the water table, and he grabs your hand before pulling you with him to his dad. You smile as Hotch places his medal around Jack's neck, the soft gesture proof that he’s an amazing dad, even though he doesn’t see it.

“Did you see the sign (Y/N) and I made you?” Jack hops around in excitement, still holding your hand. You smile at the memory of laying on the grass this morning with Jack drawing stars and placing stickers sporadically while Jack did all the hard work writing out ‘go daddy go!’

“Yeah I did, Buddy,” Hotch flashes a smile at you before gazing down at Jack again. “The sign is fantastic!”

“Look at you,” you smile widely at him, heat starting to creep up your neck when Hotch turns his attention back to you. “I knew you could do it!”

“Yeah, you were right,” he concedes, having denied you for months now when you had confidently told him he would be able to finish the race with ease.

“Can you say that again?” you gasp playfully, leaning towards Hotch. “I just love being told that I’m right, especially when it comes from you.”

“Oh shut up,” he barks out a real laugh, pulling you into a sweaty side hug. In that moment Jack wraps his arms around both of your waists, and for a split second you can imagine what being a family with your Hotchner boys would feel like.

The team is coming up with places to go grab some food, but you aren’t paying attention, still reveling in the feeling of the arms around you, when a feminine voice breaks through your clouded brain. “Hotchner!” a pretty darked haired woman waves from the crowd and Hotch’s arm immediately falls from your side.

“Beth,” he practically sighs, a genuine carefree smile over taking his face at just the mere sight of her. It’s like a cold bucket of water has been dumped on you, the cold water seeping into your clothes and into your bones, making you feel absolutely miserable as Jack’s hand is being pulled from yours. “Jack, there’s someone I want you to meet!”

Like the sadist that you are, you watch Hotch immediately pull the woman into a tight hug, jealousy pushes down on you like a ton of bricks, and your heart starts to crack under the pressure. Sure, you knew your infatuation with Hotch, your superior, could never work out, seeing him like this with someone that isn’t you still makes you want to rip your heart out to stop the pain. While the team looks on at the spectacle in confusion, Derek turns to look at you- you can feel his eyes boring holes into the side of his head as he tries to inside of your brain.

Hotch, Jack, and this Beth woman walk over to the group, his arm is wrapped around her back and the childish urge to cry arises. Jack immediately runs back to you, burying his face into your back, trying to hide from the awkwardness of meeting a new person. Your heart starts to crumble as Hotch informs you guys that he’s invited Beth to join the team for lunch, and Jack’s little arms squeeze your middle tighter.

“Pretty girl and I actually have plans,” Derek announces, further confusing the team since he was so adamant about trying this new burger joint not five minutes ago. “I’ve been promising to take her to go see the new Urban Streets photography installation at the Smitsonian. So we’ll have to take a rain check on the team lunch.”

You sigh in relief at his saving you from a very awkward lunch, a lunch you’re not sure you have made it through the whole thing without crying. However, you tense up again when you feel Jack bury his face further into the fabric of your tee shirt, making no effort to move from you and towards his dad, even with the new information.

“Can I come with you and Uncle Derek?” Jack asks loud enough that Hotch, who’s standing next to you, hears his son despite the fact that Jack’s face is pressed tightly to your back.

You pry Jack's arms from your waist, turn around and squat done so you’re eye level with him. “Jack attack, you have to go with your dad today, but we can do something together next weeked if your dad and I aren’t on a case.”

“But I don’t wan’ ta go,” Jack whines dramatically, and you can’t hold back the smile at his cute little pout. “I don’t like her.”

“Sweetie, you just met her,” you whisper, you know Aaron is listening, but you lower your voice so Beth doesn’t start listening in too. Grabbing Jack’s hands you stare into his eyes, “you can’t judge someone that you’ve only talked to once. Your dad obviously really likes her, please give her a chance.”

“Not Judging, profiling,” Derek covers a laugh by clearing his throat, informing you that he’s listening in as well. “She’s not you, don’ wan’ like her.”

“Can you at least try? For me,” he glares at you and you know you’ve won. It’s obviously a low blow to use his love for you against him, but if Hotch is happy again you don’t want to be the reason Jack doesn’t get along with Beth.

In the weeks since the incident at the triathlon, Hotch has pulled away from you. He’s no longer talking to you about anything besides the cases, nor is he inviting you over to spend time with Jack. Instead you're spending all of your free time with Derek drinking beers, whining to him, and taking your frustration out by demoing the house he’s currently working on.

Little fragments of your heart start to break off when Beth is everywhere you look. She’s in a frame on Hotch’s desk, her and Jack are his lock screen, she picks Hotch up for lunch when you guys have paperwork days, and she’s at every gathering the team has. It’s starting to become too much, losing both of your boys, and having it rubbed in your face. Maybe it’s time for you to move on?

“Are you really thinking about transferring back home?” Derek asks, finally getting you alone during a dinner at Rossi’s. You had purposefully made yourself late so he couldn’t get you alone before dinner, knowing you’d get questioned and lectured since he saw the transfer request on your desktop as you two were leaving for the day.

“Yes. No. I don’t know,” you sigh, taking a large sip of the expensive wine Rossi cracked open, using the time to mull over your options. “I’m really considering it right now.”

“So there’s nothing any of us can do or say to make you stay here in DC?” his watchful eyes on you, profiling you to see how serious you’re being. His brows furrow and it’s obvious that he can tell that you aren’t lying, you really want to leave.

“You’re leaving?” a little voice shouts from the doorway, his voice cracking. “You can’t leave! You can’t leave me!”

“Shit,” you mutter, whipping around from where you're leaning on the island to see the blonde take off out of the kitchen and towards the bedrooms. You follow after him without a second thought, “Jack! Jack, wait!”

“What’s going on?” Hotch steps in front of you, face worried as he looks from you to his son, who’s slipping into the bedroom he uses anytime he crashes while the team is having dinner.

“He overheard a conversation I was having with Derek, and he didn’t like what he heard,” you sigh as you watch the door click shut, there’s no doubt in your mind that the lock is falling into place and all you can do is watch from afar. “Please just let me handle this, let me talk to him.”

“Fine,” he lets out a long sigh, glancing at the shut door one last time before stepping out of your way. “I’ll give you twenty, if he’s not out of the room by then I’m going in.”

Ignoring his comment, you walk around him and go to the room, immediately trying the handle and finding it locked like you expected. You thump your forehead against the door in defeat, you’re heart breaking at the quiet sobs coming from inside the room. “Jack attack, please let me in,” your voice cracks at the thought of making him cry, you can feel the eyes from the team and their partners on the back of your head, all of them coming to see what your shouting had been about.

“Fine,” Jack’s broken little voice answers, he opens the door a crack before flopping back onto the king bed. You take a deep breath walking into the bedroom, closing and locking the door behind you.

You flop down next to Jack, both of you staring quietly at the ceiling for a minute- you counted- before you finally say something. “Please talk to me.”

“I don’t know what to say,” he grumbles, turning onto his side and away from you. Your heart shatters, he’s icing you out, for the first time ever he’s not seeking comfort in your arms.

“Jack please-” your cut off when he jumps out of the bed and away from you the moment you lay your hand on his shoulder.

“No! You want to leave me,” his brows furrow and he looks just like his dad. But your cute observation is quickly swept to the back of your mind when you notice a fresh set of tears shining in his eyes.

“Sweetheart, no. I don’t want to leave you,” you whisper, hands reaching out to grab his little ones, and you’re beyond thankful that he doesn’t pull away this time.

“Why would you transfer?” Jack looks so confused, you can practically hear the gears turning in his head as he tries to figure out the answer for himself.

“Stupid grown up reasons,” you sigh, a tear slipping down your face.

“‘M so sick of hearing that,” he sighs, his voice and posture changing to mimic his father. “I’ll tell you when you’re older, you’re too young to understand, you’re just a kid. Just tell me the truth!”

“You really want to know the truth?” you know his last statement wasn’t directed specifically at you, but adults in general. Jack nods, you sigh before continuing, “I fell in love, and that person doesn’t love me back, not like I love ‘im at least. And I see him every day, it hurts so much. My heart breaks whenever I see him so happy with someone else, and I just don’t think I can do it anymore. The last thing that I want is to leave you Jack attack, but I can’t just sit there and see him everyday.”

“He works for the FBI?” Jack deduces, not really the reaction you expected.

“Well aren’t you a little profiler?” you sniffle, wiping away tears you hadn’t realized you spilled.

“Daddy!” Jack rips the door open and takes off down the hall. Confused, you follow him, is he smarter than you think and he’s figured out who you were talking about? “Daddy, you need to fire him!”

“Fire who?” your eyes widen in shock and you freeze up, you already know what Jack is about to out your feelings, and in front of everyone.

“The guy who broke her heart,” you miss Jack pointing at you, too busy making a face at Derek who is starting to cackle. “Please fire him, don’t let her transfer!”

“You’re going to transfer?” Aaron looks up at you and you don’t know where to look, both him and Jack are giving you matching puppy dog eyes. The rest of the team is staring at you in confusion, minus Derek who is watching on in amusement, and Beth is watching your movements closely.

“I started the paperwork this morning,” you awkwardly clear your throat, Jack throws his arms around your legs squeezing tightly.

“When were you going to tell me?” vulnerability slips through for a split second, before his face and eyes harden.

“When I gave you the paperwork?” it comes out as more of a question than a statement.

“I can’t lose another mom!” Jack cries into your thigh and your heart stops, does he really see you that way?

Everyone starts to fade away as Jack climbs up your legs, realizing what he’s trying to do, so you scoop him up. Jack immediately buries his face in the crook of your neck, and you can feel tears falling from his eyes onto your collarbone, as well as his body shaking from the force of his sobs. You try to soothe him but all that accomplishes is causing your own tears to spill onto the top of Jack’s head. You can’t leave now, you can never leave Jack. You walk back to the bedroom without another word, assuming that Hotch will be hot on your heels since the three of you obviously have some things to discuss.

But Hotch isn’t behind you, he’s walking to the backyard with Beth. So you shut the door behind you and try to set Jack down. But all he does is cling tighter and cry harder, so you plop yourself on the bed, leaning against the headboard. Jack quickly resituates so he’s curled up on your lap, and you just let him sit there and cry. Hotch enters the room- without knocking- around twenty minutes later, Jack’s tears have dried, but he’s still clinging to you like his life depends on it.

“Jack,” Hotch sits on the edge of the bed, reaching out and placing his hand on his son’s back. “What did you mean out there when you said you couldn’t lose another mom?”

“I already lost mommy,” the boy sniffles, removing his head from the crook of your neck to turn and look at his father. “And I can’t lose my new mom too.”

“Why do you see me as your new mom?” you ask lightly, and know instantly that you’ve phrased the question wrong because he tenses. “I’m not saying your feelings are wrong, sweetheart, I just want to know how you started thinking of me that way.”

“We were doing stuff in class for mothers day this week,” you watch Hotch tense up now, you know how much he tries to avoid mothers day for Jack’s sake. “The class was saying everything their mom’s do for them, and you do that stuff for me. You read to me over the phone when I can’t sleep, even if you and daddy are in a different state. You take me shopping for clothes and toys, and you always get me a pretzel when we go to the mall. You make me and Daddy breakfast and dinner when you guys aren’t working a case, and you help me with my homework when daddy doesn’t know what to do. You come to all of my soccer games and buy me ice cream after to celebrate if we won or to cheer me up if we lost. You do everything a mom does, and I love you.”

“I love you too,” you give him a big smooch on his forehead as you start to sob now, you had no idea those little things you did for him meant so much.

“Did I do something wrong?” Jack panics when he realizes you’re crying.

“No, Jackers, I think those are happy tears,” Hotch soothes him, and you nod vigorously in agreement.

Jack reaches out to grab his dad’s hand, pulling him up to sit next to you against the headboard. Once Hotch is situated, Jack burrows himself between the two of you, your hand in one of his and Hotch’s in the other. “I wish you loved Daddy, then we could be a family.” Before either of you can respond, Jack is out like a light, his crying must have really tired him out.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, you still haven’t looked at Hotch once since he walked in the room, despite the fact that he’s been staring at you the entire time.

“For what?” he asks genuinely, his free hand reaching to grab yours. “You’re like a mother to him, it’s not that surprising, you’ve clung to each other from the first moment you met. I still remember calling you one night when Haley was out of town with Jess, and Jack wouldn’t stop crying. I knew he would stop crying when he heard your voice, and he did, he always does.”

“I don’t want to get in the way of you and Beth,” you can’t control the way your voice cracks at the mention of their relationship. “Not when you’re finally happy.”

“There is no me and Beth, not anymore,” he squeezes your hand tighter, and you can't help but look at him. “We broke up, actually she broke up with me. She realized that I’m in love with you and that I was dating her so I could ignore my feelings for my subordinate, my best friend. But (Y/N), I do love you, Jack loves you, we are a weird unconventional family.”

“I love you too Aaron,” one last tear trickles down your cheek. “I couldn’t stand seeing you with Beth anymore, that’s why I wanted to transfer. But I couldn’t actually go through it, I couldn't bring myself to leave you, and I could never leave Jack.”

“You are a great mother to him, even without realizing it,” you both glance down at Jack.

“What’s next?” you ask bashfully. Hotch leans forward, his lips landing perfectly on yours, mindful not to squish the sleeping child between you.

“A long and painful conversation with Strauss,” you giggle at his joke, leaning in to kiss him again.

#fictober #day 2 #fictober22 #hotch x bau!reader #aaron hotcher x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner imagine #hotch fanfiction #hotch x y/n #hotch imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine

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romanoffsbish · 1 year

Text

Big Bad Wolf…

Dark!Natasha Romanoff x InnocentFem!R

Prompt: “Send me a photo, and I’ll write a fic about it 🤪” (sent by @mostlymarvelsstuff )

Warnings: Infatuation—Stalking, Alcohol/Drugging, Kidnapping.

Smut: Non-Con, R is a virgin, Mommy (N), Detka/Kotenok (R), Knife Play, Oral/Fingering (R), Strap—Cock warming, Degradation.

18+ | Minors DNI !!

Natasha's been watching you for awhile now. Prettiest little thing she'd ever seen really, the innocence you radiated was such a draw in. Every time she heard you giggling she just knew you'd be her perfect little baby, you were naturally sweet, and in turn easily corruptible.

Which is why she was irate whenever she saw you enter the bar she owned in your skimpy little outfits. Trading in your long, floral dresses for these overtly revealing outfits. That crowd you found yourself with was a group of rotten apples. Ruining you before she ever had her chance to, and she wasn't having it; nope.

You didn't know it yet, but you needed her.

——

The moment Natasha watched you collecting your belongings she knew it was time to set her plan in motion. You'd been sipping on the long island iced tea that she mixed especially for you for an hour now, and it was infuriating how slow you were at polishing off the drink.

Natasha thanked the heavens that you were still her good girl deep down, because while your friends selfishly stuck around you took off so you could sleep properly for your classes.

"I'm heading out Bucky, close up the bar for me tonight," she tossed the burly man the keys, never once sparing the man a glance as she was too focused on following you out the doors.

The bar wasn't more than a block away from your dormitory, so just like always you began to make the trek home with your keys between your fingers, with pepper spray on the chain. That didn't matter much though when you began to stagger so much to the right you were practically walking towards potential traffic.

"Woah there honey, are you okay?" A familiar looking redhead caught you just as you were about to fall into the street, "'m okay," you did your best to smile at her, but in your state you couldn't tell that only half of your face moved, it'd honestly looked like you were having a stroke, but to placate you—her clueless, and far too trusting sweet girl, she softly smiled back.

"It looks like you had too much to drink kotenok," she gently swept the mess of hair from your face, then gently guided your head into her chest while her other arm slid under your legs so she could hold you bridal style.

Natasha's heart beat wildly at the thought of one day marrying you, it was a reality she was only moments away from reaching now that she finally broke you away from your miserable life so she could offer you the whole world.

—

The following morning came with eery silence, but it was soon filled by the clanging of metal as you pointlessly pulled on your restraints, your muscles aching caused you to cry out. You're unsure how long you'd been made to stand here in you unconscious state, but it was likely long with how easily the pain brought you to tears. Light sobs left you, pulling the pleased attention of your kidnapper to you.

"Now, now darling—don't hurt my feelings," Natasha called out from the shadowed corner she'd been patiently sat in. It'd taken you an entire eight hours to find your way out of the drug induced darkness you were plunged into.

"W-who are you?"

"Natasha," she answered sparingly, it wasn't much, but it was all she was willing to offer.

"W-why did you lock me up?" you sounded so small, entirely helpless, and that filled Natasha with an almost carnal need to brutally destroy you, "I thought you were there to save me..."

Natasha was honestly impressed, you were the only one of her captives to ever remember the twisted moment of fate. Where she ensnared you into her intricate web of diluted dreams, and brought you to her soundproof basement.

"Please, I—," you nervously went to ask more in wake of her silence, but she was now stood before you with her slender finger pressed to your trembling lips, "No more questions."

Once she could see the fight simmering in your eyes she lowered her finger, then much to your further discomfort she nuzzled her nose into yours, "I did save you baby, the world is a scary place, you're just too precious to be made to face it alone," she sloppily pushed her lips into yours for a kiss you didn't want to reciprocate.

It was only when she ran the tip of her blade down your body that she was able to control the moment, digging into the material of your top until you felt it digging into your skin. Natasha took advantage of your gasping, her tongue slid over yours with an eagerness to rival that of a toddler set free in a candy store.

Unfortunately for you, it seemed that the way that her blade continued to tear your clothing apart, while her tongue unashamedly explored your mouth turned you on in a desperate way. Never in your life had you been touched by another, you'd been saving yourself for that special someone, but it seems out of reach now.

And oddly enough, you were fine with that.

Not only did some minuet part of you being driven by intense bouts of lust want her to continue marking and harshly groping you the way she was, but your body actually needed it. Natasha smirked against your cheek, you were panting affectedly, and your hips were moving in the same manner as they bucked into hers.

"Oh my, see what I mean baby?" she stared at you in awe, pupils blown wide and wearing a smirk that could only translate into trouble, "I've just taken you hostage, and look, your slutty pussy is begging for me to fill it up."

To emphasize her words she lifted your skirt, and used her knife to haphazardly cut the thin material from your body. A pang of arousal shot straight through your body when you watched as the woman held your panties up to her face, the sparse light in the room proving just how wet you'd become in only seconds, and you felt yourself dripping freely as you watched Natasha lick your essence off them.

"Fuck kotenok, you're too delicious for your own good, I'm going to devour you whole."

Seeing the way she looked at you, as if you were her defenseless prey—you believed her wholly, because the truth was clear as day, you were defenseless against her in every possible sense.

"Tell me kotenok," she whispered hotly against your tense jaw as she deposited teasing nibbles to the skin, her hand also teased your folds, and "What do you want?"

"I-I," you looked down in clear shame, your hands balled up into tight fists, the skin now taut around your knuckles, and you squeezed so tightly that your joints popped, and at the sight of you doing so it filled the redhead with uncontainable glee. She'd always suspected, but more so hoped, that you'd be pure, and with how desperately your clit twitched at the simplest stroke she knew you were a virgin.

"Shh, it's okay detka," her lips lightly suctioned over your pulse point, causing you to moan in a mix of shock and pleasure, your hips wildly bucked into her hand, and she smirked against your skin, "Mommy will take good care of you."

Natasha dropped to her knees, "Oh fuck, you smell divine baby, can't wait to drink your sweet nectar straight from the source," she teasingly licked a strip up your slit, groaning in sync with you as pleasure overran you, and your taste temporarily melted her cognition.

A whimper left your lips a second later as your knees buckled at the sensation of the redhead between your thighs, and in a show of mercy she lifted your leg over her, opening you up even more for her enjoyment, and saving you from permanent damage to your shoulders.

Natasha was relentless with her ministrations, this wasn't a tender first time, but instead a mission for her to bring you to ecstasy for the first time in your life, to show you that you'll never need anyone besides her to get you here. Her expert tongue swirled around your entrance a few times before it dove into you.

"Fuck, oh my gosh, wh-what...," your hazy mind tried to make sense of just how good you were feeling, but as she harshly sucked your clit between her lips while entering you with one finger there was nothing more to understand.

Inexperienced as you were, you could tell that your pussy gripping onto her finger was a sign that she nearly had you tipping over the edge of a bliss you were desperate to reach. Sloppily as ever your hips flailed as she now thrusted three fingers into your greedy cunt, "You're such a slut Y/N, this pussy has yet to be touched but still, look at the way you're moving with me."

"Mommy, it feels so good," you practically shouted, causing her to chuckle against you, which only added to your pleasure, making you even more desperate as you bucked down.

"You were born to wrap around my fingers," she groans against your clit as your walls all of a suddenly clung to her, in a matter of mere seconds your orgasm overtook your body, and you screamed out a slurry of profanities as your back arched off the wall and your body shook.

Natasha slowly stood up, her fingers still deep inside of you as her other hand sought to free you as her lips softly pressed over the entirety of your glistening face as you came down.

With a gentle care she removed herself from within you, carrying you over to the bed she settled you down, then she finally stripped herself of her clothing. Eyes of a green flashed with a devious glint when the strap fell loose, she stroked it as if it were real as her eyes took in your slightly snoring form. With expected ease she slipped right on into you, your slick now coating her thighs as she bottomed out.

Natasha wanted nothing more than to rail you into the mattress, but she wanted you awake for such an experience, so she'll settle for a good old fashioned cock warming until later.

In your exhausted state you leaned into her comforting embrace, your sweet nature leading you to go against the very grain of rationality. All the alarm bells in your mind had been temporarily snoozed. Natasha knew it would take time to break you in fully, in the morning she anticipates you cowering away, so she held you even tighter to her chest, and watched as you slept peacefully. Not a single line of worry present on your face, as if you want to be here.

Deep down she knew you did... Girls like you need someone telling you how to live, to keep you safe, or else you will eventually wind up in the bed of some deviant. Natasha could never have lived with herself if you had met such a fate, but fortunately she saved you just in time.

"Goodnight kotenok," she placed a kiss to your hairline, then settled into the mattress with a dopey smile as she imagined the future; she was more than excited for the journey ahead.

——

1,909 Words

❤️ Kaitlyn 💋

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guccifrog · 3 months

Text

THINK FAST P3

chris sturniolo × f!reader

summary: where a silly dare leads to a lot of unexpected events

this isn't proof read so just ignore if you find anything confusing :p

part1 part2

𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴: Florida -Dominic fike 0:09 ━●────────── 3:47 ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ

y/n's pov ☆

the next day i was wishing that i wouldn't wake up but sadly, the alarm clock was there to remind me that I have to. I groaned and rolled over, burying my face into my pillow.I had a terrible headache, probably from all the alcohol we had yesterday.I didn't want to go to school. What if Sturniolo remebered me and decided to confront me infront of the whole school? I shivered at the thought.

"rise and shine! We don't want to be late for school!," Jane's loud voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I groaned and rolled over, forcing myself to open my eyes. The bright light of the morning sun streamed through the window, making my headache worse.

"get up!!" Jane said, shaking me awake. I groaned and rububed my eyes, feeling pain in my back probably from when i jumped yesterday "I don't know if I can go today," I confessed.

"Oh, come on! You're being such a baby. You're fine. You have to go. It's not like he knows who you are," Jane reassured me, giving me a little push. I sighed and slowly got out of bed. My head was still pounding, and my body felt heavy. I didn't know if I could make it through the day.

We got dressed and had breakfast, but I barely ate anything. I felt like I was moving in slow motion. I really didn't want to go to school. The thought of seeing Chris again made me want to throw up. I tried to push him out of my mind, but it was impossible.

As we walked to school together, Jane kept talking about random stuff, but I wasn't really listening. I just wanted to get through the day. When we finally got to school, I headed straight for my locker, hoping to get to class as quickly as possible.

"woah, what's with the drug dealer outfit?" someone snickered from behind me. I turned around to see Dylan and Amber, standing there with wide grins on their faces. "shut up" I muttered" i have to hide as much as possible today. Don't draw any attention to me. And don't you dare mention yesterday to anyone," I warned them. They both nodded, trying to look serious but failling miserably.

"You're not fooling anyone, you know. You look like you just rolled out of bed," Dylan teased, laughing. I just gave him a dirty look.

I closed my locker and turned back to them, forcing a small smile. "Oh, yeah? at least i'm not dressed like a grandpa," I shot back, gesturing to Dylan's outfit. He was wearing a wrinkled ugly sweater, and khaki pants. "Or like a homeless man," I added, glancing at Amber's baggy sweatshirt and old jeans. They both laughed, and I felt a little better.We walked down the hall together. But I couldn't help but feel like everyone was staring at me, and judging me.

During first period, I tried to focus on my work, but it was hard. My headache wouldn't go away, and every time I closed my eyes, I could see Sturniolo's face.Luckily he wasn't in any of my classes, but I still felt like everyone knew what happened.Hopefully he didn't tell anyone or i'll just have to move to another country if he did, maybe even change my name and get a new haircut. I wish I could just disappear.

the bell rang, signaling lunchtime. I hurried to my locker, hoping to make it to the cafeteria before anyone else. But as I reached for my backpack, I felt a sharp pain in my back. I winced as i took off my backpak and put it inside my locker,before locking it and walking to the cafeteria.

When I got there, Jane, Dylan and Jake were already waiting for me at our usual table. Jane smiled brightly when she saw me, but something about it seemed forced. "How was chemistry?" she asked,I shrugged,"like shit," and sat down next to her. "That bad, huh?"I nodded, leaning my head against the table. "my back hurts so bad…"

"go see the school nurse dumbass" Dylan said. I looked at him like he was stupid."What? you look like you're a sneeze away from dying" he shrugged.

"Yeah, whatever" I muttered, taking a sip of my soda. The cold liquid felt good against my throat.

"is that Sturniolo?," Jake asked suddenly. I glanced up in panic "where?!" I demanded, looking around. But it was too late. There he was, standing at the entrance of the cafeteria, watching us with an amused expression. My heart raced, and I felt like I couldn't breathe. "Shit," I whispered, ducking down in my seat.

Jane looked at me with wide eyes, her mouth forming a little "o" shape. "Oh my God," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "What do we do?"

"is he still there?" I asked, barely able to choke out the words. Jane nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on him. "oh, nevermind he's walking to his group now," she said, relaxing a little. I exhaled slowly, feeling the tension drain from my body.

I got up from under the table and sat down next to Jane, trying to play it cool. "So, uh, what were we talking about ?" I asked, forcing a smile but then wincing as my back twinged again

"fuck,"Dylan and Jake glanced at each other, then back at me, looking concerned. "You really need to go to the nurse's office"Dylan said.

I waved him off, still feeling a little shaky. "I'm fine, really. Just a little sore, that's all."

"if you say so," Dylan said, but he didn't sound convinced. "Hey, look at that," Jake said, pointing to the other end of the cafeteria. "isn't that the girl…what was her name….Cassie!" he shouted "shut up!,"I whispered yelled making him roll his eyes.

"wait why is she sitting with the populars?" Jane asked, confused. I glanced over, frowning. Cassie was sitting at the table with Sturniolo and a few of his other friends. I'd never seen her with them before.But again i never really paid much attention to them.

"Maybe she's just being friendly," Jake shrugged, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Or maybe she's trying to get on their good side." Jane nodded in agreement, "I don't think so, Cassie and I had been friends for a while, and I didn't think she would just suddenly decide to hang out with those assholes" Dylan said, nodding at the group across the cafeteria.

I glanced over at Sturniolo, trying to ignore the knot in my stomach. He was laughing with Cassie, his lips curled into a smug smile. Something about the way he looked at her made my skin crawl.

"Maybe they're just being nice to her."I suggested, not really believing my own words, Dylan snorted, "Yeah, right. Those assholes don't know nice."

the rest of the lunch break went by without any further interaction between Sturniolo and us.lunch passed by quickly, and soon it was time to head back to class. we made our way back to our lockers, and i opened mine to get my backpack, but pain shot through my back again. i let out a small whimper, and dylan turned to look at me.

"are you sure you're okay?," he asked, concern written all over his face. "i'll drive you home if you want," i shook my head, not wanting to draw any more attention to myself. "i'll be fine, really. just need to take it easy for the rest of the day."i said grabbing my bag,but Dylan snatched it out of my hand "i'll take this," he said, tossing it over his shoulder. "come on, let's get you to class." he took my arm and began leading me down the hall. I winced, the pain in my back flaring up again.

"we have biology now, right?" I asked Jane as Dylan led me down the hall. Jane nodded, her expression concerned. "Yeah, in room 102." Dylan and Jane exchanged a look, and I could tell they were both worried about me. "I'm fine," I insisted, trying to keep up with Dylan's long strides. "Really, it's just a little muscle spasm or something."

We reached the classroom Dylan placed my bag down before leaving. The pain in my back was still intense but i was managing it. Me and Jane sat down at the back of the class. I was feeling dizzy and lightheaded. I tried to focus on what the teacher was saying but it was hard.

I decided to take my airpods out and listen to some music to help distract myself. I was halfway through my favorite song when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see a guy that i never spoke too before, he looked awfully familiar though. "Is this yours? i found it on the ground," he asked, holding out my phone." oh thanks, i must have dropped it." I said taking my phone back.

He smiled at me and i noticed how he had these dimples when he did. "No problem, but you should, be careful, you don't want to lose that. It's expensive " he said with a small smile. I smiled back. "Thanks for telling me, and yeah, you're right. I'll be more careful from now on."

"i"m Nick by the way," he said extending his hand,"I'm y/n" I said shaking it. He smiled at me again before I turned back. I saw Jane trying to get my attention from the corner of my eye, she kept shrugging her shoulders and looking at me weirdly, 'check your phone' she mouthed. I glanced down at my phone, realizing that she had sent me like a million texts.

Jane ⭐

Jane⭐

girl

WHAT ARE YOU DOING

are you serious

you

WDYM

Jane⭐

DO YOU NOT KNOW WHO THAT IS?????

you

umm yeah I know???

he said his name is nick

Jane⭐

i'm literally fighting the urge to get up and slap you rn

DOESN'T HE LOOK FAMILIAR TO YOU????

THINK Y/N THINKK

you

i know he's familiar but IDK

wait

O H

FUCK

JANE OMFG

I look up from my phone in panic, my heart racing. Oh my God, of course, he looks familiar.He's Chris's brother. The Chris Sturniolo. Chris, who i'm trying to avoid at all costs.

I quickly gathered my stuff,glancing at nick behind me, who was giving me a confused look.I needed to get out of here. Now. I stand up,and make my way to the front of the class. "Hey, Mr. Johnson, , I don't feel so well, and I need to go home. Could I please have a pass for the nurse?" I ask, my voice shaky. Mr. Johnson frowns at me, but nods in understanding "Head to the nurse's office and get yourself checked out. But don't you dare think of skipping class," he says with a warning glance.

I nod and quickly make my way out of the classroom. As I hurry down the hall, the pain in my back throbbing with each step, I begin to panic.I duck into a nearby bathroom stall, closing the door behind me. I lean against the cool tile wall, trying to catch my breath. My thoughts race as I consider my options. Maybe I can just call Dylan to pick me up, but he's probably busy right now. And I can't walk home.That leaves me with no other choice than going to the nurse's office.

I splash water on my face, trying to calm down. When I'm finally composed enough, I unlock the stall and exit the bathroom. As I approach the nurse's office, the pain was getting worse. I knock on the door and a woman with black hair pokes her head out. "Yes dear, what can I do for you today?"

"umm… hi, I'm in Mr. Johnson's class and I'm not feeling well. I was hoping I could see the nurse?" I ask, trying to sound calm despite the pain. She raises an eyebrow, glancing at me over her glasses.

"Of course, dear. Please come in," she says, opening the door wider. I take a step inside and immediately regret my decision. Standing there, is none other than Chris.It's like the universe is playing a cruel joke on me. He raises his eyebrows in surprise as i just stood there contemplating if i should just turn back and leave.

"alright dear, you should be fine now. Here's some medicine for your pain, and I'll give you a pass to head back to class. But if you don't feel better soon, you should probably see your family doctor, okay?" the nurse says, handing him a small paper cup with some pills in it. he takes the pills and nods, not even bothering to look at me as he stands up and walks out of the office.

I take a deep breath, trying to compose myself. The pain in my back was making it difficult to even stand up straight. I'm not sure what to do now.

"here, you can sit down here,"the nurse says, gesturing to a small chair beside her desk. I slowly lower myself into the chair, wincing in pain as my back protests the movement.

The nurse ended up letting me stay for the rest of the day. I didn't have the energy to go back to class, and I didn't want to risk running into Chris again. She gave me a cup of water and a blanket to keep me warm while I waited for the bell to ring. As I sat there, I couldn't help but think about how this whole situation was just…weird.

when the bell finally rang, signaling the end of the school day, I thanked the nurse and gathered my things. As I slowly made my way out of the office,I took out my phone to text the group chat with Jane and Dylan, asking him to pick me up. As I rounded a corner, I caught sight of Jane walking down the hall, I hurried over to her, not wanting to be alone any longer.

.･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.･｡ﾟ

taglist ☆

@lvr-111 @mattestrella @sleepysturnss @athaliahxoxo @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @strniololoverr @fuckshitslover @1horrormoviewhore1 @b2cute @breeloveschris

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beefboyandbabygirl · 11 months

Text

Judas in the Window (18+)

pairing: priest(apprentice)!chan x fem!collegestudent!reader

genre: ANGST ANGST and smut (mdni), childhood best friends to..?

description: you return home from college, after not seeing your old town for three years. your childhood best friend has been waiting for you.

warnings: no. genuinely so sad. religious guilt, blasphemy ig, slutshaming, degradation (f. receiving), praise (f. receiving), desperation, fingering (f. receiving), humiliation, unprotected sex (do not do this shit), brief breeding kink, mentions of past unhappiness, reader has beef with her old self fr, alcohol consumption, pet names (darling, baby, some more i dont recall), LOTS of biblical references, i warned you this is incredibly sad and wether it's a good ending is certainly debatable, reader has both her parents (if u dont, same, just imagine the dad as adam sandler and the mom as gwendoline christie), the dad is the best character x

quotes from my proofreader: "i have a new pair of panties at the ready", "im horny and angry, some say hangry", "AAAAAA"

wordcount: 8.3k

a/n: it is 2:30 am. my proofreader is asleep and i might go crazy if i dont post this now, so if there are any mistakes in the last part i am sorry, ill fix it later lmao

Your room hasn’t changed a bit.

You’re not sure why the sight knocks the wind out of you. You suppose you’d thought your parents might do something with it - maybe give your dad a “man cave” or whatever other pained, heteronormative solution to hating each other. But it’s the same exact thing. Your bed, horrible orange wood, pink princess sheets, and your desk right beside you where you stand in the doorway, all cluttered with glitter pens and marker sets and a small mirror.

“Isn’t this great, honey?” your mom squeals, old hands squeezing your shoulders. It takes you a second to reply. You’re not even sure you want to step inside the room. “Yeah, yeah, it’s great, mom.”

“I’m getting dinner ready, you just settle yourself in!” she says, practically vibrating at your presence. She’s so happy, it jabs at your stomach with guilt, that you can’t even bring yourself to enter. You watch her disappear down the stairs, making a funny face when she catches your eye. You half-smile tiredly. Then you’re looking at it again.

It’s like a totally closed off time capsule. Your fingers play with the doorframe, looking at the stains in the carpet, that you vividly remember creating as a clumsy child. You see the stickers on your closet-door, and the faint outline of the stickers you’d taken down. You see toys, whose names you remember, you see terrible drawings over your bed, hung with glitter tape, and you see yourself. The you that you were certain you’d stuck in the dirt and buried. The one you’d worked over-over-overtime to never see again. She was somehow alive and well in this room. A part of you roamed with a horde of anxiety, birthed by the thought that once you entered, you and her would fuse together, and all the flaws you’d had would be reignited, and you would be miserable again.

“You not going in, champ?” you jump at your father’s voice behind you. You turn to see him exiting your parents’ bedroom, taking heavy, loggy steps towards the staircase. You shake your head: “No, I am, it’s just..” you pause and turn back to the room, letting out a heavy sigh. “It’s weird.”

Your father pauses. He has his reading glasses pushed all the way down to the tip of his nose, so he leans his head back and squints to study you. “Well- well- well, why don’t you just try out for a bit, champ, and if you don’t like it, Uh, well, we’ll situate you on the couch. How’s- how’s that sound?”

You smile softly. “Sure.”

“Alright, champ,” he pats your back and finally starts his descent down the stairs.

You nod to yourself and exhale deeply, face now turned back to the super menacing not-at-all-menacing room before you. Your fears are deeply irrational. You wouldn’t just revert back to your old self. Once you’re half believing it, you finally break the barrier, and take a step inside.

It’s not so bad after all. Everything is very still. Dust kicked up from your presence slows down around you. You’re standing under the overhead lamp, and it’s not that bad. Not so bad. You drop your duffel bag and sit down on your bed.

You feel a lot bigger, sitting with bent knees in the plush duvet. You recognize that you can’t be that much bigger than when you last sat here, 18 years old, heading off to college in the big city. And this was the kind of town where neighbors a dozen houses over came to see you off, waving at you with big smiles on their faces, an american flag hoisted up to the blue sky. You remember the grins stretched on their faces, and how you’d been panicked to start the ignition on the car. They’d looked like they were made of wax.

Movement flashes in your peripheral. You turn your head, brushing hair out of the way. The movement is coming from the crack in the curtains. Like Moses parting the red sea, your fingers delicately brush the flimsy fabrics away. You know exactly what - who - you’re about to see. Your heart presses, red and wet, into your throat.

Chan.

He’s there in the window directly across from yours. You almost don’t recognize him at first. He’s shirtless, pacing around and picking things off the floor, and, God, he’d gotten so big. His arms are so shapely and firm and his stomach is toned and when he turns his back to you, you see how it ripples with muscle, and your mouth is drooping open in shock.

This is Chan, you try to remember (memories flit of him in his dad’s baseball caps, him on the playground, or on the sandy paths that fade out from the roads on the outskirts of town), but grounding yourself in the memories of him as a kid only serves to hurt you. No, you decide, eyeing his naked torso through the glass, better remember him like this. Like an adult who has faults and wrongs, not an innocent child that you abandon in your haste to grow up.

He’s looking at you. Suddenly, he’s fucking looking at you. For a moment it seems like he’s confused, maybe fighting with the danger of recognizing you as a real, actual person in the window. Then his eyes are softened and he’s hunched over the paneled window, face split in half as he stares back at you. He used to fit so easily in the frame of that window - now you watch his shoulders press against the framework, unable to squeeze in.

Your cheeks are burning when you squeeze your eyes shut and smile apologetically. Your childhood best friend who you hadn’t seen in three years had just caught you staring at his fucking abs through his window. You fear he’ll take offense, especially considering how you’d left things off with him, but when you open your eyes, he’s grinning softly and shaking his head.

He walks away from the small window, and you take this as your cue to leave as well. You fall back on the bed and groan pathetically, body jittery with embarrassment.

“Y/n, sweetheart! Dinner now!” your mom caws from the floor beneath you and you feel 16 again. This was what you didn’t want. All the power you had accumulated was slipping through your fingers by the minute.

It’s just five days, you remind yourself. Just five, measly days.

“Coming, mom!” _____________________________

The fucking bell tower is going. Over and over again and it shouldn’t be this loud, you’re not that close to the church, but it is.

You lie flat on your back in the smoldering dark, completely still. It’s so loud it feels like it’s coming from inside your head. Like the curved, rusted sides of it are bashing against your skull. You don’t understand how anyone could sleep through this. You don’t understand how Chan could stay here all these years. Maybe that’s just because you couldn’t see yourself here.

You don’t want to think about Chan anymore, but for whatever reason - you can’t decide if it was seeing him (so manly) so suddenly, or if it’s the ever-ringing bell in the distance, like a marker of the apocalypse - he won’t leave your mind tonight. Part of you understood that what had happened with you and Chan was natural, and not particularly anyone’s fault. So why did you still carry the heavy burden of guilt? Guilt that pinched at your nerve endings like the delicate tunes in a children’s music box.

You and Chan had met as children in church. It didn’t take long for you to be best friends. You’d sit next to each other on the neatly lined benches during sermon, then you’d tumble in the grass outside, and then you’d go to his house and play until dinner, after which you’d see each other again, talking from window to window. You spent very nearly every moment with him.

Then you grew apart.

It was a slow death. Seeing each other became a sort of horrific reminder that it was ending, no longer bound by church or friendship, but a mutual understanding. There’d be a sort of solemn silence whenever you locked eyes. Is this the last time? You’d wonder, and the longer it went on, the more you started to wish that it was.

And then it was.

It was your fault. You were 13 and suddenly you were wearing makeup and your dresses were getting shorter, and you wished you were much older than you were. You started forgetting the principles they’d taught you in church. Or maybe you’d never really learnt it, only tolerated it for Chan. But years passed and by the time you were sixteen, you were being kissed and groped at parties and you were having sex in cars and smearing your lipstick on the rims of shot glasses.

And Chan was.. Well, Chan. Chan was a skinny, virgin christian. And you liked him, but suddenly there wasn’t much to talk about. From one day to the next, all discussable topics evaporated in your hand, and talking to Chan became a stumbling, bumbling mess.

After that you were just…. Gone. 18 years old disappearing down the dirt roads in the 2009 Toyota Tacoma, that you’d gotten for your sweet sixteen. Chan was standing on the roadside that day, but he wasn’t sure you saw him. Your wheels kicked up dust and that was all you left behind. A cloud of sand for him to grab at, looking lost in between your tire tracks. At that moment it felt like those last years were two seconds. You just slipped right out of his hands.

Lying in bed and your heart is so heavy. Maybe it isn’t Chan, you conclude. Maybe it’s what he represented. The face of the church; the face of goodness, of purity; the face of the life you deselected.

The cry of the bell tower becomes a song in the night. You fall asleep in the devil’s hour. _____________________________

The following day you’re reexploring. The air is dry and the sun beating down on your shoulders. You’re walking through the suburbs and then later the small town square made up of mostly parking lots. You feel peregrine, but trudging through on the pavement, it becomes clear you’re the only one who feels this way.

Every citizen, every single one of them - in polos, in flower-print dresses, in sandals, in sunglasses - stops you to welcome you back home. They’re shaking your shoulders and they recognize you and can tell you your name and your age, and they say that it’s good you found your way back. Every interaction leaves you more depressed than the last. You’re ducking your head, crumpled up like an unsent love letter.

Your steps are heavy, your own sandals dragging into the uneven tiles of the square. Then you’re lifting your head from the ground, and your feet have betrayed you.

You’re standing in the opening to another street of storefronts, and 5 rows of neatly planted trees down, the church sprouts from the earth like a stake.

It’s not just any small town church. A few steps lead up to a plateau, supported by large, white beams. They may not be Roman, but they’re there, and they’re made of smooth concrete. The building itself is made of red brick, although the color varies and looks dappled. Each side of the church has two stained glass windows, which you remember from your childhood. The door, huge and oaken, ends in a point right beneath a round window, and the bell tower shoots up, a mighty cross at its peak.

You’re left a little breathless at it. You don’t remember it being so menacing. But there’s also something beautiful about it. How it looks at you like it’ll kill you. And how blunt it is about it. You’re blinking at it and wondering how you got here. It’s as if something’s possessed you, because despite knowing better, you begin to take calm steps towards it, eyes transfixed and soulless.

You’re walking into the courtyard, gravel underfoot, and then you’re traversing up the steps, fingers barely brushing over the railing. Idling forward, you’re opening the door.

“And when Mary birthed the-”

Crrrrreeeeeeeaaaaaaaaak!

Every head snaps towards you, as you’re cracking the door open, and the trance lifts from you. Oh, shit. Your gaze grazes over the stacked benches, smiling apologetically and bopping your head.

You clear your throat. “I’m-”

You lock eyes with the priest, whose service you just interrupted, where he’s standing before the crowd, bible in hand.

It’s Chan.

“I’m sorry,” you squeak, voice now much meeker, and you don’t even know what to do, so you just step inside and sit down on the nearest bench. Slowly (and with low scoffs) the sea of heads turn around. One pair of eyes don’t leave you though. Chan studies you for several seconds longer, searching for something in your eyes, but you’re looking away. You just want him to continue. He does.

This is crazy, you think, and you can hardly believe you’re hearing his voice say those words, and it’s him in the clerical shirt. You supposed it made sense. You supposed you understood. But actually you didn’t, not at all. Not when he was supposed to live and change and evolve and here he is years later, dedicating his life to the one and only thing he knows!

You’re tuning out the rest of his talk, vaguely aware of how his eyes flit over to you a little too frequently. Soon enough you’re absently clasping your hands together in a prayer and then people are lining up to thank Chan for his stellar service.

You watch them from your seat, debating whether or not to leave without talking to him. Leaving wasn’t a bad idea. You were only gonna be in town for a week more, surely, you could avoid him until then.

But you know you won’t do that. You want to talk to Chan. You want to feel his hand in your own. Partially you felt like maybe you could save him from just being a decoration to this hellscape for the rest of his life. You’re not sure you could go on living your life, when you know he’s just back here - still here.

So there you are, planted in the line and hoping to save him from some dull future, and he’s shaking hands and smiling, but you can see how he eyes you, coming up on the line.

“Thank you, Chan,” you smile warmly, and his hand is grabbing yours and it’s so soft and so big. He’s smiling too. Then you’re coughing and correcting yourself: “Uh- Father. Chan.”

He laughs at your sputtering, clapping your hand between his two: “Oh, thank you, sister.” Emphasizing with pursed lips and wide eyes. You laugh along a little, but it’s strained.

His smile fades slowly, and his face relaxes. He wants to say more. His fingers are still pulling your hand to his, and you just keep shaking it, because if you stop, it’ll be weird. Officially.

“Oh, do you two know each other?” A bobbed woman from behind you in line is purring, unfamiliar hand on your back, and she doesn’t wait for you to answer before she’s talking again: “So, how do you know each other?”

“Childhood. Friends,” Chan stammers, almost looking at you for confirmation, and you’re nodding along when the woman “ah’s” and “ooh’s”. “Oh, that’s wonderful, you guys!” And then you’re listening to her talk about some trailer down in Cassandra, and how her brother is fixing it up with his old friend, but there’s water damage in the lining of the room, and it’ll mold if they’re not careful, and it’s such useless information, you’re wondering how you’ll ever forget it.

“Mrs. Lark, uh, I think my,” he looks at you, lips pursed, “my friend here needs to go, so..”

Mrs. Lark gasps, embarrassed: “Oh, I’m sorry, you’re right, I’m babbling,” and usually Chan would reassure her that she wasn’t, but he has more urgent matters on his hands. “Good day, Mrs. Lark!” he says and sends her off with a bright smile. There’s a few more people in line and Chan sighs a little.

“Can you-” he’s a little sheepish, suddenly self conscious about the clergy shirt that grips his neck, “Can you wait? Here? Just until I’m done-”

“Yeah,” you say. He smiles gratefully.

Chatter continues behind you with a slight echo in the large room. You wait by one of the stained glass windows, arms around yourself as you stare up at it. Each and every window was a different biblical figure, made up of small shards of colored glass. You always found it strange, looking back, how your small town church had this grand artwork. The eyes of the window peer down at you.

“Judas,” Chan comments, planting himself beside you. His voice echoes slightly in the now empty church. The whole place is both too big and too small for the both of you. “It’s an interesting choice.”

“What?”

“Why you chose this window over any other,” Chan breathes, eyes darting down to you, and he’s looking at you very intensely. Then, it dissipates: “I’m also drawn to this one.”

A pause.

“I wonder why they’d make this,” you quip, feeling small beside him. “I think whoever made this wanted all sides of Jesus’ story illustrated,” Chan says. You shrug. “If it were me, I wouldn’t.”

Chan tilts his head to the side and looks at you again. Your cheeks burn, so you smile a little cheekily. “Was that not the right thing to say?”

Chan’s smile is gentle and bemused - almost adoring. “There’s nothing you can say in here that is wrong.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” you laugh and Chan follows along. “Oh, you don’t?” You’re both laughing together, glee filling the crevices of the holy place, while Judas eyes you from the window. Your laughter dies down again, and when the silence returns, your heart clenches nervously. There’s a beat.

“You keep busy?” you ask and the two of you are now facing each other. He sighs and nods, looking around. “Yeah, yeah, I got a.. Like a church get-together thing in, like, two days. I’ll be.. Preaching."

“Preaching,” you repeat, smile a little too tight. You wish you could say he didn’t notice. “Big Mr. Priest..”

He laughs: “Technically I’m a priest apprentice,” he says, arms crossing over his chest. You roll your eyes. “So humble.”

“What about you? Keep busy?”

“Yeah, college,” you sigh. “You done?” he asks and you shake your head. “I wish.”

His expression softens until he’s frowning. You want to squirm under his gaze, only because he looks so sincere and worried and you haven’t seen each other in three years. “You look tired.”

“That’s not-” you begin, covering the slight ache in your heart with a laugh, “I just- Couldn’t sleep last night.”

“I thought living in the big city had you sleeping like a rock when you got to our quiet town,” he teases with a half-smile.

You shake your head, looking upwards at the ceiling. “It was that bell tower, just ringing, all night.” You shrug. Chan’s brows furrow and he looks up as well, as if he’d be able to see it through the tile roof.

“The…” he trails off, sounding lost, “The bell tower doesn’t ring at nig-”

Beep! Beep!

“Shit- sorry!” you curse, when your phone goes off loudly. Chan stands still studying you, while you squint at your phone. “I think- I think I gotta go.”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he coughs, index finger rubbing over his taut knuckles. You’re pushing your phone into your back pocket again, when he reaches an arm out to you. “Uh-” he pulls back self-consciously, “Would you want to-.. Maybe, come to dinner at my place? Tomorrow?”

You’re a little taken aback, looking at him with a softly open mouth for a moment. “Uh,” you fight back a wide smile, “Yeah, sure. I’d- I’d like that.”

“Great,” Chan smiles too and nods. “Just- just at the house right next door, or?-”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s that one. Still,” Chan blushes breathlessly. You chuckle awkwardly. “Okay.”

“Okay. See you then.” _____________________________

You’re not sure why the prospect of having dinner with Chan has you so nervous. And it is just a dinner, you remind yourself, as you’re picking out your dress, just two friends catching up. After some 45 minute debate you pick out a pretty sundress.

You’d like to think there’s more to it than just the fact that Chan is suddenly very pretty and muscular. Maybe it’s the chance to make a wrong right. Maybe it’s to find out who this boy is, that was a key part of your life for so many years. Maybe you think you can change him.

Either way you’re just waiting for it all day, ignoring your dad trying to lure you out with trick shots from your garage. “HIYA!” he screams, throwing ping pong balls at your window all afternoon.

At 6:30 PM you’re standing at his door and hoping you don’t look too dolled up. His house also looks mostly identical to your memory of it. There’s something off about it though, and you study it momentarily, only to realize the front garden has overgrown. The grass comes up jagged and sharp, and the bushes bulge over the fence gate, brushing you when you waddle inside. You click the doorbell, wait a few seconds, and then begin to suspect that it didn’t work. Then you knock and you hear him fumbling around inside: “Coming!”

He opens the door (with some struggle), and then you’re standing before each other. He’s so domestic, in a striped, brown sweater and dark blue jeans, and curly hair is framing his face like a crown.

“Hi.”

He gives you a once over, smiling shyly: “You look great.”

“Thank you,” you bow a little, “you too.”

Then he’s letting you inside and you’re kicking off your shoes haphazardly, while he fusses back to the kitchen. “I made bolognese, if you don’t mind!” he calls and when you enter into the living space, he’s stirring a pan vigorously. You giggle a little, smile falling at the sight of a cross on the wall behind you. “Uh, yeah, of course.”

Slurping tomato-sauced pasta and drinking a half-expensive wine that Chan had bought, you two laugh together. You mostly talk about when you were kids, then he’s talking about joining the church and you’re talking about college.

“Is it hard? Out there?” Chan slurs a little, both of you tipsy and warm from the wine, having moved to the couch after eating. Now, full and face burning hot, you’re looking at each other differently. Chan’s got one arm on the couch rest, the other swirling the wine in his glass. He’s smirking a little and you hate how hot he is.

“It’s.. Exciting,” you counter, a little confused at his tone. He's close enough to radiate warmth onto you, when his eyes dip down to your lips for a second. “Yeah. You like exciting,” he drinks down the rest of his wine and sets the glass on the couch table. The moon, that’s been slowly traversing the star-speckled sky, gives the glass a faint halo. Chan basks in the moonlight, half lit and half shadowed.

“I do. I do like exciting,” you giggle dumbly, still unsure where he’s steering the conversation. Chan smiles adoringly, because there you are sitting all blushing and warm in a sundress on his couch. The warmth disappears from his eyes then.

“Was it exciting to watch me undress?”

Oh.

Shit.

You almost spit out a half-drunken sip of wine, gulping it down painfully and shaking your head. You set the glass down. “Chan! I’m-” you’re scrambling, “I’m really, really sorry. I- I was just- It wasn’t about your body, I was thinking about-”

“Shut up.”

Your mouth falls agape at his tone, offended and caught off guard. He’s still beside you, eyes much sharper than you remember, much colder. “Stop treating me like I’m still a kid.”

“Well, you haven’t changed much, Chan,” you scoff.

“Yeah, that’s why you were looking at me through your fucking window,” he scoffs as well, “because I haven’t changed.”

You sit in quiet disbelief, trying to stay mad when his face is so pretty and so close to yours, and his jaw is clenched and his cheeks are flushed from the wine. You’re deciding whether to spit back or diffuse the situation. “Look, I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m sorry.”

The hand that was previously holding his glass lands on your knee. He leans in even further and you smell the sour air of wine on his breath. You shudder under his touch when he whispers: “I want you to be honest with me.”

You’re looking up at him with wide eyes, heart beating in your chest like nails being knocked into wood. “Tell me what you want from Father Chan,” he muses, smirking slightly, while his thumb brushes back and forth on your knee.

You’re completely out of breath and squeezing your thighs together, as slick begins to build up in your panties. “Come on,” he encourages, “Let it out. Tell Channie what you want.”

“I want,” you’re shaking in humiliation, gaze cast onto the floor, “I want you to touch me.”

“Come again?” he teases, grinning.

“Please touch me, Chan.”

“There you go,” he mutters and finally gives in, hand brushing the skirt of your dress up your thighs, until your white, cotton panties are visible to him. The sight of you is so pornographic, he groans and dips his head into your neck. “Spread your legs for me, baby.”

And you do, one of them drooping over his legs, while the other bends on the couch beside you. You’re already so worked up, because Chan is so beautiful and you never, ever thought you’d experience him like this. “Shh, shh, calm down, pretty girl,” he kisses your temple, as his fingers brush over your clothed core.

“Baby,” he tuts disapprovingly, “you’ve soaked through your panties.”

You can only whine as his fingertips ghost along your dripping slit, and he’s nosing into your cheek like a big puppy. “‘M sorry,” you hiccup, and he grins and kisses your lips tenderly. “So polite for me.”

He finally dips his hand into your panties, fingers rubbing circles into your pussy. You’re mewling and thrashing into his chest, basking in the sound of his strangled moan, when you thrash the leg in his lap and brush over his hard cock.

His fingers move lower to dance along your slit and you grab his wrist strenuously. He hums a little. “Gonna put my fingers in your pussy and my tongue in your mouth now,” he’s mumbling and you can’t tell if he’s telling you or himself, but either way he does as promised, two fingers plunging into your sopping wet heat, while he dips his tongue in your hot mouth.

You're moaning into his lips. He’s kissing you so sloppily, spit spilling down both of your chins, and noses rubbing together, breathing scorching air into each other. His fingers are pumping in and out of you, then curling into that sweet spongy spot inside you.

“Fuck!” you cry when he pulls away breathlessly, “so, so, so good. Chan- Chan, fuck!”

Your orgasm is building up in your stomach, with a pleasure that is simultaneously torturous. He’s looking at you so intensely, you feel like you might unravel under his gaze. “Fuck, Channie.”

“Yeah? You feel good?” he pauses his words, still curling his fingers in and out of you. His next words are somewhat uneasy: “Is this better than those other guys?”

“Huh?” you mumble, chest arching and his mouth is watering at how inviting it is. “Back then,” he says, and it finally clicks what he’s talking about.

“Pussy so good no wonder they all wanted a piece of you, hm? Such a slut,” he’s rambling now, fingers plunging in and out of you impossibly fast, while his other hand splays over your stomach, thumb tapping your clit. You cry out in ecstasy, unable to form coherent words to respond with.

“But you’re my slut, right?” His voice is raspy and right next to your ear. The thumb tapping your clit begins to rub circles into it. “Y/n,” he’s suddenly very serious, “say you’re my slut.”

“I’m-” your voice crack in humiliation, cheeks fiery and eyes squeezed shut, “I’m your slut!”

“That’s right,” he pants, trying to stop his hips from bucking into your calf. “And my slut is gonna cum on my fucking fingers right now.”

Your orgasm feels otherworldly - maybe godly - and your whole body shakes in his hold, chest bouncing in his face and moans melodic in his living room. Chan works you through it, finally pulling his fingers out when your hands weakly push at his own.

You’re sighing heavily with hair messy and teased, slumped back on his couch. “Holy shit,” you say, grinning from ear to ear, completely dazed. Chan is watching you with a proud smirk and a tent the size of Texas in his pants.

A thought strikes you then, and your grin is fading and your brows are furrowing. “Wait- Wait, Chan? Where are your parents?” you ask suddenly, sitting up and straight and pulling your dress down hastily. You snap your head around self-consciously.

“Relax! Relax!” he laughs, “They don’t live here anymore, I bought the house from them, like, six months ago.”

Your jaw drops. You wait just a second, hoping to catch a cheeky glint in his eyes, that might tell you he’s joking. You find nothing but blackness.

“You bought the house?”

Chan looks at you quizzically, shrugging. “Yeah, I mean, they wanted to move, you know, see new things and I.. I just. Didn’t.”

You can hardly fucking believe your ears.

“Chan!” you cry, frustration blooming in your chest and pounding in your head. “Why did you buy the fucking house? You’re gonna spend the rest of your life paying off the fucking mortgage, and you’re never gonna get out of here!” you shout, flailing your arms at his absurdity.

Chan narrows his eyes at you. “Sorry, city girl, we don’t all wanna pack up and live in a closet space for three years-”

“Wha- Chan, this is not about me! How can you just.. Surrender to this place?” you shout and suddenly he’s raising his voice too. “Surrender?” he repeats, spitting it back at you.

“Yeah! Jesus, even your fucking parents wanted to leave, Chan. But you’re just- You’re gonna live out the rest of your life in this shithole and be some sort of- of priest?!”

“I can’t believe you right now,” he stands up from the couch, and you follow suit. “In what world do you have the morality to come in here and tell me what I’m doing wrong?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” you scoff, crossing your arms.

Your voices are echoing in the empty house, wine glasses and sauced plates standing idly on the tables nearby. Your silhouettes are confined to the large living room window, standing on either side of the moon.

“You know what that means, Y/n,” he laughs bitterly. “No, please, tell me,” you invite him challengingly, wondering (or perhaps fearing) whether or not he’d actually go there. He prods at his cheek with his tongue, and hesitates.

“You were a fucking slut, Y/n.” His voice is quieter, maybe ashamed. Tears sting at your eyes, when you look at him incredulously. How could you think you knew this man? How could you think there was anything left to salvage?

“Fuck you, Chan,” you spit, spinning around before the tears can fall. He says nothing, just stands alone in his living room while you dash out his door, hands wrapping around himself.

Exiting his house into the cool, summer air, you realize one thing. The bell tower had been the call of the apocalypse. _____________________________

You were the walls of Jericho that night, crying and tumbling in your childhood sheets, muffling your cries in the fear that he’d hear through his creaked open window. What was this pain, you couldn’t decide. Was it how he stayed steadfast or how you metamorphosed, dying only to return once again?

In the morning, you’re dull and gray. You’re drinking coffee out of your dad’s old tourist shop mug from a visit to Niagara Falls, sitting at the dining table with puffy eyes. Your mom eyes you worriedly from the counter, leaning into your dad to whisper not-so-discreetly.

“Sweetheart, you wanna go with us to church today? They’re having this whole event, the kids’ choir will be there!” she suggests gently and you just want to shrug off all her affection.

“No,” you deadpan. Your mom gives your father a look. He sighs.

“Alright, champ, that’s- that’s your choice,” he nods, mustache scrunching up when he pouts. You sigh, feeling like an asshole. “Sorry, I just-”

“Don’t apologize, sweetheart, you just rest!” your mom shushes you, scrambling around the kitchen, ever in the hunt for some lost appliance. “All that college must wear you out, you should rest while you can, hm?”

They’re gone by noon. You sit in the shadowed corner of your bed, avoiding the strip of light that dances across your room from the crack in the curtain.

You’re bored, scrolling on your phone, cheek puffed up against your pillow, when it slips out of your hands and hits the floor with a loud bump. You groan, feeling like the whole world is against you today, and throw your arm off the bed to grab at it on the floor.

It’s halfway under the bed, and when your fingers finally remark the smooth surface, they brush against something else. It’s hard and it feels dirty. You lift your head to look and tug it out.

It’s your diary.

Phone long forgotten, you lift it carefully, like an old relic, and push open the faded pink cover. You feel like you’re about to snap in half, when your eyes survey the graphite-smudged pages of your horrible, horrible handwriting. The pages emanate a mysterious air that has you leaning back in your seat.

You’re skimming through angst entries, that has you cringing and wanting to put it down, before you freeze suddenly, inhaling sharply at the scribbled out words before you.

‘3. august 2016

God, I miss Chan.’

The words come with the promise of stinging tears in your eyes.

“Fuck you,” you whisper angrily at the page, because you’re crying again, and you close the book and hold onto yourself so tightly that it hurts. “Fuck that. Fuck this.”

It’s perhaps the worst feeling you’ve ever felt. It’s anger, it’s sadness, it’s humiliation, it’s confusion. How did it end like this, you think. It would be so much easier if you were kids again. If he was that dorky kid from your church, who wore his father’s baseball caps and had chubby little hands when he prayed. You can do it better, you think miserably, if you get another chance. But you don’t.

For about fifteen minutes, you curl into yourself and wait for the feeling to go away. It doesn’t. The heavy weight of realization pools in your stomach when you realize you might carry this with you for the rest of your life if you don’t do something. It doesn’t have to end like this.

Suddenly you’re light as a feather, grabbing your jacket and your keys and sprinting out the door and down the street. The cross atop the spire watches you run to it, awaiting you ominously. _____________________________

You’re disheveled and pulled apart when you arrive at the gathering, and for once the townspeople look at you like you’re out of place. You’re late, you know, because people are taking their leave, scattering and dissolving towards the town square, and the entertainment (the kids’ choir), all robed in white, are marching away together.

You’re panting, stumbling further into the church garden, jumping at the sound of grills being closed and rolled away onto the pavement.

“Y/n?” Chan can hardly believe his eyes, when he sees you standing between a bed of lilies. You turn around and see him, melting a little at how tired and sad he looks. “I can’t believe you came,” he whispers, a little sparkle of hope in his gaze. You smile fondly, “Me neither.”

Chan moves to embrace you, but freezes when he suddenly remembers where you are. “Uh, I can’t, I have to-” he stammers, scrambling for a solution, for something better than turning you away, when you’re here, close enough for him to hold. He looks around, gaze following the churchgoers as they pass through the gates, before he’s bopping his head down to whisper to you again: “Go into the church. I’ll be with you in a second.”

You walk through that heavy, wooden door, and when it closes behind you the scrambling of metal and people and footsteps and crying children is gone. With the door, you’re sealed in here, with whatever fate follows.

All the light in the church is filtering through the stained glass windows, and once again you find yourself drawn to him. Judas.

Part of you would expect such an artwork to depict Judas as greedy and grim, as glutinous and gloomy; that he would be hunched over with a pouch of shillings, giggling at his evildoing. But the Judas in the window is so.. Sad.

He’s blue and gray and his eyebrows are upturned and for the life of you, you can’t figure out how the unknown artist must have managed to portray such despair in glass. You stand in the middle of his reflection on the floor, all blue and gray yourself, and you’re not sure it’s really because of the light.

That’s all the church inhabits at that moment. You and Judas, and your shallow breaths, and the stirring of dust in the air. There’s nothing holy in there with you. Just you and him.

You hear the door open to your right. You know it’s Chan, somehow you can just feel it. He must sense something in the air, because he says nothing, just walks up to stand beside you, and only then do you speak again.

“I always felt a bit like Judas,” you muster a breath.

Chan pauses and you can feel him looking at you. “Me too.”

You furrow your brows, and finally look up at him, and there he is in his clerical shirt and his matching pants, his right cheek glowing bright blue. The whole room is so heavy, you lean against the bench behind you.

“That’s not.. That’s not how it’s supposed to be.”

Chan doesn’t ask you to elaborate. He understands. “God made it that way,” he’s nodding with a pained expression on his face, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself. You laugh a little and hate how much love you feel, when Chan half-smiles at the sound.

“God.. Yeah,” you half-gesture to the sky and Chan giggles. Then you’re both quieting down again. “I can’t tell if it was you or God I turned my back on,” you say and you’re looking at Judas again, and how one, jagged hand holds onto his chest.

“Maybe it was both,” Chan says and there’s this unreadable expression on his face. You’re laughing again, cheeks apple-round. “I’m pretty sure it’s blasphemous to compare yourself to God.”

“Yeah?” he laughs, “I think so too.” You’re looking at him again when he’s gulping hard and the joy drains from his face. A small frown curve his lips. “I’m sorry about yesterday, you know.” You look away.

“Me too,” you say. Chan can’t help the way his heart leaps when, without sparing him a glance, you grab his hand in yours and squeeze it. He squeezes back.

He gasps painfully and when you turn to him again, he’s choking back tears, face turning red. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I just wish… Fuck, I mean, we’re too different, aren’t we?”

You nod. “We are.”

“When are you leaving?”

You smile disingenuously, hoping it’ll cheer him up. It doesn’t.

“Tomorrow.”

Chan is crying, there’s no denying it now, no chalking it up to sniffles. Tears, turning yellow from the sun behind Judas’ back, trail down his cheeks and he wipes them aggressively, but they just keep coming. Deep, despaired moans bounce off the ceiling and walls of the church.

“Can I-?” Chan begins, unable to form words between his heart-rattling sobs. “I just- I need to-”

“Yes,” you say, and there’s not a single doubt in your mind, that this is what you both want, as you take a step forward and pull his lips into yours.

Chan’s lips taste like every color of Judas, of blue, of yellow, of gray, of green. Salt hits your tongue when his tears trail down to where you’re connected, and he’s still crying into the kiss, hands finding your waist and clutching so, so hard.

“Please don’t cry,” you whisper in between kisses, “you’re gonna make me cry.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t stop. He’s too caught up in memorizing the way your body feels under his hands, the way you’re moving against him, the way you’re pulling him by the collar of his clerical shirt, and how your nose feels shoved into his.

His warm hands slide your shirt upwards, burning against your newly exposed skin. You pull away only to tug it over your head. Chan whimpers when he sees your chest, cupped by your bra and he pulls you into his chest to unhook the back, head looming over your shoulder. Ear pressed to his neck, you can feel the way it contracts, when he hiccups.

As soon as he’s done, straps sliding gently down your arms, you’re pouncing on each other again, lips meeting rhythmically in the blued sunlight. Blindly, you’re unbuttoning his clerical shirt, fingers shaking against his chest. His hands clasp over yours soothingly, urging you to slow down.

The whole ordeal is strangely silent, even Chan has stopped crying now, and the only sounds filling the church are the brush of fabric and your muffled moans into each other’s mouths. You’re whining though, when his shirt finally pushes off his shoulders and his torso is right in front of you and under your hands.

You whimper at the sight alone, running your hands over his arms and over his chest down to his abs. Chan smirks at you. “I knew you liked it,” he mumbles to himself, almost childishly.

This comment slows you down, as you’re pulling back to laugh, and you’re both shirtless in front of each other, hearts huge and glowing. Chan smiles at you adoringly while you laugh, face scrunched up and eyes crescents.

“You can’t say that when I’m trying to fuck you,” you say finally, hair a mess on your head and lips pursed to keep yourself from laughing again. Chan loves your dumb face. He takes your hands in his and rubs the palms with his thumbs. “I know.”

“Can I-?”

“Yes,” you whisper, agreeing before he can even get it out. Chan nods and holds you, gently guiding you onto the floor, where your entire body is marbled by the light hitting the glass. Chan stands over you for a moment.

“You’re just gonna stare at me?” you joke, but your arms are sneaking their way up your torso. “Yeah,” Chan responds, but he’s already kneeling down in front of you, moving your arms away.

“You are so beautiful,” he says it as if it almost pains him, but he’s straddling you and fumbling with your jean-buttons, beginning the tedious task of peeling them off your legs. You want to say something snarky, but he has you breathless and blushing, all you can muster is a meek: “Thank you.”

He looks up from his work on your jeans at that, smiling at you fondly.

You kick your jeans off your legs, while he begins to undo the buckle of his own pants, shoving them down his legs at the first opportunity. You’re both almost naked, you in your panties and him in his boxers, and you’re wondering why he’s showing no signs of moving them off you, dick hard and scorching fucking hot against your clothed core. Then he plants his arms on either side of your head, and rolls his hips into yours.

The moan you let out is coming from deep in your fucking soul. Only something godly could pull that out, you decide, sopping fucking wet from the star-like heat it has against you. “You sound so pretty,” he whimpers and does it again. Then again and again and again, and you’re arching your back and the both of you are moaning and groaning, filling the church with humidity.

“Chan,” you muster, sounding on the verge of tears. His head is lowered onto your breasts, panting hard into the impossibly soft skin. “I-Inside. Now.”

Chan wants to say something sexy, but he’s so desperate for you, that all he can manage is: “I agree.”

He’s scrambling wildly to tear his boxers off and you do the same, lifting your hips to remove your drenched panties from your core. When you’re left bare, he lets out a choked moan, because immediately your hole clenching and gushing slick onto the tiled floor. The church floor, no less.

“So fucking beautiful, and mine. Belongs to me,” he babbles, eyes wounded, but fingers spreading your folds open, as he lowers his head to remark on them. You mewl, fingers clawing at his shoulders. “Miss you,” you squall and he looks up at your face again. “Okay,” he responds, body moving back up to your face. Then he mutters against your lips: “Miss you too.”

He’s kissing you again, so warm and wet in your mouth and humming into you. You claw at his back and whine wildly, when his hand steers his dick through your folds, lubricating itself in your plentiful wetness.

He pulls away and you chase after him with sorrowful eyes. “I need to see your face when I push in,” he explains very sincerely, and you somehow understand that, yes, he needs to see it. You nod.

Then he’s pushing into you. He bursts through your gates, all thick and veiny and totally raw against the walls of your pussy. He’s slow, studying your face tenderly for any signs of discomfort, even when he grimaces from the euphoric feeling. And God, your face is so perfect, all scrunched up and twisted in pleasure, mouth agape and eyes squeezed shut. He will remember it forever.

He’s rocking in and out of you, and it’s slow, and it’s love, and it’s mature, and you’re moaning simultaneously, foreheads pressed together, as he fucks you into the floor.

“Are you close, darling?” he pants against your cheek and you nod, because you are. Because it feels like your body has been working its way up to this final point, and every other milestone has just been a hillpeak on the way to a mountain. “Yes, yes, yes, I am.”

“Good, so good for me,” he’s speeding up just a little bit, working the two of you closer and gaining leverage from his bruising grip on your hips. Your hand slides up his neck, from where he’s nuzzled into the side of your nose, and you whisper breathlessly in his ear: “Please cum inside, please, please.”

And Chan’s head spins at that, thrusting so hard you’re entire body jerks. You, all filled with his kids, all soft and big stomached. The thought has his thrusts - now quite swift - becoming sloppy and has him spurting cum. You come at the feeling of him spurting inside you, spluttering you full of white seed, so much that it’s spilling out at the base of his cock.

You’re both stilling, bodies expanding eagerly for air, and he’s still so close to you, still inside you, still buried in your hair, nose huffing breaths into your ear. The church is so painfully quiet, you begin to hear your own heartbeat. This was it. This was the narrow end. There was no other way.

Lying your head on the tile and tilting it, so your eyes dance over the floor beneath you, you realize that Judas is no longer the artwork, no longer the masterpiece: It’s you and Chan on the floor, arching into each other and bathed in his light. To an unknowing outsider, the expressions you carry would also seem misplaced, just like Judas had to you. But you both know, still clinging onto each other like angels that flutter from the sky and into hell, that it was because of the end you had ensured for each other.

“I love you.”

Chan whispers the words into your neck, voice thick. You realize he’s crying again, because you feel burning hot tears dribble down your neck, and his shoulders are shaking. You curl your arms around him.

“I know. I’m sorry. I love you too.”

#svt smut #svt x reader #svt chan x reader #svt dino x reader #svt chan smut #svt dino smut #svt angst #svt chan angst #chan x reader #chan angst #lee chan x reader #lee chan smut #lee chan angst

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sebastianswallows · 10 months

Text

A new family — Chapter 6

— PAIRING: dark!Ominis Gaunt x F!MC

— SYNOPSIS: Ominis gets tired of his family and how miserable life is with them after he graduates. So he follows Sebastian's example for once, and kills them in cold blood. Now that he has the mansion to himself, he discovers he would still like to have a family, but one of his own making.

— WARNINGS: none, but Marvolo gets dealt with 🍵

— WORDCOUNT: 2.5k

— TAGLIST: @littletealight @skarathewitch @myrachondria @mrimperio @ssnapsaurus @tarotwitchy-main @hufflepuff-16 @shameless0shenanigans @imaslytherpuff

“I knew it, you little rodent,” sneered Marvolo. “Couldn’t wait for your inheritance, could you? What happened, ran out of pocket money to keep your classmate interested?”

Ominis stepped further into the drawing room and took his cloak off, casting it wandlessly into the hook of the coat hanger.

“It’s pointless to get upset about it. Our family fortune belongs to me now, whether you like it or not. Not by any particularly legal right, of course, but I claim it nevertheless. And, not that you’re interested, but I already graduated last summer. We both did.”

“You’re still a brat,” chuckled Marvolo. “Still look as if you’re sixteen, do you know that? No, you wouldn’t, would you… You were spared, I suppose, of ever having to be confronted by a mirror.”

“Indeed, I’ve been spared many things recently,” said Ominis, circling around. He did not have his wand out to guide him, and yet he seemed to know exactly where the other two were, keeping a steady distance between the three of them and drawing Marvolo’s attention away from her. “In fact, I’ve taken the liberty of sparing myself from some of them.”

“And I’ll take liberties with your hide,” he growled. “Where’s mother and father? What’ve you done to them?”

“You never never good at Legilimency, Marv, so stop trying. Don’t want to give yourself a headache.”

Marvolo’s lip twitched at the hated nickname, but he ignored it. “Could ask your little bitch, then,” he said, taking heavy steps toward her. “After I’m done with you, she and I can have a very revealing time together.”

Ominis took that quite impassively. Not a muscle on his face moved, stuck as it was in a mien of disgust. His hands were tucked behind his back, and she couldn’t tell if he had slipped his wand out by now from wherever he held it. She feared what would happen if his brother drew first.

“Your threats are so hollow,” she said to Marvolo, turning to distract him. “You couldn’t protect your parents, you can’t protect your fortune, and now your little brother is about to throw you out of your own home.”

“So you lied to me,” he said with a smile. “You batted your lashes and claimed you knew nothing, and all along you were as guilty as my baby brother. Co-conspirators, is that it? I didn’t think you had it in you…”

“You have no idea what I have in me, but you’re about to find out.”

He laughed, loosening his arms and posture in what she recognised as preparation for a duel. “Oh, I’ll relish what’s inside you, not to worry,” said Marvolo with a grin.

He was fast, drawing his wand out to cast Petrificus at her — and she was half-right, it was up his sleeve — but she was faster. She raised it out of her skirt pocket, blocked the curse, and aimed Expelliarmus at him before he cast anything else. His wand flew off behind him, knocking a crack into the glass cabinet. It left Marvolo clutching his wrist in pain.

“Ow, you little bitc—”

Distantly, she heard Ominis call her name, but she would not ruin this moment by listening to him.

She could tell Ominis had spent years refining his hatred into something he could live with, but she had not had the luxury. She hated Marvolo enough to kill — for his cruelty, for his arrogance, for his lack of shame at what he had become — although she would not take that privilege away from Ominis and take Marvolo’s life herself. She did not have long to think before he lunged at her or retrieved his wand, so she did the first thing that came to her mind.

“Relish this,” she growled. It was a complex spell, and she cast it quite instinctively, letting magic flow through her and do the work in her stead. With a wave of her wand, Marvolo clattered to the ground with a chime.

“Wh-what happened?” asked Ominis, stepping cautiously toward her. He did, in fact, have his wand out in his hand behind his back. Now, he scanned the surroundings, frowning in confusion. “Where’s Marvolo?”

“Exactly where he was a moment ago,” she said with a bright smile. “Only a little more… compact.”

“I heard a sound. Did he break something?”

She merely laughed and stepped forward to pick him up. When she returned to Ominis, she wrapped his hands around the object: it was a teakettle. Ominis frowned for one second, but then his brows shot up. He fought against a growing grin.

“He’s not dead,” she said. “I didn’t know if that was what you wanted. But… unless he can perform wandless magic, he’ll be in this state for quite a while. And I haven’t told you the best part yet.”

“There’s a better part?” laughed Ominis. His cheeks were blushing and his smile made his eyes shine. He seemed exhilarated from what just happened, and even somewhat… flattered, by what she’d done for him. “Tell me...”

“He matches the others.”

The kettle that used to be Marvolo was bone-white, just like the tea cups, and quite evenly round in shape reflecting his sturdy body. From around his middle and curling toward the top was a screaming skull veiled in grey shadow whose mouth cut off right at the split of the lid.

Ominis burst into laughter. He never would have thought that she would do something like this for him… He was ready to do it himself, to kill Marvolo in fact, which was why he kept his wand hidden until the last moment. But of course, she was faster. It was only natural, seeing as she was far more experienced in duelling than him — and, needless to say, more than Marvolo.

“This is certainly… the most impressive Christmas present I’ve ever received.”

“Oh, that’s not your present,” she said softly. “Consider it a cherry on top.”

“I can’t wait to see the real thing, then,” Ominis grinned, gently cupping her elbows. “But, first I… I want to apologise,” he said, his smile dying. “I didn’t defend you when he said those horrible things about you —”

“Oh Ominis, that’s alright…”

“I didn’t want him to think —”

“I understand…”

“Didn’t want him to know how much I care about you —”

“I know, I —” She paused mid-sentence.

“— how much you mean to me…”

Her breath caught in her throat, eyes growing wide at his confession. She understood before then that Ominis felt something for her, but to hear him say it in that way, so raw and vulnerable and unguarded, moved something inside of her that until then had been still.

“I… I care a great deal about you too,” she said.

“I understand that,” he chuckled. “Not many people would kill for me, I think.”

“Remember, he’s not dead yet. We should be cautious about him.”

“Where’s his wand?”

They went together to the back of the room and found it laying on the floor. Ominis picked it up while she placed Marvolo in the glass cabinet, arranging his family around him.

“There,” she smiled. “A full set.”

Ominis waved his wand toward them to see and smirked at the display. “They go well together, especially with you in the picture, smiling triumphantly.”

“You can tell when I’m smiling?” she asked with delight.

“Yes, your cheeks get a little fuller when you do.”

She chuckled and came beside him. “What do you want to do with the wand?”

“I want to break it in half,” he said. “But we should probably keep it.”

“Alright. Where?”

Ominis thought it through for a moment. “Perhaps it’s unwise, but…” He went and put it in the cabinet as well, not far from the teapot that was Marvolo. “If he can undo the spell on his own, wandlessly, then he deserves to get out. That and I delight in thinking it will be right there, tempting him all the while.”

She couldn’t help but grin. It certainly wasn’t wise, but she had to appreciate Ominis’ lust for danger. It seemed to be a new part of him, now that he was free of his family, and free to become himself…

She approached him from behind and hugged him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “So, when can I give you your proper gift?”

“When I shall give you mine,” he said, turning his face half-toward her. “At Christmas.”

“Are you certain?”

“Only way to make sure you stay that long,” he smiled.

She did, of course. She could not imagine leaving now. Ominis had been a bit rattled after everything, and on a couple of occasions late at night she thought she heard him scream, but generally he was happier, more lively, and even… confident. He no longer showed off about anything in particular, either good nor bad, and came and went by as the mood struck. Sometimes they spent their mornings and lunch and had afternoon tea together, and other times when he wanted to retreat somewhere, he did, and returned to her just as at ease.

The week between Marvolo’s transfiguration and Christmas passed in a powder white whirl of snow outside while the inside was garnished green and red. She and Ominis decorated the manor, perhaps for the first time, with holly and ivy and ribboned garlands that hung over the fireplace. They spent a whole morning making paper chains to throw about the place, and little paper angels to set upon the tables. They had the elves bring in a pine tree and placed it in the drawing room, and lost an evening just to decorate it with tinsel and candles. Apples and walnuts tied with string stood in for globes.

“Doesn’t compare to the Hogwarts one,” she said as they stood back to admire it. It was the 23rd of December.

“Doesn’t matter,” said Ominis with a smile. “It smells just like it.”

They had a modest Christmas dinner of roast goose caught from a flock on the Gaunt grounds, with mince pies of meat and fruits and spices, and ended it with the traditional pudding soaked in alcohol and set on fire before serving. They helped themselves to Firewhisky from his family’s stocks and served it while playing music boxes of Carols that they’d bought from a muggle music shop.

“You know, I don’t believe I’ve spent this day with fewer than four people, ever,” said Ominis. “But this is the least lonely Christmas I’ve ever had, with you here.”

A smile bloomed on her face before she even knew it, and her cheeks felt hot. “I… that’s… I don’t know what to say. But, I feel the same,” she whispered, laying his hand over his. They were sitting on the floor before the fire, with plates of treats and half-drunk glasses of Firewhisky all around.

“I hope it hasn’t been a disappointment to you…”

“Not at all!”

“We can visit Poppy tomorrow, and stop by Imelda and Everett’s too. Or, anyone else, really. We’re free to go wherever we like now.”

“I’d like that,” she grinned. “I’m not sure I have presents for all of them, but I could put something together tonight… I hear Poppy is quite fond of poacher-sized metal cages that shrink.”

Ominis chuckled and laid back on his stretched arms. “Speaking of presents…”

“Oh,” she giggled. “Yes, I’ve yet to give you yours…”

“Do you want to go first?”

“I… I do. Wait here.”

She got up and took the package from where it was hidden beneath a cushion on the sofa — an unnecessary act, as Ominis had known about it since they dealt with Marvolo, but it seemed appropriate to conceal it. It made the act of bringing it to him that much sweeter.

She kneeled beside him and shyly handed him a small, rectangular box wrapped in green paper with a big white bow attached.

“It isn’t much, but…”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he softly said. “I still believe your handling of Marvolo was the greater present.”

“Well then, this one can only disappoint,” she laughed. “But here, it’s yours anyway.”

Ominis took it, passed his hand across its every surface, and then carefully unwrapped it. The box inside had a grey velvet finish and opened to reveal a pair of gloves. Ominis ran his fingers over them and frowned in confusion.

“Put them on,” she said excitedly, leaning forward to not miss a thing.

He did, slipping them on one at a time and fastening them with the little gold buttons that were at the inner wrist. At first, he didn’t react at all, but when he placed one hand down on the floor to steady himself, his brows jumped.

“Oh!”

“Yes?” she grinned.

“I feel… Oh, this is strange,” he laughed, fighting a grimace. And yet he couldn’t take his hand from the floor. “We have this ugly thing?”

“What do you feel?”

“I can taste the colour of the carpet. It’s… stale and muddy, tastes the way dried moss smells.”

“Oh dear,” she laughed. “I wouldn’t say that, but…”

“Where did you find these?”

“From a special shop. You needn’t concern yourself,” she said smugly. “I’ve tried them on for a bit, and mostly agree with the gloves. They don’t capture grey very well though, I think. Some shades are sweeter than they taste.”

“Well, I… shall have to decide that for myself,” said Ominis. He was still and measured in his movements, but she could see how bright his smile was, how wide his eyes. His hands now felt all around him in wonder, from the carpet to his tie to the box the gloves came in.

“Do you like them?” she asked.

“I love them,” said Ominis, turning to her with a sweet and vulnerable smile. “Thank you.”

“I’m relieved… Thought you might not like the effect.”

“I shall have to be careful what I touch,” he confessed. “It’s like having a box of Every Flavour Beans that never ends.”

“Do you think we could each wear one and compare how we taste? I-I m-mean how things taste to us…”

“I’d love that,” he grinned, not missing a second. “Which reminds me, it’s time for your gift.”

Ominis pealed the gloves off and put them back inside their case. She expected him to get up and take her present from its hiding place. Instead, he merely reached into his pocket. He turned to her, took her hand, and in the other he held out a small, black satin box.

It was too small to contain anything other than…

“This is my Christmas present to you,” he said with a shy smile. His voice on the verge of trembling. He eased the box open with his thumb and index finger, and tightened his grasp on her hand. “If you would accept it, I mean…”

“Ominis, what —”

“The only thing I have to offer you is myself.”

#Ominis Gaunt #Marvolo Gaunt #hl #Ominis Gaunt fanfiction #ominis gaunt imagine #Hogwarts Legacy imagine #Ominis Gaunt x Reader #Ominis Gaunt x MC #Hogwarts Legacy MC #sswallow;made a thing #sswallow;fanfics #sswallow;a new family

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pascaloverx · 3 months

Text

OUR SECRET — MYG

chapter five

Summary: You and Yoongi are having an affair. No, you are not being his lover. But the world is not ready to know that an idol is dating someone. So you two were doing your best to make sure no one found out. Until he breaks up with you. His mistake.

Author's note: This fanfic will contain inappropriate language and intimate moments between some characters. Be warned. I will let you know if anything becomes inappropriate. Please enjoy this Yoongi fanfic.

PREVIOUS NEXT

"That's exactly why I said I didn't want to tell you about the ultrasound. What's the point of going into the office for two seconds and leaving?" You almost scream, taking Yoongi’s hands off of you. This idiot.

"The group's album is coming out soon and the boss needed to know some last details. What's my fault?" Yoongi asks, trying to hold you back, so you don't get run over in the middle of the street. But now the anger it's getting the best of you.

"Your only son is growing inside me. All I ask of you, daddy of the year, is that you be there. But you're too busy." You walk away, enraged. The first taxi that appears in front of you, you get inside leaving Yoongi talking to himself.

You ignore Yoongi's calls on your cell phone while holding your baby ultrasound in your hands. Or rather, as the doctor said, your daughter. But even that, her father doesn't know, because he was talking to who knows who in the back of the hospital. You get out of the taxi with some difficulty, as you are now appearing pregnant. You take the elevator, hoping to get home and get some sleep.

"How did you get here so fast?" You say looking at Yoongi sitting in front of your door.

"I'm a bad man. A terrible ex-boyfriend and I was probably a mediocre boyfriend. But I don't want to be a good father to our baby." He talks like he's out of breath, it almost makes you want to laugh. Thinking about him running after you.

"Did you run here?" You ask looking for the apartment keys in your bag. However, you feel a strange sensation in your stomach.

"Hey. Come here, I think our daughter is kicking." You speak, drawing the attention of Yoongi, who is wearing a cap and mask so as not to be easily recognized. He runs over, placing his hand on your stomach, very gently as if he's afraid to touch it. Then you hold his hand where you are feeling the baby's kicks.

"Our daughter?" Yoongi asks. You nod your head in confirmation. He looks happy but you can barely see because of the mask.

"If you want to be a present father, be present. Don't go to a doctor's appointment and be on your cell phone. Listen to what the doctor will say. Worry like I worry about our baby's health. Could it be?” You ask almost in a whisper, not wanting to turn this into a fight but rather wanting the best to you all.

"I promise I'll try my best to take care of you two." He speaks confidently, as if he were affirming himself. You smile and hug him tightly. Pregnancy has made you incredibly emotional apparently.

"Want to come in and make some coffee?" You ask unpretentiously. However, Yoongi ends up shaking his head.

"I have a date... But if you want, I can cancel it." He says and you laugh feeling like a fool.

"Funny how things are? Two months ago you wanted to marry me. Now you're going on a date and two hours ago you didn't have time to pay attention to the obstetrician." You get angry, trying to get into the apartment and failing miserably.

"Hey, honey. Don't be like that, I thought we were getting along." Yoongi says trying to help your apartment. You however move away from him.

"And we were getting along fine. Then you have a date and you want me to react like you do to all this shit." You speak changing the tone of your voice. What a pain.

"I stay here with you. You will always be more important than anything ever." Do you want to believe what he is saying. But who would believe that, right?

"Just today you showed me that I'm not more important than your job and a new romantic conquest. Yoongi, maybe you should figure out what your priorities are." You get very close to Yoongi when you say this, almost as if you were going to kiss him. His eyes are steady on you as you look at him, analyzing what you can of his face.

"My priority is my family. It always will be." Yoongi says this, lowering the mask and holding your hands.

"So you should understand who your family is. The boys are your family, your relatives are your family but definitely the new album and a new girlfriend are not your family." You speak by establishing a certain line of reasoning. So you finally managed to get into the apartment. To your and Yoongi's surprise, all of his group members are in the living room. In the living room that is decorated. They're throwing a baby shower for you and the baby.

"I think my family and I are going to celebrate our daughter's arrival into this world and you can go on your date." You said, closing the door in Yoongi's face, which made the boys a little shocked. You then enter your baby shower to celebrate with your family.

#bts fanfic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #min yoongi fanfic #min yoongi x you #min yoongi #min yoongi x reader #reader insert #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #Spotify

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le-92vi · 4 months

Text

Into each life, some rain must fall.

Geto Suguru x Reader

Genres/Warnings: angst, the reader is in the same grade as GJ, GT & SK, and was injured very badly on a mission, slight(?) hints of depression and anxeity, after the village arc, reader is (kinda) introduced to Mimiko and Nanako, not proofread

Word count: 1.8k

Notes: this is just a very random idea that popped up in my head and, i wrote it in a haze. hopefully, you enjoy it<3

(P.S. english is not my first language and this is also my first fic ever, so i apologize for any mistakes beforehand!)

____ Two days.

That’s all it took to turn your world into a shamble. Two days were all it took to turn your life into a complete mess.

The whole Jujutsu community had been shaken to shambles in the past two days. Everyone was stunned, unable to fathom how such an incident could've occurred. That too, at the hands of one of their own. The higher-ups were left dumbfounded like anyone else but still chose to feign indifference.

It hit you like a ginormous wave, demolishing everyone and everything in its path—a wave you could only hope to have been a nightmare.

But it wasn't.

Shoko sat beside your bed, holding your hand with both of hers. You realized something was wrong the moment you saw her face. The cool-and-stoic Shoko looked upset for the very first time. You knew she was preparing what to say to you, choosing the best possible words to break the news.

"What's wrong?" You breathed before she could even say anything. Shoko sighed, her eyes falling back on your injury-laden body.

"Tell me, Shoko. I can see it all over your face." You tried sitting up straighter to see her face better, but the gash running through the majority of your torso set your whole body on fire with every little movement. To no avail, you were forced to lay on your side, limp and ailing.

"Don't move!" Shoko's eyes widened as she jolted to your aid. She helped you adjust yourself. She fell back into her chair as you grunted in pain, getting used to the shift in your posture. You could see her hands clenched in tight fists, her nails cutting crescents through the palm of her hand.

"It's…Suguru," she began. "The mission Suguru was sent on recently—they're saying he has massacred the whole village. He summoned his curses and massacred a hundred people. He's been sentenced to death by the higher-ups, but they can't find him anywhere…"

Shoko's words began losing meaning. She was still telling you about what happened, but her words seemed to blur together; you couldn't understand anything anymore.

Suguru wouldn't do such a thing, right? He would never hurt a soul.

Shoko must've noticed the distress settling on your face. Her hand rested gently on your shoulder, drawing you out of your thoughts. "I think if we are able to talk to him, things might clear up. We still don't know for sure what happened in that village."

You remembered how just two days ago he sat in Shoko's seat. Late at night, he quietly popped up at your door with a copy of your favorite book. You sleepily listened to him go on about his very "mundane" day and then read you to sleep. He must've left shortly after you fell asleep, for you woke with only a tiny note stuck to the book he left behind for you: "I'm sorry I couldn't stay longer."

That's when it dawned on you that Suguru had, knowingly or unknowingly, let you in on his plans before he went A.W.O.L. To you, what felt like a silly little, maybe even a little exaggerated, story of his recent missions was actually what his whole world was like in the past few months.

He was miserable. All alone.

And none of you could see it.

Nothing in the world seemed to matter anymore. You felt bile burning up in your throat. The weight sat heavy on your chest as you doubled over, gasping for more air. You had to see him. You needed to meet him.

"Have they been looking for him?" You manage to croak out.

Shoko stroked your back, trying to ease up whatever pain you felt, however little she could. "Gojo's been trying to find him before the higher-ups' do." Her voice was shallower and heavier, as if she was barely able to keep her emotions in check.

Everyone had already made up their minds about Suguru. They weren't looking for their student anymore. They didn't care about a kid they'd let astray. They never had. Suguru would only be made one of the two things if they found him; a criminal or a scrapegoat.

Much later at night, when everything was quieter, you snuck out of your room. Your wound barely hurt anymore since you found out about Suguru. Surely it wasn't anything that could compare to what he was going through, right?

Quietly, you slung your bag over your shoulders and made your way out of the institute. You couldn't leave even a slight chance of someone following you to Suguru, though you weren't sure he'd want to see you either. But you at least had to try.

Behind the Tokyo Institute of Jujutsu Tech, a tiny shack stood abandoned at the foot of the mountain. A local legend-- often the topic of many conversations among people, but it was never actually discovered until you and Suguru stumbled upon it by accident during a regular inspection. The seclusion of the shack made for a perfect, peaceful hideout. For the two of you, it was the perfect getaway. If he wanted you to find him, he'd be there.

And you were right. The lights in the shack were visible now that you were up close. You stood at the end of the makeshift entryway of the shack, trying to gather up the courage to finally face him. Your hands were clammy, no matter how much you wiped them against your side. You breathed in for a final time before knocking on the door.

It opened almost immediately, as if it were waiting for your arrival.

Suguru stood at the door. Disheveled and anticipating. He had been waiting for you. He grabbed your hand to pull you in and locked the door behind him. His breathing had obviously hitched as he whispered your name, almost as if he were reminiscing about the taste of your name. "I thought you'd... I wanted to see you one last time. I didn't know if you'd actually come."

His fingers laced with yours as the two of you stood stuck to the floor, unmoving. Both of you felt this insane amount of uncertainty. Sure, you had held hands with Suguru before, but it was always platonic. It was different—the way he held your hand this time. It was almost as if he wasn't sure of what to do next.

Was this how it went? Were you still his friend?

"Suguru," you began. "It's not true—what they're saying—is it? They're just trying to frame you for it. Right?" Your brows furrowed together as you looked at him, waiting for him to deny everything. For him to tell you that he was being wronged. That he was being framed.

But Suguru stood speechless. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. His grip on your hand loosened as his head dropped.

You felt confused and betrayed by his silence. It surged through you like a pain you had never felt before—your wound seemed like a mere scratch in comparison. But you couldn't let it show on your face. Not until you hear his explanation. "Suguru." You reached for his hand this time, holding it with a firmer grip. "Can you at least tell me what happened?"

And just like that, something visibly shifted in him. It was like a newfound trust that perhaps you wouldn't condemn him that much. Maybe—just maybe—you would understand why he did what he did. That you would comprehend his actions and why he did them. Suguru bent over, your body barely holding his as his knees gave out.

"I am just so tired of this life," he sobbed. His shoulder shuddered under your touch. "I'm so sick of living like this."

You braced his shoulders, trying to console him. "It's not too late yet, Suguru." You weren't thinking straight. You didn't even completely know what you were talking about. It only mattered that Suguru was breaking down in front of your eyes, and you couldn't do anything to hold him together.

"It's not too late to return yet." You pulled away slightly to finally look at his face. "Hmm?"

Suguru shook his head in disagreement. "I can't go back. Not after I... I did it. It is all true what they're saying. I'm a monster."

You felt the air knock out of your lungs at his confession. Now that you heard it from him, the realization finally sank in. Suguru had massacred hundreds of people.

There was no going back.

"Oh, Suguru," You choked on your words, not that you had any left. "What have you? No! I'm sure we can find a way. Gojo can. Right? He's the strongest." Your face twisted in fear and something else you couldn't quite pin.

Suguru called your name, pulling you out of your thought train. He was much calmer now, as if he knew nothing more could be done. The realization had set in for him too. "I can't go back anymore."

He stood up, pulling you along with him, and guided you carefully to the back of the shack. He lifted the room divider open just a little to reveal a glimpse of two little girls curled up against each other on the dusty couch. "I won't. Those people were monsters, no less than me."

You let out a gasp at the scene before you as he drew the curtain close again. "They're just kids. Like we were. Like they once were. So why did they have to live like that? What fault did they have?" He was barely keeping his voice even.

Your mind was sending you into a spiral. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore. You swiftly made your way towards the front of the shack, where your bag lay, abandoned. Suguru followed after you, calling your name. Prying open the zipper, you pulled out some canned food, grabbing them in his hands.

"What are you doing?" He called after you, worry lacing his tone as he watched you pick up your empty bag, ready to leave.

"I need some time... to think, Suguru." You tried to keep your voice as unreadable as possible. How would he feel if you sounded terrified, repulsed, or anything at all? "I'll come by- I... Would I be able to see you again?" You stopped to look at him one last time, hoping he'd stop you. Hoping he'd ask you to stay just a little while longer.

He was hesitant. "I'm not sure." He looked as if he were stopping himself from holding onto you too. He'd be too selfish if he did that, right?

"Take care, Suguru." You whispered, choking back your tears and putting on your straightest face. Suguru only watched as you left, unmoving and unspoken. You'd just be a threat to him if you stayed, right?

No matter how close you were to him, he was still a criminal.

And you, a sorcerer.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #geto x reader #geto suguru #jjk geto #jujutsu geto #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen shoko #getou suguru x reader #suguru angst #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen imagines

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thecameronchronicles · 1 year

Text

Midsummers

TW: Brief angst. Smut. Language. DOM!Rafe.

SUMMARY: The night that was supposed to be the one you'd always dreamed of takes an unexpected, and erotic, turn, with an unexpected person.

WORD COUNT: 2700

REQUESTED:

hiii i have a rafe request if you get the chance!! maybe a sarah’s friend reader who gets cheated on by jj, so sarah makes rafe ask her to midsummers and things get spicy!? love your writing💕🥰

Midsummers

You had spent the last two weeks barreling through boutique after boutique just to get the perfect dress for tonight. Where others would use tonight to display their riches through some ensemble or conversation about upcoming events within their lives, you had articulated every detail to raise your confidence enough to finally act on your crush. But as you stood before the mirror with Sarah's encouraging words swirling in your mind, you were blissfully unaware of the second set of eyes that had made note of you. Still a set of eyes wore the same Cameron name, but not the ones you expected. And ones you never noticed having observed you this way. Just as they always had.

"Whoa!" Topper exclaimed as you emerged from within the rear of the Island Inn Resort where the annual Midsummers event was being held.

"I just saw him..." Sarah explained as you looked at the small collective of pogues banding together once JJ happened to draw the attention of one of the security guards. But as you'd hoped to have finally had a chance to express your unwavering feelings for him, you watched him dote over Kiara. The way she stood up for him. The way he wrapped her into a spin as she left the scene had been enough to not only squander your feelings for him but also any possibility of him learning of why you'd spent so much time in an appearance you usually left decorated barely.

"All pogues are idiots." Rafe's voice sent your hand to your cheeks to quickly brush away any evidence of your heartache.

"They shouldn't even be allowed on the property...broke so many glasses that Rose is going to have a conniption." You scoffed at this as you saw the beginning of this take hold as she was just in earshot to hear her rage against members of the help.

"Drink?" He offered as you looked at the bottle he'd hijacked from behind the bar and considered the numb feeling it could offer. But much like a crush, you knew the risk and ride was not worth the hangover the next day.

"I think I'll just go home..."

"What? No! At least not until you dance with me.'

"Rafe Cameron doesn't dance."

"He does right now." He stood, extending his hand as you led him towards the remainder of the guests before he pulled you back towards him.

"For you." A soft sway began with the distant music supplying the perfect ambiance for what should have been a pristine romantic moment. But in your attempts to feel such things, you would be met with that dull ache of a broken heart. Yet, there existed a comfort in his arms. A safety. All because he was the friend you'd known and appreciated, even despite his flaws. The soft pattern of his heartbeat existed as a lullaby of sorts to your tired pain as you basked in it as long as you could.

"Guys like JJ can't appreciate beautiful things..." Rafe explained as he'd pulled away from you just long enough to brush a hair from your cheek.

"They just taint it...But...Can I ask you something?" You nodded, his soft eyes suddenly evading your own.

"I overheard you and Sarah...all the shit you did for him tonight...and...I just...why him? I mean you could have any guy here...So...why some pogue who doesn't even notice it?"

"Because I don't want to be stuck, Rafe. I can see it in so many people here. The way they look deadpanned at everything and... they're miserable and it's terrifying. So I want a love, even for just the summer, that I can look back on and know it's possible...even if it hurts."

"And you thought Maybank was that?"

"I hoped." Suddenly Rafe surprised you, a hand set on either cheek as his steps stopped.

"What if someone felt the same about you? Maybe someone you didn't...notice?"

"Rafe?" His lips rushed against yours.

He was a friend. He was your best friend's brother. But he was also always there when you needed him. He was a source of a smile when your cheeks were stained with tears. He was those arms you ran to when you had moments like this. Most of them having been founded on convenient timing or the fact Sarah was busy. But you'd never thought of him beyond those former titles. Because of what he was. Forbidden. A risk. And yet, the way he held you now, you would wage war against the world to keep his touch to you.

His fingers were behaved at your hips but informing you of his need as he dug into the satin fabric beneath the curved fingertips. Once he was relieved to find your response to him, he used that grip to bring you harder into him. A tongue brushing your bottom lip sent your lips into a delicate part whereas your fingers became wrapped around the lapels of his suit, leading him even closer.

"Rafe-" The breathless sound of his name led him to need more of you. All of you. But he was too impatient to guide you to any of the room of the hotel. Instead, he pulled you to the direction of the nearby wall where he could bask in your winded pattern of attempted breathing.

"The first thing he should have done was told you how beautiful you look..." He explained while his hands moved down from your cheeks and to your hips, tracing over your breasts with a sinister grin that informed you that he knew his exact effect on you.

"I watched you stand in front of that mirror fixing every hair...every line made in the dress as you checked yourself from every angle. All wanting to look perfect for someone who isn't deserving of seeing you in this dress...much less out of it..." Your cheeks flushed in crimson as your lips parted to speak.

"I want to earn it. Even if it takes all night...I want to earn each and every one of those little moans and whimpers he'll never know..." Your eyes widened before he kissed you again. This time, one hand at your breast as the other lowered between your legs. A slit of your dress made this possible as you relaxed your stance, only to feel it then tighten from his touch. He teased your sex over your clothed clit before setting your leg at his hip. His thumb brushed the sight of your panties, possible from this angle and the fit of your dress.

"You chose blue for him? Be honest." You nodded before he suddenly tore them from your hip. A gasp emerged behind illuminated yet lust blown eyes.

"You wear red for me. Or you wear nothing." His hand took a form but cautious hold of your jaw. "If you choose nothing, you're giving every consent to let me touch you when I want. And I'll take it. Whenever. Wherever..."

"Please..." Your cheeks became feverish from his words. The simple idea of him, in any context, was unbelievable. And yet, he was the salve to your raw wound.

"You think I'd let anyone else see that face right now...let alone when you come? I don't think so...I've earned it...why do they get to enjoy it?"

"Please, Rafe...I'll be quiet." To this, his lips spread into a wide grin.

"You don't understand. I want you to scream for me...only me." He led the hand to your face down to your hand before he collected your panties and brought you into the heart of the hotel. Guests who knew both of your families had attempted to stop you, but Rafe made an excuse you did care to note.

"You got a room?" You asked as he pinned you against the door as it came open, the sound access granted by an electronic click making your heart skip in excitement.

"The suite for the chair of the committee. It's Rose's niece's...but she's busy with Kelce...So tonight… it's ours and you're mine." He paused for a second.

"If you want to be. You get one chance to walk away-"

"I don't want to."

"I can't promise to be gentle..." You took a step closer to him, hands back on the lapels of his suit.

"I don't want gentle. I want..."

"I'll give you everything you've ever wanted. All you have to do is say it." He explained.

"You." He collected you into a tender kiss as your fingers were desperate to assess him. The stone torso beneath rose with humor validated from a smirk.

"We have all night..."

"I need to feel you...all of you.." He grunted.

"Take this dress off. Slowly." You bit your bottom lip as he pulled his cufflinks loose. Your eyes remained on his before he moved to you again.

"I changed my mind, turn around." You obliged, now facing the bed as you felt him remove your zipper. Your breath hitched to the bare skin kissed by the backs of his knuckles.

"He doesn't deserve to see you like this..." He explained as you turned to face him.

"Jesus..." He released a deep exhale as you ran your hands at his naked torso. But as you tried to adore his physique as you allowed him, your wrists were bound. But only for a breath as he led you towards the bed.

"You're so fucking beautiful. I could stare at you all night. But I've done that for the last five years...I think my patience should be rewarded." Before you could speak, you were taken to the bed until his weight pinned you beneath him. You were pulled to his desire, hands set over your head.

"Don't move them unless it's to grip the sheets." You nodded as he began a trail of kisses from your jaw to your navel, taking a moment to appreciate each breast.

"I didn't think you'd grip them quite yet...'

"But your hands feel so good..."

"I'm just getting started, baby..." He continued his descent until he came over your sex. His breath leaving you cold beneath as he smirked to the way you groaned for him. The expression of necessity making him lick his lips.

"You can be as loud as you want for me. Don't insult me by trying to be all ladylike..." He offered one final cast of the raise of his grin before his tongue came to your clit.

"You already taste so good for me...all for me." You nodded as you reached for his hair, his body quickly returning your hands over your head.

"You only pull when you're about to come...you're already so wet it's hard to tell." Your eyes rolled as he projected his ringed finger inside of you while his tongue returned to work.

"Rafe!" You belted.

"Mmm... you taste so good..." He retreated, pulling your legs wider as you fisted into the sheets above your head.

"You really think Maybank would know how to make you grip those sheets like that?"

"No!"

"Prove it...Say my name again. Just as desperately as before. Like you want him to hear you." As you agreed by doing exactly as he asked, he smirked into you as he built you to that orgasm.

"How do you wanna come-"

"I don't care!"

"I'm only going to be able to let you do it once before I need to. So tell me-"

"Right here! Don't stop!"

He teased a lick of his lips before nodding. His motions were slowed but thorough as he was a means to the way of your release.

"Rafe!"

"You know what to do if you're close." Whimpering behind a bottom lip clenched by your teeth, you tugged tightly as his hair now disheveled by your grip.

"Come on my face, baby..." He spoke quickly, returning to you once again as your hips were held down by his grip as you lost control in the waves made by your back. Arching and clenching, whimpering and pleading, all until you spilled over his grin. He looked at you with a wide grin. .

"Oh baby...you made such a big mess..." His smirk widened even further.

"I want an even bigger one on my cock." He turned you to your stomach, kissing you in a rather awkward but adjusted bend, as you were taken upwards.

"This ass is almost perfect..." A slap made you yelp as his lips nearly reached his ears with pride.

"Now it is. My handprint right here..." He rugged the assaulted skin. "Just as it should be."

"You want my cock baby? How about we beg one more time for me? Yeah? Just one?" He almost latinized as you nodded.

"Please, Rafe. I need you inside me..."

"Then put me there..." He teased you with his naked cock, a motion you were too wrapped in your own bliss to notice he'd made.

"Good girl. You know where it goes...slowly...I could come with how fucking wet and tight you already are..." You struggled to keep your moans compressed as you guided him into you.

"Bring it back slowly baby..." He orchestrated you through his order as he guided your hair into his fist and pulled you to his chest.

"You feel that right there?" He flexed his cock inside of you,making you shudder. .

"This is how it should always be. When it isn't in your mouth or hand..."

"Rafe-"

"But for right now...you're gonna prove I'm the one you're thinking of. So make me come...and maybe I'll let you just one more time..."

"Ahhh..." You began to main as he brought you into a steady rhythm you were guided to upkeep. Your eyes rolled to how deep and full he left you feeling the walls of your sex clenching to him just as gluttonous as his nails had been to you.

"Fuck! You feel like heaven..." You moaned. "Faster..." You obliged, your body moving in slow strides to him, accelerating to this request.

"Rafe please!"

"What are you begging for? If you want something, you can get it, baby...just ask..."

"Fuck me?"

"Like you mean it..."

"Fuck me, Rafe!"

"Here?" He asked, a harsh thrust stilling your movements as he continued to tease you.

"Oh, you wanna come again? Isn't that a bit greedy?"

"I don't care...you feel so good...please..."

"With a hand wrapped around your breast, he pulled you even closer to him.

"You haven't even felt me here..." He explained while brushing your bottom lip.

"Next time. I wanna feel you come inside me! Please!" You shook over him as he smirked.

"Who am I to deny to my girl?" He began steady but unkind. Harsh thrusts led him pounding into you as the bed squeaked at mercy. Care and compassion were damned as you were taken to the crest of that second high and he was at the precipice of his first.

"You feel so damn good, I could come inside you all night."

"Yes! Please!"

"Let's see how you handle one...you're already shaking for me baby..."

"I'm close!"

"No you're not." He explained until he began making small circles at your clit.

"Now you are..." He smirked. This humor fading for pleasure as you felt him lead the charge to a mutual release. Perfect foreplay and timing had you calling out for one another in grunts and groans as he pulled you swiftly against his hips.

"Tell me. Tell me whose fucking you like this."

"Rafe-!"

"Tell me whose cock owns your pussy whenever I wanna come."

"RAFE!"

"And tell me who you belong to from this moment on!" He cursed behind clenched teeth.

"Rafe Cameron!"

"I love how you say my name when you come." He breathed in finality, your orgasm prompting his own, as he pulled you back to his chest. Sweat connecting you as a trophy of such an example.

"How about I make you say it again?"

TAGLIST: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @camilynn @sweetestdesire @onmykneesforrafe @drews1love @phildunphyisadilf @mashdan0916

MASTERLIST

RAFE CAMERON MASTERLIST

2ND RAFE CAMERON MASTERLIST

#rafe cameron fanfiction #rafecameron x reader #rafecameronfanfiction #rafe cameron #rafecameron #rafe cameron smut #outerbanks #outer banks smut #obx #obxsmut #obx fanfiction #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #outerbanks smut #drew starkey

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shiorimakibawrites · 9 months

Text

One of Those Days

Okay, fair warning, this was written in a rush and is largely unedited. And I might have made Frank Castle out of character since I don't have a firm grip on his character yet but @bellaxgiornata isn't having the best day and was looking for Frank fics.

This is only a very short one-shot but I hope it helps you feel better, Bella.

Well, got to get back to writing Alley Cat.

Summary: You have a bad day but Frank makes it all better.

Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Frank possibly being out of character

One of Those Days

You were having one of those days.

You had overslept and had been late for work. Your boss was in a fool mood and while he didn’t fire you for your lateness, he did yell at you in front of everyone. In front of her. That woman that shared your office space. The one who had taken one look at you, decided she didn’t like you, and proceeded to make your life miserable. Judging by the little smile on her face, she enjoyed watching you get humiliated.

You wanted to quit but you couldn’t. You needed this job. The rent wasn’t going to pay itself. So you swallowed your embarrassment, blinked back tears, and moved to your desk with as much dignity as you could manage.

Work was more tedious than usual. The computer had hiccup that corrupted the entire file you had been working on and forced you to re-do the entire thing. Which wasn’t difficult but was time-consuming. Which only irritated your boss further.

You ate lunch at your desk, trying to type with one hand while you ate with the other. And of course, ended up with mustard on your blouse. Somehow you managed to finish your tasks by the end of the day, which only earned you an annoyed ‘finally’ from your boss.

You had taken some pain relievers earlier but you could feel your headache sulking behind the medicine, threatening to turn into a migraine the moment said pain-killers wore off.

It decided to start raining when you were walking home. And not a little rain either. A massive downpour that had you soaked down to the skin within minutes. Because you had been in such a rush this morning, you had forgotten to grab your umbrella.

By the time you reached your apartment, you were tired, wet, cold, and really wanting to cry. Your hands were shaking so much that you couldn’t get your key in the lock. That was the last straw. You gave up fighting your tears and let yourself cry.

You didn’t know how long you stood in front of your door, bawling like a baby, before it swung open.

“Honey?” asked a familiar deep voice. Frank. Who wasn’t supposed to be back until tomorrow . . .

“Got done early,” he said, making you realize that you had said that outloud. “Thought I’d surprise you with dinner.”

Now that he mentioned it, you could smell the distinct odor of garlic and tomato sauce wafting out of your apartment. The thoughtfulness after such a terrible day did nothing to stop the tears but Frank seemed to understand that you were at the end of your tether.

“Come ‘ere,” he said, drawing you into a hug. He ignored your weak protests that you were going to get him wet, just wrapped his big arms around you and pressed you against his body. You gave in, buried your face against his chest, and sobbed.

Again, you don’t know how long you stood there. Frank didn’t complain, acted perfectly willing to stand there all day if that was what you needed. But when you squeezed, Frank loosen his hold enough to shepherd you into the apartment. He lead you to the bathroom before letting you go to turn on the shower. After adjusting the knobs, he stripped you out of your soaked clothes and gently encouraged you under the spray. The hot water felt so good that you almost started crying again.

“I gotta check on the food but I’ll be right back,” he said. You slowly nodded in agreement.

True to his word, Frank was back within five minutes. In his hands were a bundle of clothes that he sat on the counter.

“Do you want to wash?” he asked. You thought about it and then nodded your head. You watched as he striped out of his clothes, normally something that would have you getting wet in a different way but today, you were too emotionally wrung out for sex.

Frank seemed to sense this because he didn’t touch you that way. Just soaped up the washcloth and helped you clean the day off of your body. Just washed your hair and gently massaged your scalp, which eased the still pouting headache. He wrapped you in the biggest, fluffiest towel you owned before he dried himself and changed back into his clothes.

You were feeling steady enough to dry yourself off and start to dress yourself. He had picked out your most comfortable clothes. But with your pile of clothes was one of his hoodies. You sent him a questioning look as you held it up.

“Put it on, honey, it’ll keep you warm,” he said. What went unsaid that he knew you loved wearing his hoodies. Being loose on him and all his muscles, they were way too big for you but that’s why you loved them. That and they smelled like Frank.

You smiled at him. It was a little thing, barely a smile, but it was first one that you had all day. He smiled back and said, “There’s my girl. Let’s go eat.”

Frank claimed that he wasn’t much of a cook and maybe it was the stress of the day but it was the most delicious spaghetti that you had ever eaten. After you had eaten your fill, Frank had taken care of the plates and otherwise cleaning up the kitchen, ignoring your protests that he had cooked, you should be the one to clean.

“Pick us out a movie, honey,” he said, shooing you out of the kitchen.

Realizing there was no point in fighting him on this – especially when you didn’t especially want to do the dishes after a day like this – you settled on the couch and started strolling through the streaming options. You had picked one, a romance that you had seen a dozen times, when Frank came into the living room with one of your blankets.

Through you knew perfectly well that romance was not his favorite genre, he just nodded at your movie choice, and encouraged you to snuggle with him under the blanket. Warm, comfortable, and filled with good food, you fell asleep about halfway through the movie.

The next morning, while having coffee, Frank casually mentioned that he knew of a law firm that was looking for a new office manager. No pressure, just something to consider. After the day you had yesterday and how much you were dreading today, that little white business card he left with you was very, very tempting.

#fan fic #the punisher #frank castle x reader #fluff

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aokoaoi · 1 year

Text

im sorry, my love.

pairing : shuri x fem!reader.

author's note : the way the requests contain angst and my main fav genre to write is fluff goodbye😭 also very short because I am very lazy rn<\3 beginning is very cringe idk

request by : @heyitslee

Shuri lost a literal gold.

She lost the only person she had left who she truly cared. Things were hard between both of you the past months. You two were stressed, you'd often argue alot to the point voices were raised until throats began to hurt.

You were so precious. She loved you so much, and yet she let you go. How could she let you go. She couldn't even bare the sight of you packing your things in front of her, harshly opening the doors to your shared bedroom as you stormed out.

She can still remember it clearly. The broken look on your face as tears slowly cascaded down your cheeks as you packed your things.

She should've tried communicating with you instead of yelling and fighting all the time.

She should've treaded you better. If she had, then you would've still be with her, in between her arms as you hummed your favorite lullabies to her.

Shuri missed you so much. Every day and night. She tried getting her mind off of you by drawing herself more into her work, but of course it didn't work.

She's spent countless nights all alone in the cold, clinging onto the sheets you both shared desperately. The room was beginning to lose your scent as well, and soon, she'll forget most qualities you had as well.

Shuri hoped you weren't experiencing the feelings she had right now. She hopes you were happy somewhere in the city, still chasing your dreams with the smile she oh so loved so much.

And you were. You were happy. Happy with someone else.

She saw you walking in the streets, picking out fruits selling by the side with someone standing beside you. You gave then the look you always gave her when you're in your own world.

The same glimmering stars in your eyes shining in adoration. Your sweet laughs aching in her ears when you heard your new lovers jokes. All the things you did with her, were now happening with someone else.

You looked so happy with them. It made her think if that could've been you and her if she tried harder. It pained her but at the same time, seeing you happy relaxed her.

At least you weren't miserable like what she is right now.

She could vividly remember yours words when you last saw eachother. After you stormed out of the palace. After she pleaded you not to go after realizing her wrongs.

'Don't go, please, my love. Let me fix this!'

'This isn't working, shuri. We can start over. on our own. It's time you focus on yourself, shuri. Nothing is more important than yourself. We've given eachother so many chances but it has never worked.'

'You don't mean that—'

'If we truly loved eachother, this wouldn't be happening right now. I'm sorry shuri, but you're gonna have to let me go.'

How can she let you go? Did she really not love you enough to make you stay?

#fanfic #reader insert #character x reader #black panther wakanda forever #fanfiction #princess shuri #shuri udaku #shuri black panther #shuri x reader #—aoifics

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sequinsmile-x · 1 year

Note

umm requests for touching 10, 16, 24, 52 and make it slutty for me xo

of course bestie!!

The prompts are:

Touching 10/16/24/52: spooning at night / massaging them / whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin / gripping thigh

This...got away from me. Massively. And I am not sorry.

(This might actually be the smuttiest thing I have ever written so I am a little anxious about it!)

-x-

Precarious

She wondered if this was what madness felt like.

Words: 4k

Warnings: Smut, 18+

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She missed him.

It felt ridiculous really. She worked with him. Lived with him. Slept next to him. But she missed him. The want and need for her husband thrumming under her skin in a way she could no longer ignore.

It had been over two months since they’d been together. A quick fuck in the shower before they left for work that morning, taking some much-needed time between the two of them on a rare occasion when the kids were all still asleep. If she closed her eyes she could still feel the way he’d held her close, his wet skin slipping against hers as they tried to keep quiet. If she’d known it would have been their last time for a while, their longest dry spell since they’d together including after she’d had their two youngest children, she would have tried harder to convince him to stay in the shower for another round that morning.

His phone had distracted him, the ringing from their bedroom drawing his attention back towards work and the case that would end up with her dislocating her shoulder. Aaron had never been one to follow medical advice for himself, but if it was for her or the kids he followed it to the letter. Meaning, much to her irritation, when the doctor explained that ‘strenuous activity’ included sex she knew he’d take it seriously.

Emily had hoped that when her doctor gave her the all-clear they’d be good to go, but then Violet caught the flu at school. The five-year-old had been miserable, sleeping in between her parents for days, snuggled up into her mother’s side as she fought off the fever she inevitably passed on to both of her brothers.

Now everyone was better and back to sleeping in their own rooms, Emily was starting to feel frustrated. No longer distracted by the pain in her shoulder that had been worse than she’d admitted to Aaron, or her sick children, all she could think about was how much she really, really needed to have sex with her husband.

“Jack is distracting the hotchkins with his video game,” Aaron says as he walks into their bedroom, already undoing his tie as he walks towards their closet to change out of his work clothes, the very same thing she’d come in here to do only a few minutes earlier. She smiles at the use of the nickname Penelope had given their younger children as soon as she’d met Violet for the first time.

“Pen would be delighted to know you call them that when she isn’t around,” she says pulling her sweatpants over her hips before she sits on the edge of the bed.

Aaron chuckles, “Please don’t tell her, it will only encourage her to do it more.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” she says, smiling up at him as he continues to change. She doesn’t try to hide the fact she’s watching him, and can’t suppress her groan when he takes off his shirt, quickly replacing it with a t-shirt. He turns to look at her, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Are you ok, sweetheart?”

She briefly considers telling him, but she knows they won’t really have time. That both of them being upstairs would only lead to one thing - one of their children yelling for them.

“I’m ok,” she replies, forcing a smile she knows he sees through, “It’s just been a long day.”

He stares at her for a second before he walks over to the bed, sitting behind her on the mattress. He places his hand on her shoulder, the one she’d injured only a couple of months prior, and feels the tension in her whole body.

“Is your shoulder bothering you?” He asks, starting to massage her shoulder, and moving along the top of her back, his thumbs finding knots in the base of her neck.

She barely suppresses a groan, her head dipping forward subconsciously to give him more access to her skin.

“No, not my shoulder,” she breathes out, shivering as his familiar touch makes goose pimples spread across her body.

Aaron doesn’t miss the tightness in her voice, or how her body gets impossibly tense beneath his palms.

“Em-”

“Aaron, I swear to god you’ve got to stop touching me,” she snaps, every nerve hanging on by a thread, ready to snap if his hands so much as drifted any further down. She feels his hands fall away from her, and she sighs, guilt pooling in her belly at the hurt on his face, calming the fire of arousal that had started to build, “Fuck,” she mutters under her breath, reaching out for his hand and linking their fingers together, “I’m sorry. You haven’t done anything wrong. I’m just…a little on edge.”

He squeezes her hand in his and shakes his head, a silent promise that her apology was unnecessary. “Anything I can help with?”

She chuckles dryly, “Absolutely. If we ever find the goddamn time.”

One thing they’d both always loved about their relationship was how much they understood each other, how much went unsaid. She sees the moment the penny drops, his eyes widening slightly as he fails to hide a smirk from her.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” she replies, “I miss you. That’s all.”

He smiles at her, and leans forward to kiss her, his lips firm against hers, “I miss you too.”

She gets lost in it. Lets herself get caught up in the wave of his affection, in him. She can taste the decaf coffee they’d shared on the drive home from work on his tongue as it sweeps past her lips, and she’s only brought back to reality when she feels a groan vibrate through her chest.

“Aaron,” she mutters, her protests lost for a second as he chases her lips, “Honey, the kids are just downstairs. It’s almost dinner time.”

He pulls back, his eyes dark with lust, and she realises in that moment he’s wanted this just as much as she has. He’d always been better at hiding it, something he attributed to having to pretend he wasn’t attracted to her since the moment they met.

“I’d say,” he replies, leaning in to press his lips to the collum of her throat, “we have maybe 10 minutes,” he moves his kisses up to her jaw, “I can do a lot with 10 minutes.”

She moans, turning her head to capture his lips before he can kiss her cheek, her response in how fiercely she kisses him. How tightly she wraps her hands into his hair. He pins her to the bed, his familiar weight over her enough to make her almost lose her mind by itself. He grasps at her skin, his hand working it's way up inside her t-shirt, palming at her breast, muffling words about how perfect she is against her lips, before he moves back downwards, aware that time was of the essence even when he was drunk on her.

His hand slips below the waistband of her sweatpants, his warm skin scorching against hers. He’s barely pushing past her underwear, his fingers grazing her clit, when they are torn abruptly from the haze they’d fallen into.

“Mommy!”

They pull back from each other so quickly they bang their heads into each other, both groaning in pain as they sit up, his hand leaving her sweatpants just in time before their 5-year-old daughter bursts into the room, fury all over her face.

“What’s wrong, Vi?” Emily asks, thinking it is nothing short of a miracle that she isn’t breathless.

“Benny took my controller and he won’t give it back.”

Emily sighs, standing up and walking over to her daughter, “Benny is 3, honey. He doesn’t always understand what sharing is.”

Violet pouts, grumbling under her breath as she often did when it came to her younger brother Benjamin.

“It’s not fair.”

“I know, sweet girl,” Emily says, picking her up and heaving her onto her hip, “But he’s not doing it to be mean.”

Violet sighs but nods, “I’m hungry.”

Emily suppresses a smile at the fickle nature of a 5-year-old, how her previous upset was almost already forgotten.

“Me too,” she looks over at her husband, not missing how the bastard subtly wipes his hand on his sweatpants as he stands up, “Daddy was just about to start on dinner.”

“We’re not going out?” Violet asks, and Emily shakes her head, turning to leave the room so she could head downstairs to find out what her sons were up to.

“No, baby,” she mutters, “No one will be eating out tonight.” ___

If anything, the interrupted moment in their bedroom the night before makes her even more frustrated. They’d never got round to finishing off what they’d started, the night disappearing quickly as it always did into bedtime routines and the promise of ‘just one more’ story.

It wasn’t even like work helped because he was there. Looking far too sexy and serious in his suit as he sat at his desk. She’d never wished that her desk wasn’t facing his office before, but she finds herself just staring at him through the slats of the blinds, distracted by memories of how he’d fucked her, more than once, on the desk he was currently doing paperwork on.

She briefly thinks about going up to try and convince him that they should revisit their old ways again, but she knows he was better at resisting her at work ever since Dave had walked in on them in the supply closet. She growls to herself and grabs her mug off her desk, welcoming the brief distraction from her husband as she walks to the kitchen to get a coffee.

She reaches for the jug of decaf, knowing full well the last thing she needed was for there to be as much caffeine in her system as there was lust, when Derek approaches her, a sparkle in his eyes that she has no time for.

“You ok, Em? You seem a little on edge.”

“I’m fine,” she replies, ripping the top off of two packets of Splenda with more force than necessary.

He hums, watching her carefully, and she’s never been so frustrated to be surrounded by profilers all the time.

“Sure. That’s exactly how a fine person would say that.”

She sighs, knowing her irritation is unreasonable, and she stirs her coffee with force, “Just leave it please, Derek.”

“You not getting any or something? You haven’t been this wound up since before you and Hotch got together,” he comments, and she hates that she has a momentary reaction and that he sees it. “Oh my god-”

“Derek, I swear-”

“Is that what the problem is, you aren’t getting laid? Bossman holding out on you?”

She clenches her teeth, finally stopping stirring her coffee and she looks at him, “It has been…a little while. Between my shoulder injury, the kids getting sick and just…having a family.”

He leans against the counter, still smirking at her, but his eyes are softer, not so much of his previous teasing on display.

“He hides it better than you, but he’s frustrated too.”

She frowns, tilting her head slightly as she looks at him, “What do you mean?”

“Let’s just say he’s been sparring a lot more than usual down in the gym the last couple of months. And he’s even grumpier than usual.”

“He’s not grumpy,” she says, always ready to defend her husband.

“Yes. He is. And so are you,” Derek says, his mischief returning, “So, and I speak on behalf of the entire BAU when I say this, please make sure you do something about it,” he shivers slightly, his nose scrunching up, “It’s almost worse than when the two of you were pretending you weren’t in love with each other.”

She rolls her eyes and walks away with her coffee without further comment. She spends the rest of the day struggling to do paperwork and avoiding her friend’s amused gaze.

___

Emily stays behind after everyone else, including Aaron, leaves.

She claims it’s to finish her paperwork. Which was partially true, since she’d spent most of the day unable to focus, but she also just needs some space.

She gets caught in traffic and goes home via a drive-thru, and by the time she parks up on the driveway, she knows the kids will be ready for bedtime.

She’s confused when she walks through the door and finds it’s silent, a rare commodity in their home. She’s about to call out, to find where her family is, when Aaron rounds the corner, his finger to his lips as he silently shushes her.

“Where are our children?” She asks quietly, letting him help her out of her coat, his fingers trailing down her arms, “You didn’t sell them did you?”

He rolls his eyes at her, “No,” he replies, holding her steady as she takes her shoes off, “Violet and Benny are both asleep, and Jack is at a sleepover with his friends.”

She nods, remembering the evening her eldest had been looking forward to for weeks, “He’s going to be so tired when he gets back tomorrow. I can’t believe you got them to sleep.”

“I may have bribed them with a visit to the zoo tomorrow.” He says, shrugging and she shakes her head at him, but melts into him as he wraps his arms around her, his hand on her back, his fingers grazing the belt line of her pants. He leans in to kiss her, pulling back when he tastes salt on her lips, “Did you eat?”

She bites her lip to stop herself from smiling, “I may have come home via Mcdonald's.”

He shakes his head lovingly at her, his usual chastisement that she should eat healthier nowhere to be found.

“Good,” he says instead, kissing her again before he turns her, following her closely as he walks them to the stairs with his hands on her hips, “It will save us some time.”

He doesn’t stop touching her the entire journey to their bedroom, his hands on her hips and his lips attached to her neck. As soon as they are in their room, the door gently closed behind them so they don’t wake up the kids, she turns in his arms, kissing him fiercely as she lets herself get led to the bed, the back of her legs hitting it.

The tiny bit of control he has left snaps as she whimpers, and he reaches for the buttons of her shirt. Before he can consider undoing them slowly, teasing her like he had spent the evening planning to, she pushes his hands away, tearing her own shirt apart, the button scattering across the floor.

“Keen, are we?” He chuckles against her lips, pushing the now ruined shirt down her arms, letting it fall to the floor.

“Shut up and take your fucking clothes off,” she replies, already taking off her bra and reaching for the fastenings on her pants. He does as he’s asked, taking little care with his clothes for once, his desperation for her overriding any concerns about how everything would be creased.

She sits on the edge of the bed when she’s naked, and he smiles down at her, his body thrumming with want, and he leans down to kiss her, encouraging her further up the bed until they reach the pillows. He wastes no time in pushing her thighs apart, a sense of pride he knows she’d kill him for if he voiced it spreading through his chest when he sees how wet she already is.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, smiling up at her, shifting up to kiss her cheek, feeling the heat of her skin against him, “I’ve barely touched you.”

“Aaron, I swear to go-” She’s cut off as he swipes his finger over her clit, drawing sharp circles around her in a way that takes her breath away. “Fuck.”

He builds her up almost giving her no time to breathe, and if it was any other situation, if desperation for him wasn’t flowing through her veins, she would be embarrassed at how quickly she comes.

“So beautiful,” he mutters, kissing her neck, his fingers never stopping their small movements over her clit, not letting her come all the way back down, “So beautiful and all mine,” he says, kissing down her body, smiling as she twitches against him.

He presses two fingers into her and she can’t do anything other than whimper, her fingers tightening in his hair as he settles between her legs, his shoulders pushing her thighs further apartment. He moves his fingers in and out of her, always pressing in just the right places, slowing her back up as if she’d ever fully recovered from her orgasm just minutes before.

He places his other hand on her stomach, firmly holding her in place as she tries to roll her hips. She struggled to look at his hands sometimes at work. Couldn’t look at his fingers wrapped around a gun, the Glock always looking like a toy in his hands, without thinking about how easily he could take her apart.

Aaron kisses the inside of her thigh, sucking a mark near the apex of them, a token for her carry for days after this. He smiles as he feels her trembling, one hand buried in his hair and the other grasping the comforter below her, and he shifts just enough to lick through her, his tongue against her clit working in tandem with his fingers, increasing the pace in which he moves them in and out of her.

She feels it start to build inside of her, warmth sparking in her stomach, a fire spreading throughout her entire body, “Fuck, Aaron, baby, I’m going to-”

“Do it,” he mutters, barely pulling away from her so she can hear him, “come.”

She wouldn’t have been able to stop it if she’d wanted to, her entire body tensing, her thighs tight around his head as she does as he’s told her. It takes a few seconds for her vision to clear, and when it does he’s laying next to her, a smirk on his face.

“You look far too pleased with yourself,” she says, pulling him in for a kiss, tasting herself on his lips.

“I’m not done yet,” he replies, kissing her once more before he encourages her to lay on her side. He moulds his body behind hers, every part of her pressed up against a part of him. He grabs her thigh and lifts it, pulling it back to lay over his, and he groans as he notches against her, feeling the slick wetness he’d left between her thighs. “Shit, Em.”

“Please,” she mutters, sure that this was what madness must feel like, and she breathes out relief as he pushes forward, entering her slowly.

She groans at the sensation, the position making the usual stretch of him feel bigger than usual, as if he could push her to her limit.

“You feel so fucking good, sweetheart,” he says, his face buried into her shoulder, “Like you were made for me.” He starts to thrust, sure if he didn’t move he’d embarrass himself like he was a teenager having his first fumble with his girlfriend.

Emily gasps, reaching back for him, her hand grasping for something, anything to hold onto. She ends up tangling her fingers in his hair, and turns to look at him, ignoring the pull in her neck as she kisses him, wanting as much of him as she can get.

He grips her thigh tighter, enough that he’s sure there will be bruises from his fingertips tattooed across her skin the morning. A secret between the two of them beneath her clothes, evidence that she was his. He grunts as he starts to thrust harder, and she moans, pulling away from the kiss as she turns her head back, pushing her face partially into the pillow in an attempt to stay quiet. He reaches round and presses his finger against her clit, smiling into her neck as he rubs small circles against her and she barely conceals a whine.

“You’ve got to be quiet, sweetheart,” he whispers, his lips against her ear. His breath skips across her skin as his hand reaches for her breast, pinching her nipple, another assault on her senses that pushes her closer to the edge, “If they wake up we’ll have to stop.”

She whines again, lifting her hand to her mouth to cover it, sure if they had to stop she would go mad.

“Aaron,” she mumbles, her words muffled against her skin, “so close.”

He presses his forehead against the top of her head, suppressing his own groan as she gets impossibly tighter around him, both of them on the precipice.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he says, speeding up the circles he was drawing around her clit, “Let go, Em,” he whispers, his rhythm starting to falter as she comes around him, his name a whine against her palm. The way she clenches around him is all he needs to join her, coming deep inside of her as he smothers a growl in her neck.

They lay there for a moment, both trying to catch their breath, before she laughs, disentangling herself from him enough to turn to look at him, lamenting as he slips out of her. She kisses him, her hand on his cheek as she holds him in place, her forehead against his when she pulls back.

“That was…” she chuckles again, “Well, I’d say if that's what it’s like if we wait so long we should do it again. But I think I’d go insane.”

“Me too,” he replies, kissing her, pulling her impossibly closer, “I think it would drive the rest of the team crazy as well.”

She smiles, but it fades, turning into confusion, “What do you mean?”

“Derek said something to me today,” he says, smoothing her hair out of her face before he kisses her once more, standing to go get into the shower before they settled into bed.

“He said something to me too,” she replies, her body still buzzing in a way she’s unable to feel embarrassed, she stretches, her body aching in delicious ways as she follows him to the bathroom, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was trying to win a bet…” she drifts off, her eyes meeting her husband’s as it clicks in her head, “Oh that fucker.”

___

It doesn’t escape her how pleased with himself Derek looks on Monday. A smirk he doesn’t even try to cover on his face as all of the team looks at her and Aaron when they arrive, the rest of them rolling their eyes.

She catches him outside Penelope’s office, counting a pile of bills in his hand.

“I think I’ll take that thank you,” she says, snatching it from him, quickly counting through his winnings.

“Hey, that’s mine.”

She raises an eyebrow at him and hands him back half the money, pocketing the rest of it herself. “I think you’ll find Aaron and I did the work.”

He grimaces slightly, “Gross, Princess,” he says, scrunching up his nose, “And only because I encouraged you.”

She laughs, “Please, it’s like you don’t know me at all. I was, at most, a day away from mounting Aaron somewhere. Even if it would have counted as public indecency.”

He shakes his head, “It is Monday morning, Em.”

“What?” She says, smiling widely, finding joy in how scandalised he seems, “You don’t want to talk about my sex life anymore? You were more than happy to on Friday.” He shakes his head again and starts to walk away. “Thanks for the money, Morgan. I think I might put it towards some lingerie.”

He doesn’t look back, and she laughs, turning to find her husband standing only a few paces away from her. He smiles and winks at her before turning away and heading back to his office.

It was going to be a good day.

-x-

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179 notes · View notes

drwcn · 1 year

Note

In Untamed only, the Wen Qing rescue by Jiang Cheng could parallel the Lan Furen situation. She could be saved by being taken in by the sect leader, but she would be isolated, her family lost to her. Like, its more meta then textual but Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji have no mention of their mothers family. Lan furen presumably agreed while Wen Qing walked away. Lan furen lived a long time with her children taken away to be raised without her, Wen Qing dies right away with Wen Yuan taken to be raised by those same strangers.

Huh.... I never looked at it that way, but yeah you're right! On some level it is similar!

And then my mind promptly poofed up an alternative scenario if JIang Cheng also did what Qingheng-jun had done.

(tw for noncon? but really there's no noncon, people just think there is)

~~~

Jiang Cheng was audacious only once in his entire life.

When Wen Qing turned to leave that day in Qishan's dungeon, the comb she gave back to him abandoned on the stone bench between them, Jiang Cheng crossed his heart and decided that attempt the impossible meant sometimes one had to act now and beg for forgiveness later.

Whether the forgiveness he sought had to come from his deceased parents, the entire Jiang Clan past and present, or Wen Qing herself...well...he had the rest of his life to figure it out.

His hand came down on her without hesitation, blunt force striking her squarely where her neck met her shoulder, and she dropped bonelessly into his arms, her future forever changed.

↠↠↠

When Jiang Cheng was a boy, before Wei Wuxian arrived, he had heard of a story.

He was very young then, and Madam Lan had been a nebulous figure, a subject of whispers and gossip, about which very few knew anything concrete. When she died, the older servants at Lotus Pier, unaware that listening ears were just around the corner, had tsked and sighed at her short wasted life. Locked away in a house. Separated from her children.

Well at least her husband loved her.

He did, though? How would anyone know.

Or wanted her, at least.

Whatever is wrong with the young masters of this generation and their poorly chosen women! Either loved but locked up or free but miserable nonetheless. What is the state of this world?!

Jiang Cheng didn't understand then.

In time, he would.

↠↠↠

After she was discovered in the dungeon, Wen Qing woke up in Jiang Wanyin's bed, wearing not a stitch but a bandage around her nape, and discovered herself in the middle of Sunshot Campaign's battle camp. From the two female disciples that had brought her new periwinkle uniforms to change into with barely concealed sneers, Wen Qing learned the reason behind her wretched state. About two dozen disciples of various sects had seen Jiang Wanyin carry her in the previous night and emerge the next morning adjusting his robes in a way that required very little explanation.

It was not that she didn't try to escape. She did.

Where do you think you're going, pretty thing? A Jin disciple interscepted her. They all said that Wei Wuxian was shameless, but seems like shamelessness runs in the family. Still, gotta hand it to him, Jiang Wanyin has good taste.

The disciple grabbed her around the middle while a couple of his sect brothers laughed at her struggle. Does he share? Do you know? He should, it's a virture after all.

Their malicious laughter had turned to yelps of pain when Zidian whipped them three feet into the air and back by a yard.

"Don't touch what it isn't yours."

Sandu's gleaming tip tapped the Jin disciple lightly on the shoulder thrice, mockingly polite in its gentleness. The man released her, all too aware of the distance between his jugular and the sword's edge.

More people gathered at the sound of commotion, coming together with shared morbid curiosity and judging eyes.

Nie Mingjue was there. Lan Wangji right behind him, looking ready to draw his sword and uphold justice.

"Your little tart was running away." Scoffed the Jin disciple. "I was just teasing her. No foul, no harm."

"Is that so?"

And then in front everyone, Jiang Wanyin grabbed her by the hair and reeled her in to press his lips against hers, his other hand unfriendly and uninhitibted. Just as quickly, he detached his mouth from her, sneering at the onlookers before chasing the exposed skin of her neck yanked to one side, and bit down hard enough to draw blood.

Of course she screamed.

"A-Cheng, that's enough."

The others parted for his sister to come through. Jiang Yanli gazed blandly at her little brother and the girl thrashing in his arms, offered no words of admonishment, but merely said, "Go inside if that's what you want to do."

Jiang Cheng threw Wen Qing over his shoulder like a sack of grains without further prompts.

It's what she deserves, that wretched little bitch, Wen Ruohan's witch doctor, the whispers followed them like shadows, but no one raised a hand to Wen Qing again.

As the old saying goes: one would have to check with the master, even if it were only to beat a dog.

(Except: "You know what the world will think of you. What she will think of you." "I know, but...thank you for helping me, A-jie." "Don't thank me, didi, not when you're asking me to help you hurt yourself.")

↠↠↠

It's not that Wen Qing didn't try to kill him either. She couldn't.

Her cultivation was sealed. Semi-permanently. That was what was under the bandage. At the base of her nape, he had carved a sealing rune into her skin, and the only way to reverse it is to carve the counter sigil on her sternum.

Later, she would learn that this was a secret Lan technique, given to Jiang Wanyin by Old Man Lan himself. She could only guess what he must've said to convince the pedantic old man to hand over his family's protected secret.

(He had said this: "I love her, Grandmaster Lan, please!" "You are a preposterous boy, Jiang-gongzi." "I love her, as your brother loved your sister-in-law!" "You-" "I've heard of the stories, I don't know how much is true. Only...Wen Qing is innocent! Prideful yes, but innocent! Help me. Please. I will do anything in return.")

After her failed escape and that awful display in front of the whole camp, Jiang Wangyin never showed his face to her again. The Jiangs installed her in her own tent with confinement talismens to prevent her from further attempts. Every night, two disciples came to give her (or force feed her if she refused) a concoction of some sort, which rendered her unconscious within minutes and unrousable until dawn.

She could lie to herself and say she hadn't a clue what happened within those hours, but the fact she always awakened in some state of undress and dishevel the next morning, and the fact that it was undisbutedly known amongst the disciples - Jiang or otherwise - that Jiang Wanyin visited her nightly whenever he wasn't out fighting, narrowed the possibilities down to a singular conclusion.

In the maelstrom of her nightmare, it didn't occur her to wonder why he never came to her during the day.

(The truth was this: Lan Xichen was sympathetic, "Your cultivation is derived from water, hers from fire. A seal fused with your cultivation without some kind of...buffer will inevitably harm her in the long run, erode through her golden core until she is permanently damaged. Give this tonic to her everynight. Without fail.")

(But also this: "Why must we continue this farce, A-Cheng, just tell her the truth! Why must you make her believe that you -" "I own her, but do not love her. I am her master, not her lover. She is damaged goods, worthless even as a leverage. That's the only way the others will leave her alone." "A-Cheng, you don't have to do this -" "I do. I do have to....is there any word on Wen Ning? Have we found him?" )

↠↠↠

Then one morning, about a month in, Wen Qing woke to the sound of thunder and rain and realized she wasn't alone. Even with her cultivation sealed she could feel another presence in the tent. Seconds later, Jiang Wanyin emerged from behind the trifold, hair unbound, barefoot and only in his underclothing.

He froze when he realized she was awake, and stared at her agape as if she'd caught him doing something he shouldn't. As if somehow she didn't know he'd been violating her for weeks.

(Unfortunately: the storm had collapsed many tents in the camp in the early morning, including his and his sister's. Jiang Yanli had been invited to stay with Mianmian, and Jiang Cheng, knowing Wen Qing would be dead to the world, had ducked into her tent to quickly change into dry clothes.)

And if there had been some part of her that wanted to deny it all, that wanted to hang on to the delusion - to hope - that maybe nothing happened while she lost consciousness nightly, in that moment, was dashed and divided until all that was left of her was rage and a desire to inflict revenge.

She sat up, not even bothering to cover her half nude body, and said,

"The golden core in your body is Wei Wuxian's."

↠↠↠

Wen Qing had hoped that she could goat Jiang Wanyin into killing her, to end her misery.

He didn't.

Three days later, Wei Wuxian re-appeared.

↠↠↠

(In his letter to Jiang Wanyin a day before the Siege of Nevernight, Nie Huaisang wrote:

Jiang-xiong,

Hope you're keeping well in the front. I must confess you are a man of gossip and waggling-tongue these days, but I trust in your character to pay them no mind. I write to you without my brother's knowledge to confirm the favour you asked of me is done. Wen Ning has been located and transported to Unclean Realm with the atmost discretion. He recovers daily.

Your friend,

Nie Huaisang

PS: You seriously need to tell me everything after we kick Wen Ruohan's ass. You owe me! )

#cql #chengqing #the untamed #jiang cheng #wen qing #the tragic straight ship of the sad gay show #corie fics #cql ficlet

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