#//under cut for length and mentions of abuse | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dimepdf · 1 year

Text

★ 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇-𝐀, 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇-𝐀, 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐄. + 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐎'𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀

masterlist. / taglist. / tip jar. synopsis. no matter how many times you try to convince yourself that Miguel is the bane of your existence, the way you react during training proves otherwise.

─── ☆ notes. i need fics of miguel being an absolute dick, like a petty bitch just for the hell of it i need more attitude yk? Like if that man isn't calling me a slut it ain't canon! | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

─── ☆ length. 4.3k (33 min read).

─── ☆ genre and warnings. +18 nsfw under the cut. minors dni | no spoilers | smut, enemies to lovers, maybe mutual pining, fighting and violence, semi public sex, gym sex, mentions of abuse, size difference, pain kink, strength kink, degradation kink, manhandling, power play(?), begging, rough sex, cervix kissing, choking, fangs, biting, marking, cunnilingus, eye contact, hair pulling, creampie, open ended, not an taiyo fic without a few typos.

IF YOU ASKED any of the other Spider-men what they loved so much about being Spider-Man, their answers would all be the same, ranging from "the suit" to "the enhanced abilities." It was a no-brainer that being a superhero came with a few awesome perks.

Which was why your answer was just a bit confusing, "the combat." You would always smile, despite the many eyebrows raises and looks that convinced you you had to be some type of overcover masochist, especially since you would never really go into true detail about why.

Your reasoning behind putting on the mask was similar to all the others: another traumatized kid being thrown into a whole new reality that you never would have dreamed of being possible.

Sadly, you had been raised with the loss of most of your loved ones, and your family was in shambles from the abuse you would go through from them. It was the reason why it was difficult for you to grow up and make many friends, let alone navigate your abilities on your own accord, which was why it was a whole different ball game when you first joined the spider society.

When you first met Miguel O'Hara, you thought he was an overly intimidating man with an even more scary personality. Your aesthetics and morals would clash in the first few run-ins you would have with him.

In all honesty, you first thought him to be a massive dick who surprisingly needed more therapy than you did. From his bored expression to his unnerving glare, it was clear upon the first introduction that you two just would not get along.

Which was why the universe made him the only spider person willing and with enough free time to train you. It came as a surprise to you both, who are usually butting heads. Miguel was adamant about not wanting to waste his time training some little girl who didn't even know how to throw a punch.

With much shit-talking on your part and a lot of teasing claims of him being afraid that you were going to kick your ass, training had quite literally started in full swing.

It was probably a bad move on your part to push the buttons of the guy who was teaching you how to fight. Miguel was clear with his fight-style techniques. He was nimble with his limbs and swift on his feet. It was hard for anyone to get a hit on him, especially since he wasn't the type to hold back his punches.

His teaching style was the same: your sessions included throwing you around as if you were some ragdoll and picking you up as if you weighed nothing, just to slam you into the ground with full bruising force.

There would be some very rare occasions when you would manage to get the upper hand on him. Miguel was about a foot taller than you, not to mention how pathetically compressed you looked standing next to him. You learned that the only way you could manage to get the upper hand was by using your size difference to your advantage.

All the sessions you won were hosted by you managing to tangle yourself from his claws and climb his towering figure into a headlock, praying that you had enough strength in your legs to make him tap out.

"How is she not dead yet?" Miles would mutter, looking concerned, as he stood from the sidelines of the training room, watching one of your sessions, as the blonde by his side didn't even wince at the sound of Miguel untangling you from the headlock you had him in.

His arms moved faster than you could process as he managed to loosen your hold enough to slam the air from your lungs as you fell back facing against the mat so hard that even Miles was convinced he could feel the blow in the lower spine.

"I mean, at this point, I'm kind of convinced she’s turned into his personal punching bag." Miles strains to watch Miguel not even wipe a sweat as he sprung back on his feet. He stretched out his full body, towering over you, curled flat against the mat, trying to collect your breathing as well as your broken ego.

Gwen nodded in agreement. "I don't even know how someone could hit someone so...squishy? She’s just so cute." She muttered, watching with her arms crossed.

"This punching bag needs to learn that in the real world, people aren't going to go as easy on her just because she’s cute." Miguel, despite glaring at the two bystanders, leaned down and yanked you back onto your stumbling feet.

Your fingers combed through the matted curls now drenched in sweat away from your forehead, using your water break as the perfect excuse to help cover up the reaction to the sudden compliment that came from his lips and the way he had made you feel.

"And her being my personal punching bag is completely at her fault, if you want to learn how to fight, you have to learn how to take a few punches." You couldn't help but roll your eyes and wave your hand out in annoyance at another one of Miguel O’Hara’s famous lectures.

"I’m not a punching bag, did you not see the hold I had on him early?" You huffed, almost choking on your water, trying to protest. Gwen humored your claim, the blonde reaching out and rubbing your shoulder out of support as you continued with your defense. "Any tighter, and I would have easily snapped his neck."

Of course, Miguel only smirked as you continued grasping at straws at the point of trying to prove to your friends your improvement, his eyes flitting back and forth at the exchange, expressionless at the sight of you managing to still joke around as if you weren't about to pass out from fatigue at any second.

"And was that before or after the part where I kicked your ass, little girl?" He shot out, chipping away at the final lock that held back your annoyance, you hadn't even had time to process the insult before he bumped his shoulder into you on his way out of the training room.

His rude exit enticed a round of reactions from Miles and Gwen trying their awkward best to comfort the boiling pot of anger they saw written all over your face, rolling your eyes, you pushed past the two, not without grumbling a string of insults in Miguel’s name to the washrooms.

You blessed the spider lords for somehow having the ability to shower under running water, let alone the unexplainable strange amount of amenities that the spider society dimensions had.

Like a web shooter's wonderland, you quickly shed the sweating clothes you trained in and stepped foot into the cold cubicle shower booth, letting the water run for a bit until enough steam fogged clouded stepping under the stream. Even with the hot water splashing pressure against your aching muscles, no amount of water could manage to wash away the annoying feeling in your legs.

It was enough of a jab at your pride to even find Miguel attractive in the first place, and here your body was betraying you once more, begging, throbbing desperately for his every touch in its every form, and having the nerve to grow more intense during your training.

The feeling had yet to fully disappear the next day, even with your session starting off with you fueled from yesterday's comments. You tried pushing the feeling as you were just ready to have Miguel mutter another word insult with the ass kick you were ready to give him. It was the only possible explanation for why you were so jittery about getting to training on time.

"It took you long enough." Was the first thing you heard Miguel announce throughout the empty room.

He wasn’t wearing his suit—neither of you did while training—instead, he was wearing dark gray sweatpants paired with some random dark red graphic shirt that fit him a bit too snuggly to leave room for imagination around his arms.

"Almost thought you were gonna skip out."

You were aware enough to spot this quick observation of your outfit as well. Keeping it casual and opting for better mobility, you shimmied yourself into plain Nike shorts that stopped higher up than you had expected them to on your thighs with a loose tank top that peeked out the straps of your sports bra.

Nothing about your clothes screamed attention grabbing—at least that's what you thought before you caught Miguel’s red-tinted stare on the way your shorts hugged your thighs.

He glanced away, muttering something in Spanish you couldn't quite translate the moment your fingers fidgeted with the bottom hems of the shorts, tugging them slightly more down while deciding to break the tense silence that had managed to sneak up on you. "So what are we doing today?"

"Huh, I’ve been thinking." He answered, followed by the clearing of his throat, "We try something a little different." You could never get used to the roughness of his voice or the way he spoke with so much arrogance that it reminded just about everyone that he thought he was better than just about everyone.

Even now that you stepped towards the middle of the mat, standing rigidly just a few paces away from him, you could tell from that stupid, cocky expression as he stood looking down at you that there was no possible way that he would ever see you as a real threat. "I want you to try to hit me."

Your brows creased together in confusion.

"What?" was all you asked, which seemed to be the wrong question to ask as Miguel stretched out a sigh from his mouth, his hands coming close to his to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"I said hit me." He speaks more slowly, making sure to mockingly over pronounce every symbol in every word as if you were a child. "Preferably soon and as hard as you can." A grimace finds itself twisting on your lips before you can even process your bubbling annoyance. Your body moved on autopilot because of your keen senses, jumping over the swing of his left leg with ease.

You couldn't say that swift grace stuck with your attempt at a counterattack. Bending your knee just enough to reach out and kick, you were only met with the bottom of your foot stomping flat against the floor mat and Miguel dodging your kick, standing just a few paces away. "Too predictable," he scolded in that annoyingly deep voice you hated oh so much and totally did not turn on you at all. You sprung yourself up by the heels of your feet and charged at him with full determination to land at least one punch on his stupidly chiseled, handsome face.

It had been your second mistake, giving him too much time to brace himself. Already regretting your emotionally impulsive start, resulting in the punch you swung being easily deflected by Miguel.

His hand wrapped entirely around your wrist, bending your arm almost out of your socket and kicking the back of your knee to the mat with his heel. You feel down to a kneel with a hissing pain in your arm threatening to get worse at any wrong twist.

"Lose that fucking attitude, or you’ll get sloppy." As if your body could radiate any more anger, you knew he was just trying to push your buttons, trying to throw you off your game with smack talk that was not working on you or anything.

"Again," he prompted, letting your arm go and stepping back, egging on another attack from you.

"Give me a damn minute." No matter how much you wanted to snap back at him with something snarky, you knew it would only prove his point entirely—not only that but also the fact that he was mentally hitting you in all the places that he knew counted the most to throw you off your game.

Biting back the insult you already had threatened to slip from your tongue instead of making a point by rolling your eyes as you stumbled back to your feet. Rolling your sore shoulder back as your eyes scan over his stance, trying to find the best opening for a better attack, you steady your breath and cloud your mind in thought. "You aren't going to get anywhere but dead standing around like that, you know."

So much for wanting to consider your options. Miguel took the first swing at you and was on the verge of kicking you on your ass if it weren't for your shoddy dodge.

"Didn't you just say I had to be less fucking predictable?" You snarled, lifting your foot with most of your weight pointed in the direction of his jaw. Surprisingly, the kick landed just not in the place you wanted it to; instead, Miguel’s arm blocked the blow, much to your annoyance.

"I also said—" All he was doing was using dodging moves on you, swiping your other foot from under you as he held the other one that you kicked up in his arm, resulting in you landing once again flat on your ass. "to lose that fucking attitude."

You had not gone down without a fight, twisting and kicking, trying to wrestle your limbs free by any means. Miguel had almost embarrassingly quickly ceased your squirming, his palm cuffing your arms and pressing hard against your chest as his other hand pressed tightly into your thighs, folding your legs in place under his hips.

The position was interesting, to say the least, but you still had some fight in you, wiggling against his grip with any strength you had left to break free. It was a useless battle, but the man had his grip around you tight as well as an overpowering size difference that blanketed your entire figure like one big rock.

And that's how you caught yourself in another web of misfortune. Your nerves are surging at the feeling of something—him brushing against your calf. Maybe it was all the adrenaline pumping through your veins or the fact that you were practically being manhandled so easily that did another thing to your body, or maybe it was just pure horny instability that your brain couldn't even process the lewd whine that tugged from your throat after the fact that it had happened.

Watching in pure horror as Miguel loomed on top of you, his mouth slightly agape as his chest heaved and his brows pulled together, the embarrassment from his confused, almost offended looking expression hit you fast. Here your body was betraying you once more, this time going absolutely haywire and melting like a stupid pile of putty at the fact that you were being body pressed against some mat with some guy's hard junk pressed into your leg.

You couldn't bear to even look him in the eye anymore, your head tilting to the side, pressing your cheek into the mat, and squeezing your eyes closed, not suddenly envying the spidermen with teleportation powers. "Fucking Christ, can you get off now?"

A beat of silence hovered between the small distance between you two, neither moving nor talking. It was starting to become unbearable how tightly Miguel had folded your legs against him, in the sense that you could already feel his body heat radiating. The close proximity did not help with how unbearably your heart was beating against your chest. "How do you manage after all of that to still have that shameless fucking attitude?"

You stilled at how his voice had managed to cut through your own thick cloud of betraying thoughts as well as the ringing in your eardrums. "Shameless? As if you don't have your dick pressed against me right now."

"By the sounds of it, you don't seem that bothered at all." Miguel taunted, You thought you were bound to die of embarrassment.

Yeah, this is how you went out—by dying from the sheer effect of your own extremely horny though—not some overpowered supervillain with a vendetta against you but Miguel O'Hara and his dick print.

You could already hear the new taunts that he would use against you, "Not even in your fucking dreams." being the only comeback that you could muster, your limbs tingling with slight pins and needles, threatening to go stiff under his unbound grasp.

"Oh, like you wouldn't love to," he sneered, shifting the weight from his hips flat against your thighs. "Probably thinking about me taking off these tight fucking shorts and having my way with you?" Your body reacted first to the accusation, cursing under your breath as you felt your second heartbeat flutter in between your legs.

His lingering stare hadn't helped one bit, and you watched from the sidelines as his eyes raked over your body with interest.

"I bet this was your plan the entire fucking time, huh?" He asked, leaning in as the distance dwindled until you could feel the brush of his breath against your face. "Put on some sweet naive act in front of everyone, knowing that you're getting yourself off on me throwing you around, touching yourself like some bitch in heat."

You hadn't bothered covering the whine that parted from your lips at the feeling of his erection slowly rutting against your thigh, the cocky smirk on his lips wanting you to melt away against the mat.

Miguel practically growled at the pathetic sounds that parted from your lips, tugging your legs apart to rut his hips down against your core. You shivered at the intrusion of his bulge pressed against your eagerness, the foreign feeling of him grinding against you left your thoughts in a dizzy fog.

"What? Can’t fucking speak now," he said as if he were dangling your most prized possession in front of your face, his fingers creeping into dangerous territory, making it a point for his fingertips to drag down your lower torso only to halt right above the elastic waistband of your shorts. "Go on, use your words."

"...fuck you."

The small amount of distance made the space between you two fall tensely thick, and the words spoken from your lips were different from the feelings that made your heart thud against your ribs. You weren't stupid, you knew Miguel could sense it, he could sense just about everything about your body from how close he kneeled on top of you.

Maybe that was why he had closed the distance so quickly after, letting the tight grip around your wrists give way to his hand finding a new objective, wrapping his fingers around your neck, not bothering to be gentle as he guided your lips towards his. The kiss was as rough as you had dreamed it to be. Eager for each other's kiss, you couldn't even process the noise that vibrated sharply from your throat before Miguel could pull away first, leaving you panting for more of his touch.

"First time I've ever seen you so quiet," his deep taunts were starting to grow unbearable, shifting your hips at the brush of his fangs against the jugular of your neck with every word, "who knew all you needed was some dick?" The harsh kisses he left trailing down to your collarbone made you feel like a hot, needy mess of putty. If it weren't for the tight grasp he had on your body, you were convinced that you would feel like you'd melt into some type of puddle. The growing frustration had only started to build up more as Miguel let go of your thighs, his hand trailing between your legs ruthlessly as the bud of his fingers rubbed against your clothed pussy.

As for why you shifted your hips up and let him impatiently tug and yank at the bow knotted around the waist of your shorts, breaking away from the red splotching light bruises already forming against your brown skin and wiggling you out of your shorts, Miguel thought it was quite the image, his eyes were fixated on the drooling sight of you under him, so vulnerable with your thighs hugging to your chest, spread open, revealing yourself in your pants.

All sanity was thrown out the window the moment he tugged you closer by your knees, your lower half lifted in his arms just enough for him to sit face to face with your cunt. His eyes darkened, his pupils blown as his tongue lapped over his lips, leaving you feeling restless. It was a slow and almost painful battle of trying to reach down and shove his face closer or buck your hips as his fingers sheathed and explored themselves against the fabric of your underwear.

As if Miguel could read your mind, his fingers hooked the fabric under the bend of his finger, followed by a quick tearing sound. "I’ll get you new ones," the comfort emitting a whine from your throat as you couldn't even scowl at him for ruining your underwear because you were too busy admiring the work his fingers were doing. Without warning, Miguel leans in closer, the warmth of his mouth almost sending you into a frenzy as his fingers spread open your lips, his lips sucking at your clitoral area, prompting you to let out a very lewd moan.

"Too loud," Miguel mumbled against your pussy, too busy webbed up in your own pleasure to even notice how every embarrassedly sloppy wet noise had seemed to perfectly echo throughout the empty room. You couldn't even explain the number of emotions that were flowing through you, from shame from being tongue fucked and fingered against the floor about the one man you hated so much to bashfulness from holding eye contact with him as he lay between your legs and ate your pussy like he was starving for you.

"I can't help it," you whined, shivering at the string of spit that contacted Miguel as he lifted his head in an idea. It took a second to process Miguel picking you up and turning you on your stomach, his hands guiding your hips up and stripping your torn panties down your legs to stuff them in your mouth.

Without a word, Miguel grabbed your ass with another hand, guiding your lower back into an arch as the other made small indents from his nail bearing into your cheeks as he spread them apart.

Before you could even feel embarrassed at the new position, he shoved his face between them, your moan being muffled by your makeshift cloth gag that worked a bit too well in lowering your whines as Miguel’s mouth sought his tongue out for your pussy once more.

"You're close I can smell it," you almost missed Miguel's groan over your building ecstasy, "just let it go, baby, let me take care of you. That's what you want, right?" His voice is drastically different from his usual rough, rude tone, softened to something of a coo that has managed to unknot your pleasure with his tongue. Your body tensed against his mouth for a moment as he had the nerve to suck his fingers clean. No grace period was given before he could lift you once more with a grunt, laying you flat on your back.

Slotting himself back between his legs, Miguel chuckled at the dazed look on your face. "It's alright, baby, I can take it from here." taking the balled up drool covered panties from your mouth and instead replaced them with his lips. The sensual change of pace wasn't enough to stop the shiver that rid your nerves of the feeling of his bare cock rutting against your slit, using his thumb to spread your lips apart to sink his tip inside of you with a low hiss against your mouth.

A gasp left yours as his girthy length intruded deeper inside of you, the burying stretch of his dick having your nails roughly grasping at the nape neck of his hair tugging a handful as his pace hadn't bothered to even get familiar already. Miguel’s hips weren't letting out as he fucked you almost animalistic against the floor. You were convinced he was trying to fuck you into the mat, to be one with the floor, which would perfectly explain the rough pace that left you breathless with each piston of his hips.

The graphically lewd sounds of your weak groans were nothing compared to the pornographic sound of your skin meeting his, your brain empty with nothing but greed, wanting to take everything and more of what Miguel was giving you. His fingers reach to unwrap your fingers tangled in his hair to intertwine them in his. "That's it, mama, that's it," he whispers against the shell of your ear, earning a whimpering reply from you, almost close to spilling the tears clouding your waterline.

Your mind couldn't process anything other than how good Miguel’s dick felt being shoved inside of you, his cock dragging against your tight, flustering walls with each shaky breath brushed against your ear. Your cunt seemed to react to Miguel’s lashes tickling against your neck as his eyes screwed tightly shut, muttering a string of compliments in his mother tongue.

You weren't lucky enough to be more stable, surprised that your throat hasn't gone horse with how ruined your vocal cords sounded in the pace of his pistoning hips. Only going up an octave higher as one of Miguel’s hands reaches down to pay attention to your clit, he doesn't stop even when your limbs start to tremble from your climax.

With one last hard thrust, he finally stills, your name being the only thing you could make out through his mumbling as his unfamiliar warm sensation welcomed itself inside of you.

Groaning right in your ear, he cums inside of you with his entire dead weight pressed against you, caging you against the floor. "Alright," Miguel sighs, settling on top of you once more with his arms holding himself just a few inches away from your face. "Again."

🔖 @adonis-is-dead-lmaoo @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @inumakiiz @iheartlinds @creamyarishi @marzipaanz

tap here to be added to taglist.

#[ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ ★ — t.wrks. ]#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #spiderman #spiderman smut #marvel #into the spider verse

4K notes · View notes

dark-and-kawaii · 10 months

Text

༺ 𝒯𝒾𝑒𝒻𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝒯𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝒫𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓉𝓎 𝒞𝑜𝒸𝓀𝓈 ༻

I can't stop thinking about the tieflings and their pretty fire pokers so here we are. Please enjoy xoxo

Zevlor - Dammon - Rolan - NSFW - Cock Talk

Zevlor

His cock is by far the most fascinating.

Zevlor's cock is so pretty and girthy, definitely the biggest of the three. So if you have a size kink this is the route to take because you'll be amazed at the sheer size of it.

Don't worry though, he won't ever force it all in at once. Zevlor would never hurt you, EVER! He'll take his time with you, warming you up and slowly pushing himself into you until you're ready to take all of him.

I know you've seen his face, well im happy to tell you that his cock comes with ridges just like on his face. Oh gosh, and its so veiny. The texture of his cock is enough to make you have an orgasm, you'll be trembling under him as soon as it enters you.

Like you can also feel him in your guts and he's not even trying.

He's cut with a beautiful smooth mushroom head. It does take some getting used to when it enters you. But licking it is something you've become obsessed with because of how it feels in your mouth, so that helps lube him up before.

Fuck, this mans cock always makes you feel worshiped and adored.

Did i mention Zevlor's cock comes with a nice curve to it, yup, that's right. This gentleman was absolutely blessed by the cock gods and he'll be able to hit all your favorite spots. Please expect to cum multiple times while with this man.

Fear not, because while you're a panting mess with his cum dribbling out of you, Zevlor will go find something to clean you off with and even bring you a glass of something to drink. Bath? If he can, he'll provide you with one.

Dammon

Dammon, sweet sweet Dammon. This man has a very pretty cock, you're obsessed with it okay.

Dammon isn't as large as Zevlor but he still has a good length to him along with just the right amount of girth.

Just because he isn't the biggest doesn't mean he can't fill you, because believe me, he can.

Always oozing pre cum which gives his head a nice sheen to it. Oh god you love the way his precum makes his head glisten, you can't help but want to fall to your knees and lick it clean.

His cock is uncut, not too veiny but has a nice contrast from the head to the shaft for your pleasure.

When the two of you first experienced sex his cock was the right amount of sweet and painful.

Let's be honest this man knows how to use his cock okay.

The way Dammon works his cock into you makes you feel so loved and like you're the only one for him, but that's not always the case. Dammon has two moods when it comes to his cock, sweetest tiefling in the world, and also the meanest tiefling in the world.

He can work your body as if you were a goddess or he can use and abuse you as if you were some sort of sleeve made for his cock.

This is why he's perfect, because even after he's made you a mess and treated you like some fuck doll he's right there at your side kissing your forehead with his arms wrapped around you. He'll always have something ready to clean you up with and he's not the kind of guy to just up and leave after hot ass sex.

Rolan

Rooolan!! Our precious sassy Rolan. I love imagining his cock. Its so fun.

Its so pretty, like sooooo pretty and it hits all the right spots.

Rolan has a very sensitive cock as well, like all you have to do is touch it and his breath will catch in his throat.

Lick it/ Suck it and he becomes a squirming mess because he's so damn sensitive.

Teasing him is an absolute delight :D.

Not veiny at all but has a nice curve to it. Rolan also has more length than girth.

Be prepared because this mans cock will hit your cervix.

It might hurt at first which he has mixed feeling about. He hates that you wince in pain but at the same time hes so proud that he can do that to you.

Sometimes it might even bruise you so like i said, be prepared.

Eventually you'll warm up to it though and it'll become the best thing you've ever experienced.

Oh yeah, remember i said his dick is sensitve, well yeah in the start of your sexual relationship he doens't last long.

Like your walls clenching his cock has him a trembling mess and he's trying his best not to orgasm right then and there. He wants to last a long time for you but sometimes its just hard.

I feel like i need to add this but Rolan is 100% clean shaven. Like he hates hair down there on himself. He doesn't mind it if it grows out a little, but it makes him feel very unclean. He's a pretty tiefling and he wants to keep it that way.

1K notes · View notes

utterlyotterlyx · 6 months

Text

When I Met The Devil

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Part Two to When I Kissed The Teacher which you can read here.

Summary - Azriel adored everything about you, but there was still certain information that you were keeping from him. Azriel finds out exactly what you've been hiding thanks to a particularly unfortunate visit.

Warnings - mentions of sexual abuse and neglect, angst, mentions of trauma

It had been three months since Azriel had taken you on your first (of many) dates. Azriel had been so nervous, not sure where to take you that would be able to live up to your expectations, even Nyx had given him some ideas by babbling on about what made you smile in the classroom.

Apparently you loved nature, of course you did, you were from the Spring Court. So Azriel had packed up a picnic and taken you to a garden of wildflowers away from the city to watch the sunset and gaze at the stars. You had taken his breath away when you had opened the door to him, you had dressed in a loose fitting pale blue dress with white flowers embellished into the bodice, the sleeves hung off of your shoulders and your hair lay unbound down your back.

That day had been one of the best days of his life, he had gotten to know you beyond your profession and learnt so much about you, but the nagging feeling that you were omitting some truth tugged at him, but not enough for him to make a deal about it. Azriel had kissed you under the stars, he had run his fingers through your hair and kissed you so passionately that you swore the world had stopped moving just so it could watch you

Since then, you had been inseparable.

Azriel showed up at the school each day after that, sometimes in the morning at drop off or in the evening at pick up, sometimes both, and he always brought you flowers or chocolates or anything he could think of that would bring a smile to those lips. He would walk you home, but more often than not he would pull you inside the River House and force you to have dinner with them.

You never objected to his wishes, you enjoyed his hands on you far too much to say no.

Azriel was happy to take things slow with you, you were so gentle and pure, if you wanted to wait years to share a bed with him then he was okay with that. You were worth any wait.

One morning you had opened the door to the school, frowning slightly when you couldn't see Azriel or Feyre and Rhys with little Nyx waiting on the grass. They would have told you if Nyx wasn't well and needed to take the day off unless it was serious, but even then, Azriel still would have showed up on the grass with our without Nyx just to see you.

It plagued your mind all day, and you did your best to conceal your worry from the children and continue as normal, but when it came to home time and none of them were there, you knew something wasn't right.

You had locked the room up quickly and stopped by a healer to pick up some infant friendly tonics just in case Nyx needed anything, bundling the vials in your hands as you rushed down the winding streets of Velaris, allowing your feet to take you where you needed to go whilst your mind reeled with endless possibility.

Lifting the hem of your skirt as you ascended the steps of the River House, you completely missed the scent that haunted your nightmares, too frantic with worry to notice it curling around you like chains. Then you saw the back of his head, shoulder length blonde hair and broad shoulders, and then the scent hit you, one of Spring rain and lifeful earth, and you dropped the vials in your hands onto the floor, not even flinching when they broke and cut through your skin.

The thing in question turned his head to the side and sniffed, smirking with feral delight before he fully turned to you, and you saw nothing else but him and those eyes that had made you do things you didn't want to too many times, they were dark and honed in on their prey. His lips tilted upward and he rose to his feet, and you didn't hear anything anyone else was saying or commanding as he strode across the room and stopped right in front of you. You didn't dare look up, you couldn't, and then his fingers gripped your chin harshly and forced your gaze upward.

"I've been looking for you," the room held a collective breath, his shoes crunched down on the broken glass and the liquid parted under his weight.

You knew that they were all watching you, waiting for you to say something, you averted your gaze to Azriel who was on his feet, fists clenched and glowering at the male who dared to touch you, "Nyx didn't show up to school, I thought he was sick, I was bringing tonics."

Feyre rose to her feet beside Rhys, "It's okay, Y/N," her eyes were soft, she could feel your terror, they all could, and then it seemed like your secret and finally been released from the depths of your shame, "Let go of her, Tamlin."

Tamlin chuckled but didn't take his eyes off of you, he cocked his head to the side and breathed you in, "Don't tell me to take my hands off what is mine," his voice was dangerously low, possession had taken over every part of him and the wolf was coming out to play, "Isn't that right, fiancé?"

"I'm not your fiancé," tears bubbled at the corners of your eyes and Azriel saw how small Tamlin made you feel, your shoulders had curled inward, your entire body was preparing to protect itself against the male who held your head in his hands. You looked to Azriel then, "I ran. I couldn't do it," you blinked hard and your tears flowed down your cheeks.

"Just because you ran doesn't mean that the agreement is void, Flower," you cringed, you felt helpless in his grip, like all of the independence you had worked for was nothing but dust dancing in the breeze, "The Tithe has been particularly awful without you."

Azriel lost it then, he grabbed Tamlin by the shoulder and forced him round, the action making his hand jolt away from your face, and Azriel landed a sickening blow to the side of his face.

"This is not a battle you want to fight, Tamlin," Rhys stood beside Azriel who was panting with fury, he knew what the Tithe was, they all did, and the thought of Tamlin using your unwilling body as a vessel for his sickening ritual was enough to send Azriel into a blind rage.

Azriel bent down to Tamlin's level, noticing Feyre rush to your side as he did to comfort you, and growled, "Touch her again and it won't be a battle, Tamlin. It will be a war."

Tamlin had the gall to grin, "She's my fiancé, Shadowsinger. Not even you can get between that."

"No, but I can," Cassian grabbed Tamlin by the neck of his coat, hauling him to his feet in front of Rhys, "Y/N is a member of the Night Court, she is a cherished member of my family. She is not your mate, so you have no claim on her and you know it. Now, leave my city before I cut your head from your shoulders and leave Spring lordless."

Knowing he wouldn't win on Night Court soil, Tamlin scoffed and headed for the door, not before stopping at your side and letting his gaze roam your figure, "They can't watch you forever. I'll see you soon, Flower."

Then he left.

And you stood standing in Feyre's arms pale and frozen, looking at the broken glass on the floor and shaking your head, "I have to go," you announced, peeling yourself out of Feyre's embrace and feeling like a completely awful friend to her, "I'm sorry."

"Y/N.."

You couldn't stick around and listen to her call your name, you couldn't stay there and witness Azriel looking at you like a stranger. So you ran. You ran all the way home, you didn't stop for a single moment until you closed the door behind you and slid down the wood, bursting into chest wrecking sobs.

If anyone would know who you were, it would be Lucien Vanserra, he was Tamlin's friend after all.

The red haired male found himself dragged before the Inner Circle by Elain, a thing he detested, he had just returned from the human realm and wanted nothing more than to be wrapped up with his mate, sitting in front of them was something he wanted to be rid of and fast.

"What do you know about Y/N? She came from the Spring Court," Lucien's eyes widened in saddening alarm at Feyre's question, he looked about the room as if you'd pop out from a corner at any given second.

"She's here?" Feyre nodded, "How is she?"

The question took them by surprise, and confirmed what they already knew, that you certainly we no double agent, but they had to know your story, it was a matter of protecting you, "She could be better. Tamlin was here."

Lucien's eyes darkened into molten lava pools and his nostrils flared, "Did he see her?" the silence confirmed his own query and he looked deflated, his shoulder fell and sadness floated over his face, enough sadness that Elain had moved to his side and wrapped his hand in her own.

"We need to know everything," Rhys ordered, moving his gaze to Azriel who was itching to leave the house and go to you, but even he had to know what had happened.

The Autumn male sighed, feeling conflicted, not wanting to tell your story for you but knowing he had no choice, "Y/N belongs to a very powerful Spring Court family, her father wanted a direct line to Tamlin so offered up his eldest daughter, Y/N, for marriage. Her father was a prick, no doubt still is. He sold Y/N to Tamlin like she was worth nothing more than what she could breed. She tried so hard to put off marrying him, she wanted a long engagement so that she could get to know Tamlin but everyone knew she just wanted more time to find a way out. Then the Tithe came and even I couldn't stop him from taking her into that cave," Lucien looked to Feyre who knew Tamlin all too well to know that what he was saying was nothing but the truth.

"Each year after that first Tithe, he sought her out against her will, you could hear her crying bouncing off of the walls. I couldn't watch it anymore so I helped her escape, I gave her enough money to be able to travel the continent and never heard from her again. I just did all I could to throw him off, to keep him away from her. Y/N was the happiest person in Spring, everyone loved her so much, and Tamlin ruined her."

"Seems like a pattern," Feyre cleared her throat and settled into Rhys' warmth that had wrapped around her like a blanket. She felt horrible, she thought she had it bad, but at least Tamlin never took her against her will like he had done to you repeatedly.

"Feyre I don't want to compare, but you have to understand that what he did to you was not nearly as bad as what he did to her. He took her light away, he forced her into a darkness I've never seen before or seen since, the neglection was sickening, she would cry for days on end, she'd mourn the life she dreamed of. It was unbearable."

A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips, "She made it here though, I knew she'd find where she belonged in the end."

"Why didn't she tell me? I would have understood."

Rhys shushed his mate, he knew how much Feyre loved you, they all did, "Sometimes you don't want to talk about what others made you do," his mind drifted and eyes glazed over as he remembered his own story for a moment, the painful memories tugging at his heartstrings.

Rhys knew how it felt to be used against your own will, he knew how it felt to lie there each night and feel like a worthless pawn in someone else's game. He knew how it felt to work yourself into exhaustion trying to forget the terrors others had willingly inflicted on you.

If anyone could truly understand you, then it would be him. And there was no way he was going to let you lock yourself away and perish with shame when you had a family and life awaiting you.

550 notes · View notes

kinokappe · 5 months

Text

࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙ ⪩⪨ ࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜ ࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚

Grandmaster's Favorite

Pairing: Bi-Han x fem!reader

Warnings: soft Bi-Han, slightly mean Bi-Han, P in V, unprotected sex, praise.

A/n: this is just a short fic I wrote to satiate the corners of my mind that are left unsatisfied with Bi-Han content, I'm filling my own void 😭

⚠️ NSFW UNDER THE CUT, MDNI⚠️

Bi-Han was known to be a cold and ruthless leader. Being the grandmaster of the Lin Kuei, he had to be strong and capable, relentless when it came to his enemies to ensure the safety of Earthrealm and to maintain the high position of his clan.

Being in this stressful position, he often found himself letting off steam deep inside your throbbing pussy, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as the sound of skin-slapping echoed through the room. The filthy display of your legs bent, resting painfully on his shoulders as he bullied his angry, needy cock into your cunt was obscene, not to mention how hard you were gripping the sheets to the point they would almost tear.

"Eyes on me, baby... Moan my name" he commanded coldly, his hair hanging loosely from his forehead. His thumb rubbed and circled your clit with such vigor and passion that you almost passed out, creaming on him again for the nth time and causing a white, creamy circle to form at the base of his cock.

He loved it, seeing your pupils dilate and your mouth hang open as loud moans of pleasure, curses and a repeat of his name spilled from your lips, turning him on even more. "Do you love it when I'm pounding into you, huh? Love it when I fuck you, fill your pretty little cunt?" He chuckled darkly. All you could do was nod desperately, your nails digging into his back as red trails followed, his hard dick pumping you full of his cum again.

"It's too much, Bi Han~!" You whimpered, eyes glossy and half-lidded, trying to squirm away from him to no avail. "You want me to stop, princess?" He mocked, "I know you can take more than this.. you're basically squeezing my cock, you sure you want me to stop?"

You opened your mouth to try and reply with some snarky remark when he suddenly pulls out, leaving just the tip before pounding into you again, going hard and deep, kissing your cervix with his dick and reaching all the spots your fingers never could.

The knot in your stomach tightens again much faster than you hoped. You grab at his arms, opening your eyes to look at him, desperately trying to warn him of your impending orgasm. But he's relentless, completely lost in the heat and wetness of your abused little cunt, loving the way you scream and moan for him.

"Fuck, princess..." He sighs into your ear, feeling you shake and tighten around his creamy cock. He slows down, still rubbing your clit in a more gentle manner to help you ride your high. "I love you.. you take me so well, make your grandmaster feel so good..." He praised, pressing soft kisses to your neck and chest.

Despite his soothing words, you still feel the aftershocks of how hard you came, his seed already leaking out from the corners of your pretty little hole, leaking down the length of him and drenching your thighs, it almost looked like porn at this point.

Bi Han gave you a few more thrusts before his hips finally stilled deep inside you. He sounded heavenly, letting out the most erotic of breaths and grunts, blowing his load hard into your cervix. He pulled out slowly, his dick starting to soften as he massaged your thighs, helping you lay your legs down from his shoulders.

"Are you alright, sweet girl?" He asked, softer than you would expect him to say. All you could do was nod, simply ruined by his gargantuan cock. He replied with a small chuckle, holding your hand and kissing your palm softly before he slid off the bed, the mattress creaking from the loss of his weight.

Before your eyes threatened to close, you could feel him cleaning you up, running a damp towel over your body and between your thighs, behind your legs and on your chest. "I think I went too hard on you, princess... I'm sorry". He looks a bit apologetic, but a smile creeps up his lips when he sees you lean into his touch. He leans in to kiss the corners of your eyes, rubbing soothing circles on your stomach and down to your thighs, helping you relax.

"I'm ok, you're just.. so rough" she chuckled weakly, opening her eyes to look up at him. He looks so soft like this, the moment so domestic that it makes her heart flutter. "And you were such a good girl for me.. taking me in so well, making me feel so good" he praised, squeezing her thigh gently.

Soon, the space beside her dips and he lays down, wrapping his arms around her to make her lay on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat against her chest, his hands rubbing up and down her back so softly it had her purring against him. "Love you.. I love you" you whispered to him, closing your eyes and feeling the heavy burden of sleep start to consume you.

"Sleep, princess.. I love you so much too, you did so well..." he smiles, kissing your forehead and burying his face into your hair, breathing in your scent before he starts to fall asleep as well. It was nights like this when he just wanted to let go of his responsibilities as grandmaster, yearning for her warmth and touch, loving the closeness and the feel of her breath on his skin. He loved it, he loved her.

#bi han x reader smut #bi han sub zero #mortal kombat #bi han x reader #bi han x you #smut #mortal kombat bi han #sub zero x reader #bi han smut #bi han mk

293 notes · View notes

chimcess · 10 days

Text

Waterlog || pjm (6)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Olympic Swimmer!Jimin, Ex Olympic Swimmer! Reader, Swim Coach!Reader Genre: Strangers to Friends to Lovers!AU, Coach!AU, Swimming!AU, HEAVY Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, fluff, eventual smut, I'm so soft for these two it's crazy. Word Count: 9.4K+ Synopsis: After a car accident ends her athletic career, Y/N has slowly started rebuilding her life again as a high school swim coach. That’s until she gets a request from an old friend and finds herself back in the spotlight as the new coach of Olympic swimmer, Park Jimin. Warnings: ANGST, crying, mental health issues, talking about mental health, I'm so soft for them it's actually wild, angst, trauma, panic attacks, kissing, ableism, mention of past alcohol abuse, talk of previous sexual encounters, talks of bullying, probably poor swimming terminology, I also have no idea how swim events work so might be wrong about that too, talks of possible inappropriate coach-athlete relationship, lots of insecurities, survivor's guilt, lots of guilt and shame actually, reader needs to be kinder to herself, we all deserve a Jimin, he's still best boyfriend, SMUT, smut warnings under the cut...

prev || masterlist || next || playlist

Smut Warnings: virgin!Jimin, both of them are inexperienced, bad past sexual experiences, vaginal fingering, praise, public sexual contact, denied orgasm (unintentional), very vanilla and tame all things considered

Jimin stood a few feet away, his hands tangled in his hair as he smeared a thick layer of gelatin through the strands. The sight of him working so meticulously brought a smile to my face. It was a familiar scene for synchronized swimmers, their hair slicked down with the sticky goo to ward off chlorine’s wrath. But I knew a few racers who swore by it too. Jimin had never bothered before I pointed out how his hair was looking increasingly parched from our relentless days in the pool. I had shown him how to do it a few weeks ago, and now it was a daily ritual for him.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, fighting the urge to reach out and trace my fingers over the smooth expanse of his back. The phases of the moon inked down his spine were an irresistible temptation; I longed to press my lips against the artwork.

The event had been a last-minute switcheroo—originally slated for solo swimmers covering 250 yards (10 laps in this community pool), but changed when the organizers realized the length of the meet would be an endurance test in itself. Now, competitors were grouped into teams of five, each swimmer tackling two laps. Jimin was content with his team but jittery about being assigned breaststroke, his weakest stroke. Yet, I had no doubts. After months of grueling practice, his team wasn’t about to falter.

“It is what it is,” he muttered, rinsing the gelatin from his hands. “I’m more bummed about having to redirect our donations, but at least it’s still going to cancer research. Can’t complain too much.”

“Just have fun,” I offered. “Trey got to pick the charity because he pulled in the most personal donations from your team. Just do your thing and it’ll be great.”

I fiddled with the collar of my polo shirt, still struggling to accept the coach’s uniform of polo and jeans. It seemed every other coach in the pool wore it, but I felt more like a middle-aged man at a barbecue than a swim coach. The Sketchers I wore didn’t help. Jimin had picked the dark blue color for me, which was comfy enough, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I looked ridiculous.

“You look great,” Jimin said, catching my eye in the mirror.

I snorted, rolling my eyes. He’d been saying that all day, but I struggled to take him seriously. My reflection told a different story—frumpy and awkward. At least the bit of makeup I’d applied managed to make me look somewhat alive.

“I’m serious,” he insisted, adjusting his swim cap. “You look nice in that color. I even like the eyeliner thing you did. You look pretty. You always look pretty.”

I smiled, wanting desperately to kiss him but feeling too on edge. We’d sworn to keep our relationship under wraps. This year was bound to be chaotic, and the last thing we needed was reporters sniffing around if the word got out. We were confident we could manage it, but as I let my eyes roam over his mostly naked body, and with the thrill of his compliment still fresh, I wasn’t so sure.

How was I supposed to keep my hands to myself when he looked like that? His presence was almost a tangible force, and the temptation was just too great.

“Thanks,” I said, trying to mask the tension in my voice. “Are you almost ready to join the others? William seemed really excited to work with you.”

He shook his head, a pout forming on his lips, and the sight of it made my heart race.

“Socializing is important,” I teased, reaching out to touch his arm. “What would people think if you spent all your time locked up in your changing room with your coach?”

A mischievous grin spread across his face before he leaned in and stole a quick kiss. I gave him a warning look, though the smile I couldn't suppress gave away my true feelings.

“I think they’d take one look at you and understand.”

I giggled, “Such a flirt.”

Jimin wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me close. The heat of his bare skin against mine sent shivers down my spine. It had never really occurred to me that he might be doing this on purpose. Hoseok’s words still echoed in my mind. Right now, Jimin seemed at ease with physical intimacy, but I knew better. If I tried to take things further, he would retreat and change the subject.

This was something we’d have to address when we got home. For now, I wanted to see how far we could push things. If he wanted to stop, we would. But I didn’t mind being the guinea pig for this exploration.

I hopped onto the bathroom sink, wrapping my legs around one of his. We had taken over the family restroom at the event center, Jimin having convinced the others he needed solitude to get “in the zone” before his swim. I trailed behind him dutifully, my sunglasses barely hiding my excitement.

Jimin’s hands traced down my sides as I wrapped my arms around his neck. He fit against me like a perfect puzzle piece. When his fingers slid under my shirt to grip my waist, I couldn’t help but grind my hips against his thigh. The jeans dulled the sensation, but I sighed in pleasure. Jimin froze.

“Sorry,” I murmured, nuzzling into his neck, mortified. “Got carried away.”

“It’s okay,” he replied, his voice deep and rugged, stirring something primal within me. I bit back the more selfish, needy side of me and just held him. If he couldn’t see my face, maybe he wouldn’t know how desperate I was. “Do you want to do it again?”

I leaned back to look at him. His shyness was evident, but he wasn’t scared. I needed to be sure before getting excited.

“Do you want me to?”

He nodded, “Yes.”

“Are you sure? We can talk about it later if you want.”

Jimin shook his head, his grip on my waist tightening. The sensation was almost too much to bear. I suppressed the intense arousal for his sake. I wasn’t going to get off on his thigh, especially with these jeans on, but I was willing to go along if it meant something to him.

“I want to make you feel good,” he said softly, as though confessing a secret. “I just don’t know if I’ll be good at it.”

“Baby,” I cooed, gently caressing his face. He avoided eye contact. “Hey, look at me.”

He did.

“Don’t worry about that stuff,” I whispered, kissing the tip of his nose. “Whatever we do together is going to feel good because we’re together.”

He shook his head, resting his forehead against mine. He seemed anxious, almost sad. I wished he’d open up more; it might ease his burden.

“I’m such a fucking idiot,” he groaned. “I want you so bad but I get nervous.”

I nodded. “That’s okay. You make me nervous too.”

We stood there, both caught in our tangled emotions. We had arrived early so Jimin could scout and time his warm-up routine before the event. I felt conflicted—my body was slick with desire, and despite knowing he was upset, I still wanted him to touch me. The fact that I was even keeping track of time for a quickie was almost criminal.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Chim,” I breathed, kissing his cheek. “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“Is it because you don’t want to or because you’re worried about me?”

I didn’t have a good answer. I didn’t want to make him feel guilty, but I was so afraid of hurting him that I struggled to articulate what I wanted. My fear of rejection was overshadowed by concern for him.

“Can I touch you?” he asked.

I nodded, “Of course you can. I’m just worried about you right now. You seem upset.”

His hands slowly traveled up my shirt. I leaned back slightly, granting him better access. His hands ventured higher, and he admitted, “I’m not very experienced. It makes me feel insecure.”

His hands stopped just below my bra. “I know you’re older and have been with more people.”

I nodded, understanding his hesitation. I didn’t need the whole story to grasp what he was trying to tell me.

“I’ve only been with one person,” I confessed. “You don’t have a reason to be insecure. It’s just me. Just us.”

He kissed me, and my fingernails dug into his shoulders. He pulled away, and I nearly cried out in frustration. He was driving me insane.

“It was one for me too,” he said, his hands tracing down my back. “It couldn’t… perform.”

The pieces fell into place. He was a virgin. It all made sense now.

“Did you ever…?” I asked, kissing up his neck.

“No. She told a bunch of her friends, and I got picked on for a while. I never tried again. Swimming took up so much of my time that it never came up.”

My heart broke for him. I wanted to know who had hurt my beautiful boy. I took a moment to calm myself, planting gentle kisses on his skin to soothe him.

“Fuck her,” I said softly.

He chuckled, his hands moving back to my stomach, then lower. I bit his ear playfully, and he moaned, slipping his hand into my pants. I could barely contain my pleasure.

“We’re not having sex here,” I said, trying to ease the pressure. “I won’t touch you unless you want me to.”

He nodded, his gaze focused on my lap. He was still touching me over my panties, and the sensation was almost unbearable. I was almost ashamed of how wet I was, but after months of frustration, it felt almost justified.

“What time is it?” he asked.

I lifted my wrist. “We have twenty minutes before warm-ups.”

He nodded, slipping a finger into my panties. I jolted at the cold touch. He leaned in and kissed my cheek.

“Do you want to stop?”

I shook my head, “Not if you don’t want to.”

He looked into my eyes as his finger gently traced up and down my folds. I sighed in relief, letting my eyes slip shut, focusing on the pleasure he was giving me.

His finger pressed against my entrance, and when he felt no resistance, he pushed it in all the way. I moaned, opening my legs wider. His movements were tentative at first, but soon became more confident, his strokes deep and deliberate. My body was on fire with need.

“Right there,” I choked out, leaning back into the mirror.

His fingers hit the same spot again, and I shuddered, trying to muffle my cries. Jimin’s touches were more assured now, making my toes curl.

“Yeah?” he cooed, adding another finger. My eyes rolled back in ecstasy. “You’re so perfect.”

I could feel myself shaking, my hands gripping his arm for support. I was so close, and my muffled moans were becoming harder to control.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

My eyes flew open. I looked at Jimin, then the door, and back to him. His pupils were almost entirely dilated, and he was flushed a pretty pink. His fingers were still deep inside me.

“Tara?” a voice called out. “Are you in there?”

“Wrong bathroom,” Jimin called out, fingers still moving. I watched him, biting my lip to keep quiet. “Sorry.”

“Oh! My bad.”

The man’s footsteps faded away.

“Time?” he asked.

I checked my watch and sighed. Jimin slowly withdrew his fingers, and I almost choked on my own breath when he put them in his mouth.

“Later,” he promised.

It was a promise that weighed heavily. I fought between being his girlfriend and his coach. The girlfriend wanted to forget everything else and keep him here. The coach knew better and that I would regret keeping him from something so important to him.

“Let’s go kick some ass,” I said, kissing him one last time before sliding off the counter. “You leave first. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

He scoffed and took my hand. “I’m not leaving you after what we just did.”

“Such a gentleman,” I giggled, leaning into his side. “Make sure no one’s around, and we’ll leave together.”

We were the first ones at the pool, a handful of reporters already lurking around the bleachers, eager to catch the first glimpse of the swimmers. Jimin and I had let go of each other before entering the pool room, our roles as coach and trainee now firmly back in place. My steps slowed as I turned to him.

“I’ll hang back,” I said, my weariness of the press still gripping me. No one seemed to recognize me yet, and Jimin was an effective buffer. “Go and play nice.”

He flashed me a grin. “I’m an American sweetheart, angel. The people love me.”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, sweetheart, you better start talking. We’ve got warm-ups to do. Unless you want to cramp up and lose. If that’s your plan, be my guest.”

As Jimin charmed the cameras, I mentally reviewed our plan for the day. Regardless of the outcome, we were hitting the town for food and drinks. It was a perfect way to build rapport and expand our network. The more connections we made, the more likely someone would pass our name to a sponsor.

It struck me as odd that Jimin wasn’t a sponsor or ambassador for any major brands despite his popularity. When I asked him about it, he mentioned Hamilton’s belief that endorsements would be a distraction. His mother thought Hamilton was just jealous of Jimin’s success. I had to side with Nayeon on this one.

I was already working on securing a deal with Nike or Adidas. Their sportswear was among the most recognized worldwide, and getting Jimin’s face out there would set him up nicely for life after the Olympics. He had at least one, maybe two, more Olympics before retirement, and sponsors could provide the financial cushion he needed while he focused on swimming.

I’d reached out to an old contact at Speedo, who was eager to get the endorsement process rolling. Miguel, the rep I’d always dealt with, was thrilled about the newest hot swimmer in town. A shipment of gear was on its way, and I was awaiting confirmation from advertising about a potential campaign. I hadn’t anticipated this, but Speedo seemed eager to be one of Jimin’s first endorsements. I planned to discuss it with him once the charity event was over.

“Ready?”

I jumped, Jimin’s laugh ringing in my ears.

“Yeah, yeah,” I teased. “Laugh it up. Just take off your clothes and get in the water.”

Jimin stuck his tongue out at me, peeling off his jacket and tossing it on his gear bag. His flip-flops followed, and before long, he was in the water. I stood at the edge, watching him as he began his laps. This was more about stretching than training, and I reminded him to take it slow.

The pool began to fill with other swimmers practicing their strokes. Jimin and the others tagged each other in and out, getting used to the relay transitions. I watched with pride. His breaststroke was impressive. His progress was a testament to his hard work, and I felt honored to be part of his journey. Relationship aside, he was dedicated, and it was a pleasure to work with him.

“He looks good,” Coach Tyler Moore said, his gaze fixed on Jimin. “Better than when he was with that other guy. Kid’s a beast.”

“Good for a short guy,” Nicole, another coach, joked.

Jimin’s height was always a topic of discussion. His shorter stature seemed to be a disadvantage, especially against the taller Olympic swimmers. Most of the men in the category were at least six feet tall, and the women were often taller than Park, myself included.

“He’s a great swimmer,” I replied. “He’s fast and strong. Could probably bench-press a bear if he tried.”

Tyler chuckled. “Do you think he’ll place at the Olympics?”

I nodded. “Of course I do. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

“Girl’s a recluse,” a familiar dry voice drawled beside me.

I chuckled. Summer Lewis, an old friend from high school, had unexpectedly shown up. It was a welcome surprise that eased some of my nerves.

“Thought hell would freeze over before she was back in public,” Summer said. “Do you even leave the house?”

“Yes,” I said, trying to keep the smile on my face. “Obviously. I’m here right now.”

“How are you feeling?” she asked, glancing at me as the others dispersed to speak with reporters. “Leg holding up?”

“Yeah. I still get some pain, especially in the cold, but I’m managing. Alive, so I can’t complain too much.”

The same couldn’t be said for Namjoon. I pushed that thought aside. There was no room for survivor’s guilt today. I was happy. Everything was coming together. He would be happy for me. But he’s dead.

I took a deep breath, my anxiety escalating. The reporters were closing in, and the thought of interacting with them made me physically ill. My stomach churned, and I fought to keep the panic at bay. It was irrational, but I was sweating like a pig.

“Do you miss it?” Summer asked, gesturing toward the pool.

“All the time,” I admitted, a bead of sweat trickling down my neck. “Hey, I’m going to use the bathroom real quick. Let Park know if he starts looking for me.”

Summer nodded. “We’ll be starting in ten.”

“I’ll be back before then.”

Jimin looked my way as I glanced back at him. He gave me a thumbs-up, and I nodded in return, signaling that I’d be back shortly. He needed to stay focused on the water and his team.

I squeezed my hand into a fist, tucking my thumb underneath my index finger and popping it through the other side. I waved my wrist, signaling that I needed to use the restroom. He nodded, and I saw him relax a bit. Good. I just needed a few minutes to collect myself.

I splashed water on my face, my reflection in the bathroom mirror staring back at me. Today was overwhelming. My anxiety was through the roof, and the makeup on my face felt like a mask. It looked fine, as it always did, but it only made me feel more insecure. I looked like I was trying too hard, and everyone knew it. God, I was such an idiot.

And then there was Jimin.

I let a single tear slip. It was inappropriate and disrespectful. He was so nervous and scared, and I’d brushed off his vulnerability because of what? I hadn’t had any in a while? I was no better than the men I despised.

I gave myself two minutes to cry, letting the guilt and shame flow out. Once my watch beeped, I dabbed my face with tissues and fixed my hair. Whatever was going on with me would have to wait. Jimin was counting on me.

As I opened the bathroom door, I collided with a solid chest. I stumbled back, barely catching myself on the wall. The person I bumped into remained still.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, adjusting my clothes. “Are you okay?”

“Perfectly fine.”

The voice was unmistakable.

Standing in front of me was Matthew Hamilton, his blonde hair starting to silver and slicked back with too much hairspray. His pale blue eyes, devoid of warmth, still unsettled me. He was built like an ox and as healthy as ever, but age was catching up.

“Good to see you, Otter,” he said, his tone dripping with boredom. “Seems like you got stuck with my leftovers.”

I was too furious to speak. How dare he speak about Jimin like that? I had to hold myself together before I lost control. I was already at my breaking point, and his condescending attitude was the last straw.

“Too bad they couldn’t find a swimmer up to your caliber,” he continued, seemingly oblivious to the offense. “Even with a limp, you deserve better than Park. Kid’s got no spirit, and don’t even get me started on the drinking.”

I scoffed. “Jimin doesn’t drink.”

“Not anymore, maybe,” Hamilton said casually, as if trying to make small talk. “He used to drink like a fish until his brother died. Working with him was a nightmare. Glad you’re not dealing with that shit with your bum leg.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my leg,” I snapped, at least making him look slightly chastised. “And for the record, that ‘nightmare’ you keep talking about beat your personal best in his last competition. So if you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do than listen to a has-been who doesn’t know when to shut up.”

I shoved past him, barely moving him an inch. My steps were heavy as I stalked down the hallway, my anger searing through me. I knew my face betrayed my emotions, and the cameras would catch every detail. It was almost enough to make me turn back and hide in the bathroom.

But I had someone counting on me, and he was far more important than protecting my pride.

Jimin was standing with the group when I returned, three minutes to spare. He clocked something was off right away, and so did Summer.

“What crawled up your ass?” she asked.

“Some dumb bitch,” I huffed, taking a few deep breaths to calm myself. “I bumped into an asshole on my way out of the bathroom.”

“Are you okay?” Nicole asked, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Do we need to tell security?”

I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it. I think I gave him enough of an earful to keep him the hell away from me.”

I didn’t want to reveal who had bothered me. It would only cause unnecessary drama and upset Jimin. We had an event to focus on.

“Let's go over the plan one more time.”

Taking over as head coach, I directed the team. The others were happy to hand over the reins, and the boys took direction well. We reviewed the order of events, their best times, and their confidence levels. After a pep talk and some words of encouragement, it was time for the boys to swim.

Jimin was third in our group of four, and I watched him intensely. How well he performed today would set the tone for the rest of the season. He was signed up to compete in the breaststroke event at the Olympics, along with other solo swimming events. I knew just how skeptical people were about his chances. Today’s performance could reignite interest in him, which was crucial for securing sponsors.

Jimin took his place on the block, laser-focused and ready to dive in as soon as Trey tagged him. Trey was the fastest in the pool today, giving Jimin a head start before the others were halfway back across.

I held my breath. Jimin was a bullet in the water. Not as perfect as I wanted, but much improved. He reached the touchpad and pushed himself back across the pool. Team 3 was catching up, but Jimin would finish first. I watched as he gave one final push and tagged in D’Angelo.

Take that, you old bastard, I sneered internally. My anger surprised me; Hamilton deserved my contempt. No one gets to talk about Jimin like that. Ever.

D’Angelo butterflied us to victory. Our team hugged each other as the announcer declared our win to the cheering crowd. The bleachers were filled, the audience screaming their praise at the four men. They basked in the glory. All I could do was stare at my pretty boy’s smile in awe.

I really did love him.

Even if I didn’t tell him right now, I knew in my heart that I did. I went up against Matthew fucking Hamilton for him, came to this charity function, and kept it together. Now, I was going to talk to some news reporters, all because I loved him.

I love him, I love him, I love him…

“You’re a damn good coach, Y/N.”

I turned to smile at Summer. She was beautiful, her brown eyes warm and kind. She reminded me of Giselle, but her features were sharper, her nose broader. I remembered us cutting up after placing in nationals right after we turned 21. I hadn’t thought about her in so long I forgot what it was like to miss her.

“So are you. D’Angelo is one of the best I’ve seen for his age group. How old is he?”

“Sixteen. Turning seventeen next month. Hope he’ll be Olympics-ready next time, but I don’t know if he’ll stick with it.”

“He will. You can see it in his eyes.”

D’Angelo was talking to Jimin, the high schooler bubbly and starry-eyed. He had a slight stutter and kept apologizing about his tics. D’Angelo had Tourette’s and clicked his tongue and winked a lot. He attached himself to Jimin once they got comfortable, and my boyfriend told me he had followed the younger swimmer on social media.

“Where does he go to school?”

“Pioneer High,” she replied. “His family moved to Ann Arbor a few weeks ago. He was going to school out here in Allendale.”

What a small world.

“Does he need a new coach?” I asked. “I’m out in Saline. It’s only twenty minutes away from Ann Arbor.”

Summer seemed excited about the prospect of us working together. She said this was their last meet as coach and student, and she was sad to see him go since he was the only person serious about swimming professionally on their team. I gave her my contact information and asked her to pass it on to D’Angelo’s parents. I saw potential in him and wanted to keep that fire in his eyes.

“He’s going to be so excited.”

“Well, he’ll have to wait until after the Olympics,” I reminded her. “I’m up to my neck in work right now.”

“What about weekends?” she countered.

“Maybe Saturday,” I sighed. “We’ll see. I’m not sure if I want to commit to it right now. I’ll be in hell until July. Between Nationals and all the other competitions Hamilton signed him up for, we’re not getting any breaks.”

Summer hummed, eyeing the reporters. They had gone to speak with the boys, all of whom seemed eager to share their happiness about the win. St. Jude’s would be getting a hundred thousand dollars from today’s event. Reaching into my pocket, I asked Summer if she had recorded the race.

“Nicole did,” she told me. “She sent it to the group chat already.”

“Excellent,” I grinned. “Jimin’s mom wanted to see him swim. She was so disappointed she couldn’t come.”

I felt Summer watching me as I unlocked my phone. Watching the video, I was pleased at how well-shot it was. You could see all of our boys on full display. I thanked Nicole for the video and saved it. Pulling up Neyeon’s number, I sent the video and promised her to have Jimin call her as soon as he was available.

“You two together?”

I looked at Summer, keeping my face neutral.

“Sorry if I’m overstepping,” she laughed. “It’s just…you two seem very close.”

I raised an eyebrow. Lying wasn’t something I did often, and this felt wrong but necessary. I didn’t want anyone to know about us. It took one person saying the wrong thing, and we’d be up shit’s creek come July. Our relationship was frowned upon by SafeSport and would be considered imbalanced.

“We’re not.”

Summer did not look convinced.

“I’m not going to tell anyone, Y/N. You’re just a trainer while he’s still in Michigan. A stand-in until Bunch finds him a new coach. We all know that, and you’re not breaking the code of conduct.”

“I’m not a temp,” I sighed. “We haven’t disclosed anything yet. I wanted to wait until after the Olympics, but I’m afraid I’ll have to step down before that happens.”

Summer placed a hand on my shoulder. “He’ll be in Colorado in April, right? Tell Bunch your job as coach is over and you won’t have anything to worry about.”

“You don’t get it,” I shook my head. “Ozzie wants me to be his permanent coach. That’s been the expectation this entire time, and I know Jimin would want the same.”

“Well, he can’t have his cake and eat it too,” she said, glancing at the reporters. “Get him to understand the position you’d be in. I’m sure if you told him your romantic relationship would make you look bad, then he’d be more willing to get help elsewhere.”

“He wants to finish the season with me by his side. It was the only compromise he was willing to listen to.”

“Put your foot down. Find other options. Christmas is around the corner. Spring won’t be too long after that. You should step down before Oswald finds out. Don’t screw yourself over, babe. You’ve worked too hard for this to let some kid take it away from you.”

I snorted, “He’s not doing anything wrong.”

“No,” she argued. “He’s being selfish. You both are.”

I knew she was right. I should have waited until I was no longer attached to him in this way before starting anything. I knew it from the beginning, and I still allowed myself to be in this position. Summer had a point. Finding him a permanent coach before we went to Colorado in April was a good idea. If I was just a trainer, then nothing would be inappropriate, and I could still help him out in the gym.

“Are you looking for anything?” I joked.

Summer laughed. “Girl, I’d love to work with that boy, but I don’t think we’d line up this year. I have kids now. I can email you a few recommendations.”

“Thanks, Summer. I don’t know how big of a deal it’s going to be, but I’ll talk to Bunch about it.”

“Anytime, Otter. I’m just speaking from my experiences. He might tell you something different. Don’t spiral over it. I know you.”

I always hated that stupid nickname, but I had to put on a smile. Cameras were coming our way, and I needed to be sure I was on my best behavior. For Jimin’s sake.

The interview went better than I expected. I didn’t have to talk about myself a single time, and it didn’t look like any of the reporters here knew who I was. It wasn’t pleasant, but I couldn’t complain. We spoke for five minutes before they moved on to the others. Taking that as my cue, I went to collect my athlete.

We had a lot to talk about tonight.

Jimin smiled when I approached. The other three boys greeted me just as eagerly, and I was more than happy to hand out my praises. D’Angelo and Trey went to mingle with the losing teams. Paul went to find Nicole, leaving Jimin and me alone.

“You look upset,” he said, handing his duffle bag over when I held out my hand. “Something the matter?”

“No,” I shook my head and smiled. “Nothing’s wrong. I just need to talk to you later.”

“Is it bad?”

“Not bad,” I reassured him. “Something private. I don’t want to do it here.”

“Okay, Coach.”

That night, as I lay in bed, I thumbed through the email Summer had sent me earlier. Jimin had been invited out with the other boys, and I had pushed him to go. I told him I had paperwork and reports to handle, that he should enjoy his night off. He seemed reluctant but left anyway.

The truth was, I wasn't ready to have this conversation with him. Every time I tried to bring up our relationship, he brushed it off, saying he was fine with waiting until after the Olympics. But I knew better. It would look worse if we waited until he won a medal to disclose everything. I was his coach, temporary or otherwise, and it was my responsibility to make sure boundaries weren't crossed.

I should have never come here. Not when I knew exactly how I felt about him before I did. I was such an idiot.

Finally, ready to face the music, I called Ozzie. It was still early in Colorado, but I knew he'd answer. I never called him unless it was important. Maybe, if I was lucky, Whitney would pick up, and I could chat with her first. She always had a way of helping me get my head straight before unleashing my worries on Ozzie.

"Hello?" No such luck tonight.

"Hey, Oz," I greeted, the worry in my voice making me want to hang up. "How are you?"

"Fine. What's wrong, Otter?"

I sighed, "I fucked up."

"Tell me about it."

So I did. I spent half an hour unloading everything that had happened since I moved to Michigan. How attracted I was to Jimin, but how I pushed those feelings aside to coach him. The months of slowly building longing. Sushi night in Detroit. The date when I came back from visiting home. The kiss on his couch. The brief sexual encounter this morning (though I left out most of those details). I told him everything.

To his credit, Oswald just listened. He only spoke every so often to clarify something or ask about a small detail I left out. As my story came to a close, the pit in my stomach felt like someone was sitting on me. My hands began to tremble.

"I'm so sorry, Ozzie," I cried. "You trusted me, and I fucked it all up."

"You didn't do anything wrong," he finally said, his voice soft and gentle. "Summer was being dramatic earlier. What you two do is your business as long as you disclose it."

"But-"

"Katinka Hosszú and Shane Tusup are married. Coach-athlete relationship. They've disclosed it, and they're fine. You and Park are doing the same thing. I'll let everyone else know, and you'll be fine once the Olympics come around."

"I just don't want to be a bad person, Oz."

"You're not," he soothed. "You did the right thing by telling me. I'm happy for you, Y/N. You've been alone for too long, and that kid needs someone like you in his corner. He's been through a lot."

Wiping my face, his words brought back my encounter with Hamilton. The words he used to describe Jimin were so far from reality, but I still couldn't find it in me to not believe him. Matthew was a jerk, a stupid one at that, but he was sincere in his annoyance.

"I ran into Hamilton today. He said some shitty things about Jimin. Called him a drunk."

Ozzie cursed under his breath.

My heart rate sped up. So it was true? But that didn't make sense. Jimin didn't even drink. I had never heard of a drunk who didn't drink. Unless he was in recovery.

I thought about my dad. He'd been sober for five years now. It was one of the only compliments I could give his new wife. She kept him on the straight and narrow. Imagining Jimin in my childhood basement, too drunk to stand up, crying for a wife that wasn't coming back felt wrong. I could never put him in that position. That wasn't him at all.

"That's something you should talk to him about."

"But it's true?"

"To an extent," Ozzie admitted. "I wouldn't call him a drunk, but the kid can hold his liquor. He was worse a few years ago, but he's been great for a long time. Hamilton is just exaggerating."

But I had a gut feeling he wasn't.

"Thanks for talking to me, Oz."

"Anytime, Y/N," he chuckled. "And delete that damn email. He doesn't need a new coach. You're working magic on him."

"Night."

Tossing my phone on the bed, I slammed my laptop shut and put it on the nightstand. Today had been a disaster. We came here and won, did exactly as well as I had hoped, but it felt hollow. I didn't know who to believe. Summer's concerns were valid from an academic coach's perspective, and I understood her worries. It was strange to me as well. Ozzie was a far more reliable source, but it felt too easy. Things were never that simple for me, and it was difficult to calm down enough to believe what he said.

Curling into a ball, I stared at the front door. He'd be back soon, and I'd have to explain my strange mood. I knew he'd be upset with me for sending him away after saying we needed to talk, but I hoped he'd forgive me once I explained why I needed space to think. So many decisions needed to be made, and I knew I would only hurt him if I tried to do anything before screwing my head back on.

For now, I decided to go by Ozzie's advice. If any issues came up, we'd deal with them together. As a team. Jimin would prefer it that way, and I could take some of the pressure off my shoulders.

A beep. A wiggle. Another beep. The door opened.

"Stupid keycard doesn't work right," Jimin grumbled to himself, slipping out of his shoes. "I knew there was a reason it was so cheap."

I slowly sat up and watched him. His hair was in his eyes, and his skin looked a little pale, but he seemed to be in a good mood. I couldn't smell alcohol either.

I wanted to punch myself in the face.

I wasn't ready for that conversation yet, but I knew avoiding it would only make things worse. If I let my mind wander, it would spin the worst story ever told, and I'd constantly be checking to make sure he wasn't drunk.

Jimin didn't drink, I told myself. Jimin's been doing great.

He went straight to the bathroom, giving me a few minutes to collect myself. I needed to be honest but cautious. If I told him word-for-word what Hamilton had said, it would only make him feel bad. Starting with the good news first might help. Maybe learning that we didn't have to hide our relationship status going forward would ease the sting of his old coach's words.

I would have to approach this delicately. The toilet flushed. The water ran. The bathroom door opened. It was showtime.

"Had fun?" I asked him, knees pressed against my chest.

He smiled at me, "They're all really nice. Wish you were there."

"Next time," I promised. "Want to put the TV on?"

Jimin shrugged, "Sure. Food Network?"

"Chopped might be on."

It was actually Iron Chef, but we both liked that show too, so we kept it on. I tried not to stare at Jimin as he got undressed. He only wore a shirt and boxers to sleep, so it was very distracting. I needed to be focused and ready for anything.

Climbing into bed, he wrapped an arm around my waist and buried his face into my side. I was still sitting up, cradling my legs, but Jimin's whining finally got me to relax. Sliding down, I wrapped my arms around his neck and let him throw the blanket over me.

This was my happy place.

"I missed you," he mumbled, fingers playing with my hair.

"I missed you too," I told him. "Sorry I've been weird."

"What's wrong, angel?"

I felt my eyes welling up. "Good or bad?"

"Good."

I took a deep breath.

"I told Coach Bunch about our relationship. He said we'll be fine, and he's going to put in a disclosure form with the board for us. We'll probably get an email to sign a few documents in a couple of days."

He kissed my forehead, a large, toothy grin overtaking his entire face. I couldn't help but smile back. I knew it would make him happy. Gripping my hair, he yanked my head forward for a kiss. He couldn't stop smiling even as our lips collided. His joy eased some of my anxiety about the conversation that was to come.

"I'm so happy right now," he giggled, kissing me again. "I can finally show you off like the pretty girl you are."

Relenting, I tightened my grip around him. I needed to focus on the good. Jimin wasn't going to get mad at me for being honest, and I had to hope Hamilton being a jerk wouldn't burst our perfectly formed bubble.

"I ran into Coach Hamilton today."

Jimin's smile dropped in sync with my heart.

"He said some things," I averted my gaze. "It upset me. That was my issue when I came back from the bathroom."

"What did he say?"

I shook my head, "It doesn't matter. He doesn't matter."

Jimin cupped my cheek.

"You were upset before you went. Why?"

I sighed, burying my face in his neck. It was easier to talk to him when I didn't feel his eyes on me. It never ended. The anxiety. The shame. The guilt.

"I just felt so bad about the bathroom thing. You told me to drop it, but it's still there. I don't want to make you feel pressured. I want you to feel loved when I touch you. I just want to make you feel good, Jimin."

"You do," he soothed, kissing my head. "You make me feel amazing. There's nothing wrong with the things we do. We're going to be okay."

I couldn't help but cry. I loved him so much. I could never, ever, let him go. He was everything I ever wanted. Perfect.

"And then, here comes this goddamn asshole," I cried, the words spilling out of me like a busted dam. I was past the point of no return, the fury and frustration rolling off me in waves. Any semblance of calm had fled, replaced by a raw, unfiltered torrent of emotion.

"He kept yammering about my 'bum leg,' saying you were no good, calling you a drunk. I don't know what came over me, but I just snapped. I never lose it like that, but I did. And now, I feel like I've ruined everything—your meet, your moment. And to top it all off, I went behind your back and talked to Ozzie—"

"Stop." Jimin's hands were on my face, his grip firm but gentle, forcing me to meet his eyes. "Stop it. Please, don't hide from me. You didn't ruin anything, angel. I promise. I'm so happy we won, and you talking to Bunch is the best gift anyone’s ever given me."

I shook my head, unable to accept his words. The day had spiraled into a nightmare, and I felt responsible for every second of it. I couldn't celebrate with him, couldn't touch him, couldn't even look at him. I was a failure. I was a mistake. This whole thing was a mistake. I was going to ruin his career. His life. His—

"One," he took a deep breath. "Two," then another. "Three," he kissed my forehead. "Come on, angel girl. Breathe with me."

I blinked, following his lead. One deep breath in. One big exhale out. One breath in. One breath out. One, two, three, four; five. Ten, nine, eight, seven; six. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

"There you go," Jimin mumbled. "Just calm down. I'm not mad. I promise you I'm not mad."

I nodded, my breath catching up with me. With my head cleared, the weight of my earlier words hit me like a sledgehammer. So much for being gentle and kind. I wanted to punch myself in the face. God, I was a horrible girlfriend.

"I'm sorry," I murmured. "That was unnecessary. And selfish. And wrong. I promised myself I'd stay calm, and then I just freaked out on you."

Sitting up, I wiped my face roughly, angry at my tears. I was too old to act like this when I was upset. I needed to learn how to stay composed and communicate. No one wants to deal with a crybaby who explodes all the time.

"It's okay to be upset," he replied. "That's a lot to handle alone, and you did so well today. I want you to know you can have these moments with me. It's what I'm here for."

"But you shouldn’t have to."

"I want to," he said, grabbing my face again. I hadn’t realized I had looked away. "I want to because I love you."

Automatically, I laughed. My disbelief was so great I was positive Ashton Kutcher would jump out of the bathroom and tell me I was getting Punk’d. But this wasn’t 2003. It was 2024, and no one had thought about that blemish on MTV’s record in over a decade. This was just me and Jimin in our hotel room, and he was telling me something profound, and all I could do was laugh.

He cracked a smile. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," I shook my head, almost giddy with joy. "Nothing. I don’t know why I can’t stop laughing."

His smile widened. Sitting up, he leaned in and kissed my cheek. I squeaked, giggled, and threw myself at him.

My mood swings had to be exhausting. I knew I had to be as well.

But he loved me. Jimin loved me. Even if I was the most exhausting girlfriend, he loved me.

"I love you," he repeated, his eyes soft and glowing with unmistakable fondness. "I don’t like it when you talk about yourself like that."

"I love you, too," I whispered back like a secret. "I’m sorry."

He shook his head. "Don’t feel bad for telling me these things. You’re not ruining anything for me. I’m just happy you’re giving me the privilege to hold you when you’re down. You’re a suffer-in-silence type."

I snorted. "Woe is me."

Jimin leaned back and took me with him. Laying across his chest, I got comfortable and stared at him. He was the prettiest man I had ever seen. He needed a haircut soon. It was past his ears and too hard for him to manage. I’d let him go early next week so he could fit in a trip to the barber.

"There’s nothing wrong with your leg, by the way."

I snickered. "I told him the same thing. May or may not have called him a has-been, too."

That made Jimin laugh. The sound was like music. I loved it when he was happy. I was worried he was putting his feelings aside to make me feel better, but I had to force myself to let him come to me on his own time. Whatever Jimin wanted was what I wanted, and if he wasn’t ready to tell me about his past yet, I would accept that.

Because I loved him. And he loved me. I smiled. He loves me.

"You have questions, right?"

"About the drunk comment? Sure, but you don’t have to say anything. You can talk to me or not, and I’ll still be here."

He regarded me for a moment before nodding. "Thank you."

I simpered. "You’re welcome."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

Wanting to break the tension, I made a show of stretching my arms above my head. Yawning melodramatically, I curled up against his side. Jimin’s arms wrapped around my waist as if they were always meant to be there. As it turned out, a new episode of Chopped had come on.

Jimin was very pleased with this, and we lapsed into a comfortable silence as we watched the chefs open their baskets. We had gotten lucky enough to only miss the introductions. For their appetizer basket, they got mofongo (something I had never heard of before), English peas, sparkling cider, and catfish filets. I marveled at the ingredients. I would have been utterly clueless.

"What’s mofongo made of?" I asked Jimin.

"Mashed up fried plantains," he replied calmly. "They put garlic paste and chicharron in it. You’d usually eat it with beef broth, but it can change depending on the recipe. It’s a Puerto Rican dish. I only heard about it after swimming with Luis Rivera at Nationals. It’s really good."

"It sounds good. Summer? Her family is Nigerian, and if we were lucky, her mother would bring these massive pots of food to our training sessions when we were in the U.S. Olympic swimming team back in 2012. I dream about her jollof rice. And the soups? Don't even get me started."

I watched as one chef used the mofongo to create a marinade for his catfish and raised an eyebrow. Points off for lack of creativity. Another person had taken the mofongo and turned it into a thick gravy. Both seemed like safe choices, but at least they were using it. The other chef hadn’t even touched it. They were very focused on a pot of boiling potatoes and frying the fish.

"Boiling more potatoes seems pointless," I muttered.

"Let him cook."

I snorted. "Yes, sir."

Jimin was right, of course. A few moments later, the man was mixing the potatoes and mofongo together to make a hybrid of sorts. After that, he assembled his fish pie. He used the cider to make a base gravy for the fish and peas, added in a few other veggies for more flavor, and piled on the potatoes. I did not think I would like the flavor of fish with heaps of mash on them, but it looked delicious as he plated them. Far better than the other two’s strange and avant-garde style.

It just wasn’t something I would consider an appetizer.

"That’s an entire meal," Jimin scoffed. "He’s going home."

"Get out of my head, kid."

He kissed my cheek. "Make me."

"Punk."

"You love me."

"I do."

"Say it again," he giggled.

I rolled my eyes. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he sighed happily. "I’m so happy I can just say that now. You have no idea how hard it’s been to just... not say it."

I thought about the semi-panic attack I had in Hoseok’s car and laughed. He had no idea how much I understood where he was coming from.

"Say it as much as you want, love," I kissed the underside of his chin.

We had both been right. The judges thought the pie was too much to be an appetizer.

The hiss of the shower jolted me awake, the sound slicing through the thick, restless silence of the early morning. I fumbled groggily for my phone. The screen lit up: 3:17 AM. The bed beside me was a cold, empty expanse, and a tight knot of worry coiled in my gut. I slipped out of bed, the chill of the floor biting at my feet, and crept toward the bathroom door.

“Chim?” I called softly, barely above a whisper, as if speaking louder might shatter the fragile night.

“Yeah?” His voice was close, too close to the door for him to be in the shower.

“Can I come in?”

The moment of silence that followed was heavy, like the air before a storm. Then came the soft click of the lock, and the door creaked open just enough for me to see him. As I’d feared, he was still fully clothed, slumped on the toilet with that distant, haunted look I’d hoped never to see again. It had been months since he’d looked this lost.

I slipped inside and closed the door behind me, the small space barely accommodating us. We were so close our knees touched, but I didn’t care. He needed me, and I wasn’t going anywhere.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked, my voice barely a breath.

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on some dark chasm only he could see. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, broken only by the steady drip of the showerhead. Eventually, he reached over and turned off the water. The steam billowed around us, wrapping us in a dense fog.

"Her name was Jackie," he said finally, his voice a whisper lost in the fog. "She was a friend of Annie’s. We were in college, and Annie practically forced us to go out so she could double date with Tom."

I hummed softly, encouraging him to continue. I didn’t understand why Jackie was surfacing now, but I had a sinking feeling she was the girl he’d mentioned earlier—the one who had made him feel small and worthless. Jackie. What a godawful name.

“She was one of those people who wore a mask around her friends and was someone else entirely when we were alone. I was 18, and she was pretty, so I let it slide. We had things in common, and we laughed a lot.”

He paused, drawing a shaky breath. “Her friends thought I was weird and didn’t want her with me. They’d been tight since middle school and still acted like high school mean girls. I didn’t care much for them either, but Jackie always said she didn’t care what they thought.”

My heart twisted in my chest. I had a gut-wrenching feeling where this was going, and it made me sick. My poor baby. I placed a hand on his knee in a futile attempt to comfort him.

“We’d been seeing each other for a few months, but we hadn’t done more than a few kisses and hugs. I was gearing up for my first professional championship swim meet, and she was buried in schoolwork. Double major or something, I don’t really remember.”

He took another deep breath. “Our clothes were off, and I was so nervous. She seemed okay with it. We just got dressed and watched a movie. We both knew that things weren’t going anywhere.”

“That’s normal, Jimin,” I murmured, trying to fill the void of silence. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He shook his head. “She told her friends, who told their friends, who then told everyone in my frat about what happened. Then she was too much of a coward to face me and acted like nothing had ever happened. I was humiliated, mortified. I just didn’t want to have sex anymore. The drinking started after, but that was more a side effect of being in a fraternity with undiagnosed depression.”

I was at a loss for words, so I stood up. Jimin watched me as I lowered myself onto his lap. I wrapped my arms around his neck and held him tight.

Even if it wasn’t some grotesque horror story, it was still a deep, festering wound. Trauma was trauma, regardless of its shape or size. This morning had uncovered more than either of us was willing to admit.

For Jimin, it was confronting his fears of rejection. For me, it was the struggle to finally move on from guilt and shame. Namjoon's face came to mind, and I had to make my brain stop itself from going there. He would want me to be happy. He would want me to live. I relaxed into him, hoping that we could both find a way to heal.

Jimin sucked in a few deep breaths before his arms enveloped my waist. He hiccuped once, then twice, and finally, he began to cry.

I buried my face in his hair, my own tears mingling with his. It was heart-wrenching to see him in such pain, but I felt deeply honored that he was finally allowing his walls to come down. For all my talk about suffering in silence, Jimin was far more adept at hiding his pain than I was.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “You didn’t deserve that.”

He cried harder and nodded. “I know,” he wailed.

I didn’t want to talk anymore. Holding him in my arms, this beautiful, broken boy, I wished I could keep him locked away in this bathroom forever, safe from the cruelties of the world. I didn’t care if my legs went numb from sitting or if the grip he had on my ribs was starting to hurt. Jimin cried, and I stayed in his lap, a silent promise to be there, come what may.

Taglist: @ownthesunshine @screamertannie @lovelytaes-blog @pernesianparapio @tae-with-some-suga @sumzysworld @chimmisbae

107 notes · View notes

blingblong55 · 1 year

Text

Blood and Lust- 141 NSFW

A/N: huge thank you to @warenai @shadofireshinobi and the anon for the picture/gif

Based on a request: --- 141 in a vampire orgy. All vampires are said to be bi so do what u will with that infol also F reader so #27, #23, #4, #15. not sure if i can have so many numbers on a request but please do feed me --- F!Reader, smut, MDNI, 18+, monster/vampire au, orgy, mentions of blood(obvi), knife play, pain kink, marking, biting, rough!sex, unprotected!sex, human!reader, voyeurism, mentions of drug use, degrading, spit roast, M4M, MM4F

A/N: Straight to it...(won't mention much about your own pleasure bc I simply forgot to put that much detail into it and I also forgot to write the aftercare but let's pretend it did happen)

It was an annual thing they did, get drunk on blood, have sex, and get high on drugs. You and Soap had been friends for years and every year, you were the chosen one to be fed on. He of course had your consent to drink your blood, as the rest of his housemates did. Today, you are in the large bed of their home. Sex toys of all sorts around the room, three of the men already in bed. Soap had started things off with you in the bathroom, trying to ease the nerves. Some good amount of cocaine always did the job.

Now in their bed, Price and Soap initiated things. You in your pink lingerie, like the perfect little prey. Soap's lips on yours, Price was spreading your legs open. Gaz was already stroking his cock, Ghost watching as you let Soap kiss your neck, a smirk on his face the entire time. With one quick notion, you were under Soap. His fangs are deep in your neck. Price began to drip from the other side of the neck. You moan as Gaz begins to slap his already-hardened cock onto your cunt. "Already wet?" he chuckles and nods off to Ghost. Your blood dripped down your neck, and Price was leaking it, leaving bite marks all over your neck and shoulder.

Once the two men stopped drinking from you, Ghost bends down, a knife on his hand whilst the other stroked his own cock. He forces your mouth open, his tip being slapped on your tongue. A knife gently tracing your chest. You squirm. "Shh, it's okay," he whispers and then makes you suck on his cock, his hips thrusting as you begin to gag. Soap watches this with delight, he moves closer and kisses Ghost. Price begins to finger you, his fingers deep inside as you try and move but get slapped either on your tits or thighs. "Don't you fucking move," he growls and then looks at Gaz. "Do it," Gaz says and then both of the men position your thighs far from the other. Gaz kisses your legs as Price positions his needy cock by your entrance, his tip circling your pulsating entrance. Your blood still leaking. The bite marks Price has left, will become definite scars.

Ghost strokes Soap's length and before he ever dared to cum, he stops and then slaps your face. The way your throat tightened around his cock, making him feel that much-needed release get closer. Gaz spreads some white powder down on your stomach, sniffing it up his nose and shaking his head with a grin. Soap moves down and sniff the powder as well, both men then look at the other and begin to touch each other. Your clit was rubbed by Gaz's fingers all as Soap kissed his neck.

Ghost continued to spread the knife over your chest, leaving small trails of your blood. He licks the cuts and smiles, "What a lovely dinner." You continue to gag, Ghost occasionally pulling out so you could breathe, then slamming his cock back inside your mouth. Your lips, like a perfect ring around his thick member. Price fucked himself into your pussy, which only made you moan more. Your blood was addictive to all these men. Out of all the men, Ghost and Price abused your body the most. They slapped and marked you all over, leaving marks for other vampires or just other men to see. At one point they all agreed to mark you as their complete property. A skull with fangs on your lower back now as proof of their ownership.

As Soap and Gaz drank blood from their glasses, they continued to either touch themselves as they watched you get completely destroyed by the thick cocks of their friends or touch each other. By some point, you began to get whipped, your body covered in bruises, red hand prints, cuts or bite marks. Once Ghost came in your mouth he pulled out and bit your neck, the artery leaking your blood, Gaz took this opportunity and drank from you as well. The room was filled with whimpers, begs, cries, moans and groans. Your eyes leaked tears, one's which was licked by Soap as he then trailed down to your tits. He nibbled on them like he had no other purpose.

Price's cum leaked from your cunt, he slapped it and then joined Soap, both men completely abusing your tits like there was no tomorrow. Once Ghost and Gaz were drunk on your blood, they made you get on all fours. Gaz behind whilst Soap took your throat. Ghost and Price say done, smoking and stroking themselves as they watched you take their mates. Soap choked you with his hands, making you gag and get teary pretty fast. Gaz slapped your ass, leaving his handprint on your already raw skin. You were forced by Soap to not look away from him, always to keep your eyes on him. "Look at you, what a dumb whore you are," Soap spit out which made Gaz grin. Your blood now leaking down to your chest.

Your eyes rolled back as they made you near your third orgasm. You wanted to tap out, your legs already shaking you, you were a blabbering mess but your body begged to be fucked to the extreme. "Just look at how easy we can make you cum," Gaz comments and slaps your ass again. You whimper only to have Soap slap your face and thrust himself into your mouth like an animal in heat. His thrusts so hard it would make your throat sore by the next day. Price has Ghost suck him off as he watched you get wrecked. This is what turned him on the most. No other human can make these men act this way like you and your body can. As more of Price's cum squirted hot into Ghost's mouth, he watched his two other mates cum at the same time inside of you.

Ghost sat up, watching as Gaz pressed the knife against your skin, ripping the layers of it and letting blood flow. He had a sadistic smile, he loved how you would whimper and beg for more. Knew you loved to be hurt by the blade. Your face was flushed, all your body was trying to calm itself down from the already multiple orgasms you received from either getting fingered or getting your holes used. Your legs shake and Soap lays you on your back.

"Not much a brat now are you?" he smirks as he recalls how bratty you were days before this orgy. He once more digs his fangs into your neck, and he sucks the blood, feeding himself for the next day or two. "Fuck you taste so sweet," he whispers and smiles. His thumb wipes the mascara-stained tears from your face and he kisses your forehead.

A/N: I know the homophobes will hate me for making them bi but fuck off we all needed this

Tags: @liyanahelena @anonymuslydumb @sharkssharkssharkssharks @yoursuicidalcupcake @ghostslillady @sleepydang @saoirse06 @hellnoname @karurururu @ghost-2513 @cheenutchutter4lyfe @airghostlyfox @greatstormcat @kuddelmuddell @unknownghoststhings @undercover-smutlover @luv69nina @welliah

463 notes · View notes

toast-the-unknowing · 9 months

Text

on fanfic plagiarism

Almost five years ago, in January of 2019, someone I'd never met before reached out to tell me that one of my Pynch fics, "Word on the Street," had been plagiarized.

I remember that the stolen fic was posted in k-pop fandom, though not what specific band it related to -- I'm not into k-pop, or really into pop music at all.

I remember that the person who messaged me told me that they had found my fic because the plagiarist had a reputation for stealing fic, so when they'd posted a new story, this person had known to do some digging.

I don't remember what the plagiarist's username was. I remember scanning the stolen story, trying both to read every detail and to avoiding taking any of it in, because looking at that right-but-wrong, not-quite-there, uncanny-valley-ness of it made me queasy.

I remember being darkly amused that the plagiarist had cut out the reference to the main character suffering physical abuse at the hands of his father -- I guess it didn't make sense in the context of the new character. It's almost like the story wasn't written for him. It's almost like someone wrote the story about Adam Parrish, instead.

I filed an AO3 complaint, on the grounds that this was a blatant and unarguable violation of their plagiarism policy. Within twenty-four hours, they got back to me, and the story was removed.

It was a weird, uncomfortable, gross feeling, knowing someone had taken words I'd written and passed them off as their own.

But at the same time -- "Word on the Street" was a silly thing I dashed off pretty quickly, during a period of my life when I was doing a lot of writing. It hurt to have it stolen. It was a violation. But…I had other words, that were more important to me. Maybe that was a buffer.

Last month, about six weeks ago, someone I'd never met before reached out to tell me that one of my Pynch fics, "there's talk going 'round this town," had been plagiarized.

I was, bizarrely, amused.

I was less bizarrely furious. I was understandably, relatably, I would say rationally, furious. But in a way (and as always, when I say in a way, I am calling back to the scholars of overthinkingit.com for whom in a way is meant as the thing I have just said or am about to say is false) -- in a way, I was amused.

The plagiarist clearly did a 'find and replace' on the character names, to replace Adam and Ronan's names with those of k-pop characters. They did a bad job of it, since the name "Ronan" still appears in one paragraph and the name "Parrish" still appears in two paragraphs. The fic is here, in case anyone doesn't believe me, under the name "i do(n't remember)". At first when I complained about the fic on tumblr, I didn't mention the name, or which fic they'd stolen, because I was worried about anyone…I don't know, making a scene. I've stopped caring. AO3 user springguk is bad at find and replace and they should feel bad. About their computer skills, and also about their blatant plagiarism.

springguk also did some more edits to my fic, I have to give them credit for that. I wrote "there's talk going 'round this town" within a relatively short time span, for me. I tend to either finish things within one week, or else take several months. I believe this one took about five or six weeks completely to write -- I was very inspired.

(I was inspired, specifically, by the press coverage of Winona Ryder and Keanu Reeves 'discovering' they might be 'accidentally' married. I mention that in my author's notes. springguk doesn't mention what 'inspired' them in their author's notes. I wonder how they talk about it with friends. They do, in their author's notes, include a link to their ko-fi, and a request that people buy them a coffee.)

If I'd taken longer with this fic, I might have made some edits. Even at the time, I knew I was being self-indulgent in letting the scene with my teenage female OC talk at such length with Ronan about what his non-canonical film career had meant to her, a person the audience didn't care about. But I had fun. I liked Fox. I didn't want to cut her, and what the hell, it was fanfic. I decided to self-indulge.

I was darkly amused to find that springguk did cut out the scene with Fox from their plagiarized version. Maybe springguk is a more disciplined editor than I am. Maybe springguk just didn't have a good k-pop character to map Fox onto. Maybe springguk didn't even realize that Fox was an OC. Do you know anything about the fandom you steal fics from, springguk? I can't help but wonder. Have you read The Raven Cycle? Do you care about teenage OCs who steal cars because of fake films that are clearly meant to be stand-ins for The Fast and the Furious franchise?

Maybe springguk just didn't give a fuck, because none of their heart and soul was poured into this fic. I cared too much about Fox. springguk doesn't care about a single word in the fic they published. Why would they? They didn't write it.

I'm being a little mean in naming them so many times. But I'm able to, this time, because although I filed a plagiarism complaint with AO3 six weeks ago, springguk's stolen fic "i do(n't remember)," is still available to read on AO3 to this very day. I don't have to wrack my brains to remember what their username was, or which k-pop band they recast my work with. I can just look at their fic with its 24 comments and 151 kudos. Hell, maybe that fic is even better than mine, if you don't mind that by cutting the sequence with Fox they've sacrificed a fairly substantial development in the romantic relationship, and also if you don't care that at one point the characters names switch from Jeongguk and Taehyung to Ronan and Parrish, because seriously, for fuck's sake, if you're going to steal a fic at least do a goddamn ctrl+f at the end.

I was mad. I was amused. I made a complaint that the AO3, six weeks later, has still not acted on. I mostly moved on.

Tonight, someone I'd never met before reached out to tell me that one of my Pynch fics, "while we're on the subject, could we change the subject now," had been plagiarized.

I wanted to vomit.

I was supposed to be playing Dungeons and Dragons online with friends tonight; I spent the entire call unable to focus on anything anyone was saying. I had to keep reminding myself that I was on camera and my face wasn't supposed to look like that.

"while we're on the subject, could we change the subject now" is the first of a series of, currently, twelve fics. skytoseungmin, the person who stole it to pass it off as their own work, knew this. Their stolen version was published as part one of a series, though they hadn't published any of the sequels. Presumably, they wanted to wait long enough to make it plausible they'd gone and written the follow ups, instead of just finding them.

skytoseungmin likely didn't know that this fic and this series are intensely personal. They didn't know that the apartment that Adam -- Seungmin, in their ill-gotten version -- lives in, that was based in part off of the apartment I lived in for a year in Pico-Robertson with talldecafcappuccino. They didn't know that the 7-Eleven Adam buys coffee at is the same one I used to tease talldecafcappuccino for buying coffee at. They didn't know that the strip club where Adam and Ronan have their humorously ill-timed romantic revelation outside of, that was the strip club I used to use as a landmark when giving people directions for how to navigate the confusing as fuck freeway exit I lived near, which once caused me to accidentally tell my highly Catholic parents "just go past the strip club and you're good!"

skytoseungmin didn't know that the apartment Adam -- sorry, Seungmin, thoroughly, they were better with find and replace than springguk -- lived in, was also based off of my ex's apartment in Palms, where I as the mere visiting girlfriend was never allowed to park in the parking lot. Where I would sometimes have to spend twenty or thirty minutes circling the neighborhood before I could find parking, often a walk of several minutes away. skytoseungmin doesn't know that when Ronan's car get towed from a McDonald's parking lot, that that was a specific McDonald's on Venice Boulevards, the same one my ex's asshole roommate used to just roll his eyes and say that I should park at. skytoseungmin doesn't know that I once wished passionately that I had just parked in that McDonald's parking lot and risked getting towed, on the occasion that a man followed me several unlit blocks from my car. skytoseungmin doesn't know that when I talk about how helping someone park is the truest love language there is in Los Angeles, that that was what I meant. Has skytoseungmin ever had to circle to half an hour to find parking in Los Angeles? Has skytoseungmin ever loved someone enough to do that, instead of saying, fuck it, they can come to me or we're breaking up? Has skytoseungmin ever loved someone in Los Angeles enough, to do as my ex did, and come running as fast as humanly possibly when their girlfriend called them whispering and crying on the phone, someone's following me, please, I'm scared, I wish I just parked at the McDonald's?

"while we're on the subject, could we change the subject now" is a very personal fic.

It isn't half as personal as some of the fics that come after.

skytoseungmin marked their plagiarized version of the fic as part one of a series. Were they planning on stealing part two, where I, through an alternate universe characterization of Ronan Lynch, dig into my experience of grief and trauma surrounding my grandmother's dementia? Were they planning on stealing any of the explicit fics, where I play with kink and desire in ways I haven't even exposed to my actual sexual partners, but where I felt able to through the guise of fandom? What else was skytoseungmin planning on stealing, with charming little author's notes apologizing for how they missed the fandom-relevant date they were shooting for, because they were so busy with exams, tee-hee! Why the excuses, skytoseungmin? how long does it take you to ctrl+f, even if you are more thorough about it than springguk?

If I seem too accusatory and mean-spirited toward skytoseungmin, well, the LA verse is a very personal fic.

And it's also, it turns out, only one of eight different fics that they stole from me.

I didn't even notice at first, to be honest. I was too stunned. But my friend Jessie, my Lady Galahad, went to my defense and clicked through to the author's page, while I was still reeling at the horrible possibilities of part one of a series. It turned out, of eight fics on skytoseungmin's author's page…I had written every single one of them.

Some were short and pretty lighthearted, things I hadn't had to invest too much of myself into -- like I said, sometimes, I can write a fic in under a week.

Other things…

They stole the space western AU.

I don't think I can articulate to any human being how much that hurt me, to look at it, to see.

I wrote that as a thank you gift for someone who donated to Fandom Trumps Hate.

I spent nearly two years of my life on it -- two years during which, because of mental health issues and life situation changes, my words per year dropped precipitously. I still haven't recovered. I still think of what a failure I am for not writing more, currently, actively, and I remember how the space western AU was both a symptom of that and a defiance of it: yes, writing has become fucking hard, fucking NEARLY IMPOSSIBLE, but I'm still doing it, goddamn it, you can't stop me, even if all I produce is the tiniest trickle of words a month. it can still add up, somehow, if we just keep TRYING.

To see the space western AU, casually nestled amongst a half dozen other fics that were all apparently casually dashed off in the same month…I know it was theft, I know it was a lie, but it still felt like a slap in the face, why can't you write this fast?

Jessie, my Lady Galahad, went on a campaign of commenting on all of skytoseungmin's (my) fics, and I am so thankful. The k-pop fans who heard Jessie have been reaching out, to her, to me, to each other on Twitter, and I am so thankful for them too. skytoseungmin has deleted all of their (my) fics on AO3, and their entire AO3 account, and their entire twitter, apparently. Maybe they were hoping to get enough clicks to parlay them into some kind of book deal, and they'd now rather give up what was a low investment effort on their part than be associated with accusation of plagiarism.

I suppose they can always start over with a new user name and someone else's fics if they really want to.

I suppose they can always start over with a new username and my fics, if they really want to.

And after all, AO3 has still not reached out to me about springguk, and "i do(n't remember)" is still sitting there. Maybe springguk is also going for a book deal. Who knows?

Why complain about any of it?

In a way* (and remember what "in a way" means), isn't it a compliment, if someone loves the words I wrote, even if they don't know it was me that wrote them? toast-the-unknowing and shinealightonme, if they're the same name (and they are), then why not springguk or skytoseungmin, too?

Am I making too big of a deal out of this? Does everyone just have their work stolen from them, all of the time? Is that simply the cost of doing business in an era and an ecosystem where we all can copy and paste twenty-four thousand words with greater ease than our ancestors could transcribe a single phrase? Are more prolific, more famous, more successful fan authors looking at my piteous cries and thinking, bitch, you've only been ripped off by k-pop fans ten times, come back when you have real problems?

And yet in a month, a year, a whole life phase of not being able to write as much as I would like to, because of my health, because of my work, to have someone else just casually pass off the words I have managed to eke out, as though they have no value, as though it were no more than photo copying a shitty flier to stick under a windshield wiper…

I can't imagine springguk or skytoseungmin give a shit how I feel about any of this. At best, they roll their eyes; at worst they laugh to know they hurt me -- and what's the difference between the two? I'll never know either way.

I know that some of the people they duped do care, and are also upset. That helps. And also, it doesn't help.

I just fucking hate all of this, and if all I have are words, and if my words are valuable enough for someone to steal, then here, here are enough of them to choke on. I know I did.

#long post #fandom #plagiarism #that whole plagiarism thing

342 notes · View notes

emberfrostlovesloki · 9 months

Text

Freud Said We Should Fuck [Hotch x Reader]

Photo credits: Left and Right (@shakespearesdaughters) Center (@hotchs-big-hands)

Prompt: When Aaron makes a Freudian slip on the jet, he and the reader get flushed, and later, once the case is finished, the reader finds him in his office on a lonely Saturday and teases him about it. Aka, when the reader and Hotch do something in his office other than paperwork.

Pairing: Aaron x fem BAU-reader. The reader uses she/her pronouns

Category: Fluff/angst/smut

Word Count: 9.9K

A/N: Hi loves! First off, this story is 18+, minors DNI. Please respect this boundary. I’m finally back writing again and I’m so happy about it. However, I feel like it’s going to take me a bit to get back into the swing of things. I had a lot of my AU written and then I just thought it was moving too slow. So I’ve put that on hold for a bit and gone back to what I love smut. I don’t think the sex here is the best I’ve ever written, but I still like it. This idea came about because @silk-spun and I were chatting about Aaron and office sex and I couldn’t stop thinking about it - so naturally I wrote it. Please have a look at the notes before reading as there are some things that some plot points that some readers might want to avoid. I hope you like this and if you do, likes, comments, and replies are appreciated! Content Warnings under the cut. I hope you are having a good week. Love Levi - ❤️

Content Warnings: There are two unsubs mentioned in this fic: The one most talked about is a family annihilator [There are mentions of wives and children being killed, depiction of dead bodies, description of a bloody room, mention of suicide via gun (unsub)] The second unsub kills at random [There are mentions of poisoning, falling to one’s death and drowning (the body is briefly described)] Mention of past trauma and abuse [Hotch] and the mention of an absent father. There is also sex: touching over the clothes, sex in a semi-public setting [Hotch’s office] fellatio, p in v (unprotected] Very slight dom vibes from the reader and Hotch and the slightest mention of a size kink. If I missed any, please let me know.

List with all stories

_y/n_ = your name

_c/t_ = coffee or tea (whichever you prefer)

_u/sf/d_ = up/straight forward/down (depending on height).

_s/l_ = short or long

_kl/s/m_ = knee length/short/mini (pick your favorite skirt length)

_y/f/c/s_ = your favorite color and style (bra)

_y/f/t/f_= your favorite type of food

The team sat in the jet as they moved toward Evansville Indiana. The skilled agents were bantering ideas off of each other, as they normally did. This unsub was very blatant with their modus operandi. As Aaron had debriefed in the conference room an hour earlier with the team and Garcia, he said, “The unsub we’re dealing with allegedly has three distinct personalities. Although I would be hesitant to diagnose anyone with a split personality disorder or DID. Many people with this condition are stigmatized due to the negative stereotypes associated with that name. If our unsub does have this condition, then we work from there. But with what we know now, this might just be a part of the ritual and pattern. The police are adamant that it’s a suspect from a mental hospital, but be wary of this. J.J. I want you to cut this off at the bud as soon as we get to the station. The media liaison nodded and replied, “You got it Hotch. I’ll clear that up and make sure they haven’t come up with any nicknames either. That always gets the press in a stir.” Aaron nodded. There wasn’t time for that kind of coverage right now. The team needed to jump in immediately once they touched down. This unsub had a swift turnaround time, killing in heinous and various ways almost every other night. His signature was that at the body of each victim, the unsub left a note from either the Id, the Ego, or the Superego, and by how killing his victims, the unsub had ‘cured them,’ and how the cure had worked. The killer's notes were reminiscent of Freud’s case notes, detailed and a bit deranged. The methods of death had been drowning, poisoning, being drowned, and most recently a fatal fall from a high cliff on a popular walking trail. _y/n_ had cringed at the sight of the drowned victim’s bloated body. It was blue and purple from its extended time in the water. The poisoned victim didn’t look any better. As was usual with BAU cases, the victims had suffered significantly before their deaths. _y/n_ had asked the group as a whole once the note element came out, “Is this guy serious? I mean, Freud is more infamous than famous at this point. His clients were all wealthy Swiss members of society, and he was ridiculed later in life for changing his theories all the time. I mean, how many Fruedians are still honestly out there?” Spencer happily replied, “In terms of clinical, licensed therapists? I’d say very few. Probably around 0.5 percent at this point. But that doesn’t mean that psychoanalysis isn’t still used in a good deal of therapeutic systems. I mean ‘Talk Therapy’ is the norm in most EBT therapy systems. So although Freud and Heidegger might have faded to obscurity, their theories remain.” Hotch had nodded and said stoically, “Wheels up in thirty. We can continue this discussion on the plane. If the unsub sticks to his pattern. They might have a new victim already.”

Thus the team, plus Penelope were on the plane like normal. Once the jet hit cruising altitude, the team seemed to relax a bit They all fell into their usual clusters, and Hotch observed them. _y/n_, Rossi, and Spencer were continuing the psychological aspect of the case with _y/n_, while Em, Derek, and Garcia talked about the victimology and methods of the murders. Lastly, JJ was writing up a short press brief for the police and the public. Aaron knew we could never be thankful enough for the work that JJ did for the team. She covered their backs more than he could ever imagine. It was hard enough doing the job they did, but having JJ backing them up meant they weren’t smeared in the press even more. Hotch made his way to her. He sat on the seat next to hers and looked over her work. The blond woman handed him a notebook page with her statement from the police force. She said, “This is what I’ve got so far. If you have any more legal or profiler things you’d like me to add, just note them in the margins.” The woman handed him a blue ballpoint pen, and Hotch did his best to look carefully and thoroughly over the short blurb. He added a few police procedural things, but otherwise, it looked good. Aaron pushed the paper back on the small table and said, “Looks good J. I just added a few notes. Let me know when you have the one for the public done, and look it over too.” JJ looked up at him as he stood and said, “You got it Hotch. And I’ll make those corrections after I’m done with this.” Aaron then moved to Em, Morgan, and Garcia. They were looking at a map both on the seat and on Penelope's computer. Derek and Em were pinpointing the sites of the victim's body on the physical map while Garcia did the same on her laptop. The trio was trying to make a geographic profile and also see if the sites were linked to a road, river, or some natural feature. All three victims had been found in parks or locations adjacent to parks. As Hotch looked over the map, Emily said, “Given the natural locations of the dump sites and how well-versed the unsub seems to be with local and national parks in the area, this person may be a game warden or resource officer or something like that. Those positions are often isolating and not well-paid. Maybe the unsub has emotions tied to their work. That they’re not achieving enough, or making enough of an impact?” Hotch nodded at the logic of her statement and said to Garcia, “Once you’ve done that work, Garcia, look up the databases for Park Service workers and Game Wardens and make a preliminary risk. Target those who work in the parks where the victims were found and those that have been having problems at work or have had problems at work in the last two months.” Garcia loved getting directions from Aaron. She always thought that his brain was close to hers, except that he was just the quiet version of her. She smiled and said, “Aye, aye captain. Coming right up.” Aaron gave Garcia a small smile and said, “Thanks Penelope.”

Aaron got up again. Before he moved to the last group, he was going to get a cup of coffee for himself _c/t_ for _y/n_. It was their ritual on the plane now. When they were in the office, _y/n_ got him coffee from the breakroom, and when they were on the jet, he got her drink. Aaron’s and _y/n_ relationship had moved from a strong friendship to a light romance, to, in the last six months, a much more heated and sexual affair. Of course, neither of them could say, and much less do anything while they were at work but show small gestures of affection for the other. Aaron and _y/n_ were both professional and could easily keep their relationship work-coded. That didn’t however, mean that Hotch didn’t think about the things they did off the clock. The sound of _y/n_’s bright laugh had his mind reeling back to last weekend. It had been a lazy Saturday morning at his place. She had mentioned getting a snack from the coffee shop down the street before going on a walk in the park or going to get a new book for Jack, who was currently at Haley’s. Aaron had sleepily said something like, “I think you’re enough of a snack as it is, _y/n_” as he rolled onto his back.

There was a moment of silence before _y/n_ started softly laughing. Hotch moved his eyes to her. He expected her to stop laughing after a minute, but his gaze only had her laughing more loudly. She was nearly in stitches as her mirth overflowed. Hotch, not quite sure what had caused her to be so joyful, poked her side and said, “Alright, I give up. What’s so funny? Is my breath bad or something?” Even as Hotch asked, he couldn’t stop himself from starting to laugh too. This was something unique with _y/n_. She allowed him to open up emotionally in ways that he rarely even had. After _y/n_ had caught her breath she said, “Is that your attempt at dirty talk Hotch? If so you need to take a course.” Aaron scoffed at that and said teasingly, “I’ll make you eat those words _y/n_.” As he finished that sentence, he leaned over her and kissed her. He started lightly but became more intense as _y/n_ ran her tongue over his bottom lip. Soon enough, he was undoing the buttons of her night shift and moving his mouth lazily downward with _y/n_ saying his name breathily every time he nipped her skin lightly with his mouth. His breath was hot on the cool expanse of her body. Aaron realized as he started to make the encounter more intimate and relished in how her body responded to his.

Hotch knew that apart from being with _y/n_, he was about as closed off as human could be, and he knew it. His past as a child had inherently shown him that weakness meant pain and suffering and as hard as he had tried to grow out of that, he still had some of those mental barriers up, and they often rose when he was in situations that dealt with lots of emotions. Often he found himself unable to reciprocate. That was part of the reason that he assumed that he was so good at being a prosecutor and a profiler. People’s emotions, whether they be the unsub’s or the victim’s didn’t cause him to bluster, or lose sight of the bigger picture. He was sympathetic to the victims and listened to them with sincerity, but their pain often didn’t affect him the way it did _y/n_. This was the reason that after he spoke to the various victims, he would direct them over to _y/n_ to talk further. So they could cry unabashedly and have someone to hold them tight as they did so. Often Aaron would catch her eyes as they made the silent trade-off. There was always a silent conversation that happened in these looks. It was Aaron saying, ‘Thank you,’ and _y/n_ responded, ‘I got you.’ With time Aaron had slowly started dropping those barriers with _y/n_. She made him feel more human. More intact with his emotions such as joy and the ability to do the unexpected. Things and emotions which he had hidden inside himself a long time ago. The first time that Aaron had been very open to _y/n_ was the first time that he realized that he might have deeper feelings for _y/n_ than respect or camaraderie.

It had been a difficult case. One of the worst. The unsub had been a family annihilator. The man, Mr. Platheville, was targeting young families with only one child. The madman had killed two mothers and their children leaving the fathers to watch in horror and live with the site of the massacre they had witnessed. The first man they had found was shell-shocked and unable to move. An ambulance and mental health experts had been called for him. The next man had been so angry that Hotch and Derek had to hold the man back from hitting and punching himself or the wall or anyone within striking distance. _y/n_ had watched on with apprehension, trying to calm the man down with her words. Although those two cases had been horrible, it was nothing compared to the last. The unsub had called and said where he was and that he had another family hostage. There were audible screams on the other side of the phone. Mr. Plathville had said, “Come quickly. Please. I can’t stop myself anymore.” At first, the team felt like this was a good step. A great step even. The man was giving himself up and asking for help. However, as the tapped line was about to be disconnected, a child’s voice cut in. It sounded scared and small as it said, “Daddy? What’s wrong with Mommy?” That had the whole team freeze. The realization that Plathville had his own family captive now had the team feel like the floor was dropping out from under them -- everyone’s stomach sinking into knots. Hotch dropped the phone first and softly said, “Everyone, move, now.” After a second, he found his voice and said loudly, authoritatively, “Move. Now.” Aaron started running to the van, and he watched as his team followed him to both his car and the other SUV. _y/n_ and Rossi piled into Hotch’s car and hurriedly buckled as Hotch hit the gas pedal. The rubber tires squealed and burned on the concrete. _y/n_ had snatched the passenger seat in the front. Hotch’s jaw was set in a tight grimace as he sped down the road. His driving was close to erratic. It wasn’t something _y/n_ had seen in him before. _y/n_’s eyes found Rossi’s in the review mirror. The older man also looked a bit concerned as well. Gently, _y/n_ placed a hand on Aaron’s upper arm. She could feel the muscle tight under his sleeve as his hands gripped the wheel. At her touch, Hotch’s eyes briefly left the road and met hers. Whatever expression she had on her face was enough to slow his driving speed. For him to pay closer attention to the road.

Hotch was making her nervous. He didn’t seem like himself, but she didn’t say anything. There would be time for that later. The vans came to a raging halt outside the address that Plathville had disclosed. The house seemed quiet. Eerily so. Derek and Hotch approached the door softly. Derek breached the door and the team rushed inside. The front foyer was dark and there was no sound reverberating around the open area. The team fanned out in the ranch-style house. Derek and Spencer moved to the left side of the house toward the kitchen and guest bedroom. Rossi and Emily took the upstairs, and Hotch and _y/n_ moved left toward the living room and master bedroom. The other families had been found in the living room, and _y/n_ braced herself for a similar scene. Hotch’s shoulders tensed as he moved into the entryway of the living room. It meant that this family was already dead too. _y/n_ felt a part of her break inside, but she pulled the pieces back together for the team. For those who had passed. Both agents stepped into the room. The fact that the walls, carpet, and sofa were cream-colored only highlighted the dark splatters marring the walls, couch, and carpet which was soaked with a dark stain. _y/n_ pointed to the light switch and mouthed, “Should I turn it on?” Hotch nodded his head no and inclined this head toward the bedroom door, indicating that Mr. Plathville might still be in the bedroom. It was the only space they hadn’t breached. If Plathville was still in the house either alive or dead, it was in that room. As the calls of Spencer and Emily echoed through the house stating, “Clear,” a small sound came from behind the closed door. Both agents' eyes snapped to the door, and they moved forward. Once they got to the door. Aaron held out a hand to stop her. He shook his head no. He leaned forward and whispered, “Go look at the bodies. And then stop the rest of the team from entering the living room.” _y/n_ met his dark eyes. They seemed to go on forever. He had the look he had before when the child had spoken on the phone. The same look he had had in the car. _y/n_ desperately wanted to know what was going on in his head, but again, now wasn’t the time. _y/n_ nodded and moved back from the door. She moved to the two bodies on the floor but continued to watch as Aaron opened the door, stepped inside, and said, “Mr. Plathville. Don’t do this. Do you think this is the ending your wife and daughter would have wanted for you?” Hotch closed the door behind him, leaving the room in semi-darkness. Hotch could hear soft movement from the other side of the door. It was _y/n_ and it sounded like she was crying. Aaron pushed aside the soft sounds and focused only on Plathville. The cold metal weapon the unsub was holding in his dominant hand wasn’t pointed in any direction, but it could be in an instant. Hotch didn’t want _y/n_ in the room. Because Aaron knew family annihilators, he knew them because he lived with one of them as a child. As an adult, once he learned the proper terms for killers and sadists, he realized that if he hadn’t taken the brunt of what his father doled out, his own father might have been a Plathville as well. Aaron didn’t want _y/n_ to see what might happen. He didn’t want her to see this. Hotch put up his hands and said, “Put down the gun Mr. Plathville. You’ve been a coward with how you’ve treated others because they didn’t do what you liked. Don’t be a coward now, at the end. Face what you’ve done and prove that you’re actually a man.”

The unsub, eyes dark and glazed looked like he was about to set the gun on the bed. Aaron hoped that was what he was doing, but he didn’t trust the man either. Just as the gun seemed to be safe, Plathville turned the weapon on himself. Outside the closed door, _y/n_ heard a very loud bang. A deafening sound. At this point, _y/n was standing by the hallway with Derek. Em, and Rossi. She was doing her best to keep the three other agents at bay. When the BAU team heard the gunshot, they all rushed back into the room. Derek drew his sidearm as they all did and breached the door. _y/n_’s heart pounded in her chest because she had left him alone. Alone with an unsub who they knew had a gun; and if Aaron was dead, she would never be able to forgive herself. Not for all time. As the team rushed into the room. Hotch’s strong profile stood out against the window. His nose and jawline were distinct against the streetlight that seeped light into the room through the casement window. Aaron seemed frozen on the spot and the still and bloodied body of Mr. Plathville was slumped on the bed. _y/n_ moved forward and avoided her gaze from the new body. She took Aaron’s arm and pulled him out of the room. Not just the room but the house as well. She sensed that he needed the space away from the darkness emanating from the home. The graveyard.

When they were at the side of the house opposite the bedroom, _y/n_ stopped. She looked down at his shoes, they had blood splatters on the toe. She looked _u/sf/d_ at him. His face was also splattered with blood. _y/n_ reached over, pulling the cuff of her white sleeve over her palm; she started wiping away the viscous red fluid from his sharp facial features. _y/n_ reflected for a moment on how attractive Aaron really was, with his stoicism and strong jaw, and how terrible a time it was for such thoughts to surface. _y/n_ pushed them away as Hotch seemed to come to himself, as she moved her hand to the other side of his face. The blood smears here were larger. There was other matter that _y/n_ would rather not speculate on. Aaron’s left hand raised and pushed her own dirtied sleeve away from his face. Hotch seemed to take a small breath, and he looked like a child who had been caught doing something wrong. _y/n_ wondered if it was his showing emotion out in the open that he perceived as being bad. She looked back at him before he seemingly crumpled into _y/n_’s arms. Low sobs reverberated on her shoulder. Tears staining _y/n_’s already soiled shirt. _y/n_ was grateful the police cruisers were on the other side of the house. Parked on the gravel drive. _y/n_knew that they would have to move soon or else the team would come looking for them. She was sure Hotch would not want to be found in such a compromised state.

_y/n_ didn’t know what else to say than, “I’m sorry Hotch. I know it’s sick and fucked up, but at least there’s no one else he can hurt. Not even himself.” And it was true. It burned _y/n_ that Mr. Plathville would face no consequences for his crimes of passion, but when an unsub took the end into their own hands, there was a certain finality to the matter. There would be fewer interviews and less press. There wouldn’t be a trial or the need for written testimony from everyone involved. It felt like a twisted prize for a game no one had asked to play. After a moment, Aaron replied softly, “It’s not that. Or it is that and some other stuff. I don’t know why I’m like this. I’m sorry.” _y/n_ frowned and pulled away a bit. Hotch looked at her with eyes asking, begging for her to stay. She took his right hand which was hanging limply at his side and said, “Let’s just walk down the drive and back. It will give you a moment to compose yourself. Get your thoughts in order. “Aaron seemed to hesitate and said, “But the police… the team, they might.” _y/n_ cut him off gently saying, “They can wait. The cops have plenty of people to interview and material to bag and tag. They can wait while we take a five-minute walk.

_y/n_ found that walking got people talking. Particularly if the people were not wanting to open up. The movement and change of scenery seemed to give whomever she was walking with a breather and a chance to let out some thoughts if they wanted. If they didn’t, then at least they’d both gotten some fresh air. This technique had worked with Morgan, JJ, and Em. I had not worked with Spencer, but Spencer spoke so freely all the time that if he had something he didn’t want to share, then he didn’t want to share, and she understood that. This was the first time she was trying this method on Aaron. As they made it halfway up the drive, and not so much to her shock, Hotch let out a sigh and said, “It was Jack’s birthday yesterday…” _y/n_ looked over to him briefly. His eyes were on the ground, Glued to it. She knew that wasn’t the whole issue, but _y/n_ replied, “I’m sorry you had to miss that for this mess.”

They kept walking. and Aaron let out another breath and continued, “When I see people like Plathville, I see my father. I see a bit of myself in him as well.” _y/n_ furrowed her brow and turned to look at him, walking backward, matching his pace. She didn’t know a lot about Hotch’s father apart from the fact that he was dead and had hurt Aaron very badly. Perhaps she could see a correlation there between the unsub and Hotchner Sr., but she couldn’t see how Hotch was at all like either man. She asked for clarity saying, “What do you mean? I don’t see how you’re like either of those monsters. You’re tied to your father by blood, but he’s gone.” Aaron looked at her and then back down the dark path they were on. A lone streetlamp shone at the end of the road. They reached it and turned back before Aaron said, “It’s a pattern. They were both absent fathers. They both lashed out at things and people. And look at me. I hardly see Jack. It feels like once in a blue moon. And I might not be lashing out at people because my job takes out that stress. But look at me in the office, I’m still anal about things. I just see these patterns. I don’t want to fail as a father, and I feel like I am.” And there it was. There was the crux of his emotions and _y/n_ ached for his pain, for his fear, even if it seemed unfounded to her. It certainly wasn’t unfounded to him, and she’d never say that. As they moved back toward the house. _y/n_ was wording and rewording her response again and again in her head; she couldn’t quite seem to come up with the perfect response. It all sounded too close to “I love you and other people love you too, can’t you see that?” She felt the hairs picked up on the back of her neck and she looked over to Aaron. He was staring at her, Asking for some kind of reply. They were near the house again and she stopped, and he stopped too. Now _y/n_ gave a sigh, her breath making a little cloud in front of her face. She finally replied, “Aaron, I don’t know what this is going to sound like to you, but here it is. I think you’re tired. I haven’t seen you sleep in three days straight because this case is so close to you. It’s close because it involves a group of people who can’t protect themselves, or their children. And I think in some ways after Haley filed, you think that you can’t protect her or Jack either. But Aaron, you’ve handled everything there with as much grace and compassion as you could. You did what Haley wanted and you still try and look after them. And maybe you don’t see Jack as often as you like, but you try. I hear you call him at night when the team’s away. And the stories you tell about when he spends the weekends over make it sound like you don’t just shower him with gifts or love bomb him. You’re trying to have a relationship with him. And I never hear you badmouth Haley, ever, which means your son can know that not all relationships work out but there can still be a kind of love and respect. A lot of kids don’t get that.” _y/n_ took a breath and she saw in his eyes that he was coming more to himself, as she finished stating, “And about you being like your father, yeah, genes are passed down, but I don’t believe that people are born bad. I think something bad happens to them and you either continue the cycle or break it. And you’re far too kind of a person, even if you don’t show it, to keep doing what you’re father did. You’d never do those things to another person. You’re not him Hotch. You never will be.”

_y/n_ looked at him to see what his reaction to her words would be. Aaron looked like he might cry again, but was holding back those emotions. She hoped she hadn’t overstepped some emotional or professional line, but she didn’t have time to ask as Hotch stepped forward and wrapped her in a hug. His warm body enveloped her in the cold night. His breath fanned the _s/l_ hair at the nape of her neck. He whispered, “Thank you for that, _y/n_. I needed to hear that.” When Aaron pulled back, he was himself again. He nodded and motioned his head toward the house. As he attempted to move forward, _y/n_ grabbed his coat sleeve, and he looked at her confused. _y/n_ said, “Wipe the left side of your face Hotch. It’s still bloody.” Aaron rolled his eyes and chuckled softly. They both started walking back to the house, and he wiped off his face. As they walked back, there was an understanding that something deeper had happened between them. As Aaron moved past the cruisers with red and blue lights still flashing, he raised the caution tape for _y/n_, and as she stepped under it. Aaron looked at her and felt a warmth seep through him. It bit through the cold outside, and he didn’t mind it.

Aaron pulled his mind out of the haze that was focused on the sounds that _y/n_ had made last Saturday morning. Her moans and whimpers rang in his ears for a second longer. He was thankfully snapped back to the interior of the jet as a bit of turbulence rocked the aircraft. Aaron cleared his throat and moved to the coffee maker. He made himself a cup of black coffee first. He shot a prayer up to any possible deity up there that his body and mind had not synced enough for him to be aroused by his mind's inappropriate wandering. Having to hide an erection wasn’t his idea of a fun time. It had happened once or twice before and he had to rush to the bathroom and splash cold water on his face and neck. When Hotch’s cup was done, he moved another clean styrofoam cup under the dispenser and started making _y/n_’s _t/c_. He stifled a yawn. He had spent much of the last two days working on field reports and revising the FBI’s security training. It was woefully behind the times. He had coordinated with Penelope and as helpful as Garcia was in terms of the technological aspects of cyber security, the lingo and Pen’s energy had worn him out a bit. The Keurig beeped, indicating _y/n_’s drink was done. He doctored the beverage as she liked. Aaron half blamed his wandering mind on his lack of sleep and the case. Spencer’s clear voice cut through all the others and he was talking about the more interesting sexual elements of Freud’s theories including the more lurid Oedipus and Xena complexes. Reid was going on about how the notes from the unsub seemed to really dive into those theories even though there was no sexual aspect to the case yet. Hotch grabbed _y/n_’s cup and moved back to the final group he had not spoken with yet.

He sat next to _y/n_ and handed her her cup. _y/n_ looked at Hotch and gave him a small smile before taking a sip of her drink. _y/n_ had a random thought, as she mulled over the bizarre nature of the case. She said aloud, “What do you think Freud would think about people using his theories like this? I mean he was odd and problematic, but not that odd.” Aaron had his eyes closed, and he replied without even thinking said, “I think Freud would say we should fuck.” _y/n_ nearly spat out her drink. The liquid burned her throat as it went down. Hotch caught his mistake and flushed, quickly amending his statement saying, “I mean if Freud were still here, he would probably think the unsub would want to have intercourse with his victims. It could either be latent sexual attraction or transference of sexual desire for an authority figure like a parent or teacher. An attraction that shouldn’t be acted out.” Hotch could feel his ears burning, and he hid his face by taking a long drink of his coffee. The dark liquid burned his mouth but this pain was better than having to face to look of utter shock of his friends. Thankfully the awkwardness only lasted a second longer as Spencer picked up on his hurried line of thinking saying, “You could be right. This unsub might be impotent and killing as a means of sexual release. Or they could be killing as a displacement tactic for unwanted feelings.” Reid jumped into that conversation with a fervor and _y/n_ added her thoughts in too along with taking some notes on the comments Spence made.

Although Spencer didn’t choose to comment on what Hotch had said, when the Unit Chief looked over at Rossi, his friend had an eyebrow raised and an expression that said, “Really, Aaron?” Hotch closed his eyes, sighed, and rubbed a hand over his eyelids as if saying, “I’m tired. Alright?” When Aaron opened his eyes again, Rossi just gave a little shrug as if saying, “Hey. I have three ex-wives. I’m not one to judge.” The older man ever so slightly looked over to _y/n_ and gave a small smile. The team knew that Hotch was seeing _y/n_. They were all too perceptive not to tell. But what he had just said was more personal than the team needed to know. At least not yet. Aaron liked keeping his private life private, and he would have to apologize to _y/n_ for putting their personal business out there like that. He was just thankful that he had made that slip of the tongue in front of Spencer and Dave and not Morgan and Garcia. There would be no end to the gossip if that had been the case. Aaron sat back in his seat and did his best to put back on the Unit Chief facade. One great thing was that he was able to compartmentalize his emotions and what had just happened was just a blunder. He fell easily back into the conversation and made himself useful to the team.

The case was a wild one with the team being kept on their feet, as the unsub devolved into crazier and more complex kills. Thankfully the unsub, one Kathy Kittery got sloppy as her mind crumbled under the weight of her own brain. Thus, only one other victim was lost, the others, though traumatized would make it through the ordeal. Ms. Kittery was a therapist who had had her license revoked after having an affair with a client. Once she had taken that blow, she had moved to a second career that had always interested her. Being a Ranger in a State Park. However, as it turned out, the mental isolation did not help with her already troubled state and she had slipped into acting on her delusions, thus the need for the team to come in the first place. After the unsub had been arrested, the team, as normal, was assured that she wouldn’t be seeing freedom for a good long while. On the jet home, Aaron’s sexual comment was almost forgotten by everyone, including himself, but _y/n_ remembered and as she closed her eyes to sleep on the short flight back, her brain played out certain scenarios that she also wouldn’t want to be voiced in front of the others. When the jet touched down, the team disembarked and _y/n_ asked Aaron as they walked back to the main office, “So, what are you doing tomorrow?” Tomorrow was Saturday and she hoped that they could spend the day together or with Jack if he was staying over at Hotch’s that weekend. It felt like a while since they had had a good day to themselves. Work had piled up, and she longed for just a few solid hours with Aaron. Hotch, however, didn’t seem to pick up on her tone as he was tired. He replied in a monotone, “Probably filling out paperwork in the office I’m behind on like three cases worth and this makes a fourth.” _y/n_ pouted slightly. She knew she was being silly, but sometimes Aaron needed a break for his own good, and an idea started brewing in the back of her mind. If she had the nerve to do even half of what her head was cooking up, she would have done something she had been imagining for a long time. Longer than was appropriate probably. For the moment she just said, “Mhm. Sounds productive.” Hotch scoffed as they both entered the sliding glass door. Even he knew his life, and particularly weekends sounded miserable sometimes. After all, he was the one that put him through them.

The next afternoon, _y/n_ pulled up to the Quantico field office. She parked her car next to Aaron’s and set her employee parking pass on the dash so it could be seen by security. _y/n_ chuckled remembering the one time that Derek had forgotten his pass and had his Corvette towed on a Saturday. Her athletic friend had been so flustered, saying, “Oh come on! I work at the freaking FBI you’d think there would be some camera’s in this lot and they’d know I work here!” _y/n_ had laughed, patted his shoulder, and offered him a ride to the impound lot to pick up his flashy car. As _y/n_ moved through the mostly empty lot she smiled. Not that she expected there to be a lot of people at the office on a Saturday afternoon, but it boded well for what she had in mind. As entered the office and was waived through security quickly, she hadn’t brought her gun or anything important with her. She entered the bullpen and looked up at Hotch’s office. His lights were on and she could see him looking at something on his desk. It was most likely a field report. The bullpen was empty and most of the lamps on the desks were off. One or two burned brightly in the soft space. One or two of the agents must have forgotten to turn them off in the rush to get home on Friday. She turned off the lamps as she texted Aaron, “Hey, you at the office?” She looked up at his office window and his head turned to the side. Clearly, he had just received her message. His left hand raised and a second later her phone beeped. Hotch had sent back a simple “Yes.” He was never one to be overly elaborate over text. If he was forced to type more than one full paragraph he would just give up and call instead. _y/n_ always chalked it up to his hands being too big for the small phone screen. He probably made a lot of accidental typos with his thumbs and had to go back and correct them which seemed like a thing that would annoy him to no end, even if he did have autocorrect on his phone. _y/n_ took a breath as she looked at Aaron again. He was back to his paper. _y/n_ had jokingly said she would do this if the spirit led her, but somehow seemed like the dirty things she was picturing in her head were driving her up the stairs and not ‘the spirit.’ Outside Hotch’s door, she knocked once and then turned the knob. She stepped into the dimly lit room and closed the door behind her. She softly said, “Hey Hotch, how are the papers going?” Aaron looked up from his desk. He did a bit of a double take as his eyes flicked to his phone and then back to her. His eyes held a hint of surprise, warmth, and general confusion as he said, “_y/n_. What are you doing here? Do you need something?” _y/n_ couldn’t help but flush already. Hotch was just too cute sometimes; especially when he wasn’t trying.

_y/n_ smiled at him and took a seat across from him at his desk. _y/n_ sighed and said, “I was just bored I guess. I had nothing better to do, so why not give you a hand with your paperwork? Maybe I can get you out of here earlier than five p.m. on a Saturday?” Aaron raised a brow. He highly doubted that that was _y/n_’s only reason for being here, but he wouldn’t question her. Instead, he picked up a case file, and set it in front of her saying, “Suit yourself, love.” _y/n_ flushed again and pulled one of Aaron’s ballpoint pens out of the cup he kept a stash in. _y/n_ wondered how many pens he dried up per year, but wasn’t in the mood for calculus problems right now. Instead, she opened the file and started working on the first page. She had to take it for at least ten minutes before she made a move. _y/n_ assumed if she outright said, “Hey wanna have sex in your office there would be two simultaneous outcomes. The first was that she would no longer be Aaron Hotchner’s partner and that she would be a former FBI Behavioral Analyst. Neither of which sounded very appealing. So she took her time.

When Aaron seemed absorbed in his work again, she slipped off her shoe and moved her foot across the space between her side of the desk and his. It was a bit of a reach, but she managed to brush Aaron’s ankle and the inside of his trouser leg. That did it and Aaron’s eyes snapped to hers. They were dark, hiding emotions that he often kept at bay. He cleared his throat and said, “_y/n_, really?” You chuckled and said, “Sorry. I just like to see you flustered.” _y/n_ pulled her leg back and Aaron watched as she flushed but returned to her papers. _y/n_ knew he liked it when she was a tease sometimes and that was her plan for this potentially risky act she was trying to have with Hotch. After another ten minutes, _y/n_ repeated the same action, except this time she moved her foot higher up his leg She applied gentle pressure to the inside of his leg. His grey trousers were cool under her foot as they moved up past the knee and onto his inner thigh. Her dark stockings were the only barrier between her skin and the fabric of his pants. _y/n_ looked up at him and he let out a soft breath as if his brain hadn’t caught up with his body yet. When the two entities of mind of body did collide his brows furrowed trying to reconcile the pleasure coursing through his body and the fact that this shouldn’t be happening in his office.

Before he could make any protestation, _y/n_ cut him off saying, “So, ‘Freud said we should fuck’ did he?” This reminder of his slip of the tongue gagged Aaron momentarily. It gave _y/n_ enough time to shift lower in her chair and slip her foot high enough to press over his crotch. Aaron let out a little grunt at the contact. _y/n_ continued to run her foot over his zipper, up and down in a rhythmic pattern. _y/n_ smiled as his eyes grew hazy with desire. A look she’d seen on him often, just not in his office. Never in his office. But she had dreamed about it plenty. She’d woken soaked on occasions with the notion of Aaron having her in his office, blinds drawn tight as they made love in the enclosed space. Aaron stuttered trying to make a coherent sentence, but his cock slowly hardening in his pants was not helping him at all. _y/n_ could feel it under her foot and continued to tease him saying, “You know you really shouldn’t make comments about our sex lives in front of a team of profilers. I think you owe me an apology?” _y/n_ pulled her foot away and Aaron groaned at the loss of contact, but suddenly his mind was more clear. Half of Aaron’s brain cursed _y/n_ for knowing just the right way to turn him on. The other half was already imagining her splayed out on his desk as he ate her out, or pounded into her so hard that the desk left marks on her hips. Those thoughts alone had his member twitch against his belt and fly. To consumed in his thoughts, Aaron slipped off his own left shoe, and perhaps more gently than _y/n_ had, he moved his foot up her leg and to her cunt. _y/n_ opened her legs for him slightly pushing her _kl/s/m_ length skirt up a bit. Even wearing socks, Aaron could tell that _y/n_ was wet. The moan she made as he just brushed over her sex and him realize that he couldn’t wait. That he needed her, now. Hotch took away his foot and reveled in the needy noise _y/n_ also made at the lack of contact. Hotch moved quickly to his door, locking it from the inside before closing the shades to the office. His movements were hasty, jerky even. _y/n_ watched him, knowing the sexual tension must have built up since the last time they had been intimate.

_y/n_ wasn’t sure what Aaron had in mind but she did have to ask, “There aren’t any hidden cameras in here, right?” Hotch chuckled, the sound was throaty, and he replied, “Not that I know of. And if they are, then at least we’ll both be fired.” _y/n_ laughed at this and took his hand; she led him back to his office chair. _y/n_ appreciated that he had a sense of humor in these moments that were new to him. _y/n_ knew that she pushed him to do things he hadn’t before both in and out of the bedroom, but he never complained and the bulge in his pants told her that he was already looking forward to what she was about to do for him. Aaron looked up at her a bit amazed at the things she could make him do. Never in his life had he thought he would be able to act out his fantasy. _y/n_ leaned down and kissed him softly at first and then with more hunger and ferocity. Aaron reciprocated in turn. As their lips looked in a passionate heated kiss, _y/n_ moved her hands to the belt that kept his trousers in place over his trim hips. It wasn’t as hard as _y/n_ had imagined taking off his belt without looking. The cool metal of the clasp heated against your skin. You moved to his pant’s button and zipper next. _y/n_ didn’t want to wait around anymore and once his grey briefs and thick arousal were freed, _y/n_ started palming his erection with a steady hand. Once her hand started stroking him, Aaron let out a gasp. He opened his mouth enough for her to slip her tongue into his mouth. He breathed in her throat and had her make a small contented noise as she explored the well-known concaves of his mouth. _y/n_ would never consider herself a sex expert, but when it came to new positions or scenarios with intimacy and Hotch, she often found it helpful if she took the lead. Warming him up to the idea. Making him feel comfortable and safe before they kept doing whatever it was they were trying. Oftentimes Aaron would jump on board and take the reigns, which she adored. She loved it when he told her what to do, how to lie. Everything. It was one of Aaron’s most attractive traits.

_y/n_ pulled her mouth away from his and wrapped her hand around his cock, more steadily pumping his length. Aaron said her name as he started moving his hips to meet her pace. His body responded to her touch. _y/n_ smiled at him and moved away for a moment, pushing his chair back enough for her to kneel under his desk. Aaron pushed his hips up and let _y/n_ pull his pants down, exposing his cock to the cold air. Hotch took a few steadying breaths. He knew what was to come, _y/n_ gave some of the best head that he had ever had and the anticipation of her lips on her member had him panting already. He said, “Can you not kneel all the way down like that, love? I want to touch you while you’re dining me?” _y/n_ smiled, relishing the fact that he was already taking a small amount of control of the situation. She nodded and said, “Of course Aaron, anything you ask.” With his request in mind, _y/n_ got up on her knees. It was helpful because she needed the reach to be able to lean over and take his tip in her mouth. She swirled her tongue over the top and slit, sucking at it like some rare candy. Hotch groaned as she moved her head down his length slightly. _y/n_ took in his width and length with surprising ease. He was always surprised by her ability to take him. It only made her more attractive to him. As his head swam with pleasure and endorphins, he moved his own body forward and down a little. His head almost rested on her shoulder as he moved his long arm to feel between her legs and upper thighs. He slid his hand down and over between her skirt. As he started rubbing her clothed sex, _y/n_ moaned over his cock. She took a second before she kept moving her head further down him. Her mouth and tongue doing things to him that almost made him see stars. His left hand kept massaging her wet, clothed folds while his right pushed up her shift and kneaded her breasts in turn over her _y/f/c/a/s_ bra. Aaron could feel her nipples grow rigid under her bra and he moved his hand under the intimate article of clothing that covered her chest. He squeezed her right breast and squeezed her nipple. As _y/n_ started moving her head up and down his whole length, Aaron matched her pace with his hand on her clit, pushing and pulling sensations out of her. It turned out Hotch was so aroused, so excited that he kept moving his hand faster over her sex and clit, and _y/n_ kept up her own pace. Aaron panted and tipped his head back as he released some precome and she moved off him sucking it off of him. As she moved to take him in her mouth again, Aaron stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. _y/n_’s mind and body were also hazy with desire. Her entrance ached to be filled by Hotch more fully. His hand was amazing, but nothing beat him seating himself in her fully and then fucking her to the heavens.

Aaron could see this desire in her. A desire for him alone. Aaron pulled her onto shaky feet. He stood as well. He kissed her again, the beginning of stubble running over her chin and jaw. He pushed his pants and briefs fully off his legs and undid the side zipper of her skirt. He let it fall onto the beige carpet. He pulled back from her mouth and slipped his hands at the elastic of her stockings. He was too impatient to pull them down gingerly. Instead, he used just a bit of his strength to rip them down the center seam. _y/n_ let out an exhalation of breath. She knew it was going to get good now. Not that it hadn’t been good before, but she knew that it could get even better than his thumb and middle finger rubbing against her sex and clit. Aaron looked at her panties and noticed how they matched her bra. He murmured, “You had this all planned, didn’t you, you little devil?” _y/n_ gave him a wink and said, “Maybe just a little. You mad about it?” Hotch let out a little throaty growl and slipped his fingers under the band of her underwear. When they were on the floor, he moved to the desk. He pushed his files to the side along with the batch that _y/n_ had been working so diligently on a few minutes ago. He might desperately want to bend her over his desk, but he wasn’t so stupid to waste three good hours of work by having his files fly all over the place while he fucked _y/n_.

Once the forms were safely on the other side of the desk, Aaron grabbed her hips, turned her body 180 degrees, and then pressed her upper body flush to the hard dark wood of his desk. Hotch had unbuttoned her shirt and her skin felt cool against Hotch’s desk. She anticipated Aaron’s next move as he moved behind her slowly. Hotch pumped his throbbing length once or twice to ready himself. Another bead of precum moved to his tip and he wet his member with it. Even if he was ready and _y/n_ was ready, some of her wetness was even dripping down her thigh, Hotch was going to tease her still, as she had teased him. Aaron moved right next to her and slid his cock up and down her entrance, slightly pressing at the space that was begging for him. Aaron used his left hand to stroke over her weeping sex and _y/n_ moaned saying, “A-aron. Please. Please fuck me. Oh god.” Aaron looked at his length now coated in his and _y/n_’s excitement. It didn’t take more than her words for him to press himself into her fully with a measured thrust. _y/n_ let her out a breath and Hotch could feel her body press into the side of the desk. Aaron pulled out and pressed in again. _y/n_ let out a whimper and there was a slight squelching sound and he began to move in and out of her more quickly. Aaron's thick cock filled her fully and Hotch watched as he pushed in and out of her building his speed. The veins of his length ribbed her insides and _y/n_ almost let her feet go from under her, the desk and Aaron holding up her weight as he kept pressing into her with a relentless pace. _y/n_ could feel him fill her fully, pressing his whole member deep inside her. Aaron knew just how to move his hips to hit her sweet spot and she was panting and babbling in under a minute. Aaron moved one hand to her mouth whispering, “Shhh, now. We wouldn’t want to get caught, now would we?” _y/n_ wanted to protest and say, ‘You know no one is out there, Hotch,’ but her head was so full of lust, desire, and longing to let go. Aaron’s movements had her desire building and she knew Aaron could feel it too. Hotch picked up the pace, rapidly thrusting into her. He moved his left hand to her clit and let go of her mouth so she could let out a litany of sounds. As he kept his fast pace and circled her clit, her body pushed roughly against his desk with every thrust, she whimpered, “I...I’m gonna come, Aaron.” Hotch smiled and leaned down so his chest was flush with her back. His hand on her outer erogenous zone moved quickly and _y/n_’s walls fluttered and then contracted against his cock. _y/n_ cried out and let go of everything, letting the pure bliss of her orgasm overcome her. The sounds of her release had Aaron climax as well. He groaned as he pushed into her a few more times as he let his spent his ejaculation into her. Their shared sounds of pleasure filled the room and Aaron considered how this was better than he could have ever imagined. _y/n_ though spent, felt the same way.

Hotch took a moment to catch his breath and after a minute he let out a contented sigh. He pulled out of _y/n_ gently. As _y/n_ similarly let out a hum of happiness. She loved the way he was so gentle with her at the end of their intimate encounters. Aaron helped her stand and led her to the couch at the side of the room. Neither exactly felt like saying anything in the soft afterglow of their shared experience. Aaron had her sit on the couch and pulled moved back to his desk. He opened the left drawer and pulled out a pocket square that he rarely wore. He found the linen handkerchiefs too formal and stuffy. And as someone who came off as formal and stuffy already, he didn’t need a fashion accessory to add to the impression. But now, the fabric would come in handy. Aaron walked back to the couch with the confidence of a man who had performed very well. _y/n_ would have laughed at his cockiness if he wasn’t so damn good at sex. The first they had done it, she was so tight that it would have hurt if he hadn’t helped prep her very well. Now he fit her perfectly and he knew it.

She smiled lazily at him as he knelt down and gently cleaned her up. He loved her, but if his or her release started staging his furniture, it might lead to awkward conversations later. When he was done cleaning her body, he wiped himself. He raised his head and said, “Was that everything you wanted darling? You did very well by the way. You felt so good for me. I hope I was the same for you?” _y/n_ beamed and said, “It was everything I wanted and more. Thanks for indulging me. Aar. But I do think you should get out of this office. Being cramped up in here isn’t good for you mentally, sexually, or physically. So what do you say we get out of here and get an early dinner and watch a Christmas movie at my place, huh?” Aaron chuckled and folded the soiled handkerchief to the clean side facing out. He put it in his pocket and smoothed down his now very crumpled shirt. He grabbed his pants and underwear along with _y/n_’s skirt and panties. He tossed them over to her and they both changed. As Aaron zipped up his pants, he said, “Sounds like I good plan. These papers can wait till Monday morning.” Somehow _y/n_ always seemed to know what he needed, and he wasn’t going to fight her on it now. Not after what they’d just done. As _y/n_ put her clothes back on, he paced his briefcase and packed _y/n_’s ripped tights inside with his other work. He wouldn’t just throw those away in the trash by the door. As he did this, _y/n_ moved behind him and gave him a hug saying softly, “You know I really liked those tights, so I expect a replacement stat, mister.” Hotch chuckled and said, “You got it, _y/n_, but you know I couldn’t help myself. Not when you tease me like that.” There was a shared laughter as Aaron turned off his lamp, grabbed his and _y/n_’s bag, and opened the door for both of them. He locked the door to his office behind him and trailed _y/n_. He had suddenly grown an appetite and asked, “So, what type of food are you feeling.” _y/n_ thought about it as they descended the stairs. She took his hand and said, “How about _y/f/t/f_?” Aaron smiled and said, “Sounds great!” _y/n_ rested her head against Aaorn’s shoulder and contemplated how lucky she was for him, and for Freudian slips.

______________________________________________________________

Tag list: @geminitapestry @tgskitten @criminalskies

Want to be added to the tag list? Please see this post, CM Tag List (linked)

204 notes · View notes

honey-crypt · 3 months

Text

a/n: inspired by this @fuerrziah post and i wanna get revenge on her /lh but blame her for this, not m!!!

warnings: bullying, parental abuse/neglect, terminal illness, death

★ childhood memories - elliott ★

★ as previously mentioned in an elliott post of mine, elliott’s parents suck and he was raised by his nanny siobhan

★ he would read or doodle during recess, a lot of kids poked fun at him for it and the teachers would get annoyed that he wasn’t doing what recess was for (in their opinion)

★ his parents only attended two birth parties that elliott could recall: his first birthday and his 16th birthday

★ all the other parties involved them handing him a check and telling siobhan to take him somewhere

★ the worst birthday was when he turned ten years old, no one showed up to his party and his father yelled at him for being upset about it

★ got bullied for having long hair and to stop the bullying, his mother took him to a barbershop and they cut it off about ear length

★ he cried in bed for days after that hair cut but it unfortunately didn’t stop the bullying and the bullies still bullied him for being effeminate

★ always ate lunch with his english teacher, mr. evans, who had in 6th grade but he went to a K-12 prep school so he could see him whenever

★ mr. evans was like a dad to elliott, always encouraging him to do his best and hone his creative & literacy skills

★ elliott also did theatre and managed to get the leading man role in most production (because he was the only guy with talent); mr. evans, sibohan, and his sister eleanor would go to his performances

★ elliott unfortunately lost connection with mr. evans when the teacher got diagnosed with cancer and had to go on long-term disability, but elliott made an effort to visit him on occasion in the hospital to update him on his life and what not

★ however, when he entered the 11th grade, mr. evans succumbed to cancer and passed away; elliott attended his funeral because mr. evans informed his family ahead of time to invite him

★ to his surprise, elliott was named in mr. evans’s will and inherited two items he still uses in the present: the green tie that mr. evans worn to every class and a leather journal filled with writing tips and tricks that mr. evans complied during his time as a novelist under the pseudonym liam powell who wrote one of elliott’s favorite books a nightingale’s somber song

★ ever since he moved into pelican town, elliott vowed to never return to his childhood home and community, as well as to write a book that would make mr. evans proud

#honey crypt babbles #stardew valley #sdv #stardew #sdv elliott #stardew valley elliott #stardew elliott

56 notes · View notes

mothercetrion · 11 months

Text

I had a really angsty idea regarding certain aspects of Johnny's relationship with his father. under the cut for length and sensitive topics.

(CW for mentions of (physical) child abuse)

—

when Johnny is around eleven, he breaks some kind of one-of-a-kind thing in his dad's house when he is over there. he tries to cover it up, but his dad finds out when Jimmy (older brother) rats him out. Johnny tries to explain that it was an accident but is ignored, and his dad is angry at the inconvenience that Johnny has created and punishes him accordingly. it's one of the most notable instances of Johnny's dad being physically abusive to the point of him being frightened of him (and the fear of him remains, only getting worse as Johnny gets older). for months after, each time his dad lifts his hand, he flinches. he doesn't look his dad in the eye anymore so he doesn't look like he's intimidating (but he looks him in the eye when he's being yelled at; lack of eye contact means he's being disrespectful and just makes it worse). he memorizes the sound of his footsteps—and whether or not he's angry depending on those footsteps—to know if he needs to pretend to be asleep or hide from him.

when Johnny is 15, he accidentally breaks a plate when he's getting dinner. the plate shatters, and Johnny finds that breaking things period immediately causes a physical reaction. his stomach drops, he gets nauseous, and he gets incredibly tense, just waiting for his dad to get angry. it doesn't take long, and Johnny is punished accordingly and sent to his room without dinner that night. he cries himself to sleep and does so for many nights after when he dreams about his dad's reaction.

when Johnny is an adult, living alone in college, he breaks a plate again. his own plate, in his own home, and he still panics. he has a panic attack in his own kitchen and scrambles to clean it up, even though he's alone and his dad has been dead for a year. nothing's going to happen, and he still panics and hurries to get it up all the same.

when he and Kenshi are dating, maybe only for a few months, they plan a date night at Johnny's place. Johnny reaches up to get a glass down and it slips out of his hand, and it breaks into several large pieces at his feet. Kenshi is in the kitchen with him, and imagine his shock when Johnny physically flinches and falls to his knees to get it up. Johnny almost immediately starts panicking, his breaths rapid and shallow, and he is trembling from head to toe. he won't look at Kenshi, even when he asks him what's wrong, and he's focused on cleaning it up because Kenshi's going to be mad and he's going to yell at him and how could he have broken the glass like this and he's such a shitty boyfriend-

Kenshi kneels on the floor and tries talking to him more to find out what's going on because he is extremely worried. it's entirely out of character for Johnny to be so frazzled about anything, and he is clearly freaking out and in another world entirely. Johnny suddenly picks up a piece of glass and cuts his outer palm on accident. he doesn't react, and he doesn't slow down, even when it's clear that it's a bad cut. Kenshi's instincts take over, and he grabs Johnny's hand. Johnny physically jolts at the sensation and its lack of violence. "Johnny, you're hurt, stop. let me see," and Kenshi is so gentle and not at all angry that it immediately shatters the defense he has put up for himself—if he stops reacting to things, they can't bother him, he's fine, he isn't scared, he's not upset, he's fine, he's fine, he's fine—and Johnny immediately starts sobbing. within seconds, he's out of breath, and he's literally wailing. he covers his face with the hand not in Kenshi's, weakly trying to hide it from Kenshi, but it's clear all the same.

Kenshi is immediately confused because what the hell is going on? Johnny is panicking over a broken glass, and Kenshi unfortunately knows enough about Johnny's childhood (still very little, but enough all the same) to put the pieces together. he puts his other hand on Johnny and pulls him into a hug, and Johnny freaks out a little more before he fully leans into him. they sit on the floor for half an hour while Kenshi tries to bring Johnny back to reality, assuring him that he's safe, he's with Kenshi, they're at home, it's okay, he hasn't done anything wrong. Johnny apologizes under his breath over and over and over again, it's all he can do right then, it's all he's known. over apologizing when you aren't sure what you actually did wrong.

Johnny eventually stops panicking, and Kenshi just holds him a bit longer. his heart is still racing, and he's shaking from head to toe. but then Kenshi remembers that he's hurt, and he gently pushes him out of his hug and asks to see his hand. Johnny won't even look at him and shakes his head no. Kenshi says that he needs to see so he can help, assuring him again that he's not upset and just wants to make sure it's not that bad. Johnny doesn't say anything, so Kenshi takes his hand and looks at the cut. it's not enough for stitches but it'll have to be cleaned and covered regardless. Kenshi helps Johnny to his feet and guides him to the bathroom, and Johnny sits on the closed toilet while Kenshi kneels on the bathroom floor. he has to use Sento to see, and he gets the first aid kit and cleans the cut and covers it. Johnny occasionally flinches, and he's still shaking, and Kenshi comforts him with his free hand and an occasional vocal assurance. he's eventually taken care of in that regard, but he's still deeply frazzled and incredibly shaken.

Kenshi takes both of his hands, squeezes them as safely as he can. "breathe with me, Johnny," and they sit together and simply breathe for ten minutes or so. Johnny holds Kenshi's hands like a lifeline, and he shuts his eyes and slouches and focuses on his breathing. every now and then, a breath will hitch, and Kenshi kisses the tops of his hands and eventually moves their hands to Kenshi's chest so Johnny can feel his heartbeat. "you're safe. you're with me. you're doing great. breathe. breathe. breathe." Johnny is doing a lot better after that. however, he still hasn't said anything to Kenshi since everything started other than his apologies, and he's clearly mentally and physically exhausted. he needs to rest. "do you want to go lie down?" a nod. "alright, come on." Kenshi stands and pulls Johnny with him, and they walk together into the bedroom. Johnny sits on the edge of the bed, and Kenshi dismisses himself to let Johnny change (if he wants to, but he does not) and to get him a snack.

Kenshi goes into the kitchen and cleans up the broken glass. the mess truly wasn't that bad, and it took 45 seconds for him to get it disposed of. it makes the fact that Johnny panicked—and Kenshi's guess as to why—all the more gutting. Kenshi gets him a bottle of water, a bottle of blue Gatorade (his favorite), and a peanut butter Clif Bar. he goes back in the bedroom to see that Johnny hasn't moved an inch, and he's staring off at a wall. though not panicking, he's still in another world entirely.

Kenshi steps up and offers what's brought. Johnny looks down with his eyes, but his expression is still indifferent, and he doesn't move. Kenshi unscrews the lid of the water and holds it up to Johnny's mouth, and Johnny drinks. Kenshi offers the Gatorade then and then the Clif Bar. they spend ten minutes like that, Kenshi holding things up for him to have because he needs to eat and drink. at least a little. he finishes around half of the Clif Bar and most of the Gatorade, but he eventually turns his cheek in silent rejection.

Kenshi feels conflicted because he wants to find out what's going on and why he panicked. but he knows that he won't get an answer when Johnny is in a state like this, so he decides to let him rest and ask him when he's doing a bit better.

after that, Kenshi helps Johnny lie down and get comfortable, he covers him with the blanket and even lays with him. he's not tired, but he knows Johnny is and wants him to feel less alone. out of nowhere, Johnny apologizes again, and Kenshi asks why he would apologize, he's not done anything wrong. Johnny looks away and mumbles, "I ruined your night." that's all he says, and it's so telling all the same. Kenshi assures him again that he hasn't done anything wrong and certainly hasn't ruined anything. "I want you to be safe, Johnny, and comfortable. I would do this again and again if I needed," and then he adds, "and you can tell me anything by the way," as a silent invitation to talk about what's bothering him when he's ready. Johnny looks at him in shock for several seconds before he nods.

and that's that. Kenshi lays with him and eventually starts running a hand through his hair, brushing it out of his face and massaging his head. he worries about a headache from all that crying. Johnny lays there with his eyes closed and eventually relaxes enough to take a nap. Kenshi doesn't move an inch, just in case.

#johnny cage #kenshi takahashi #johnshi #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1 #cw child abuse #tw child abuse #headcanons #mine #fuck johnny cage's dad #the bulk of my time in the vc of discord is someone saying something in chat and me sprinting with it #even at the cost of our joy bc god

389 notes · View notes

gremlinmodetweeker · 10 days

Text

A Boy, A Twisted Memory and A Desire for Love

So this is the first official Ghost story on my blog. I know, I know, it's been a long time writing and I've not written something for the guy, but it's really just because I get so worried about writing him poorly.

I know he's a big military guy who hates having emotions and kills any and all kindness in his heart, but I also really like the idea of him exploring the concept of healing from his trauma? I dunno, I just thought about it.

Also, like König, I can't imagine Ghost keeping normal pets. Originally I had him get a spider, but then I read over his backstory again and it made more sense for him to get a venomous snake. I think it's a major step to overcoming his trauma. By the way! Big trigger warning, this is about a snake! This entire fic centres around a snake!

Anyways, I had some fun writing this but it made me super sad.

TW: Snake, discussion of past abuse, emotional trauma, child abuse (referenced), emotional disregulation

Wordcount: 1.7k

Art from This Post

Story Below the Cut

A Boy, A Twisted Memory and A Desire for Love

Simon locked eyes with the little black and yellow creature housed deep within its cave. It was a small thing, barely hatched from its egg it looked like. The length of a ruler at most. It was a light thing, covered in fine scales along its supple body. This thing was venomous, yes, but it couldn’t do any real damage. It was a threat maybe to a mouse, but a man such as himself wouldn't fall to such weak poison. Swelling, pain, nausea, yes. But death? Not quite.

And yet, his heart quickened within his chest. He could feel the sweat forming on his brow. It had been so long since he’d seen one of these beasts, and yet the same fear from back then wormed its way inside him now.

“Hungry?” Simon’s voice was particularly gravelly, roughened by sleep deprivation and lack of use.

The creature made no move. He’d be surprised if the thing even heard him. Did it even have ears? He’d have to ask the breeder later.

“Been a long time since I’ve seen one of yer kind before,” he admitted. He didn’t quite know why, but it felt somewhat soothing to speak to the thing.

“I killed the last one of ye that I saw. Crushed the fucker right under my boot, I did.”

It didn’t seem to scare the beast off. He wondered if it really was more afraid of him than he was of it. He hoped that was true. He didn’t want to admit that the fear still wriggled under his skin.

“He wasn’t anything like what my dad ‘ad,” Simon closed his eyes as the oppressive memories washed over him, “that one was a right bastard. Bigger than anything I’ve seen ever since. Shoved it right in my face, he did. Wouldn’t let me go till I kissed it right on the lips. If it bit me, I wouldn’t be standin’ ‘ere. But you,” Simon opened his eyes, dark eyes matching two glassy eyes of inky black, “you’re nothing. You're pathetic. You’re… You're so small.”

Simon turned back to the breeder.

Finally, the creature came to its senses and slithered back further into its burrow. So sleek and streamlined, and yet so slow to move. It was afraid of him, that Simon decided the moment he noticed that despite backing away, it didn’t dare look elsewhere.

“How much for this one?” he asked as he pointed at the plastic cube.

“That one?” the woman blinked and looked at what he was pointing at, “the female or the male?”

“The female,” Simon clarified.

“Oh she’s pretty, isn’t she?” the woman adjusted her glasses as she slid behind the plastic cube, “poor girl’s probably pretty scared being out here.” She didn’t mention how terrifying Simon was in his dark clothing, rough fabric stretched tight across his broad frame. He was used to scaring people by this point. Sometimes, like now, he wished he wasn’t.

“How do you pronounce that?” Simon pointed at the name that had been scrawled in blue ballpoint pen on a blank sticker.

“Boida dendrophila,” the woman replied, “she’s pretty young, but she’ll get big soon enough.”

“She’s one of them big ones, yeah?” Simon asked aloofly.

“You bet your arse,” the woman grinned, “she’ll be big soon enough. Don’t know much about ‘em?”

“Oh no,” Simon leaned down to take a better look at the little beast, “I’ve been doing my reading.”

“You got a big enough enclosure for her?” the woman quizzed him.

“Sure do,” Simon hummed, “I built her an enclosure myself. It’s nearly as tall as me, long too. Got some nice branches for her to climb and all that..”

“Wow that’s a lot of space. You sure that’s not too much?” the woman frowned.

“She won’t be in there for a bit, I’ve got something for while she’s small,” Simon reasoned.

What a stupid question.

“Oh well that’s fine,” the woman broke out into another smile, “but yeah she’s eating mostly baby mice, an adult once in a while. You know she’ll be eating bigger things when she’s full grown, right? You can handle that?”

“I think I’ll be quite alright,” Simon mused, “have to admit, she’s a right beauty.”

“She really is, isn’t she?” the woman gushed, “I’ve been raising her since she was just hatched. But now? Well, normally I sell them off a bit sooner, but she grew on me. Unfortunately, the husband isn’t too fond of her and wants her to be moved on.”

“Why’s that?” Simon looked at the woman from behind his sunglasses.

“Oh he got bit when she was the length of a pencil,” the woman laughed, “he’s held it against her ever since!”

“Heard her kind can get pretty feisty,” Simon commented as he looked back at the spider.

“They can get a bit aggressive, I won't lie to you. A bit territorial, too,” the woman explained carefully so as not to scare off the only interested customer she had all weekend.

“Real fast,” Simon continued on, “with nasty bites.”

“Sounds like you’ve done your reading,” the woman laughed uncomfortably.

“Course,” Simon refrained from rolling his eyes, “so how much is she? The sticker’s ripped.”

“She’s on sale, actually,” the woman grinned, “only a couple hundred quid.”

“That much, eh?” Simon straightened up to tower over the slender woman.

“Normally she could be anywhere up to four hundred,” the woman fought back against the subtle threat of intimidation.

“Well then,” Simon looked down at the cube, “looks like I got a good deal then.”

“You won’t go stompin’ on her, will you?” the woman furrowed her brows.

“No ma’am, that was just what I had to do when I went out to the Middle East,” Simon chuckled humorlessly, “I wouldn’t dream of hurtin’ this here little lady.”

The woman grinned as she counted her bills, Simon smiled just slightly as he picked up the container and brought it back to his car.

When he got home, he carefully moved the little creature into the glass enclosure of dirt, leaf litter and cork bark. He put it back in its place on his shelf and smiled.

“Dendrophila, eh?” he chuckled, “how ‘bout Ophelia? That’s a cute lil name for ya.”

The creature only burrowed away under the cork bark, eager to get out of sight of the frightening giant before her. He didn’t blame the little thing, he’d be terrified of himself if he was a younger man.

Once, he’d hardened himself into an unstoppable thing, a monster of a man. He had formed his shell through cruel lashings the world had lavished upon him. He took ablutions in raining blood. He was festering sickness or silver sin. He was what he despised in the world, the monster he tried to protect his own family from. When his brothers in arms welcomed each other warmly, they regarded him as a feral dog to be kept at a distance, chained in the backyard, out in the rain.

In Simon’s heart there was no room for love. He was not a man forged in kindness and love. He was the unfortunate son of Mr. Riley, cursed from birth to be raised in the muck and mire of human atrocities. He had been calloused by the time he was nine, and by the time he joined the military even the recruiting officers were afraid of him. He was too cruel, too strict, too much for anyone to handle. He could brute-force his way through life, but only for so long.

Even monsters had hearts. This was the unfortunate fact that Simon had learned far too late in life. He hated himself for how he wallowed in his loneliness. He thought his team would be enough, but there was a despicable part that still resided deep within him. He could offer his rotten sort of love to his teammates, but he could never care for them like he needed to. There was a part of him that had been stunted since childhood, and far too late it breached his skin to scream into his ears, begging him to please just notice me, notice me and don't let me die here inside of you.

He didn’t want to, but he spoke to a therapist. It was Price's advice after he'd broken down with a bottle of whisky in one hand and a revolver in the other. Price promised to never say a word as he unwound his lieutenant's fingers from the trigger.

A week later he'd arrived at a small office. They’d been cowed by him at first. Everyone was, but something about frightening the one person he wanted to be helped by hurt a part of Simon he wished to rip from his chest. Once he would have laughed, but in that office, he could only hurt. No tears fell, but his walls did and he was able to speak openly for the first time in his entire life without the help of a bottle of jack and a pair of dice. It felt wrong. He hated it, but he learned.

His therapist told him that to help rid himself of this festering parasite of an emotion, he should try to nurture the damned thing. Simon had laughed in the man’s face. He then told him to go to Hell. The man had learned not to flinch in the face of a predator, and so pushed forth. He said that to grow, Simon could try getting a cat or a dog. Something he could raise with the love he never had been given as a boy.

He said that he needed something to love or else he'd never be able to heal. Simon scoffed and left the room, but not before booking another appointment. The smug look on his therapist’s face disgusted him. He turned quickly and left.

So maybe it was out of spite that he bought Ophelia, but there was a part of him that felt like he needed the little creature. He needed something to love, and so he did. He loved the Ophelia with all his heart. He nurtured her and cared for her as best he could.

Months passed, and he started to handle Ophelia. She hissed, she scurried away, she did everything to get away from Simon’s touch. He figured that if he had to face himself, he’d do much the same. He wasn’t a creature born of love and compassion. He was death, in face and in heart, but each time he brought Ohpelia’s container out and changed her water, when she ate from his tongs, he could feel his rotten heart beating within his chest. It made him smile despite himself.

He was not a creature of love, and yet it was love he felt when Ophelia tentatively reached out and slithered up his hand. When he raised her up, ever so gently, he couldn’t help but cry.

How cruel was the world that a boy, born from street gutters and raised by heavy hands, would only ever feel love for the first time in a dingy London flat on his thirty-first birthday, alone save for the venomous snake in his hands?

Stories

Ghost Dump

36 notes · View notes

angelofthenight · 7 months

Text

What Doesn’t Kill Me Pt.2

(Yandere!Alex DeLarge x Fem!Reader)

Warnings: Yandere, Dark themes, Ladstat, Swearing/Language, Unhealthy/Abusive relationship, Jealousy/Possessiveness, Social isolation, Obsessiveness, Controlling behavior, Intimidation/Coercive control/Power imbalance, Emotional/Mental trauma, Violence, Gangs, Manipulation, Physical abuse, Snake phobia, Boundary pushing, Mentions of Rape/Non-Con, Paranoia, Sexual context/themes, Alex is his own warning, You are responsible for your own content consumption

Word Count: 3.9k

Table of Contents

Alex Delarge was nothing but a sadistic maniac with a disturbing infatuation for you. A lunatic who could never keep it in his pants. A sociopath who acted like he’s never seen skin before. A monster who claimed to simply be in love.

And the belief of being in love was the worst thing a monster could have.

Despite his charming tone of voice and smile, despite him telling you in different words and metaphors that he loves you, he was awful to you. It was as if his infatuation and fascination with you further eroded any remaining empathy he possibly had left in him before he started to like-like you, which made him indifferent to the suffering or pain he inflicted upon you and others in the name of his delusional love.

And one of the things that created a confusing and fear-inducing environment for you was the fact that he casually alternated between moments of false kindness and extreme violence. He could be playing with your hair and telling you how pretty you were one moment then throwing a glass cup full of liquor at the wall beside your head in the next.

He used your own fear to keep you grounded and dependent. He used threats to you and others to strain you from seeking help or “tattling”. And along with fear, he employed manipulative tactics to isolate you from your friends and family. And the people he couldn’t exactly detach you from, like all of your coworkers and management, he charmed them into thinking he was this picture perfect boy.

Because of this false image of himself, you’ve despairingly found him repeatedly warmly welcomed into the restaurant you worked at. So you couldn’t even get away from him at work. Sometimes he would bring his droogs with him and seat themselves into your section. You’d watch from the back with tears in your eyes before swallowing them to go and wait on the criminals, knowing Alex was just going to flaunt his dominance over you to the boys by jokingly mocking you as you served them. They never tipped, though some days you noticed Pete linger behind the group a bit to sneak in a 15% tip under the bill.

Alex was possessive and controlling, yet he continuously pretended that he wasn’t insanely jealous of all your interpersonal relationships. He isolated you from all your friends with the threat that he would do something violently heinous to them, and he had proved to you to be true to his threats after multiple instances. He also had cut off any contact you had with your family. He claimed that he was all the company you’d ever need.

Even though his love was intense and twisted, and despite the mix of obsession and a desire to control every aspect of your life, you were still allowed to still go out and continue your life just… with no interactions longer than a minute. Especially with boys. Just seeing other guys around you drove Alex absolutely ballistic and homicidal. It was often when he would lash out at anyone who got too close to you. His overprotectiveness and his jealous greed just all overwhelmed him. He had repeatedly gone to extreme lengths to protect you, even if it meant resorting to violence. But in his twisted mind, he believed that his actions were justified simply because he was acting out of his love for you.

Even though other gangs already used to stay away from you when Alex simply just pined after you, now they really wouldn’t touch you now that you belonged to Alex. And if he ever found out another gang messed with you he would maul them all like a savage bear. He became increasingly violent and controlling, going to extreme measures to eliminate any perceived threats to this relationship of his.

He wasn’t going to let anyone get in the way or let anyone take you away from him. Not even you.

He’d use manipulation and mind games to keep you grounded, but he mostly just used fear and violence to control you. And it was a frequent thing that you found your throat being squeezed by his large hand in a fit of rage or just for fun. It took awhile, but he finally trained obedience into you. And with your obedience, only from you being utterly terrified of him, you finally got to see where he lived.

He was like a little boy excitedly showing you his room, tugging you by your hand to show all his records, especially the one from the band that united the two of you in the first place. They say that one’s bedroom was what the inside of their brain looked like, and you agreed on that statement when taking in Alex’s bizarre room. Especially when your eyes honed in on a very large poster on the wall of a traced girl with her thighs apart, her fingers spreading her vagina open.

Alex noticed where your attention was and stepped next to you to say while smiling, “Don’t get jealous, it doesn’t compare to the real thing.” He glanced down at your crotch with carnivorous eyes before telling you he had something to show you. You didn’t pay him much mind as you then dropped your concerned focus to the small four Jesus statues in a dance line, their hands still having bloodied nails.

You finally turned your head to check out what Alex wanted you to see only to be faced with a five foot long Boa Constrictor snake. You screeched loudly and flinched backwards, you couldn’t help it when you had a slight phobia of snakes.

“Don’t be poogly, my lovely, he’s not venomous. This here is Basil!” Alex said to you cheerily, holding the snake out to you as it laced around his forearms. Your eyes grew wide as you paled, you wanted to faint just at the sight of it. And the thought of touching it…

Either Alex didn’t register your disquietude or didn’t care as he wrapped his heavy snake around you starting with your arms and ending with your shoulders. You froze up completely with your features trembling in alarmed fright as the snake slithered around you, making your heart beat rapidly. Your lips were quivering and your eyes appeared blurry from growing tears. You would’ve thrown it off you if you didn’t feel paralyzed by the fear that if you just moved a muscle it would strangle you to death. Yet that fate seemed kinder than the fate with Alex.

It wasn’t until the snake slithered around your neck when your arms began to shake uncontrollably and a palpitation conquered your chest. As if it felt your pulse tap against its scales, it slightly tightened its hold on you. You snapped and loudly begged Alex through stuttered whimpers to get it off of you.

He callously giggled before he unraveled it from your jittery arms. “Alright, alright, don’t lose your head!” He joked. You did not find it funny.

Alex would make you listen to Ludwig loudly and make you listen to his rants and complaints about his day and his droogs. From what it sounded like his droogs have been questioning his leadership, you kept your theory that they were probably plotting behind his back to yourself. You eventually got to meet his droogs when you were once leaving Alex’s and they sat in the area at the bottom of the stairs. They already knew their place with you.

Alex only allowed his droogs to say hi and bye to you and maybe ask how you were doing, but that was it. You were an occasional topic the three droogs discussed when Alex wasn’t present, specifically about what they should do with you if they usurp Alex. Georgie had a fantasy of having his way with you simply because of how much Alex endlessly threatened them about you, like how you belonged to Alex and if they ever touched you he would castrate them. So fucking you would be like the ultimate middle finger to Alex.

But Georgie and Dim didn’t really see the appeal to you. Of course you were absolutely breathtaking, they all had eyes and wet dreams, but you just looked like you were about to bawl your eyes out at any given second. Alex fucked you up so much that if they tried to do the old in-out-in-out with you you’d probably just let them. And that was boring to them. You were like a doormat and plus you just kind of… bummed them out.

Though, Pete secretly had a harmless thing for you, always being the first to say ‘hi’ to you and the last to say ‘bye’ to you; being the only one of the three to ask how you were doing, really abusing the one phrase that Alex allowed them to say to you.

You could recall one time when you were descending Alex’s stairs to see them all waiting for Alex who trailed behind you. “Hello and goodbye, boys.” You said hoarsely with a pink puffiness circling your eyes and cradling your bandaged dorsal side of your arm that Alex had bitten into too deeply during a long night of fornication. Georgie and Dim both unenthusiastically mumbled a “hello, (Y/n)” in unison as you quickly passed them with your head hung low. You went straight into the rusty elevator and hit the button just as Pete squeaked out a “bye, (Y/n)”.

The doors closed yet because of how crappy it was, the elevator needed a quick minute before it could move you down. So you heard the beginning of the conversation that was about how Alex was late again so they came to wait for him. Georgie noted that he had been spending an awful lot of time with you lately and Dim joked that “The girl might’ve rotted your brain a bit?”

There was a haunting silence. The elevator finally jerked and started moving down just as a loud crack of a cane was heard followed by a pained yelp. It made you jump backwards in startelement, your back hitting the wall of the elevator as the continued sounds grew more distant.

You had spent the night at Alex’s many times, waking up to his nude body behind you with his arms cradling your nude body tightly against him; your back to his chest. His twin bed was small, not being built for two people sleeping next to each other, so the only two positions you could sleep in were him sleeping right on top of you or him squeezing you tightly against him to fit.

He always slept in which was torture for you as you always found it difficult to sleep around him. So you would stare into space for hours in a gloomy and drained state. You couldn’t get up and leave as his door had a combination lock on both sides. He’d spin the lock too fast for you to memorize or even catch the numbers.

Most days he’d send you off right away if he had a busy day ahead of him or before his parents had the chance to speak to you. But some days he’d keep you around a little longer just to take up your time. But because of this you once met his social worker who let himself in to have a discussion with Alex about his school attendance.

Alex, in only his underpants, stood behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder as a way to exemplify his innocence to the social worker as they talked and a threat to you to not say anything. But despite you not saying a word, the older creepy man took a mental note on your downcasted mood and quaking eyes. And the subtle bandages in a few places on your body.

But despite the horror of vulnerability in his home, you had grown to find your own home much more horrible.

You became a housemaid in your own home, a slave and a captive. Alex expected your flat to always be neat and tidy when he came, and better than how he leaves it. And not just simple tidiness, he would run his finger over surfaces for dust. He was a nitpicker about what needed to be cleaned or organized. Despite him not getting violent or aggressive about it, just his mere disapproval scared you enough to cater to those expectations. You couldn’t even fall asleep before scanning your whole flat in fear he would find something you didn’t notice to complain about.

You always had to cook for two just in case he showed up, always unannounced, ready to eat dinner or lunch with you (he never woke up early enough for breakfast but you would rather be safer than sorry). And every time you didn’t he would accuse you of not wanting him to show up, leading to him either brutally slapping you or choking you against the wall. And it had to be food he liked. And you always had to make sure there was milk and alcohol in the fridge, as well as drugs and marijuana he forced you to get.

There were oh so many times when you were extremely close to switching one of his drugs to a physically identical yet fatal substance. Yet you lived in the unearthly terror and dread that he would find out.

You lived on edge at home, jumping at the smallest creaks and you destroyed your clock as the ticking drove your anxiousness absolutely mad. You were a mess of a person, a neurotic person to be more exact. You just never knew when he would show up. Show up to hurt you for fun, draw blood, fuck you into the mattress despite your pleas of ‘not tonight’, smother you in his unwanted affection, forcing you to listen to his jokes about all the monstrous things he did the night before in graphic detail.

He acted as if the innocent, simple dates he took you on and the expensive gifts he bought for you with stolen money evened it all out. But it didn’t. He had damaged you inside and out; emotionally, mentally, physically, and sexually.

You became a constant jittery person so the sound of a knock at your door nearly gave you a heart attack, jolting in a shake in your spot on the couch.

But… Alex never knocked.

You feared the day had come. You feared it was the day the droogs finally took down Alex and now they had come to kill you for knowing their crimes and identities. You were confident in your theory that the droogs were going to stab him in the back, and so you spent many nights praying at the foot of your bed for it to happen since it seemed more realistic than Alex’s death or arrest. Yet you also found yourself praying to God for the droogs to show you mercy and spare you. But that specific prayer didn’t feel as listened to, nor realistic to you.

So you slowly and cautiously walked to your front door with shaky breathing pumping through your lungs. You delicately placed your hands on the door so you could carefully peek through your peephole. Your shrunken pupils saw a boy your age from your college standing in the hall with his hands patiently in his pockets. You flinched away from the door when he knocked again, the worry for both of your safety’s embraced you like suffocation. If Alex knew about this…

You wanted to go hide and wait for him to leave but the fact you shared a class with him made you think this might be important. So despite your paranoia that Alex would learn of this interaction with the opposite gender, you unlocked and opened your door the size of your shoulder width. You didn’t greet him as you quickly looked down both sides of the hallway to check for your unhinged and possessive boyfriend.

When the coast was clear your obviously nervous eyes looked at the awkward guy, waiting for his explanation. He awkwardly smiled softly, his hands fiddling in his coat pockets. “Hi, I know we don’t really talk, but I’m in your anthropology class.”

You acted like a kicked puppy and looked like a sad clown painting, clinging onto your door like you were about to slam it at any second. “Yes… I know you…” You glanced down the halls again before looking him up and down. “…Why are you here?” Your voice was hoarse and quiet; shaky and weak.

The boy, whose name you recalled as Patrick, removed his hands from his pockets to nervously fold them together. “Well, I know it’s not my place but I’ve noticed you have been missing a lot of classes lately, which I found a bit out of character for you compared to how you’ve always been in school.” He said, referencing how you used to always be an exceptional student… before Alex conquered and messed up your life patterns.

You kept avoiding eye contact, glancing around the hall then looking to the floor then to the wall behind him. You wiggled a little bit in nervous discomfort. You wished he would stop digging and leave the way he came. “I just… I have bigger things going on in my life right now.”

Patrick nodded with saddened features. “I know. That’s not the only thing I came here to say. You might know my girlfriend, Sheila? She’s roommates with your friend Adrienne.” You shifted again, because of Alex you no longer interacted with any of your friends anymore. And the one you kept socializing with, one that called you often when Alex was at your place, had a violent surprise run-in with a masked gang wearing white and codpieces. You avoided her after she got out of the hospital, for her own safety and your own guilt.

“…We don’t really talk anymore.” You spoke in a hushed tone, staring at the floor again. He slowly nodded again with a sorrowful frown. “Yes, I know. Adrienne said you completely shut her out out of the blue one day, same with the rest of your friends.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t even know how to respond. So you remained silent.

“It was actually Adrienne’s idea for me to come here. But I mostly just came here on my own accord.” He started with a firmer tone of voice. “I know your boyfriend. Alex. I’ve seen you guys together a lot around town. I went to school with him before he was held back then put in the correction thing, and our fathers work together.”

You shrunk away from him, squeezing the door and the doorframe while glancing into his concerned eyes then the floor once again. “…I’ll tell him you said hi then.” You said, beginning to lean back to close the door but his voice halted your action as well as him reaching out to you but not close enough to touch. “No, no. What I’m trying to say is…” He took a long pause, seemingly trying to gather the right words as he bit the inside of his cheek and his brows curved upward.

“I know what kind of person Alex is. And, forgive me, but I can’t help but worry about you. I just wanted to stop by and ask if you were okay. Because if he’s…” he tried to think of a softer way to say what he was suspecting was going on in your relationship, “doing bad things to you I can help you.” He ended his statement and offer with a frown and consoling look.

Your head began to feel dazed and a thick lump sat in your throat that you just couldn’t swallow away. You glanced around the hallway again, feeling your paranoia and fear crawl up your back like snakes with the intent to strangle you. “I appreciate your worry,” you finally made eye contact to use all your strength to morph your face into contentedness and force a small smile, “but I am happy and doing just fine.” But your smile merely looked like someone put fish hooks in the corners of your lips and lifted them up by the thread. And the thick gloss in your eyes and your eyebrows that curved up only made your expression more unsettling to Patrick.

“I’m happier than ever, I really am.” You forced yourself to say. Yet visually and audibly pretending to be happy to be with Alex made you ferociously sick deep in your stomach creating a nasty nausea, your mind only replaying the most traumatic things he’s done to you from the horrific raping to the strangulations.

“Are you sure?” He pushed, wanting to hear the consenting approval of his help from your own mouth. Your forced smile began to shake like it was a heavy weight you weren’t trained to hold, and your tears also grew so unbearably heavy that you believed if you just blinked they would cascade down your face. “Yes.” You forced yourself to say again through your shaking teeth and self-repugnance. You forced the words of, “I think you should go now.”

Patrick frowned but gradually nodded. He said something as he slowly turned on his heels to leave but the ringing in your ears deafened it out. He was leaving, this was the first person to seriously reach out to you and offered you help and an escape, and you were sending him away! Were you really going to pass up this rare opportunity? You were practically digging your own grave and picking out your own tombstone. You were walking towards the edge of the cliff while thrashing your arm out of the hold of someone trying to tug you away from it.

You realized you couldn’t live in fear of Alex forever, you had to take the leap of faith and trust yourself to outsmart Alex. All you had to do was make a phone call when Alex wasn’t around: the early morning where Alex would still be asleep at his flat. You wanted to leave Alex more than you ever wanted anything ever in your whole life.

“Wait… please.” You squeaked out in a hushed tone as the tears finally drizzled out of your pink eyes, Patrick quickly returning to his previous stance to face you. You weeped for a few seconds to gather your thoughts before you moved to the side to rip off a corner of the morning paper that laid on the coffee table beside your door, grabbing the pen as well. You handed them both to him. “What’s your number?”

Patrick smiled happily for you before quickly jotting it down and handing it back to you. You quickly hid it in between the pages of the newspaper. You looked back at him with your bottom lip quivering and tears still swelled up within your orbs. “Thank you.” You croaked through your restrained sob, eyes bright despite the tears as you appeared like you’ve seen an angel.

Someone had finally sent you down a rope into your hellhole.

#reader insert #yandere #yandere x reader #dark fic #yandere alex delarge x reader #yandere alex delarge #alex delarge x reader #alex delarge #a clockwork orange #clockwork orange #stanley kubrick #malcolm mcdowell

73 notes · View notes

bohemian-nights · 6 months

Note

No this fandom is actually insane

Do people think it’s ok to write “he was teaching her how to bathe”?????? I’m honestly scared to go read the post that they were talking about. The lengths that these people will go to just to prove that dettles never happened

Read at your own risk.

The person who wrote that is actually Black(or so they claim), but is willing to throw Black characters and Black fans under the bus and promote negative stereotypes about us for their mostly (racist) followers in defense of a racist characters desirability.

Sir/ma’am, if you are reading this, get some self respect. I’m actually embarrassed for you cause this shit is actually pathetic. You’re better than this.

Case in point they wrote this crap a while back with 100% sincerity:

(I should also note that I actually had a run in with them about a year and some change ago and they threatened to block me after I asked them if Corlys bathing with Rhaenyra would be normal father daughter figure bonding time so I blocked them first😊).

Like you don’t have to like Dettles, but when you are pushing harmful ideology and stereotypes (Black people are so stupid/dirty that we need the white mans help to civilize us) as a way to discredit them and make those who ship it look like angry Black women jealous of the poor helpless white woman and her stans, you’ve gone too far.

Let’s keep in mind that this poor helpless white woman was actively trying to kill a Black girl for a crime she claims she didn’t commit and that despite claiming that Nettles definitely didn’t sleep with Daemon her stans spazz out everytime you mention her name and actively want her cut from the show.

Or how about the fact that these same stans actively stalk and harass Dettles shippers whose only crime has been pointing out y’all’s bullshit.

Let’s keep in mind all of this shall we:

So who is actually jealous of who here? Who in this scenario wants racial revenge?* Who is the problem in this hellhole of a fandom?

Is it the people merely pointing out Nettles importance to the Dance and Daemon’s arc or the people who hurl racial insults and stereotypes? The people who want her erased from the narrative in its entirety cause she disrupts the status quo?

(The fact that someone would even fix their mouth to say that when Black people have been beaten, raped, enslaved, terrorized, tortured, disenfranchised, abused, subjected, and not even given common decency and respect for centuries by these people. If we wanted racial revenge it damn sure wouldn’t be off the back of a fucking fictional character).

The fact that they can’t see Nettles value and only see her as some irrelevant Black girl and reduce people liking her down to a gotcha/“woke” moment is fandom misogynoir in action.

They forget that she comes from nothing, claims a dragon, has a prince willing to give his life for her(six men or sixty remember that since y’all claim to be capable of reading🙃), survives the Dance and becomes a firewitch worshipped by a group of people, because they don’t want to acknowledge her importance.

It makes them uncomfortable to do so because she doesn’t look like them, but people like I’m not like those other Negros cover up for them so that when they are called out for it they can go see this n-I mean this Black person agrees with me.

Imagine being this butt hurt about a fictional character that you can’t even leave your racism or tap dancing at the door for five seconds.

Nettles doesn’t fit the mold, but that’s the point of her story.

They can recognize maester propaganda and scream about feminism when it comes to their white faves, but when it comes to the Black girl who is actively being stereotyped and maligned for her gender, race, and social standing in the source material they believe it no questions asked?

Again, what does it say about you that you are so willing to believe that a Black girl who was clever enough to claim a wild dragon doesn’t know how to bathe herself? What does it say about you that you think Daemon would never touch her with a ten foot pole just because she’s Black?

What does it say about you don’t want her on the show because of her race? What does it say about you that a fictional character who just so happens to be Black has you worked up into a tizzy.

Y’all claim to be for women(real or fictional), but in reality you only care about the women who look like you and shit on women you see as beneath you. Women who you think are a threat to the status quo. You’re no better than the men who oppress you.

#bnask #bnasks #this is longer than I wanted but black people and black characters aren’t the problem here #nettles #anti daemyra stans #anti rhaenyra stans #full of bullshit #hotd fandom misogynoir #hotd fandom bs

53 notes · View notes

kokoch4n3l · 7 months

Text

DEAD GIRL’S BEACH ࿐ྂ KUROKAWA IZANA x f!oc x SANO MANJIRO

THREE — iv bags and daffodils

"he looks at me like I'm below him. he doesn't say it nor does he act that way but his eyes say it all. patient likes loves power. he craves it" — MAYA'S ROUGH NOTES ON K.I

chapter summary: Maya faces a moral dilemma, trying to pick between her livelihood and ethics all while under the watchful eye of the hospital director and her patient, Kurokawa Izana.

chapter warnings: inaccurate depictions of psychiatric hospitals, mentions of alcohol, mentions of depression, drug use, allusions to sex, abuse of authority, power imbalance, unethical use of drugs, mentions of alcohol, mentions of rape, mentions of murder

word count: 4213

moodboard | masterlist | previous | chapter 4

Pretty is what Kurokawa Izana would use to describe Kaneko Maya. She was so pretty. Kaneko Maya was cute, funny, pretty and just Manjiro's type. Had his younger brother not been a depressed little shit right now, Izana would have gotten Ran to gift her to Manjiro. Even if he did now, Izana doubts Manjiro would even do anything. He heard that depression affects the libido. Even before he was admitted into this shitty psychiatric hospital, no matter how many hostess bars he took Manjiro to, how many hookers he called over, how many strip clubs— Manjiro was just bored. For a while, he thought the guy was probably a nervous virgin who only knew how to fight but after a drunken conversation with Sanzu Haruchiyo, Manjiro's childhood friend, he finds out that was in fact not the case. Manjiro was pretty popular with the girls when they were in middle school(due to his shoulder-length blonde hair and girls having a huge thing for pretty boys with the deep voices). Manjiro was 100%, not a virgin and just depressed as hell. "Kakucho" Izana says holding the flip phone against his ear "How's everything going?"

Friday came by pretty quickly as usual. "It's fine as usual. You'll be out on Monday. Are you excited?" Kakucho, his childhood and right-hand man asks

Izana leans back in his shitty bed and stares out the window. It's about 10:30 am, the sun is still rising. "Yeah, about time. If it wasn't for the cute little doctor that gives me company during her night shift, would've gone fuckin' crazy for real"

"That sounds unprofessional" Kakucho mutters in disappointment

Izana laughs. "It's actually not like that. Cute kid, fresh outta uni"

Kakucho laughs. It's rare to hear Kakucho laugh. "I don't believe that one-bit Izana"

"Well, you better. Kaneko Maya, real eye candy" Izana hums and stares up at the white ceiling and starts to ramble about her "talks a lot and y’know I usually hate girls that yap but she's a real cutie. Thinkin' she can fix me and shit. It’s so fuckin’ cute. She's got this little notebook she takes notes on when she talks to me. Nosey as fuck but real cute. Got these blowjob eyes—"

"She's a psychiatrist, she's supposed to be nosey," Kakucho cuts him off before he can get vulgar, simultaneously ignoring the number of times Izana used the word cute to describe his psychiatrist "What did you say her name was again?"

Izana scoffs. "You gonna do a background check on my little doctor Kakucho? This late in too? 'M leavin' Monday"

"It's my job"

Of course, it was. Kakucho was protective. Overprotective at times. It was one of the reasons Izana kept him around. To feel wanted(and because he cared about him but Izana won't say that out loud). "Kaneko Maya. How 'bout ya’ tell me what cha' find when you're done"

"Of course"

And they end the phone call not long after. Izana sits in silence for a while and sighs tiredly. He stares down his left arm with the iv in it. Apparently whatever medication was being given to him was essential to his recovery but he really fuckin' hated it. He felt like actual shit. Tired all the time, sleepy as shit. He hated it. Oh well, he was getting out this Monday anyway. He had been here for 2 months and Maya had only been working here for a month. Perhaps had she been here the whole time the first month would have been more bearable as well. He was leaving Monday anyway. Maybe if Maya was that kind of girl she'd take up the offer of coming to his beach house and maybe she'd even put Manjiro in a good mood with those cute puppy eyes she has. After all, Manjiro has always had a fixation on cute and pretty things and Izana knew him long enough to know that. Izana hears his door click and inwardly sighs in annoyance at whoever was going to enter his room. He glares at the door but his harsh gaze immediately turns into one of surprise when seeing his night shift doctor. "what are you doing here?" He asks, narrowing his eyes at Maya

Maya is wearing her blue scrubs, her white doctor's coat sleeves folded to her elbows. She's got the pager clipped to her belt, the key bracelet thing around her wrist and her ID card securely clipped to the breast pocket on her coat. "wow no hi or good morning or how are you?" Maya asks sarcastically, the door shutting with a click behind her

Her eyes are slightly red and she looks exhausted. Her hair is tied back in a bun with a few curly strands framing her face. "Hi, good morning, how are you?" Izana says sarcastically then changes immediately to a more serious and authoritative tone "You ended your shift 6 hours ago. Go home"

Maya's shift starts from 9 pm to 4 am, she brings the patients dinner because the nurses pushed the job onto her, brings the trays back and down to the kitchen, then comes back up and sticks around as there wasn't much to do unless one of the patients/criminals, needed something which wasn't often. "Yeah... But I fell asleep in the breakroom after my shift and the old man in charge of the morning told me to take his shift and went home before I could say anything" she complained and plopped down on the chair and bolted down on the floor by his bed "I complained to the director but he told me that since I was here anyway I should just take the shift and he'd paid me extra"

Izana can't help but roll his eyes. She really wanted to pay off those loans huh? "I think that's called exploitation" He says

Which is huge coming from Izana considering what he does for a living. "Yeah but... Money" she shrugs "I get to leave at lunchtime though and don't have to come back for the night shift"

"Oh gee! How great!" Izana says sarcastically once again

Izana feels a bit odd being annoyed about the fact that his doctor is being taken advantage of. He's known her for a month and he knows she's kind and these other shitty old people employed here liked to take advantage of her kindness. To make it worse she rarely complained about it. Oh well, at least he gets to see her longer and talk to her for longer. "Haven't seen those before" Izana says looking at the two necklaces she was wearing

One was a gold oval pendant with a delicate border and the outline of a flower in the center of it. The second necklace, also gold, was a small butterfly pendant. Cute. "What's the thing in the center of the coin?" He asks "A rose?"

Maya looks down at her necklace and realizes they are untucked. It was a huge safety hazard considering she could be choked. But Sunshine Grove was a shitty psychiatric hospital and none of the employees really took safety seriously(Maya neither) so they rarely removed jewelry and just kept things like necklaces tucked under their clothes. "Ah~ it's a daffodil," Maya tells him, touching the pendant "my birth flower. My birthday's in March"

Izana chuckles. How cute. "Your birth flower, hm..."

One thing Izana liked about Maya was that she tended to ramble about random things that interested her. "Oh oh have you heard that greek myth story about daffodils?" She asks

Izana would usually be annoyed at this kind of rambling but perhaps Maya had the privilege to just talk. Pretty privilege is what Ran calls it. Izana forgot what he meant since he usually tunes whatever Ran says, out but he figures maybe this is what it is. "So basically there was this guy Narcissus. He was supposedly really good-looking. But he never found anyone that could attract him. He left a long trail of distressed and broken-hearted maidens, and one or two young men fell as well" she giggles a bit then continues the story "Then, one day, he happened to see his own reflection in a pool of water and, thus, discovered the ultimate in unrequited love and fell in love with himself. Obviously, this one-way relationship went nowhere, and Narcissus, unable to draw himself away from the pool, pined away in despair until he finally died of thirst and starvation"

Izana raises a brow. "What?"

"Yeah, and he turned into a daffodil. So another name for daffodils is Narcissus"

Izana can't help but laugh. What a stupid story. "I'm guessing this shitty story has a moral like all Greek myths"

Maya nods. "I think it was a warning not a moral. Something like ‘love and obsession lie closer together than we think’ or something"

Oh. Time passes by when Maya rambles. She was honestly the highlight of his day or well, night. But right now it was the day so she was the highlight of his day. He figures that since she's here right now she won't be here tonight and since it was Friday he won't see her till Monday. He’ll stay a while before he leaves on Monday to say goodbye. Time passes by fast and soon comes lunch. "You know doctor, if there's one thing I'll miss about this shitty place it'll be you talking my ear off" Izana says playfully

Maya laughs. "really well—" she pauses taking in his word "what do you mean? I'm still gonna be working here y'know"

"I'm leaving Monday. Getting discharged and will be back to my normal life" He tells her with a grin "what are you gonna miss me?"

He's being playful but the expression on Maya's face makes him confused. Why is she looking at him like that. He watches her pull out the little notebook of her's and flip through the pages. Izana watches as she mutters something to herself and all he hears are little curse. "Hey, doctor... What's wrong?" He asks in confusion

Why was this her reaction? Maya gets up and walks over to where his IV bag was hung up. She looks long and hard at the bag then turns to him. She's standing right next to him. She rarely gets this close. "You're leaving on Monday?" she repeats with a frown “like discharged and going home?”

Izana is starting to get worried and a bit aggravated, not understanding why she's looking at him like that. As far as he knew she knew nothing about him or what he did. So why was she giving him that look? "Doctor. I'd like to know why you're looking at me like that" Izana says slowly

He isn't nervous. Not at all. A man like him isn't nervous. He's concerned. There's a huge difference between the two emotions. He watches Maya take a breath. "Um... Mr. Kurokawa..." She pauses and looks at him nervously "What... What are you here for? What are you admitted here for?"

That question confuses him. Why was she asking him that? Shouldn't she know? "You should know what I'm here for" He tells her lowly, narrowing her eyes at him "You're my—"

"Mr. Kurokawa" Maya says, her voice a bit breathy

She looks scared almost and it's starting to annoy the hell out of Izana. "Cocaine addiction. Now tell me why you're making that face"

Maya looks nervous, scared and confused. So many different emotions swirl around in her eyes. "So... You're not a convicted criminal?"

He was 100% a criminal but not a convicted one. No one has caught him yet but Maya didn't need to know that. "No and why does that relate to this?"

Maya looks like she might throw up. "You're here for addiction but you're on the fourth floor and not second" She says

"Why should I be on the second floor?" He asks, his voice demanding and angry

Maya sucks in a breath. "second floor is where patients admitted for addiction stay... You're on the fourth floor where the convicted criminals who got off by claiming insanity"

Oh. Oh… Maya chews nervously at her bottom lip. She looks like she might throw up and Izana is pissed. He's fucking pissed. He watches Maya pat her pockets and she pulls out a piece of gauze and then takes his hand. He's about to ask what she's doing but then she puts the gauze pad over the insertion site as gently as she can. She starts to pull it out, increasing pressure as she smoothly withdraws the catheter. Izana stays silent and watches her stick a bandaid to the area. "keep pressure on it for a few minutes" she mumbles and grabs the IV bag

Izana puts his thumb over his wrist where the IV was inserted and watches her. She looked like she was going to be sick and it was pissing him off. What the hell? Maya is about to leave but he stops her. "Doctor... If this is what I think it is..." Izana says slowly

Maya just shakes her head and leaves his room. Izana narrows his eyes, staring at the door. He looks down at his wrist where the IV was just taken out of and was now replaced with a bandage. He stares for a moment longer then pulls out the flip-phone again and calls Kisaki.

"What's this?" Maya threw the half-empty IV bag onto the hospital director's desk

The hospital director, Doctor Nakamura, narrows his eyes at her. "I don't appreciate you coming in without knocking Doctor Kaneko" He says lowly

Maya wasn't going to back down today. She needed answers. She may be new, she may have just graduated a few months ago but what was wrong was wrong. "Why is Mr Kurokawa on the fourth floor and not the second? He's here for cocaine addiction not for a court order" Maya was going to get her answers today "Why is he being given a sedative and that too, that high of a dose?"

She didn't care about superiority or anything. It didn't matter. Not now when a patient was clearly not being treated for what he came for. This was against the ethics of a doctor. "Doctor Kaneko..." Doctor Nakamura says, grabbing the half-empty IV bag with a dark almost crazed look in his eyes "That man... That man is evil incarnate—"

Maya rubs her temples. "Cocaine addiction does not make a man evil incarnate. You run a psychiatric hospital you can’t say things like that. Whatever it is you did, whatever it is you're doing is wrong" Maya says sternly

This was making her sick. She couldn't believe this. She knew Sunshine Grove was shitty with how they'd push all the work onto her but she didn't think it was so shitty that they'd give a patient a drug they didn't even need. This was disgusting. "Doctor Kaneko. You don't know what he did. this is much deeper than cocaine addiction"

"He's getting out on Monday! Mr. Kurokawa has been here for 2 months" Maya argues "If he did something so bad, he wouldn't be leaving. He'd be in jail"

Doctor Nakamura doesn't look like he has the patience for this. But Maya doesn't either. What was wrong, was wrong. "Listen Miss Kaneko..." He says slowly, now looking very aggravated, no longer using her proper title "We'll have this conversation on Monday when your shift starts. How about you go home? You must be exhausted"

It wasn't a suggestion but an order. "Unless you want to start looking for another hospital that will hire you, Miss Kaneko"

Maya feels a lump rise in her throat. No. Nonononono. No. She can't lose her job. She can't. She stares at Doctor Nakamura with wide eyes. This wasn't fair. She was trying to do the right thing and— shit. She opens her mouth to say something, to try and argue, to at least give him a threat of reporting him for mistreating Kurokawa Izana but nothing comes out. Maya feels powerless. It was between her livelihood and her morals. Was this what her mother meant? Was this what she meant when she said it was hard to be a doctor? Maya thought psychiatrists were different. She thought... She thought... This wasn't fair. She clenches his fists and lowers her head. "Yes sir" she says in defeat and promptly leaves the office

Maya walks back to the lockrooms with her head down. She feels like shit. She can't believe she gave in that easily. She hates herself. She can't even get herself to go back up to Izana's room and give him an explanation. She's horrible. She's a shit person and she knows that the guilt is gonna make her sick till she throws up. Maya pulls her hair out of the bun and runs her fingers through it angrily as she walks into the locker room without paying attention to her surroundings. stupidstupidstupidstupidstupidstupidstupidstupidstupidstupid— "shit!"

Maya looks up at realizes she just had her book main character moment where she bumps into the really hot guy's rock-hard chest. The guy no doubt was very hot. He's a security guard by the looks of the uniform but doesn't look like anyone she's seen on duty before. He has black hair parted in the center, olive-toned skin and heterochromatic eyes, one red and the other silver. But what really caught Maya's eye was the scar on his face. Starting from his left ear, going over the corner of his left(silver) eye then up across his forehead and disappearing into his hairline. Maya stops staring and lowers her gaze. "S-sorry" she stutters out "I wasn't watching where I was going. My bad"

He's tall and oh... Wow, he's well-built. Maya has to will herself to tear her gaze away from his chest. This guy 100% had a fricken six-pack underneath that uniform. "It's fine..." He pauses and looks at her up and down "You look tired Doctor"

Maya laughs nervously. Oh man, this guy was hot. It's almost making her forget about the guilt. Oh wait, nope she remembered it again. "Well, I'm new and you know, these oldies like pushing their work onto the newbies," She says with a shrug "I'm going home right now though... I haven't seen you around though"

The man is staring at her ID card pinned to her coat. "Hm.. Yeah, I am... I'll be taking the night shift from now on. 4th floor. They're just gonna be showing me around today"

Maya's eyes light up. New eye candy for the 4th floor now that Izana was leaving? Okay, maybe that makes her feel a little better. "Oh I work night shifts on the fourth floor too" she gives the man a friendly smile "I'm Doctor Kaneko Maya"

The man nods. Professional but also somewhat friendly. "Hitto Kakucho. I prefer just Kakucho"

Hitto? That was an odd last name. She doesn't think she's ever heard it before. But his odd last name slipped her mind pretty quickly due to the guilt she was feeling and the unholy thoughts about Kakucho that were going through her head. Oh man, he's hot and these contrasting feelings are making her head hurt. "I'll be seeing you on Monday then Doctor" Kakucho says "Get home safe"

Maya nods and Kakucho brushes past her. The locker room is once again engulfed in silence and now all that's left is Maya's guilt. She sighs and texts Chifuyu to ask him to pick her up.

Maya sits outside in the reception area waiting for Chifuyu to come get her. She usually drives herself but last night Chifuyu insisted on driving her last night. Maya stares at the white tiled floor, sighing for the nth time. She felt like actual shit. The guilt is making her sick. Izana had been given that damn sedative for 2 months. Sometimes she'd administer it to him too. For what? For some messed up reason, she's still yet to find out. Maya feels guilty and gross and just horrible. She wants to cry. She hates this. None of this was fair. Why did it have to be her patient? Had she really just got herself caught up in something stupid all for the sake of money? Shit shit shit Maya really hated herself right now. "fuck~" she whines to herself and leans forward till her forehead touches her knees while she sits in the chair

She feels like a stupid idiot. She should have just asked Izana what he was here for on the first day instead of trying to be nice and let him open up on his own. Now look where being nice got her. Maya flinches as her phone vibrates. She gets up and grabs her bag off the floor. It was probably Chifuyu. She bids goodbye to the man at the reception and leaves the building at the sight of a black car outside. Except it's not Chifuyu leaning against the car, it's Naoto. Her cheeks flush. Of-fucking-course Chifuyu was trying to play matchmaker. Right now wasn't a good time with how sick she felt. "hey" Naoto says with a small smile

He looks shy and had it not been for her guilt, Maya knows she'd probably be feeling the same way. "H-Hey, did Chifuyu send you?" Maya asks nervously "I'm so sorry"

Naoto shakes his head and opens the passenger seat of his car. "Oh no don't worry. Was on a break anyway. Chifuyu said he was busy and told me to come"

Maya slides into the passenger seat and after making sure she's sitting comfortably he closes the door. Maya puts her bag on the floor of the car and puts on her seat belt. Naoto gets into the driver's side and starts the car. "I thought you had the night shift, what are you doing here so late?" He asks putting on his seatbelt

"They had a shortage... I'll be getting paid for overtime though so it's fine" Maya says trying to ignore the shitty feeling of guilt that just isn't going away

Oh man, she needed a drink. "You look exhausted. Should get some sleep when I drop you home" Naoto tells her as he pulls out of the parking lot and then out of the front gate of the hospital

"Yeah, I will.... gonna shower and just sleep and..." She pauses and thinks for a moment as they make it onto the main road "Can I ask you something?"

"You just did" Naoto points out with a small laugh and Maya can't help but laugh as well. "I'm kidding, ask away"

She thinks for a moment and tries her best to word her question. Perhaps getting an outside opinion would make her feel better. "You're a police officer, right? H-Has there ever been a time where you had to choose between your job or..." she pauses "Livelihood is a better word... Um... Has there ever been a time when you had to choose between your livelihood and your morals?"

Naoto looks surprised by her question. He keeps his eyes on the road as he answers. "W-well yeah... Have to all the time. Just last month I got called out on duty to arrest a woman for murder..." Naoto recalls then frowns "I asked her why she did it during interrogation she told me it was because the man raped her"

"Oh" Maya mumbles quietly

"You don't understand how badly I wanted to let her go. Murder is wrong but those cases... In those rare cases, even wrong can be right"

Maya takes in the information. She tries to apply it to her situation, to find just where the director was coming from but she couldn't. Kurokawa Izana didn't deserve that treatment. "But I have to say, Maya, if this is about work our situations are different... In other departments, things can be covered up by saying it was a fraud scam or corruption... In the medical department, however," He lowers his tone to "It's negligence of life... murder"

Maya's heart pounds. He was right. She didn't think of that. "Yeah... you're right" she mumbles

A silence washes over the car for a moment till Naoto speaks up again. "If there is something wrong at work, I can help you out"

It was a nice offer but what was she supposed to say? Where was she supposed to start? Maya feels stupid because she knows she can just tell Naoto but she can't get herself to. She feels stupid and guilty and the feeling doesn't cease even as Naoto drops her off at her place. Maya's shoulder slouch as she unlocks her door. She hates this so much. A shudder passes through her suddenly at the feeling of being watched. Maya looks around for a moment and sees no one. She shakes her head and brushes it off as stress and goes into her home, locking the door behind her.

From the other side of the street, Kisaki Tetta blows out a cloud of smoke and scoffs.

notes: I do NOT condone any of the acts committed in this fic. Next chapter is gonna be my first time ever writing smut so plz, if it's bad I'm sorry 😭

I would also like to point out that I am a criminology major and don’t know much about the medical field, especially psychiatry. Everything written in this fic is not supposed to be accurate but just for the plot.

This is a double update so next chapter is already up. I have also added chapter summaries to the masterlist so go take a look!

I hope you enjoyed reading so far :)

updates are every monday

taglist: @kokonoiscoconut @mysouleaten @yaya4thawin @piroporopo @reiners-milkbiddies

54 notes · View notes