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potofstewie · 10 months ago

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𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐁𝐢𝐠 𝐓𝐨𝐲

Summary: Leaving a consistent and predictable cycle of motion is oftentimes hard for one to do, even if the cycle in question brings forth harm to that person. However, the addiction and comfort of knowing what will happen next is what compels them to stay despite the harm.

Notices: NSFW, fuckbuddies/situationship, AFAB!Reader, doggy, petnames (daddy, baby), cervix bruising, gojo is dissociated for a little bit, pining, porn with plot, depiction of emotional abuse, toxic!reader, smoking

Pairing: Gojo x Reader

W/C: 1.8k

A/N: This is my first fic for Gojo and I'm not really into JJK like that so I hope my interpretation of him does him well. This came about due to the song "If you think I'm Pretty" by Artemas. Anyway I hope you enjoy!

ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱʜɪᴛ ᴀ ʀᴇꜱᴛ ꜱᴀɪᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴇᴅᴇᴅ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʙᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏɴʟʏ ʜᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ꜱᴇx

The pads of Satoru’s fingers dug into the plushness of your hips as he plunged feverishly into your cunt, your walls squeezing with every pullback. Despite him not seeing your face and only viewing your back and your ricocheting ass, Satoru deemed you to be absolutely beautiful. From your dark areolas to the long indent from your spine, all of it was amazing to him. But, despite all that, Satoru couldn’t really focus on the scene before him. It was obvious that he wasn’t his usual self as his mouth didn’t utter a single word of praise nor did his throat rumble out a satisfied groan that night. Instead, he was completely silent in his task of giving you pleasure and being done with the entire ordeal. His warmed ears drowned out the sounds of sticky skin slapping, your moans, the creaking of his bed, and the squelching of your pussy. You were in absolute bliss. He was ruminating.

“F-faster daddy, faster..” You whined breathlessly into the warm air of the room. Obeying your whiny command, Satoru sped up and even went deeper, his tip brushing against your cervix with every thrust. Satoru’s glossed-over eyes gazed at your cream that coated his dick and pelvis. Usually, he liked witnessing the sticky evidence that you loved what he was doing to your needy pussy, but now all he could do was give it an empty stare. Your grip on his sheets tightened as you felt your second orgasm of the night fast approaching, your eyes screwed shut as you whined out some more. “I’m so- I’m so- so close..” You struggled to announce, every thrust knocking the air from your throat and making you retry with your words.

“I know, baby, just cum for me..” Satoru mumbled, rubbing the pads of his fingers over your clit to help you out. After a few more rough thrusts into your battered pussy, you released a choked gasp, shockwaves coursing through your veins. Satoru stopped thrusting, allowing you to squirm on his dick as you rode out your orgasm with staggered moans. Softly sighing, he pulled out carefully, eyes traveling from your panting frame to the mess you left on his dick.

With a satisfied hum, you began to sink into the disheveled sheets, lowering your now sore hips onto the bed as he stood in place at the foot of the bed. To the untrained eye, Satoru’s façade was blank, still as the surface of a pond. However, his mind was anything but, regardless, he couldn’t allow you to see him like that. So, with a simple and soft smirk, Satoru crawled next to you and laid on his back, a hand behind his head and one on your back as you rested your head onto his chest.

For a short spell of tranquil silence, you both laid there gathering your energy. The tips of his slender fingers glided on your back gently and gave you ticklish shocks as he stared up at his ceiling, slightly furrowing his brows in contemplation. This was the fourth time that you had knocked on his door with the premise of wanting to give your heart to him, only for the night to end up in his bed and the morning starting with you gone. Every time, you had stated that you were ready to share your love with him. That you wanted to be more than two friends that would retreat into each other's bodies to satiate hunger and lust; that you instead wanted to be lovers that would lick each other's star-dotted wounds for eternity bound and more.

That’s what you’ve always told him to make it easier to come in. Make it easier to slip off your shoes at his door, easier to undress yourself and have him lick upon your body in the dead of night. Easier to pleasure each other. It seemed as if you had finally caught on to his hidden feelings for you and knew all the right things to say for him to let you in despite his better judgment.

Saying those honey-coated words, those sickly sweet “I need you ‘Toru”s that made the man’s snow-favored lashes quiver in thinly veiled anticipation for your unattainable love. He wanted your soft gaze reserved for a lover, your wishes that you made to the endless night sky, your warmth.

“I'm surprised.”

“Huh?”

“I said I’m surprised. It usually takes more than two rounds to tire you out.” You clarified, mischief laced in your voice. Clearing his throat, Satoru morphed his mouth into that of a faux smirk.

“Yeah well, I’m just a bit tired tonight that’s all.” He softly responded, his words receiving a scoff from you.

“You last even longer when you’re tired.” Remaining silent for a few seconds, Satoru internally took a deep breath for the conversation that would take place.

“Y’know, Y/n.” He started, a sense of false ease and nonchalance ladened in his voice. Humming in response, you couldn’t help but smile a little. You were content. He was taking the leap. “How…How ‘bout we make this official, huh? You said it yourself, nobody fucks you as good as I do. Plus, you said that I’m the only guy that treats you as you should.” He finished, referencing the bait you used on him earlier that night to get what you came for. Silence. That was the initial response that you gave to his proposal of a new dynamic. A change in your relationship. An option you weren’t keen on accepting anytime soon. Humming once more, you ran your hand in slow circles on his stomach, acrylic nails going over the dips and bumps of his muscles.

“Mm, c’mon, ‘Toru. You know how I feel about you...One day, but not right now, m’kay?” You reassured him slowly, your empty words dripping in false sweetness.

Liar.

“Yeah..okay.” He sighed, still keeping his smirk on his face, his blue eyes watching you slowly sit up; your body lazily straddling him which he accepted with his hands on your hips.

“One more round f’me, I wanna feel you..” You purred. That was more than enough for him to get hard again, ready for an embrace that would engulf Satoru with a feeling of cold distance rather than shared warmth. But it was an embrace that despite the pain, he just couldn’t let go.

ᴋɪʟʟ ᴍᴇ ᴏɴᴄᴇ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ɪ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ

That was a week ago and neither of you have spoken to each other since until today. Satoru clicked his lighter a few times to light his first blunt of the day, taking a forlorn drag from it. Sighing heavily and releasing the smoke into the air of his dead apartment, he leaned back on his couch as he reflected on his ties with you. He truly didn’t know what to do about you; he really did feel for you in a way he hadn’t felt before. Satoru enjoyed looking at you with eyes so filled to the brim with admiration and joy. He enjoyed it whenever you gave him tiny, minuscule crumbs of your love in the form of hugs and cheek kisses; each action being held with such reverence in his heart.

As the winter sunbeams poured into his abode, his eyes drifted towards his dimly lit phone, the screen just barely showcasing him a text you sent minutes prior.

‘it’s so cold today n i miss youuu. i don’t have anything to do today n i wanna chill’

He still hadn’t responded, and quite frankly, he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want this to keep going any longer. He wanted to put his foot down, break the whole ordeal off, and go about your separate ways. He wanted to listen to the advice that his friends gave him; to start anew, to find someone who actually wanted him around for more than just physical intimacy. He wanted to be set free from you; yet at the same time, he just wanted you to give him more than a couple hours of pleasure.

He wanted your unattainable love, but did you even want his love? Did you want to know all of his dreams and secrets? To view his scars, to cherish him? Would you hold him if his nightmares became too much? Would you want him by your side and you by his?

Did you even see him as your equal?

That question sent a dull, painful shock to Satoru’s chest as he wallowed even more into his thoughts, ignoring a chime from his phone. What did you see him as? To your mind, was he only a toy robot that followed the command of its master? Was he no longer deemed a friend by you and only an acquaintance who had the privilege of seeing you naked? Did you even like him enough to consider a friendship in the first place?

Sighing and taking another puff from his blunt, Satoru snapped himself away from his thoughts as he read over the new message that you sent.

‘im down the hall n i brought some shit from the corner store. i can’t wait to see you baby’

He could practically hear your singsong voice through the screen. Maybe, this time he would finally express his thoughts, the very thoughts that kept him awake. And hopefully, you would actually be willing to listen and help him decide between his two options. To help decide between letting you go and finally freeing himself from this tormenting cycle, or to stay by your side, forever kneeling at your feet.

With a few soft knocks from his door, Satoru got up from his couch and made his way to the only barrier separating him from eternal longing and heartbreak. If he kept the door closed and simply told you to go away, then maybe, Satoru would be okay. He could always adopt that cat he’s always thought about, a dream you’d often shoot down because you thought dogs would be better. Maybe he could seek pleasure from different women, something he stayed away from because he was content and happy with only you.

But if he opened up the door, he could always have the opportunity to be in your presence, to feel your warm hands glide along his skin. To hear your coos and moans of pleasure, to hear your laugh anytime he told a joke. He could keep this up for a little while longer, to revel some more in your divinity.

With another knock on the door, Gojo Satoru finally made up his mind with another pull from his blunt.

“Oh, ‘Toru, I missed you~ Mm, I love you, y’know that right? ‘Toru?”

ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ, ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ʙɪɴᴅ ᴏʀ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ɢᴏ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴏᴛᴏꜰꜱᴛᴇᴡɪᴇ™ 2024

"An artist's duty is to reflect the times" ~ Nina Simone

Tagging: @honeybleed @digitalsakoi @screampied @hoshigray @preciousamethyst @cupidszvlvr @lihlyx @111liyah @ilovegojosatoru111 @evangelion-0 @sweetheart-satoru @keigodo @satorminniett @obssessedwithhers-blog @jx130033

#original stew #gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo smut #gojo angst #jjk smut #jjk angst #gojo x black reader #gojo satoru x black reader #gojo x black y/n #gojo satoru x black y/n

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ghost-luvs · 1 month ago

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jtk x reader.. the squeekle (chapter 1)

yall this is a part 2 to a rlly shitty (on purpose) fanfic i made on wattpad earlier this year.. this is honestly pure crack and shouldn't be read

As Jeff and (Y/n) got done doing whatever at (Y/n)’s now dead mothers house they decided to just walk back to the mansion. The pair walked back in a comfortable silence, but in that silence (Y/n) was thinking about everything, about how her life is totally different now. Instead of living with her bitch of a mother she would be living at the mansion with Jeff and the others. Occupied with all her thinking (Y/n) didn't even realize how quickly they had gotten to the mansion, before going inside she asked Jeff something. “Are there any rules that you should probably tell me about before we go inside?” (Y/n) asked, not wanting to accidentally anger anyone in her new home. “There's only really one, and it’s just a mandatory at least one shower a day rule that Slender had to make” Jeff said. (Y/n) accepted the rule, it does make sense after all, then grabbed Jeff's hand before walking in.

When they walked into the mansion it was surprisingly peaceful, until they were greeted by Ben. “The chick actually killed someone?” Ben asked, motioning towards (Y/n). “Yea, and it was a good kill too.” Jeff responded. “Well now that you're done training her and shit and she's allowed to stay here, wanna hang out. You've been hanging out with her hella long. Plus it could give her time to hang out with the other girls.” Ben said, clearly bored out of his mind cause no one else wants to hang out with him. “W-WHAT?!?! I'm not like other girls, you can't expect me to hang out with them.” (Y/n) screeched, clearly insulted that he even had that idea. “Why not though, you’re all chicks can't you guys talk about your periods or something?” Ben said, clearly not seeing the problem. “Ben we can hang out after i take her to the Slenders office, he probably has to go over some things with her anyway.” Jeff said, not wanting his precious (Y/n) to get into a fight with Ben. Jeff had walked (Y/n) to Slenders office. “You may be in here for a while since you are new here.” Jeff told (Y/n) in a reassuring tone, then he walked away to go find Ben. (Y/n) walked into Slenders office, to see him drinking from a mug that had ‘Worlds Best Dad’ printed on it in an impact font, Slender then threw the mug into the wall as no one in the mansion was meant to see it. “(Y/n), i've been waiting for you to come to my office, just sit down and i'll tell you everything you need to know,” Slender said telepathically. As (Y/n) sat down Slender got another mug, this time it was just a plain white mug, (Y/n) thought about asking about the first mug but decided against it. “If you havent found out already the mansion is a living sentient being named Emo Hooty. It usually makes rooms for new members, however it has decided to not make you a room for undisclosed reasons. While you’re staying here you must take at least one shower a day or else you will be thrown into the fourth level of the basement for at least 6 hours. There are multiple forms of punishment, but as long as you aren't too annoying you should be fine. I will tell you more but I have to pack for my vacation.” Slender explained to (Y/n), who only somewhat paid attention as she was still thinking about the first mug. By the time (Y/n) had gotten out of Slenders office it was late, and she was tired as she had not slept since before she had killed her mother the night before. Instead of socializing or going and finding Jeff (Y/n) had decided to go straight to her shared room. When (Y/n) had gotten to the room she had hoped to find Jeff in there but it was empty. ‘He must still be with Ben’ (Y/n) thought as she was trying to find something comfortable to sleep in. She settled on one of Jeffs sweaters and a pair of shorts. After changing (Y/n) had gotten into the bed and passed out instantly. A few hours later Jeff had come back to the room to see (Y/n) asleep. So Jeff had gotten ready for bed as quietly as possible and cuddled up next to (Y/n) and fell asleep.

#creepypasta #crack fic #crack #jeff the killer #jeff the killer x reader #jeff the killer x y/n #slenderman #y/n

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aenaxes · 3 years ago

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OMG ok for the 200 follower celebration (based on your smoking post) PLZZZ write sharing a spice blunt with cross or any batcher of your choosing I would simply die 😩💅🏻❤️

vapor trails

[crosshair & hunter x f!reader] you don't really run with the fett twins' crowd, but you find yourself at one of their parties anyway (in reference to this post lol)

warnings: college!au, recreational drug use, suggestive themes, but consent is sexy & mandatory & sober babes

w/c: 3.8k

a/n: anon, you ask for one batcher, but why not two? thank you for enabling me nonnie & @mallr4ts lol (im so sorry to all the previous requests for the event, this one has just been needling in my brain all day and i had to get it out hsdfs)

event details here! requests are open until july 4th!

You don’t know much about the Fett twins.

They’re something like campus legends even though they’re only a year your senior and at the tail end of their fourth years. But as much as you’ve heard their names slung around in weekend plans and excited chatter, you’ve never once met them, much less seen them yourself. Between idling class whispers and dining hall conversations, all you can piece together from the rumors is that: one, they’re from a big family (you’ve heard anywhere from two to twelve other brothers, yikes); and two, as much as they work hard (because the venture capital and pre-professorial tracks seem rigorous enough), they play even harder.

It helps that they apparently own one of the biggest apartments off campus, one in which you find yourself hopelessly and miserably lost. And overdressed.

Great.

It hadn’t occurred to you that your roommate, who is nowhere to be seen, had been dressing up for her girlfriend, and that most people who had half a mind would wear something comfortable that could withstand a few spilled drinks and ash. So seeing the rest of the room in rumpled tees and sweats has you and your little black dress seeking out the nearest wall as you fiddle with your questionably sweet cup of margarita mixer.

You feel like a first year, and it sucks.

But for once, with everyone too busy mingling amongst themselves over the heavy thrum of some mumble rap beat, you manage to slip by unnoticed.

Every now and then, you dart your eyes around the ever shifting landscape of faces in the dim room, looking for even the vaguest familiarity that might let you feign being tipsy and join a group for the night. But every time you try, there’s no luck.

Fuck, you haven’t even seen anyone here before.

But there might be a god watching out for you yet when the crowd shifts just enough that you catch sight of the couch, and on it, someone you suspect to be one of the twins as he greets a few girls with a disinterested nod.

Emboldened, but mostly nervous that in the crowd of bodies and red solo cups you’re still helplessly alone, you push off the wall and squeeze past huddled cliques of conversation to make for the dark couch.

By the platinum bleached hair and big-name consulting group quarter zip, Crosshair—at least you think it’s him—lounges over the couch. He isn’t the only body on the suede seats, but he keeps to himself, his head dipped low as he works one hand over a small metal canister in his other palm.

If you weren’t having luck with the other nameless faces around you, maybe the Fett twin would keep you company—at least until your roommate came back to find you (if she did). And worst case, you’d just slink back to your dorm and mope until your roommate apologized to you with your favorite overpriced smoothie bowl the day after.

Mustering every ounce of courage you have, you plant your feet by the couch and finally speak.

"Is your name actually Crosshair?" you ask.

The man on the couch pauses, his motions stilling over the small metal cylinder in his palms, and he lifts his chin just enough to flick his eyes up towards the sound of your voice.

You always thought the girls in your droning 9AM gen-ed were wildly exaggerating his hype for their own devices, squealing over his (apparently) brooding charm and sharp looks to nip at his stash for free. But for all the vague haze surrounding your perception of the twins, you never thought that they were telling the truth.

If you had been in broad daylight under the incandescent glow of your creaky lecture hall lights, you might have called him cocky, almost haughty, how he meets you with an unreadable look for having interrupted him. But in the purple LEDs and heavy haze of vape juice and shitty tequila, he’s captivating, all dark eyes and perfectly lit skin, marked only by the needle-thin design tattooed over the right side of his face and a worn wooden toothpick bitten between his teeth.

You swallow down the dry lump in your throat when you catch him flick his eyes from your face, down the short length of your dress, and back up again.

"Smoke with me; maybe you'll find out," he drawls, toothpick bobbing as he speaks. He twists the cylinder once and offers you a wry smirk. And when you stay, speechless but there all the same, Crosshair scoots to the side and pats the narrow space between him and the couch arm, inviting you close.

"I've never smoked before," you admit a bit shyly as you drop down beside him. Your dress hikes up your thigh, and you shiver when your skin presses up against the soft denim of his jeans.

"Not even cigs?"

You shake your head. And you tell yourself that when he leans close and brushes his shoulder up against your arm, that he’s only doing it because someone’s boosted the bass, and you can’t hear him over the reverb.

"Well, good thing I'm here, yeah?"

He gives the metal canister a final twist and sets it down on the coffee table before you. Swapping the canister for a small brown sleeve, you watch in a daze as he pulls a semi-transparent leaflet from the folder and tears a strip of cardstock straight from its flap. He has pianist fingers, you think wistfully, neatly kept nails and slender grace, and you wonder if he’ll entertain you if you ask to compare your hand to his.

“What’s your name?”

You scrabble back to the present at the sound of his voice. “Uh, y/n,” you offer.

“Well, y/n,” he says with a soft laugh, having caught on to your daydreaming. “Step one, you fold your filter.”

You nod along absently as Crosshair artfully crimps the thick paper into a neat roll. As if there isn’t thirty-some odd people crammed into his apartment, he quietly takes you step by step, offering you the filter, the paper, then the contents of the canister (a grinder, he explains) like it’s a game of show and tell. But with every piece he places into your hands, you gravitate closer, closer, until you’re flush against his arm and practically hanging over his side to watch as he gently taps a line of bud over the paper.

“Here, let me give you a better look,” Crosshair says.

You expect him to bring the neat line of bud to you, but when nothing comes, you look up and find him waiting for you, one arm open in invitation as the other pats once on the dark denim of his thigh.

“Uh—”

“Sit,” he says as if you haven’t just met him fifteen minutes ago. “Front row seats if you want ‘em.”

On one hand, you barely know Crosshair outside of the rumors you hear on campus. On the other hand, he’s a genuinely pleasant person, careful to accommodate for your boundaries and offering a snide playfulness that’s banished your nerves from earlier in the night.

He’s also really fucking hot.

“Okay,” you murmur, and you let him wrap his arm around your waist and tug you onto his lap. And he’s right. Perched over his thighs, you see with perfect clarity (and without the strain in your neck) as he gently folds the paper over the mound of bud and carefully twists. It’s the prettiest joint you’ve ever seen—though it might be because it’s the only one you’ve seen.

"Final touch," Crosshair's voice rumbles over your back, shooting straight into your core as he lifts the paper's vellum edge to your lips. “Lick it for me.”

Since you sat down with him, you’ve only been the passenger, nodding along as Crosshair’s long, nimble fingers creased over filter paper and patiently pointed out things like the stray pistils in his baggie and the keef gathered at the bottom of his grinder for if you really want to get fucked up. And even though you aren’t doing much (because licking paper doesn’t really seem too crazy), it’s a step forward from the comfortable rhythm that had settled between you, and you twist around in his lap to shoot him an uncertain glance.

“Just,” Crosshair flicks his tongue over his lower lip, flashing a brief glimpse of a ball piercing towards your wide eyes. And if you weren’t so flustered, you might have recognized the coy playfulness in his gaze. “Give it a lick, right over the edge.”

“I—uh, what if I—” you stammer.

“You’re not gonna mess this up, darling,” Crosshair chuckles. If his hand squeezing brief over your waist wasn’t enough to bring heat searing over the tops of your ears, his next words, crooned low and breathy into your ear, certainly do. “You’re a smart girl. You can do it.”

"My brother giving you trouble?"

Another voice cuts through the din of the party, sparing you your stammering nerves as you whip your head up in its general direction. You’re greeted with the sight of his brother, peering down on you as he takes a sip from his cup.

“You’re such a killjoy,” Crosshair mutters, drawing his arm tighter around your waist as he jabs the half-rolled joint to where Hunter sprawls down onto the couch beside him. “No, I’m not being a creep. I’m teaching our pretty underclassman here how to roll.”

Oh.

Heat rushes over your cheeks, and you can’t decide whether you want to shrink into yourself or bask in it and beg for more.

He called you pretty.

“With her in your lap,” Hunter snorts into his cup.

“It was your idea to invite your entire fucking rugby team. Where else would we do it?”

“I’m so sorry he’s like this,” Hunter laughs, tilting his head and looking up at you through his (unfairly) long lashes. Where you thought Crosshair’s tattoo was bold, Hunter’s practically blows him out of the water, a well-worn swath of ink on the left half of his face, curving into neatly stylized teeth right at the edge of his lips. “I’m Hunter.”

Huh, maybe you do have a thing for tattoos.

“Y/n,” you squeak. “It’s, um—it’s nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, sweetheart,” he says as he offers you an easy smile. “Has my baby brother been treating you right?”

“God, two fucking minutes,” Crosshair snaps. You hear the embarrassment seeping from the vitriol, and it strikes you like a shot to the head that he’s trying to play cool in front of you. “I come out two minutes after you and—”

“We’re fraternal, and I got all the oxygen in the womb. Explains why he has awful people skills,” Hunter fake-whispers loud enough for Crosshair to hear, and you giggle as the other man groans from behind you.

“No, he’s been really nice,” you say softly once you realize that you’ve been laughing a little too loud. “He’s teaching me about weed.” It sounds juvenile when you say it, awkward and clumsy on your tongue. It’s a dead giveaway that has Hunter’s smile mellowing into something soft.

“Your first time?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, Cross here’s high as shit at least four hours every day. Says it helps him do the math. I hate to say it, but you’re in good hands.”

“You try running a nonlinear regression sober,” Crosshair snorts. “Anyways, we were just finishing up this joint before you decided to kill the vibe.”

Crosshair lifts the half-rolled joint back up to your chin, and this time, he leans forward and presses his chest close against your back as the playful snark leaves his tone, in its wake, something patient and calm as his voice rumbles by your ear.

“You gonna help me finish the job, sweet girl?”

You surprise yourself when the initial trepidation vanishes as you tip your chin down and stick out your tongue. Maybe you’re showboating now that you have an audience, feeling Hunter’s dark eyes on your lips when you touch the tip of your tongue out over the edge.

Whether it’s your lip gloss or the fine crumbs of bud stuck to the roll paper that fills your mouth with something earthy and sweet, you can’t say. All you know is they’re both following you with that intense intent, the bass and blend of voices faded out around you; just you in Crosshair’s lap and Hunter pretending to care about the drink in his hand as you lift your tongue off the far corner of the paper and close your lips.

“Good job,” Hunter muses, and you’re pretty certain he’s not talking about the joint when you feel his gaze boring into you alone.

The smell of smoke pulls you out of Hunter’s gravity, and you look back in front of you to see Crosshair snap a scuffed metal lighter shut and toss it onto the coffee table. He brings the joint back down in front of you, blowing a neat stream of whitish gray smoke past your ear.

“You know how to pull?” Crosshair asks, and his chin brushes over your bare shoulder as he speaks. He’s so close. You can smell the burn, acrid and sour, but it doesn’t matter that it doesn’t smell like some bubblegum vape when you feel his breaths curling over your skin. You just want more.

Mutely, you shake your head.

“Mm, you know how to shotgun?” Hunter offers, and you hear Crosshair huff laugher from behind you. “Might be easier for your first try.”

You shake your head again.

“It’s,” Hunter pauses, and his brows knit close as he thinks for a moment. “It’s kind of like a kiss. But not really. I take a hit and you catch my smoke. That sound okay?”

You don’t think it matters that someone’s hit shuffle on the playlist, filling the room with a hard electronic beat that might have otherwise drowned out all sound. All you hear is your heart pounding in your ears as you nod and watch Hunter lift the filter to his lips and inhale deep, then pass the joint back to Crosshair.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, white trails of smoke curling over his upper lip as he lifts one hand to cup over the base of your neck.

“Open,” Crosshair whispers.

Wordlessly, you obey. Your lips part just as Hunter pulls close, so close you feel the heat of his skin spreading warm over your cheeks, and blows a soft stream of bitter smoke into your mouth. It can’t be more than a few seconds, but all the while, you can’t seem to tear your eyes from his.

“Breathe in, deep,” you hear Crosshair instruct as he begins to rub one thumb over the curve of your hip.

The smoke is thick, sluicing down your throat and filling your lungs like nothing you’ve ever felt before. It’s not bad, just new, and pressed between the twins over the couch, you think it just might have been worth being ditched by your roommate earlier in the night. But your lungs ache, and you slowly exhale, watching as your vision fogs with a loose cloud of smoke until your chest feels clear again.

“And you didn’t even cough,” Hunter smiles. His calloused fingertips follow the slope of your neck, lingering one moment more before he pulls away. And you aren’t sure if the low buzzing in your fingertips is the weed or their combined warmth as Hunter rubs over your knee and Crosshair leans his head against your neck. “Good girl.”

“Wanna do it again,” you whisper as the buzz begins to crawl up your neck, fizzling around your temples as you lean your cheek over where Crosshair nuzzles into your shoulder.

“With him or me?” Crosshair murmurs, his lips brushing over your skin.

“You,” you say dreamily, and Hunter laughs, a sound that suddenly seems so far away as you tip your head and press close against Crosshair’s silver hair.

Crosshair leans into your touch, pressing his cheek up against your neck one last time before he’s lifting his head and bringing the joint to his lips. You hear the hiss of his inhale, smoke curling up through the narrow body of the joint as the charred end glows warm beside you.

And instead of Hunter’s approach, level with you, Crosshair looms above you, meeting your wide eyes with something of a fond smile. Dragging his hand up your chest, he follows the line of your neck and holds snug over your chin. He squeezes softly, and your jaw falls slack, lips parted in a soft ‘o’ as he dips low. He's closer than Hunter as you feel his mouth just brush over yours and breathe smoke over your tongue.

This time, it’s easier.

You swallow down the smoke and hold, just a beat longer than before. But both Crosshair and Hunter notice as your lips stay parted, and they share a soft laugh that has you exhaling smoke and pride all at once when you finally relax your diaphragm and breathe out.

“Fast learner,” Crosshair muses, nosing up under your jaw as you sink back against his chest.

You mumble incoherently, chasing his touch as the high creeps heavy and warm from your chest to your collar and settles at the back of your throat. It anchors you, molding you up against Crosshair who feels nothing short of perfect as he circles his arms loose over your waist.

You turn your head to thank Hunter when you distantly register him pressing a cool cup into your hand (water, you think you hear him say), but the words slip back down into your throat, your eyelids suddenly unbearably heavy and coarse over your blurry vision.

“You wanna lay down?” Hunter offers, and his voice comes to you like you’re underwater, warped and bubbling past the din of the party around you.

You're pretty sure you nod.

For a few moments, you catch traces of an unintelligible exchange between the twins, only aware of the rumble of Crosshair’s voice at your back, and then you’re being lifted up off the couch, the music and raucous laughter fading behind you.

A door opens, squeaking half-shut, and you wince as a light clicks on beside you. Whoever was carrying you sets you down on something soft and cool, and you sway as the light dims and you settle into your seat.

You’re on a bed, you think.

Crosshair’s, judging by the shock of light hair that you can make out through your lashes. He helps you into a worn tee that reaches past the short hem of your dress, and you wiggle into it with a soft whine, holding it tight.

But where you expect a familiar weight to dip down next to you and pull you close, your eyes fly open when you see his figure turn away from you and towards the neon lights of the party outside.

“You aren’t staying?” It's the most coherent you've been through your first high.

“Not tonight,” Crosshair says softly. He turns back towards you and reaches up to fix the strap of your dress as you sit on his bed. “Baby’s first tokes got you all dopey. Right now, what you need is this,” and he presses a plastic bottle of vitamin water he’s seemingly produced out of nowhere into your palm. “This,” he adds, pressing your phone into your other hand. “And a good night’s sleep.”

“And what if I say I need you, too?” you pout.

Some part of you—the conscious part locked away in the back of your skull—bangs up against the hazy high at the crown of your head because when you’re good and sober and when Crosshair inevitably turns you down, you won’t be able to look at yourself in the mirror for the next semester.

But he breaks into a smile that crinkles at the corners of his eyes before he leans down to press his lips to your forehead. It’s just a split-second of warm, chapstick-soft lips on your skin, but it floods you with an indescribable good from the top of your head all the way down to your toes.

And as high as you are right now, you have a hell of a hunch that the flutter in your chest is going to stay, even when the room stops wobbling around you.

“When you’re all sobered up in the morning, we’ll make you breakfast, and we’ll figure it out from there,” Crosshair says after he’s pulled back, reaching up to smooth his palm over your hair. “Sound like a plan?”

You nod, probably with a little too much enthusiasm, but you’re rewarded with another low chuckle that’s practically music to your ears. His hand gentle and firm over your shoulder, Crosshair guides you down onto the bed and pulls the covers up to your chin.

“Now text your roomie so she doesn’t call the cops on us, get some sleep, and drink all of that, okay?”

“Okay,” you respond.

“Good girl.”

And when the lights click out, you curl into Crosshair’s pillow, breathing in cold, fresh notes of his cologne, and then you’re asleep.

You climb out of bed the next morning, your minidress rumpled under a long shirt. It's not like a hangover, no, you just find yourself a bit lightheaded and throat parched, and the disorientation makes your head spin as you’re greeted with the smell of fresh coffee and something savory—

Your roommate doesn’t wake up earlier than you, and she can’t cook for shit. And why were your sheets grey? Whose shirt were you—

Oh.

Fuck.

You practically burst out of Crosshair’s bedroom, and you’re not sure what you expected, but somehow you hadn’t expected to see Hunter sipping mildly on a mug of coffee while Crosshair pushes something around in a pan over their kitchen range.

“Mornin,’” Hunter offers you a small wave, and reaches for a third mug on the countertop. “Wasn’t sure how you liked your coffee so we just made it black.”

“What happened last night?” you gasp. If you weren’t so panicked, you’re certain the sight of them sporting nothing but grey sweats would have been your only concern, but you’ve just woken up with foggy memories and the slimy dread of anxiety that follows a blackout night.

“Easy, easy,” Crosshair assures you as he steps away from the stovetop. “Nothing happened after we smoked. You took, like, two hits, and you were so hazy you couldn’t remember your dorm number, so we put you to bed, and I slept out in the living room. Fetts are wild but we’re not scumbags, promise.”

And judging from the throw blanket sliding off the edge of the couch cushions, you’re fairly certain you can believe him. Relief floods your chest.

“Oh thank God,” you sigh, and your shoulders sag as the weight of panic sloughs off your back.

They both laugh softly, the sudden tension lifting from the bright morning light, and you can’t help but join in. And when that rosy relief gives way to silence again, it’s Crosshair who speaks next.

“So, you staying for breakfast?”

“Can I borrow some actual clothes first?”

“Done deal.”

#fun fact: my signature party trick is flirting with a guy and then stealing his blunt ✌️😗#thinking about how schlorbe n i agreed crosshair listens to souncloud mumble rap :/#its ok i kiss him anyways #hc that crosshair’s an econ/finance bro and hunter’s a history major hehe #sequel series: crosshair goes venture capital (gross)#tech's probably at like the space equivalent of mit or something #and i will Die on the hill that wrecker's super smart with kinesiology #crosshair x reader #hunter x reader #sergeant hunter x reader #the bad batch x reader #anon #yaej.writes

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jeonbots · 3 years ago

Text

AJAR (1) | Jungkook (m)

pairing: jungkook - fem. reader

genre: angst, smut, fluff

warnings: demon!jungkook, nogitsune!jungkook, troubled!oc, minor character death, mentions of death, mention of a car accident, oc keeps nightmare-ing, jungkook is a fear demon, nogitsunes love chaos, mentions of sex, drinking, swearing, explicit sexual content such as oral (f receiving), fingering, breast playing, nipple sucking; dark rooms, blood, wounds, drugging, taehyung is a prick i'm sorry, poor oc just wants to sleep peacefully, jk won't let her, partying, overuse of the pet name ‘sugarplum’

words: 5k

a.n.: heyyyy! ik i was supposed to post that wizards of wavery place au but i havent finished it yet, i wasn't happy with it so i decided to change it up a bit. this story however has been in my drafts for about a year sooo here's the first part! it's gonna be a 2 part story :)))) enjoy

part two

/!\ UNEDITED /!\

—

You don’t remember the first time it happened. Or vaguely. Maybe five, six months ago? You’re not sure. But you do remember the darkness and the loneliness you felt at that moment. When you closed your eyes and you felt your body fall in an endless hole, skin itching uncomfortably. You had realized it itched because it was on fire, agony screeching out of your mouth and resonating in– in nothingness. And then you saw it. Its black, mundane eyes staring back at you like it was a hunter and you were its prey. You felt like suffocating until you had dug your nails into your palms hard to wake yourself up. Your body had jerked forward and you had screamed your lungs out until your throat burned, the tears streaming down your face uncontrollably. From this moment forward, you hadn’t sleep an entire night without waking up crying out loud in the middle of the night, your friend rushing to you. The first week, it was the same dream. The fall, your body on fire, the suffocating air, the piercing black eyes and your anxious and frightened awaking state.

The eighth night, you opened your eyes and found yourself on a cold floor, darkness surrounding you. You blinked a few times before adjusting to the poor lighting and suddenly your body shivered as you felt someone– or something– watching you intensely. You turned your head sideways trying to find the source of your discomfort but nothing was there. Until you heard it. A laughter. It was more of a snicker really, but it ran through your whole being, shaking your insides. The voice that had mocked you out loud had been so cold and dark, almost resembling a demon that you flinched. You tried to get on your feet but the cry that broke through you stopped you. You plopped back down on the floor, looking down at your body, taking in the deep cut and the blood pouring out of your right thigh.

“Help me! Please!” You cried, tears running down your face.

No response.

You lowered your head and sobbed. “I want to wake up.” You whispered, tears soaking your shirt.

Minutes, maybe hours passed. You weren’t sure. You just knew that you had stopped crying at some point. The wound on your leg didn’t seem to stop bleeding and you felt the life force being poured out of you everytime blood gushed out of your leg. You had laid back down on the cold marble, eyes closed and your arms and legs splayed out on the ground, resembling a starfish. The snicker from earlier returned and you abruptly opened your eyes, going in a sitting position and frenetically whipping your head around the area, searching for the source of your torments.

“Who are you? What do you want from me?”

The mocking grew closer and louder, and before you knew you were pulled back down on your back, breathe knocking out of you by the sheer force of the impact. You felt your arms move on their own accord, coming to lay against your sides as slender fingers grabbed your ankle and dragged you across the room, ignoring your pleas and cries for help.

“Let me in, sugarplum.”

It was softer than the snicker, but you still caught the dark timbre lying underneath.

“Who–”

Your body suddenly came to a halt and when you looked up, a large figure was towering over you. The jolt of surprise coming out of your mouth when the stranger bent down didn’t go unnoticed as you could make out rosy lips smirking right at you in the darkness. You shuddered as the stranger passed their fingers up your leg, ghosting over your wound before pressing down on it harshly with his palm. You cried out and tried to back off but your attempts were futile as two strong hands suddenly grabbed your hips, throwing you over a strong shoulder as they began to walk to some direction, you didn’t really know. You thrashed in the stranger’s hold, crying even more than before and before you knew, you were carelessly thrown on a mattress. Seconds later you heard footsteps and the click of a door, meaning you had been locked up in some room.

You sighed shakily as you glanced around the room. On your right, there was a small dusty bedside table with one drawer, a small lamp put on top of it and a box of matches right next to it. In the corner of the room, you could make out a maroon desk with some journals sprawled out on top of it and next to it a door closed, probably the one the stranger used to bring you here. However, on the opposite wall to your right there was another door. This one was slightly open. You frowned and forced yourself to get off the mattress, struggling to get on your feet. The second you were standing your legs gave away and you fell forward, landing on the nearest wall as your palms impacted your fall. The wall rubbed harshly against your skin as you let out a small cry, gasping at the pain running throughout your entire body.

How could a dream feel so real?

You brushed the thoughts off and started walking towards what you thought was your only way out of there, even if you knew deep down that it was not. You still were pretty much pressed against the wall, slowly making your way towards the strange door. When you finally reached it, you pressed a hand firmly against the wall as the other went to shakily grab the handle.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, sugarplum.”

You froze.

No. Please.

You didn’t move. Not an inch. Not even to open the door completely or to turn around to meet your captor. But you sensed him shifting closer until his front was pressed against your back, an arm snaking around your waist to keep you close as you closed your eyes instinctively. His breathe fanned over your shoulder, lips brushing against your ear.

“Do you really want to face your biggest fears now?” He whispered.

“Please... let me go...” You whimpered.

“This is not the way out, sugarplum.”

He grabbed at your hips and spun you around and you yelped when you were met with familiar black eyes. Your own eyes grew wide and you took a few steps back until your back hit the wall softly. Even in all this darkness, the only thing you could make out about his appearance was complete dark and cold set of eyes.

“If you want out,” he followed your steps until he was hovering above your fragile and wounded form, “you just gotta let me in.” He ducked his head into the space between your neck and shoulder, nipping at your earlobe.

“Who are you?” You breathe out, staring at an invisible dot at the wall opposite to the one you’re pressed against.

He chuckled against your ear and a shiver ran down your spine. Yeah, that was straight up demonic.

He pulled his head out of your neck and leaned an arm on one side of your head against the wall and brought the other one around your jaw, lifting your head up to meet his intimidating gaze.

“Your worst nightmare, sugarplum.”

Then he laughed. It rang loud enough in your ear and you could hear the darkness in his mocking tone as he turned around and walked away from you. And suddenly, you were screaming. Screaming as you sat up in familiar warmth, hands fisting your sheets and tears running down your face. Realization dawn upon you as your cries had lowered in volume and you quickly pushed the covers aside, relief washing over you as your right thigh was not wounded. No blood, no horrible deep cut that made you want to puke. Your breathing was labored as you whimpered, the door of your room opening in a hurry.

“Fuck.” Your friend cursed out before making her way to you, sitting on the bed.

“I–I’m fine, I’m okay. It’s okay.” You avoided her gaze, hand coming to wipe off the tears on your red cheeks.

“No, you’re not Y/N. How long are you gonna keep this up? It’s been a whole fucking week and I don’t fucking know what’s happening to you. It scares the shit out of me.” Henri softly grabbed your head in her two hands, turning your head to meet her gaze as she rubbed your cheeks with her thumbs in a comforting way.

You breathed out shakily. “I think I’m going crazy.” You whispered, lower lip trembling as the tears threatened to spill out again.

“Let’s get you some help. Please.” She pleaded as she bore her eyes into yours. You nodded after a long minute and you saw the look of relief wash over your best friend’s face. She leaned forward as she pressed a kiss to your forehead then engulfing you in his arms. You rested your head on her shoulder as she rubbed your back.

“So, what happened before the incident?”

Three weeks later you were in seated in a beige sofa– a pretty comfy one, you had to admit– for your fourth therapy session with an older woman facing you on her baby pink armchair, her auburn hair styled up in a neat bun, a white dress-shirt tucked in a surprisingly colorful long skirt covering her legs as she had crossed one over the other. You learned after your first session that she liked fashion, noticing that her outfits were always on point and that she definitely should give you some advice. When you had woken up this morning, you had taken a quick shower and thrown on a grey sweater with matching grey sweatpants, not bothering to put make-up on. Why would you? You were about to talk about your deepest fears with a total stranger. You were glancing at the clock hung up on the wall nervously before she spoke up again at your silence.

“I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me, Y/N.” Her tone was soft and you felt your throat tighten.

You cleared your throat rather awkwardly. “Uh, I was out with some friends.” You nodded mostly to yourself but she hummed, telling you that she was all ears even though she was sometimes glancing down at her notepad to write something. “And, uh, there was this new club that opened on South Lake. We wanted to check it out and we were dressed accordingly so... we went. When we arrived there, the club was pretty full and we lost track of each other at some point... Uh, and I was pretty drunk. So I made out with a friend of mine and we uh, fucked. Yeah, pretty intense fuck if you ask me.” You laugh awkwardly as you saw the corner of her mouth twitch upwards. She was comforting, somehow.

“So yeah, I fucked the guy then I called my br-”

The words died in your throat as you froze. Clarisse felt you tense under her stare but nothing changed on her face.

“You were going to talk about your older brother, Jason?”

You lowered your head and started fidgeting with your fingers placed in your lap, gulping as you felt your eyes water. You hadn’t realized in your storytelling that you were going to have to bring up that subject at some point. You nodded shakily, a few tears rolling down your cheeks.

“I should’ve never done that.” You whispered and the last words came out in a broken whimper. The woman opened her mouth, about to talk but was cut off by your sudden voicing.

“Is it over yet?” Clarisse jumped slightly at the way you had abruptly raised your head, looking at the awful clock as you brought your hands to your face to wipe off the tears with the sleeves of your sweater.

“Y/N–”

“Oh,” you fake-heartedly laughed, cheeks still stained with wetness, “would you look at that! It’s been an hour already.”

“Wait–”

“Goodbye, Ms. Blackwood.”

You had already grabbed your bag and bolted out of the door as Clarisse sat on her chair, dumbfounded.

You never went back to therapy. A small part of you felt bad for leaving the kind woman in her confusion but the other part– the larger one– was relieved you didn’t have to go through painful memories anymore.

College isn’t as hard as you’ve imagined. Ever since your brother’s death you had found the world of books and words fascinating. At first, your roommate would ogle at you like you were some kind of wild animal who had escaped from the zoo then she understood the change in behavior. You were quite the party girl before the car crash; always going out with friends, having fun in summer homes or going to frat parties. And now you’ve become what people call a ‘bookworm’. Of course, it doesn’t take your mind off the horrendous and painful nightmares you’re having every night, but it helps get yourself distracted from the intense ache in your chest. At first you had tried booze to keep your mind off the terrible monsters haunting you but all it did was giving you painful aftermath headaches and a horrible sinking feeling in your stomach. The last time you got really drunk, you threw up your entire stomach in some random front lawn and you collapsed on the grass, dazing off to a sleeping state. And your eyes closed slowly until you woke up in a familiar dark room, pleading and begging to be released.

You swore you’d never drink again.

“Y/N!” A warm breathe tickles the side of your face and you turn your head sideway to face the person who’s arm is draped around your shoulders, the other coming to settle around your waist, clinging to you loosely.

“You’re drunk,” you state, looking at your friend’s giggling form.

“And you’re not,” she pouts as she leans a bit more on your frame. “Come on, get drunk with us Y/N.” Her words are slurred.

“Henri,” you sigh. Your nightmares aren’t unknown to your friend, in fact, when it first happened, she was the first person you called, your sobbing making her heart ache through the receiver. She had decided to join you that night, knocking at your door fifteen minutes later, hands full of junk food and candy. You had spent majority of the night laughing and eating your fears away, Henri wanting to make you feel better. After that night, she’d decided to move in with you.

You look down your half-empty cup, the brown-ish liquid taunting you. You can practically see its mocking smile, waves of gold beaming through the dark beverage. “You know I won’t.” Before she can protest though, her warmth disappears and you hear her gasp and you see from the corner of your eyes the boy you recognize as her boyfriend Justin pressing his lips against hers, silently rolling your eyes.

The living room is packed with people grinding against each other, kissing in corners or going up the stairs, probably to fuck their sexual frustration away. Justin’s frat house always throws the most anticipated parties in the campus, and of course Henri wouldn’t miss it for the world. They’re like– the must-go parties, house full of free booze and weed in every corner, half of the campus always attends them. You hadn’t gone to a party in forever though, still traumatized by the last time you were blackout drunk but Henri had insisted the whole week and you said yes just a few hours ago. You didn’t feel like dressing up but she almost screamed at you to at least make an effort and you settled on a high-waisted black denim skirt that stops mid-thigh and a black tube top tucked underneath with some white sneakers after a long hour of Henri rummaging through your closet.

“Y/N!”

Turning your head to the familiar voice, you smile as the dark-haired man you’ve grown to appreciate the company of walks towards you with his own beaming smile.

“Oh, I’ve missed you!” He engulfs you in his arms as you giggle before awkwardly patting his back with your free hand.

“I’ve missed you too, Taehyung.”

Justin was the one to introduce you to Taehyung at his birthday party three years ago. He had been Justin’s drug dealer for quite a few years and he had been hooking you up ever since. Deciding to stop doing drugs ultimately made you stop calling Taehyung for weed and cocaine, and you two lost touch as the months went by.

“It’s been– what, about a year?” He says as he steps back, rubbing the back of his neck. You briefly glance at his appearance, loose black dress shirt and the tight fitting jeans hanging on his hips. The shirt’s collar is large enough to have his collarbone peeking out of the fabric, your thighs clenching under your skirt. You skillfully hide your evident arousal as you learned to do over the years and look back up only to find yourself squirming when you notice his lingering gaze on your breasts covered by the thin fabric of the tube top. He slowly licks his lips and you bite back a whine, your slick arousal already starting to seep through your panties and onto your inner thighs.

“Ten months,” you correct with an apologetic smile on your lips.

“Yeah,” he looks back into your eyes at your words and nods before looking around the place, not an ounce of shame taking over his features for being caught staring. “Uh, I haven’t had the chance to, uh, say it but I’m sorry for your loss.”

You gulp as you look down at your drink. “Thanks–”

“W-well not the chance but you know what I mean.”

You giggle as you shake your head. “It’s okay. Thank you, Tae. It really means a lot.”

Memories flood through your mind as you recall the times you would get high with Henri, Justin, Taehyung and a few other friends before the accident, all spread out on the couch and the carpet of some random house as you’d talk and laugh about basically anything. You’d say those were the happiest moments of your life and you’d do anything to turn back time and have this short yet vivid moment of happiness running through your veins just one more time, dopamine spreading through your whole being. And those nights you had spent in Taehyung’s bed, his cock pounding your walls as he sucked bruises onto your skin, the delicious drag of his length sending you over the edge.

As if answering your– unwanted –prayers, Taehyung slowly approaches you with a sly smirk, a hand propped on the counter beside your hip as he leans over your figure. You look up at him quizzically.

“I thought maybe,” he licks his lips as he glances down at your lips and back at your eyes, “you’d want to have some fun.”

You raise an eyebrow as his free hand digs into his jeans’ pocket, a small plastic bag dangling from his fingers as he lifts his hand at eyes level. You’d recognize those blue pills anywhere.

“No.”

“C’mon, Y/N. Just one, like old times.”

The hand that was on the counter comes hovering your neck, his slender fingers softly caressing the skin there. You shudder as his palm grabs your nape more firmly, his thumb rubbing the side of your neck.

“Taehyu–”

His sudden lips on your ear clamps your mouth shut and your eyes flutter, the lids closing as he starts to suck on the lobe. The grip on your half-empty cup weakens and you hastily put it down on the counter behind you, a few droplets of alcohol spilling on the marble. He presses his chest against yours as he starts kissing down your neck, licking and sucking until he reaches your collarbone where he vacuums the skin in his pink-tinted lips, a whimper making its way past your own. His arms snake around your waist and press you even harder against him as you grab his biceps for leverage, his hard-on poking at your thigh as you gradually let your head fall back.

You don’t notice the small blue pill he manages to sneakily drop into your beverage, its shape dissolving in the drink to slowly disappear into the abyss of its intoxication.

“Holy fuck.”

Your back arched against the mattress and your eyes closed in unadulterated bliss as Taehyung laps at your clit, you moan shamelessly as your hips jerk at each flick of his tongue against your cunt. He hungrily devours your sex and your buzzed state doesn’t protest even after your third orgasm. You still haven’t touched his cock.

“Ho– fuck– Tae, stop, I can’t– ngh– too much.”

He reluctantly leans away from your pussy, mouth and chin covered in your juices as he hovers your fucked out state, his smirk growing wider as he wipes your arousal off his face with the back of his hand.

“I still gotta fuck you full of my cum, baby.”

You release a shaky breath as you bite your lower lip, one hand seductively traveling down the expense of his chest through his shirt as your lust-painted eyes drink in his features. As you reach down his jeans, you subtly grab his crotch as you palm his hardened length, his breathing growing heavier.

“You’re still that needy?” He chuckles and you nod, boring your eyes into his as you lean forward to pepper kisses on his jaw.

You whine when his deft fingers rub your slit, coating his digits with your cum. “Fuck me, please. It’s been so long.”

“I know baby, I know.” He suddenly shoves two fingers in your sloppy hole, a moan slipping past your lips. “Gotta stretch you first for my cock.”

The sudden yet pleasurable stretch has your eyes rolling back in your skull, his skillful fingers pumping in and out of your heat at a delirious pace as your hands fist the sheets beneath you. His thumb comes rubbing at your clit and your hips jerk in his palm, loud moans escaping your parted lips. The stretch of a third finger in your walls has your orgasm spiraling at full speed, untamed pleasure hitting you for the fourth time tonight, your lips parting in a silent scream as you plop your head back down on the sheets.

“Fuck,” the man curses under his breath as he lazily fucks you through your climax, his own hard-on becoming way too painful. You slowly catch your breath as his fingers slip out of your heat and he presses his hips into yours, your thighs caging his waist.

You smile up at him through closed eyes, your high slowly descending and when your heartbeat regains its original pace, you open your eyes.

And your smile falters.

Familiar cold dark orbs are staring right back at you instead of the warm brown of Taehyung’s pupils, and you try to squirm away but find it impossible as the same invisible force pins you down.

“I– you–”

He chuckles.

“Sugarplum, long time no see.” His hand strokes your hair and you whimper, your legs still locked around the man’s waist.

“Please,” you whisper weakly, a tear rolling down your cheek.

“I don’t want to hurt you, sugarplum.”

In this new lighting and his proximity, you can see the man’s face clearer than any of the previous encounters. As he leans forward to nose at your cheek, you can finally see his features and your lips part in shock.

His eyes are beautiful. A dazing shape, his dark orbs morphing into soft doe eyes, the tip of his nose almost kissable and his lips– God, his lips look delicious. Soft, plump lips so inviting, and you can’t help the hand hovering his face, your fingers gently caressing his plumpness. His dark hair falls messily around his head and you have the sudden urge to comb your fingers through his locks just to feel the silk-like strands through your digits.

He is demonically magnificent.

His free hand reaches to envelop your curious one, his eyes boring into yours. You shudder under his gaze and instead of cowering, you bring your other hand to push a strand away from his forehead.

“See? I’m no monster.” He smiles sweetly– almost too sweetly– and you gulp.

“What do you want from me?”

“I’ve told you countless times, sugarplum.”

His hand slides to your wrist in a harsh grip and you gasp as the other hand curls around your neck, squeezing your throat as he cuts off your air supply.

“Let me in.”

You whimper as the grip on your throat is unbearable, making you writhe under his hold. His hips ruth into yours and your naked cunt rubs against the material of his pants harshly, the outline of his obviously hard cock digging into your slit. As you feel yourself slowly falling into unconsciousness, he releases your throat and ascends down to your collarbone, reaching your tube top and pulling it down, a moan vibrating through his chest at the sight of your bare breasts. Each of his hand cups your mounds, his thumbs and forefingers pinching each pebbled nipple as you whine, your teeth caging your lower lip in a futile attempt to keep quiet. He notices that and releases a breast to harshly slap your thigh around his waist. You jolt in surprise and look at him with wide eyes.

“Don’t hold back. You sounded so sweet earlier.”

He doesn’t let you respond as he dives his head in, taking a nipple into his mouth to suck on the mound as he squeezes the other with his hand, pinching the nub in between his fingers. The moan that escapes your lips is unraveling, your hips automatically grinding against his in hope to find purchase. When he’s done with one breast, he does the same to the other one before pulling away, a hand stroking your hair affectionately as he stares at you.

“So beautiful.”

The blush on your cheeks isn’t going unnoticed and he smirks, his gaze lingering on your breasts heaving due to your ragged breathing. He then looks back up at your face before leaning forward and gently pecking your lips in a close-mouthed kiss, once, twice, then he starts trailing down your jaw to your neck, sucking bruises for everyone to see. You whine as you thread your fingers in his hair, and before you register it he has plunged two fingers in your heat, your stomach clenching to oversensitivity.

You moan as you buck your hips in his hand, surprised to even have enough energy to respond to the demon’s ministrations. His fingers are thick enough to hit all the right places and when his thumb strokes your engorged clit, your fifth orgasm of the night couldn’t have come sooner, a drawn-out moan escaping your swollen lips. As your walls squeeze his fingers deeply in your pussy, he groans above you before planting kisses down your throat. Leaning away from your neck as he pulls his fingers out, your arousal drips down his digits and you see strings of your slick juices connecting them when he parts them. Embarrassment manifesting in the red of your cheeks, you stare at the man happily lapping at his arousal-coated fingers, his pink lips wrapped around the skin.

“H–how did I get here?” You quietly ask as soon as your breathing came to normal. His furrowed eyebrows encourage the next words flowing past your lips, his digits falling free from the grip of his lips.

“I– I wasn’t asleep nor drunk and–”

The entire evening you made sure that you weren’t drinking too much, even had Justin’s special party booze out of tonight’s menu. Surely, you would remember if you had fallen asleep. Wait, had you passed out while Taehyung was fucking you? No way, you weren’t drunk. You hadn’t taken any substance or drugs or pills-

Pills. Blue, soft, dangerous pills.

Realization hits you in the guts and you suddenly find it hard to breathe. The way he had kissed your neck, your momentarily forgotten cup on the counter, his wandering hands–

“He,” you whisper, breath hitching as you choke out a whimper, “he drugged me?”

Gently, he places a kiss on your cheek. “Sugarplum.”

“He– he drugged me, and that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” The aching in your chest is too much for your heavy state and you start blinking away tears you didn’t know had started to pool at the corner of your eyes.

He sighs above you, his breath fanning over your face. Plopping down on the space next to you on the bed as he frees himself from the grip your thighs had around him, his hand gently strokes your naked waist until he reaches your breast, softly rubbing the skin as his thumb lightly flicks over your nipple. In an attempt to soothe your pain, you assume.

Trust is overrated, you conclude.

Here you are; crying over a man you’d learn to like over the past few years as the man you’ve been running from comforts your burning heart.

“It is,” he affirms and you don’t even question how he managed to answer your unspoken thoughts. The sob that breaks past your lips is heart wrenching and you bring your hands to your face, covering the entirety of it as the tears flow freely down your face.

He turns to you and envelops your shaken form in his embrace, your chest pressed against his as he runs a soothing hand down the expanse your bare back. And that’s how you fall asleep that night, without the nightmare that usually haunts your sleepless mind and instead, you find solace in the very man you’d grown to despise.

-----

#jungkook reader #jeon jungkook #bts #jungkook #jungkook smut #smut #angst #fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #taehyung #kim taehyung

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obey-only-me · 3 years ago

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Kitten Lessons (Lucifer x F!Mc x Satan) By: Akuzondelivery

No one was going near the library. The volume of their conversation alone let everyone know that this was going to be a long argument. Satan and Lucifer were fighting. Again.

“What are they fighting about?” You had to yell over the rumble of curse words and energy as you stood in front of the door.

“I don’t remember but it’s never anything important!” Mammon yelled with his fingers in his ears.

The other brothers may be used to this but there was no way you could live like this.

When they still hadn’t left the library after dinner had been cleaned up, you stood in front of the door again. It felt dark...very dark. And the noises were so loud it was impossible to tell what language was being spoken. But you built up your courage! These brothers need a mediator!

Making a fist you banged on the large walnut doors as hard as you could. The sound was muffled by the loud screeches yet everything came to a halt at your soft by comparison knocks. Taking a deep breath you opened the door to the library and bravely stepped in.

“Uh-um, hey you two.” Your voice was quiet as you entered the room, closing the door behind you.

Scanning the room you spotted Lucifer sitting behind a desk reading and Satan at a table in front of a couch...also reading. The two were acting nonchalantly as possible but you could see the anger vibrating off of them. What could have possibly sparked such tense energy?

You weren’t sure what to say so you sat on a couch between the two, sharing the table with Satan. On it were several books on cats, familiars, and how to raise kittens.

Oh geez...Satan wants a cat. Again. And Lucifer definitely already said no. Again.

You couldn’t help but pick up one of the books that was left open to a page of kittens. Satan watched you carefully as you thumbed through the pages.

“MC what are you doing,” Satan asked with a slightly annoyed sigh.

“Well I’m in the library...just thought I’d do some reading. In the LIBRARY!” You made sure it echoed, hoping they’d take the hint you were annoyed by their fighting.

Another silence fell over the room. You peaked over Satan’s shoulder to see Lucifer fidgeting in his seat. He met your gaze but turned away a little embarrassed. If you’re annoyed then it certainly must have been some display. Even Satan had a regretful look. But you ignored them, hoping the pretend cold shoulder would be enough to break them.

Staying in character you flipped a page roughly to see how they would react. Satan sighed again but kept himself from caving. The rough treatment of the pages was really getting to him. Those were some of his favorite cat books. After the third or fourth flip he broke.

“You can’t do that MC, the pages will rip.” Satan sighed as he took the book from you. But you smiled now that he was sitting next to you. Holding the book and flipping the pages gently for you. His eyes lit up as he spoke about the cats and feline habits. This boy just wants a pet.

“Awwwwe they’re so cute Satan.” You giggled as you listen to him read. “Cats are such good pets.”

“Would you like a pet?” Satan asked with a smirk, feeling much more relaxed now.

“Nah...we have Mammon.” You joked.

“You know...you could be my pet instead. I wouldn’t mind taking care of you.” Satan flirted. This definitely made the eldest stir, Satan of course noticed. Maybe to make Lucifer mad again, Satan put an arm around you and brought you close on the couch.

“Geez.” You grumbled as you blushed, heat rising to your cheeks.

“I even have a collar, here. I brought this earlier.” Satan pulled out a thin black nylon collar with a small plastic clasp. There was a silver bell the size of your pinky attached. His large hands loosened the collar all the way and firmly snapped it around your neck.

“Hey!” You protested as your fingers traced the uncomfortable fabric.

“Too cute.” Satan’s face was slightly red as he admired you, laughing a little at your distress.

“Unbelievable. MC don’t feed into his strange hang ups.” Lucifer grumbled as he sat on the couch across from both of you.

“Good timing. MC has offered to be my pet. So I’ll just be taking her and going to my room-“

“Not so fast. Sit down Satan.” Lucifer spoke firmly, however Satan didn’t address him with any more concern than before. Though he did sit back down.

“I had an idea. If you can show me you can be a good pet owner, I’ll consider your request more seriously.” Lucifer had gotten his attention now.

“How so?”

“Well...since MC offered to be your pet...”

Without much protest, the two dressed you as the pet they would play with. A set of cat ears firmly set in place, the collar Satan had gifted you earlier, and a small but comfortable plug decorate with a long cat tail. You sat on your knees obediently and in defeat.

“I’m enjoying this test so far.” Satan cooed.

“I have to say I am too.” Lucifer chuckled.

You pouted, knowing they were enjoying this way too much.

“Awww, I know what will make kitten happy.” Satan placed you on his lap and gently played with your hair, making sure it stayed off your neck. “Feel free to purr a little if you like MC.”

You only squirmed, embarrassed by the attention and the game they were both playing.

“I think our little kitten wants some attention...” Satan teased as he kissed at your neck. Part of your task was to keep from verbally communicating, letting your owners learn their new kitten’s wants and needs by learning your language. This was going to be impossible: sighs already slipping through your lips as Satan’s tongue traced every sensitive spot across your neck and toward your ear. “I’m happy to give it, you can watch if you want...” Satan smirked over at Lucifer who had been sitting and watching everything so far.

“Hmph. When a learning moment arises, Ill be ready to join you.” The eldest held a devious smirk as he watched you squirm in Satan’s grasp.

Two slender fingers slipped between your lips and gently rolled against your tongue. His kisses and love bites were traveling lower now, the trail of kisses making your skin hot. The muffled noises coming from you were loud and clear though, you were enjoying the attention. As his two fingers twirled your tongue, the other caressed the underside of your breasts. Skilled fingers easily found your sensitive peaks under your clothing and twisted them just the right way. Your moans were breathy and sultry.

Lucifer sat with his legs crossed on the couch in front of the one you were on. His smug expression stayed as his eyes took in the sight of you being ravished. Your face was hot as you noticed him watching you indulge in Satan’s touch.

Satan’s cock was grinding against your lower back as he fondled your breast, using his saliva covered fingers to give more attention to your nipples. You hissed at the cool, wet feeling. Your squirming had your hips grinding and moving against his hardening cock making him catch his breath. Satan caught your lips in his to quiet the moans he wants to hear only for himself. He doesn’t want to share them with Lucifer. His hands adjust again leaving one hand on your breast as the other traveled between your legs to feel how excited you were growing.

Lucifer was slowly removing his gloves as he watched Satan’s fingers slip beneath the thin strip of clothing covering your arousal. Satan dipped his fingers inside you, cooing as he felt how wet you were. You gave a low moan as he covered his fingers in your slick.

Meanwhile, Lucifer had made his way over, sitting next you both on the couch and moving your hips towards him. Both you and Satan looked at him quizzically, a smirk growing as he caught your attention.

“I found my first teachable moment, keep going.” Lucifer spoke as he easily removed your soaking underwear. You continued to moan and squirm as Satan once against spread your walls. You saw Lucifer watching you, eyes glued to yours as his fingers began to gently roll and tease your clit. Your heavy breathing and rolling hips made Satan even harder, you could feel his cock pressed against your lower back.

“Hmmm, so kitten likes that too?” Satan hummed in your ear. “Why don’t you meow for us if you’re enjoying our fingers?”

Your face felt hot, Satan was so horrible.

“It would help us understand our pet more, why don’t you meow when you feel good MC?” Lucifer echoed Satan’s proposed rule. Lucifer was horrible too.

But you complied; you were getting needier and needier from their teasing.

“M-mew?...meow?” You tested the waters.

You received an eager reward; both of them moved faster, harder. Lucifer gently teased at the tail like plug they so delicately picked out for you. Satan’s fingers were roughly playing at your nipples, sending waves of pleasure through you. You let little meows and moans slip as you got closer and closer the the edge of orgasm.

“Are we spoiling our pet?” Lucifer asked Satan as you grew louder.

“It’s so hard not to. She’s just so cute.” He chuckled lowly.

“C-cumming...” you moaned as your head languidly rested against Satan’s chest.

“Hm? What’s that kitten?” Satan hummed back, moving his fingers faster and curving into just the right spot. Lucifer made sure your clit was being treated just as pleasurably. They both sent you into bliss, moaning and spasming throughout your high. Your heavy panting slowed as you relaxed on the couch.

Both demons chuckled lowly, you could hear them both remove more of their clothing; jackets and sweaters and ties were set to the side. You were malleable after such a strong orgasm, so it was easy for them to put you on your knees on the floor between both of them.

“Feeding time MC? Are you...hungry?” Satan teased by running a finger against your jaw and pulling your gaze to him. He had already freed his erect member from his pants, pulling your chin closer and closer. As he held your attention, Lucifer placed one of your hands over his own cock, also freed from his slacks.

“You must be. Good thing we have extra for you. Hm hm. Now I’m spoiling her too.”

Your lips wrapped around Satan’s tip, giving teasing licks at his slit as you held the base of his cock; while your fingers on the other hand did the same to Lucifer’s. You could hear them both sigh and lowly moan as you gave them both attention.

They were both suddenly impatient and began moving their own hips. Satan held a hand on the back of your head as he pushed himself into the back of your throat. Lucifer also bucked into your grip around his thick length. Soon the hand on the back of your head was Lucifer’s; and it was now his cock going down your throat.

Your muffled mews and moans made both demons quicken their pace, passing your mouth between them to abuse your tongue and throat. All the while the faint sound of the bell on your collar rang out. You could hear Satan quietly mumble under his breath as he got closer; “So good. So good.” Lucifer was more conservative, not wanting to unravel too much, but his low throaty moans made it clear he was growing closer to cumming too.

As if they had the same idea, both stood from the couch, pulling your hair slightly to tilt your face back.

“Open up MC, this is for you.” Lucifer huffed.

“Stick out your tongue.” Satan commanded.

The good pet you are, you followed suit and opened wide as they both attempted to cum in your mouth. They covered your tongue, some dripping down your chin. With a heavy sigh Satan sat back to admire your condition. Cum and arousal painted your face.

“You look so amazing right now Kitten...” he mused as he watched you swallow everything.

“I don’t think we’re done yet.” Lucifer hissed as he reached beneath you to slip his fingers against your folds. Covering his fingers in your dripping slick before inserting two digits. “You’re still so wet MC. You still need to be taken care of little kitten.”

Lucifer swept you off the floor and into his lap, you could feel he was still hard as he let his cock grind against your heat. Satan watched you carefully as he positioned you over his thick cock and entered you slowly. Your whole body shifted to make room for Lucifer’s thick cock. Once seated fully in his lap, his shaft stretching and filling you, he had a devious idea. Keeping his hips still, he grabbed the back of your hand to wipe your still dirty chin, smearing cum over the back of your hand and fingers.

“Why don’t you lick your paw clean for Satan while I treat you a little more?” He smirked as his hips bucked gently.You began bouncing in his lap as you put on a show.

Satan was mesmerized. You were bouncing on a cock all while moaning and mewling, desperately trying to lick your hand free of cum. With the ears. And the tail. And your little meow he could never forget. Satan was finally overcome with lust, quickly becoming hard again and stroking his cock at the sight of you.

“Fuck...” he cursed under his breath.

You watched him as he moved to stand behind you. You felt his palm against your back push you toward Lucifer, causing your hips to rise and chest to press into Lucifer’s face. The tail plug you had grown accustomed to was slowly pulled from you, a moan slipping from you as Satan replaced it with his hard cock.

It was so intense being filled by both impressive members, both reaching deep and making you grip the back of the couch tightly. Hearing you moan so loudly made Satan quickly ease his thrusts into you while Lucifer picked up his own pace. Lucifer’s soft lips wrapped around your nipple, gently tugging and biting. Your breasts bouncing against his face drove him crazy.

Satan buried his cock deeper and deeper into you as your walls began sucking him in. Leaning into you more he kissed up your back, to your shoulder, and to the crevice of your neck.

“Keep meowing kitten. Tell us how much you love being our pet.” His whisper was laced with lust and desperation.

At this point you could only focus on the stars clouding your vision, the mewls and whines slipped on their own. Those little meows drive him insane however.

“That’s right. Good MC. You’re taking this cock so well.” Lucifer hissed against your skin as his release grew closer.

“Good kitten. Just a little more.” Satan followed.

You felt like you were going to pass out, the rush building in your core was about to burst. They could feel your body quivering around them. It wasn’t much longer and your whole body turned heated as you came with them both thrusting inside you. Your moan was loud and so, so enticing. The grip around Lucifer’s cock wasn’t letting him go as he spilled inside you, filling you with his seed.Satan followed soon after, stilling inside you to empty himself. A gaspy, restrained moan hissing pass his lips.

No one moved a moment as you each caught your breath, relaxing and separating from each other’s bodies. You remained in Lucifer’s lap as you rested your head against his chest; breathless and lost in post coital bliss. Satan sat beside the eldest and gently pushed a few strands of hair out of your face. Lucifer’s strong arms held you close and he gently stroked your back soothingly.

“You know...I guess we do have a pretty good pet already.” Satan chuckled at your pout.

“She is pretty great. Though I think we could use more...training sessions like these.” Lucifer smirked as he lifted your chin. “How about it MC? Think you’d like to take more ‘lessons’ from Satan and I...?”

#OBEY ME #obey me fanfic #lucifer #satan

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overwhore-s · 4 years ago

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Hi 🥺 um. 👉🏼👈🏼 may I request Levi x reader? Where something went wrong (a mission, deaths whatever) and reader is just ... numb. Levi really cares for her (secretly loves her) and he has to bathe her, she kind of breaks down in the tub. He can’t leave her like that for the night so he watches over her too? Is that okay? Or too much? It’s okay if it is. I’m just a sucker for hurt/comfort.

With you by my side (I just want to survive)

Keep reading for 1970 words of angst, hurt/comfort and general sadness. I don’t tend to write stuff like this often, so I might be sorta out of practice, but I do love Levi, so writing this was a blast. Huge thank you goes out to sweet Anon for inspiring this!

song reference: dreamlife by sleeping at last

Warm hands on your shoulders, keeping you steady. Blood leaking from the cut on your forehead shrouds your vision and you feel light, almost like a feather. The world around you takes a shade of crimson, the earth, the trees, the sky, all red. Your eyes are opened but you stay unresponsive, and he stops every few seconds just to check on your pulse, his finger smearing the blood, yours, his, someone else’s, all over you neck.

It’s reckless, he knows, to show his back while the battle rages on. Titans and soldiers clashing, a storm of steel and too many teeth. And yet, he has to get to his horse. The fight is lost; but he can’t lose you as well.

Finally, Erwin signals the retreat.

A bittersweet feeling overtakes him. He hates running, hates the thought of the deaths of his comrades being for naught. Part of him hates Erwin for being so reckless with your lives, his own life, but most of all, yours. You, who never hesitates. Never complains.

Finally, he catches sight of his horse. It whinnies and kicks at the grass, distressed. Levi whistles and it comes galloping towards him, as loyal as ever.

Suddenly, your knees buckle underneath you, the strength all but sapped from your body. Levi catches you, supports your weight with his own. You are so strong, always, a soldier in your own right. It hurts him to see you like this, shell-shocked, beaten, damn near breaks his heart.

Your eyes close, slowly, almost like you’re falling asleep.

Concerned, he whispers your name. No answer. He repeats it, alarmed. Your grip on his shoulder tightens momentarily, weak but reassurance enough for him to march on, half-dragging you behind him. He’s thankful for his strength as he hoists you atop the horse. He sits with his chest to your back, making sure you don’t fall off by wrapping an arm around your waist.

He barely concentrates on riding the horse, more concerned about your slowing pulse. Will you reach Wall Rose soon enough? It’s almost nightfall. Titans can’t move in the dark; they should give up their pursuit soon.

His theory proves to be right. About an hour later, the rumbling steps of titans fade into the distance. Still, Erwin shows no sign of slowing. Good. Levi will have a word with him later, but for now, his only concern is getting you to safety.

“We’re almost there,” he says, to the wind, himself, you, passed out from exhaustion in the saddle in front of him. He chases your heartbeat across your skin, only content when it pounds steadily against his fingertips. Wall Rose is finally visible and he feels so relieved he could cry. “Hold on. Hold on.”

***

You’re awake, but you dream. Everything and everyone seems to be bathed in a golden light. Hange, as they clean and bandage your many wounds while arguing about something with Erwin, who stands by the door, looking regal and authoritative as always. Knowing them, it’s about capturing more titans for experiments. If your face didn’t feel like it was made from stone, you’d crack a smile. Typical Hange.

There’s a fourth someone in the room. He’s seated in the chair next to your bed, face hidden by his hands. They are nice hands, you suppose, slender but strong-looking at the same time. You’ve seen them deal punches, wield weapons, pet horses and hold dainty teacups. Rough on the outside, gentle on the inside. You want to reach out and brush your knuckles against his, but your arm won’t move. Like it’s made of lead, your body feels oh so heavy, and the softness of the bed, suffocating.

Your eyes dart from Levi – Levi, your captain, your friend, your guardian angel – to the large wound on your thigh, currently being stitched by Hange. You frown. That wound. Like someone’s jaws left an imprint on your flesh. When did that happen? Your memory is muddied, unclear, confused.

There should be pain. Where is the pain? You briefly wonder, before losing consciousness again.

***

The second time you wake up, it’s into a nightmare. The physical pain you can deal with. But once the memories start resurfacing, you start to shake and shake. You try to scream, but nothing comes out. You sit up in the bed, hug your knees to your chest, protecting yourself from the outside world.

It’s no use. The world that’s out to get you right now hides within your mind, guilt and despair and grief.

Grief. Your comrades – what did they look like before…?! In your current state, you can only picture them on the ground, no, not them, just their bodies, broken and lifeless. The way they screamed, Walls, their last words repeat in your head until they sound almost like accusations, and finally a first tear rolls down your cheek, followed by many, many others. You tremble and sob, wanting to tear at your stitches until you bleed out. How do you get to survive, when everyone under your command has died? Your squad, always so reliable, so supportive in and out of battle, has been massacred and you did nothing to help them.

You’re a failure of a leader, failure of a soldier, failure even as a human being. Gradually, your sobs come to a halt, sadness replaced by numbness. Everything seems pointless now, with them dead.

During the day, you’re visited by many people, but none of them succeed in cheering you up. You can see your civilian friends pitying you, and the scouts look too haunted by their own demons to be able to help you. It just makes you sink further into hopelessness.

You drink only a little, and eat nothing at all, even as Hange forces a spoon full of porridge past your lips. They sigh in defeat after half an hour of fighting, muttering something about you being more stubborn than even Levi. They order someone to draw you a bath, and, with a last sympathetic look in your direction, walk out of the room.

***

“The water must be getting cold.”

You haven’t left your bed. Levi’s leaning against the door, brow furrowed in concern. He’s heard from Hange; you don’t eat, don’t communicate, never move out of this room. You’ve managed to escape relatively unscathed, thanks to his quick reflexes on the battlefield, but you’ve suffered some mental scars as well and those are the ones he’s really worried about.

“C’mon. You have to bathe. You stink of titan guts.”

Normally, you would have laughed. But this time, he notices no change in your expression, not even a small smile as reward for his best efforts.

He approaches you like he would a wounded animal, light on his feet. “Come on,” he repeats, in a gentler tone. “I’ll help you.”

At last, you nod, never one to disobey a direct order. You attempt to rise from the bed, only to tumble right into his arms. “Easy,” he says, voice thick with something he can’t quite name. “I got you.”

You nod again, face buried in his shoulder.

He helps you undress, his movements mechanical, his gaze respectfully averted. Your chemise pools around your ankles, followed by your underwear. He’s seen you naked before – there is no shame among soldiers – but with the two of you, it feels different, somehow more intimate. He turns around and waits for you to get into the bath.

“Levi.” A simple rasp of his name, signaling him you’re ready.

With your knees drawn up to your chest, you peer at him from under dark lashes. He swallows on an empty throat, grabbing the washcloth and soap someone left on the table and coming closer to you.

You are both silent as Levi washes your hair. He works efficiently but gently at the same time, massaging the soap into your scalp before rinsing it off by pouring a cup of water over it. He’s considerate with the washcloth too, rubbing your skin firmly enough to get rid of caked blood and dirt, but not too rough to irritate your many scratches and bruises.

Seeing your wounds makes something inside him break. Perhaps it’s the knowledge he did nothing to stop this from happening – you getting hurt, your squad getting wiped out, the mission failing. His hands start to shake, and he needs to take a moment bracing against the tub to calm himself.

“I know what you’re thinking,” you speak suddenly, voice weak but insistent. “And it’s not your fault.”

He scoffs in disbelief. You’re just unbelievable. Barely functioning, and still trying to take care of everyone around her. Empathetic to a fault. Sometimes he wonders if that’s part of the reason why he loves you. “Who else’s?”

Your shoulders begin to tremble as you sob out a single word. “Mine.”

You blaming yourself is a natural reaction, of course. He felt the same way when he lost his own squad during that botched operation in the forest. Even more so years ago with Furlan and Isabel.

Being the sole survivor is a different kind of pain.

“Bullshit,” he grits his teeth, jaw aching. “You want to hate someone? Hate the titans for eating them. Hate Erwin for giving the order. Hate me if you must. But you don’t get to do this to yourself. I won’t let you.”

You turn to face him, fast enough to make the water, now a depressing shade of reddish brown, spill from the bathtub. “I don’t know if I can survive this, Levi,” you admit, the sight of your tear-stained face enough to make him want to cry. “They visited me while I slept. They called out to me.”

He wishes he could wax poetic like Erwin, make out their deaths to be heroic instead of brutal, needless and terrifying. But he’s never been good with words, and he’s even worse with expressing feelings, so all that he can manage is a simple but fitting: “They were saying goodbye.”

Your eyes brim with tears again and he’s afraid he’s upset you, until you smile. It’s a brief, barely-there smile, but it still counts. “I like it, but no. I think they were saying see you later.”

He can’t and doesn’t want to argue with that. “We’ll all meet together again. On the other side.”

You nod and close your eyes, still smiling, and he thinks you look serene for a moment. Until you start shivering, and he remembers how much time has passed and that the water must be freezing already.

“Here you are.” He hands you a towel, giving you time to dry off before returning with a fresh set of clothing. Now dressed, you retreat into bed, pulling the covers over your form.

Levi doesn’t move.

“I’m not leaving,” he answers, before the question can even leave your mouth. You’ve known each other, fought beside each other for such a long time, sometimes he feels as if though he could read your mind.

“Good. I don’t want you to,” you say, almost pleadingly.

Giving a sigh of relief, he makes his way to the chair where he spent the last night as well, only for you to pat the empty space next to you.

On the bed.

Oh.

“Absolutely not,” he starts to say, but you cut him off.

“You get so little sleep as it is. It’s the least I can do to thank you…for everything. Besides…” You trail off, expression turning solemn once again. You might be doing slightly better than before, but you’re still haunted. Only time can heal you, it would be foolish to think he has any power over what you might be feeling.

“I don’t want to be alone.”

But he can make sure no monsters will get you tonight.

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman x you #snk x reader #aot x reader

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truly-madly-slytherin · 4 years ago

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The Dark Princess

*gif not mine//credit to the owner

A/N: Hello loveliessss! 🌸 so I’m hoping that my writing in this chapter has improved somewhat from the last and that it is as magical for you to read as it was for me to write ☺️ I appreciate every like, reblog and follow so thank you all so much 🥰🥰 there’s a bit of a jump between the prologue and the main story so this is more of a filler chapter and in case anyone is confused she has the diary because Tom makes sure (Y/N) intercepts it in between Ginny getting rid of it and Harry finding it. Alsooo I suck at introductions so bear with me 😅 Happy reading peoples! 🥳🥳 Italics = flashback/dream, (E/C) = your eye colour, (H/C) = hair colour

Summary: It is the beginning of the summer after your fourth year and you are moving into Riddle House with your father, at his insistence, making you think back to when you first met him during your second year at Hogwarts. You won’t be there for long though...

Pairing: AU Lord Voldemort x daughter!reader, Tom Riddle x OC!

*I don’t own any of these characters except the OC, all rights belong to J.K. Rowling and the filmmakers

PROLOGUE

Chapter One

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Riddle House once stood as the most prestigous mansion in Little Hangleton. Now whimpering on top of the hill, a ghostly shell of itself; it’s derelict and decrepit condition reflected the sinister history encased within the walls. Each room explored was more somber than the last, and emptiness clouded the air so thick it was almost suffocating.

*gif not mine//credit to the owner

The floorboards creak beneath your feet as you traipse down the hallway, your father a few steps ahead.

“And now... we have the kitchen” he announces with a flourish of his arm. Dimly lit by a grubby window, the room, like the rest of the house, left a lot to be desired. Tiles hung from the walls whilst every surface was caked in decades worth of dust. Cobwebs strewn here and there, the sink was more rust than steel and there was a large cavity where the cooker once stood.

“It’s.... interesting” you force out, the weak taste of iron flooding your tastebuds as you bring your teeth down on the flesh of your bottom lip. Taking out his wand Voldemort flicks his wrist and the dingy room quickly transforms itself into a modern kitchen.

“Wow!” you whisper running your fingers along the cool marble.

Turning to face you, his nonexistent lips contort into a terrifyingly sweet crescent. “Luckily I had the foresight to prepare your bedroom before you arrived.”

Trudging back through the hallway, you take time to notice the portraits hanging along the wall, a series of black smudges where the faces once were. Wandering upstairs you spot a door with a wooden rose-embossed sign reading ‘Y/N’s Fortress’.

“Here goes nothing” you sigh.

Entering, a gasp escapes your lips. In the middle of the large room stood a king sized four-poster bed, adorned with a rose quilted headboard and white chiffon curtains. To your left was a beautiful vintage french dressing table complete with matching bedside tables decorated in tiny hand-painted black, red and pink roses. The grand wardrobe standing beside it, decorated in the same tiny roses, could surely house more garments than you even owned. To your right hung a wicker swing seat, pink rose buds woven throughout, appearing as though it was made entirely from the delicate plants, positioned perfectly in view of the large Edwardian window. Hanging above the headboard were pictures of you, your mother and father, clipped evenly along a piece of string intertwined with fairy lights, glistening as each scene plays out before you.

“I mustn’t take any credit, Bellatrix was in charge of the preparations.” Your father states watching you from the doorway.

“It’s beautiful” you whisper, tears welling in your eyes.

Voldemort set about fixing the rest of the house giving you time to settle and take it all in. Lying on the soft mattress, you think back to the first time you met your father, a stark constrast to the man you know today.

Sitting at your desk the blank pages stare back at you and your fingers rake through your messy (H/C) curls for the hundredth time. Front to back the diary was barer than the day it was made.

You had been in the girls bathroom during lunch when you noticed something on the floor. Finding a small black book with leather as soft as feathers and gold lettering along the bottom, you pick it up to inspect it further.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

Your eyebrows crease as the name rolls off your tongue, a frown etching it’s way onto your forehead. What would a boys diary be doing in the girls bathroom? Nevertheless you keep the book, and make your way to class, letting it burn a hole through your satchel until the end of the day. Your last class was Potions and with any luck it would go quickly. Settling into your seat, you spin around to the cute blonde haired boy behind you.

“Is there any one at Hogwarts named Tom Riddle?” You ask him, red hot flames licking at your cheeks as his crystal blue eyes meet yours.

“Not that I know of. And I know everyone who is anyone around here” he snorted. Choosing to ignore the radiating arrogance you turn back to the front, mind racing. The diary didn’t belong to a Hogwarts student at all, so how on earth did it end up in our bathroom?

Your leg jerks up and down repeatedly below the desk and your eyes wander back to the clock. 3:43pm. Exactly one minute had passed from the last time you checked. Ahead of you Professor Snape is droning on about a potion you hadn’t yet caught the name of.

“And the 5th step in the brewing of the Wiggenweld Potion is...?” Snape drawls out, his beady eyes searching out his next victim. Chewing on your lip you try to concentrate, to no avail.

“Miss Rosier?” His expectant eyes land on you, lips curling into a signature smirk.

“A-add more salamander blood until the potion turns t-turquoise” you splutter.

“Very good. Someone who has obviously been making notes, wouldn’t you agree Mr Weasley?” The air escapes your lungs with a whoosh as he narrows his eyes at Ron across the room. Ron gulps, ducking his head in an attempt to hide the crimson blush now creeping up his cheeks.

Finally the clock stikes 4 and you make sure you’re the first one out, darting between the students and managing to make it halfway through the dungeons before the bell rings out. “Pureblood” you mutter, the portrait swinging open. “Ooh someone’s in a hurry!” Paying no mind to the painting you dash up the stairs.

“Tracey?”

“Daphne?”

With no answer you plonk down at your desk and begin writing.

“My name is Y/N Rosier, and this is my diary.”

Your (E/C) eyes go round, lids refusing to blink as you watch the words slowly sink into the page. Your small hands vigorously rub at them and yet the page remains just as blank as it had been originally. Your brain scrambles to make some sense of what is happening, but not giving your thoughts a chance to untangle themselves, words begin to materialise across the page.

“Hello Y/N.”

Curiosity trumping any thought of sense, the tip of your quill connects with the aged paper once more. “Who are you?”

“My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle.

And I am your father.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. The fluttering birds that previously occupied your ribcage die out as your heart threatens to beat right out of your chest, pumping ice throughout your veins at an ungodly speed. The pounding in your ears nears defeaning as the middle of the book suddenly throws out streaks of blinding light.

Regaining your vision you’re surrounded by stone walls and green glowing lamps. The click-clack of shoes echo through the dungeon as hushed whispers become audible.

“No Tom! I told you- I warned you- I told you something bad would happen- that something so evil would surely have consequences, and you ignored me. And now look! A girl has died Tom!” The young woman vigorously shakes her head, her wild ginger curls bouncing about her face while she scolds the boy.

“Lower your voice before somebody hears you.” He hisses, the pair coming to a halt in front of you. His lips curl into a sneer as his large hand wraps around her dainty wrist. “I am Lord Voldemort after all.”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that!” she seethes. Snatching her wrist from his grasp, her perfectly manicured finger points at his face. “Your name is Thomas Marvolo Riddle and I am not one of your little followers bowing down at your feet and kissing your arse! And most importantly Tom, I am not scared of you!” She storms off and Tom continues hot on her heels as you scurry behind.

“For Merlins sake! Fleur wait-” Blocking her path, Tom’s hands come to rest on the girl’s arms, this time gently caressing her skin. “I’m sorry I should never have spoken to you like that, I don’t want you to be scared of me... I forget myself sometimes. Forgive me?” His hands move to cup her cheeks, and her slender arms wrap loosely around his torso as her anger seemingly dissolves.

“Well don’t forget yourself too much around me otherwise one day you may turn around and I won’t be here Tom.” At least a foot shorter than him, his chin rested comfortably atop her head.

“Don’t worry, Princess, it won’t be long now before I am crowned the greatest sorcerer the world has ever seen.” Her head buried into his chest ignoring the icy tones lacing the boys words.

Your hand shoots to the base of your skull as a dull ache begins to resonate. ‘He needs to work on his landings.’

“Y/N there you are! Where were you? We missed you at supper. And what on earth are you doing on the floor?” Daphne gives you a quizzical look before extending her hand and helping you up.

As you dust off your robes you try to think of a convincing lie. “I wasn’t feeling very well after Potions. I had to run straight to the loo and then came to lie down - I suppose I must have fainted.” With a shrug of your shoulders you begin to change out of your robes, Daphne following suit.

“Lumos.”

With everyone else now asleep you decide to take your chance to figure out just what on earth is going on. The faint glow illuminates the makeshift tent you had created with your bedcovers, an inkpot balanced expertly between your knees and quill secured between your teeth. Opening the diary with your free hand you reposition the wand.

“Are you there?”

Just as before the ink disappears, so sucking in a breath you stare at the page. After a few moments nothing had changed. ‘Of course it’s blank you bloody idiot. I must be going bloody barmy!’

Before you could finish scolding yourself, the words appear across the page.

“Hello again Y/N.”

“What happened earlier?” Not having much time you wanted to get straight to the point.

“No beating around the bush, I like it. Just like your mother.”

“My mother Fleur?”

“Yes, Fleur. She truly was a wonderful witch. Say, do you think you could do me a favour Y/N?”

You weigh up your options before replying. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

“I will answer all of your questions, but it must be in person.”

“But how would I? You couldn’t even see me earlier.”

“I will show you how, just go to the girls bathroom on the first floor.”

Under the mask of the invisibility spell you sneak out of the common room, diary clasped tightly under your arm. Moving through the dungeons it doesn’t take you long to reach the first floor bathroom. As you await your instructions you begin to feel a strong magnetic pull towards one of the sinks. Unable to resist you move to stand opposite. Lightly tracing the stone serpent beneath your fingertips, your mouth opens and words of a language unknown to you flow out. Suddenly the marble sink shifts to reveal a vertical tunnel.

“Jump Y/N. Jump!”

Without giving it a second thought you launch yourself down the hole. Your face scrunches up like a ball of paper as you brace yourself for an impact that doesn’t come. Landing on something soft and scaly, you open your eyes.

Below you was the largest snake you had ever laid eyes on, with skin the colour of green ivy and piercing red orbs easily the size of your skull, if not bigger. Bowing down, it repositions your body on its spiky head, and begins speeding through the tunnels. Coming to a stop in front of a large stone monument, the creature bends down and gently slides your slim frame off, and onto the wet floor.

As you stand upright, a silhouette steps out from the cover of the shadows.

"My darling Y/N..."

KNOCK. KNOCK.

Bolting upright, your confused eyes dart around the room. The sky was now jet black and above you the fairy lights were glowing softly in the darkness. Rolling your legs off of the bed you answer the door to find your father standing on the other side, arms tucked neatly behind his back.

“My apologies love, did I wake you?” he asks with a level of affection you hadn’t been expecting.

“Yes but no matter, I hadn’t meant to fall asleep in the first place” you reassure him, shrugging off the last remnents of sleep.

“Very well. I have some unexpected business to attend to, and as you are still new to this house I don’t feel comfortable leaving you here alone, so I have arranged for you to stay with a dear friend of mine for the remainder of the summer” he states matter-of-factly, leaving no room for compromise.

“Oh. I hoped I would be staying here for the summer.”

With your (E/C) doe-eyes and lips pouting just enough to be noticeable, you were the image of your mother when she was sulking, and Voldemort found a dull warmth spreading throughout him at the reminder of the distant memory.

“I know Princess I do apologise. I hoped we would have the opportunity to bond during your time away from Hogwarts. However the situation is simply unavoidable.”

“Fine” you sigh in defeat. “So who will I be staying with? Anyone I know?”

“You’ll be staying with the Malfoy’s.”

105 notes · View notes

mysterioushogwartsrequests · 4 years ago

Note

You write smut, if it is yes. It's Charlie's and Mc first time, but it's not planned, that is, at a time when they both did not realize they needed each other that much.

Title: The Quidditch Cup Celebration (Charlie Weasley x Gryffindor!Reader Smut)

Timeline wise, Charlie Weasley wins the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor in his third year, but I wanted to change it to fit this request. This is like my first REAL smut and I tried to go in like y’all requested earlier, but I hope I didn’t overdo it.

This IS smut, so please only read if you are of age and comfortable with these situations. Thank you!

Summary: After winning the Inter-House Quidditch Cup, Captain Charlie Weasley and his teammates return to their Common Room to celebrate.

Rumors of the elaborate parties thrown in the common rooms of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry circulated the student body. It was only natural for these gatherings to occur and each house had its own methods of celebrating. The school’s teachers generally allowed their gatherings, but consistently set an end time for said events.

This, however, was not a normal celebration. Charlie Weasley, Captain, and Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team had successfully caught the snitch, securing the win against Slytherin House and the Inter-House Quidditch Cup along with it. His extraordinary success as Captain meant that a magnificent festivity was in order and no student wanted to miss what was to come.

The whole of Gryffindor House buzzed with excitement, filling the corridors with enthusiastic whispers and lively chatter as they speculated on the night’s events. The older students had taken charge of the preparations, running in and out of the kitchen with an extraordinary assortment of food and drink. Through an impressive conversation — and quite possibly, through a secret intervention from Merlin himself — Ben Copper managed to convince Professor McGonagall to set a curfew on Gryffindor students below the fifth year.

This meant the students between the first and fourth years would be in their respective bedrooms by eight o’clock at night with a bag of sweets to soothe their disappointment. After shepherding the younger students into their dorms, Rowan and Ben performed clever noise-canceling charms on their bedroom doors to ensure they slept well through the night. With the young Gryffindors safely out of their way, the older students could let loose without a care in the world.

And to Charlie Weasley, this situation was thrilling, but terrifying all at once.

Charlie watched from a corner of the crowded Common Room, babysitting a goblet of Fire-Whiskey as the other students indulged on the supplies Skye Parkin and Orion Amari had snuck from the Kitchen.

“What exactly are you two getting?” asked Charlie impatiently, two hours prior to the party. His arms crossed as he watched his two teammates.

Chasers Orion Amari and Skye Parkin halted harshly near the portrait hole, glancing back at their friend with theatrically innocent looks.

“Don’t ‘cha worry, Charlie!” grinned Skye, giving him a thumbs-up as she pressed her hand against the door, “Amari and I ‘ave got it all figured out!”

“Yes, leave it to us, Charlie,” added Orion airily, “I sense optimal star alignment tonight and it is important we prepare.”

“Uh, alright?” shrugged Charlie against his better judgment and he watched his teammates step out of the portrait hole with mischievous grins.

Charlie blinked at the pair from his corner, watching in bewilderment as Skye and Orion played party games with the rest of the Gryffindors in near the fireplace. He couldn’t help feel proud of himself, after all, it was his leadership that brought the Gryffindor team together, effectively killing the previous animosity between the two Chasers. Charlie glanced down at the amber liquid in his goblet and brought it to his lips, grimacing as it burned down his esophagus and waiting until the warm feeling settled in his chest.

“Wotcher, Charlie! Are you going to stand here all night?” asked an unexpected voice beside him. Charlie looked up quickly, shocked to see his friend, Nymphadora Tonks, standing casually with a Gryffindor tie and her usual bubblegum pink hair now the same shade as his. Her straight, red hair fell over her shoulders and Charlie could’ve sworn she resembled what his baby sister would look like if she were his age.

“What are you doing here?” exclaimed Charlie, delighted to see her despite the initial surprise, “How’d you get into the common room?”

Tonks let out a loud laugh, swigging her drink before answering Charlie, “You think I’d miss this party?” She scoffed, grabbing the handle of Fire-whiskey off the table, “(Y/N) gave me the password after the match”. Charlie extended his own goblet as Tonks made to pour herself another drink, but she refilled his drink with a roll of her eyes.

“Have you seen (Y/N)?” asked Charlie, attempting to sound casual at the mention of her name. Tonks took another hefty swig, slamming down her empty goblet on the table before letting out a scream of delight as a new song blared through the common room.

“Bloody hell, Tonks!” exclaimed Charlie as his friend devoured a pumpkin pasty, “Have you seen (Y/N)?” he asked again, grabbing a snack of his own and leaning up against the wall.

(Y/N) (L/N) held the position of Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team and it was general knowledge that she, Skye, and Orion were deadly in the pitch. They were the most meticulous, and the most calculated band of Chasers Hogwarts had ever known. As Captain of the team, Charlie and (Y/N) were obviously well acquainted but it wasn’t until their trip into the Forbidden Forest, where he finally witnessed her bravery first hand, that he completely fell for her.

After that, they began spending more time together outside of Quidditch practice. This led to them sitting beside each other during classes, Charlie teaching (Y/N) about the magical creatures he cared over, and midnight study sessions in Gryffindor Tower. Almost everyone knew of their unspoken attraction and how the two of them were close friends, but some did not know the true nature of their relationship.

Their most recent study session had ended up with (Y/N) straddling Charlie’s lap, their lips locked while his calloused hands roamed over her clothed body. Charlie recalled the feeling of her slender fingers delving into his thick, red hair and blushed softly, the warm feeling in his chest deepening as his eyes scanned over the people in the cramped common room.

Tonks grinned up at Charlie knowingly, “Why so keen on knowing where she is?” she teased, her bright red hair bouncing as she aimed a finger in Charlie’s face, “I know you fancy her, I’ve seen the way you drool over her.”

Charlie blushed fiercely, shoving Tonk’s finger away from his face before shushing her harshly, “Shut up” he hissed, “Someone might hear you!”

“I think you should go for it,” said Tonks bluntly, glancing at the large bottle in an attempt to decide when she should pour herself another drink, “She’s quite popular and I’ve heard a rumor the boy from Charms class is going to make his move tonight.”

“What?” snapped Charlie, his head jerking towards Tonks in anger, “Who?”

“Oh-ho! Little Charlie’s getting jealous!” snickered Tonks, catching the attention of Ben who happened to be crossing past them.

“Jealous?” jumped in Ben with a wide grin, clearly a little off-balance, “Why’s Charlie jealous?” he inquired as Tonks laughed and Charlie groaned in frustration.

“I’m not,” sneered Charlie, hastily snatching away the bottle of Fire-whiskey from Tonks’ hands to refill his empty goblet, “Tonks just a little tipsy”.

With lightning-quick reflexes, Tonks snatched up another pumpkin pasty and launched it in Charlie’s direction, hitting him square in the face before falling onto the ground. Tonks burst out into laughter once again, watching Charlie wipe the small amount of pumpkin filling on the sleeve of his jumper.

Ben glanced at the bottle in Charlie’s hands in delight, searching for a goblet of his own before settling with Tonks’ used one, “Just one more! I think it makes me more confident!” he exclaimed and Charlie hesitantly poured him a less than usual, but Ben did not seem to register this.

At the center of the room, a large group of students collected as they danced the night away, happily moving through each other in celebration. (Y/N) stood in the center of it all, her skirt swaying while she danced enthusiastically with the seventh-year Gryffindor boy that had approached her. Although she seemed to be enjoying herself, (Y/N) couldn’t help what wonder what Charlie must be doing, her eyes trailing away to find him.

Surely, she thought, he would be draped comfortably on a couch, surrounded by giggling girls and other enthusiastic students.

He was the Captain, after all.

Feeling a large pang of jealously, (Y/N) shook herself away from her thoughts and returned to the rather attractive boy in front of her, who was now offering her another drink.

Deciding that one more couldn’t hurt, (Y/N) swallowed the contents of her goblet and returned to her dancing. She could feel herself becoming looser by the minute, her worries slipping away as she moved with the boy near her, his arms flying to her waist as she laughed.

Charlie and Ben raised their glasses in a toast, the music booming in their ears as the common room flashed in various different colors. Once again, Charlie felt the familiar burning sensation slide down his throat and the lingering taste of cinnamon flooding his taste buds. A little more energized, he looked up from his goblet and immediately locked eyes with (Y/N), a small smirk spreading across her face as she drew her hands over her body. He felt his jaw clench as a pair of foreign hands slid down her sides, but her eyes did not falter from his until her arms draped over the boy dancing in front of her.

Charlie’s narrowed eyes followed her extended arms, a wave of fury washing over him as they landed on the man she was holding. Snapping his head back towards her, he watched the smirk transform into a grin as (Y/N)’s hair whipped forwards and the boy dipped down to press his lips against her’s.

With a loud bang, Charlie slammed his empty goblet on the table and strode towards the center of the room, ignoring Ben’s questioning behind him. The anger boiled within him, his teeth gritted and his fingernails digging into his palms as he pushed through the students in his way. He wasn’t sure what was driving him forwards, but it did not matter to him at the moment, what mattered was getting that bloke’s hands off (Y/N).

Pulling away from this kiss, (Y/N) smiled nervously up at the boy smirking down at her, “I think I’m going to get another drink” she spoke honestly, feeling slightly uncomfortable and surprised by his sudden movements, but walking away from him nonetheless.

Pushing through the crowd of dancing students, (Y/N) glanced back at the table and noticed Charlie was no longer against the wall. However, her feelings of confusion suddenly sky-rocketed when she felt a hand grip her shoulder and whip her around, her eyes landing on a furious looking Charlie.

It was clear Charlie was not his usual calm and collected self. A dark blush covered his freckled cheeks and there was the slightest hint of glossiness in his eyes, but he did not speak. Instead, he gazed down as her with his eyebrows furrowing tighter and his jaw clenched.

However, she didn’t get the chance to ask any questions.

Without warning, Charlie’s arms snaked around her waist and quickly pulled her against his body, roughly pressing his lips against her’s. (Y/N) hungrily returned his kiss, her arms flying around his neck, desperate to close any distance between them as soon as possible.

“How is he so bloody attractive?” She thought, glad Charlie read her mind as her hand raked over his muscular build, enjoying the feeling of him tensing up underneath her fingertips. A light blush grew on her cheeks, her lips moving against his and imagining what it must be like to lay underneath those toned arms.

Charlie was beginning to think Ben was right. In any normal circumstance, he would never ambush (Y/N) in the middle of a crowded room, but he was feeling unusually confident and knew he could not spend another moment without her in his arms. His hands gripped her waist tightly, their lips moving fluidly against each other as her hands delved into his hair.

A small groan escaped his lips when he felt the sharp tug at the back of his head, “Be careful,” he whispered huskily, pressing kisses up her jawline before halting near her ear, “You don’t know what you do to me…”

(Y/N) let out an involuntary whimper as he pressed kisses against her neck, arching into his body once again, “Charlie, please…” she whispered into his ear, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly.

(Y/N) wasn’t sure if it was the excitement from the victory or the after-effects of the Fire-Whiskey, but all she could think about was ripping Charlie’s clothes off and shoving him against the nearest possible surface. The kiss they shared was completely different from the one uncomfortable bestowed upon her on the dance floor.

No, their kiss was electrifying. Charlie’s hands, despite not having a lot of previous experience, knew exactly where to go, his firm grip turning her on as her hips dug instinctively against his, yearning to relieve the tension growing between her legs.

Charlie stifled a groan as he felt (Y/N) grind her hips into his, shifting to hide his obvious arousal, “(Y/N),” he hissed, attempting to restrain her hips as he fought the urge to pull her away from the party, “Tell me to stop...” He pleaded softly, pressing chaste kisses against her jawline.

(Y/N) pouted, a whine leaving her lips, “I don’t want you to...” she whispered pulling him in for another desperate kiss, his body melting against hers once again. Charlie fervently returned her kiss, his hands sliding from her waist to give her arse a rather harsh squeeze. (Y/N) bucked into his hands once again, Charlie’s stiff member pressing against her groin, earning another groan from him. Charlie’s teeth tugged softly at (Y/N)’s bottom lip and once he looked down at her lust-clouded eyes, all sense of restraint left his body.

“To hell with it,” he muttered, gripping her hand tightly and pulling her towards the dormitory stairs. A sense of excitement bubbled within her as she followed Charlie, her heart beating as the two of them passed the students dancing in the common room.

Catching a glimpse of Charlie’s red hair, Tonks looked up to see the two of them sneaking towards the dormitory. (Y/N) looked towards her friend, happily pointing at Charlie’s unsuspecting back while Tonks gave her an encouraging thumbs-up and Skye made a crude hand-gesture beside her. The two of them made their way up, the sound of the music and the triumphant cheers of the students below echoing through the stairwell.

Charlie pushed open the door and ushered (Y/N) into his empty dormitory, slamming the door behind him as he entered. The noise-canceling charms held up quite well, the loud sounds blocked out immediately as the door closed, leaving them in a comfortable silence until the click of the lock resonated throughout the empty room. The small click was followed by a large thud as Charlie’s body was shoved roughly against the door and (Y/N) pressed her lips against his. Wasting no time, Charlie slid his hands underneath (Y/N)’s thighs and lifted her off the ground, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. Charlie’s insistent mouth took advantage of her parted lips and deepened their kiss, her moan swallowed by their tongues lacing together in a heated dance.

(Y/N) couldn’t contain her desire, her hands desperately gripping Charlie’s face, and the unmistakable feeling of her own need pooling between her legs. A small gasp escaped her lips as her back landed against Charlie’s plush mattress, his knee spreading her legs with ease. His hands landed on either side of her head, “You’re absolutely gorgeous,” he muttered, dipping down to steal another kiss from her, his hands sliding to the buttons of her white shirt, “and all mine…”

Charlie’s hands worked quickly on her shirt buttons, the cold air hitting her bra clad breasts in an instant. Another moan left her lips as Charlie’s large hands slid over her chest and gave them a generous squeeze as he admired the sight of her body.

Slightly embarrassed by his staring, (Y/N) smiled up at him, her finger tracing a line down his chest, “I think this should come off too…” she muttered, biting her lip as Charlie straightened himself up and reached for his shirt buttons.

Propping herself up on her elbows, (Y/N) watched as he unbuttoned his school shirt and shrugged it off with ease, exposing his large, toned body. Her jaw dropped as her eyes scanned over his freckled body earning a husky chuckle from the boy straddling her waist.

“Like what you see?” asked Charlie teasingly, “Because I certainly do,” he smirked, leaning down to kiss her once again and grinding his hips against hers. (Y/N) wrapped her arms around Charlie’s neck, her legs spreading involuntarily as his hard member rubbed against her clothed clit, an overwhelming feeling of yearning washing over her as he did so.

Charlie’s left hand flew to her breast, squeezing it with the same rhythm of his hips, (Y/N)’s skirt sliding up her thighs as his legs pushed them apart. (Y/N)’s hands reached downwards, her fingers fumbling with Charlie’s belt as the swollen sensation between her legs grew unbearable, “Charlie, please…” she moaned wantonly, the noises emanating from her mouth music to Charlie’s ears.

“Please, what?” he asked quietly, his hand dipping between her legs and sliding a slender finger against her soaked panties. (Y/N) whimpered once again, her hips raising into Charlie’s hand as his fingers pulled the lacy fabric aside.

Obviously enjoying himself, Charlie hummed happily against (Y/N)’s neck, simultaneously sucking at her neck and plunging a finger into her tight folds. (Y/N) moaned loudly, the dark blush returning to her cheeks as Charlie’s finger curled teasingly inside of her, his lips sucking harshly against her neck. Pulling back with a satisfying pop, he admired the purple mark at the base of her neck before gazing into her (e/c) eyes.

“I’m not a mind reader, y’know” stated Charlie casually, grinning as he added another finger inside of her, scissoring them slowly, “I don’t want to assume anything…”

(Y/N) whimpered and moaned underneath him, unable to speak the words Charlie was asking her to say, the pleasure induced by his fingers clouding the rest of her thoughts. Her chest heaved up and down, her breath shaking as her back arched off the best and the first release arriving quicker than expected. With a loud cry of pleasure, (Y/N)’s body shook harshly, clenching around his fingers as she came around him. Charlie retracted his fingers and moved off (Y/N)’s body with a satisfied smile, “So noisy” he added, his fingers hooking at the waistband of her bottoms, expertly pulling off her skirt and panties with one swift movement.

(Y/N) laid against the bed, breathing heavily as Charlie cast another spell towards the door, “Please,” she started, sitting up on his bed and reaching behind her to unclasp her bra, “Fuck me, Charlie,” (Y/N) added breathlessly, letting her bra fall as Charlie turned to face her once again.

His eyes widened in surprise, licking his lips as he approached the bed, “with pleasure,” he grinned, unbuckling his belt and throwing it to the side. (Y/N) flew off the bed, pulling down Charlie’s pants with another swift movement and kneeling in front of him, his clothed member inches from her face. His large erection sprung free from the constraints of his boxers and (Y/N)’s mouth wrapped around it, swirling her tongue around the reddened tip.

“Fuck!” groaned Charlie, his hands delving into her hair as she bobbed her head up and down his shaft. His breathing hitched as he caught her gaze below, throwing his head back with his lips parted and bucking into her mouth. (Y/N) gagged at his sudden thrust, the contraction of her throat earning another strangled groan from Charlie.

Though difficult to do, Charlie pulled himself out of (Y/N)’s mouth sharply, lifting her off the ground and capturing her lips in another searing kiss. His hands groped at her behind, pressing their naked bodies together before pushing her back onto his bed. Her head landed against his pillow, her eyes lingering hungrily on his erection as he climbed on top of her.

“I can’t take it anymore,” he muttered aggressively, his length rubbing between her wet folds in a excruciatingly enticing manner, “I need to be inside of you,” moaned Charlie, his hand gropping her breast.

(Y/N) was sure Charlie could feel her heart pounding against her chest. Moving her head up and down in agreement, she shifted downwards, eager to end his prolonged teasing. Feeling the tip of his penis playing dangerously at her aching entrance, she let out another desperate cry.

The words were out of her mouth before she even realized what she was saying, “Oh, please, Captain!” mewled (Y/N) as the shock of Charlie’s thumb against her clit shot through her body.

There was a minicusle pause before the animal inside Charlie broke loose, his hips snapping forwards and plunging his thick length into her with a shuddering breath. He had only ever heard her call him “Captain” on the pitch, but there was something about hearing it now, in the form of a desperate beg that turned him on even more.

“Say it again,” growled Charlie beside (Y/N)’s ear, his hips rolling slowly against hers, his shaft filling her in the most delightful way, earning soft whimpers from the girl underneath him.

A harsh gasp slid past her lips as a sudden jolt rang through her body. Charlie’s hand was now caressing (Y/N)’s breast, gently pinching her nipple between his fingers before scooping the neglected one in his mouth. (Y/N) moaned avidly, the sensation of Charlie’s tongue flicking her sensitive nipple and his agonizingly slow, yet purposeful, thrusts were sending her over the edge.

Her thoughts swam with pleasure as she imagined Charlie mercilessly thrusting leaving marks all over her body. Charlie removed his tongue from the sensitive bud, a small string of saliva connecting the two as he latched his lips on the side of her breast, leaving another angry, purple mark.

“Please,” begged (Y/N) in a soft voice, her eyes meeting his, lips parted as he rolled into her, “Fuck me harder, Captain!”

With a smirk, Charlie gripped (Y/N)’s hips and quickened his pace, his hips smacking harshly against hers. (Y/N)’s eyes rolled to the back of her head as Charlie pounded into her swollen pussy, her nails digging into his strong arms as her delectable moans filled the empty room.

Charlie grunted softly, sweat collecting at his forehead as (Y/N)’s velvety walls clenched euphorically around his throbbing member. One of his hands flew to her breast, squeezing it as he shifted his leg upwards, providing him a better angle inside her.

(Y/N) cried out Charlie’s name, her back arching off the bed as Charlie steadied her with one hand, his calculated pace unyielding. She could not think, her vision was beginning to fog and all she could register was the wonderful sensation of Charlie filling her up and the familiar feeling of release bubbling at her core.

Dropping down to his forearms, Charlie hungrily pressed his lips against (Y/N)’s soft ones, swallowing her cries of pleasure as he did so. She immediately returned his kiss, rocking her pelvis against his, eagerly meeting his thrusts as his tongue delved into her mouth.

Charlie let out a much louder groan, his member twitching inside her as he felt his own release approaching. Determined to finish (Y/N) off first, Charlie’s hand slid down to her clit, rubbing gently without breaking their kiss.

(Y/N)’s hefty moan separated their lips, her legs trembling as Charlie straightened up once again, the pace of his fingers quickening against the sensitive nub.

“You really are quite loud,” muttered Charlie happily, his fingers sliding up her chest and wrapping around her throat, “But I love hearing my name come out of that naughty mouth of yours…”

It was too much.

His quick, yet sloppy thrusts, the pleasure against her clit, and now, the blissful sensation of his fingers around her throat were enough to send her over the edge. With one final strained cry of his name, (Y/N) felt the harsh wave of her orgasm wash over her, the corners of her vision turning white as she clenched tightly, shuddering around Charlie’s shaft.

With a strangled groan, Charlie gently squeezed her throat and spilled his seed inside of her, the feeling of her orgasm inciting his own. Panting heavily, Charlie removed his fingers from her neck, his member twitching within her as they rode out their highs together.

Charlie kept himself up with his hands, fighting every urge to collapse on top of her. (Y/N) opened her eyes, her face flushed as she met the gaze of the sweaty man above her, his lips parted as he caught his breath.

“Maybe I should get you jealous more often,” she teased, earning a sheepish smile from Charlie, who dipped to press his lips against hers once again before pulling out of her.

“Watch it,” warned Charlie, moving off his bed to pick up the trail of clothes they had left behind, “or else the Captain won’t give in so quickly next time,” he added, winking back at (Y/N) who was staring at his naked body with a satisfied smile on her face. After pulling on a pair of boxers, Charlie shoved their clothes into his dresser before tossing her one of his t-shirts which she caught excitedly.

Sauntering back to his bed, Charlie pulled the curtains of his four-poster closed, smiling down at (Y/N) as she pulled his t-shirt over her head and slid underneath his sheets, “I can’t believe you’re in my bed right now,” he stated with an awestruck look on his face, earning a giggle from the girl snuggling into his pillow.

“I might leave if you don’t hurry up and get in here,” teased (Y/N), hiding under the covers as Charlie pounced, diving underneath his maroon sheets to wrap his arms around her. Their laughter filled the room as he ticked her mercilessly before pulling her head against his chest, her arm and leg draped over him comfortably as he held her.

The sounds of the ongoing celebration a distant memory as the two of them lulled to sleep.

#charlie weasley #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley x jacob's sibling #charlie weasley x mc #jacob's sibling #jacob's sibling x charlie weasley #charlie weasley x reader lemon #charlie weasley x reader smut #charlie weasley x jacob's sibling smut #hogwarts imagine #harry potter hogwarts mystery imagines #hogwarts mystery fanfic #hogwarts mystery smut

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canary3d-obsessed · 4 years ago

Text

Lost Tomb Lewks, Part 5

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Content)

Warning: Spoilers for The Lost Tomb Reboot Season 1

Look 21: belongs to Liu Sang, and it’s one of my very favorites. Liu Sang’s actor, Liu Chang, has the face of a pre-Raphaelite nymph...

...and a body built like a brick shithouse.

The very slender plot explanation for this epic bod reveal is that Liu Sang is changing into his working kit, and Pangzi is razzing him for having a tattoo-in-progress of a qilin, to match his idol. But the tattoo is not nearly as interesting as...everything else about his torso, frankly.

This look features a six-pack you could shred cheese on, eye-catching trapezius muscles, and prominent clavicles. Liu Sang’s exquisite physical presence provides an interesting contrast to his bitchy demeanor and selfish personality, which are prominent at this point in the story.

Later he will get whumped into a proper sense of Wu Xie adoration being a beloved and devoted part of the team and many viewers’ favorite boi, but that process hasn’t started yet.

Liu Sang’s watch is fancier than Wu Xie’s watch. It’s...round, and it tells time.

(more behind the cut!)

As befits a professional model an antique dealer, Liu Sang’s working outfit is flattering and cool, with a snug olive green coat with black detailing, and khaki pants that are either dark blue or darkest grey. Like everyone else on the scene, he’s got shit kicker boots and tactical gloves to go with the rest of what he’s wearing. Unlike everyone else, his hair has auburn highlights, which go well with the warm tones of his skin.

In later episodes we see that the jacket has a big X on the back, which looks cool and is a bold choice for a guy who is headed into dangerous places with companions who don’t like him.

While underground, he accessorizes this look with a whistle, used for mapping via sound waves. Not to be objectifying on main but...

OP might have given the whistle its own gifset, over here.

Product-placement Interlude: This orange drink looks refreshing and delicious! Just like the sort of thing everyone would like to drink, pass around, discuss, and point with.

Look 22 is Wu Xie in his spelunking gear, but this time with “oh crap, I’m blind” eye coloring.

This look is a good one for when you are getting ready to become possessed or crazy or being overtaken by a crustacean allergy so that you try to kill your bro with a shovel.

It’s also a good look for when your bro wants to troll you about your good looks by waving fire in your face.

Excellent fourth-wall break, Pangzi. We do love Zhu Yilong’s eyelashes out here in fandom land.

Look 23 is Princess Mute’s blue hanfu. It’s a bit worse for wear, after centuries underground and floating around in the water, but it’s still got a nice color and it looks ethereal and pretty when she’s being pulled up out of the tomb. Too bad she has to go spend her future days in a crate. Princess Mute is one of my favorite crustaceans characters in this wacky show.

Look 24 is Wu Xie’s black undershirt. We’re meant to believe he’s wearing this under his other shirt and that it came out of the tomb looking this good.

It looks like it might be machine-knit rayon, based on the sheen and the small folds and wrinkes in the fabric, as opposed to the larger folds you see with something made of cotton. Anyway it’s got a nice fit and it looks comfortable.

Look 25 is Wu Xie’s party outfit, which is hard to see, like every damn thing in this show, but has some interesting details. The jacket has a darker color for the placket and around the collar, with triangular insets at the shoulders.

It has flap pockets and at the waist it has straps with buttons in place of a belt, reminiscent of a vintage miltary or marching band uniform, although I can’t recall the locale or era.

This outfit is suitable for kicking back with your friends and family. Wu Xie is an interesting hero, because he is extroverted, friendly, fast-to-warm-up, and rarely in a bad mood, even when dying. In this scene he plays pool, sings, drinks, roams around chatting with friends, graciously receives heart eyes from Liu Sang, and then sits down for a long, friendly talk with his uncle.

It’s nice to see a hero whose troubles are primarily situational, and who isn’t struggling with a hidden dark side. I don’t personally relate to Wu Xie as much as I relate to an obviously traumatized character like Liu Sang, but Wu Xie is a lot of fun to watch and to root for, and it’s clear why his friends value him so highly.

Look 26 is Liu Sang’s new glasses, which are gorgeous, and are perfect for giving Wu Xie heart eyes. Liu Sang is much too young to need this much lens real estate [says middle-aged OP from behind her large trifocal lenses] but they look great on him.

More Lewks coming soon!

#the lost tomb reboot #reunion: the sound of the providence #liu sang #liu chang #wu xie #zhu yilong #dmbj #lost tomb lewks #canary3d-original #my gifs #the lost tomb spoilers

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celosiaa · 4 years ago

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I dont know if you're taking prompts at the moment but when you have time if the idea interests you what about martin greying after their time in the apocalypse and growing a beard and being distressed because he looks like his father. jon comforts him and helps him feel better about his appearance. maybe some soft domestic comfort where jon helps martin dye his hair and shave the beard away to look like himself again.

hi friend!!! thank you for this prompt, it’s probably not perfect bc I wrote it really fast!! But I hope you like it anyway :)

CW panic attack

When Jon wakes, head still spinning in the light of the sun, Martin is once again gone. And Jon is so, so very tired.

Tired of the weariness, the deep ache that has settled so heavily in his bones he is unsure if he will ever truly shake it. Tired of the sapping away of his strength, as he attempts to rebuild, day by day by day even after a year has gone by since the end of all things.

Tired of waking up alone.

It’s a wonderful thing, in a way, to know that something is wrong with Martin rather than Knowing it—the realization that he is, in fact, able to discern when something is bothering the love of his life is a rather comforting fact, after everything. Even so, he finds himself frustrated. Frustrated with the fact that he cannot intuit the source of his husband’s distress, much less pull anything out of him.

Martin is shutting down. Plain as day. And it terrifies him.

Running a hand briefly over the Martin-shaped imprint beside him, long gone cold, Jon props himself up on too-slender arms, waiting a moment for the spots to clear from his vision, and standing on too-slender legs. At once, he reaches for his cane at the bedside, finding his injury sitting heavy in his hip this day—and heads quietly out of the room and into the hall.

If Jon had not known better, he would never have guessed that Martin were there at all. For the entirety of their normally-cozy, tiny little flat seems nothing but desolate and dustladen and darkening, ever darkening. Something Lonely creeping through every window sill, beneath the outside door, through the vents—

Streaming from the open bathroom door.

Of course, Jon had seen it coming for days, had tried to warn Martin of the fog carried on each of the few words he has spoken over the past few days. But it did not matter—Martin has often explained how muffled everything becomes while he finds himself once again in this place. Muffled and meaningless and fading, fading. Buried under guilt and fear and apologies, so many apologies that Jon could drown in them.

And now, perhaps—just perhaps, he might let him in. If the open door of the bathroom is a sign to be taken as hopeful.

“Martin,” he calls as he approaches the doorframe. “Habibi, are you alright?”

Upon looking in, he finds Martin leaning over the sink—staring with empty eyes back into the emptiness of his reflection in the mirror, fog swirling so thick beneath his glasses it’s a wonder he can see at all. The word that comes first to Jon’s mind is frozen—and he cannot help but hurt over just how long he has stood here, alone and in his private grief, limbs shaking ever so slightly in their static hold.

“Habibi,” he starts again—quieter this time, stepping a bit closer. “Look at me. I’m right here.”

He follows these words with resting a hand against his forearm—ever so gentle and cautious, yet Martin jumps bodily all the same.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Jon continues, without moving his hand away.

“…what?” is the eventual reply, so dim and far away it echoes, swirling around Jon’s head dizzyingly.

“Look at me, Martin. Can you look at me?” he pleads, beginning to rub his hand up and down his forearm now, anything to create some warmth over his ice-cold skin.

“Jon.”

“Yes. Right here, please look at me.”

At last, at long last—Martin turns his face away from the mirror, the fog beginning to dissipate from his eyes as soon as he meets Jon��s. The ache of it all sends something twisting in his stomach, over the fact that this still happens so regularly, that Martin still struggles to be open, even with him, even after all this time.

And buries it.

“There you are,” he soothes as he slips a hand up and into his hair, beginning to stroke through it as Martin starts to come back to himself. “You with me?”

He blinks a few more times, slowly, strangely—before tensing suddenly beneath Jon’s hands, eyes blown wide as he gasps in a breath.

“J-Jon—”

“Easy. Easy, now,” he murmurs easily, grasping at his arm once again. “Just sit down. You’re alright.”

“Jon—”

“Sit down, my love.”

Back to the wall, Martin slides down to sitting braced against it—bowing his head between his knees at once, one hand against his throat as he gasps for something beyond the fog to fill his lungs. Jon steps over his feet—coming to rest on the side of the tub, leaning forward to keep a gentle pressure moving across his shoulders as he works through the panic. All too common panic, unfortunately.

“I’m here. I’m right here.”

As always, Jon feels so helpless here. He knows there is very little to be done but to sit and wait, talk if it helps, stop if it doesn’t, always keeping that contact to ground Martin in warmth. Every time his heart breaks—and every time he swallows the lump in his throat, no matter how thick with fog it may be.

“I’m right here.”

Several minutes pass this way, rapid breaths fading into rhythm, color returning back to Martin’s skin, the fog at at last dissipating into the floor beneath them. And finally—finally—Martin looks up, eyes just barely meeting Jon’s for a moment before he covers them in shame.

“God, I’m so sorry, Jon,” he croaks, scrubbing over his eyes as he speaks. “Happened again.”

“No need, habibi,” Jon replies, as always. “No need.”

And still the silence remains for a while, Jon’s hand never leaving Martin’s back, Martin’s hand never falling away from his eyes in his misery. It is in this moment, feeling his husband shaking beneath him for the third morning in a row, and the fourth this week, that Jon makes a decision.

“Martin,” he begins, pausing to worry at his lower lip for a moment. “Martin, please…please tell me why this is happening.”

“You don’t need to worry about it,” comes the terrible reply, the one that tells Jon there is so much hurt still left to heal in his soul.

“I am worried. And will continue to worry, because I love you.”

A small huff of laughter behind a ghost of a smile.

“I love you too,” he replies, as if still shocked he is allowed to say it.

“Then please—talk to me.”

“It’s silly—it’s nothing, I dunno why it’s bothering me so much,” he continues, at last letting the hand covering his eyes fall and rest atop his knee. “And—and I’m sorry it’s—it’s worrying you. But I’m alright.”

Yet another small and fragile thing shatters in Jon’s chest over this—this utter falsehood, that he would ever see Martin drowning in the Lonely and think only of himself. That he would ever think that way.

“I-I wouldn’t—this isn’t about me, Martin,” he assures, refusing to bely the hurt pushing against the steadiness of his voice. “I know that you are hurting. Please—please tell me why, and I will help.”

“Jon—”

“That’s all I want. Is to help.”

A moment—a long, terrible moment in which Jon cannot be sure he is trusted, cannot be sure he is ready to talk. That he will have to accept whatever the next breath brings, even if it hurts. Even if it hurts.

Please please please

“I—like I said, it’s silly, right?” Martin begins to choke out, tears rising immediately as he begins to speak. “I-I know it is. And I’m just going to sit here and blubber about it like a fool.”

“It’s not silly if it hurts you.”

“I—well, just—just wait till you hear it,” he says tremulously, letting out a terribly damp little laugh at the end, swiping at his eyes yet again. “It’s just that—with the, the grey, and the—beard, I—god—I look just like my dad.”

And there it is at last, the aching truth of it all. The trauma Martin would rather call silliness. The panic he would rather call a terrible display of dramatics. The tears he will apologize for in three, two—

“God, I’m so sorry,” he bursts through gritted teeth, trying desperately to make a noise sounding something like laughter.

“Martin—”

“It’s so silly, I—”

“Stop, stop.”

Catching both of Martin’s hands in his own, Jon grips them tightly, tilting his head in a gesture that begs Martin to look, please look at me. And when he does, eyes still brimming and barely holding together—it’s nearly enough to do Jon in altogether.

“It is not silly,” he begins forcefully, gently. “You have every right to feel upset by this. This—this pain makes sense—and it is real, and it is justified. Alright?”

The damp smile Jon receives in return is enough to tell him that Martin does not really believe him, perhaps he never will—but that his words are appreciated all the same.

“Now listen. There are some things we could do that might help, alright?” he continues, starting to massage Martin’s hands gently as the tears begin to fall in earnest, trying to keep his shoulders from shaking. “I could—I could help you dye it. Any color at all. And—only if you want—I can help you shave. If you think it might help.”

A laugh—a real, if still damp, laugh comes from him then—cast in the glow of a genuine smile. As it always has and always will—it sets Jon’s heart fluttering with love for this man, for his anchor—for his love. For his always.

“Yeah, I—heh—” he begins, swiping away the remaining wetness with another laugh. “Early thirties is a bit young to go grey, I reckon.”

“Is it now?” Jon teases at once, a grin spreading wide across his face, tossing his own greying hair over one shoulder. “Is that young to go grey?”

“Oh come off it,” Martin says, rolling his eyes, bumping a shoulder against Jon’s leg. “You know what I meant.”

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #jonmartin #hurt/comfort #cw panic attack #my writing

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cheeriecherry · 4 years ago

Text

Space Between [Aizawa Shouta x F!Reader x Yamada Hizashi] [3/9]

EraserMic x Reader

Part 2/9 (Planning has added another part)

Warnings: panic attacks, reader being a little awkward

A week passes in the blink of an eye. You’ve tried to keep busy while your friends are away at work, but you can only clean the house so many times before it becomes monotonous.

You’ve also checked out a few apartments that are renting, but every single one you’ve visited so far has left you disappointed: too small, in the wrong neighborhood, no yard, wrong vibe. A little piece of you knows you’re making excuses to stay with Shouta and Hizashi longer, but you can’t help that you want your new place to fit your needs perfectly.

In the same breath, you’ve also done what you promised you would, and looked into a few of the resources Shouta provided you with, for counseling and therapy services. You thought it would be easy enough, check out the websites, set up an appointment, etcetera etcetera, but the moment you open one of the tabs your throat closes up.

You’ve been trying for three days to look through everything, trying to push through your discomfort and underlying panic, but so far the only thing it’s done is make you tired and cranky and stressed.

You close the laptop for the fourth day in a row, having spent the last half hour reading through yet another counseling site. Maybe it’s your anxiety, maybe it’s your fear of admitting you’re struggling, maybe it’s because you know you’ll have to talk about things you really don’t want to talk about...but none of these places feel like the right fit. Just like the apartments.

You glance at the clock on the wall, sighing deeply when you find that it’s barely past noon.

Maybe you should get out, go for a walk or something? You don’t have very many clothes, so maybe you could go to the mall. Shop around a bit, get something to eat. Treat yourself.

It’s a good idea, you decide, and you need the fresh air.

----

When you walk into the mall, you instantly wish you’d stayed home.

It’s busy, and uncomfortably so. Elderly folks meeting up, parents pushing strollers with small children, a couple of highschool kids ditching class.

Surely no one would pay you any mind if you just turned around and walked right back out?

No, you think, taking a deep breath, I can do this. It’s just people.

You try to walk normally, and look like you’re not wincing at every step you take further into the crowd. It’s just people.

...People I can’t protect.

The thought pops into your mind faster than you can catch it, and your gait stutters. You push it away and keep walking, but it’s as if the psychological floodgates have been opened.

A villain could attack right now, and I wouldn’t do anything.

Your chest tightens.

I’m a useless excuse for a hero.

Your hands start shaking.

I would just stand there and watch them die. Just like-

You squeeze your eyes shut, and beeline to the nearest bench, sitting down to try and take a few calming breaths.

It starts to work, and you can feel your body relaxing slightly, until an elderly woman decides to take up the seat next to you. Your skin buzzes with electricity, hyper-aware of her presence beside you. When you glance over at her, you find that she’s smiling kindly at you.

“Are you alright, dear?” she asks, reaching out to rest a dainty hand on your knee.

You resist the guttural urge to snap away from her. She’s just checking on you, you tell yourself, don’t be rude.

“I’m- yes. I’m okay,” you say with a shaky voice, “Thank you.” You can tell she doesn’t quite believe it, and you don’t blame her. You probably look a mess, a trembling, blanched, wide-eyed mess.

You track her movement as she reaches into the purse tucked under her arm, expecting something, anything, any kind of threat to appear, but she only pulls out a small red lollipop. She offers it to you with a wrinkled hand, gently pressing it into your palm.

“A distraction, perhaps?” she suggests, “Sweets always make me feel better.”

You thank her quietly and unwrap the treat, sticking it in your cheek. You try to focus on the overwhelming flavour, the sickly sweet synthetic cherry, the way it burns against your tongue.

Another woman calls out to the lady beside you, who squeezes your knee softly. “I hope you feel better soon, dear,” she says, standing. “Have a lovely afternoon.”

You smile and nod at her, and the moment she’s out of sight you spit the candy out and bolt towards the exit.

----

You finally stop running about a block away from the mall, heart beating erratically and chest so tight you can barely breathe. You find a nearby empty bench and fall onto it, and let your head hang low. Your eyes sting with unshed tears, and your vision is blurry, and it doesn’t help the threat of oncoming nausea.

Thankfully now that you’re out in the open, you begin to calm down again. You wipe at your eyes to rid yourself of your tears, and try to focus on the feeling of the bench pressing into your legs. Warm from the sun against your skin, sturdy and unwavering metal slats holding you steady, slight tremor when someone sits down next to you…

Not again, you think, shrinking away from the person.

“Rough day?” they ask. You eye them cautiously, taking note of every detail.

You can’t tell if they’re a boy or a girl, not that it really matters to you. They’re young, maybe sixteen, clad in dark baggy clothes. Their posture is casual, comfortable, hands shoved in pockets, and they don’t look old enough to have graduated school. You wonder if they’re skipping class, but you don’t really care.

“Yeah,” you mumble, “Something like that.”

The kid turns towards you, slinging an arm over the back of the bench.

“That’s too bad,” they say, genuinity unsettling you, “Nice lady like you shouldn’t be lookin’ so sad.”

Your stomach roils with anxiety, and you’re sure your blood pressure has skyrocketed again. “I’m sorry,” you say quickly, standing, “I’m not really in the mood to talk. I’m...I’m gonna go-”

A slender hand shoots out and grabs your wrist, holding you in place.

“Wait, please! I’ve been looking for you for days-”

Pain shoots up your arm, and you glare down at the teen, fury overtaking your mind. “Let go of me before I rip your fucking arm off.”

“Please, let me explain-”

You rip your arm out of their grip, and take a few weak steps backwards. “If you’ve been looking for me, then you know who I am, and you know what I’ve done. Don’t think I’ll hesitate to break you into pieces if you come near me again.”

The kid stares at you with wide honey-brown eyes, an inkling of fear flashing behind them.

Good.

You waste no time turning around to run back home, leaving your assailant behind.

----

Ten o’clock finds Shouta and Hizashi walking through the front door, the latter talking animatedly about something you couldn’t quite hear.

You stir the ladle around the pot a few times, judging the thickness of the stew you’re preparing, while you listen to them chatter back and forth. A sad smile graces your features, and you wonder if this is the way they usually come home; tired, but always happy to have each other.

“Something smells really good in here!”

You crane your head to the doorway right as Hizashi traipses in. He zeroes in on you in an instant, coming over to wrap you in a tight hug. It surprises you, even though it shouldn’t. In years past, he was always the most open with physical affection, often greeting you and Shouta with touches and hugs and kisses on the cheek.

“You guys are right on time,” you say, reaching across the stove to flip the burner off, “Dinner’s ready.”

Hizashi makes haste in preparing a bowl for himself, dashing out to the dining room to find a seat. You shake your head and fix some stew for yourself and Shouta, following in suit shortly after. The two of them are already set up around the table, making smalltalk with each other while they wait for you.

Shouta thanks you when you set his bowl down in front of him, but waits until you sit to start eating.

“So how were your days?” you ask, stirring your meal absently, “Did anything interesting happen?”

Hizashi shrugs, and doesn’t even bother to swallow before answering. “Not really. Between teaching and hosting a radio show, it actually gets pretty repetitive.”

You have a hard time believing that. Before you’d left, his stories about his students and his shows were endless and hilarious, and he’d talk about them for hours on end if you let him.

“What about patrol?”

“Eh, same same. Stopped a couple small timers, you know, convenience store robbery, purse theft, that kind of thing. Nothing big.”

You nod. “I’d consider that a win. Smaller villains means smaller paperwork…”

The three of you break into an uneasy silence, tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. You eat your meal slowly, and avoid looking at either of them. Something was on their minds, and you had a feeling you knew what it was, but if you didn’t look at either of them then maybe they wouldn’t ask you…

Finally, Shouta sighs. “This is idiotic.”

“Sho,” Hizashi hisses, but doesn’t get much else out.

“There was something we needed to talk to you about, but you seem like you’ve had some kind of day. It might be easier to talk about it later.”

You think back to your eventful afternoon filled with panic attacks, and mask the worry with a smile. “It wasn’t too bad,” you assure them, “Besides, you’ve got me curious, now. Spit it out!”

Shouta sets his spoon down. “I was wondering if you’d consider being a guest speaker for the first year hero classes at Yuuei. They need to learn about all the possibilities of hero work, including undercover missions.”

“And I figured that since you’re here now,” Hizashi interrupts, “you’d be a perfect candidate!”

You’re surprised, to say the least, and it’s obvious.

“Take some time to think about it. You’ve got a couple weeks, still, so you don’t need to decide right away.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. You’re grateful for the buffering period, because as much as you’d love to say yes to them, you’re not sure if you could handle speaking in front of a bunch of teens. Especially if your afternoon was any indication of your coping abilities.

What would you even talk about? Would you have to prepare a presentation? A speech? Or would they simply ask you questions? And god, how would you answer said questions? How could you tell a bunch of young hopefuls that undercover missions are almost always riddled with violence and PTSD?

You take another bite of stew. “I’ll...consider it.”

----

The rest of the dinner is more comfortable, filled with idle conversation and a couple of old jokes. It’s nothing compared to how the three of you used to be, and a little piece of you wonders if you’ve done something to upset the balance the two of them had created together.

Of course I have, you think, I showed up after disappearing for years and now I’m taking up their couch.

Still, there seems to be something more, some kind of tension beyond the stresses of recent events. Maybe it just felt different because you were different, more closed off to the world, to people, but it’s not like you could help it.

You couldn’t bear to lose either of them, if they were to find out what really happened on your mission. The things you saw, the things you did.

You could foot a little bit of awkwardness if it meant you would get to keep them in your life.

The three of you bid goodnight after you eat, each of you tired after a long day. You know for a fact that you won’t be able to sleep yet, not without nightmares, but you dim the lights anyways to keep your friends from questioning you.

You get comfortable on the couch and pull Shouta’s laptop over, flipping the screen open to continue your search about counseling services. You’ve gone through every suggestion on his list, save for one.

And so far, as you scroll through their website, it seems to be okay. The staff members and doctors seem to be knowledgeable, and the numerous patient reviews praise them for their compassion, kindness, reasonable prices, and short wait list.

You scroll around a little more, picking out whatever contact information is available. Most of it is done through email, it seems, which you’re fine with.

You open a new email document and start typing, asking what kind of information you need to provide and how the process works, and what steps you need to take in order to get a consultation appointment.

You don’t expect an answer until tomorrow, so you’re pleasantly surprised when a reply pops into your inbox not five minutes later.

‘Hello, Miss Y/N,’ it reads, ‘Thank you for contacting us. I’m Nurse Yumi, a member of the practising night staff. It’s a big step to seek help when you’re struggling, so we appreciate you reaching out to us. If you’d like, we can set up a consultation appointment for tomorrow afternoon. I’ve attached the preliminary forms to fill out before your visit, if you could please have them completed before then. If this is agreeable for you, let me know and I'll give you the time and date.

Well wishes,

Nurse Practitioner Yumi.’

You quickly type up another email, thanking them for their quick notification as well as confirming your availability.

You set a reminder in your phone before you lay down so you don’t forget about it, and shut down the laptop, placing it back on the coffee table. You’re not quite ready to sleep yet, but you know if you stay up any later then it’ll be harder to wake up on time.

Begrudgingly, you curl up on your side and try to think about nothing as you doze off.

#aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #eraserhead x reader #yamada hizashi x reader #present mic x reader #erasermic x reader #reader insert #bnha x reader #mha x reader #Space Between #theres actually nine parts now #dont worry the fluffy shit happens next chapter

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waiifuwu · 5 years ago

Text

The Love of a Monster

Louis (beastars) X Hybrid!Oc/reader

I literally thought of this like in the middle of the night while listening to Lana Del Rey. I think we ALL know that Louis has a carnivore kink and I’ve decided to explore on it. Just a lil insight: she’s a hybrid between a tiger(father) and a sheep(mother)

Tags: @wlwbarista

Summary: Pillowtalk with a hybrid

Warnings: minor spoilers, cursing, implied smut, threats of murder, some angst, NSFW, spoilers so read at your own risk

The ebony clock that hangs on the wall struck 2:35am and Louis finds himself unable to sleep. He lays there contemplating every decision he’s made. He squeezes the warm body resting on him closer.

Letting out a sigh he glances at the woman sleeping peacefully. He wonders how he got here in the first place. He wonders how it could be this easy to sleep with a carnivore but the mere though of fucking Azuki, his fiancée, a fellow red deer, makes his stomach turn to the point of puking.

Being with her makes him uncomfortable and tense. But when he’s surrounded by those lions, when he’s hugging the women that he’s laying with, when they kiss, and when they have sex he feels his body let loose. Like being around and sleeping with a herbivores potential predators is the most natural thing in the world.

“Lou....?” The soft rumble of her voice brings him out of thought and all his attention is directed on her. She shifts a little but goes back to sleep. He stares at her for a little while, observing her features. Her fangs, claws, and those stripes are the very beauty of her carnivore side.

And then there’s her big eyes, and slender body which comes from her herbivore dna. Her features are more of a predator than prey. She thinks of herself as an abomination, a freak to society, but Louis finds her intriguingly magnificent. He loves her clawed hands, her vicious fangs, he loves everything about her.

He loves her.

I love her...I’m in love with her.

“I love you...” he whispers into the empty room. To his knowledge he though she was asleep. But due to the fact he was moving around a lot it woke her and she was just laying very still, listening to him.

“You love me?” She asks. He freezes in shock as she rises from her position to look at him. “Do you really love me?” She asks again.

“I think so...” he says. Looking away from her he tries to distract himself from her hard gaze. “I believe I’m in love with you.” He speaks again. “It’s just that I’ve been thinking and whenever I’m around you I feel like myself.”

“But what would your father think?” She cuts in. “And besides aren’t you engaged to that woman?”

“I know. It’s just maybe if I talk to him...”

“And what if he declines? Your engagement is to strengthen his company and I know that he’s your father and all but I believe that he won’t be persuaded so easily.” Each wore coming from her mouth hurts him. He knows that his father won’t listen but hearing it come from her makes it seem too real. He thought that maybe there was a sliver of hope that they could be together.

“Yeah..you’re right. But that doesn’t stop my feelings for you.” He intertwines their fingers together and kisses her knuckles softly.

“I don’t understand how you could love someone like me.” She says while looking away from him. “I don’t understand how you could be comfortable around me. At any moment I could snap and devour you.”

“I’d rather have it be you than anyone else.” Her eyes snap to him to see if he’s joking. There’s not an ounce of dishonesty in his face. Slowly she puts her weight on him and pins his hands above his head.

“Are you sure?” She whispers in his ear slowly moving towards his neck. “You’re not scared? I could rip your neck open right now.” Her fangs slowly graze over his pulse and she can feel his heart jump. “You don’t truly understand how I’m feeling right now. Your scent is driving me wild.” She leans on him more to the point where their chests are pressed together.

“You won’t do it. Y-you care about me just as much as I care about you.” His voice stammers a little. The heat emitting from her body is overwhelming to him. He moves his neck involuntarily giving her more access.

“Do you want me to bite you?” She mumbles as she buries her nose in his fur breathing in his scent. He nods his head. “You amaze me Lou. Its cute how you’re not afraid of me. It’s cute you’re attracted to me. A damn carnivore.”

“I’ve been attracted to you ever since I first met you. I just knew I had to have you.” He rubs his leg against her, trying to get her to do something. Anything would be great. “Do something..please.”

He lets out a small whimper as he feels her fangs dig into his neck. Before they could break the surface she pulls away. Letting out a frustrated sigh he glares at her. “Why do you want me to bite you so bad?” She ask while tilting her head to the side. “This is like the fourth time you’ve told me to do it.”

“And yet you haven’t.” He snaps.

“You’re one sassy deer. Sometimes I think you want to be eaten.” He avoids her eyes at the comment. “You probably have some sort of fetish.” Louis blushes lightly as she continues to speak. At the realization she lets out a surprised gasp. “You do don’t you? You dirty deer. What would your father think?”

“Please don’t bring him up at a time like this.” He shifts his body trying to gain friction but she puts more weight on him halting his movements. “Stop teasing me.” He says stubbornly. She lets out a giggle and shakes her head.

“Now that I know you have a thing for danger I’m never gonna let you live this down.” She finally lets go of his wrists and runs her hands from his chest to his stomach. He brings his hands to her hips and give them a light squeeze. “My dad ate my mom when I was thirteen.” She says gaining Louis’ attention.

“What?” He says out of shock and concern.

“I saw it happen. I heard commotion coming from their bed room and when I walked in my dad had devoured my mom. There was blood everywhere.” She sighs. “My mom was the sweetest so I never understood why he did it. They looked so in love that I thought that they could change how people viewed interspecies couples.” She hadn’t realized that she started to cry. “Ever since then I’ve been afraid to love anyone in fear of turning into my dad. Which is why I was kind of shocked to find that you loved me.”

“You’re not like him. You’re so much more.” He says trying to comfort her.

“How do you know that? At any moment I can devour you.” He embraces her and runs his hands through her fur.

“I know you. I know you won’t.” He whispers into her ear. Kissing her forehead gently he whippes her tears. “You’re nothing like him. You’re better. Okay?” She nods her head and they share a passionate kiss.

As the kiss gets heated Louis flips them both over so that he’s now on top. Trailing kisses from her lips to her neck Louis wraps his arms around her and pulls her tighter to him. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and lets out a sigh as he nuzzles into her neck. “Honestly, Lou, I wish we could be together. It feels nice being held like this. Especially by you.”

“You’re really soft.” He mumbles into her fur. He trails his hands up her sides and back, running his fingers over every inch of skin. She lets out a giggle as he continues to feel her up like she’s a really soft blanket.

“Well I do keep myself well groomed. This doesn’t just come naturally.” After that they stay their silent. She was about to drift back to sleep but Louis disturbed the quiet.

“Do you love me?” He sounded almost hesitant.

She caresses the base of his neck and looks down at him. “Of course I do.” Unsatisfied with the answer he squeezes her again.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I love you Louis.” As the words left her mouth it felt as if a weight has been lifted off her shoulders.

Maybe he could change his fathers mind so they could be together.

#louis #legosi #legoshi #haru #juno #melon #beastars #beastars x reader #beastars imagines #louis x oc #louis x reader #legosi x haru #legosi x reader #louis beastars #legosi beastars #melon beastars #juno beastars #haru beastars

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maybe-itll-be-someday · 3 years ago

Text

How Far We’ll Go

Chapter 15

Definitely some mature content in this one, so if you’re below 18, there is absolutely nothing here for you.

However, if you’re above 18 and into break-up sex....

Read on AO3

He never thought he could feel her absence more potently than her presence.

Emily always seemed to overwhelm him any time she was near - a comforting figure he always had in his periphery, his gaze stuck on her long before he realized it. He had stolen tiny tastes of it in the past, in a past lifetime before Foyet and Doyle where she was just his subordinate and he her superior. Aaron had long ignored the slight flush of his skin when she was near, the way he'd look back to her for a split second longer than he knew he had to. It was a magnetic pull he was barely conscious of, an unnoticeable habit swamped by mountains of paperwork, close brushes with their demise, and an unspoken understanding.

It wasn't until the walls between them started toppling, the neat bricks of their professional relationship crumbling whenever she smiled and his heart lurched a little further towards her, that he truly started to feel her presence. He couldn't stop the way she pulled his gaze around a room, noticing the soft dip of her collarbone and the supple pull of her waist. Catching tastes of lavender and clean laundry when she hovered over him, pointing out a tiny detail from a file with a slender finger. Small moments, easily maskable and explainable, that soon became the solace that he stole away to at night.

When she kissed him for the first time, tinged with an impatience and neon lights, she overwhelmed him. He remembers how she tasted - sweet and buttery, remnants of maple syrup in the small factions of her lips, and he was left heady. Thoughts unable to form, barely focusing on her words because all he wanted to do was feel her. He wanted to feel the way her breath, laced with decaf coffee and a spearmint she offered him, brought a welcome contrast to the biting cold. His fingers twisted on her waist, finding purchase on the curves he'd thought about more frequently than he'd ever admit. When he undressed her for the first time, an endless expanse of smooth skin that formed hills and mountains his fingers travelled with a soft touch, a fire consumed him, burning through every limb of his body. An unexplainable need to orbit around her - the center of his universe.

But now, it’s over.

Torn up by Doyle, his influence still reaching from beyond the grave. He had branded her memories of that night into a messy four leaf clover on her chest, staining her for life. She slipped through his grasp, almost as easily as she came.

Her absence burned through him more than Haley's had when they divorced. He thought his ability to compartmentalize was stronger than it was - he was always able to put his home life in a separate thought than work, refusing for the two to mix because he knew only certain disaster would await. Haley and their problems could easily be compartmentalized, tucked away in the confines of his mind and saved for a time when other lives didn't depend on him.

But now there was an emptiness that followed him everywhere he went. Small reflexes that were remnants of their time together - seeking for her in briefing rooms and precincts, wanting to ask her opinion. A lone shampoo bottle in his bathroom, tucked away behind his body wash and a mug with a faint outline of pointy ears and whiskers drying upside down on his counter. The old faded Yale t-shirt he had found in his laundry, an item easily overlooked, forced the air out of his lungs when he gripped a million memories sewn into the soft fabric in his hands.

He had a taste of bliss, only for it to falter on his tongue the moment he had it.

He always ached for her presence.

But now he was drowning in her absence.

In the first month, Jack takes it harder than Aaron notices.

The apartment is unusually clean, Jack's books neatly tucked into their assigned spaces on the bookshelf and toys put away in their proper bins. Jack finishes his vegetables and fruit with an unrelenting concentration, even finishing all of his peas despite the fact that he hated them. Aaron had chalked it up to him growing up a little bit and didn't pay it much mind, the grief of losing Emily a heavy burden he thought he was carrying alone.

Not until one Sunday morning, one of their very firsts without her, when Aaron is working on some paperwork in his office and hears a loud crash coming from the kitchen. Jack had said that he wanted orange juice and insisted on getting it himself, the streak of independence Aaron could've sworn he'd gotten from her. He sighs to himself, making his way to the kitchen.

"Jack, are you alright?" Aaron calls. He frowns when there isn't a response and walks in, only to see Jack standing in a sea of shattered glass as tears streaked his cheeks. Aaron carefully steps over the shards of glass, moving to pick Jack up in his embrace and quickly inspecting him to ensure that he wasn't hurt.

"I-I'm sorry, Daddy." He says between ragged breaths, and Aaron lets out a breath of relief at the lack of blood on him. Jack continues to sob into his shoulder, a sting of worry still lingering at the tears that fall from the eyes that looked so much like Haley's it still stole his breath away.

"You don't need to be sorry, Jack. Accidents happen. We'll clean this up together, okay?" Jack slowly calms down, as Aaron cradles him to his chest. It was too reminiscent of the way he'd comfort Jack when he was younger as he bounces him up and down, running a soothing hand down his back.

When the tears cease, only bubbling hiccups remain, that's when Jack asks him a question that nearly brings him to his knees.

"You're not going to leave me too, right Daddy?"

The pain is hot and prominent in between his ribs, his own tears rising in the corner of his eyes. Aaron had been so consumed in his heartbreak, assuming that he was the only one that was devastated by Emily leaving. He forgets that Jack had a taste of life with Emily as well, of stories with funny voices, weekends spent with his hand in hers as they explored DC, and a love that had filled the both of them. She had carved out a new place in his heart, right next to where Haley was, and her departure had left a hole in him too.

Aaron is quick to shake his head, tightening his hold on the young boy.

"Jack, you listen to me, okay? I will never leave you." Jack is easily placated with promises of chocolate ice cream as Aaron suggests he go grab the broom so they could clean up the broken shards of glass together.

Aaron is left standing with shards of glass around him, and wonders how you put something back together that has shattered beyond recognition.

In the fourth month, Emily starts to get used to the London streets.

A coffee shop with croissants that melt on her tongue is only a ten minute walk from her flat, she's learned the particularities of the personalities of her team, and she actually knows of the Sunday market taking place downtown. The fear that pricks the back of her neck and fills her fingertips with a nervous energy dissipates slowly as she carves familiar pathways in London streets.

The nightmares cease and she builds a new routine. A black coffee in the morning, a splash of cream and sugar from the break room (she avoids Splenda at all costs because when the sweetness hits her teeth, all she can remember is the small box of Splenda he had added to his grocery list, just for her, tucked away in his kitchen), followed by hours of meetings with superiors and colleagues or a case that whisks her to whichever part of the world beckoned for them, only to crawl to her flat when the work had ceased and pour herself from one of the multiple bottles of red she kept with worn paper labels printed in French.

She savors the warmth of the expensive sheets she splurged on, the soft silk a gentle caress on her skin to soothe the dull ache in her chest when she crawls into bed alone. She throws herself into social nights spent with her team, trying hard to recreate the feeling of family that she had left behind in an attempt to try and build her own. She flirts, admittedly poorly and without any true effort, when a few glasses of wine had entered her system in an attempt to shield the emptiness she feels when she thinks she caught a glimpse of his brown eyes in the dim lights of the bar and the following disappointment because of course it would never be him.

She tries to keep in contact. Penelope and Derek are the easiest, because they had both insisted on flying with her to London to properly see her off. Derek had realized that she was leaving before she even told him, understanding as she had expected him to be. Penelope had, of course, found out from Derek that she had accepted the Interpol Unit Chief position and came to her with tears beading behind her sparkled frames and booking flights for her and Derek before she could protest.

But it's obvious from the first few phone calls that they were skirting around the team to talk to her. JJ had been a little more confused, given the fact that she knew that there was more than just the BAU she was leaving behind.

"Are you sure about this, Em?" She had asked, when Emily pulled her aside for their last coffee date. Emily remembers the concern in her look and the mild disappointment, but she had just swallowed the words I'm not and said that she was. She doesn't tell JJ of the nagging voice in the back of her head, the one that insisted that she must have been making a mistake.

But the voice was small, insignificant compared to the fear that plagued her for months. So she accepts the hurt on JJ's expression and pulls her into a tight hug, promising that she would call, visit, and they could still play Scrabble.

Reid had pulled his eyebrows together, reminding Emily of how Jack looked when he didn't understand something. He had snapped away from her eyes the moment the words I'm leaving left her lips, his body language stiffening as she told him of the opportunity with Interpol. Spencer had been in the room with her when Clyde had first made the offer and he felt betrayed and lied to once more. It was obvious in the way he slightly pulled away from her last hug before telling her he had a meeting and stalked off towards the elevator without another word. Spencer still hadn't spoken to her directly since.

Dave just sat in silence, listening as Emily filled in the gaps she purposefully left out the past few months because he deserved an explanation. Disappointment had flashed on his face when she finally told him that she had accepted another position, his expression unreadable as he plucked out the question that she knew everyone else on the team was wondering as well, even if they didn't voice it.

"What about Aaron?"

"He'll find someone else." She had said, her tone joking but her eyes betraying the sharp pain that throbbed in her chest at the idea of someone else loving him. Dave had just nodded, wishing her good luck and promising to send her the names of restaurants in London that she'd enjoy. She knew that Dave still didn't understand, hiding his disappointment from her until she caught his eye right as she emptied her desk on her last day. His gaze had landed on her, heavy for a split second, before straightening up and walking into Aaron's office and closing the door behind him.

So her phone calls with Penelope and Derek were taken behind closed doors and with hushed voices, not wanting to agitate the hurt that palpated from the team. She stops reaching out and they do too because maybe they all needed a little space.

She builds a new routine, because this is what she wanted. It was the new life promised that gave her a reason to fly out of Dulles, leaving the sparkling city skyline and the only family she's ever been a part of.

It's 3:40 AM on a Tuesday night when her phone cuts through the silence of the night, groaning as her sleep was abruptly interrupted by the shrill ringing on her bedside. Her eyes are half open as she squints at the bright screen, only to pop up into a full sitting position when she realizes who's calling.

"Aaron?" She calls out, fear and anticipation tight in her throat as she waits to hear the voice that plagued her memories more than she would admit.

Instead, an excited high-pitched voice comes through the phone, flooding her with a familiarity and a sharp ache all at once.

"Hi Emmy!"

"Hey honey." She says, her voice cracking as tears build in her eyes at the sound of his voice. Jack was one part of her routine that she had never quite replaced. It was a different emptiness that she felt when she realized that her apartment was devoid of his dinosaur sneakers, his crayons and books left open and scattered on communal surfaces, and the sounds of his make-believe echoing from his bedroom.

It was an emptiness she didn't bother to fill, because she knew that nothing could.

He had been devastated when she told him that she was leaving. She had insisted on being the one to tell him, knowing that she had the rare chance to explain herself to Jack instead of having Aaron make up excuses on her behalf. Jack deserved that much and Emily felt like the reaction he gave her was something she deserved too.

He had flinched, like he had been burned, when she told him that she wouldn't see him for a little bit. His brown eyes grew wide, tears sparkling when she explained to him that she was moving to a city called London that was far away and that she wouldn't see him or Aaron after work or during his soccer games.

"You're leaving?" Jack asked, voice hard and sounding much older than his six years. Emily had reassured him that she would always love him and that he could call her anytime, but yes, she was leaving.

His tears came fast after that, and he bolted to his bedroom and slammed the door behind him.

"Are you okay? Is Daddy okay?" She asks after a split second, because Jack was still calling her in the middle of the night and she was under the impression that he didn't really want to speak to her, especially since it had taken so much coaxing to convince Jack that she wasn't leaving forever and that she'd come see him, it just wouldn't be as soon as he was used to. This had to be an emergency call of some kind.

"We're okay. Daddy's in the shower but I did a school project on chameleons today!" Jack starts to ramble on about some of the facts he knew about chameleons: that there are over 160 of different kinds, that their tongues suction cupped their prey ("Like the things we hung on the window that one time Emmy!"), and that chameleons aren't deaf but don't have ears. He launches into his grand review of his project and Emily thinks that maybe she should stop him because it was too late into the night for her, but she just stays quiet and lets a small smile curve at her lips as she listens to him recite facts like he was reading them. She knew that he wasn't, that he was probably sitting at the dining room table and kicking his feet while he talked.

She had tried so hard to forget that this is exactly what she left behind.

Tears catch in her throat as Jack's voice is suddenly interrupted by a much deeper one.

"Jack! Why do you have my phone?" Aaron's voice, soft yet disciplined, was somewhere in the distance. It was the first time that she had heard his voice in over four months and she shifts awkwardly on the bed, curling her legs tightly to her chest as she hears rustling on the other side.

"Hello?" He says, the tone as smooth and deep.

"Aaron. Hi." She breathes out, cursing the relief that filled her at the sound of his voice.

"Emily. I'm so sorry about Jack - I didn't realize that he had my phone, let alone that he knew to dial your number..." She had emailed him her new number after her first week in London, along with a short update on how the move had gone, that Garcia and Derek were driving her crazy trying to organize her flat and hoping that he was doing well.

The email went unanswered and it hurt her more than she would ever admit.

"It's okay. I missed hearing his voice."

I missed yours too.

"Isn't it late over there?"

She chuckles, glancing over at the bright neon clock on her bedside that tells her it's a little past 4 AM now.

"Early, actually." Aaron sighs, doing the quick math in his head and realizing that Jack probably had no concept of what a time zone was.

"Were you asleep?"

"Yeah, but it's okay." She says. There's a stiff silence on the other end, stretched over thousands of miles across the ocean. Her legs curl tighter around her chest, shielding her heart from the pain that she knows will follow. This was the first conversation they've had in over four months, and she's never found herself speechless in front of him, unable to pull any words that would sound right.

Because there are so many things she wants to say, sentiments that she should have said.

"I'll be sure that he only calls you at appropriate times." Aaron's tone is too reminiscent of how he would talk to police chiefs and their superiors on the phone, clipped and stringent - more Hotch than Aaron.

More impersonal than he had ever been with her.

"You don't have to do that, Aaron."

"You know that I have to." He says, and she knows what he means.

It still hurts too much.

She doesn't know what the appropriate words are. If I'm sorry would ever encapsulate the regret that she has for hurting him.

The regret that still lingers in the back of her mind- that she had walked away from the best thing she's ever had.

"I should go." She says instead, giving him his escape. He takes it immediately and without a second thought.

"That's probably for the best. Get more sleep, alright?" The call ends before she can say goodbye. She's left with the dial tone in her ear and the ache she's been trying to forget echoing in her entire being.

When she finds the strength to end the call, she finds herself drawn to a file box tucked away in her closet. It was the only box she never unpacked, knowing that its contents were better kept in cardboard.

But tonight, for just tonight, she wants to remember instead of forget.

She finds the box right where she had left it, in the back of her closet still untouched after four months. She lifts the lid and her breath stalls as memories wash over her, every single moment she's kept locked away in this box rushing to the surface and stealing all her air from her lungs.

A drawing of her, Aaron, and Jack that was done in crayon and presented to her on one Sunday morning that had lived on her fridge door. An old cotton shirt with a faded Georgetown logo, one she had convinced Aaron to part with in their early days with promises of indecency and ice cream. A napkin she had swiped from the diner where they had their first date, the logo imitating the neon sign that had shone above them when she kissed him for the first time. A handful of pictures she had printed of Jack and Aaron, intending on showcasing them in frames instead of living in a box, shoved to the back of her mind.

She finally reaches the picture she's been looking for.

It was the picture that Aaron had in his wallet, his panicked handwriting on the back. Its edges were now worn from the numerous times she had pulled it out of her pocket that day that she had almost lost him. She never gave it back, the right opportunity slipping from her fingers along with her confession.

It could've been different. If they had figured this out sooner, if Doyle hadn't stolen her sanity and her life from her from the grave, if she was just a little less broken than she was.

Her fingers trace their figures, pure and unbroken captured in a perfect moment.

All she had left of him was a box of their memories and list of if and buts she had left unanswered, dotted with the finality that it could never be.

Aaron tries to ignore the date. He briefs the team on cases they had on deck, finishes up the paperwork that was piling on his desk, and wills everything in him to not think of the only person that's plagued his every thought the past six months. He had come into the office early, way earlier than he normally would because Jack was off at summer camp. It was an old decision swayed by the hope that having Jack away for a week or so would give them some time together, maybe in some cabin tucked away in a remote mountain range, spending their days encased in sheets and walking underneath canopies of dense trees hidden away from the rest of their world.

And maybe, just maybe, he would've taken the time to ask her something that had haunted him for months.

A headache builds at the base of his skull, the tension of being hunched at his desk with his pen tightly gripped in hand pinching the muscles around his neck. He doesn't know what time it is, instead pouring all of his attention on reviewing the team's reports and filling out his own. The sun had set hours before and most of the team had already left for the day, but the time was lost on him.

"Aaron." His head snaps up and he winces at the movement that causes his neck to ache, spotting Dave hovering in the doorway with two glasses and a bottle of his oldest scotch tucked in his arm.

He wordlessly crosses into the room, setting the two glasses against the dark mahogany of his desk and pouring trickles of amber into the crystal. He slides one of the glasses over to him before settling in the seat across from his desk.

They let the pregnant silence blanket them and Aaron doesn't have to ask why Dave's in his office this late at night.

"Are you allergic to looking at the time today?" Dave asks, motioning to the lack of a watch on his wrist. "I haven't seen you without a watch in the fifteen years I've worked with you, Aaron."

Aaron doesn't even pretend to be surprised that Dave had caught on. He was the only one who ever did.

Instead, Aaron tips his head back, letting the harsh sting of alcohol soothe out the emotions that have been lodged in his throat for the most of the day. He was wondering how long he could get away with shunning himself in his office, willfully ignoring the thoughts of her skin and her smile that were smattered between the words he wrote in his reports.

"You know what today is." Aaron says, the words bitter and heavy on his tongue along with the whiskey.

"How are you holding up?" Dave asks, his concern evident. Aaron doesn't know if he has the right words to answer that question - if he could describe to him how amplified her absence was that he couldn't bear to walk into the apartment that was now devoid of any of her belongings but cradled some of his favorite memories. How those memories, once sweet and wanted, now felt like they had been soaked in a poison that wrought his thoughts.

How badly he wished that she was still here.

How much he longed for her.

And how much he hated that he did.

So instead, he doesn't answer, and finishes the rest of the whiskey in his glass because there weren't any words. He would rather leave them unsaid, like so many things between them were, and hopefully it would wither away the same way that flowers perished in the winter. Slow but guaranteed, that one day he would wake up and the memories of the slope of her cheek and the way his chest would clench when he realized she wasn't next to him would dissipate.

But today wasn't that day.

"I think I should head home." Aaron croaks out, when the whiskey has bloomed warmth into his abdomen. Dave doesn't stop him, polishing off his glass of whiskey before wishing him a good night and retreating back into his own office.

His apartment is as dark and as empty as he feels. He finds himself being drawn to his safe, unlocking it and reaching in to pull out something he hasn't had the chance to look at since she had left DC all those months ago. It was a thorn in his side, a dull ache that was easy to tuck away in a metal safe underneath his suits and old coats. His fingers touch the velvet box and Aaron almost expects it to burn to the touch.

He doesn't have the strength to open it. He doesn't want to because he still thinks that it's perfect for her. Instead, he lays the unopened box on his coffee table and opens up a bottle of red wine. It was her favorite, a bottle he had managed to track down from an old winery in Châteauneuf-du-Pape. He wanted to save it for a special occasion, one that ended with the ring sparkling on her left hand, but there weren't any occasions for it anymore. He pours himself a glass and raises it to no one.

"Happy anniversary, Em."

3,000 miles away, Emily buys a bottle of whiskey before she retreats to her apartment for the night.

She lets the whiskey burn her throat and drip down the old cotton shirt draped over her frame, his scent long gone and faded. Her tears prick at the back of her eyes as she traces the outline of his face with the pad of her thumb, a memory pulled from the box still left untouched in her closet.

"Happy anniversary, Aaron."

The wedding invite comes as a surprise.

JJ had gushed to her the previous month that she and Will had decided to marry after he had a brush with death as a suspect gunned him down in the middle of DC. It was in a hospital room that she told him to ask her again, a redo of a night that ended in more tears and harsh words rather than in celebration. She wanted him, all of him, no matter what tomorrow brought.

The off-white envelope embellished with her name comes in the mail on a Wednesday morning bearing an invitation to their wedding in DC.

She calls JJ, confused that she had gotten an invitation.

"Emily." JJ starts, indignant at her assumption that the wedding invite had been a mistake. "Of course I would send you an invitation."

"It won't make things.. awkward?" She asks. Months had passed now and while it had already felt like another lifetime, she knew that there were still some harbored feelings. Reid had only started speaking to her in the last month and she hadn't heard from Aaron outside of the emails that he had helped Jack write. She didn't want to aggravate the healing wounds she knew that still lingered, not wanting to cause any more pain to the people she loved.

She's had her fill of all that for this lifetime.

"Em, you're one of my best friends. I know it might be a little weird, but I want you there with me."

"Just let me think about it okay?" She says, promising that she would give her an answer by this week. She decides to talk to Clyde about it, ignoring the half-hopes that she was sent on a case so that she had an excuse not to go as she taps on his office door.

"Darling! I had just sent you an email - The CIA needs a consultation on one of their current cases, interested in going stateside?"

"I actually wanted to talk to you about that. JJ, the Communications Liaison over at the BAU, is getting married and she wants me in DC for the wedding."

"That sounds like wonderful news, darling. But why, may I ask, do you look disappointed?" Clyde asks, a twinkle in his eye and she curses her inability to shield her emotions from him. He was one of the only people, outside of Aaron, who had the ability to dissect her motives with a fine precision.

“I’m not exactly racing to head back to DC.”

Clyde hadn’t questioned her decision to leave Washington, thrilled that she had accepted his proposal. It wasn’t until weeks later, when she had settled into her glass-walled office that overlooked the messy streets of London, that he had asked about Aaron.

“Are you and Aaron still…?” He asked, as he had grazed a wound that felt like it would never finish healing.

She had just shaken her head, smiling weakly at Clyde, before changing the subject.

"I know you're dying to see him."

“I’m not…” She starts to protest, but Clyde just holds up a hand to stop her and Emily’s jaw tightens, doing the math on how many seconds it would take to completely snap his fingers in half.

“Darling, as much as I love having you here, you haven’t exactly been the happiest camper. And I’m not going to question your decision because it benefits me, but go see him before you start to depress all of London.” Clyde dismisses her then, a call coming in from one of their contacts in the CIA and told her he needed her in the US for the consultation. She was ordered to stay there for the week - no matter what she decided to do with her time.

She books her flight back to DC when she gets back at her office.

She hated it when he was right.

Aaron fumbles with the small knot on Jack’s tie, his fingers filled with nerves that crackle with anxiety. JJ had let him know that Emily was coming to the wedding, a conversation she chose to have with him behind the closed door of his office - an indication that she knew more than she let on. Emily had told him in an email, letting him know that she was going to be stateside. He wasn’t sure if it was a warning or an invitation.

He had been unwillingly counting down the days, JJ’s wedding invitation was now taking prime real estate on his fridge next to Jack’s drawings and appointment reminders. The days had passed quickly and unbearably slow at the same time - the end of each day a surprise but the rest of the days after seemed to stretch out into eternity.

“You ready, buddy?” Aaron asks, taking a shaky breath as he brushes the small shoulders of Jack’s suit. He walks into Dave’s house, following the slew of caterers that are doing last minute tasks, bustling in and out of numerous hallways and doors.

That’s when he hears it.

A sound that he had played over and over again in his head, simply replaying a fading memory of a memory until he convinced himself that he actually didn’t remember what she sounded like. He follows the sound, calling him in like she was a pied piper. He steps through the doorway, Jack in tow, to see Penelope animatedly talking to an overwhelmed Emily, who had an amused smile on her face as Garcia asks her if she had liked the tea she had recommended.

Her eyes find him from the corner of the room, barely a glance in his direction but he catches it with ease, a dance they’ve practiced to perfection. Jack breaks from his grip before he can truly register what happens, flying right into Emily’s legs and bursting into tears.

He wails as Emily scoops him up in her arms, already too big to be held, with an old reflex. Derek and Penelope have the sense to avert their gaze, shuffling awkwardly in their spots as Jack’s cries into Emily’s shoulder.

“Hey honey.” She says, voice cracked and laden with her own tears that she refuses to shed. He’s heavier already, his feet dangling an inch or two farther than it used to when she would hold him.

But he still wrapped his arms around her in a ferocity that grounded her to him, just as unwilling to let go as she was. Slowly the tears bubble to soft sniffles, snot running down his nose and wiped with the back of his new suit's sleeve much to Aaron’s chagrin. Emily puts him on his feet, wiping his tears with the back of her hand and smiling softly at him.

“You’re here.” Jack says incredulously, despite the fact that Aaron had told him in previous days that she would be.

“I’m here.” She confirms, unable to stop herself from running a hand through his hair in a familiar gesture. Aaron catches it and his eyes lock on hers, their gazes heavy and weighted as Derek and Penelope take that as their cue to leave.

“Hey buddy. They got a really cool fountain here.” Derek says, catching Jack’s attention and knowing that they probably needed a moment alone. “Want to go see it?”

They wait for their footsteps to fade in the distance, along with Jack’s excited ramblings about some dinosaur she’s already forgotten the name of. Her gaze is stuck to the back of Jack’s head, not turning back to face him until he speaks first.

“Hi.” He says, the smallest of smiles edging his lips.

His eyes follow the form of her dress, admiring the way the dress hugged her form tightly. The deep neckline teases the top of her breasts, the curves triggering a million memories of worship for them. The dress flows across her skin in waves of soft fabric, painting her skin in a shade of red invoking his own skin to flush to match the shade. Her lip wedges itself between her teeth and he can feel a sharp current of electricity go straight to the pit of his abdomen.

He hates that his reaction to her is stronger now, triggered by the pull of her teeth over her lower lip. A taste of water after almost a year in the desert.

“Hey.” She says, the corners of lips turning up as her eyes raked over his form, making him squirm under her scrutiny.

“You look good.” Is all he can manage to say, averting his eyes towards the mantle with a few lone decorations, an attempt to stop himself from outright staring. She giggles, light and airy, and his own smile breaks on his lips.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.”

It’s the first conversation they’ve had in almost eleven months, and it makes her stomach curl when she realizes that she hadn’t heard his voice in her own ears in that same time period. Aaron was once her solace, a listening shoulder she had relied on more times than she could count, his wisdom and words of affirmations constants - only to be reduced to strained conversations stripped of the foundation they had built for themselves

“Dolcezza. Garcia told me that JJ’s looking for you.” Emily glances at Dave, who breaks the tense atmosphere with his sudden presence. Emily shoots Aaron an apologetic look and heads further into the house, leaving him standing with the traces of her perfume and a longing that roared in his chest with an unrivaled ferocity.

JJ is beautiful, gliding down the aisle in practiced steps before smiling at Will, who twists his hands nervously but the excitement on his face obvious. Their story finally had the happy ending that they deserved.

Aaron can’t help but let his gaze linger on the one person he was sure he’d meet at the end of an aisle.

She would have been a gorgeous bride.

He’s jealous.

Derek’s arm is tight around her waist, dipping her as a laugh bubbles out of her. They were all a few drinks in, the alcohol imbibing looser tongues and muscles. The team was paired off on the dance floor, the kids being occupied by Reid’s nimble fingers as he pulled the card he had told them to memorize. Dave was dancing with Erin, JJ and Will swaying to the soft music while Emily was swept away in Derek’s arms.

He breaks his gaze to finish the rest of his whiskey, an old crutch that was reminiscent of his father’s tainted breath.

For a brief moment, he understood why alcohol was his vice.

He watches as Jack cuts through the dance floor and tugs on Emily’s dress. She smiles, blinding and bright, as Jack giggles and tries to tug her in Reid’s direction, no doubt in search for her attention even after months apart, easily sliding back into familiar routines like she had never left.

Emily picks him up, plopping Jack on the angle of her hip as Derek retreated, hands up in defeat.

Jack’s smile is wider than Aaron has seen for a while, his giggles loud and delighted as Emily tickles his sides. His arms wrap around her neck tightly, resting his head against her shoulder and molding into an intimate scene that will never stop stealing the air from his lungs.

They sway gently, and Aaron can see Jack’s eyes softly close, the lateness of the night amplifying how exhausted he was. Emily’s lips move against Jack’s ear, soft whispers of sweet nothings as she rocks him to sleep.

His chest is heavy, twinging tightly with a pain he thought had dulled enough to be ignored. An old wound that’s burst at the seams, bleeding with nostalgia and regret.

They had been so close to having it all.

She catches him alone, his whiskey glass filled for the third time that night, as he leans against the marble balcony in a quieter section of Rossi’s mansion. Every inch of Dave’s house reeked of well-deserved success, tall columns and elegant furniture that she had no doubt had cost a fortune.

She steps out into the cool night, a slight shiver running up her spine as Aaron turns his head towards her, eyeing the glass of red wine in her hand.

“Hi.”

He smiles, an actual genuine smile that deepens the dimples on his cheeks and causes her heart to stall in her chest. The whiskey slicked his muscles, now unable to keep his guard up around her. All he could process was the soft scent of lavender and roses.

God, did he miss her.

“Hey.” He says, turning back towards the city view in front of them. Buildings that lined the skyline, dotting the black night in soft dots of light. They were in a nearby suburb, creating a barrier between them and the noise of the city - a carefully curated landscape of artificial life.

No words are passed between them, Emily reaching for the glass of whiskey in Aaron’s hand, knowing that she needed more liquid courage to survive an interaction with him.

“I thought you hated dark liquor?” He asks, his expression amused as she swallows with no hesitation. Aaron’s eyes can’t help but linger on the column of her throat, following the supple movement of liquid under her skin, smooth and taut.

He still remembers the tension of her muscles as his lips explored the path from her jaw to her collarbone.

He turns away, letting her polish off his drink and bites at the inside of his cheek to regain some form of control.

“I actually learned to like it.” She says, the alcohol flooding her in a warmth that draws her a little bit closer to him. She ached to crash into him, to feel the warmth of his skin and the weight of his solid form, anchoring her down to Earth.

But she had given it up, she reminds herself.

She chose to walk away from this.

“What are you doing here, Emily?” He asks. She knows that he’s not referring to the wedding, or DC, but in this small balcony that overlooked the city. She stiffens, tears beading in her eyes before she can stop them, his presence shielding her in a safety that she had missed.

“I don’t know.”

He looks at her, eyes growing wide at the tears in her eyes. He reaches up to brush a tear that had strayed, her cheek resting in his palm as Aaron’s fingers brushed against her skin. His touch was hot and wanting, stepping closer to her and nosing the hinge of her jaw, pulling her scent to his senses.

She still smelled the same.

“Aaron.” She whispers, unable to find the air in her chest to tell him to stop. He pulls back, her eyes locking on him with a question.

Are you okay with this?

He nods, imperceptibly.

Yes.

Her lips brush his once, twice, with a hesitance that he hasn’t seen since they had first started to dance around each other almost two years ago. His senses flood, an addict being given a taste of their vice, and the dam breaks.

He pushes her back away from the door, pressing her right up against the brick wall and covering her body with his, shielding her from view. He could feel the warmth of her, already slick, against the fabric of his suit. He kisses her, the desperation dripping off his actions as if she was going to evaporate in his grip.

She moans, the noise strangled in her throat at the contact and his skin feels like it’s aflame underneath his suit, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the heat that was building. She hikes a leg up on his hip, the fabric of her dress falling to reveal the long expanses of thigh that he’s spent many mornings and nights between. His teeth edge the skin of her collarbone, causing the expected sigh to fall from her lips.

He still remembers.

His fingers reach down, pushing the damp fabric of her underwear to the side and slides one finger, then two, pumping and stretching in an old rhythm he created on a Sunday morning. Her head falls back, exposing the object of his fascination. His lips quickly latch on, running his tongue down an old path as his fingers follow the same pattern.

“F-Fuck. A-Aaron.” His name tumble from her lips, and his throat catches at the familiarity of it all.

Her hips roll in tandem with the flicks of his wrist, the palm of his hand grinding against her until he feels her fingers thread through his hair, curling with a force that makes him wince. She feels the tightening of his eyebrows against her skin and she smiles.

“Sorry.” She says breathlessly, a laugh and a moan tumbling out as her hips start to buck against his hand. He curls his fingers, brushing her in a spot that causes expletives that would cause her mother to cringe to fall from her lips. It doesn’t take long until she flutters and shakes underneath him, her limbs curling around him with stars bursting in her vision. He anchors her to him, a strong arm looped around her waist to stop her from tumbling to the floor.

“Jesus Christ.” She whispers when she’s caught her breath, her muscles shaking from the force of the orgasm he had drawn out of her.

“Actually, it’s Aaron.” He quips and she shakes underneath him in laughter, a gentle slap to the back of his head and he can’t help the grin that stretches against her shoulder. His finger slips from her and she whines in protest, her hands reaching down to undo his belt with a snap . She wraps her fingers around him, heavy and rigid in her palm. She squeezes him gently, her wrists twisting in practiced precision that causes his hips to stutter to follow her movements, his head dropping to her shoulder.

“No.” He growls into her ear. “Inside you.”

She nods, a whine bursting from her lips and he seals his own over them to silence her. He was still acutely aware that they were on a balcony, with his team in various states of inebriation and could walk in on them at any time. He nudges against her, so slick and aching before pressing in, her name chanted in prayer as he split her open. He can’t think, can’t form the words to describe how she feels around when he’s fully sheathed, her fingers tight in his hair and her walls even tighter around him. She can’t stop the soft sighs, drawn out by the feeling of him filling her with a fullness that plagued her fantasies. He drops his lips to the plane of skin that he had once whispered his reverence to, savoring the vibration of her moan as her spine curled into him, already desperate for more contact.

She still feels the same.

But everything between them had changed.

Tears bead in her eyes as his hips stole the air from her lungs with every thrust. She stretches and burns, a feeling she’s tried to chase underneath her sheets with thoughts of him guiding the feeling of her fingers. His hips start to vary in rhythm and she knows he’s quickly losing control.

“F-Fuck. I missed you.” He croons into her ear, reaching down between them to swipe at the sensitive flesh, determined on bringing her over the edge with him. He bends his knees slightly and changes the angle, pressing harder and deeper into her until her chest starts to rise and fall rapidly underneath his. He covers her mouth with his, muffling the increasingly loud moans that were lodged in her throat.

She can feel his lips mouth the words he doesn't say out loud, caught in the shell of her ear along with a moan and her heart clenches because he shouldn't say it.

She didn't deserve it.

She falls apart between him and the brick wall and he’s right behind her, filling her to the brim like the city lights in the night sky.

Another three words left unsaid between them.

He descends the stairs into the living room, the imprints of their indiscretion hidden in a wadded up handkerchief in his pocket and the slight wobble in Emily’s step as she follows a few minutes behind him.

No one in the team seems to have noticed, all of them flushed with warmth from the open bar that Rossi had set up in the garden. Aaron heads over to JJ and Will, explaining that it was getting late and that he needed to put Jack to bed. JJ nods, eyes glazed and skin pink as she settles an unfocused gaze on Emily.

Her eyebrow quirks in question and Emily ignores her pointed look, instead reaching for her phone to check the time.

There’s a handful of emails from her team with status reports on the cases that she had assigned them and she’s suddenly hit with the sickening reality that this wasn’t home anymore.

She wasn’t going to crawl home to Aaron, curling up under his duvet while he put Jack to bed with a promise that he’d be there afterwards, a teasing kiss pressed to her lips on things to come if she was up for it. She would crawl back to the hotel room she had booked in the middle of the city, large and empty, and she would curl up underneath unfamiliar sheets with the dull ache between her thighs as the only remembrance of him. They had fucked, quick and dirty, in Rossi’s balcony upstairs. They weren’t a couple, routines threaded into their reflexes.

She had given that up, months ago.

She ignores the way Aaron is baring his gaze into her, an unspoken question in his eyes until he heads out the front door with a sleeping Jack in his arms. She couldn’t keep dragging him along, stealing tastes of him whenever she could because she was lonely and missed him. She had chosen to move to London, thousands of miles away from here, and she didn’t get the luxury of him anymore.

She had done enough damage.

When Aaron calls the next day, she stares at the ceiling and lets the ringing echo in her hotel room, intensifying the dull ache in the base in her skull and the heavy sting of tears in her eyes.

She doesn’t answer.

She flies back to London two days later, ignoring the vibrating in her pocket and the flash of his name on her screen.

Later that month, she crawls to a dirty bar in Central London after a long case in Turkey. There’s a man by the bar, dark and brooding, his eyes on her as she tipped back her second whiskey for the night.

Her phone vibrates in her pocket, her whiskey blurring the edges of her memories and for a split second she thinks that it’s him.

She’s disappointed when it isn’t, cursing herself for the longing for him that never seems to stop following her around. She tucks away the memory of him, shaking the invisible ache between her thighs and in her chest. She moves towards the stranger at the bar and asks him to buy her another drink.

She tries to ignore the bile in her throat when he says yes.

#hotchniss #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron x emily #ckbwrites

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