#always a step away from being a cult leader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sukunasun · 6 months ago

Note

Thinking about Geto who would have never thought he likes to be called daddy. Outside of being a real parent ofc. It’s unexpected. As Reader tries to work with the recently adopted twins to ease their trauma and get them ready for school via play therapy, they attach themselves to her easily, hungry for a maternal figure in their life. Whenever Geto sits in the waiting area for the session to end, Mimiko and Nanako blast out the door and Reader somehow always refer to him as daddy in their presence. “Oh, look, daddy is ready to pick you up”, “Go, tell daddy how good you two were”, “Come on, show these drawings to daddy”. And it has him in a chokehold. The word just sounds so good from her mouth. So good he might try to rizz her up. And he couldn’t care less about that it’s unprofessional for reader to fuck a client’s parent. For him it’s a challenge. A challenge to hear that word again. Just for him and nobody else.

why it sounds so good has less to do with sex but necessity. the assurance that he—single father of two with no experience, no status, and not a dime to his name—is a protector, capable and conscious of his life. no longer the smart-talking teen or charismatic cult leader with plans for world domination.

he thinks it shouldn't feel this good to be relied upon when he's barely thirty and buckles under pressure to make ends meet. three part-time jobs and it's still not enough. the stress of juggling priorities and responsibilities is immense. his wants and needs set aside. which is probably why his self-esteem tanked and he constantly feels like a failure. making mistakes, trying again, learning and re-learning the basics. how to cook, how to clean is more important. ultimately, 'how to parent' isn't a step-by-step process.

despite that, you don't see him differently. in fact, you admire him for it. "it can't be easy but you're doing a great job, the girls love you so much," you say, with clear eyes and unwavering affirmation—then asking his daughters in a fond and friendly tone—"isn't daddy the best?"

there are so many meanings to a word and he's aware you're only referring to him as the father of his children because making that distinction is important. it helps the girls get accustomed to seeing him as a parent, not just the person who's saved them. he won't jump to conclusions. he respects you after all. sweet sing-song voice and a heart of gold are just a bonus, you've helped his girls, you've helped him.

still, the novelty doesn't fade, and neither does the sentiment. the pride that blooms when he hears it ringing in his ears, resounding in his chest. he's daddy. geto rarely seeks approval. only compliance, obedience, and maybe servitude on a rare occasion...but praise and recognition? it's too hard to pass up when it's from you.

although, the sexual connotation lingers. curse his dirty mind filled with filthy intentions. he'd only just gotten the hang of keeping his composure around you, carrying conversations with ease while pushing those obscene thoughts away. they beg for his attention as much as your instructions do, 'remember this and that...' gets lost while pulling himself together before you catch on. eye contact and all smiles as he memorizes your face.

he's going to need it later. or whenever he requires a little help. his imagination works wonders but he's also a stickler for accuracy. your lab coat hides modest sweaters and long skirts, maybe a loose-fitting t-shirt when you and the girls play outside. he can't picture your figure underneath when nothing is revealing. not the heft and weight of perky bosoms and a full ass, the dip and curve of a waistline, part of him—all of him—hopes he'd be the only one who gets to pry those layers off you, unveiling that secret side.

your glasses give it away, shielding the same lewd thoughts of your own. he notices your wandering eyes coveting his body, feels your rapid heartbeat on the side of his arm when you're pressed close. he's well aware of the effect he has on most women, but especially for someone like you who tries so hard to resist.

as weeks went by, his plans to tempt you were coming closer to reaching fruition. "daddy talks about you a lot," nanako whispers as she lets you in on a secret and mimiko nods in agreement, her voice lowered too, "mhm, daddy said you're very smart and pretty."

they wouldn't lie about him, so you smile and take their word for it. falling for giggling faces hidden behind tiny hands. you reply, "that's so nice of him, please do thank him for me," for confidentiality's sake, because you wouldn't want geto getting embarrassed.

besides, there are rules on keeping them at a distance, they aren't your only clients, growing attached would make things difficult and you're starting to see the effects of it as the days go by. for all that talk about 'being professional' you spend too much time thinking about their daddy outside of these walls.

"you shouldn't give him preferential treatment..." says the receptionist, not hiding her cheshire cat grin. she's been watching you like a hawk since he walked in and made an appointment—it wasn't his body, or his face that caught your eye, both beautiful and modelled after a dream but once the shock has set in and you observed him closely, the scene has stuck with you since. his daughters are twins, both dressed well for the weather and there are no signs of distress in their expressions. they look at him like he's their favourite person. wide, shining eyes and a giddy-ness in their steps. he keeps them close to him, "no wandering around, let's not get lost," he said, sounding assertive but gentle at the same time. they nod, holding onto his pant leg on each side. the way his posture straightened tall, his expression serious as he filled out forms, requiring no assistance should you add, with the details when often most don't even remember birth dates or blood types.

most do the bare minimum but he stood out then in a suit, "i thought it was important to make a good first impression," he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. it's hardly a formal occasion but the thought is appreciated when he looks so stunningly handsome. the other single mothers who come by seem to think so too. some bring him leftover bentos and homemade curry. you always thought they'd charm him well enough given that he's single—a fact you're surprisingly way too relieved about—but he remains happy and perfectly content as a bachelor.

the receptionist continues, pointing out these tiny changes you make to your routine—fixing your hair, using a new perfume, your voice pitches higher around him, repeatedly checking your reflection in your compact before his arrival—it's just as evident to you, the woman who's always been unbothered with keeping up appearances. "aw...does someone have a crush on daddy?" she pouts childishly.

"i like all my clients equally," you correct her, "and i don't see him that way. if anything, i just think he's a great parent is all. he's always on time for sessions and applies what we've learned. he's shown exceptional effort."

she wiggles her brows suggestively, "i bet he's exceptional in other ways too...if you know what i mean." ugh. just when you think it couldn't get worse.

"that's none of our business and we shouldn't be discussing this, it's very inappropriate," you know better than to jeopardize your position. you've worked hard for this, spent weeks gaining the trust of two very sweet and adorable girls, it's not worth considering an illicit affair. yes, an affair, because that's all it'll ever be when he's got too much on his plate.

"tsk, you're no fun," she swats you and your hardened face away, deciding then to finally get back to work, but not before she gets the last word in, sighing longingly, "i wonder if he'll ever marry..."

you admittedly do too. fantasizing about being his wife has become a habit and you like to think he'd make room for you, raising the girls together. there wouldn't want for anything because he gets shit done. so responsible and decisive. it's all about taking the initiative, unlike all the other lacklustre men you've dated before. he'll make plans and treat you to nice things. no excuses, no need to soothe bruised egos. it would be nice to be taken care of for once. so much so that it would be easy to relinquish control. all you need is a taste of submission.

geto isn't afraid of a challenge. not even if you play hard to get. how you'd like to step on his toes, a dominating figure who puts you in your place, you wouldn't make it easy for him when he doesn't cower at the sight of a well-made woman.

that night, you barely make it pass your door before your clothes come off. biting your lip and holding back a moan, feeling a heat rise in your belly. tonight isn't about getting it over with but to last as long as possible. or at least until you get to the good part without coming all over your fingers—imagining his weight pressing down onto you. legs folded up and resting upon broad, sturdy shoulders. feet lifted with no purchase, you can't do anything but take it as he thrusts slow and steady, feeling your tight walls clamp down. milking him for everything he's got.

your fingers slip in and the stretch barely measures up to the real thing as you mimic every drag and pull of his cock. you don't worry about size or shape because it belongs to him. how often you've thought about the weight of it on your tongue, dripping precum down your fist. you'd strip him out of his lame harem pants, his pressed trousers, those god-forsaken gym shorts that drive you crazy. taking him down your throat when it's hot out and he's just finished one of his many night shifts. you heard he's working at a restaurant now. oh he'd smell like grease and noodles but you couldn't care less. your mouth begs to suck him off. after all, it's the least you could do when daddy works so hard.

"shh, you wouldn't want the girls waking up," he'd warn, but doing just the opposite to keep you quiet. it makes your legs shake, craving it all the more. i'm sorry daddy, lies on tip of your tongue, you whisper it out into an empty bedroom. save for the sounds of the squelching, slippery mess you make.

he's vocal but not dramatic, he doesn't rush into things, and takes his time to talk you through it. "i know it feels good, i've got you, i'll make my baby come," his baby, you love the sound of it. his voice wraps around you like a cocoon. so secure you could let go, give in to him, submit. he'd tend to your pleasure more than his own. let him take charge, let him make full use of your pussy like he owns it. maybe he'll punish you if you disobey.

glasses askew, hair frazzled, resolve in shambles. your tears spill, they burn your cheeks. i can't, i shouldn't, you chant. it doesn't matter that his cock stretches you out deliciously, or that he sneaks a hand to wrap around your neck, you can't let this man make you lose all your inhibitions and better judgement. your mind races, wet and sticky fingers pumping faster, there's a ringing in your ears and you hear your own breaths huffing out, your pussy clenches and for a second, it feels like your orgasm might slip from you the more you hold back.

how real he appears in your mind's eye, "daddy, daddy, daddy please," you whine, cry, scream. a familiar wave builds and wrings a knot in your stomach, your clit throbs and your fingers jam themselves against that spot deep inside, wishing it was him prodding you with vigor. you're so close you think of his broad back, his sweaty neck, his veiny arms around you so tight. holding you hostage as he gently coaxes you towards the edge. "that's it," he groans and you swear you hear it above you— "come for daddy," and you're crumbling and coming undone at the seams, not the least bit sated or sure of facing him again the next morning.

#ask #anon #sunpiece #saturated #geto suguru #just a short one #jjk smut #jjk hcs #geto suguru x reader #geto smut #geto x reader

89 notes · View notes

iambilliejeanok · 1 year ago

Text

🎀The lords plaything🎀

Geto x reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, breeding ,NSFW, explicit, squirting, hardcore, rough penetration, cunnillingus, fingering. This one really isn’t for the feint hearted.

🩷Monday Smut Day🩷

It’s not everyday that he gets to see you, pushing you up against the wall as he trailed hot kisses against your neck, and maybe the steaming hot make out session that grew hotter and hotter by the minute was him taking advantage of his own power, but having the powerful leader of a successful, wealthy cult, nipping and licking your neck as he aggressively ripped off each item of your clothing right off your body, was a blessing in itself. Maybe you earned this because of your hard work. You would indulge in it as often as it would happen, since your body belonged to no one but Geto-sama anyhow. “You’re wearing too much”, he spoke in between nips and pecks, ripping your pantyhose off as he growled against your neck, “you’re lucky I’m in a good mood, or this would piss me off”.

You felt guilty about the throbbing ache in your cunt as Geto scolded you, you loved him being this hungry, wondering if you should continue to piss him off in future. Finally ridding you of your pantyhose, you were left in a dark blue two piece lingerie set that seemed to please your god, Geto taking a step back to admire the way the lacy attire complimented your chubby figure. “You baaad girl”, he said, slowly closing the space between the two of you, smacking your pussy hard enough to force you to yelp right in his face. He smiled to himself, pleased with the reaction he caused. “Did you put this slutty little attire on in hopes of pleasing your god?”, he asked, almost growling as he spoke, dragging his fingers up your thick thighs so hard, you just knew you’d be bruised tomorrow. Feeling slightly intimidated as usual, you quickly nodded your head, “Yes Geto-sama, I prayed that you’d get a chance to see me today”, you whimpered.

“You know, you’re my favourite little slut”, he snickered in your ear, your heart skipping a beat at the realization that you weren’t the only one, feeling rather disappointed. You thought what you shared with him might have been special. You almost thought you were the chosen one. That maybe you’d become the new Mary, your heart began to ache, but not for long, as Geto suddenly took you into a fiery kiss, palming both your cheeks in his warm hands. His hands were always warm, his lips so soft as they melted against yours, distracting you from your heartache enough to enjoy him against you again. You whimpered louder than you wanted to when he broke the kiss, watching him slowly kneel down before you. You swallowed, Geto never taking his eyes off of yours as he hooked your panties with his middle finger, just other hand lifting your thigh to rest on his shoulder as he pushed your panties to the side.

He couldn’t resist burying his nose right against your bare clit, making you gasp as your hands immediately rested on his head. “Fuck, will I ever get enough of you huh?”, he asked, his hot breath right against your pussy, making you slightly squirm where you stood. Without warning, he gently pinched your clit between his index and middle finger, slowly massaging it between them. “Ooooh!”, you couldn’t help but moan, the sensation delicious, but not enough to get you anywhere. “Now now”, Geto spoke, smiling over your reaction. “Did you do what I had asked you to?”, he asked, his mouth so close to your clit as he spoke. “Huh?”, you asked, snapping out of your haze, your cheeks warm from the naughty look in his eyes. You gasped loudly when he pinch your clit harder, the answer immediately coming to mind. “Uhh, yeah…I’ve already p-printed out all the intel and m-made an extra copy too. I’ve also o-organized the extra music classes for the girls, everything’s p-paid for the rest of the year”, you spoke, trying your best to not shy away from his gaze, biting your lip as he continued squeezing and rolling your clit between the pads his fingers. “Good girl”, he said, releasing your clit only to replace his fingers with his mouth, his hot and wet tongue getting you all hot and wet too, well not that you weren’t already soaked from just being in his presence. You couldn’t suppress the soft moans escaping your lips, his free hand reaching for your breast, pulling the blue lace that covered it down before cupping it, moaning right into your heat, the vibrations coupled with his fingers now tweaking your nipple, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure from your tummy to your toes, realizing how close you already were. Stopping his administrations for just a second caught your attention, looking down at him to see what the reason was. “You taste wonderful as usual, I could sit here and eat you forever, but we have that meeting with the prime minister in ten remember?”, he asked, “yea”, you replied in the softest voice, your eyes leaving his for just a second to eye your torn clothes spread out over the floor. Without warning, Geto penetrated your sopping heat with just his single finger, shoving it down to the last knuckle, smiling at the sharp scream that left your lips at the sudden intrusion. The stretch burned, afterall, you weren’t used to this, the only man you ever shared your body with for the past two years was Geto, and he only fucked you on occasion, when he was bored, or when he had the time.

Your back arched off the wall, Geto placing his big hand on your lower tummy to push you right back against it, biting his lip at the feel of your heat trying to swallow his finger up further, your walls clenching on it in want. “Geto-sama!”, you moaned, “Geto- sama doesn’t have a lot of free time”, he smiled, “So let’s finish this up quickly shall we?” And with that, his mouth was on your clit again, sucking and licking your throbbing bean as he began moving his finger, pulling out to the tip only to shove it all the way back in, his hand on your tummy keeping you right up against the wall as he circled his finger deep inside of you, pressing against your walls before repeating the action. And like the god you knew his was, you felt yourself reaching your peak, accidentally banging your head against the wall when you threw it back, your mouth hanging open as your fingers dug through his long, soft, black tresses. “I’m gonna cum!”, you cried out, Geto patiently repeating his actions, pulling his finger out only to roughly shove it back inside of you, circling it around to massage your walls, before slowly dragging it out to just the second knuckle, now slowly dragging it back and forth over your gspot. You couldn’t bare how amazing you felt, your eyes rolling to the back of your head and your leg shaking over his shoulder as you finally came, hot pleasure running through your body in waves of heat as your orgasm washed over you, Geto’s mouth still sucking on your clit, his finger continually rubbing on your gspot, a little slower now that it clenched him in ways that made his dick twitch under his robes. He moaned when he tasted your liquids finally running into his mouth, lost in the way you screamed and cried his name, gushing into his mouth as he continued to devour you. He remembered the time, immediately ending his pleasurably cruel actions in between your legs.

Quickly he lifted up both your thighs, pinning you against the wall, ignorant of the way your body thrashed in his arms, too impatient to wait for you to come back, using one hand to move his robes out the way, his throbbing erection springing up. He grabbed his length, stroking himself a few times as he watched you try and catch your breath, your body limp in his arms. He lined himself with your pussy, letting gravity help him slam himself all the way inside of you, ripping a scream from deep inside your tummy. “Fuck!!!”, you screamed, burning all so deliciously as Geto filled and stretched you out much much more than his fingers did. You could never get used to the size of him, throwing your arms around him and holding him tight. “You ready angel”, he asked, “y-yeesss”, you cried and without another word, he began thrusting into you, pulling himself out all the way to the tip before slamming himself back , circling his hips to get in as deep as he could, your fingers gripping his robes and pulling on his hair. Every single thrust made you scream, your body shivering in his hold as you came for the second time. He couldn’t care less about the mess you made on him, your pussy swallowing him up and squeezing him, hugging him tight with every thrust. It was all worth it to him, and he wanted you to cum again, his hands gripping your thighs so tight as he continued to slam himself inside of you, bottoming out so deep a ring formed at the base, the sounds your squelching pussy made as well as the sexy praises that left your lips drove him closer to the edge. He couldn’t handle the desperate and clingy yes’s, mores’ and “geto-sama’s”, that fell from you lips over and over again, your pussy clenching him tight as you squirted for the third time. He couldn’t resist how tight you squeezed him, Geto finally cumming hard, shooting hot liquid deep inside of you, making you scream as you felt him fill you up. He bit into your shoulder, hard enough to leave a nasty mark, your pussy milking him for every lost drop he had to offer. “Fuck!”, he growled, unable to pull out of you just yet, your heat still tightly wrapped around him.

Geto still held you up, your body so weak and limp in his arms, and you were grateful for the support, not sure if you’d be able to stand on your own. You were both panting hard, Geto planting kisses all over your neck as your cries turned into soft whimpers, your pussy finally able to release him. Before he pulled out of you, he turned around, his legs also a bit numb as he gently placed you on the nearby counter top, spreading your legs wide as he slowly pulled out, the hole that was so tight around him now gaping wide. He placed one hand on your tummy, pressing down hard enough to make you whimper loudly , his white fluid finally seeping out of you, spilling onto the floor in drops. He absolutely loved the sight, feeling himself growing hard again. He had to fight the temptation to fuck you once more, remembering the meeting that probably already began. He stepped away from you, and your slowly fell to the floor, the counter top not wide enough to keep your entire body on it. “I’m going to clean up in the bathroom, I’m sure the meeting already started. I’m gonna fuck you harder later on for making me late”, he said, his voice a tad bit horse as he spoke. He turned around, leaving you naked and weak on the floor, and you watched his back as he walked away to the door. “Clean yourself up and get your ass to that meeting in five”, he said as he reached for the handle, turning around to face you one more time, “or else I’ll really hurt you tonight”, and with that he was gone, shutting the door behind him.

Sometimes he was nice enough to help you clean up, but today he was rather upset. He’s probably just stressed about the meeting, you told yourself, your heart skipping a beat when you realised you couldn’t stand up just yet, your legs still jello and your pussy aching from the rough penetration. Hopefully you could make it up to him by tonight, because you weren’t too sure if you’d be able to gather yourself in just five minutes, and to make matters worse, your clothes lay torn on the floor a few feet away from you.

Fuck

#jujustu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto imagines #geto smut #getou suguru x reader #geto suguru #jjk imagines #jjk smut

284 notes · View notes

starsfic · 18 days ago

Text

The Perfect Funeral

Summary: A prequel to Forced Back, Narinder is freed. Now, he must bury the Lamb, following the rites of their people.

Step 1. Die

The Lamb’s life ended with a sound similar to twigs snapping.

Gasps and screams echoed through the hills and mists of his prison from the followers who watched, but he paid them no mind. Instead, he took his second free step forward, staring down at the body of his most devoted disciple.

The Red Crown pulsed on his head, a sensation that was almost foreign after decades of it being gone. Red power pulsed and the followers cried out as they were sent back. Their job as witnesses had been accomplished.

“Go on ahead,” he said to his students, studying the Lamb. Even with the pain their execution must’ve been, their face was calm and peaceful, the only sign of pain being the slight strain around their eyes. He remembered what it was like in the living world, even if that memory was faint, but he doubted Baal and Aym remembered, being so little when Shamura had gifted them to him.

The twins shared glances before disappearing in pulses of red.

Narinder soaked in the silence for the last time, allowing his body to shift and change. After this, it would be stressful, tense, both with the cult getting used to him and the struggle of taking control of the territories that used to belong to his siblings.

He reached down and scooped up the Lamb, their head lolling softly on their broken neck before settling against his shoulder. They were heavier than expected, compared to their weight when he was in his full form, but Narinder didn’t struggle.

“Let’s go, Lamb.”

He allowed his power to consume him, shucking off his blood-stained white robes for clean white robes, a dark cloak flaring around his shoulders, but his veil remaining. When he appeared in the center of the cult, the followers, all gathered around, went silent. Baal and Aym both looked back, barely hiding the need to squint in the sunlight of the rising sun.

Narinder allowed a smile to spread. “Rejoice,” he said, his voice firm. “For what you have been working for has been accomplished. The bishops of the Old Faith are dead and slain by your glorious leader and the One Who Waits, Death himself, is free.”

Shocked silence consumed the commune before an elderly white doe knelt. She seemed to trigger an instinct in everyone, each person taking a knee and bowing. He could sense their devotion, growing loud with the realization that this was real.

“Now,” he said, making each follower look up. “Tell me, who is informed on the last rites of the lamb? My most devoted follower deserves a proper send-off.”

Three rose from the crowd: an older frog, flanked by a shrimp and a bear. The first wore black robes, similar to Baal’s robes, while the other two wore white robes. “I do, my master,” the frog said. “I am the mortician of the cult. The Lamb made sure I knew the rites by heart.”

Narinder stepped forward and the followers parted for him, allowing him to walk up to the frog and his students.

“Very well. Let’s begin.”

Step 2. Drain the blood and remove the organs

The area where the mortician did his work was a miniature temple itself, perfect for a cult dedicated to Death. The two students cleaned and prepped a table before allowing Narinder to rest the Lamb down.

The body was easy to undress, with the Lamb simply wearing the red cloak and the bell. When the shrimp took the bell off, they flinched at the sight of the jagged scar arching across the Lamb’s throat.

“I always thought it was a shame that they hid it,” Narinder said, holding out his hand. The shrimp, without a word, set the bell in his hands as the bear walked up, holding a tray full of knives and scalpels.

Narinder turned away as the mortician began to cut into the skin to drain the blood. Not because his stomach ached at the sight, but rather to talk to the commune’s head builder. “I intend to replace the last step of these rites,” he said, ears flicking at the sound of the festival being prepared. “The Lamb deserves to be worshipped for eternity.”

“They did predict this,” the rhino said, pulling out a rolled-up piece of paper. She unfurled it on the next table, allowing Narinder to take in the plans for the crypt. “We already had stone brought up.”

“How soon can this be done?”

“In a few hours,” the builder said with a strange confidence. When Narinder remarked on this, she, for a moment, had a very distant look. “The Lamb trained us to ignore the limits of our bodies. We must all push forward.”

It sounded strangely cruel. Narinder loved it.

When he turned back, the mortician’s assistants were pulling away the third bowls of blood. When they were done here, the blood would be made into reliquaries. The mortician was slicing open the Lamb fully, pulling back the skin to reveal their organs.

“I will be doing this next step.”

The mortician did not question this. Instead, he stepped back, waiting with his students as Narinder stepped forward. This was an old process, done back when he was his siblings’ mortician, except he would do this body with much more care.

There were over ten organs that, according to lamb rites, that needed to be removed. Each organ was pulled and cut gently out, set inside small clay jars, each painted with fields of grass and flowers. During normal rites, these would be the only things buried. Instead, these would be arranged around the commune, symbols that the Lamb still lingered and loved them.

The last was the heart and Narinder took a moment with this one. He held it in his hands, studying it. It was still warm in his hands, still slightly full of blood. He brought it close, pressing his lips to it in a soft kiss, and heard one of the followers gasp.

It was tempting to take a bite.

Step 3. Fill the body with the person’s favorite flowers and salt and let dry.

“The next step is to fill the body with salt and their favorite flowers,” the mortician said as the assistants dragged in two big bags. He looked embarrassed for a moment. Narinder stayed silent, letting him think.

“...do you know the Lamb’s favorite flower?”

It had been whispered once, back when the Lamb had been campaigning to kill Heket. They had died with the flowers knotted into their fleece, a sharp contrast to the blood and gore that stained their form. They had fought to the death.

“Red lilies.”

It was no trouble to send the twins out into Darkwood and into the remains of Leshy’s palace, where he knew his brother had kept the only orderly thing in his possession. It did leave him to watch as the cult worked to prepare the feast and other things, a well-oiled machine despite the sudden replacement of their leader.

The twins came back a few hours later with smiles and armfuls of more than just red lilies. Narinder took the lilies and a few of the others, unable to help a little smile at their own smiles. He had been fond of Forenus, despite barely knowing the woman, and it was good to see she was still around.

The flowers were mixed with the salt in big bowls, everyone rolling their sleeves up to mix the two together. He tensed at the feeling of their eyes on his wrists, bare and skeletal and with open wounds from the chains, but he ignored them, just like he ignore the instant sting that zapped up his arms when he pressed his hands into the salt and flowers.

It was worth it. Each step of his revenge, each step of this process, was worth it.

There was more salt than what was needed, but Narinder knew that bodies were bigger on the inside than imagined. The salt lingered on the red of the petals, giving each flower an eerie but beautiful look before the salt and flowers were set into the empty cavern that had once held the organs.

Once that was done, Narinder and the assistants pressed the skin together.

Step 4. Sew the body up

The thread produced for the next step was red and gold, tied tight together. Narinder’s stomach twisted at the memory of the Lamb visiting after defeating Minos, wearing golden jewelry. It had gleamed in the whiteness of his prison, matching well with the red of their cloak, but their smile had been brighter.

The mortician was quick and efficient with his sewing. Soon, the salt and flowers had vanished. The salt would quickly dry the body through the next steps, preparing it for the final step.

The assistants stepped away, with one heading to the door. Two followers waited out there, offering a bundle of white and red and a bucket full of water.

Step 5. Wash the body and dress it in nice clothes

Narinder once again took the lead in this next step. There were rags and sponges waiting in the bucket. He dropped his hand in the water of the bucket and resisted a shiver as he grabbed a sponge. Unlike the salt, the cold water was an almost pleasant sensation.

The lamb’s wool was soft under his hands. A little long, a little shaggy, but still soft. The first time he had held them in his hands, he had to take a moment to soak in the sensation. Aym and Baal had been soft when they came to him, barely weaned off milk, but it was a different kind of soft from the white curls.

When he pulled away, the assistants stepped forward to reveal black and red robes, slightly wrinkled as if the Lamb had never worn them. Narinder knew for a fact that they had never worn the pearl jewelry that was carefully arranged in the Lamb’s wool, glinting softly in the light like stars.

When it was done, they stepped back, revealing the coffin.

Step 6. Wake

The party seemed to have been going on a little while when Narinder guided the assistants out of the morgue.

The music and revelry went silent as the little group headed to the platform, arranged with more flowers. Baal stepped away with a few of the cult’s children, seemingly busy taking the area over with flowers. Narinder walked to the far edge, ignoring the slight pants and gasps for air before they set the coffin on the platform.

“Say your goodbyes,” he said before walking off-stage. There was a slightly larger seat that he settled in. Aym and Baal took up their positions beside him, until he shooed them off as the funeral feast slowly cranked back to life.

He had no appetite for food or drink. Such things were below him. Instead, he soaked up the devotion contained in hushed whispers, awestruck looks, and every worshipful gaze turned towards the coffin.

He had sensed every type of devotion in this cult, each filtered back through his connection to the crown.

The Lamb’s devotion had been the strongest he had ever felt. Even back when he had still been accepted among the Old Faith, he had few followers of his own. His siblings’ followers had worshipped him, of course, but that barely satisfied his appetite, worshipped as more of a background fact.

The Lamb’s devotion had burned bright and true, ringing of desperate hope and soft adoration, and Narinder drank every last drop of it up.

Step 7. Burn the body

When the candles burned low and the moon was peeking over the trees, that was when Narinder rose, and the cult fell silent. The Lamb had trained them well. He had honestly expected more of a struggle.

"My twins," he said, and the twins rose up immediately. Unlike the assistants, they barely strained against the weight of the coffin. There had been little to do in his prison except train, even if their slender builds failed to show their strength. He was tempted to see if they could lift up trees.

Narinder took the candle from next to him and led them up the hill, the cult following behind.

Lamb rites wanted the body burned. The ashes would be scattered. The lambs worshipped life and him by consequence, and the act returned the flesh to the soil.

The Lamb would not. The Lamb was his, even in permanent death.

The crypt was elegant, the stone bearing no marks of erosion yet. Narinder stepped inside and felt a smile tug at him at the beautiful murals that decorated the walls. There was no sign of the short time it must have taken- his cult had been trained very well.

In the center of the crypt was a platform. There, Aym and Baal set the coffin. The lid was left loose. Together, the two marched out.

Narinder lingered. He took the candle and lit each small candle. The light created a soft golden glow in the room, lighting up his lamb's peaceful features.

He walked outside, closing the bronze doors behind him.

Outside, the cult had drawn close, setting more candles next to even more flowers. Narinder pushed away the confusion of how many flowers the twins had found and turned his gaze towards his followers.

"Your Lamb served you well," he said. "For that, they have been rewarded, reunited with the family they lost to the Old Faith, and the family that they created here that have since passed to the Pastures." A quiet cheer rang out. "You all, in time, will be reunited with them and the others who have passed from your lives." Another quiet cheer.

"The Lamb loves you all."

This time, there were words as the cult roared.

"THE LAMB LOVES US ALL!"

Step 8. Say goodbye

He waited until the commune went silent and the temple was empty.

The stars glowed overhead as Narinder walked up to the crypt.

Some of the candles had burned out, while the flames of others lit him, opening the crypt and pushing open the lid. The Lamb’s body stared back at him, empty and silent.

He had no doubt in his words before, that they were reuniting with their loved ones in the Pastures. Their death had been agreed upon. Narinder had needed the sacrifice. He cupped their face and stared at it.

It still hurt, though.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to their forehead, cold and bare of life.

“Have a good rest, Lamb.”

#Cult of the Lamb #CotL #Narilamb #True Devotion #Narinder #The One Who Waits #my writing

29 notes · View notes

qippabtch · 11 days ago

Text

What scares me about these tariffs isn’t so much the fact that they’re gonna hike up the price of everything (even though they are). Don’t get me wrong, that’s also terrifying and awful. But there’s another layer to it that’s far more insidious.

We sort of take for granted that, usually, The Guy in Power wants to make things go well, and believes that his way is the right way to do that. But that’s not always the case. Sometimes, The Guy in Power knows full well that he’s making decisions that are not in the best interest of his country, but those who operate behind him and pull his strings consider his incompetence a FEATURE, not a bug.

Because they know that as long as the existing power structure at least kind of works, it’ll probably go on standing. Whereas if their guy can manage to run the whole thing right into the ground, while successfully diverting attention away from the fact that he’s doing it on purpose, then he’ll destabilize it enough for them to sweep in and establish something a bit more permanent (ahem-- fascist).

Canada, Mexico, and China are making their displeasure with the United States’ new tariffs very clear.

New Zealand has also made it known that they also do not appreciate being threatened with annexation by the leader of the largest and best-funded military in the world.

This is not a diplomatic move on our part. These are likely to be seen as the hostile maneuvers they are, and other countries are going to retaliate.

And when they do, that’ll make it just that much easier for the current administration to be like “look, see? Our so-called allies are lashing out at us!! See how awful these foreign powers are?”

And people will fall for it.

Nationalism is strengthened, propaganda reinforced. There is nowhere to go. There is no one who will help you if you leave.

It’s like those insular religious groups who make 'evangelism at all costs' their core tenet, and practice things like door-to-door proselytizing as a means to that end. The fact that people don’t like to be bothered at home, that handing out preachy pamphlets is inevitably perceived as antagonistic— those aren’t unfortunate side effects.

Their retaliation IS THE POINT.

Because then when the 18 year old kids going door to door get them slammed in their face, when they’re treated rudely, harassed, threatened, or yelled at by annoyed homeowners, it just reinforces everything the cult told them was true about non-members. That everyone outside of the cult was evil and bad, and it’s only within the cult that they’re safe.

Make them fear and distrust “outside”. Make them more complacent with their treatment on the inside. Make them more dependent, less likely to flee, more likely to stay even as things inside get worse.

Do you think the same does not apply to a country? I hear lots of people talking about how MAGA is a cult, and they're not entirely wrong. And they don't need everyone to be wholehearted followers for their tactics to work. They just need enough of us to agree to at least taste the Kool-Aid, just have a few sips, there now, see? That wasn't so bad.

They want our neighbors to hate us. They want them to retaliate, so they can point to the headlines and say “Look! See? I told you! You can’t trust them. Only us. Only me.”

They want us to believe that the rest of the world is out to get us. Nationalism is easier to propagate when we’re being treated like the bad guy, and how do you expect other nations to treat us when we’re already acting like the bad guy?

It’s like, step 3 of the fascists’ 10-step program.

#american politics are a disaster #I hate it here #wtf is happening #trump administration #fuck trump #fuck maga #trump #maga cult

24 notes · View notes

potatoplace · 1 month ago

Text

Okay. Freeuse Commune (cult) Leaders Feysand + IC x Reader

This is not uhhhh very plot heavy. Just. Kink heavy. So. Yeah. Yeah. You've been warned. Also not an actual fic.

Reader is a barista, and notices an extremely beautiful, captivating new customer, who's a coffee addict, it seems. She comes in multiple times every day for a couple of weeks, always tipping you well, and when it's slow she hangs out for a bit, and chats with you. You learn more about her, how she's in town after years away, visiting her sisters. Every word from her lips leaves you more infatuated with her, your thoughts constantly drifting to her.

One day she asks you to go out for drinks, and you accept, unsure if she meant as friends or more. But, well, Feyre immediately comes onto you, and the two of you end up at your apartment before long. The next night goes the much same, as does the next week- minus the extra step of going out for drinks, Feyre would much rather keep you tied up in bed- metaphorically, of course (for now)

By the end of your week together, Feyre announces that she's leaving, going back to her home. You're absolutely heartbroken, having caught feelings so fast. But: Feyre offers to take you with her. Now, there would be some rules, such as wearing minimal clothing, helping out around the community, and well...

"Do you know what freeuse is, sweetheart? It's when I can use you whenever I want. And you can use me whenever you want. The same goes for all members in our community- we all love each other, and you would be a beautiful part of it. Of course... I might keep you all to myself." (Something like that idk yet lol)

Women are also kept on birth control shots, just so there's no chance of unexpected pregnancies.

You agree, because at this point you would do anything that Feyre asks you, and really... how bad could it be? Living for free, only required to help out in the fields or meals or cleaning? And being loved by so many people? It's not like you have much keeping you here, anyways, you were a single child, most of your family had passed or moved away already.

The plane ride with Feyre is easy, leaving your life behind is easy, really. Especially with Feyre right next to you, whispering pretty words in your ears while her fingers sneak under the waistband of your panties on the flight.

When you arrive at the commune she lives in, you're greeted by everyone who lives there- stark naked. And you're also struck by how absolutely gorgeous everyone is, as well as their other physical assets.

Most of the crowd bows to Feyre (cult cult cult), and one of the men steps from the crowd. He's absolutely breathtaking, with his violet eyes and dark hair and muscled physique. He undresses Feyre and gives her long kiss, and Feyre turns to you next. You let her undress you, even as you're blushing under the gaze of so many people watching. And the sweet, reassuring kiss she gives you instills you with strength, and the confidence that you made the right choice.

The first day is the most awkward for you, still adjusting to being naked in the open. You have an appointment with the commune's doctor, a woman named Madja who works with the commune, but doesn't belong. She gives you your first birth control shot that'll last three months. You're kept close to Feyre and Rhys all day, even kept close that night, in a massive bed that a few other people climb into, their close friends, you realize. No one has sex with you besides Feyre that day, though you did witness sex- a lot of it.

The next day is different, however. You're woken by a mouth on you, and you're slightly surprised to see Rhys between your legs when you open your eyes. Everyone else in the IC has a go with you that day, Azriel, Cassian, Amren, and Mor (Mor will be Rhys's childhood friend not cousin in this, but they've known each other their whole lives so same dynamic minus being related cause uhhh no). However, no one else touched you, though you feel eyes on you all the time. And... some angry stares?

Over the next week, you settle in, both with doing your share of the work, and with the new lifestyle. You stop hiding yourself as much, and occasionally initiate sex with Feyre and Rhys. The others... you're still getting more comfortable with.

You notice in the first week- there are a couple of pregnant women in the commune. From what you've gathered, they seem to have been... chosen? By the Inner Circle to carry a child.

You can't help but feel a flash of jealousy, whenever you see one of them.

Time flies past, and two months in, you're absolutely in love with every member of the Inner Circle. Your every thought is consumed by them, and you seek them out whenever you can- though luckily for you, they seem to do the same. You're rarely left alone, even when doing your tasks around the commune. One of them is almost always there to distract you, or drag you away from your duties altogether.

You're nearing your second birth control shot appointment, but you can't keep your mind off not having it. It doesn't help that Cassian, Azriel, and Rhys keep whispering in your ear how pretty you'd look, full with their children every time they fuck you. Feyre keeps mentioning how when someone finds out they're pregnant here, they're allowed to wear the skimpy nightgowns Feyre keeps stored away once a week if they'd like, as a sign of how treasured they are.

You want to wear those. You want to look even prettier to all of them. Most of all, you want to be tethered to all of them, permanently. You can't imagine your life without them anymore, and you almost exclusively do whatever they tell you, and you feel lost whenever they're not around.

The day before your next appointment with Madja, you finally get yourself to do it.

You beg. You beg and beg and beg for them to not make you get the shot, in tears by the time that Feyre finally shushes you and pulls you in for a hug. She tells you that of course you're not going to get the shot, especially when you beg so prettily to carry their children.

And yeah that's like the end of the plot unless I decide for the cult commune to get raided or something lol

This is basically just a vessel for dirty dirty poly smut. Don't. Judge me.

#cult leader feysand #cult acotar #story idea #acotar story idea #acotar #acotar fic idea #fic idea #tato talks

21 notes · View notes

tootoomanycats · 7 months ago

Text

Boiling Over

Suguru Geto x Personal Chef Smut

Pairing:

Pent Up Geto Cult Leader x OC Fem

(can also be read as reader insert)

Word Count: 3,576 words

Summary: Geto realizes that his new cook has started to put disgusting notions into his daughters heads. After tucking the girls to bed, he finds holding the lid on his anger challenging and complex. It is time to have a talk with this vile monkey; only things don’t go according to plan.

Warnings:

Language usage refers to non-sorcery users such as monkeys and animals and uses verbiage degrading non-users' ideology. (It's Geto; I am only trying to stick to how I think he would internally speak about us muggle folk.)

Enemies arguing to unexpected smut.

Mentions of premature ejaculation. (we make sure he knows he’s still wanted)

Minor mention of a potential eating disorder for Geto.

Author Notes:

Hello Everyone! I promise I am still working on rewriting Performances, but I had to stop because my brain would not let me get any sleep until I got this little one-shot out and edited. I never planned on writing any JJK content, but this is my lesson in never saying never. Honestly, I don't know if this will be a stand-alone one-shot or if it will develop into a short story. Either way, I hope you'll like it! As always if you like what you have read please remember that fanfic writers live off of likes, comments and reblogs- we wont admit it but we all have praise kinks.

Have you watered your writer today?

Each long stride only allowed more anger to fill his lungs. That disgusting, foul-breathed cretan. How dare she encourage such thoughts in their minds? To speak of this dementedly wicked world like the Garden of Eden, like it was something worth protecting. When creatures like her ruined its oasis, this was just more evidence that only further proved every reason to go through with the plan to wipe them out of existence.

Silence filled the long, winding corridors in the late hour—only the soft shuffles of his steps to be heard. The time spent wandering, stewing in the whirlpool of thoughts, was unknown. Be it subconsciously or with intention, he came to stand before the kitchen door. Finger paints covered the wood in various colors and shapes and crudely drawn animals. No doubt, the artistic freedom given to the girls by that damn woman. Another distraction put in front of them that should instead be spent studying and growing more substantial for the future, his future. Fingers massaged at his temple, and that damn under-eye twitch was back.

Before turning to continue on the walk of rage, a faint light shined from under the door. The source’s inconsistent flickering made it obvious it was a flame light, not the usual overhead bulbs. A shadow was moving about, its lines from under the door jam shifting around. Was someone trying to find a late-night snack? Curiosity got the better of him as the door cracked open, the well-oiled hinges making no noise to give away his presence. There, at the kitchen island, sat the bane of his existence. A single candle was her only light source as she made notes in a thick-bound journal. Books littered across the counter’s surface that she was scanning between.

After spending two hours tossing and turning in bed, Hope had given up on sleep finding her tonight. What time would have been spent dreaming was now used to research and plan instead. In the short time since coming to the estate, she realized how out of her depth she was. Growing up on a farm had taught her many valuable tidbits that rolled over into the new career of personal cook. Sadly, though, most of the knowledge of common fruits and vegetation was useless now due to being on foreign soil. Not to mention, all the meals commonly made here were a complete novelty to her. All day, the worry of not knowing a simple dish to make for the girls if one got sick filled her head.

She felt lucky that it was still summer, but fall and winter would soon come, so it was best to start studying basic soup stocks and how to preserve them now. Just as exhaustion began to creep its way up her spine, the face of that egotistical man came to mind. She groaned, remembering how he had already refused everything but the boiled, unseasoned chicken breast. A previous warning of how picky her new boss was had first been brushed off, but now she only saw it as something more concerning. When inquired, the girls only looked at each other before explaining how their father seemed to struggle with food. Something about how things always seemed to taste putrid: Hope made a mental note to inquire if there were meals that would not be so vehemently refused going forward.

“I see I am not alone in burning the late-night oil.” Geto had to hold in the smug smirk at watching Hope almost jump out of her skin when making his presence known. Stepping closer to the kitchen island, his eyes scanned its counter’s contents. Multiple subjects filled the open pages, text outlining photos and drawings of local flora and fauna in Japan, while another explained cultural customs entwined with particular meals. “Homework?” he asked, keeping the tone of the question light, almost teasing. Anger still simmered just below the surface, the lid of feigned equanimity keeping it in check.

She quickly closed the notebook, gathered the books, and walked backward while responding. “Just menu planning and figuring out what to plant in the garden first.” Mirroring his strained smile, she still tried to calm the racing of her heart from being caught off guard by his presence. “W-What has you up so late?” Gulping when the evident anger in his eyes seemed to be barely masked by the smile on his lips. With each step he took further into the space, she took one back-feigning needing to put the books back in their place, on the opposite end of the island. Something deep and primal warned not to turn her back to him.

Hands going back into their usual hiding place in the sleeves of his haori, he stopped where she had just been sitting. Magnanimous in allowing the useless cook her space. “I just tucked the girls into bed. They were having difficulty falling asleep, and I couldn’t figure out why for a while until they started asking some peculiar questions.” Geto tilted his head, the candle’s light only illuminating one half of his face while the other became shrouded in the darkness of the night. Even in the dimly lit space, the fear on her face was clear as day. Teeth ground together as realization dawned on him; at first, he had chalked up what she had told his daughters as common monkey ignorance. But now, in the fearful response of shirking away from him, it became apparent that she knew exactly what she had done.

“Oh? What kinds of questions?” Hope’s palms began to sweat, making it hard to hold the books. She had no shame in introducing the importance of protecting living things, nor held abasement in teaching how the circle of life affected everyone, including Nanako and Mimiko. However, this did not make her oblivious to the potential backlash of such actions. Placing the books down on the edge of the counter before straightening her posture; if she were to be fired or threatened, then he would have to do it while seeing her head held high.

What was once a simmering pot now started to boil. It was one thing to play stupid with him, but it was another thing entirely to look proud while doing it. Taking a step forward, he spoke sternly, “Yes. It seems they have these ideas suddenly.” Another step. “Notions I have taught them that will not be allowed in the future I am creating. You wouldn't happen to know where they got those from, would you?” He now stood only a few short strides from her and the corner she had put herself in. Watching as she stood taller with each step, even puffing her chest out. She was brave; he would give her that. Bravely stupid.

Hope’s eyes dropped down from where he now stood to the books before her. With a deep breath, she calmly spoke the answer he was trying to pull from her. “Yes, I had asked them what vegetables would be best to grow in the garden earlier today. As it turns out, they didn't know, and neither did I. So I found a book, and the three of us took turns reading and learning.” Wetting her mouth, she continued before glancing up to see the anger on his face build. “The girls started to have more philosophical questions on which I gave my opinions on.” Fear spread through her bones as he quickly walked into the small space that was left between them. Turning to face the outrage on his face, back facing the island as her hands held onto its edge for the needed stability of what was to come.

“Who are you to fill their minds with such disgusting notions?” The pot's lid danced over the boiling rage held within. The candlelight illuminated both of them clearly, making it possible to watch as shock filled her face at his statement.

At first, her jaw hung open until the feeling of offense had her back to defend herself. “You may think it disgusting, Your Radiance, but like it or not, the reality is that those girls are starting to realize that not everything in this world is horrible. There are things worth enjoying now, not just when you create some theoretical future.” Though her words rang with strength, her body responded in alarm at watching the monster before her shift through so many emotions.

“They are my children! And much too young to be curious about such things.” The lid crashed to the ground as the emotions finally boiled over the pot’s opening. His voice had raised before quieting back down.

“They are growing girls, just three years shy of being teenagers! How can you not see that they are becoming curious about the world around them? Both have questions, yet you refuse to acknowledge it.”

Wrath filled his eyes, his usually fake pacifying expression vanishing to show the true nature of his feelings as he crowded her further with a sneer, twisting his lips. “Oh? What questions would be so important that they would go to a vile monkey for answers instead of me?” His tone was dangerous, threatening, and low.

She could feel the hair on the back of her neck rise; he did not expect such rage to be mirrored back. “I may be a monkey, but at least they feel safe enough to tell me when they like a boy.” Shock started filling his face as she took the chance to be the one now leaning in. “Tell me, how do you plan to explain to them that you will cause the death of their crush?”

Her eyes flicked back and forth between his; he was so close that she could feel the heat of his breath across her nose. Blood thrummed in her veins at how hard her heart pounded. The butcher-block wood creaked under her white knuckle grip, and her back pressed firmly against the counter as he further cornered her in. If this is how she died, then so be it; it will have been worth it to have finally shoved reality into the maniac's face.

Large palms and long arms became caged bars around her, nails scratching groves into the woodgrain. “A crush is a trivial thing.” He leaned further, pressing his chest forward, forcing her spine to bow back uncomfortably. The stiff lip of the wood now bit painfully into her haunches. Delicate fingers gripped the front of his gojogesa, desperate to have any control of how he continued contorting her upper body. His head tilted to whisper into her ear, “They will learn that a monkey’s place is beneath them.”

Geto hated weaklings and abhorred their very existence. It was revulsion, not excitement, that caused the fluttering in his stomach when their cheeks brushed. Loathing how it should have been disgust, not pleasure when her breasts pressed against his chest with each shuddered breath she took. He should have felt repulsed when realizing how perfect the closeness of their height was and how easy it would be to connect further.

It’s because of the years of celibacy that she was so sensitive, Hope told herself. Why else would such a monster cause the sensation of pooling hot honey to form in her belly? How, when Geto shifted his weight to press the muscle of his hips against hers, a whimper caught in her throat that pride refused to let out.

It must have been the lack of touch for so long that had her eyes fluttering shut when he nuzzled his nose into her temple. Monsters did not fathom such intimate affection. Monsters would not wrap such large hands around the back of her neck, gripping the corded muscles of her throat in such a dizzying way. She would not lift onto the counter and widen the distance of her thighs for a beast to slot between them so perfectly. Surely, such a creature would not brace his other hand around the center of her back to press further for contact. The sensation of the growl emanating from its lungs shooting to her core.

It was because his nose had become accustomed to the disinfectant spray that he was so sensitive to her smell. Internally berating himself for nuzzling into the hairline above the cook’s ear, lemon verbena, and citrus mixed pleasantly among the uplifting notes of her scent. Geto couldn’t refrain from pressing firmer into her hairline, gulping in deep breaths of Hope’s scent. The grip on the back of her neck tightened further; confirmation of the creature’s ability to still breathe came in how she tried and failed to hold back a second low moan.

His own response vibrated from how feminine hands gripped the thick fabric on his back and along his rib cage. Cursing at the way, soft, long legs dragged upward along the sides of his hips before wrapping around to press him closer. Silk robe falling open from the movement to show matching panties. It was unbelievable how quickly his cock hardened, straining against the white cloth of his momohiki. He could feel the heat radiating from her core, even with the five layers of Buddhist robes between them. How many years had it been since he had touched himself, let alone such a tempting, vile animal?

Hope bit her bottom lip at the delicious pressure against her core. If she hadn’t been so swept up in the moment’s intensity, she might have been embarrassed about the wet spot that could be felt already in her underwear. Skin growing hot as her body craved more contact and friction. The hands that previously gripped his clothes now reached up to thread into the long tendrils of the brutes hair. Fingernails scraped against his scalp before grasping firmly to pull the face away from hiding against her cheek. The strangled gasp he made caused her walls to flutter; what other noises would this monster of a man make?

The site that greeted her was breathtaking: flushed cheeks, eyes wide with shock and pleasure, and an oh-so-tempting pout to kiss. Gone were the fake smiles, disgusted glares, and angry scowls. Now what stood before her was a desperate mess of a man whose cock was so hard it could be felt through the many layers of clothing. She felt relief from the sight before her; a previous worry that he was toying with her was dissipated. No one would be able to deny his desire from how hard he was breathing, his own hands clinging to her like a lifeline.

Suguru was a man who had faced his fair share of dangerous and terrifying situations in his lifetime. He prided himself on keeping calm and making calculated choices during high-stress moments. So panic began to set in when he found moving from this frozen position impossible. The way her hands had gripped his hair, forcing them to hold eye contact, had his cock throbbing. Panic rose higher from the sensation. She kept glancing at his lips; this wasn’t good. Willing his lungs to work and throat to open, a quiet but hoarse word came out. “No.”

It was Hope’s turn to pout. Her legs locked tighter around him. In reality, he could break free from her so easily; the fact that he wasn’t just proved how much his body languished for contact. Her eyes pleaded as she took in his image, memorizing it and burning it into her mind. “Please.” she quietly asked in return. Hips rocked gently against his to help emphasize her ask. All movement paused at hearing an odd sound. Her brow furrowed in question at the noise he made suddenly, his face contorting to one that could be described as painful. Had she hurt him just now?

Geto eyes shut as the sudden climax continued quivering through him. Its shame was felt running down his stomach, legs, and clothing. He refused to look, to see her expression once she realized what had just occurred.

Hope's concern grew as he stayed still and closed off, contrasting how he clung to her a moment ago. The grip in his hair melted into gentle touches on his cheek, cupping his face to see if she could coax him to look at her. Hormones and endorphins craving the intimacy once more. When his eyes still refused to open, she scanned more of him to find the source of the sudden change. That’s when she spotted it; instantly, it all made sense. The relatively sizable wet spot formed on his clothes was proof of what occurred. Warmth spread to her cheeks as sinful thoughts began to race in her mind, the desire for more growing. Biting her bottom lip, she murmured-

“Again.”

His eyes sprung open wide, disbelief shaping the expression. Their eyes met as he processed her expression of hunger. The gentle touch of her hands on his cheek shifted to clasping the side of his face in place. Hips tilted as she pressed her core to where the wet spot lay on him. His mouth was agape in shock at the feeling of being nuzzled along his jawbone, the sensation trailing a line to his ear where a whisper was pressed against its shell. “I want another one, please.” The ask was sweet and sincere, even begging. Words failed him as a hand gently guided his own from the counter across the warmth of a plush thigh to someplace much hotter. A palpation hit his ribcage when feeling thin satin fabric, saturated and slick, shuttering when Hopes’s fingers encouraged his own to press more firmly against the spot. Her resounding whine brought him back from the out-of-body experience.

The overwhelming rage from before shifted into something much more savage and ravenous. Years of repressed urges bled to the surface; sturdy fingers gripped into the base of her hair like a handle to be pulled back from him, the movement forcing her skull to tilt up. It felt impossible to catch any breath as it heaved erratically between the groaning and growls, responding to how desperate legs clung to him. Any previous control had spilled from the pot that now boiled over. Another hand raised to cup her face with the same tenderness she had shown him just moments ago, watching how her eyes repeated their glances to his lips again. Finally, he leaned in.

“Shhh, I know where she hid the cookies from earlier.” Multiple footsteps could be heard getting closer and closer outside the door. Mimiko and Nanako both telling the other to be quiet, annoying the other with each repeated response given back and forth.

Hope and Geto’s eyes widened as the reality of their situation quickly sunk in. Her mouth opened and closed like the koi fish in the pond outside, and before she could say a word, the maniac was gone. Her brain struggled to process his disappearance, the movement inhuman in its speed. The limbs that once were held up against the other body flopped from no longer having something to grip onto. As the kitchen door slowly opened, she scrambled off the counter and ripped open one of the fridge doors to hide her overtly flushed face. Praying that its cold air would help calm down her heart rate. She was panicking as she quickly fixed the front of her silk robe back in its proper place.

Hidden outside the kitchen’s veranda, Geto stood in horror as the events that had just transpired replayed in his mind. Dismay that the truth about who started the whole situation was him. What was worse was that as hard as he tried to feel the disgust he so proudly touted for her kind, he could only feel how hard he was--again. Realization dawned on him of how dangerous the cook was as he shifted Hopes’s title from monkey to succubus.

#geto suguru #jjk suguru #jjk smut #getou suguru x reader #suguru geto smut #jujutsu kaisen suguru #geto #suguru geto #jjk #suguru geto x oc

45 notes · View notes

ataraxiaspainting · 1 year ago

Text

Hier Encore IV.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

[Hier Encore III.]

Synopsis: Yorknew Police Department Headquarters, 1995, April 10th. You are a director of public safety. The Phantom Troupe attacks the headquarters and takes you under the guise of a hostage situation. Even when the ransom is paid, you are never returned and assumed to be dead. After thirteen months of captivity, in 1996, on May 9th, you escape and try to learn how to live again somewhere far away from your captor. The payment of freedom comes with a steep cost, one that stains your hands so much that even if you drown them in bleach, the stain will remain there for the rest of your life.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, the reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns respectively, not SFW implications, misogynistic undertones (not from Chrollo), unhealthy relationships, manipulation o’clock, body transformation (not on the reader), references to religion, violence/gore, minor character death, and stalking.

Word Count: 5.9k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Lacrimosa by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

4:00 A.M. by Taeko Onuki

My Girlfriend Is a Witch by October Country

Michelle by Sir Chloe

Sonne by Rammstein

Enemy by Imagine Dragons

Venus Fly Trap by MARINA

Maneater by Nelly Furtado

cult leader by KiNG MALA

Teacher’s Pet by Melanie Martinez

“She looked like a vixen, and that’s what she was; she had all the instincts of a female fox. She was the proverbial predatory female. She had what she wanted, now, and she was content. There was just the getting completely away with it that counted.” – Gil Brewer, Sin for Me

iv. “I must be cruel, only to be kind.”

“Greetings.”

One emotion comes after another on Sebastian's face: confusion, fear, distrust, and many more.

“Hello.” His voice is tight. “Do you need something?” He asks, putting his hands on the doorframe as a precaution.

“I have just come to ask you a few questions.” Chrollo answers, his voice as calm and collected as always. He isn’t even looking at Sebaste, his focus is placed on the inside of the cottage. He knows that you are here.

“Like what?” Sebaste asks, his body tensing up.

“My dear, come out.” He calls out to you, his voice as soft as it usually is.

“I’m sorry?” Sebaste questions, his shoulders strained upwards. “I’m right here.”

Chrollo pays him no mind, instead still looking over Sebastian's shoulder. He hums, looking at one object in the living room at a time. The black sofa by the television was old with the bottom left corner of it torn, white stuffing no longer being covered there in that spot. The carpet below Sebastian’s feet, the colors fading because of age. The creaky poplar floorboards. The pots of plants where the kitchen’s checkered tiles and the living room’s wooden planks meet, where you are hiding. Your eyes meet and his eyes are as empty as ever, perhaps even emptier, like black holes in the ground that aim to swallow you whole.

“Come out, my love.” He repeats himself, his tone sickeningly sweet to the point of mockery.

“Excuse me?” Sebaste asks, his voice slightly cracking.

“Dearest.” His gaze is still on you. It is intense and you feel a pressure on your neck like you are being strangled by him. You can’t breathe.

“I’m here.” Sebaste moves his hands downwards on the doorframe. “I’m right here.” His eyebrows furrow. “I’m right here. Don’t ignore me.” He’s upset.

“Hmm.” He leans in slightly. “She hasn’t told you anything, has she?”

You can see Sebastian's feet through the leaves of the tall plants take a step or two back at Chrollo’s question. “What?”

He still is not making eye contact with Sebaste. “Honestly, I expected that you would have left her by now, or at the very least be on your knees begging for mercy from me. Little liar.” Once more, a gentle hum escapes his lips as he leans in, drawing himself nearer. “But that is alright.”

Sebastian's feet move backward yet again. “What?” He knows. “Hello? What are you talking about?”

Remaining composed, Chrollo gradually advances towards Sebaste. “My dear, aren’t you going to greet me? I missed you.”

As an innate response to his words, your muscles contract, causing your entire body to become rigid.

“Come on out,” Chrollo continues, his smile getting wider. “We haven’t seen each other for more than a year. It feels like a millennia since I saw you last. My heart still beats for you, though, and always will.”

“Leave,” You finally say, your voice almost as shaky as you are. “Go away.”

Sebaste and Chrollo are now both looking at you, but their gazes are different. Chrollo looks at you like a hunter looks at a slain doe or rabbit they are about to eat, while Sebaste looks at you with confusion and fear, for he knows what you are; a liar. “Come closer. Let me see you.”

You shake your head from side to side until your neck cramps and you feel slightly dizzy. “Leave, go away.” You repeat, your voice still shuddering.

“I would take you more seriously if your voice was not quivering, beloved.” You can perceive the mocking tone in his voice. “I want to see your beautiful face not covered by the foliage of a dying plant.” His smile is getting bigger and bigger by the second, you swear to yourself. “Come on now.”

Once more, you vigorously shake your head, refusing to comply. “Leave.”

Sebaste continues to call out, desperately trying to catch his attention, but he remains unfazed, humming to himself. Fear is evident in his expression and the urgency of his voice. Concern grips you, for both Sebaste and yourself.

“Come closer, please. Come greet me.”

You squirm behind the tall plant. “No, go away, leave.”

“I won’t.” His smile fades as he looks down at Sebastian's arms still holding onto the doorframe like it was their lifeline. It is actually, you realize.

Sebastian's face contorts into a frown, while he straightens his posture even further, assuming a defensive stance. “If all you are going to do is bother my girlfriend and not talk to me, you have to leave.”

“No.” Sebaste is finally acknowledged by him, but this time his voice lacks warmth, sounding firm and icy. “Step aside.”

The urge to run engulfs you. You want to run into the forest. You want to run until your feet bleed and your ankles are twisted and bruised.

“Why would I do that?” Sebaste hisses angrily. “Leave. All you are doing is being a creep to my girlfriend. Leave or I’ll call the police. Now.”

Chrollo simply leans in closer to Sebastian's ear. “Step aside. Please.”

Sebaste scowls. “Leave. Now.”

Run, run, run. Despite your determination to hold your ground, you start to relent under Chrollo's unrelenting gaze, eventually taking a step forward as instructed. “Ah, that’s better. Good.” As Chrollo's stare intensifies, you find yourself averting your gaze towards the ground, towards your bare feet. “Look at you, my poor thing. You have nothing more to say, don’t you?” He coos like a parent watching their baby take their first steps.

“I’m calling the police.”

Sebaste delves into the depths of his hoodie pocket, where his phone resides, leaving a portion of the doorway unguarded by his arm. The urge to plead with Sebaste, to convey the futility of it all, arises within you. However, you find yourself incapable of doing so.

In one swift motion, Chrollo grabs the cell phone away from Sebastian’s hand and throws it on the ground, a loud smashing sound reaching your ears. It’s only more pronounced by a boot stomping and crushing it like it was some sort of bug.

“Come closer, dearest.” He says, and your feet move, your mind compliant. You move closer and closer, until you are a few feet behind Sebaste, who looks both fearful and confused.

“Call the police,” Sebaste tells you, the stress in his voice is more than obvious.

You just stare, emptily. There is no point in running over to the kitchen to grab your phone, because Chrollo is quick and thus would run quicker, quicker than you ever could. You, poor you, would fall in vain in the Spider’s hunt for the fly that made it out of the web alive.

“Call the police. [First], call the police.” You would love to appear as a saint, but bright crimson stains your hands and eats at your very being. The floorboards creak and crack beneath you as you walk closer and you hope that the planks will simply break and let you fall into an infinite void where you will never be sentenced for your crimes.

“My lady of sorrows, as beautiful as ever.”

You should have hidden your tracks better.

“Call the police, [First].” You should have watched out for any targets on your back.

You should have watched out more for the eyes looking at you in the night because you only caught one pair. “Your love is like a warm summer’s day, and it will always be mine, all mine.”

You wanted a normal human life. You wanted a normal human death.

But you are caught in the Spider’s web and encased in silk yet again, so you can’t have either of those things. Now, all that you can have that you want is to cry.

“Call the police.” Sebastian's trembling voice echoes once more, filled with fear. Desperate to find solace, he reaches out for your hand, only to be met with the unexpected rejection of a slap.

You’re so stupid. So, so stupid. Your brain feels numb like it is rotting away inside of you, slowly but surely.

“Call the police. [First]. Go get your phone and call the police.”

“All I want is to hold you in my arms and know that you are mine.” You hold everything Chrollo has ever said to you inside of you where your heart used to be. It weighs you down more than a broken heart ever would.

“[First]. Call the police. What’s wrong?”

The world is now monochrome once more. You feel the place where warmth used to be within you. But now all there is is ashes. There is nothing but ashes. Your lungs hurt from all the filth.

“Stop it.” Disgusting, you are disgusting, Chrollo is disgusting.

You wanted to see the whole world. But you are now back to being trapped in the spider’s web and you cannot do any of those things now. A butterfly with a hole in its wing caught in its web.

“What’s wrong? Call the police. Go. Now.” Disgusting. “[First]?” Disgusting. “[First], why aren’t you doing anything?”

“Stop it.” Your voice cracks like how you wanted the floorboards to. “Just stop it.”

“Go get your phone.” Sebaste continues, deaf to what you are trying to tell him. “Go. Now. Go.”

Your head hurts. Your stomach hurts. You want your pajamas on. You want to sleep. You wish you never ran away because now hell will be unleashed on Sebaste and you as punishment. You wish you would have just made a pit stop in this town and continued being on the move. You wish you were more tactical. You wish you had never been born at all. Disgusting. You’re so disgusting and stupid and tired.

You find yourself uttering every part of it, stammering through the words, pausing to catch your breath, pleading for Sebastian's survival, hoping to just return to whatever luxurious penthouse or hotel room Chrollo is currently staying at, imploring to have a private conversation with Chrollo about this matter in his car, away from Sebaste.

As soon as you finish begging for Sebastian's life and open your eyes, you see the book in Chrollo’s hand. With the realization of what is about to happen, tears finally fall from your eyes onto your bare feet.

The cry that escapes your lips is a unique one, unlike any other. It is choked, desperate, animalistic, raw, and undeniably genuine.

“Don’t! Please! Wait! Chrollo!”

Chrollo looks at you and you immediately shut up.

“What are you doing?” Sebaste asks, stepping away, his entire body shaking. “Answer me. What are you doing?”

Chrollo's gaze turns towards him, bearing a facial expression that ranks among the most dreadful you've ever witnessed.

He doesn’t respond with anything more than a hum and a quick turn of the pages.

You’re too afraid to speak.

You look at the floor and close your eyes again as you continue to cry.

You hate the book. He has never used it on you, but you know what it can do. Perhaps if Chrollo is in a good mood at the moment, Sebaste will merely have a curse placed upon him and he will go out the door with poor, wailing you, his grip on your wrist strong enough to almost break it.

A foolish thought, you remind yourself.

Chrollo wasn’t known for his mercy, after all.

Sebaste is as good as dead.

Perhaps he is even worse than dead.

He could be tortured. Starved, eaten alive, poisoned, or has all of his bones broken bit by bit.

You are scared to open your eyes. But you are also scared to have them remain closed.

As you look at what is in front of you and ignore the noises around you, you deprive yourself of any mercy.

It is what you deserve.

“[First]?”

“Don’t.”

“[First], what is happening?” Sebaste points to Chrollo with a look of pure fear, his eyes looking like they are about to burst from their sockets. “What is he talking about?”

“I said don’t. Just stop.”

Sebaste stops in his place, his body shaking so much it looks like he is about to fall. “What?”

“I’m sorry.” It is a genuine apology. “But speaking will only make the pain worse for both of us.”

Chrollo hums again and nods at you, still flipping through the pages. Engaging in acts of rebellion will only exacerbate the situation.

The book stops turning and Chrollo points to a page. “I found it.”

His words are barely audible, drowned out by the piercing cries of anguish. Flashing lights; magenta, red, teal, and black.

Sable scales are sprouting from Sebastian's alabaster skin, each one covered in blood and pierced flesh.

His scleras are a shade of light coral. His eyelids are getting smaller and smaller by the second.

His irises get darker, almost to the hue of ink, matching the scales that are all over his body covered in little bits of torn skin. His knees collapse on themselves as you stand still, looking with both disgust and fear. His elbows fold as his arms lessen in length, his hands bonding with his clavicles.

He is still screaming.

You want to tell him to stop, that there was no point. It’s already too late for either of you.

But you can’t.

You refuse to look at Chrollo, who is no doubt smiling at the horrifying tragedy unfolding in front of you two.

You just look at Sebaste with pitying, guilty eyes.

He does not look at you.

You deserve it, and he deserves to at least have that choice in the matter.

Whatever Chrollo is doing to him, there is no doubt in your mind that you deserve at least twice as bad of a fate.

But you don’t fear death. Not anymore. You know Chrollo does not plan to kill you, that death is not in the cards he is holding. He would never let go of his favorite toy. So, you fear the unknown. You fear whatever harrowing methods Chrollo is going to use on you. There is no doubt that they will be far more psychological than physical.

You sit and stay, like a good dog does, even though every fiber of your being is telling you to run out the back door and into the forest. So, you wait. You wait until he is done. You won’t speak or move unless you are told to. You give up all control and pretend to want to be dragged by a leash instead. You hide your true feelings behind a mask and not overplay your hand. That is how you become a dog.

Good girl.

Chrollo takes out a few Polaroid photographs from his suit pocket and lays them out on the table. One of them is the gore-stained walls of James’ apartment, his lower half the only part that is still whole. The second is Victor’s collapsed, untouched body on the wooden floorboards. The third is of your stalker’s rotting corpse in your abandoned shed, his head lowered and his partially gouged eyes swinging in the cool breeze. You can’t pretend to be better anymore. You can’t hide what you have done anymore. He knows.

You reach for the photos, grabbing them off the table then crumble them into balls, tearing them apart into shreds and watching them fall onto the ground.

Chrollo doesn’t stop you. He simply stares at the torn pieces that lay at your bare feet. He hums. It’s the most horrific sound you have ever heard. It is a mix of hilarity and hunger. When he smiles, his teeth look like a shark's. They are razorlike and look sharp enough to cut flesh, though they appear the same as yours. Although his appearance may deceive others into perceiving him as angelic, you are aware that he is anything but, just like yourself.

He knows. He knows.

Chrollo takes a step forward toward you but stops abruptly. He hums again. He looks upward towards your face and you make eye contact. Your brain starts screaming signals to run.

He knows of the lies that are the foundation of the makeup used to cover your hideous, real face. He knows of your sticky, sticky red hands, stained with crimson sin. He knows of the devil that lurks within the deepest confines of your heart. He knows that no exorcism or priest would be able to get rid of it. He knows that it will stay inside you until your last breath. He knows of the hidden transgressions within your soul, the deeds you committed to survive. The actions you took to elevate yourself above all others and everything else in this world.

He knows everything. He knows what you have done.

The stars twinkle no more. The moon has lost its luster. The night sky has broken apart. You cannot hide your wrongdoings from the scorching beams of the sun. Your skin burns. Everything hurts.

He knows.

He looks down at you like he is a king. Arrogant. Tenacious. He is not even a star to you. He is less than the small pieces of meteorites floating in the vast Milky Way, fading away more and more by the second. This life was too good to be true. You have failed and as a result, you have lost everything.

You cover your head with your arms and run, tackling Chrollo to the ground. He falls onto the kitchen floor with a hard thump. You punch him, but your knuckle hurts as you do so, Chrollo’s face like an iron wall. You yelp in pain and withdraw your fist, using your other hand to pull out the knife from your sweatpants. You haven’t even made a dent into him, did he even feel anything?

Chrollo's laughter resonates as if he finds your actions incredibly amusing. He proceeds to articulate the harsh reality, a truth that is both unpleasant and acrid. “So, you were the one that committed those murders. As expected.”

No. No. No. No.

As you falter, Chrollo’s hands firmly grab the upper parts of your arms and push you off, the amount of power used being nearly enough to throw you against the glass cupboards of dishware and decorations. Instead, the back of your head collides with the wall next to the wooden back door, the paring knife flying out of your hand and landing a few inches away. A pained cry escapes your lips as your vision blurs for a second. He’s on top of you in an instant, his eyes dark and predatory, and your positions suddenly reversed.

The blade, you have to get it back.

As you try to reach out for it, Chrollo grabs your wrist with an abnormal amount of strength. “I wouldn’t pick that up if I were you. It would only prove a point for me.”

Run. Run. Run. You have to run, like a small child running up the stairs when the lights are off, fearing what could be lurking in the dark.

Life. Death. Free. Cage. Run.

No, this can’t be happening, this is just a bad dream.

“Struggle all you like, we both know how this will end.”

“Shut up. I’m not going anywhere–”

“You are. You will stay wherever I place you because I am not falling for your tricks a second time, my little witch.”

No. This is just a bad dream. You close your eyes and try to wake up, shaking your head and begging for Chrollo to be just a figment of your imagination. You try and try, but you can still feel the crushing feeling of Chrollo’s grip on your bruised wrist and the weight of his body on top of yours. This is real, and this is happening.

Your mind goes blank as you open your eyes, your body being directed by raw, pure fear. Your forehead crashes into Chrollo’s, making him back up a few centimeters and let go of your wrist. Your torso crawls toward the blade like an animal whose legs are caught under a boulder or a bear trap. Your elbows bend and you try to move forward. You are just about to grab the knife when there is a yanking of your hair backward. You holler out as your spine is twisted peculiarly, your upper body facing downwards towards the knife while your lower body is facing upwards towards Chrollo.

“Let go!”

“You certainly are stubborn.”

Your fist smacks him square in the jaw and he lets go. Your hand grips the knife, and you start swinging it around, blinded by emotion. You manage to cut into his right cheek as he spits out some blood from your punch. You try to gouge out one of his eyes, but his dexterity causes his head to duck just in time. Your body shakes with a mix of alarm and hate. You try to aim for the space between his eyes, but he grabs your wrist with one hand and your tricep with the other and starts twisting them in two different directions, making you wail. There is a sudden snap that is louder than your cries. You scream as you drop the knife and caress your broken arm. Chrollo grabs the blade and throws it far across the room.

Chrollo’s body seems to relax a little, so you kick him in the face and try to clamber away from him. His nose bleeds, but it does not look broken. You are as desperate as a doe trying to escape the bullets of a hunter’s shotgun.

Run. Run. Run.

“You’re not being good. You’re not being good at all.”

Run. Run.

With the last bits of strength you have, you withstand the agonizing pain in your arm and kick Chrollo in the stomach with both of your legs, so hard that even you wince. He backs up as he chokes on his saliva. Some of the blood from his nose jumps onto your face and you can taste the flavor of metal. He falls backward and hugs his abdomen. He is off of you at long last. For the quick moment he is in pain, you stand up quickly, clutching your unusable limb. You run as fast as you can towards the paring knife. You bend down and grab it in a rush of panic.

Run, rabbit. Run.

Chrollo pushes you down onto your stomach, your back facing him. He grabs your broken arm and pulls it, his foot on your spine to keep you there. It bends like rubber or bubblegum. You start to flail around like a fish out of water. You gasp for air as you cry out in pain. His other hand grabs the back of your head, raising it slightly before pushing it down hard onto the wooden planks. The life you have built for yourself, everything you have worked towards, the colorful, sweet world you have made, all shatters into splinters before your very eyes.

Picking pumpkins and apples to make decorations and cook into pies, harvesting sunflowers to put into glass vases around your cottage, going into the farmer’s market and smelling freshly roasted corn and baked goods, cookies, fried mushrooms, glazed yams, eggplant parmesan, learning to love someone for the first time.

It was all for nothing. It was all for nothing because Chrollo found you. Chrollo found you and enacted his revenge. You wail a strangled, desperate breath. A raw and real breath.

You stop struggling at long last, like a toy that has run out of power from its battery. All that fighting and you have hardly made him use his true strength.

You are weak. You cannot go anywhere. You are a rabbit with nowhere to run. Murder. Death. Theft. Crime. Manipulation. Love. Chrollo’s blood is still in your mouth and it’s bitter and dry, like you had just eaten sand in a desert or oceanless beach. It chokes you, both physically and mentally.

No.

The fish that used to be Sebaste looks up at the ceiling, lying on its side. An unblinking, wide eye. Dull. Cloudy. Empty. Unforgiving. Confused. Weak. Its corpse lays before you two and starts to stink like the back of a butcher’s shop.

I hate you.

That is what its eye tells you.

Traitor. Fool. Devil. Maneater. Tainted. Killer. Freak.

This is all your fault. Why did I have to die? Why are you still alive? You lied to me. You said you loved me. Liar.

Liar. Liar. Liar.

Pathetic.

Your feet are still cold.

If only you could have died too. If only you could have died beside him. You don’t want to die in whatever hotel room or penthouse Chrollo will shove you in, within four suffocating walls and soft sheets that cost more than your monthly rent. You don’t want to die there, you want to die anywhere else. You are not ready to die. Tunnel vision overtakes you, with only one objective in mind.

Just stay alive.

That is your one wish to the stars above.

It hurts.

Everything hurts.

You are being burned alive by your desire to both live and die.

...

You don’t think before you do it.

You don’t try to stop yourself before, without any hesitation, your legs propel you forward, forcefully thrusting the backdoor open with your functioning arm. Anguish, fury, remorse, and sorrow engage in a fierce battle for dominance over your every move. As you dart deeper into the dark and densely packed forest behind your cottage, the only sounds you could hear are your own ragged breaths and pounding heart. It was as if the forest was trying to swallow you up, closing in with every passing step. No moonlight or stars pierced the thick layers of leaves and branches overhead.

The darkness is like a thick fog, blurring your sight and limiting your visibility. You could not see Chrollo behind you, but your instincts told you that he was. There was no hint of a breeze to take some of the edge off, with even the birds and chipmunks being completely silent.

The pain was excruciating. With every jostling step, your broken arm jolted around like a wooden toy, threatening to send you down to the ground any second as it kept getting caught in vines and hitting tree trunks. You could not afford to stop running.

You don’t see anyone following you.

Your feet are starting to bleed and leave a few red drops of blood with every rushed step you take. You don’t care about it because instinct has taken over your mind.

You trip over a large root on the ground and fall sideways right on your broken arm, making you scream from the intense pain shooting up. As you try to get up and caress your broken arm, you stumble downhill into a pile of dead leaves.

Your mouth is full of them, making you hardly able to breathe as you spit them out.

If it were any other time, you would have considered it funny.

But not now.

As you rise from the ground, your hand instinctively shields your mouth, preventing any inadvertent sound that may invite unwanted attention. The pursuit of Chrollo, if not already initiated, has undoubtedly commenced.

He’s after you. You know this. He came back into your newly rebuilt life and destroyed it right in front of your very eyes.

You know he can hear you, but you cannot hear him. You never know of his presence until he is too close, that is how it always has been. That is how it is now. Chrollo has forever possessed superior speed, strength, intelligence, attractiveness, and wealth, making it impossible for anyone to ever match his prowess, even if they desired to do so.

You hate him.

You hate him, and he’s here for you again.

No.

How did he even find you?

Hisoka promised.

He promised you that your location would be undiscovered.

He lied to you, didn’t he?

Maybe lying isn’t the exact word.

Maybe he technically did keep his promise, because the Troupe didn’t show up in a matter of a few hours.

Chrollo showed up in a matter of nearly twenty four.

Your gasps for air and silenced cries are paired with a call of your name.

“Oh, you poor thing. Scared half to death.”

His words are as soft as they are cruel.

“Mater Dolorosa.”

You force yourself onto your feet again to run, sensing the voice behind you up the hill getting louder and louder. But when you move to run, you wince in pain and look down at your swollen red ankle.

It is so dark that you can’t see anything aside from yourself, the world around you being painted monochrome by the black night sky’s palette.

There is nowhere to run, is there?

You have used up all of your luck getting this far, and have to pay the price.

You are out of time. You cannot dream of sweet escape anymore.

“Do you remember my touch? I touched you so sweetly. My darling girl.”

You would turn if you could, but the pain shooting out from your ankle prevents you doing so and almost makes you fall into the leaves again instead. “You took me away.”

Moving in a circular motion, Chrollo gradually positions himself in your line of sight, his imposing figure standing tall before you. “It is a thief’s nature. I could not resist the temptation to steal you.”

Chrollo is a prime illustration of the extreme measures some individuals are willing to take in order to have you in their embrace.

Your beauty has captivated every person you have encountered, evoking reverence from all. It is both a blessing and a curse, a double edged sword, both the thing that worships you and tortures you.

Your sweatpants are covered in dirt stains and pieces of dried grass and leaves, your hoodie in a similarly horrible condition. Your hair had come undone, cascading in delicate wisps that obscured your vision, reminiscent of a spider's delicate web. There is nowhere to hide.

“Oh, how I love you.” Chrollo smiles and the way it reaches his eyes makes you squirm more. “Shall I enumerate the reasons why?”

…

The car ride was silent for a while. You would have preferred it if it stayed that way. But Chrollo could never stay quiet for long, even if you asked nicely, so he turned the dial of the radio and began humming along. In all the months you were with him, the only constant presence in your otherwise bleak, depressing life.

The song he chose felt like yet another kick to the stomach. ABBA’s Lay All Your Love On Me. Of course he would play that.

As much as you hate doing so, you focus on the way your heart beats with each turn and bump along the road. He was calm, still so calm, even after this two year long escape. You are certain that this is the calm before the storm, and it was only a matter of time before everything came crashing down on you. More than what already had fallen.

To claim that you were on edge would be an understatement.

“Do you know what will happen now?”

With your heart pounding and mind consumed, you can't help but startle at his words, despite your readiness.

“...No.”

He lets out a small laugh, reducing the music's volume to a slightly muffled level.

It only makes you feel like you are about to go into cardiac arrest.

“You do, don’t you? You have always been a smart one.”

Your broken arm aches under the slight pressure of the seatbelt pressing against it, your ankle being only slightly cushioned by the insulated carpet beneath.

Chrollo has never hurt you before, aside from restraining you in the early days of your capture. Though, you know if you had blamed your ankle on him and told him, he would tell you it was your fault for running barefoot in the dark.

He hopefully will give you a brace or pillow for it when you both arrive back to wherever your temporary location is.

“My freedoms will be taken away.”

As he nods, a smile plays at the corners of his mouth, revealing a slightly sinister undertone that would easily deceive any unfamiliar observer.

“That is a start. But,” Pausing momentarily, he directs his gaze towards you, only to swiftly return his attention to the path that lies ahead. “What particularly? Give me an example, please.”

He is definitely planning something. Maybe you'll inquire about the source of his inquiry, or perhaps you'll force a trembling grin and pretend his question is nonsensical, aware that he's already aware of the freedoms you've gained during your time in confinement. Yet, he would persist then, and repeat his query. You could respond by acknowledging his authority to strip away any privilege he deems appropriate, a fact that both of you know to be true, but deep down, you understand that he desires a real, logical answer.

Whether this is a genuine question or something that will be used to mock you in a moment or two, you have no idea.

“A freedom like…” Your answer will probably be spawned into existence, making you wary of how to respond to his question, but you know you have to because you have no choice in this hell. “Like being able to move freely around.”

He only taps his fingers on the steering wheel in a melody unlike the one playing from the car’s speakers. “How so?” Welcome once again to the realm of eternal damnation.

You contemplate turning away from him and looking out the window instead. But that would cause you more physical pain from your arm moving against the car seat and more mental pain from you knowing you will not be able to go outside again for at least a while. That is, if you are ever allowed to go outside again. If you can ever escape again. He wants another answer. He is not satisfied. But, then again, when is he ever?

You don’t dare look away from him as he stares at you, not at the road, at you. You practically feel like your stomach is dropping out of your body and onto the insulated carpet, staining parts of it crimson red from the blood and a discolored version of its once licorice color from the stomach acid.

“Go on,” You could imagine the feeling of his fingers and yours intertwining and starting to squeeze your throat.

Thum, thum, thum. Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun.

“...Restraints.” You wish you could just dissolve like seafoam in the sea. “I’m not sure which ones you want to use. The metal ones or silk ones most likely.” The sensation of suffocation creeps in, as if the air itself has turned putrid and malevolent, weighing heavily on your chest. Your vocal cords are raspy, resembling the aftermath of regurgitating and subjecting them to the corrosive effects of gastric acid. “Maybe gag me or tie my legs together too. Or both, it depends on if you are in a good mood right now or not, right?”

He nods slowly, never taking his eyes off of you. His gaze feels unsettling, for there is no trace of anger in his eyes, yet you can sense his fury.

“That is one, yes. What else do you think will happen when we get back, my dear?”

The road is empty. There are no deer or geese or ducks crossing, only you and Chrollo. Animals have always had better judgment of human character, after all.

You hope that the place you are going to at least has a nice view.

“Tell me.”

131 notes · View notes

godhandler · 3 months ago

Text

choso x geto!kenjaku, cult leader and altar boy, dead dove do not eat, d/s relationship, smut, part 1, choso doesn't know that geto is actually his father kenjaku, prolly my best work yet ngl

Choso lay birthed. It was the second time he’d done so, and he wasn’t any happier this time around either. The foetid water of his mother’s womb dripped from his toes.

He was pulled to his wobbly feet by Mahito, gentle palm on gentler palm, his toes wetly squishing against the floor with every baby step he took. Mahito taught him to walk, to speak, to eat.

It was harder than Choso had ever assumed: each finger and each leg and each eye had to move in tandem all the time. Even harder was the next step of development, socialisation. Now that he could speak, he had to learn the correct things to speak: the correct expression that went along with the words. Happiness– mouth spread upwards into a smile, eyes crinkled, “Yay!”. Sorrow– mouth downwards, tears in eyes, shaking head.

Sometimes Mahito joked that he was Choso’s father, but that didn’t go down very well, so he stopped saying that. Mahito was simply that, “Mahito”. A fellow curse, a really good one, looked out for him and helped as much as he could. Fun-loving. Selfless. Introduced him to other curses as well, the first friends he ever had.

Hanami was delightful, Jogo gave him good advice, and Dagon was truly adorable. They found it very funny that Choso was technically the eldest of them all. They all used to play football together in the evenings.

It was okay. Things were okay. His brothers were okay.

Choso should’ve been happy with that. ‘Okay’ is a perfectly good thing to be. But Choso, created to surpass the human constraints, the best of his kind, Choso, my beloved, he could never have stayed away too long. Sooner or later he would have ended up here. Perhaps the tragedy was how soon it was. He could have had a few months more.

My son. Geto-sama was always soft-voiced. Come to me.

—------------------

Choso could never tell when he was bad.

Even now, tears in his eyes and whip in hand, he could not understand why he was being punished. I’m sorry, his lips trembled, forgive me, my lord.

Mercurial, almost bipolar–Geto-sama would never just ‘get angry’. No, he’d fly into a terrible rage, he’d kill and torture, he’d curse whole bloodlines. He was equally benevolent when the mood struck, but at the end of the day that was that– his emotions only manifested in the extremes. And oh how he despised the very sight of Choso right now.

Scum of the earth! He called him, rotten waste of your mother’s womb! Even now, you insolent idiot, you talk back to me!

I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Choso lifted his hand to strike Geto-sama, who knelt at the floor stripped naked but for the whip-cuts. Don’t make me hurt you again, please, my lord, I don’t want to. I’m sorry.

You think you deserve forgiveness? Getting too big for your britches? Geto-sama, mid-moan as another lash fell on his thigh, inches away from grazing his rock-hard cock, managed to spit acid out in every syllable. You think you know better than me?

Choso struck another blow on Geto-sama, watching him shiver in pleasure. He was a cruel master, Choso knew, but such was religion. A father knows the right way to discipline his son: Choso would happily take a thousand whippings if he believed he deserved it. But no way could ever rationalise away the pain of hurting his loved ones.

Hence sat Geto-sama’s skin tearing under the lashes, but the only one clutching at his hair and crying was Choso. The holy man was having the time of his life.

Harder, you fool. Useless creature.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Choso wept into his rope-burnt palm, Master, may I whip myself too?

Geto-sama climaxed onto his thighs, shuddering and laughing, semen mixing with blood dripping into the tatami flooring. Brother-seed, he’d taught Choso it was called. Taught him to crawl like a dog and lap it off the floor, to say thank you and mean it.

There was something romantic about it all, as per Kenjaku. Oedipus and Antigone rolled into one.

Damn shame none of the Death Paintings turned out female. He’d really wanted to fuck a baby into one, see if it took, see how many generations it took to flush the cursed spirit gene out with his own. Daughter, granddaughter, great-granddaughter– each with greater Kenjaku than the last. Scientific hobbies to pass his eternal life.

Did I please you, Master? Choso, eyes still watery and tongue bitter with cum, poor baby. The appeased Geto-sama’s mood swung hard the other way. He lounged back, away from the sticky puddle that Choso licked clean, already healing himself up.

Plenty, my son. My favourite.

—-----------------

Geto-sama’s doctrine was of austerity. When he first came to the temple, Choso was granted a robe, a beggar’s bowl, two towels and a shower caddy (soap, shampoo, detergent, razorblade)– and that was all personal items he received. The rest consisted of texts: a set of general instructions that the people living in the temple followed, a copy of the Dhammapada explaining the Noble Eightfold Path, the Lotus Sutra, a children’ comic book of The Jataka Tales, a journal, and a list of banned items.

Keep off unnecessary temptation and false ideals, Manami explained to Choso. No pornography, no English books (those are all American propaganda), no newspapers, no unapproved books on history, politics, economics, no heresy, no mobile phones or internet connection except on the temple-issued computers, no “unkind” words.

Geto-sama would always maintain that it was the choice of his disciples to either accept all his rules, or to not be a disciple at all. He respected consent. Besides, true devotion only comes from willingness.

But there was never a dip in followers’ enrollment, undeterred by the constricting rules, for his pulpit stood true. Of all men in Japan, only Geto-sama’s disciples (as long as they remained loyal) never suffered from curses.

A divine stamp of my preaching, Geto-sama would proclaim.

The divine being me, he left out. For now.

Choso was given the task of washing Geto-sama’s feet 5 times a day. The monk was a stickler for cleanliness to the point of OCD; Choso had been yelled at many times when he missed a spot. Choso’s fingers rubbed tallow-fat soap between his holy toes, dried them with his own robes and massaged lavender oil. Whenever Choso caught a glimpse of Geto-sama’s soles, soft and pink as a deer calf’s tongue, he felt immensely proud of his achievements.

It felt good. It felt human.

The water used to clean his feet was collected and offered to his disciples. Many believed drinking it would keep disease away.

Sometimes Geto-sama’s feet came back caked in blood that steeped through his socks. Choso scrubbed extra hard on those days.

—----------------------------

25 notes · View notes

boldlyvoid · 2 years ago

Text

I Know Places 2: Minimal Loss

18+ Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader | Masterlist | AO3 link

Summary: Away on a case with Reid, he and our dear reader are held hostage by Libertarian Cult Leader, Benjamin Cyrus. It's now Aaron's turn to try and keep his cool while Leading the Hostage Recovery and Support mission at the same time he's realizing he's fallen in love with his subordinate…

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence (child sexual assault, hostage situations), hurt/comfort, Drug use tw, unrequited love (so he thinks), mutual pining, angst with a happy ending, drug-induced love confessions

Word count: 10.3k

It’s weird being in the office without her. She flew out to Colorado with Reid last night, the two of them stayed in a hotel (one with two queen beds this time) and she texted him this morning before she headed out for the case. He missed her. He missed picking her up this morning. He missed their coffee banter and how every morning without fail she got the same breakfast that always left his car smelling like a buttery croissant.

He smiles to himself as he thinks about her. He wonders how she’s doing, he can’t wait to call her tonight and catch up… hopefully, the interviews don’t take more than a day. He’d miss her too much if he didn’t get to see her tomorrow too. Maybe he could pick them up from the airport? No. She drove herself and Reid there, so maybe he’ll bring her a baked good and they can watch TV together? Either way, he wanted to see her as soon as she got home.

When they were approached by Colorado child protective services, they received a copy of the 911 call that sparked the investigation and a short summary of the alleged unsub. Libertarian cult leader, Benjamin Cyrus of the Fringe Religious group called the Separatarian Sect. was being accused of being inappropriate with the young teenage members. The age of the caller who made the 911 call is 15. This was a crime, no matter what the libertarians personally believed, under Colorado state law, he was breaking the law by having any kind of sexual interaction with a minor.

Sending Y/N and Spencer was a no-brainer. They couldn’t send JJ because she was pregnant, but they wanted a woman there to make the children feel safe. Spencer went because he’s memorized the entire bible and most historical quotes, he’d be able to deal with a libertarian cult leader the easiest. He had faith in—

“HOTCH!”

With his door open, he’s able to hear Morgan's scream even better, he’s immediately up and out of his seat, rushing towards the door when he notices everyone watching the TV.

“The TV, Y/L/N and Reid,” he points to the screen.

The report on screen is standing a few miles from the compound, showing footage from a raid and cutting back to his face as he speaks. “No one knows for sure how many people are inside. It is believed that at least three child service members are still trapped inside the compound.”

His heart drops into his stomach as if he just fell 30 feet in 10 seconds. His eyes widen, he steps towards the railing outside his office and grips the metal pole for dear life.

This can’t be happening.

She can’t get hurt.

He can’t lose her too.

Just then every single phone in the office starts to ring, he’s pulled back to reality and he catches his breath, “alright, that means we’re the lead with Hostage Rescue and Support. Let’s go!”

He runs to his office and grabs his go bag, he shoves his phone in the bag, makes sure his gun is still on his hip and his badge and wallet in the back pocket of his suit pants. He doesn’t bother bringing his suit jacket, he honestly doesn’t even remember to take it as he bounds down the stairs and runs to the elevator.

They all rush to the plane as quickly as possible, it’s always fueled and ready to go, so getting into the air takes less than 15 minutes. Once in the air, they open up their laptop and Penelope patches over a live feed of the Colorado news.

“It turned deadly when the Colorado state police officers tried to serve a warrant. Colorado attorney general, Jim Wells, says the reclusive cult has been the subject of a 6-month weapons investigation”

“6 months?” Morgan repeats. “We didn’t check?”

“Oh, we did,” JJ pipes up, visibly pissed. “I had ATF call Wells and he told ATF there were no pending state investigations. He lied.”

“Why?” Rossi asks, not understanding why he’d lie about that.

“Wells is challenging the governor in the upcoming election,” JJ explains. “He thought that ATF were going to poach his big election-launching weapons bust. Now, it’s clear he didn’t know there were FBI agent’s there, he just thought the best time to serve a state warrant was when the kids were safe inside the school being interviewed.”

“What do we know about the sect?” Rossi poses the question to the group.

Penelope, listening in on a video call the whole time, flips the screen from the news to her face. “Liberty Ranch was founded in 1980 by Libertarian Leo Kane. He created it as a self-sustaining commune.”

“Libertarians believe that everyone has the right to do what they want as long as they aren’t infringing not eh rights of others,” Derek points out.

“But libertarians aren’t religious,” Dave reminds them. “Clearly this sect abandoned libertarian principles.”

Aaron takes a deep breath, he’s still anxious, and his heart is racing but he has to get his head in the game. “Benjamin Cyrus, the current leader, introduced religion 8 years ago when Kane left.”

“Garcia, what do we got on Cyrus?” Derek asks her.

“Oh, we got bupkis,” she sounds disappointed. “It's like the guy never cast a shadow on the known universe… however his predecessor, Leo Kane, is doing a 17-year stretch at Deerfield Federal Prison… apparently libertarians do not like paying taxes.”

“17 years for tax evasion?” Derek laughs.

“Oh no, that would be 2 years for tax evasion and 15 years for going after four IRS agents with a Louisville Slugger…” Garcia pressed her lips together awkwardly, what a dumb crime to commit.

“Let’s have Kane brought to the scene,” Hotch instructs her to get the paperwork going. “He’s our best chance at finding out some idea of who we’re dealing with.”

“You got it,” she cheerfully agrees and turns off her camera.

They all settle into their plane seats then. It was a 3-and-a-half-hour flight, all he could do was prep negotiation teams and worry about Y/N. He worried for Reid's safety too, of course, Spencer was like a son to him… his heart just yearned for Y/N and after losing Kate, he can’t bare going through that kind of loss again and so soon.

He felt as though he was destined to only know what it was like to be left, not loved. He had such a tumultuous relationship with his ex-wife, being high school sweethearts also came with high school drama. He graduated a year before her, he was in college and she wanted to see other people. So they took their first break. He was doing law school and she was in teacher's college and they took a second break because his studying took up too much of his time and she felt as though she needed physical attention he couldn’t give her… then he went to Scotland Yard, back when he didn’t know if he wanted to work for Interpol or the FBI and once again distance caused them to go on break a 3rd time. He met Kate Joyner, they had a thing and when he returned to the States he asked Haley to marry him. He should’ve known that she would run once his attention shifted to things other than her. He thought maybe having a baby would change that about her. He thought maybe she loved him— loved their family enough to stay.

He was wrong.

Now he’s divorced, Kates dead and… and he thinks he might be falling in love with his subordinate.

He takes a moment to go to the bathroom on the jet just for a chance to get away from everyone. He leans against the sink and puts his hands over his face, shaking his head with disbelief. It all happened so fast. One minute they’re co-workers and he enjoys working with her and the next she was filling the void in his heart. Mind you, he knew her when he was married, he didn’t have the capacity to see her as anything other than a friend… now that’s all changed.

He took the ring off and his heart searched for warmth. For comfort. For morning coffees and laughter on the drive to work. For late-night chats and gossip about celebrities. For a hand to hold. For a body to cuddle into in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere. For someone to care for him. For Y/N.

He doesn’t know how he’s going to do this. How he’s going to stay calm and cool and collected while he knows she’s in there? He doesn’t know what he’ll do if she’s hurt. He isn’t sure how he’ll make judgements and do the negotiations knowing that every decision he makes could have consequences.

He heads back to his seat to see everyone else is also doing their best to stay calm. They all love Reid and Y/N, and each of them wants to bring their friends home in one piece… he’s not alone in being anxious and worrying for their safety. Maybe he can play it off, maybe they won’t guess he loves her in a way that differs from how they do.

—

Once they land they’re met with bureau issues SUVs and given an escort to the crime scene, all their sirens on, they speed down back county roads causing dust to fly behind them and rocks to flick up from under their wheels, hitting the car behind them.

When they arrive at the Hostage Negotiation and Support Command Centre, Aaron lets Morgan and JJ head in to set up and he pulls Dave aside. “They’ve left the choice of negotiators up to me.”

“I taught most of the hostage negotiation unit,” Dave reminds him. “You want a recommendation?”

“I’m making you lead negotiator.”

“Me?” Dave can’t believe him.

“why go to the students when I have the teacher,” he simplifies his decision.

“because the teacher is emotionally involved,” Dave spits back. “So is the agent in command.” He stares Aaron down, watching for any facial moment that would give way to just how much he cares for Y/N. Of course, he knew.

He gives in, looking down to the ground, he can’t explain how much this is hurting him. “I know I am. This is a unique situation. We have two agents who could affect the outcome on the inside.”

“True, but I can’t be objective. I know them too well!”

“This outcome depends as much on our ability to predict the moves of Y/N and Reid as much as it does Cyrus,” Aaron explains. “That’s why you’re the best man for the job.”

“Assuming that Spencer and Y/N—” he puts weight on her name to make Aaron know he caught that. The use of her first name and Spencer's last, it’s a hierarchy of needs. He knows Aaron subconsciously wants her safe just the tiniest bit more than Reid. “Are still in a condition to make moves.”

“I-I know how bad this is,” Aaron says, voice dropping down to a whispered tone. “That’s why I want you doing the talking. I need you doing the talking.”

“Alright,” Dave gives—.

“You’re obviously not in charge, I can see that!!!” A man's voice bellows through the air.

“I’m sorry sir, I’m under direct orders from the FBI,” one of the hostage negotiation team members explains.

“I’m the attorney General of this state, I demand to know why I wasn’t told the FBI was sending undercover agents into the Separatarian Ranch?”

It’s Wells. The man who got them stuck in the position, to begin with.

Aaron starts walking away from Dave, driven by anger, he walks right up to the man. “The only thing that you’re in a position to demand is a lawyer.”

“Who the hell are you?” The man asks as if he’s about to laugh at Aaron's voice of authority.

“I’m Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief. I’m the guy who’s going to tell the Attorney General of the United States whether to charge you obstructing a federal investigation of negligent homicide,” Aaron spits back, getting more in this man's face.

“You can’t talk to me like that.”

Aaron takes another step in, towering over the man, “Get off my crime scene.”

And just like that, the man cowers, running away to his car and driving away.

Aaron turns to the other man, the one who was trying to answer Wells’ questions before. Aaron knew him from the bureau. “Hey Dan, you know Dave Rossi?”

“Sure do,” Dan smiles, reaching over to shake Dave's hand.

“We’ve been here before, haven’t we?” Dave jokes.

“Waco, Ruby Ridge, Freeman standoff,” Dan recounts. “Let's hope someone listens to you guys this time.”

“Oh, they did more than listen. They put us in charge,” Dave announces, hands on his hips, ready to go.

“So bring us up to speed?” Aaron asks.

“I've sent the state police packing. They started this mess and lost a man in the process. I hope that’s okay?”

“If you hadn’t we would’ve.”

“Good.”

“The county Sheriffs have had no run-ins with the sect, so we’re using them as support. We’ve had no contact with them so far. they’re got power. Solar. We can shoot out the panels if you think—

“No, no that’s an escalation,” Dave shoots that down.

“Okay, that means they have access to the news,” Dan reminds them.

“I’ll get JJ to talk to the press. Are your men ready to be briefed?” Aaron asks. Dan nods. “Let's go.”

Inside the trailer they’ve set up for secure meetings, Derek, Dave and Aaron start to give the preliminary profile and brief. There’s only a handful of men, which is best. Having too many cooks in the kitchen leads to chaos. 6-10 people, that’s much more manageable.

“We call this the Minimal Loss scenario,” Dave explains. “Every person we get out is a life saved. We won’t save them all. All of us have t be prepared to accept that situation.” He looks over at Hotch and then presses his lips together awkwardly.

Derek steps up to the whiteboard and picks up a marker, “cults are structured like pyramids.” He explains while drawing a triangle on the board. “You got the leader at the top, die-hard believers beneath… and the biggest group, the base. The followers.” He makes a point to circle that group and look at the other men. “Women and children are in this group. These are the people we can save.”

“The ‘trickle, flow, gush’ strategy is designed to get the base followers out,” Aaron explains. “First one or two, then three or four, then as many as we can, as fast as we can. And if at any point it starts to go bad. We go in.”

“The leaders are charismatic sociopaths who target the most susceptible to their seduction. They have the ability to see what each person needs and then they become that thing. We have to undermine their perception that we’re an invading army laying siege to their homes,�� Dave explains.

“We’ll lose the fatigues,” Dan assures them. Losing the army look will make them much more approachable. “Ranchers clothes work for you? Like we did at the Freeman standoff?”

“Perfect. Anything we can do to demilitarize the situation,” Dave agrees. “But that’s about it… we have to make first contact and then we can act accordingly from there.”

“We have a phone set up for you guys outside by the lookouts,” Dave explains. “Nightfall is coming, they’ll be the most in need when it’s dark. We should call then.”

“Agreed,” Aaron nods.

Dave hits the speed dial button for the ranch, they wait for 5 or 6 rings and then they answer. “you killed my mommy and daddy, are you going to kill me too?” A little girl's voice answers, on speakerphone for everyone to hear.

“No one is going to kill you, honey,” Dave assures.

“This is Benjamin Cyrus, who am I talking to?” Comes down the line mere seconds later.

“David Rossi. I’m an FBI agent. We’ve sent the state police away, there’s just us and the local sheriff now. All we want to do is resolve this before anyone else gets hurt,” he explains.

“Then leave us alone.”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that, Benjamin, one of the police bled out on the way to the hospital,” he explains, wondering if they haven’t watched the news yet. “So let's just stop this before things get worse. Please, just put the guns down and come out.”

“we’re believers Dave,” Benjamin starts. “We believe that god says what he means and means what he says. His laws don’t depend on what state you live in.”

“I have no issue with your beliefs,” Dave reminds him.

“You don’t. But the state does,” Benjamin is clearly pissed off that any of this happened today.

That makes two of them.

“I can’t answer for other people,” Dave states.

“God will answer for everyone in the final battle that I’ve foreseen.”

Aaron sighs, leaning his head back and shaking it. He hates these religious types. Rossi makes eye contact with him as he keeps talking, “That’s why I’m here. To make sure that this is not that battle.”

“We shall see…”

Sounds more like a taunt.

“Now the three child services workers—

“one is dead,” Benjamin interjects.

Aaron's heart sinks down to his stomach further, he feels like he could be sick. They all have the same look on their faces.

“It wasn’t us,” Ben assures them. “It happened in the standoff, a stray bullet flying into our chapel clipped her.”

“We need a name, so I can alert the family,” Dave explains. Hoping to pry it out of him.

“Nancy Lund,” he says and everyone lets a wave of relief selfishly pass over themselves.

“Okay, now please, Benjamin, send out your wounded. I promise you they’ll be taken care of,” Dave asks. Trying to start the trickle.

“With enough supplies, we can tend to our own,” Benjamin explains. They’re not leaving any time soon.

“Okay, I need a few hours to put it together,” he explains. “I’ll bring them up myself at first light.”

Without a goodbye or a thank you, Cyrus hangs up.

They head back into the trailer after that, prepping med kits and retrofitting any electronics that get sent in with small microphones so they can spy on their every movement and plan. Aaron’s just excited for the chance to hear her voice again and know she’s okay.

“I’m going to go in and double-check that the kids, Y/L/N and Reid are okay,” Dave announces as he walks back into the trailer.

“Rossi, at least let me go with you?” Derek bags.

“No,” he shakes his head. “This is about building trust. I go alone.”

“I want the parabolic arc mics fixed on every window in that structure,” Dan announces to the rest of his crew.

“They won’t pick up much,” one of them pipes up. “They have blinds on all the windows, unless they’re shouting the glass won’t vibrate enough for us to get audio.”

“Well if they’re not shouting, these bugs will pick 'em up… at least until the batteries die,” Dan assures them, screwing the back onto an electronic thermometer. “How familiar are your agents with our playbook?”

“The BAU wrote the CIRG handbook,” Aaron reminds him. “They’ll know that we’re trying to get ears in there at all times.”

“Good, let’s hope they can get these people talking.”

“They will.”

—

At first light, Aaron sits at the listening station with a mug full of freshly brewed coffee and his headphones on, listening to everything as Rossi drives up to the compound.

He hears their introduction, muffled through the boxes of supplies. He hears Cyrus spout some more godly bullshit and claim he’s trying to protect the children. He’s not ready to let any of them go now, so Dave shakes his hand and heads out on his way. As soon as the door is closed, Cyrus says: “Prepare the wine.”

There’s a shuffling sound as everyone moves around the room, the elders no doubt do everything Cyrus says and the women and children stay seated. After a few minutes, he hears Cyrus again, muffled but there, saying something about being 1 day closer to god…

“Look at Jessica's body language,” Y/N’s voice can be heard as though she’s standing right beside the box of supplies. “The way she looks at him.”

“She literally worships him there’s no way she made that 911 call?” Spencer questions next.

Derek and Aaron look at each other, nodding with a small smile, they’re okay. Not safe, but okay.

“Look at how she comes between Cyrus and her daughter,” Y/N speaks again. “She’s inserting herself between them…”

Cyrus is getting everyone to drink just as Dave is running back into the trailer. “Reid and Y/L/N are okay.”

“what about Cyrus?” Derek asks.

“He's too calm? It's like he was waiting for this to happen?” Dave suggests. “And now that it has he feels vindicated.”

“Hey guys,” Dan calls their attention back to the headsets.

“We’ll be with him soon. We have drank the poison together,” Cyrus’ voice is heard.

They all turn to each other with horrified expressions. “What the fuck?” Aaron exclaims, “I thought you said he was calm?”

“He was! He wanted me to think nothing was going on, he’s a master manipulator! We have to take everything he says and does with a grain of salt,” Dave reminds him.

“We need to go in!” Derek shouts, gathering his things with Dan.

“If we go in there people are gonna die!” Dave shouts.

“People are already dying!” Aaron shouts back, headset pressed to his good ear, he’s still listening to Cyrus preach.

“What do we do?” Y/N whispers.

“Nothing,” Spencer assures her.

“We have to do something these people just took poison!” She snaps back at Reid.

“I don’t think they did?”

“Wait! Wait!” Aaron gathers them all back towards him. “Listen,” he switches the audio playback to the speakers.

“Cyrus just told them they did, I think he’s bluffing,” they hear Spencer’s whisper loud and clear.

“Why do you think that?” Y/N asks.

“Just after he told them they took the poison he waited for them to react and then he nodded to Cole who started to note down everyone who looked sad, look…. They're scanning the audience for the people who are fine with dying now and who are a bit skeptical. This is their way of narrowing down the true believers and those who he can send out to Rossi,” Spencer explains. “He’s smart enough to possibly know our strategies, he wants to send out a trickle of people and then do something during the gush…”

“Jim Jones pulled the same stunt,” Rossi reminds everyone, agreeing with Reid. “They did a test run just like this years before they did the real thing.”

“Dan, prepare your men to go in but not before I give you the go-ahead,” Aaron points back to him. “We need to wait just a few more minutes, if I hear Y/L/N or Reid say anything about people falling sick or passing out, we go in.”

“Got it!”

Aaron covers his hand over his mouth and hopes to god he doesn’t have to send men in there. They already lost one social service member in the crossfire, he can’t lose his agents too.

“Be still, there was no poison,” Cyrus speaks. “Instead a test of faith BECAUSE YOUR ADVERSARY THE DEVIL WALKETH ABOUT AS A ROARING LION!! Choosing who he may devour. Watch each other for signs of weakness. You are your brother's keeper.”

“Dan!” Aaron calls out to him, he comes popping his head back into the trailer. “Stand down, Cyrus said it was a rouse.”

JJ comes walking in behind him, “The former sect leader just arrived.”

“I got it,” Derek volunteers himself. “call me if there are updates.” He says as he leaves, holding his phone up to assure them he has it.

“Charles Mulgrew, convicted in Kentucky at the age of 18. Three counts of statutory rape,” Penelope says through the phone, recounting her findings to the whole team now… well, the free 4.

“So we need to talk to the warden,” Derek says with a sigh.

“Way ahead of you there, honey,” she assures him, making Derek crack a small smile. “Mr. Kentucky Warden said that once inside, Mulgrew found religion and became a model citizen.”

“Well it’s not that hard to behave when you’re in protective custody,” Derek reminds her.

“General populations a rough place for a child molester,” Hotch adds.

“No, no, no, I don’t think guys understand he was a Model Citizen. This guy volunteered at the prison hospital,— the aids ward, he was reading to prisoners dying of HIV… he was emulating saint,” Penelope explains father.

“Good stuff, mama,” Derek compliments her the way he always does.

“Damn straight now you get our friends back, baby,” she says before clicking off the call to do more digging.

“Well,” Dave stands a little straighter and sucks in a deep breath. “This makes things worse.”

“What? That he’s a model citizen?” Derek laughs.

“That he’s been to prison,” Dave looks at him, he’s completely serious. There’s no room for giggles now.

Derek closes his eyes for a moment and his shoulders drop, “right. He knows what happens to child molesters there…”

“If the current sexual allegations are true and he thinks we know it, he’s not coming out of there,” Hotch agrees.

“Then we have to make him think he’s not going back to prison,” Dave assures.

“JJ,” Aaron calls back into the main tent for her. “I need you to release a press statement saying that we have absolutely no evidence of sexual allegations.”

JJ comes marching back over to them, sweaty and exhausted, she rests her hands on her pregnant belly and shakes her head, “You need to see this, pop the laptop open. Click on the news tab and play the audio…”

They follow her instructions, gathering around the laptop they see the same news guy from yesterday, he’s set up a little camp for himself in the hills somewhere. He has a perfect view of the ranch and he’s keeping his voice low.

“Now well into its second day, the standoff at the Separatarian Sect Ranch is now been taken over by the FBI. There is much speculation in regard to hostages, but anonymous sources inside the state attorney general's office have told us there is an undercover FBI agent currently being held inside the ranch. Hostage negotiators say they are making headway with the sect's leadership and are hopeful for a positive outcome. There is still no word as to why an undercover FBI agent was sent in alone…”

“Are you fucking Kidding me?” Hotch stands, anger than ever before. “I’m going to I’m going to wring that fuckers neck. I’m going to make his life a living hell.”

“Hotch,” JJ can’t believe those words left his mouth.

“You two,” he points at Derek and Dave, “you get to the parabolic mics and listen in as best as you can. JJ I want you to circle back with Penelope and tell her she can dig into Wells' life as hard as she can and you can reach out to the press with dirt on him. He wants to win the election so bad he’s willing to get federal agents dead, then we’re going to air all his dirty laundry.”

“Got it,” JJ likes that idea and runs back into the tent to make her calls.

Dave and Derek run to the parabolic mic station, leaving Aaron to head back inside and listen to the other spy mics they sent in.

There’s a silent chatter in the church, the mics are picking up more now that they’re not trapped inside boxes and surrounded by supplies. There are a few different angles they get based on what supply was places where. They’re all synced up, playing at the same time and able to be pinpointed for spy-in on individual conversations.

Suddenly, they hear the sound of a struggle, “Get off me! I can walk without you pulling my fucking hair!” Y/N’s voice shouts back.

“FBI scum like you don't get to give orders,” one of Cyrus’ goons speaks back to her and then he hears a slap.

Y/N groans at the pain and Aaron covers his mouth. He’s never been this anxious in his whole life. He wants to run down there, break in and kick the shit out of anyone who laid a hand on her. And then it gets worse.

More mics pick up the sound of the struggle. They hear what Aaron supposes is her body being dragged as she struggles and then the sound of her smacking the concrete. It sounded hard. Like she hit her head.

“I thought I told you not to put me in this position!” Cyrus shouts. Slamming the door behind himself.

Of course, he wouldn’t do this in front of the members.

He slaps her again, the sound of her struggle makes Aaron want to throw up. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. One second he’s covering his mouth then holding the headphones to his ears and the next he’s just holding them out for no reason. He listens in as she keeps getting hit. Punched, kicked, slapped… he really hopes that this is the extent of Cyrus’ abuse. If he had to hear anything else…. He would actually throw up all over everything.

“We’ve gotta go in,” Aaron says as he takes the headphones off. Derek and Rossi come running into the trailer then.

“We can’t go in,” Dave reminds him. “We’d be risking the lives of everyone in there.”

He knows Dave is right, Dan’s put the sound of her struggle on the speaker for everyone to hear and Aaron can’t escape it. The sound of her being hit again and again, moaning from the pain, she’s struggling to defend herself.

“Get up!” Cyrus says, hauling her up and then punching her in the face again. She slams into something this time, there’s the sound of a window or glass or something shattering and then her crying.

“Proverbs 20:30 tells us blows and wounds cleanse evil,” he spouts his bullshit at her. Then he growls, tossing her in another direction and she falls to the floor once more.

She cries, breathing in sounds like it hurts as she whines as she does so, “I can take it!”

“Oh, you can take it?” Cyrus just gets more pissed at that. He slaps her again and she cries more.

“I can take it!”

“Listen to what she’s saying…” Dave suggests.

“She’s antagonizing him!” Derek gets defensive, on Hotch’s side and wants to go in.

“She’s not talking to him, she’s telling us not to come in,” Aaron agrees with Dave, bowing his head, he hates that he’s right.

He can’t take this anymore. He gets up and leaves the room, Dave can listen to the rest. He has to step outside, away front he watchful eye of everyone there and around behind the trailer. He rests his back against it and sinks down to the floor, his face in his hands. He cries.

The weight of everything comes crashing down on him in that moment. He lost his wife. He hasn’t seen his son for more than a few hours in the last 6 months, his friend and colleague died in his arms in the middle of the street and he almost died too. The only good thing that’s happened in all of this is that he’s gotten closer to Y/N.

If anything happens to her he’s going to actually go insane. He may have joked about it before, when he was off work and had nothing to do… but now it feels real. He can’t lose her. He can’t go through the trauma of burying another friend. He can’t imagine losing another woman he loves. Cause he does love her. He loves her more than he should love a co-worker.

It all started when he got divorced. He never had eyes for any other woman but his wife, however, after the divorce… he found himself enjoying her company for reasons other than friendship. Sure, getting coffee together in the mornings was nice and he didn’t care for her choice of TV shows but hearing her talk and knowing her opinions on things felt special to him. He knew a side of her that no one else on the team knew.

And sleeping beside her didn’t help his crush either. She was so soft. She cuddled into him like she was always meant to be there. When he woke up that next morning, spooned into her, he could smell her hair and he had his hand on her stomach… under her shirt. As if in the night they got even closer than either one of them ever thought possible.

Derek comes out to find him just a few minutes later. Aaron’s managed to wipe his tears and pull himself together a bit, he accepts Derek's hand and gets pulled back up to his feet. “They took her to another room but there are blinds on the windows so we can’t hear anything.”

Aaron just nods. “I don’t know why she did that, why she put herself in danger like that.”

“He probably held a gun to one of them and got them to confess, he did that to get Kane out of the ranch, too,” Derek theorizes. “Maybe she confessed to get him off Reid? Reid’s only in there because he knows the bible so well, he can get on Cyrus’s good side and help us out. She knew that.”

“Still,” Aaron can’t really argue.

“I know you love her, man, but we’ve got a job to do,” Derek whispers. “I feel the same way about Spencer.”

Aaron’s a little shocked to hear that but then again, not? It makes sense. The teasing, the closeness, the room sharing… that time Spencer missed his flight to hang out with another man he knew as a teenager. There were signs there from both of them, he just never thought to read them until now.

Aaron stares into his eyes, the two men would do anything for their team already, knowing they both loved someone in the ranch, which made them even more eager to do this right. “So let’s get them out of there.”

Back inside the trailer, Rossi has the speakers on still, and Reids talking. “Nancy said she was a child abuse interview expert from Denver. In the four years I’ve worked with her, Nancy’s never lied to me before.”

“As far as you know,” Cyrus spoke, believing him. “Their law says that a 15-year-old girl is a child when just 50 years ago that same law said that a 14-year-old was an adult. Have children changed so much in 50 years?”

“I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve investigated abuse charges against small religious groups… most all of them turn out to be false,” Reid lies to him. Successfully.

“What do you think of that?”

“What does it matter what I think?”

“It matters to me,” Cyrus assures him.

“Why?”

“Because god wants to save you,” Cyrus spouts.

“I swear to god if Cyrus comes out of there alive I’m going to beat him to death with my bare hands,” Derek mumbles under his breath to Hotch.

“Get in line.”

“I mean, that’s why god sent you here, isn’t it?” Cyrus poses, making reid feel like he’s a part of them now.

“I think… on the next call you should test them,” Reid suggests. “Test the negotiator. Make him prove that he isn’t a liar.”

“How would you suggest do that?”

“Ask for the identity of the FBI agent—

“We already know her identity,” his goon responds for him.

“They don’t know that we know,” Cyrus agrees with Reid.

“but the FBI would never tell is that?” The goon responds again.

“They keep asking you to release people, say you’ll release a kid only if they tell you her identity and if they really care about the children they’ll have to tell you her identity,” Spencer tries harder to get Cyrus on his side.

“You’re trying to get us to release a child!” The man fights with Reid.

“It’s one kid,” Spencer talks to him like he’s an idiot. “If they don’t hold up on their end of the deal then you know they can’t be trusted.”

“He’s right,” Cyrus ultimately agrees.

“Reid has ‘em,” Rossi turns back to them, clearly proud of the kid.

“What is it, Christopher?” Cyrus asks his friend.

“Well… some of them have been talking about… leaving?” He poses the suggestion.

“Leaving?” Cyrus repeats.

“yeah…”

“Wake the baby. Let them see the orphan they’ve made.”

“Okay, everyone!!” Hotch calls out of the trailer, getting the other's attention. “We’re about to get a call, we should expect some members to be released shortly. Get ready for phase one.”

Everyone rushes around then. Preparing to make room for the followers, cars are called in to collect people and take them to a hotel for the night and a few ambulances show up in case anyone is in need of medical support.

But no call comes in.

They wait all night until the sun comes up. But nothing.

“They’re probably going to ask when we call them,” Rossi suggests. “I’ll give my morning call at 6.”

“Okay,” Hotch agrees. “Morgan, I want you to take the truck up to the ranch and collect the little girl, if anyone else is released, Dan will come up and help escort them over here.”

“Yes sir.”

—

Rossi calls in right at 6. They haven’t heard anything else over the mics or through the windows. Most of the members must’ve been asleep in the chapel overnight. Sleeping in pews or on the floor… they all must be exhausted and mostly ready to leave now that the condition of their stay has changed.

“Good morning, Ben, how are you today?” Rossi speaks to him cheerfully.

“We are prepared to release a child if you tell me the identity of the FBI agent promise no harm will come to them from this point forward,” Cyrus leads right into it.

A wave of relief washes over Aaron.

“I can’t give you that information,” Rossi eggs him on.

“I will send the child now.”

Aaron waves his hand to Dan who’s got eyes on the ranch, a little girl has started to walk out of the compound and is standing in the gravel driveway. Dan motions to Derek who’s already taking his gun off and handing it to Hotch who hands him a radio in return. He takes off to the truck then, one of the other men drives Derek up and they watch on the cameras as Derek calmly collects the little girl and gets her into the truck safely.

“I’m taking a big risk here Ben,” Dave tries to play it cool with him.

“Trust is earned,” Cyrus reminds him.

“Her name is Y/N Y/L/N,” Rossi says her full name. “She came in with two child service workers to talk to the girls.”

“There’s a good chance we can work this out, Dave” Cyrus assures him. “I’m gonna provide another sign of good faith.”

“You’re doing a good thing here,” Dave assures him. Hyping up his confidence, getting on his good side.

Cyrus hangs up after that and they rely back to the microphones. “Assemble everyone in the chapel. Get agent Prentiss back down here,” Cyrus orders Christopher.

“This is it,” Aaron assures Dave and Dan. “We’ve started the trickle, it’s about to flow. We need to be prepared for women in children to be released as well as some of their husbands who’ve lost faith in Cyrus.”

Just as they thought, 10 minutes after the order to gather everyone, Cyrus starts to explain why he has them all gathered there. He points out that some of them have lost their faith, that he no longer can support people who don’t support him and his god. And then he starts to name names.

“He looks pissed?” They hear Y/N whisper.

Of course, the two of them would stand where they could be heard the best by the others.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” she assures Spencer.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers to her.

“Look at who he’s releasing,” Y/N says again.

“It’s the ones who failed the loyalty test,” Spencer explains. “I’ll get word to the team. You wait for a sign from the outside that will tell us when the raid will come.”

The room goes quiet for a few moments and then they heard, “Take her back.”

Y/N was being sent back to whatever room they had her locked in, in the first place. They need to figure out where that would be… they need to be able to find her during the raid and get her out of there safely.

“Those of you standing, collect your belongings and meet in the main hall immediately,” Cyrus orders.

Not long after that, they start to see a bunch of people start to leave the chapel. Just then, Cyrus calls them. They send Dan and his guys out to collect the survivors and Hotch listens in on the phone call.

“We will surrender tomorrow at noon, we want the press there to make sure that we’re treated fairly,” Cyrus makes them a deal. “We’ll discuss the details tomorrow at our 7 am call… I’ll see you then Dave.”

“I look forward to it,” Dave agrees.

“Oh, and one more thing, could you send in some food in?” He requests.

“Sure, what would you like?” Dave pretends to be hospitable but by the look on his face, Aaron can tell he rather take a bite out of a leather shoe than keep this act up.

“Fried chicken, all the fixings.”

“You got it! I’ll have it brought right up to you.” Dave hangs up and shakes his head. “I hate this mother fucker.”

“I don’t understand, why did you let them go?” Another goon asks, more like, demands to know from Cyrus.

“They weren’t prepared to do what was needed of them,” Spencer butts in.

“Yeah, no offence but you’re not one of us so shut the fuck up,” he spits back at Spencer.

“Listen to him,” Cyrus sides with Reid. “Tell him, Spencer.”

“They failed the test,” Spencer explains. “They-they had a chance to prove their faith when Cyrus told them that they’d sacrificed themselves for god, but instead they showed they weren’t worthy…. That’s why he wants the media to bear witness to your true final act of sacrifice.”

“how do you know that?” The man asks.

“I’m always looking for signs of things to come.”

“Spencer’s asking us for what time to expect the raid,” Dave understands his meaning right away. “He’s telling us this is it! Time is running out! We’ve gotta go in!”

—

The food arrives around mid-day, and they have it delivered to the trailer first. They examine it all to make sure nothing's been tampered with by the restaurant and then they get it all boxed up and ready to go.

“We obviously can’t spike the food 'cause there are kids,” Aaron explains to Dan. “So we need to find another way to alert Spencer that there is a raid coming…”

Just then he picks up a red Sharpie marker and writes on the lid of the chicken box. “New management, open until 3 AM tonight!!” He underlines it a few times and then repeats it on the boxes for the corn and mashed potatoes and biscuits. Spencer has to see it somewhere.

Aaron and Derek are so positive that Spencer can find a way to prepare for the raid inside and figure out a way to get the women and children out of harm's way when Derek, Dave and Dan come crashing through the doors. He’s not going, he has to stay back with JJ and oversee the whole operation. He hates it. But it’s his job.

Derek and Dave go up to the ranch to deliver the food and just as there’s a commotion at the door and everyone is busy at the ranch, the parabolic mikes pick up Y/N’s voice.

“AARON!” Dan yells for him from outside, causing him to rush down to him.

“What?” He fears for the worst.

“it’s Y/N, she’s listening to the blinds with her high-heeled boot and we can hear her, listen,” he hands him the headphones.

“If you can hear me, I know you’re coming. I can try to get the women and children down to the tunnel but I need to know when you’re coming.”

She keeps repeating those two sentences over and over.

“come on,” Aaron gets up, grabs a riffle with a laser scope and they head to the hill closest to the ranch. Dan follows behind him with the transmitter, listening in on what Y/N’s saying still.

He points the gun right at the window and she sees the laser shine against the wall in the room she’s trapped in.

“I got you, what time are you coming in?”

He blinks the laser 3 times.

“3 am?”

He keeps the beam steady and nods the gun, up and down, as if he’s nodding yes.

“Got it. Reid is on the first floor somewhere with Cyrus, and please remember there are children here... someone's coming,” she’s quick to pull her foot away from the window and they lose signal with her.

Dan starts to retreat, leaving Hotch there with the gun and a hopeful feeling. “Hang in there, sweetheart.”

—

At 2:15 AM they start preparing for the raid. Swat is called in, they’ve got a supply of Humvees supplied by the army, weapons, ammunition, and tear gas. They’re ready to go. All without Aaron.

Aaron has his headset on and his radio with him, listening in on the Sect while also in contact with the team as they make their way closer to the ranch.

They know somethings up, that somethings coming… they should’ve cut the lights to the Humvees and gone in there blind.

Cyrus heads outside of the chapel, points his gun in the air and starts shooting the sky, gathering attention from the media just over the hill. He wants them to see how this all goes down.

Luckily, Cyrus just doesn’t know how much they know. When Derek met with the previous leader, Kane, he drew them a map of the whole facility. Secret tunnels, bunkers, you name it, they know where it is. So that’s where they go in.

On the radio he hears Dan give the go-ahead for phase one, the men storm the tunnel exit and surprise the guard down there with flash grenades and tear gas, subduing him. The men force their way inside, they drag the guard to the corner and cuff him up so he can’t cause any trouble and within seconds, Derek is on the radio.

“Y/N’s here, she got the women and children down to the tunnels,” Derek alerts him. “I’m sending them out to you, Dan.”

“Ten-4, I have a vehicle ready to transport them to safety,” Dan responds.

“They’ve wired explosives,” Derek alerts through the radio. “We need to move, now!”

Aaron throws on a bulletproof vest then and starts to run out of the tent, “where are you going!?” JJ calls after him.

“to help get them as far away from the blast as possible this is an all-hands-on-deck situation!” He yells back and keeps running.

He runs as fast as he can, following the dimly lit dirt road up to the chapel, he can see the women and children running out of the tunnels and towards the front of the building. “Over here! This way!” He calls to them, “Over here! You need to get away from the building!”

“Aaron!” Y/N shouts, as the last one to leave the tunnel, she ushers the women and children towards him and hobbles along as fast as she can.

She runs right into his arms, and they both make an audible “oof,” as their chests collide but he holds her close. “You’re okay?”

“I’m okay,” she assures him, pulling back, she turns to face the others, “Keep moving, follow the lights, head to that tent back there!”

They usher them up the road, keeping them at a safe distance from the building, he rests his hand on her back and when she turns to him again, he uses his other hand to cradle her face. He can’t really see in the dark, but he can tell she’s all beaten and bruised, “are you sure—

“I’m fine, we need to go back in there, they have Spencer,” she worries, almost in tears. “It’s bad Aaron, the whole building is rigged to go, they have TNT and gas everywhere, in every hallway way, doorway, support beam… it’s going to go up like a fucking tinderbox.”

“Dereks got it,” he assures her. “They’ll be okay.” She doesn’t look like she believes him, so he pulls her in closer again and cradles her head. “It’s going to be okay.”

They hear a few shots then, followed by the chapel door flying open, Derek and Spencer come running out of the building, and Dave comes running out of the tunnel exit with Dan just as the building goes up in flames.

“Jesse,” Y/N whispers, shocked.

They rush to the building, running up the few concrete steps toward where Derek and Spencer were knocked down by the blast. Aaron picks up Derek, Y/N picks up Spencer and as a team, they retreat away from the fire. At a safe distance, they all stop, turn to the blaze and realize they made it. All of them.

Y/N pulls Spencer into her arms, breaking out in a sob, she crumbles. Her knees give way and Spencer does his best to keep her upright, Aaron steps in and supports her, and Derek too. “We did it,” Spencer whispers, “we’re okay.”

“We’re okay,” she repeats, absolutely exhausted from everything she’s been through.

“We need a medic!” Aaron calls, “Someone, please, get a stretcher over here!”

“I’m fine, I’m okay,” she tries to push them away, standing on her own two feet again but she’s wobbly.

“No, you’re not,” Aaron argues with her. “You got beat up, I heard it all. You’re not okay, I don’t care how strong you think you are you’re—

She reaches out and covers his mouth, “Stop yelling at me, my head is killing me.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes, wrapping his arm under her to support her, he helps her down the stairs just as the ambulance is pulling up to the church.

—

It doesn’t take long for both Y/N and Reid to get checked out by the paramedics. Spencer has some general ringing in his ear from being so close to a blast, and Y/N has a concussion and severe abdominal bruising. They don’t suspect any internal bleeding, but they advise her to have someone watch her all night and to go to the hospital if she feels sick or light-headed.

Derek offers to drive himself, Reid, Rossi and Y/N back to the hotel, JJ and Hotch just have to finish up a few things and then they’ll join, but she turns down Derek's request. “I’m going to stay with Aaron and JJ,” she whispers, not really wanting to talk unless she has to. “You guys head out, it’s okay.”

“Are you sure?” Spencer gives her his puppy dog eyes.

She nods, giving him a sweet smile, “Yeah, I don’t think I can handle Derek's driving right now.”

“Fair enough,” Rossi pats her shoulder, heading off after Derek.

“Okay,” Spencer understands the real reason why she isn’t going, he looks at her and then at Aaron. He’s not dumb. Far from it, actually. Of course, he knows there’s something going on between them… Aaron just wonders what it is on her side.

“Spence,” she stops him, pulls him in for another hug and holds him there. She whispers something in his ear, something Aaron can’t hear, but by the look on Spencer’s face, it’s sweet. When she pulls back, she speaks louder. “You come get me if you need anything, I mean anything… okay?”

“I will, thank you,” he smiles before turning away and heading off to the SUV.

She comes to sit beside Aaron after that, he’s filing out some paperwork about the supplies they used and Dan’s signing off on everything, too. JJ’s wrapping up from things on the phone with the state, and firefighters are now on the scene putting out the blaze… it’s a commotion, but he doesn’t care about anything other than Y/N.

He reaches out for her hand, under the table, he holds it and looks at her. Asking if she’s okay with just his eyes.

She nods, “I’m tired.”

“I can do the rest of this,” Dan offers.

“Yeah?”

He nods, “Yeah, you guys go get some rest, you’ve done more than enough for us.”

“Okay,” Aaron doesn’t fight it, he simply lets go of her hand and starts to stand up, helping her up too. “Come on, let’s get you out of here… JJ?”

She’s still on the phone but peaks her head over, asking what’s up with her facial expression.

“We’re heading out, come on.”

She holds up her finger, asking for just a second, which is good. It gives him a chance to pack up his things and help Y/N into the passenger seat of their SUV. JJ comes rushing over not 2 minutes later, the phone still pressed to her ear, she gets in the back seat and all they hear is “Thank you so much, half our team should be there in a few minutes, we’re about 30 minutes out… thank you, again, bye.”

“Good to go?” Aaron asks.

“Yeah, and I got us all hotels for tonight Rossi is alone, Derek is with Reid and I will partner with Hotch tonight so Y/N can be alone and—

She cuts JJ off. “I don’t want to be alone,” she says in a low tone. It hurts to talk. “Not with my concussion.”

“Oh,” JJ didn’t expect that. “Um, I guess we can be together, Hotch can be alone?”

She shakes her head, “No, mama you go be alone for the night, I’m sure you’re exhausted. You’ve done so much these last two days, Hotch can babysit me, make sure I don’t die in my sleep.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” he looks over at her, completely serious. “You’re okay, the paramedics said it’s not too serious, you’re going to be fine.”

“I was kidding,” she gives him a sweet smile.

It doesn’t take long for them to get to the hotel, they check in, they’re handed their room keys and off they go. The double rooms are on the same floor, they’re just across the hall from Derek and Spencer, JJ’s a floor above them and Rossi is on the top floor. He really doesn’t care how much money he spends, he always wants the best rooms.

He carries both their bags upstairs. He had someone go to her other hotel, the one she and Reid were sharing when they arrived, and get her things. He sets them all down on one of the beds and she just stands there, sore and tired. She looks like she wants to cry again. She’s bruising slowly, everything’s getting worse and darker in colour the more time passes.

“Are you okay?”

She nods, “Yeah… I just hurt all over.”

“I don’t want this to come off as weird, or anything,” he prefaces. “But do you need or want help changing? Do you want to take a bath? I can help you get in or out— I won’t look, I promise. I just want you to feel better.”

She laughs lightly, but it hurts to do that. “I don’t think I need help… but thank you.”

“You took such great care of me last month, I just want to repay the favour,” he gives her a small smile.

She takes a step towards him and wraps her arms around his middle, resting her head on his chest. He carefully holds her back, his cheek resting against her head. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“You need a lot more than a bomb to get rid of me,” she teases. He said the same thing in the hospital in New York.

He smiles, dragging his cheek across her hair until his lips are pressed to her head. He kisses her gently, “Come on, let’s get you ready for bed.”

She sighs as she pulls back, “Would it be weird to share a bed tonight? I really don’t want to be alone.”

“Not weird at all,” he assures her.

“Good,” she smiles.

He brings her over to the one bed that their bags are on, they each zip open their own bag and start digging for their things. She takes out her pyjama shirt and her shorts, her little bag of toiletries and her phone charger and then she remembers she doesn’t have a phone anymore. “I can’t believe that fucker blew up all my stuff.”

“We’ll get you a new phone when we get back tomorrow,” Aaron assures her. “Penelope knows to call me if anyone calls work looking for you.”

“Okay, good… I’m going to change in the bathroom first, I’ll call you if I need help?”

“Okay,” he agrees.

He takes the chance to change in the room, he slips out of his khakis and dress shirt and quickly replaces them with a new pair of boxers and a fresh white shirt. It's what he slept in beside her before… that was the best sleep he’s had in years. Even beside his ex-wife he never slept that good.

He heads over to the empty queen bed that their shit isn’t on and folds back the covers for them. He fluffs the pillows and even sets a complimentary bottle of water on each of their night tables, that’s when he remembers he still has medicine in his bag. She emerges from the bathroom soon after, all changed with a soft smile on her face. “Tada?”

“You look nice,” he compliments her. “I uh, I still have some medicine— the T3s…”

“Ooo,” she thinks about it. “I was just going to tough it out but that sounds like a much better option.”

“I just don’t like the idea of you hurting all night long, you’re supposed to be resting,” he reminds her, handing her the pill bottle once she’s closer to him. “There’s water on your side.”

She takes two of them, sets her water down and starts to get into the bed, Aaron stands at her side, watching as she hisses. “Are you okay?”

“Mhm,” she hums. “Getting punched and kicked in the gut sucked, I’m surprised I don’t have internal bleeding.”

His heart breaks even more, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she waves it off. “Come get in bed.”

Before he does that, he flicks on the lamp on his side of the bed and heads back over to the door to turn off the main light. When he finally slips into bed, she reaches over for his hand and pulls him over so he can spoon her. She just wants to be held. He gently places his hand on her stomach, he doesn’t want to hurt her at all. She lets out a deep sigh, relaxing into his arms and waiting for the pills to kick in.

“I’m really glad they put you in charge of everything,” she whispers. “The second Rossi showed up in the church I knew we were going to be leaving okay.”

“You should’ve heard Morgan scream for me when the situation popped onto the news in the bullpen,” he recounts, still astounded by it himself. “I was just thinking about you when he called for me and then all the phones started going off and I knew we’d be the ones doing the rescuing.”

“You were thinking about me?” She repeats. “What were you thinking about me for?”

“Oh…” he feels suddenly embarrassed. “Just that it was weird not having breakfast together and I was thinking if you didn't drive to the airport, I would’ve driven you home.”

“Awe,” she swoons, she places her hand over his and interlocks their fingers. “We can get lunch together tomorrow after we land… before you take me back to the airport to get my car.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he whispers. “But we’ll have to take it to go…”

“Why?”

“I don't want anyone to think I did that to you,” he explains, a sick feeling in his throat at the mere thought of someone thinking he could hurt her.

“Oh, oh yeah,” she forgot. “Sorry, I’m starting to feel the medicine… if I fall asleep on you, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, go to sleep if you have to,” he assures her. “I’ll be right here all night if you need me.”

“Thank you, Aar,” she mumbles out, already slipping into her slumber. “Love… you.”

His heart skips a beat, he wants to say it back but he doesn’t know how much of that is just the medicine and him taking care of her and how much of it she really, truly means. He doesn’t want to risk it, so he just snuggles in closer, kisses the back of her shoulder and attempts to fall asleep with her.

General Taglist

@ncsls0515 @stevesmunsons @reidsbookclub @sweetyyhippyy @manuosorioh @mrs-dr-reid @k-k0129 @squishyturtle @katsukis1wife @babybisexual @marsmunson86 @buckleyhans

IKP

@southernraven @alluringshawn @lambsheepsheeping @lmg-stilinski24 @louderfortheback @deludedfruitcake @kleff03 @mrs-ssa-hotch @maxinehufflepuffprincess @lokifanfic2021 @art-and-thoughts

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #hotch smut #hotch x reader #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine

205 notes · View notes