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juniperskye · 11 days ago

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I Can’t Do This.

Sneak peek: Reader is recently off of a long-term undercover operation (similar to Emily’s) that left her in a bad way. Director Cruz reaches out, assigning her to the BAU. After speaking to her therapist and expressing her concerns, they come up with a solution of how to inform her new boss of some of the horrors she endured on her mission. Hotch keeps a close eye on her, being careful not to trigger her…until one day, he accidentally does in the worst way. ITALLICS ARE FLASHBACKS! BOLD ARE THERAPY SESSIONS.

Aaron Hotchner x (Fem) BAU! Reader

Angst/Fluff

Word count: 5605

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI,YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION. age gap (reader is in their 20’s and Hotch is in his 40’s), explicit language, mention of canon typical violence, mention of therapy, reader attends regular therapy sessions, mention of a toxic previous “relationship”, mention of a previous dom/sub dynamic, murder, talk of trafficking, forced consent (reader is working the undercover op) mention of previous abuse and manipulation, some use of y/n, Hotch accidentally triggering the reader, let me know if I missed anything!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

“Y/n it has been three months since you returned from your undercover op, it’s time. The BAU needs an additional agent, and you’d make a great addition. It’s really not up for discussion.” Director Cruz ended with finality.

“I really don’t think I am ready. Director Cruz, I know it has been three months, and you guys have been so gracious with the paid leave, but I’m still working through everything I went through when I was under.” You explained.

“Your therapist and the FBI issued psych eval have both cleared you to return y/n. You’re joining the BAU. You’ll begin next Monday.” Cruz decided.

“Okay.”

With that you stood and exited his office. It’s not that you didn’t want to work for the BAU, in fact, under normal circumstances you’d have been begging for this placement. But after everything you endured while undercover, you weren’t sure you could handle being on a team, especially not one run by Aaron Hotchner.

“You were recommended to me by Sheri, did she tell you anything about me?” He questioned.

“She mentioned you were looking for someone who knew how to follow rules.” You answered.

You had been assigned to an undercover operation in which a very powerful man would finally be brought to justice. Emilio Alvatorre, one of FBI’s most wanted. This man did unspeakable things and lucky for you, he was in the market for a new submissive. Normally the FBI wouldn’t jump at putting an agent in this kind of situation, however, in this case Emilio was known to keep his subs knelt at his side in his office. That would mean that you would be privilege to information that could take him down.

“So, are you good at following rules?” Emilio said in a voice meant to be sexy, but it was truly repulsive.

Leaning in to whisper in his ear, “The best.”

“I’m worried that Agent Hotchner is going to give me a directive and that I will follow it whether I agree with it or not. I am terrified that I have completely lost myself, and that I will just blindly follow.” You explained.

“Y/n we’ve talked about this, you are strong, you are capable of making decisions and speaking up for yourself.”

“Yeah but being at the BAU with Agent Hotchner, he’s a very commanding and dominant man, what if I fall right back into…” You trailed off.

“He is commanding and dominant, but he isn’t Emilio. I am going to give you some homework, and then I’d like to see you again on Thursday so we can go over it before you join the BAU Monday.”

“You’re right. What’s the homework?” You asked.

“I want you to first come up with a list of coping strategies for when you begin to feel anxious or overwhelmed on the job. Then I want you to write a letter to read to Agent Hotchner giving him some insight as to what you have been through.”

“Absolutely not! Sylvia I can’t do that!”

“Y/n I am not asking you to give him all the details, just a little bit that might help him to know you.”

“Fine.”

You had a hard time figuring out what to put in the letter to Agent Hotchner, debating what was too much versus what was too little to say. How much did he need to know, how much were you comfortable sharing…it was all becoming a bit much.

Ultimately, you’d written something up along with a perfect list of coping strategies that you knew would satisfy your therapist.

After meeting with her on Thursday and going over what you came up with, and allowing her to help you tweak a few things, your body filled with dread, anxiously awaiting Monday morning when you’d have to go into the BAU.

Director Cruz escorted you to the floor that houses the BAU, bringing you into Agent Hotchner’s office for introductions. You felt like you had just walked out on a stage completely naked with the way all the other agents were looking at you.

“Hotchner, this is Agent y/n. I sent over her file last week. She is going to start with the BAU today.” Director Cruz announced.

“Yes, I saw your email. It is nice to finally meet you.” Agent Hotchner greeted.

“Y/n would you excuse us for just a moment, I’d like to speak to Hotch here.”

Without another word you followed the director’s order. You stepped out of the office and stood patiently waiting for their conversation to end.

“She’s anxious.” Spencer mumbled.

“Wouldn’t you be?” Emily replied.

“No, look at her, she’s digging her nails into her palms, a light sweat has broken out on her neck, her heartrate has increased slightly, and she hasn’t looked up at us once. She’s probably suffering from severe anxiety.” Spencer rambled.

“Don’t profile the newbie Spence.” Emily scolded, patting his shoulder.

“Alright, y/n go on in and Hotch will fill you in on what his expectations for you are.” Director Cruz headed off.

With a light knock, you awaited Agent Hotchner’s approval before entering his office once again. Mentally chastising yourself for your submissive actions.

“Agent y/n, please, have a seat.” Hotch gestured.

You sat in one of the chairs across from him.

“It says here in your file that you’re recently returning from a twelve-month assignment. I noticed the assignment isn’t labeled as classified, but quite a bit of it was redacted. Can you speak on that at all?” Hotch inquired.

“Agent Hotchner, if it is okay with you, I have somethings I’d like to discuss. Some of which is relevant of that case, but it is primarily regarding the effects that case had on me.”

“Go ahead.” Hotch nodded.

“The undercover op I was working put me in a position in which I was forced and manipulated to blindly following directions from someone. I had to do this for twelve months, and since then, I have had a pretty hard time finding my voice again. Certain things can be triggering for me, so I wrote up some things for you, with the help of my therapist. There are coping strategies that I may need to utilize and there are somethings there for you, to navigate situations that may come up.” You were worried that this was all going to lead to Hotch doubting your ability to do this job. “I also want to make it known that I told the Director that I wasn’t ready to return to work.”

“Thank you for sharing this, I think it’ll help me to make your transition back to work smooth. As for you being ready, I think you sharing that information shows a lot about your strength and I think you are more than ready to be here.”

“Kneel.” Emilio ordered with a snap of his fingers.

You slowly dropped to your knees, sitting back on your heels and resting your palms on the tops of your thighs, your gaze focused on the frayed rug that covered the hardwood floor in front of you.

“Bring him in.” Emilio spoke into the intercom that connects him to his security.

The guards drag in a man who appears to be near death, clearly beaten. Emilio rests a hand on your head, gently petting your hair before speaking in a tone you don’t recognize.

“I heard you’ve been snooping around. Talking to Jeremy and his guys.” Emilio spat.

“I haven’t sir I swear!” The man was begging for his life.

“I don’t like snakes.” Emilio raised his gun and shot the man point blank.

You couldn’t help but flinch at the sound. A strong hand was quick to grip your chin.

“Flinching is a sign of weakness. I can’t have a pet that is weak.” His grip tightened “Are you weak?”

“No sir.” You reassured.

“Good.”

Working with the BAU had been going well, Hotch had truly been incredible. He’d encouraged you to share your thoughts and theories while on cases. He also reminded you to use your coping strategies when the cases became particularly overwhelming.

Like today for example. The team was working on a case that was taking a toll on you, mentally and emotionally. Women were being kidnapped then brutally tortured and left for dead in the street. It was becoming increasingly difficult to detach yourself from what these women must’ve been feeling.

Hotch was quick to notice the change in your demeanor and he made it a point to assign you with Spencer at the precinct. You were tightening up the victimology while Spencer worked on the geographical profile. You had come to the conclusion that the unsub was targeting victims primarily on their looks, they had all been of similar height, had same color hair and eyes. Worse than that…they all kind of looked like you. The sound of Derek and Emily approaching made your stomach sink. Spencer had clearly picked up on your anxiety since you’d been with the BAU, but the others, not so much.

“Hey guys, what did you find out?” Emily inquired.

“Well, I’ve narrowed down the geographical profile. This area right here…” Spencer gesture to the map covering the screen “this is his comfort zone, all the abductions and dumpsites fall within this five-block radius.”

“What about you new girl?” Derek nudged you gently.

“I looked into all the victims, and they all were approximately the same height and build, same color hair and eyes. I spoke to Penelope; she confirmed that all of the women frequented the same coffee shop.” You explained.

Hotch, Rossi, and JJ all entered just in time to hear Derek confirm your thoughts…which led to a suggestion that made your heart sink.

“Y/n these girls all kind of look like you...” Derek walks over to where their pictures are pinned up to the board. “Maybe we should send you to the coffee shop undercover. It could help us find this guy.”

You heart was pounding, causing a loud whooshing sound to drown out your hearing. You closed your fists and dug your nails into your palms. You could feel the sweat breaking out along your forehead.

In and out…deep breaths. You reminded yourself of the coping strategies you’d come up with for instances like this. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…

“Absolutely not!” Hotch commanded, shaking you from your thoughts while simultaneously distracting the others from your very obvious panic attack.

“Hotch man come on! She fits the victimology perfectly; it could end this case if she could catch his attention.” Derek argued.

“It’s not up for discussion. I will not send a new agent undercover, not until she is more comfortable on this team. Undercover ops like that require a significant level of trust, one that she may not have yet.” Hotch shut Derek down.

“We know he must go to this coffee shop; JJ and I could go in and watch. Keep an eye out for a man acting suspicious.” Emily suggested.

“Good, first thing tomorrow.” Hotch said before dismissing the team for the evening.

“Sir, is it safe to be talking about this…with her here?”

“Are you questioning me?” Emilio sneered. “My pet is well behaved. I wouldn’t have her here if I thought otherwise. Who are you to question my decisions?” His voice raised.

“I’m sorry sir! I didn’t mean to insinuate anything. I just wasn’t sure.”

“Don’t let it happen again. Now I’ll ask again. What is the update on the shipment?” Emilio demanded.

“There are going to be three crates in the shipping container. The boat is set to anchor Friday at midnight.”

“And everything we were promised will be there?” Emilio asked.

“Well, not the girls. This shipment is just the weapons.”

“Excuse me?” Emilio’s expression turned sinister.

You were knelt by his desk like always. This conversation had been one you were banking on; it was hopefully going to allow your team to pick him and his associates up. Only, this conversation had taken a turn that you weren’t expecting. His shipments thus far had only contained drugs and weapons, so why was he asking about girls?

“I was assured that everything would be included. How fucking hard is it to follow orders?” Emilio shouted, his fist slamming onto his desk.

You sat still, silently taking in the situation. That night you’d check in with your team and fill them in on the new information. You just needed to get the logistics of when the second shipment would arrive, and honestly, you were scared Emilio would kill this guy before you got that information.

“I know boss. They told me that the girls would be here soon. There was an issue getting paperwork for some of them. But it should all be worked out now.”

“I need a date and time. By the end of the day. Otherwise, you’re done.” Emilio hissed. He then brushed his hand over your head. “C’mon pet, let’s go to bed. And you, I’ll be expecting your call.”

Going to bed with Emilio had initially been the worst part of this assignment. Thankfully he’d had you STD tested which meant you were both clean, and he’d ensured you received birth control shots. The sex had surprised you; you had expected it to be rough and painful but, it had been soft and gentle. Emilio whispered sweet nothings to you, and he held you close, and he’d carefully bathe you afterwards.

It may be sick and twisted…but it didn’t bother you, having sex with him.

A light knock at your door had startled you. You made your way over to check the peephole, and there he was waiting patiently.

“Hotch, is everything okay?”

“I should be asking you that. Morgan was out of line suggesting we send you in.”

“It’s okay, really. He doesn’t know any better.”

Hotch gave you a sympathetic look. You could tell he was doing everything in his power not to profile you. You appreciated his effort, and it truly was endearing. Around Hotch, you’d started to feel more comfortable around him and his consistent care of you and your mental health had been the thing that drew you in. He cared so much, and it meant the world to you.

“You seemed nervous earlier, does that have to do with the undercover assignment you worked?”

“Yes.” You sighed.

In the last two months of being with the BAU, you and Hotch had been teetering this fine line of coworkers and more. It wasn’t necessarily leaning toward something romantic, at least that’s what you were both trying to convince yourselves of but, it had definitely become a friendship. Hotch had allowed you a safe space in which you were starting to feel like yourself again. He had never pushed you for information about your past and he continuously checked in with you to make sure you were comfortable and okay. More recently though, as things like what happened today occurred, you have felt like maybe you should tell Hotch a little more about what you endured.

“You know, if you ever want to talk about it, I am here for you. I don’t want you to feel pressured or like you have to tell me anything! But if you should choose, I’d listen.” Hotch admitted.

“I was sent in undercover to investigate Emilio Alvatorre…” You began.

“Emilio Alvatorre? He was one of FBI’s most wanted! Lucrative arms dealer, importing drugs…I heard he was ultimately brought down for sex trafficking.” Hotch was stunned.

“Yeah, that was me. Emilio took part in a certain lifestyle; he is a dominant and he was seeking a new submissive…and I guess I fit the bill. He essentially owned me, and he referred to me as his pet. It was my job to follow his orders blindly, and I did.”

“What was it like?” Hotch questioned.

“Well…

“Good morning pet.” Emilio purred pressing a kiss right below your ear.

“Mmm, good morning sir. Can I make you breakfast?” You offered.

“No darling, the cook will prepare our meal. I think it is sweet you still ask.” His kisses travelled down your neck.

“Do you have meetings today?” You inquired.

“Today is all about you pet. We are going to get you some new clothes, shoes, and maybe a new necklace. I want to spoil you today! We are celebrating!” Emilio gushed.

It was the moments like this that fucked with your mind the most. Emilio could be so kind and gentle, he wanted to take care of you and in the time you’d been with him, it had been increasingly easier to let him. But then there were moments when he turned dark…the other side of him came to light and you couldn’t help but question your mind.

“Boss…” Emilio’s associate barged into the office, only to find you bent over his desk while he pounded into you from behind.

“Not now!” Emilio growled.

“But boss!” This guy really couldn’t take the hint.

Emilio wasn’t one who took well to being interrupted, in any aspect of his life. So, when this associate decided what he had to say was more important than Emilio’s time…you knew it would be bad.

Emilio’s hips never faltered, not upon the initial interruption and certainly not when he leaned to the side, grabbed his gun, and shot the man standing in the doorway. You pinched your eyes shut, knowing better than to react to the horrific sight before you. Emilio continued thrusting, his grunts becoming more erratic, and when he finally finished, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the back of your neck.

“Go run a hot bath. Get in and wait for me. I need to go see about this issue and get this cleaned up.” Emilio stated as he assisted you in standing upright.

“Yes sir.”

“It was really hard for me to deal with the two sides of him. I became confused and my mind was so foggy as to whether or not he was truly awful. And I know that so much of that is the manipulation of being his submissive, but I was with him for a year, it was easy to forget what things had been like before Emilio.” You trailed off.

“I can’t even imagine all the things you must’ve seen and gone through in that time. I can understand why you weren’t sure about joining the BAU initially…but I am really glad you did.” Hotch expressed, placing his hand atop your own.

“I’m glad I did too.”

The next morning Emily and JJ were sent into the coffee shop that all the victims frequented, and they couldn’t track the unsub. Either he was far too subtle, or he hadn’t shown up. The team was currently in the precinct trying to figure out the next steps, when Derek suggested it again.

“I still think y/n should go undercover, it’s our best bet in finding this guy. What do you say new girl?”

You were taken aback; your mind was screaming at you to decline. You weren’t ready for this, going undercover, blindly following team orders. It’s for the greater good though, isn’t it?

“I could do that.”

“Morgan, I already said it’s not happening. She isn’t ready.” Hotch commanded.

“Hotch, we have all had to go undercover. There is no reason that she can’t go into the coffee shop and order a freaking latte. We will all be there to keep her safe, just like any other case!” Morgan was practically shouting.

“It’s okay. I can do it.”

“Y/n you don’t have to do this. Not if you aren’t comfortable.” Hotch was obviously trying to profile you based on his expression.

“I’m okay. I’ll do it.”

You were ordering a coffee, meanwhile Spencer was sitting in the back of the café reading a book and Rossi was in line, about three patrons behind you. Hotch insisted on sitting at a table just outside the entrance to keep a close eye on everyone coming and going. JJ, Derek, and Emily were all in the surveillance van parked across the street, waiting for the signal.

After you received your coffee, you found a seat at an empty table. It wasn’t long before a man approached you. He was tall and clearly strong; he had a very sinister aura that gave you the chills.

“Mind if I sit here?” He asked.

“Oh, sure.” You agreed.

The man sat, but only after he moved the chair closer to you. He was talking to you, but you were having a hard time listening. You were silently begging the guys to come to help and get him away from you.

“You know, you’re really pretty. Why don’t we get out of here? We could go get lunch.” The man suggested.

“Oh, I’m not sure I should.”

“C’mon, be a good girl and get up.” His tone became more aggressive.

You stood up without a second thought, much to the unsub’s delight. He grabbed your arm in a bruising grip and began leading you out of the café.

“They’re on the move. Why is she going with him? This wasn’t the plan.” Derek exclaimed.

Hotch’s demeanor instantly changed. After you opened up to him about your previous assignment, he understood now why you had seemingly always followed orders willingly, only your willingness had been conditioned. Instilled in you through the manipulation of a very dangerous man.

“I got it.” Hotch

Hotch stood up and turned abruptly, purposefully plowing into you and the unsub. He made a move that shifted you away from the unsub and placed himself between you.

“Oh, I am so sorry!” Hotch feigned innocence.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Watch where you’re going asshole. Let’s get out of here.” The unsub reached for your arm once more.

“She’s not going anywhere with you.”

“You want to bet?” he said, pulling a gun from his waistband and pointing it directly at your head.

You didn’t flinch, in fact you didn’t move a muscle. All the while everyone else sprung into action. Hotch tried to talk him down while the rest of the team surrounded him on all sides. You had stood there completely disassociated while this man threatened your life and ultimately met his untimely end via Emily’s weapon.

“Y/n would you please come to my office?” Hotch requested.

You silently followed Hotch to his office. You were wringing your hands, hoping that he wouldn’t reprimand you for your behavior today. You couldn’t handle disappointing people.

“You didn’t even flinch. You had a gun pointed at you and you didn’t even blink. You also willingly left the café with him, which was not a part of the plan we had discussed.” Hotch stated, his tone calm.

“I’m sorry Hotch. He told me to get up and I just…I wasn’t sure what to do. I know we needed to catch the guy.”

“I don’t want you getting hurt.” Hotch admitted. “I don’t know what I would do if you got hurt. I also don’t want you to agree to do things simply because someone tells you to. Like agreeing to go undercover.”

“I don’t know how to do that. Disagree I mean. I’m not sure I have that in me anymore.” You did everything in your power to keep the tears at bay. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Y/n I’m not disappointed. I do think that it is very important you continue to work with your therapist.”

“I will.”

“…and I just stood there.”

“Y/n you we conditioned for over a year to sit still when any sort of firearm was shot, you watched people die right in front of you. You were covered in their blood and forced to remain kneeling until instructed otherwise. I can’t say I am entirely surprised that you didn’t react to having a weapon pointed at you. What does surprise me though was that you agreed to going undercover.” Sylvia finished.

“I knew it was our best option to finding this unsub. I fit the victimology, and I was able to fish him out. It was a no-brainer.” You shrugged.

“Now that sound like someone making a rational decision.” Sylvia smirked.

“Yeah well, after the case Hotch called me out and I felt like a child being scolded. I could barely hold back tears.”

“Why do you think that is?” She pressed.

“I don’t know. I guess, I’m afraid of not being good enough and worse, disappointing him.”

“The only person you should be worried about disappointing is yourself. Y/n you have made huge strides in the last five months and as long as you stay true to yourself, you will continue to do so.”

The months went on, as did the cases and your therapy sessions. Oddly enough, you had started to feel more like yourself. Things with the BAU have started to become easy, you were opening up little by little to the others and you were getting better at making your own decisions.

Hotch had also noticed the change. It had warmed his heart to see you really coming into your own, to really get to know the real you. Which had only strengthened his feelings toward you, causing him to work extra hard to shove them down. Rossi knew simply from the look Hotch gave you, but that’s a story for another time.

The team had been working back-to-back cases all over the country for the last few weeks. It had been exhausting and the team were getting to a point where everyone was snippy. Lack of sleep had led to a horrible lack of patience, and the local officers weren’t making matters any better.

“What if we were wrong, I think the unsub is a woman. I mean look at the attention to detail in the clean up and at how the bodies were presented.” You offered.

“Y/n could be right; a woman would take the time to be precise and it would explain the…”

Before Spencer could finish his thought, Officer Riley decided to provide his own theories.

“There is no way it is a woman. They don’t have the courage to take care of people like this. That’s why the statistic proves that the unsub is a man.”

“With all due respect, women are just as capable of murder as men, and when they do it they are often far more meticulous which is why that fits better here.” You explained.

“Well, with all due respect ma’am, I’ve been doing this job longer than you could walk.”

“Excuse me?” You couldn’t bother hiding your surprise.

“All I’m saying sweetheart, is that perhaps you’d be better off getting us some coffee.” Officer Riley sneered.

“Last time I checked, I’m the one working for the FBI and not some Podunk little police station in the middle of nowhere, Idaho. So how about you back off and let us finish our…”

“Y/N TAKE A SEAT.” Hotch demanded.

Despite your shock at Hotch’s tone toward you, you took a seat without hesitation.

“Officer Riley, please let my agents do their work. We have much more important things to be doing than arguing about the duties of a woman.” Hotch chided.

“Well, you clearly agree with me given the fact that you gave her an order. If you’d been on her side you’d have probably told me off.” Riley turned to you, “and you clearly do know how to listen to a man in charge. Perhaps I misjudged you.”

With that, Riley made his leave with a low chuckle, and you sat there considering what had just happened. Hotch had commanded you to sit down knowing full well you’d comply, that way he could deal with Riley without you continuing to tell him off. He used what he knew about you against you, despite all the conversations you’ve had with him. Despite him knowing full well your fear of blindly following orders.

“I can’t believe you.” You stood up and walked out, heading straight for the precinct exit.

“Y/n wait!” Hotch followed you.

As you landed on the sidewalk just upon the exit, Hotch’s had made its way around your upper left arm in a desperate attempt to slow you down and hear him out. Only you were in no mood to listen to him or anyone else right now. All you felt was the sense of betrayal blooming in your chest.

As he swung you back around to face him, you did something that shocked even you. You right arm followed around, landing a harsh slap to Hotch’s cheek. Your breathing was ragged, a look of surprise painting your features…a look of guilt flooding Hotch’s.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…” You paused.

“No, Y/n I am so sorry I shouldn’t have-” Hotch pleaded.

“I need to go. I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” With that you left, calling a taxi, and heading back to the hotel.

“YOU STUPID BITCH! HOW COULD YOU?” Emilio Screamed, lunging toward you.

“Emilio I didn’t, I just…I”

Emilio wrapped his hand around your throat, harshly choking you as SWAT swarmed the shipyard. They quickly made their way to you, removing Emilio from his position over you. As they pulled him away you couldn’t help but watch him.

“Kneel Pet!” Emilio commanded.

You couldn't help but follow his order. Immediately dropping to your knees, resting your hands atop your thighs and letting your gaze fall to the ground.

“I will always own you! You will always be my pet, perfectly broken in!” Emilio hollered as they put him in the back of a vehicle.

“Y/n you’re okay, lets get you up and checked out.” Your unit commander suggested.

Only you didn’t move. You couldn’t get up, not without his permission.

That night, the paramedics had to sedate you to get you into an ambulance. And after that you were placed in a psychiatric facility for 30 days to help undo the brainwashing you’d endured.

“Sylvia, I slapped him. My boss, I slapped him right in the face!”

“Y/n you reacted to a situation and based on what you just explained to me, it seems like he knew he was in the wrong. You shouldn’t be blaming yourself and honestly, you should talk to him.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“Maybe tell him how you feel.” Sylvia suggested.

You spent the afternoon practicing what to say to Hotch, Spencer had been texting you updates of that case as it progressed. He’d let you know that they caught the unsub and were headed back to the hotel. So, as you opened your door to make your way to his room, you came face-to-face with the man himself.

“Hotch.” You gasped.

“Y/n can we talk?”

You moved aside to allow him access to your room. You couldn’t help but feel nervous about the conversation that was to come.

“Hotch, I am so sorry for slapping you! I was just-”

“You shouldn’t be the one apologizing. Y/n I am so sorry, I heard you going off on Riley and I knew that if you kept talking he’d report you and I’d be forced to suspend you, only I hadn’t considered the effect that me demanding you take a seat would have on you. I need you to know it was not my intention to take advantage of you like that and even worse, I shouldn’t have put my hand on you the way I did. You had every right to slap me.” Hotch explained.

“You were trying to protect me?”

“Riley had made threats of reporting our staff for going against orders of the precinct. I knew that he’d report you for your behavior, despite him clearly being in the wrong. I didn’t want to suspend you.”

“I didn’t realize. But Hotch telling me to take a seat, in the tone you did, it felt like I was right back there. Following orders without thinking. With you, I can’t explain it, I would do anything you asked me to and that terrifies me. My feelings for you only add to that need to do anything you say, to do anything to please you. I can’t help it.”

“You have feelings for me?”

“Aaron! Is that all you took from what I just said?”

“Please say that again.” He whispered.

“Aaron.”

He let his eyes close and took a deep breath. You could tell he was holding back and though part of you was begging you to walk away, the other was telling you to jump in. You thought about what Sylvia would say, and you couldn’t help but release a breathy laugh, knowing full well that she would tell you that only you can make the right decision, and it is okay to trust yourself.

“Aaron, I am terrified…and it is going to take me some time to fully trust myself again, but I really like you and if you’re up for it, I’d like to give this a shot. Unless you don’t feel the same way, then please ignore what I just said an-”

Aaron pulled you in and pressed his lips to yours in a searing kiss. One that told you everything you needed to know.

“I’m scared too, but I want to try this Y/n. I know that you’re still working to find yourself, I am willing to wait if that is what you need, but I am also willing to be by your side every step of the way.”

“I don’t want to wait.”

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kishibei · 2 years ago

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LICK BACK

leon s kennedy x reader | smut, 18+ | >1k words

summary: back in your RPD training days, rookie leon was just too easy to pick on. now that he's all grown up, leon is dead set on getting his lick back in the way he thinks best: finally getting the chance to fuck you.

cont: f! reader, morally grey (?) leon, revenge plot, light degradation, choking, manhandling, rough sex.

just having turned twenty-one, the bright-eyed and blushy virgin who you thought had no real understanding of how the world worked, was just the perfect target for your teasing.

but running into leon who's all grown up now is such a trip. he's changed much more than he'll ever know, a seasoned expert at practically everything. you can tell he’s witnessed unspeakable horrors; everyone has, but his weary expression betrays that fact more than anything else, the perpetual downturn of his lips telling his entire story.

and despite everything leon's been through, he's still hung up over the little things; running through almost every single time you poked fun at him back in RPD, eyeing you from above with a steely gaze. he speaks slowly, making sure you hear it all from him, just a small reminder in case you'd forgotten all these years later.

you laugh awkwardly as he brings it up, fiddling with your hands before looking up at him with a timid smile. he was such a loser then, practically begging for the chance to be with you. but as he stands here now, you can't help but to notice exactly how much he's grown. that scrawny little frame you remember all too well had matured so well into this leviathan of a man, the very mountain of muscle and bone that towered over you.

he knows you find him attractive, it's evident in the way you shift your weight from one foot to the other, how you flutter those pretty lashes, and lean in real close when he talks, pretending you can't hear what he’s saying.

he smiles a bit crookedly now, and when you part those perfect glossy lips to speak, he can't think of anything else but slamming his cock down your throat, making you eat every last one of your mean words to him.

leon knows he should forgive you, really… you were so much younger then, unaware how deep the teasing had actually gone for him.

yet still, all leon wants to do is settle the score, to get his lick back for all the torment you put him through. he thinks for a moment, a quizzical expression flashing on his face for a moment. what better way to exact his little plot of revenge than by getting exactly what you'd been denying him of for years?

he's been waiting for this chance for ages, ever since the day he laid eyes on you at base. this was his opportunity; the opportunity to finally fuck you.

engaging in this conversation is all part of his newfound game, and when he’s finally got you split open on his cock, he knows he’s won.

...

"fuck, leon! 's too much!" you cry out, the words leaving your lips in the whiniest manner.

it's almost pathetic really— the way fat tears start to well in your eyes, just threatening to spill as leon pumps into you. he's got you folded in on yourself on this shitty mattress; long gone flat with springs exposed, stained with grime and the remains of other unidentifiable fluids.

it's so dirty, almost filthier than the way leon's fucking you now; pressing your legs so far into yourself that your knees practically muff your ears, just barely lowering the sounds of his slamming back into that sloppy cunt.

leon's pace is unrelenting, and when you look up at him there's something dark clouding his gaze; like this means more to him than you think it does. you can't help but to think it's the result of all your bullying back then, and you know you're not too far off when he grabs your neck, squeezing at your throat like a man gone mad.

your eyes roll into the back of your head, panting and whining as he fucks you like this, but soon your vision grows hazy and a certain panic starts to settle in your bones.

"leon... lee!" you strain, voice coming out a small whisper as you begin to claw at his hands, trying to pry his fingers off of you.

he's so much stronger than you, always has been— even back when you would push him around during training, you knew it better than anyone. and here he was: the same wimpy little leon, using that very strength against you, closing around your esophagus while he fucks you into oblivion.

you're gonna die, you think— no, you know. you've convinced yourself of it when you stop scratching at his fingers, just moaning wantonly as tears roll down your cheeks. he leans down to press a kiss against your ear, releasing you for just a second before he's back at your neck.

"stupid, ungrateful, bitch..." he seethes, spitting the words at you like venom as he drags his cock out of you, only to ram it back in again and again.

the words are mean— hurting just a little worse than the bruises you know are forming under his fingertips. but your body betrays you, that messy cunt just clamping down on him as he whispers those cruel words over and over.

"stop! just stop, leon!" you babble, gasping for air as he let's go of you for another moment, bringing his lips down to kiss all over the bruises he's just made. leon's eyes flick up to yours, a wicked grin taking over his features.

"you don't mean that, y'know you don't..."

he's right, more than that.

so you let him fuck you, whispering obscenities far worse than the one's you've called him all that time ago as you cry and wail for him, overcome with equal parts pain and pleasure.

"lee... leon, i can't!" you whimper, fingernails clawing at his back as you tense up, legs shaking while you hold onto him tightly.

"yes, you can... you're fine." he sighs.

his response is surprisingly reassuring, and the way he strokes your cheek as it leaves him causes the tight coil in the pit of your stomach to snap, making you spasm beneath him with weak cries of pleasure.

"see? there you go..." he cooes, looking down at you with a softer gaze now. "feels good when you aren't fighting, doesn't it?"

you cant say much, just whining as he delivers his last few strokes with a grunt, filling you to the brim with thick, hot spurts of cum.

"shit..." leon pants.

"isn't this the part where you tell me you're sorry?"

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hatchet-boy · 8 months ago

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Judging SPN Seasons By How Messy It Would Be If Sam And Dean Started Having Sex

Season 1: freshly reunited. no one else in their world but them. they are obsessed with each other. they would fuck like feral dogs and it would make them so much worse. also dad is there. unspeakably messy. 12/10

Season 2: dad just died. the grief sex would be more tears than come and at least one of them is probably saying johns name mid fuck. dean might have to kill baby brother (TM) and so the obvious reaction to this would be extremely possessive sex. sam would not like that attitude (with the one exception of if it happens when hes drunk in playthings). messy in even grosser but marginally less feral ways than szn one. 13/10

Season 3: milder. still obsessed with each other but more settled into it now. deans turn to maybe die and sams turn to be uber-doober possessive about it. unlike sam, dean would be extremely into that. and his deal is comin due so he might as well. sad and tragic,, but not that messy. probably still more tears than come. 6/10

Season 4: dean just came back from hell to find sam fucking his new demon girlfriend. the angels are there. they're still hunting but Stuff Is Going On and god knows they need to be grounded with each other to make it through. sex would probably help. would do the opposite than make things messier. would be vicious. definite chance dean might try to feed sam his blood. 4/10

Season 5: apocalypse fuck. oh fuck. ruby is dead. angels and death and demons and god and destiny. sam and dean are the most experienced and secure theyve ever been and yet. the whole damn world is about to explode. and yet they are still tortured and annoyed by the goofy everday hunting horrors. fucking would be nice for them, would remind them they belong to each other. they think theyre gonna die so the consequences wouldnt matter a whole lot. less insulated and worried about holy judgment so the incest thing may be a bother now. 2/10

Season 6: you fuck your brother but its not your brother he's different in ways you cant explain but you havent seen him in months and you thought you lost him and hes not quite right but fuck he looks like him and talks like him and knows everything about the two of you and he fucks like a greek god and hes mean as a motherfucker in bed but you can take it its fine its worth it its sam godammit-

15/10

Season 7: stranded up the creek without even a twig for a paddle. both brothers are destroyed and traumatised and forcing each other forward by force of necessity and a brotherly hand on the back of the neck. at least its just them alone together (dean please ignore the hallucination of lucifer sitting in the corner and judging our cock size-). sex would go terribly and be the most unsexy sex ever sexed. but they would probably like the closeness if sam could handle it. messy but wouldnt ruin them long term. there would be a terrible Dick joke. 8/10

Season 8: WHOA BOY WHAT A DOOZY. BOTH BROTHERS HAVE PARAMOURS ON THE SIDE WHOM THE OTHER FUCKIN HATES. DEAN IS PURGATORY FERAL AND HAS ONE EYE ON A VAMP. SAM IS SOFT HAS HIS PINKY FINGER TWINED AROUND SOME RANDOM GIRL. WHY DIDNT YOU LOOK FOR ME?? // YOU TOLD ME NOT TO!! // YOU TRUST A DAMN VAMPIRE OVER YOUR OWN BROTHER?? // YOU HIT A DOG... meanwhile sam is doing the trials losing his mind again and dean is losing his mind about that. letting you down was my biggest sin//there is nothing i would ever put in front of you. messy. 10/10.

Season 9: less than ideal with sam possessed by and angel. dean is rocking with the guilt and confliction. the mark of cain is also making him a bit feral again. theyre safe together in the bunker but thats already claustrophobic enough sex might just suffocate them both. pretty messy. 7/10

Season 10: your big brother is an angry angry man but its not his fault right??? its because of the mark right?? he cant control it and you love him and you want to stay in the safe house/bunker/tomb with him you dont want to leave anymore and you need him. youve both been through enough. you deserve this. there would be minimal messiness caused by sex with your brother rn. exception to those few weeks where he was a demon. 2/10

Season 11: gods sister is here and its the apocalypse again. dean hates what he has with Her. at least his sammy is here. at least theyre together. still crazy about each other. gay incest sex is the most reasonable reaction. god might find out- but then again, he and his sister are pretty wacked out together too, and are we not made in gods image?. 1/10

Season 12: Mom is here and so is lucifer and his kid and also the cunt ass brits. not ideal. minimal messiness so long as no one finds out. and fuck all them anyway its pretty clear sam and dean can only ever really trust each other. sex would be affirming and safe here. they are absolutely fucking in the kitchen to the smell of toast and coffee. dean discovers he has an std because no its not normal that your balls have iched like that for the past four years you need to go to a doctor and dean i swear on the impala if you gave it to me- . 3/10

Season 13 to 15: fellas is it gay to have sex with your brother who you've been functionally married to for over a decade? probably not right ha ha. if they havent already fucked by now theyre not going to. theyre just gonna be intensely platonically married until they die. they both have erectile dysfunction by this point . sex would mean everything to them but change nothing they would still be old and married in their bunker with the devils kid tomorrow regardless. they dont care what people think anymore. fuck all messiness. 1/10

Post Season 15 Finale/Heaven: we deserve a soft epilogue my love sammy. mildly concerned about being kicked out of heaven for incest but with everything else theyve done they still made it there. it would be the least of their sins. lovely soft and nothing hurts. can you make a sex tape in heaven? 0/10

#labelling this one under 'things i spent too much time on but love anyway'#constructive criticism is more than welcome here #spn #samdean #wincest #first times #edit to clarify:#this isnt rating how /good/ it would be if they got together in each szn. just how /messy/ it would be

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lazycats-stuff · 10 months ago

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Hello, hope you're having a good day/night

I was wondering if I could request Bruce x Bat Dad (and some bat fam)

What if reader knew about the darker things in the world like demons and horrors unimaginable from the time he was small and that's why he doesn't talk about things like growing up or his family.

What if reader gets captured by a cult that torture him in order to force reader to translate strange eldritch books and artifacts.

You can choose how long it takes for Bruce to find reader

(What if Bruce and the batfam find out that reader has been hunting and investigating the supernatural like a small base of operations that looks more like a library with hidden weapons)

Hi, I hope you have a good day or night too. Of course you can request. Hehe. Lets go. Also, I'm sorry for taking so long... I hope you like it! And yes, the ending may be rushed, but it's not that bad.

Summary: (Y/N) gets taken for his knowledge.

Warnings: cult, fight, implications of torture... Nothing is really direct per say.

(Y/N) sighed as he closed his old leather book. He wished he didn't have this knowledge, this... (Y/N) swallowed as he put his book back and left the room, closing the fake bookcase. He rubbed his face as he was tired from this life. He wished he didn't have this knowledge. He knows the things that would turn the world upside down.

He met with hell's worst demons and he saw some of the other unspeakable horrors. (Y/N) never had a good life. He grew up in a satanic cult, the one who was genuinely believing that Satan is coming and that they are going to be his loyal servants.

He was apparently marked by Satan when he was born, but then again, when you are in a cult, you believe what they tell you. (Y/N) escaped when he was 16 years old, running like the devil himself was chasing him. (Y/N) came to Gotham with only clothes on his back.

Soon he met a nice guy who helped him. (Y/N) is smart and intelligent and he managed to start high school. He graduated after 3 years and went on to study history and religion at college. He was always interested in those things and soon enough, he found himself working in a museum.

It was a nice change of pace for once. Learning about old things and older religions and he liked it when he could teach someone something new. Of course, he was vigilant of new people and people in general. He was careful when meeting someone new, hoping that the cult didn't go after him. He could only hope so.

Dating after being in a cult it's difficult. Always suspicious of any one coming into his life romantically. Men or women, being suspicious from the get go was a certified way to see if someone was from the cult. It was also one of the fastest ways to get your relationship destroyed.

Then Bruce Wayne came into his life.

It was a coincidence. Bruce saw an interesting exhibition and decided to treat Damian to a little treat. (Y/N) was making his way through the museum, just enjoying his day and making sure every visitor was taken care of. He saw Bruce and Damian, looking in confusion.

(Y/N) walked over and asked if everything was okay and the rest was history. He lead the two through the museum, enjoying the fact that Damian knew a lot about history and it was actually fun to debate a child who knew something over a fact.

Bruce was quiet, enjoying the tour and well... Love at first sight for Bruce. He was chatting with (Y/N) and saw how guarded he was. Sure, everyone is guarded around strangers, but this is a whole another level of being guarded.

Bruce was rather intrigued, but he didn't want to push any boundaries. So he left (Y/N) his number, saying no pressure to say yes, but do call.

To say (Y/N) was a nervous wreck is an understatement. What the hell was Bruce Wayne doing with him? Was he just looking for a one night stand? Or was just flirting to keep with the playboy persona? He came home and stared at the card for 10 minutes, thinking about it.

Should he?

Should he not?

You know what? He's not made from glass. He will go for it and whatever happens, happens. He texted Bruce, he wasn't really brave enough to call. He really wasn't.

He jumped when he saw that Bruce responded.

To cut a very long story short, Bruce and (Y/N) are together to this day. The date went very well and (Y/N) was happy for the first time. He has never been happier. Together with a man who loves him and the kids who love him.

(Y/N) may love the kids more than Bruce, but Bruce won't complain. Anyone who accepted his kids, he was more than happy and if that person loved the kids more than Bruce...

Of course, in platonic way.

But there was something that bothered the family, well, not bothered, but it was interesting to them. It was (Y/N)'s past. It was something he hid and refused to talk about. He would get closed off and cold and soon enough they learnt to not ask about it.

Of course, in a family full of detectives, they wanted to investigate, but they knew that they shouldn't have because it was an invasion of privacy. So, they have decided to leave (Y/N)'s past alone.

Also, one thing that they loved about (Y/N) was the fact that he was teaching them history, something they all loved. Jason was a fan of Egypt and Sumerians. Dick loved European history, more so medieval times. Tim loved the Enigma and the making of a first computer?

And Damian? World War Two and Arabic history.

Alfred loved (Y/N) too and he would love nothing more for Bruce to marry that man. God knows that this household needs another emotionally stable person. Somewhat...

Alfred was not the one to complain.

He saw how (Y/N) and Bruce complimented one another and Bruce gave (Y/N) a push to write his book about history of religion. (Y/N) has always wanted to write that and Bruce gave him a push he needed. But not financially.

(Y/N) said he would do it all on his own. Bruce had no problem with that statement. He agreed to not pull connections with anyone or any publishing house. But he wasn't against getting (Y/N) his materials. He had no problem delivering the materials right to his door or at his work.

(Y/N) knew that Bruce was Batman so he knew that Bruce was in front of his apartment or in his office. (Y/N) enjoyed and was happy to see them.

(Y/N) entered his apartment and went to the kitchen. He was completely oblivious to the fact that there was a dark figure in his living room. (Y/N) took a sip of the water before he heard a creak on the floor board. He acted like it was nothing before throwing the glass in the direction on the sound. He hit the figure and (Y/N) grabbed a knife.

(Y/N) watched as the figure doubled down in pain, before recovering. The figure has stepped into the light and (Y/N) recognized the face.

" You motherfucker... " (Y/N) said as he gripped the handle of the knife tighter.

" That's no way to talk to your leader. " The deep male voice said and (Y/N) sized him up.

Maybe he can make it out. But the leader is strong and full of muscles. He has to evade him. Somehow.

That plan went down to shit when he saw two more figures. Sure, the leader needs to have protection. (Y/N) glanced between the trio. Someone is going to attack first.

Which one is the question.

(Y/N) ducked a punch and tried to stab the incoming one, but he was hurled over the couch, taking it with him. (Y/N) grunted as he hit the floor and he stood up after a few moments. He didn't have his knife with him.

Shit.

He nearly died when there was a fourth figure picking him up, before throwing him into his glass coffee table. (Y/N) grunted as he hit his head. He hissed as he tried to get up, but a kick to his face sent him flying back and he was dazed.

" I'm not coming with you. " (Y/N) said as he wiped the blood from his face.

" Oh you are. We know you can translate the demon transcriptions. And we need those translations. " The leader said and (Y/N) glared at them.

He won't go out without a fight.

" You are outnumbered. There is no way out. " The leader said and (Y/N) glanced at the other two. They were blocking the exit. They only way is to fight out or at least try.

But there was no weapon in sight. So he was screwed. Kicking and punching his way out can only take him so far.

But he had to try.

So he did just that. He tried to fight, but he was punched in the jaw quickly that he was nearly knocked. He fell down, hitting his head hard once more.

His vision was swimming and he couldn't see who was where anymore. His only hope now was Bruce. He knew Bruce would drop by later in the night and that he would find him. Bruce would never stop looking for him.

The kiddos too...

His jaw got punched once more and he blacked out. Now the cult had him where they wanted him. They could do what they pleased.

And if that meant torture... Well, then so be it.

Two fucking months. Bruce was losing his mind as he was looking for his boyfriend. He was horrified when he learnt of (Y/N)'s past, who wouldn't be terrified? Learning and growing up in a cult?

Bruce remembers the first time he entered the apartment and he will always wonder about a lot of things. More so that (Y/N) is somewhat normal.

Bruce was shocked that (Y/N) turned out normal. The trauma he must have went through... He was even more shocked when they found out the secret library in his apartment... Bruce had to call John Constantine to see what the hell was happening here.

John knew exactly what this was. (Y/N) was a hunter who hunted demons and banished them back to hell. Bruce was officially in the dark now. His beloved, his significant other was a hunter? Who went after demons?

Bruce didn't know how the hell he was going to explain this to his kids. How can you explain something like this? Bruce analyzed every part of the apartment, trying to figure out what happened.

He saw that (Y/N) had a knife, but was threw around the room. Then he was put through his glass coffee table. Bruce sighed quietly as John looked through the books.

" This is an amazing collection. " John commented as he looked through the books and the weapons.

" Is that really important right now? " Bruce snapped at the man and John just shrugged his shoulders.

" I guess not, but I know people who would kill for this collection. Bruce, he has knowledge of the single handedly one of the most ancient languages in the world. I can only count people on one hand that know this language. " John explained.

Bruce sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

" I think I know why they kidnapped your partner. " John said as he picked up a book. Bruce raised his brow in question.

" The cult that took him wanted some translations it seems. " John said as he opened and old, leather bound book, more interested in the book at the moment.

" That's not good. I'm assuming he will resist... They are going to torture him. " Bruce said solemnly, eyes darting around the apartment.

" We will put the bookshelf the way it was. Maybe they were after the books and weapons. " Bruce said and John sighed as he put the book where he found it and then did what Bruce asked from him.

From that day, two months passed. Bruce and everyone else worked tirelessly to find their favorite person. Bruce his boyfriend, soon to be a fiancé, the boys their second dad, one that is more emotionally open and Alfred needed one person who is going to be somewhat normal.

Bruce nearly jumped out of his skin when he got a location. They boys and him piled into the batmobile and drove as fast as the car allowed it.

To say that they had to fight their way in was an understatement. Alfred was anxiously waiting in the cave.

Bruce nearly died when he saw (Y/N). Bloodied, bruised... Bruce didn't want to know the specifics. He picked his beloved up and moved to the car and he made sure to call the SWAT team from GCPD, alongside a few more organizations.

The cult deserves it, okay? Was he over reacting? Maybe.

But that didn't matter now. What mattered is the fact that (Y/N) is taken care of and is alive and well.

To say he drove like a madman... Would be the biggest understatement of the century. Once they came, they rushed their favorite person to Alfred.

Time was of the essence.

Bruce waited for his boys to finish talking to their second dad. (Y/N) had awoken and although still weak, he still talked to his sons. After 20 minutes, Bruce ushered them out, making them all protest a bit, but in the end they knew that they need to go.

Jason hugged his dad, very carefully and left. Dick kissed his dad's cheek and Tim squeezed his hand. Damian hugged his second dad before leaving and the two partners are soon left alone.

" I'm sorry for not telling you the truth... But it was too difficult. " (Y/N) said and Bruce kissed his cheek softly.

" Don't apologize. I understand that. "

" I'm assuming you found my base? " (Y/N) asked and Bruce nodded.

" John said you have a collection people would kill for... This is such shit timing, but would you like to move in? " Bruce said and (Y/N) snorted, but stopped because of his ribs.

" Yes, I would love nothing more. "

Bruce kissed (Y/N)'s cheek again. " Good. I'll leave you to rest. "

" Can you stay with me? "

Bruce smiled and nodded, changing into his PJs before gently laying down next to (Y/N), wrapping him into blankets and the two quickly feel asleep.

The two were finally reunited.

#dc comics #dc x male reader #x male reader #batfamily #bruce wayne x male reader #batman x male reader #jason todd x male reader #red hood x male reader #dick grayson x male reader #nightwing x male reader #tim drake x male reader #red robin x male reader #damian wayne x male reader

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xo-cod · 1 year ago

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You mentioned in your nsfw poly task force post that they can fight over reader when they get ansty enough 👀 wanna put some details?

"you had her last time we came back!" "and i need her again!" "this is ridiculous, she's mine!" "oh like hell she is"

you've never seen those four go head to head like this, neither one wanting to back down. bodies stiff and rigid, muscles tense, hands poised ready to strike if needed. gone is the calm and rational side, they're no longer thinking with their minds. they each have an individual need to mark you theirs, any competitor coming in the way of that must be erased and defeated promptly.

after a long gruelling day, each man only had you dancing on his mind when he came back to the barracks. though he hadn't anticipated that the rest of his team would've been after the same damn thing like he was. the tension was incredibly thick, it could've been sliced with the blade strapped to their uniform. four sets of eyes narrowed at one another, daring the other to make a move.

the team was as thick as thieves, their bond stronger after withstanding years of unspeakable horror and pain. but they had a weakness, that was you. all bets were off when it came to you

price's face is set in a hard stare, his jaw clenched as he eyes his team with pure warning to stay away. to keep out. to not get too close with business that didn't concern them

ghost was silence, his huge broad form straight to warn them off like enemies. his face hidden behind his signature balaclava but his brown eyes drowning with contempt. challenging each and every one of them

soap's hand clutched tightly around his vest, his knuckles turning white as the agitation grew only higher in his body. his eyes burned through all his team, biting his tongue in order not to cuss them out

gaz was fuming, daring one of them to move an inch before he lunged. his eyes had blackened with pure need for you mixed with the anger he was feeling from each of them and the audacity they had

but its clear that tonight, there was no sharing. he needed you for himself and each one of them was determined to make himself the worthy winner of the night

#asks #idk if this was what you wanted sorry 😭#simon riley #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #141 x reader #task force 141 #cod 141

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vaguely-concerned · 1 year ago

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it probably says something either sad or deeply unfortunate about me as a person, but I'm darkly amused to see some people react to the reveal of the ultimate permeability of souls in tlt as a triumphant thing -- the "you can't take 'loved' away!!!" side of it all -- when my first reaction was such an immediate wave of 'oh, oh so this is why this series is horror, I truly understand now' distress haha. ngl the final confirmation of the self not being inviolable in the deepest way freaks me the fuck out far more than any moment of body horror in the series has managed. (these two elements are of course the two sides of one thematic coin; it's about the horror of our bodies and minds and selves not being inviolable things, and about the effect of violence on them on so many different levels. violence psychological and interpersonal, physical, subtextually sexual, emotional, medical, political, a whole unlovely smörgåsbord of indignity and violation a person can be exposed to, and on a broader scale the spectrum of violence colonialism wields). The world and other people being capable of leaving indelible marks on us for good or ill through their presence in our lives is of course a pretty self-evident demonstrable truth in the real world, but somehow having it be proven metaphysically just uh. Fucks me up!

It also drives home to me just how perfectly Muir has captured the dilemma at the heart of human connection and intimacy: the fact that the thing that gives us life and meaning is also capable of harming us so deeply. the same thing that can be so beautiful — even in a bittersweet, violently transformative form like with the creation of Paul — when done mutually and consensually and compassionately, is the same process that means someone like John can touch someone else's soul and 'after he's put his fingers on something, you'll never find anyone else's fingerprints on it; too much noise'. I think the text itself — the whole series, because to me this is what it is ultimately about, this tension between individuation/self vs. love/connection/enmeshment — is far more ambivalent in its treatment of it than saying it’s inherently a good thing or inherently a bad thing. The only thing it says for sure is that it is always a thing, that thinking you’re ever getting away from it is the height of futility, and that through being alive (or even through being dead lol) it is something you have to engage with in some way no matter what. Contact with other people is deeply necessary — without it we sicken and die. it can be the most beautiful and meaningful thing in a human life, and the most unspeakably horrific. All of these people are searching for some way to be whole, whether in total self-contained sufficiency on their own or in melding with someone else as their ‘other half’, and stumbling around in the dark they reach for each other and score deep wounds into the thing they’re trying to touch even when they don’t mean to. Taken to horrific extremes with the form of lyctorhood John guided his disciples to when they were ‘children — playing in the reflections of stars in a pool of water, thinking it was space’, because while people hurt each other all the time with differing levels of intentionality behind it, what John did was deliberate. It weaponizes the misapprehension of what closeness must be and destroys everyone involved in the process… and all because it leaves John the one sun their ruined lives have left to orbit around, because that’s the closest thing his soul will allow to connection. He doesn’t understand that to truly touch something you have to truly let it touch you back, and then wonders why he’s never satisfied.

‘The horrors of love’ has been memed to death, I know, but… yeah. That is what it is, isn’t it.

#the locked tomb #the locked tomb meta #the unwanted guest #the unwanted guest spoilers #I wrote most of this right after reading tug for the first time but it's been so hard putting exactly what I mean into words #this is my best shot so far haha #I feel like a lot of a people have approached this lil 'revelation' a bit too... idk mechanistically? for my personal taste #I think it's far more thematically and metaphorically true than a scavenging hunt to see who's been rubbing off on who #spiritually. of course. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

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corazondebeskar-reads · 5 months ago

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of rage and ruin - chapter four

of rage and ruin series

chapter four

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werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader

word count: 2.9k

summary: You get a better idea of Joel's life here, and your purpose is made explicitly clear.

chapter warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, a/b/o, alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, captivity, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, horror themes, graphic violence, abuse by captors (not by either joel or reader), depiction of injury, body horror, typical raider/hunter behavior, mention of cordyceps, angst, viewer discretion is advised, menstruation and oral, slow burn, whipping, explicit abuse by captors

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

“You, girl,” Jim snaps. “Heel.”

Your head whips to the door, fear forgotten long enough to stare incredulously. But the look falls off your face quickly at the rage on his. Out of the corner of your eye, Joel shakes his head minutely, jerking it just enough toward Jim that you get the picture.

You’d bristle about it later, but the cold rushes back through your veins as Jim’s ruddy face grows darker.

“Now, bitch.”

Despite being fully human, a growl rumbles from your cellmate. The shadows do nothing to soften his sharpness, but Jim just waggles the remote to the shock collar in his hand.

“You got somethin’ to say, boy?” he says.

Joel’s lip twitches, but he falls silent.

You get to your feet, making your way to the door on shaky legs with your head down.

He hates it. Hates how you shrink yourself down, how your smell stings his nostrils.

But he’ll hate what happens next more.

Jim shuts the bars behind you, but not the door. He pushes you roughly up against them, wasting no time binding your hands. With a hand on the back of your neck, he smiles.

Unlike Cheryl’s preternatural ability to be put together in the post-apocalyptical wasteland, Jim wears the end of the world. His hand is rough and wrinkled against your skin, and the terrible grin he puts on when he leans close to your ear is missing more than a few teeth.

“I told you,” he says, low and slithering, his hot breath gusting in your ear and making you shudder. “You only get her when you behave.”

Joel tears his gaze away from the place you’d vacated, and his whole body jerks like he's about to get up. Everything goes tense, the muscle in his neck taut and twitchy, and the room darkening with the furrow of his brow. “Don’t.”

“Too late for that,” Jim says, huffing a breathy laugh. “You still haven’t learned. I don’t think you’re going to. But she might.”

“Don’t,” Joel warns again.

But it's empty, and both men know it.

You aren’t sure what's happening, but the overwhelming dread is seeping through your haze of ignorance. Jim yanks you away from the bars just as Joel jumps to his feet to reach it. You're shoved against the door to your room, just far enough to keep Joel’s less-than-human arm from swiping through, claws popping out as he changes.

For the first time you've seen, though, he doesn’t go all the way. He's still undeniably human, though pushing into something unsettling. An unspeakable oddity, his face just warped enough to be wrong.

Jim pushes your head against the door. “Don’t fuckin’ move,” he spits

“Leave her the fuck alone,” Joel says. His voice slurred a little with too-long teeth straining his jaw.

The first hit shocks your system. It doesn’t register right away. The crack rings in your ear, and your vision goes a little fuzzy for a moment before the pain seeps below your skin.

By then, he’s hit you again. You jerk away, ducking to avoid the range of the belt, but it doesn’t save you. It just means the leather catches you on the thigh, and you nearly topple over.

Jim catches you by the ear and yanks you back in place. “I said don’t fucking move.”

This time, when he strikes you, you cry out. You can’t help it; you try to move away again, and finally, he kicks you to the ground. You turn your face in time to avoid breaking your nose, but it hurts like hell. His boot grinds into your back, and he brings the belt down over and over while you writhe and cry.

When he lets up, you don’t move. With your hands tied, it’s not like you could have gotten up on your own anyway, but you don’t try to roll over or curl up. You just cower, body shaking, blood dripping from a few of the stripes on your back.

You don’t need to look to know he’s gone full wolf now; the cacophony of rage tells you everything you need to know. You don’t need to look to know when Jim hits the button on the shock collar and takes him to the floor.

Jim hefts you up by your bound arms and shoves you into your prison, away from his room.

Away from Joel.

One sunny September morning—because, of course, it was September, life always ends in Septembers—Tommy Miller arrived at his brother’s cabin ahead of the full moon. He had a case of shitty beer in dusty bottles and was looking forward to the venison jerky Joel’d been smoking.

He knew something was wrong as soon as he opened the door. The cabin was empty—not in of itself a warning sign—but it was immediately clear that Joel wasn’t just out on a hunt or bathing in the creek.

His boots and coat were gone. So was the shotgun. But the quilt on the sofa was musty and the distinct smell of rotting food permeated the cabin.

Tommy’s stomach plummeted and he broke out in a sweat, not bothering to take his boots off as he crept through the tiny home, praying he didn’t find his brother.

The prayers were answered.

He spent two nights there, knowing it was fruitless, but combing the perimeter for signs anyway. On the third day, he found one.

Maybe it was someone else’s tan cotton duck Carhartt. Someone who happened to be Joel’s size and smelled like the hand-rolled cigarettes and bootleg whiskey Tommy brought from the QZ.

Maybe.

But he wasn’t a fool, and no matter how many maybes he tried on, they never fit. Neither did the jacket, not really, but that didn’t stop him from pulling it on.

The coat, now a deeper, splotchy brown with tattered gashes, had belonged to his brother.

He took the jacket back to the cabin and took himself back home to Tess for the last time.

They stayed in touch—him delivering to her outside the zone and her traipsing out to the woods—but Tommy Miller would never step a foot back in Boston.

The days after you took Joel’s punishment were hell. There was no way around it. In addition to the whipping, you went without food or fresh water for another day. With no deliveries, you were left in total isolation.

Your only company was the plaintive whining of your neighbor. Anything louder was immediately silenced by the unmistakable buzz of the shock collar and his sharp yelps.

On the second day, Cheryl pays you a visit. Her arrival is heralded by nasty growling, and she’s scolding him like a naughty puppy when she opens your door.

“Now aren’t you pathetic?” she coos at your limp body before closing herself in amidst a renewed cacophony.

You don’t answer. You’ve sprawled yourself out down the length of a bench, uneven boards digging into your stomach just to keep the pressure and dirt away from the welts.

“Up,” she snaps her fingers. “Wash day. Can’t let you get an infection and die after all we’ve invested in you.”

The steel door to Joel’s cell is closed when she drags you out, but he can clearly smell the fresh blood from jostling your wounds because he starts growling again.

“Stop,” you whisper, barely audible, and he falls silent.

“What was that?” Cheryl asks, but you don’t acknowledge her and let out a slow breath when she brushes it off.

Wash day is always terrible, save one part: the sun. It’s the only time you get to be outdoors, the only chance you have to feel sunlight on your skin. Today is particularly nice, the warmth immediately embracing you.

Cheryl doesn’t usually do the honors herself, but the others seem to be absent. At least, that’s what you think.

She clips your cuffs to the hook dangling from an old, rusted basketball hoop and grabs the hose, unleashing the frigid spray on you without warning.

It always hurts, but your sore and wounded body suffers more today. Blood drips down the back of your thighs, and you bite your tongue against the wretched sting. She doesn’t scrub you which is a blessing and a curse. No rough sponge on your wounds, but no soap, either.

She leaves you there for a minute, nozzle still dripping lazily as it dangles from her hand.

“Why hasn’t he claimed you yet?” She asks after you’ve begun to shiver despite the weather.

“What?”

“He didn’t fuck you. He shouldn’t have been able to help himself. What’s wrong with you?”

You’re baffled, but overcome by the sudden sense of fear. She thinks he’s rejecting you, and it’s clear now that by not raping you, he’s endangered you still.

You can feel your life expectancy dwindling under her scrutiny.

“I-I don’t know,” you say uselessly.

“Hmm,” is all she says, drumming her nails against her folded arms.

“Um. You keep taking me away,” you try quickly. “He probably just thinks you’ll do it again.”

She scoffs. “Sweetie, his last omega didn’t make it ten minutes before he lost control.”

When she brings you back in, there’s not a peep from the wolf. She shuts you back in your shitty locker room, water still dripping from your hair. Your bra and panties are drenched.

But you’re used to it.

It’s not long after she leaves that he whines again.

“Shut up,” you hiss. “Just shut up. ” The anger blindsides you both. You want to be mad. You want to reach down somewhere deep in your chest and unearth the bloody lump of indignant rage.

“I know you can hear me, so just listen. I’m stuck here because of you. I’m injured because of you. And now she’s threatening to let me die because of you. So just fucking be quiet and leave me alone for once.”

It’s like a slap in the face. No, it’s worse. It’s true, and he knows it. Your words, your undeniable words, tear into him and hurt the wolf so badly that he turns back into the man.

That’s a first.

Now he knows the line. Being rejected so thoroughly by his mate is more than the beast can bear.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, and it’s the last you hear from him for two weeks.

By the time you’re back in his room, you’ve come to regret your cold words. You know he didn’t ask for any of this; didn’t ask to be held captive; didn’t ask for them to take you.

But you can’t unsay it, and you can’t bring yourself to admit it out loud.

You’re loose again, the cage seemingly a thing of the past, when he returns. The Wolf stalks in and almost ignores you. Almost.

But he can’t, not when you smell like blood.

You look rough. He doesn’t like it. It stands his fur on edge, bristling at the way you wince when the cramps roll through, how you can’t settle in a way that soothes your aching hip. The way you can’t eat your stew when they bring it alongside his heaping tray of meat, wrinkling your nose at the smell.

It takes him mere minutes to gobble it up, but the hunger lingers. Tomorrow’s the full moon, and he’ll be released to feast, but the insatiability gnaws at him until then. And it’s so hard to resist you.

Your musk may be undercut with battery acid but the coppery tang on the air has him salivating. Literally slobbering.

And that primal burning inside him knows just how to sate his hunger and the frankly distressing need to soothe his omega.

His. The thought sends him rumbling, startling you with the deep, entrancing sound. You meet his eyes, and when he sees them shine with unshed tears, all resolve dies.

Omega, hurt.

Help.

Taste.

He stalks over, lumbering on all fours, warped spine arched as he gives into the slinking, slow approach of the predator he truly is.

You still flinch back when he nears, and he has had enough. Don’t you realize? If he wanted to hurt you, if he was capable of it, he could have. Would have.

His hot breath floods across your knees, the only warning before he nestles his snout between them and shoves.

You recoil against the wall.

He whines, nudging you again, urging you to open up for him, to expose the sweet flow that is so uniquely you and just for him. All for him. His.

“Stop,” you whisper.

He nudges you again.

“Knock it off. I told you, it’s just my cycle.”

He makes sure you’re looking before he rolls his eyes.

Your jaw drops. “Seriously?”

He huffs. Why won’t you just cooperate? Why do you always have to be so goddamn stubborn?

He nudges your hand and waits until you look at it. He licks your wrist with a long, wet stripe of saliva left behind and then looks down at where your thighs are resolutely closed.

“Ew,” you say instead of obeying.

He tries again and watches it click as you cringe back.

“I don’t care if it’ll take away the pain,” you scold. “Absolutely not. You cannot be serious.”

He growls at your protests, bumping you again.

“That’s gross. Seriously, Joel.” But your resolve is not strong. You acutely remember how nice it felt when he healed your rope burn and how gently his tongue had lapped at the raw flesh. And you’re on your second day, the migraine fading but the sore ache making itself known as you hold your body tense through the pain.

He nudges you again.

“It’s… wrong,” you try weakly. And you think you should feel that way, but deep down, you just don’t. There was a reason you read Twilight when you were too old for that kind of horny pre-teen nonsense. There was a reason your bookshelves had been full of Anne Rice and Charlaine Harris.

There was a reason you watched The Creature From the Black Lagoon and American Werewolf in London and all those classic monster movies over and over and over.

The tension in your thighs eases, and when his cold nose shoves between them again, your knees part easily.

He rumbles his approval, knocking your legs apart as he lowers his great, hulking self to the ground, where your blood is slowly pooling.

Two enormous, furry hands grip your legs, careful not to prick you with the long claws. The muscles of his arms ripple, and you feel your breath hitch, growing shallow.

You jolt at the first brush of his long, rough tongue. You had expected him to start slow, tentative. To see if he could tolerate it.

But he has you spread firmly, all but forcing his tongue into your aching cunt and lapping greedily at his spoils.

The flow is quickly becoming diluted by your arousal, which only serves to spur him on.

You make the mistake of looking, stomach swooping as you take in the nightmarish beast, whose eyes are flooded with ichor as he slurps greedily from you.

It wasn’t even necessarily erotic. He wasn’t attempting to coax an orgasm from you, not enticing you with soft flicks to your clit or any real stimulation. He was simply feasting .

That doesn’t stop you, though. It’s an electric feeling, his wide tongue filling you, emptying you, purging you of your pain with each swipe against your walls, and it brings you abruptly over the edge of your pleasure.

You come back to your senses gasping, a hand fisted in his fur. You loosen your grip but don’t let go as you come down from the feeling.

The noise doesn’t register at first, but it’s not long before the echo of the slick slapping where he’s fisting his cock surrounds you. He’s still between your legs, his snout pushed up against your cunt with fervor as he tugs roughly at the thick, uncut length.

It’s a beast all on its own, and you shiver at the thought of him splitting you open with it, of watching the angry red tip emerge and disappear inside you.

You think he’s going to be embarrassed, but he can’t find the feeling within him. His hot cum splatters on the ground, splashing against your toes, and instead of slinking over to his waiting bed, he curls his entire body around you like a can cozy.

You can’t complain. His tongue had eased your aches, leaving you drowsy and tingling, almost drugged. His fur is rough and yet somehow silky, and he’s broad enough to envelop you entirely in warmth.

The Wolf may have no qualms, but the Man, as you come to find out, is another story.

next chapter

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #alpha!joel miller #werewolf!joel miller #alpha!joel miller x omega!reader #fic: of rage and ruin #joel miller smut #dead dove fic

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probayern · 5 months ago

Text

here's the thing about the germany national football team. they have put me through unspeakable horrors over the past 6-8 years. but every time they play well i am a little kid again falling deeply in love with football for the first time. and i love them i love them i love them

#euro lb #actually gonna pin this bc this is gonna be me for the next few weeks

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scentedpepper · 3 months ago

Text

Trajectories of Temptation

LIP GALLAGHER X MALE READER

●credit to rightful owner

Summary: An unspeakable incident takes place in your bathroom at 2:29 pm.

Content Warnings: Implied speech of masturbation, implied speech of genitalia, implied mention of pubic hair, implied speech of (having) sex (the actual act of sex never takes place), descriptions of injuries/blood, established relationship (platonic), descriptions of making out

AUTHOR NOTE(S):

Takes place during s2, after the scene at the barbecue in which Lip gets into a fight with that random

Lips injuries from that fight are exaggerated for the purpose of this plot

Reader and Lip have history (as friends)

It's implied that reader had feelings for Lip at one point in time before this scene

Lip knows reader is gay long before this

Reader has moles

Implied that reader is of some Spanish descent

Reader has siblings

Edited-ish?? Idk yall I read over it once too tired to do it again brb

Reader has dark eyes

Reader is a knitter (as implied by lip)

That's all ?

------------------------‐------------------------------------

When you stare at the boy standing in the frame or your bathroom door through the mirror, you're not sure which fact is stupider. His swollen blue-bruised lips bleeding like he's been biting them all night or the cut across his eyebrow still dripping steadily and swelling with pink blood where it's already infected his skin.

Not to mention, the torn collar of his shirt dripping down his chest in its loosened state.

"What the fuck?" Your mouth shapes the words without any intention of letting them escape. But if the situation wasn't so stupid you suppose this might be the part in the horror movie where it all gets sped up because the monster has realized it's been detected by the prey, but he just looks pissed and exhausted.

"Are you just going to stand there and stare at me?" Lip sneers as his bloody hands peel themselves from the door frame where he's been leaning.

"What the fuck did you do?" You turn abruptly, your hair whipping cold drops in his general direction and across the blue walls as you spin with such an urgency one might consider Lip was suffocating rather than just standing there, dripping dark gems of ruby onto the cracked tiled floors.

He reaches down to close the door, shutting himself into your bathroom, he slams the flimsy piece of pressboard as if it might block out anything that's happened outside the thin walls. But in the present, you can still hear people storming over the soft floors ways away, mixes of Spanish and English contributing to whatever petty argument was occurring now.

The dark haired boy in front of you takes another staggering step forward until he's only an arms reach from the white countertop top of your sink.

You move aside, letting him take harbor on the toilet seat with only a squint and a glower. Which is more expression than you thought he could put up right now.

"I didn't think you'd be here. " He murmurs as he slides past the blood spots littering the floor. You stare down the old carpeted hall until the door, making an unpleasant squeak, shuts the sight out entirely.

"Why wouldn't I be here?" You stare at him quizzically, shifting the towel around your waist so it's more attuned to your figure.

"Well, after last week.." His words trail away like he's too embarrassed by some minor offense, like taking a sip of your grape soda. But it doesn't take a genius to know what he was referring to.

"It's normal. Don't got much of a choice anyway. " Your hands are on your hips as you shrug the conversation away, inhaling sharply before you're hovering in front of the boy, your fingers tracing the underside of each side of his jaw as you tilt him in ways that appease you. He lets you do it, even going as far as a low grunt when you press too hard against the spot above his bridge.

"What happened?" You question again, moving away so you can crouch underneath the sink and grab the first aid. The bright blue box rattles in your hands until Lip's harsh grasp steals it out from your palms.

"I can do it. "

Looking pointedly at him, you take the box right back, harsher. "No you can't. "

That's how you find yourself once again standing before Lip like this is the end. A small white bottle clutched tightly in your hand as you dig around with the rubbing alcohol.

Lip is quiet, only breaking the silence with small winces here and there or flinching when the sting of his eyebrow becomes too much.

That's why it's weird to hear him snickering under his breath as you lean close, eyebrows knit in deep concentration.

You don't bother looking up to see the half crooked smile attempting to form against his lips. You don't want to indulge him in the glory that is holding eye contact as you dab his wounds.

"What the hell are you laughing about, Gallagher?" You're paying close attention to the lines in his small, plump muscles, trying to get the blood out of all the creases but they bounce back at you, making it difficult.

With how close you are, you don't see it in full, but you can feel the smirk underneath your fingertips, his breath touches against your face delicately, deliberately.

It smells like cigarettes and potential, but mostly just alcohol.

You let go of his chin, because you know with the expression gracing the pink tinted parts of his face he has something he wants to say.

Your thumbs leave trails down the hilts of his collarbones on their way, your expression is blank, and he mirrors it with his usual self-centered cockiness.

"Where have you been?" It was weak, barely out of his mouth and he was leaning towards you. It felt like the space between you was sucked dry, there was this pull forcing your bodies together that not even gravity could fight.

"Home?" Your eyes are slits as you stare him down.

"Home. " He echoes with a scoff. It feels mocking. "Fuck, can you ever just give a straight answer?" His hair is a mop of unorganized curly strands falling over his features. You want to push it back and see the look in his eyes but the edge in his voice tells you the movement would make the mess worse.

You pull back. "Can you?"

You note the way his body lunges for yours, caught off guard when the distance between you two is so suddenly there once again. Almost like you hadn't even been dancing around the obvious a few minutes ago. The frustration bleeding from his eyes because you're right.

He seems to be fighting with himself as his eyes flick back and forth, across each of yours, his blue mixing, seeping and totaling your darker shade like poison.

And then, at some point, to some extent or another, he seems to falter the slightest. His body slumps, the pulsating in his veins doesn't feel like hot lava searing against his skin and branding him anymore, his eyes falter away from yours, ever so slightly, before returning.

"Sorry. " His teeth grind behind shut lips.

"It's fine. " You take the brush of his knuckles against your side more like a dismissal than the comforting touch it's meant to be, and almost miss it when the weight on your hip bone fades, your body already leaning forward into the boy's face to attend to his injuries. "Gonna tell me what happened?"

There's a crease along his jaw when he opens his mouth to answer, a bump too, maybe a cut with how split the lip is right where the dip of his chin is, right above his neck.

"Barbecue incident. " He concludes, turning so you can clean under his eye where a small line of dried blood is lying.

You ponder over the statement, over the lack of information he is giving you.

"Go out of your way to start something?"

He nods, a jerky movement with the way you have his head stiffened with a finger and a thumb so you can disinfect the gash on his eyebrow.

"Jesus, Lip. " You shook your head at him but found a part of you wasn't terribly surprised, if anything you were just disappointed. A little worried.

You turn and reach up inside the medicine cabinet to procure a small band-aid, sliding it over the shallow, yet deep cut across his bridge.

From your angle you can see the droplets of scarlet still dripping down his chin and his cheeks are colored a bright pink, burning from the sting of the rubbing alcohol and to top it off he has this strange glossy color taking hold in his eyes, blinking back like maybe you're not even really in front of him but somewhere else, looking back at him.

"Eyebrows gonna need stitches. " You said without looking into his eyes, unsure of why you were avoiding the action.

He sniffles. "Hope you're not about to stick one of those fancy sewing needles in my eye. "

Rolling your eyes playfully at the smirk you can't see, you move away from him, so quickly that when he realizes you've left he is forced to look at you and his eyes follow your figure once again until you're under the cabinet near the tub, grabbing the extra towels as your feet dance out of your sandals.

He has to turn away from you, his head towards the sink, away from the drying water on your skin.

When you lean up and cross the space between you two, putting the warm fabric right against the cut on his brow as if to suffocate the bleeding, you're only inches apart again.

It feels like forever that you're lost in this stasis, the slow ticking of the clock going with it's time, winding and unwinding the ball of string. And somehow, it feels right, like this is the time loop the world had been missing, to have everything still, trapped in just one perfect moment as the hours tick by.

"You should've went to, V. She's better at this stuff than me, you know-"

"Why wouldn't I come to you?" The way he asks so nonchalantly, flicking his tongue against the pearls of his teeth almost with the air that it was so obvious you would be the first person he'd run to, for anything, is so endearing that you feel something knocking against your ribcage in an eradicate pattern and your eyes are gracing over all his features.

It just so happens that their most intense focus was on the soft folds of his busted up lips.

Pulling away from the towel, but not really away. In the tiniest movements, hesitant to leave this delicate scenario, but also scared to delve back into the mess of everything else. If only for a moment longer.

You inhale until you feel your lungs straining the skin covering them, but manage to get a quick retort before a sense of control snaps back into your mind, forcing you away with distance and a new look about you.

"V's got more experience with stitches and stuff. "

He hums in acknowledgment, but his expression changes like he doesn't want to leave either. It's a stupid thought that tugs at your senses for a split second.

"You're doing fine. " It was whispered against your cheeks and the only feeling you've ever seen akin to whatever expression he wears is usually around your siblings. Sometimes even around Mandy.

You watch him sigh.

"It's bleeding again. " He feels the drop fall down his face, completely making a mess of what you'd just cleaned up.

You put the towel back to his brow and his hand joins yours, holding it there in a successful seal.

"Stop moving around so damn much. "

The space feels so small suddenly, the light in the mirror beside you is casting shadows and dim halos of illumination over both your faces like a spotlight, and so far the both of you are locked in each other's gazes, unwavering in the flicker of each other's defiance.

"I wasn't moving- "

"Yes. You are. Now don't talk. " You didn't give him the opportunity, pressing the towel harder against him so that he winces but does not pull back from your touch.

If Lip had any objections he didn't show them. His breathing was steady, controlled like he might've been attempting to focus too, or maybe he was nervous, you couldn't tell.

For a moment you're too caught up with just the rhythm of his chest, with the feel of your own heart hammering in time with his and the weight of the air around the two of you.

Eventually the heavy atmosphere turns normal, and soon you feel too relaxed around someone who isn't your family, the ease at which your guard drops is a scary thing. The possibility of him overstepping, or insulting you with no regard is there, but not high.

There's a twinge of saltiness in the air that you can faintly taste as you continue to breathe in his air and he yours. The smell almost hurts, it makes your nose twitch, the faint burn of steel hitting it raw in little intervals, the sting catching you by surprise and the blood rushes back to your face at the realization.

The heat from his body makes you sweat, the hair falling away from his forehead sticks to your wrist in little strands but you don't bother to care that your hand is a sweaty, gross mess in it's clammy hold.

Neither does he.

The muscles in his legs are clenched together and straining so his back doesn't creak against the edge of the toilet, his shirt catches against the shiny chrome of it, as the seat digs into the crevices of his upper thighs. You can tell how uncomfortable it must be, but he sits there with a small little wince because the air around you is too close to disrupt.

You swallow. But it isn't to apologize. He can see your body shudder at the awkwardness as it hangs heavily between the both of you, so deep that it seems even he wanted to back away from it for a split second.

His fingers twitch over your hand with want to delve under your navel and tickle. It's hard not to stare when the skin of your stomach illuminates, littered with dark little moles. He watches it go up and down as your breathing stays quick but even.

Every so often, his eyes would meet yours briefly, and they slide away so abruptly you doubt he even saw them in the first place.

His glances leave slimy hot trails on your skin and you feel like your flesh is sizzling beneath his non-touches.

No matter how warm he makes you, the cold reaches in sharp pins along the tips of your fingers, sending tiny shivers crawling along the rough skin of your back as he picks and chooses a place for him to study your body.

You're not sure where he's looking, what he's looking at but you don't miss the subtle ways his eyelashes flutter beneath the movement of his eyeballs and the way the skin of his lids crease and tighten.

Where his line of sight passes, where ever he finds you worthy, you swear it aches, it pounds and scorches. You don't know how he's doing it but your body lights up and you're wondering just where it ends and where this has all began, because your skin has never flamed in such a way. Never burned. Not around him and if it had, you'd suppressed it like your everlasting love for a boy with bruises in the colors of your father.

And all those feelings and words on the tip of your tongue that had died out forever ago became full of life in the air.

Again, sparking, igniting –in complete and utter envelopment.

And then your eyes are meeting, in full, meeting in the way that maybe just maybe he would like to look at you, or the idea he would actually see all of you. Like maybe that doesn't seem so bad.

And the words are dying out again.

Because you can't part your lips enough for a breath to come out before he's sucking up all your air. And now your lips are touching his and everything just stops, freezes still as the words sink into the recess of your stomach and disappear with all those bottled feelings. Everything was boiling away as he gives you back your breath with his.

But then, just as quickly, just as hot and searing and mangled and yet, all at once, freezing –your skin fills up the cooled empty space of the adjacent wall.

His hands are gripping each side of your face as if he might slip away, fall and shatter like a porcelain doll. His fingers dig indents into the softness of your cheeks and at first faintly, you taste blood.

He doesn't move away. Only falters back.

The weight of his mouth forces the smallest grunt out of your throat and to quell any objections you might've had in the wake of his fire.

His lips are chapped, unpleasant and sore and yet, he does not pull away.

Neither do you.

He pushes you harder against the wall when you, in defiance, grab a fistful of his hair and pull. It's the first time his hands leave your face to dig and grip at the flesh below the towel.

He looks torn between wanting to be close to you and straddling your neck until you take back the action but when his eyes close and you smile against his lips you expect him to let loose.

He doesn't though, instead his hands push you back into the plaster and this time it cracks a little with your weight and he lets out an unsteady groan. The muffled, rough grunt turning into a sly grin through gritted teeth.

You taste an overly generous amount of saliva swipe your bottom lip, moving against the crease of your mouth in hasty lazy strokes until it isn't even just him anymore.

His hands are going up your body again, back to your face but he seems hesitant to touch any other part of you besides the bones of your cheeks and hips.

He grabs onto each bone the way a small child would in appreciation of the structure as they hide behind their mother's knees on the first day of school. And the movement is shaky.

It doesn't stop him, the shaking, the wispy feeling of something crawling up his spine, something in semblance to the touch of a fairy or some otherworldly, small creature.

He doesn't stop.

Not even as your towel loosens, and slips, the only thing having pinned it any longer being his fingers, which are now back to your face. His hands stay trembling.

You feel them sliding against your cheeks until you cannot feel his palm at all. It's so hard not to giggle at the sensation.

When they make their way through your hair, your spine curls forward, pressing into his body and he seems to realize then, what the next course of action is.

And suddenly he isn't really trembling or freezing at all, he only seems to know that he has a duty now, like a robot realizing they've deviated and need to return to their task.

But the way he kisses you isn't at all like an empty headed bucket of bolts, it's like he's starving –except not hungry. His mouth like a gaping hole sucking in all of your air and he's always coming back for more.

More and more until his hand is slipping past your happy trail and you feel his fingers tangle with the hair right below.

Only then, when the second skin to skin contact is made, is when you seem to regain your footing and you pull back sharply, sucking in all the air around you and you thud against the wall again.

"Lip- " You croak as his eyes are burning into yours with a fierceness you aren't sure to be scared or awed by.

The way he starts fidgeting and reaching for you again, slowly, like a broken clock or a child being denied their treat, makes you want to succumb, to utterly divulge.

But you grab his hands nonetheless, away from you, away from what he's intended to do with them.

"Lip. " It's steadier this time, less breathless and there's a soft laugh at the end of it. "What are we doing? "

You're not quite sure who the 'we' is.

"Helping each other get through tonight. " His voice rumbles deeply in a whisper, his forehead presses against yours and his blood smears on your skin.

"Lip, " it sounds like the beginning of reasoning, some sort of pleading.

But you suck in a sharp breath, that's all. His fingers intertwine with yours on one end and on the other, he's trying again, lowering. Your heart is thudding so roughly you're sure he can hear it.

"Lip. " It's louder, more one edge and like it's supposed to be lighthearted but when you spring away from him, crouching to grab your towel, he can tell you mean to be serious despite your next words. "You don't even know what to do with it. "

He stares at you blankly for a moment, face steely, maybe embarrassed with a poor attempt of cockiness.

"How hard can it be?" He moves closer to your frame again as you wrap the towel back around your waist. "I do pretty well with my own, so. " The distance between you is getting small again.

"Lip. " You sigh out as his hands find the hem of the towel, his fingers delicate with urgency but your hands are right there again, stopping him.

"I can learn. " He almost pleads, looking down at your hands, his eyes are laced with the need to give you what he thinks you're asking for and if you had any doubts before, his following question breaks every barrier. "What do you want me to do? Teach me. " You feel his breath wafting against your face and it's enticing, hard to get past, hard to resist.

"Lip, come on. " It's breathless, quiet, your voice raspy but it's deeper than it was before when you pressed him against the toilet with your own body.

He doesn't like that he sees your eyes darkened as you pull away.

"Y/N, " Lip pulls his hands away from you, away from the warmth and feel of skin and it feels strange and wrong. His body is unbearably hot and his ears are ringing. So his hands reach out once again, reeling you in, pulling you closer to him.

"Teach me. Whatever you want. Teach me how to do it to you. " His words seem to please you, they catch the attention of your body and your breath comes out hot and heavy, fanning his face like a beautiful draft as your lips flutter past his on multiple occasions at the close proximity. But he can feel your resistance.

"I wanna learn. Let me- I'll be good at it. " His fingertips trace your temples and he repeats his question, "What do you want me to do?" His voice is in and out, and the tips of his hands slip down to the dark hairs atop your forehead.

Your fingers tighten around his ribs before promptly releasing until they're the faintest of graces he can't even feel through his clothes.

"It's not about that, Lip. " You speak back just as softly, but it's different from his in a way, and it draws his hand to grasp your hair.

He likes the feel of it against his fingers, moving softly as he shifts the muscles and tendons of his arm and grip on it lightly.

"This isn't a good idea. " You mumble and your voice doesn't sound like you believed it, it sounds like you want him, it sounds like you like this. It drives him forward and he steps in closer to you, breathing you in. But you push back, putting the slightest distance between you two so you can look him in the eyes.

"Think about it. " Your voice is clear this time and he snaps out of it, shaking his head before coming down hard in a rough exhale. "You need a good night's sleep, man, not...not this. "

"You think I don't know what I want? What I need?" He's aggressive, but in the way a child is when they don't get the toy they picked from an aisle in passing. Because despite his strong set jaw, and deep breaths, his eyes are flickering and they aren't malicious or daunting, they're just raw.

For whatever reason, he wants you and he doesn't know why, and that scares him because the feeling is alien and it won't go away.

"Lip, think about why you're here in the first place. "

But he can't seem to. He just stares back at you with wide, blinking, glossy eyes.

"You got yourself beat up. " You don't mean to spit the words but you think about the consequences of his impulsiveness and you won't stand for it. "Because of all the shit going on with Karen. " You emphasize the last word. The name.

"Everything you feel about that situation Lip, the feeling is real, but it's not rational and we can't- "

"Rational isn't even in the equation. Right now, I don't give a shit about anything else, or anyone else, except for you. " His hand returns to your face and he traces a faint scar on your jawline and stares at it in heavy ponderment and as an offering, you stay still beneath his hand, letting him have this victory. But then he's leaning in. His nose presses into your cheek, and he breathes you in once more before you're pushing him back.

"Like I said, not rational, Lip. " He looks betrayed at the statement and finally you meet his stare again, holding his gaze, his stare to your irises. "One of us has to be responsible, Lip. At least. "

You don't wait for an answer, slowly you tilt your head into his. Your lips feel rubbery against his forehead.

"Have V stitch you up. " He melts into your hold a little as he lays his head on your shoulder. "Get some sleep. " Your hands push him away gently.

"And some water. "

You leave him with nothing but a pointed look and a few bruises on his face.

You leave him.

His mind returns to the sting on his lower lip and the ache in his chest as you close the door.

#lip gallagher #lip gallagher x male reader #lip gallagher x you #shameless #lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher x y/n

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