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mrs-kmikaelson · 2 months ago

Text

apollo

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x sunshine!reader Summary: Aaron thinks you're just about the most radiant person he's ever met. But then you fly too close to the sun, and all your light disappears. Warnings: grumpy x sunshine turned not sunshine, references to greek myth of icarus and the sun god helios, apollo lore, violence, mentions of reaper arc, heartbreak, complicated relationships, avoidance, unresolved trauma, feelings, hopeful ending Words: 4.8K

Masterlist | icarus (part 1) | helios (part 2)

a/n: this is the end! thank u for all the love! i love this series sm, and i'll prolly end up writing lil blurbs for it (esp at ur request). there's sm feelings in this one. enjoy!

"I need to leave, Y/N."

"Wait— wait, we can talk about this, can't we?" You stepped closer to her, distraught colouring your face. "We can get you help."

She shook her head, a sad smile crossing her face as if she was saying she knew you wouldn't understand. Poor, sweet Y/N, her eyes said. Too good for this world. Too naïve. Too hopeful. What she ended up saying was, "No, Y/N. I can't."

"I— I don't understand." Tears welled up in your eyes. Her words didn't make sense. None of it made sense.

The smile on her face never fell. Only a single tear did, racing down her cheek. It occurred to you then that you'd never seen her cry.

"Oh, Y/N/N." She grabbed your hand, squeezing it tightly. "I hope you never have to."

When she let go of your hand, you knew there was nothing more you could say. She was leaving, and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.

But, deep down, you knew she'd already been long gone.

"Goodbye, Y/N."

And before you knew it, she was out the door, too far away to hear you whisper back.

"Goodbye, Elle."

When Elle left, you didn't understand it. As the only female profilers, you stuck together like glue. You both came from units where you were at the top of your game, just to be shuffled back down to the bottom, having to learn an entirely new competence.

You didn't get it. The work tore her away. The job took too much away from her, took too much out of her. But that was the job. But what about you?

She could walk away from the job, fine. But why did she walk away from you?

You didn't get it then. Too young. Too naïve. Too hopeful.

But now you were older. You knew too much. The hope had been sucked out of you.

You understood now.

You understood what it meant to not be able to take it anymore, to not be able to face the people you loved while knowing you weren't the same. And you wanted to. You desperately wanted things to go back to the way they were.

You wanted to go back to Rossi ruffling your hair, cracking jokes about your age but always knowing he took you seriously. You wanted to go back to lunch breaks with Penelope, talking about your nails and boys and feeling like a teenager. You wanted to back to laughing in Emily's apartment, her cat crawling across your lap. You wanted to go back to watching sci-fi movies with Reid, too convoluted to grasp. You wanted to go back to when Derek would tease you instead of treating you like you were made of glass. You wanted to go back to watching JJ's son without her wondering if you were in the state of mind to do it.

And Hotch.

Aaron.

You wanted to hit rewind to before everything happened, if not just to be at his side again. Before you tried to kiss him and before he pulled away. Before a serial killer decided he was God and your life was his to play with.

But you couldn't, and now you understood Elle better than you ever did. Because no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't be the same sunshine everyone loved.

You couldn't stay there anymore.

You submitted your resignation. You didn't know what happened next—you never thought further along than the BAU.

But you had to leave.

You understood now.

You wished you didn't.

—

The words echoed throughout your head on a loop.

Hotch. Accident. Hospital.

The Reaper.

If it hadn't been for Morgan, you would've jumped into that SUV and driven there immediately. But he stopped you, taking away the keys and regarding you with a soft but firm stance. You both knew it wasn't safe for you to drive.

You didn't talk about the reasons why.

Now, you sat to Aaron's left. He was sleeping. He'd never seemed so peaceful.

How ironic it was that he had to be stabbed before he took a break. Even if you knew it wasn't peaceful, not really.

A U.S. Marshal had just come and retrieved Jack and Haley, taking them to an undisclosed location. Their lives were upended. His life was upended.

Your fearless leader, stony and brave. He approached every challenge with determination, like he knew he could beat it. Aaron Hotchner was a man who won battles. But when you walked into that hospital room, for the first time since you met him, he looked afraid.

He looked like he'd already lost.

Your heart squeezed in your chest. It wasn't fair.

Suddenly, a mumble broke you out of your thoughts. "I can hear you thinking in my sleep."

You looked down, seeing him slowly open his eyes. You fixed him with a smile, even though it didn't feel right on your lips. Be brave, Y/N, your mind chided. He'd be brave for you. "Really? I can hear you thinking in your sleep."

His face remained blank, unfazed by your attempt to change the subject. He did that often—calling you out. Never maliciously, always with the greater good at heart. But he knew you. Sometimes, it felt like he knew you too well.

You wondered, did you know him as well as he knew you?

You liked to think so.

Like usual, you crumbled under his gaze, looking away. If you kept looking at him, nothing would stop the onslaught of tears from making their way down your face, and you wouldn't do that to him. You wouldn't cry; it wasn't your right to. You weren't his wife.

But you were something. Enough of something to feel the need to cry, anyway.

A shaky exhale left your lips. "Why do bad things always happen to good people?"

The room was silent after your question, the only sounds being his heart monitor and the shuffling of the hospital outside. The beeping felt like a taunt, a reminder that Aaron's life hung in the balance, that he could've died.

It made you realize that you weren't specific enough. What you really meant was, why did bad things always happen to him?

Aaron Hotchner. The leader. The father. A good man. The best man you'd ever met.

The man you'd fallen in love with.

When he responded, you could hear the despair in his voice, like he had the same questions.

But for once, he didn't have the answers.

"I don't know."

—

You didn't have to knock on Aaron's door long before he was opening it, having expected you. You grinned, holding up the brown bags in your hands. "I come bearing gifts. Chinese."

"You're a godsend," he praised, undoing his house alarm. You had helped him install it when he got out of the hospital, no questions asked.

While he did that, you placed the food on the table, going to grab some plates and drinks. This was the rhythm you'd settled into, a routine. You came over every other night under the guise of updating him with your cases, but really, it was a lot more than that for you.

You hoped it was for him, too.

You always brought food. Sometimes, he even cooked (it was edible). It was your way of making sure he ate.

You never talked about what happened. He never talked about Haley or Jack, even though you knew they were the only thing on his mind. You talked about work, and the weather, and what movies you were gonna be watching after dinner, but never anything that mattered.

You didn't need to. This, being here, mattered. You didn't need anything more than that.

You just wanted him to know he wasn't alone. No matter what happened, you'd always be there for him. This was your way of showing that.

After watching a movie you didn't pay much attention to, you stood at the door, shrugging on your coat. You were just about to leave when his hand enveloped your wrist, making you turn around.

Curiously, you stared up at him. "Hotch?" Your voice was soft, the kind of soft that came with fragile things. Fragile. Delicate. Valuable.

Aaron opened his mouth and then closed it again, looking like he knew exactly what he wanted to say without knowing how to say it. He could command a room with quiet confidence, negotiate with the most unstable unsubs and power-hungry police chiefs, and give a profile like no one you'd ever met. But when it came to his own emotions, he was at a loss for words.

You weren't used to seeing that. There was something about it. You didn't like watching him struggle, but some part of you was satisfied that you could make him pause. It made you think that, maybe, he thought about you the same way you thought about him.

Just maybe.

When he seemed to collect his thoughts, he spoke. "Thank you." He didn't take his eyes off you, making sure you knew how earnest he was.

Your breath got caught in your throat. The weight of his gaze told you everything else he wasn't saying. How this wasn't just a thank you for the food or the DVD. This was a thank you for everything.

But, in your eyes, he had nothing to thank you for.

So you smiled and said, "Don't mention it."

And you hoped he knew how earnest you were, too.

—

You awoke to loud pounding on your door. You remained motionless, hoping the person would get bored and go away, but the knocking persisted.

Glancing at your alarm clock, you groaned. It was far too early for anyone to be visiting you. Today, any time would be too early. But the knocking only continued, so with another groan, you rolled out of bed, throwing on a sweater in a hassle as you yelled, "I'm coming!"

You muttered curses to yourself all the way to the door, hastily unlocking it. When you finally threw it open, you were ready to give someone a piece of your mind, only to bet met with who you were least expecting.

Your mouth fell open slightly, all your curses dying on your tongue. And like you'd been doused in water, you suddenly felt wide awake.

On the other side of the threshold, Derek Morgan gave you a soft smile, his expression light while his eyes carried all the heavy things you thought you left at the BAU.

Now, all those things were at your doorstep.

"Hi, princess." He paused. "We have to talk."

—

You would've thought that, after all your time in the BAU, you would've gotten used to hospitals.

Apparently not.

As your eyelids fluttered open, you were disoriented, instantly closing them again at the sheer bright lights. The sound of feet shuffling came to your ears, followed by a flicking sound.

When you opened your eyes again, the lights were off, and Derek Morgan stood in front of you. He gave you his classic smile, but for some reason, it looked a little tighter than usual, a little bit harder to conceive.

What had happened? Why did he look so sad? Was he okay?

"D-Derek?" you croaked, interrupted by a cough.

Quick on his feet, he was soon passing you a glass of water, guiding the straw into your mouth. "Easy there, easy. There you go." He was tending to you like you were a sick child. You weren't sick. You weren't a child.

What happened? Why was he taking care of you? Why did you need to be taken care of?

When he removed the straw from your mouth, you repeated your question. "Derek, what's wrong?"

He looked like he didn't want to answer you. Instead, he countered, "Y/N, do you remember what happened?"

As if his question singlehandedly opened pandora's box, pain suddenly radiated from your lower body, aching all over.

Your brain caught up with your body, and then the pain intensified.

You shakily exhaled. "Yes."

Derek exhaled, too, but his looked more like relief than anything. Relief that he wouldn't have to explain this to you. Relief that he wouldn't have to say the words out loud.

"You were in surgery for a while," he said. "Yesterday night. The doctors say you'll make a speedy recovery."

You didn't respond.

"Garcia's still flying in. She won't believe anything I say until she sees it with her own eyes," he lightly chuckled. But his tone was heavy. No jokes could erase that. "The others'll be on their way back when they wake up. I told 'em you were in good hands."

You wanted to laugh. You tried. The only thing that left your mouth was a sob.

Derek was immediately at your side, cradling your head into his chest, letting your tears soak his shirt and not saying a single word about any of it. You wanted that to make it feel better, but you just felt empty.

Like there were holes in your body.

—

You sat on your couch, wrapped in a warm blanket as Derek rummaged through your cupboards, looking for something to give that was fit for human consumption. You would've been a good host and offered him tea, but he already had a pot on the stove.

He said you looked like you hadn't eaten. You didn't deny it.

"Everything in your fridge is expired, so I ordered us some breakfast from that place downtown," he informed you, setting down two mugs of tea on the coffee table and taking a seat in the armchair across from you.

You watched the steam twirl into the air, nodding blankly.

Derek sighed. "Kid, I'm worried about you."

You sighed back in response. "I'm fine." The words came out harsher than intended.

Derek's eyes softened. "You quit your job, Y/N. You love the BAU."

Love. Loved. You shook your head, lightly scoffing through your nose. For the first time in a while, you were honest. "I love the BAU when it isn't taking everything away from me." You could count the things this job had taken from you on two hands too many, turning your reflection into a stranger.

It made you wonder what you'd do without it.

Derek's eyes didn't meet yours, looking down at the floor instead. The room went quiet. You could hear the cars outside, the rest of the world moving on while you stayed right where you were, stagnant.

Right now, you were in your apartment. Your feet were touching your hardwood floor. Your fingers played with a loose string on your blanket. Derek sat across from you. Your body was here.

But in reality, your mind was stuck in that house. Stuck walking into a trap with Morgan right behind you.

"I'm sorry."

At his sudden words, you looked up. His eyes locked with yours. You didn't know how long it'd been that you'd sat in silence, but you certainly didn't expect it to be broken with those words.

You furrowed your brows. "What?"

Despite the long period of quietness that came before, he didn't stay quiet now. He didn't even look like he had to think about what he was saying—almost like he'd thought it all a thousand times before. "Y/N, I'm sorry that you're in pain. And if I could switch places with you, I would— in a heartbeat." He leaned forward in his chair. "There's not a day that goes by that I don't think about what happened. About how I left you alone." His voice tightened up. "But Y/N, I swear to you, if you come back to the BAU, I won't ever leave you alone like that again."

Strong conviction laced his voice, like he was under oath. For a moment, you were confused by what he was saying. He never left you alone— oh.

Oh.

Tears welled up in your eyes. "Derek—" your voice cracked. Oh, you felt terrible. So, so terrible.

How long had one of your best friends blamed himself for something he had no control over? How long had this slipped past you?

You were supposed to be one of the best profilers in the nation.

But right now, you just felt terrible.

"Derek, I never blamed you." A tear slid down your cheek against your wishes. "This isn't your fault. It never was."

Your vision was so blurry that you didn't see him crying, but you did see him wipe at his eyes. That made you get up, and he met you in the middle, wrapping his arms around you and engulfing you in his embrace.

In his arms, you cried freely, just like that morning in the hospital. You cried for all the things you pretended not to cry about. For all the things you lost. The things you didn't see. The person you were. The person you could've been.

"I'll never leave you alone again, you hear me, kid?" Derek hugged you tighter through his muffled words, making sure you didn't just hear them but that you felt them. "We're family."

Family.

You hugged him back just as tight. If you lost everything, you still had that. You might have lost yourself, but your family was right there, shining a light in the darkness, looking for you.

You prayed they'd find you.

—

When Morgan left, it was dark out. He only left after a lot of crying and even more food, but you felt different. Reminded of what you still had.

You weren't okay. Nothing was okay. But you wanted to things to be able to get better. You didn't just want to give up and walk away from it everything. You built a life at the BAU with people you loved. Maybe there was one person you even loved too much.

God, he hurt you. He hurt you in irreversible ways, leaving you out in the cold multiple times, begging for him to see you just for him to turn away.

And you knew he cared about you. No one acted the way he did without caring. Sometimes, you thought Aaron Hotchner cared too much, masking it behind a wall of indifference.

Before all this happened, you were allowed behind the wall. He showed you the man he hid from others. You fell in love with that man. You missed him.

You just wanted to go back to those versions of yourself. The Y/N who would make a stupid joke late at night and the Aaron who would be too tired to pretend not to smile.

But Hotch wanted to talk about it. Aaron did, too, but it was mostly Hotch. A different version of him that was too concerned, too focused on drilling the truth out of you.

Could you give it to him? There was a time when you would've given him anything; all he had to do was ask. Now, you weren't so sure. There were certain parts of yourself you couldn't just hand out, certain things you wanted to keep for you and you alone.

You had already given up so much. You already gave your heart to Aaron Hotchner once, and he discarded it. Who was to say this time would be any different?

No. You couldn't give him everything.

But you'd give him something.

—

You found the route to Hotch's apartment the same way you did time and time before, like a dance you still knew the steps to. You knew when to turn right and when to turn left, when to keep going straight and when to stop. Nothing about this was unfamiliar.

Aaron Hotchner was once the most familiar person you'd ever known.

But you knew things were different.

Even though the elevator up to his floor hadn't changed and he still had the same mat outside his door, you knew that you weren't the same. You had changed. You weren't familiar anymore.

And so, when he opened the door and his brows raised up to his hairline, you understood the surprise. You didn't just do this—you didn't just show up at his apartment unannounced, not anymore.

His lips parted. You weren't sure if he was going to speak or if he was just in shock. You spoke first regardless.

"I, um," you wrung your hands together, "I don't have food this time." A nervous smile lit up your face, no less nervous than your first time in his office. Maybe more nervous this time. Maybe you hid it better back then.

And maybe he could hide his emotions better back then, too. The shock on his face didn't clear until after you had spoken. He blinked, then opened his door wider. "Please."

A small thank you left your lips as you walked in, crossing the threshold into a world you knew you wouldn't be able to leave again.

The apartment looked like it hadn't changed at all. The only thing that caught your eye were the toys splayed out on the living room floor.

Your heart spiked, but as if Hotch could read your mind, he said, "Jack is asleep."

Glad you weren't interrupting anything, the tension in your shoulders was released. You wondered if that's what he saw: visual cues that indicated your mental state. Was it mind reading or behaviour?

Was he a profiler, or did he just know you as well as you both thought he did?

You couldn't really tell anymore.

"Would you like something to drink?" he queried.

"No, I uh..." this was small talk. You weren't here for this; you didn't even know what you were here for, but it was for more than this.

Whatever you were here for, you had to figure it out before you lost your nerve.

You turned around, finding him right behind you. You inhaled a sharp breath. The last time he was this close to you—

"You hurt me, Hotch." The words tumbled out of your mouth before you even had the time to filter them. You watched his face fall. You continued, anyway. "You hurt me when you left me alone that night. And I— I can't fault you for rejection. But you left me all over again when I— when I needed you."

"Y/N." He took a step closer.

You took a step back.

"I needed you. I really, really needed you." Tears built in your eyes. "But you weren't there." You wiped away the tears in your eyes before they could fall, refusing to cry. "And then you have me go on the record to talk about the most horrible experience of my life, and suspend me when you don't get what you want. Like I'm just some rookie agent."

Unlike the previous conversations you'd had, Aaron didn't say anything to his defense. He stood there, unmoving, letting you say what you needed to say. You were equal parts grateful and equal parts angry. Exasperated.

You wanted him to say something. You wanted to know if it was really all in your head, if it really happened or if you imagined it. "Is that—" you faltered, "is that all I am to you, Hotch? Just an agent? Did I ever—" you swallowed, "did I ever mean anything to you?"

"Yes." His response was rapid, his eyes narrowing as if he was insulted by the question. As if he was shocked you could ever think otherwise. He took a step closer to you, and this time, you didn't step back. "If I have ever made you feel like you are 'just an agent,' then I sincerely apologize." He paused, his eyes boring into yours. "Y/N, you are one of the most qualified and accomplished agents I have ever met, let alone had the pleasure of working with. And I can say with absolute certainty that you are one of the best people I have ever known. You are beautiful, inside and out, and full of so much light that you have brightened every room you've walked into." His words reverberated through the quiet room, soaking into your bones and into every fibre of your being. "So, if I've pressured you since your return, it is because I am worried."

Your breath hitched as he took another step closer. "I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry for leaving you alone that night and every other night afterward. I was—" he took a breath, looking down briefly. When his eyes met yours again, they were just as honest. Brave. Afraid. "I was terrified I'd lose you. That I would ruin what we had. And then I was scared for what happened to you. Too afraid to look you in the eye after I made a decision that almost cost you your life. By the time you got back to the BAU, my fear wasn't just losing you physically. It was losing you. Your heart. Your spirit. All the things I love about you."

Your heart might've stopped then and there. After a few seconds, you echoed, "Love?"

Aaron didn't back down or retract what he said. He nodded, like he was confirming it you and to himself. "Yes."

There were words he wasn't saying; you understood that. There were words you weren't saying, either.

But you knew what it meant for things to go unsaid. People blamed themselves. People crumbled. They said things they didn't mean to compensate for what they weren't saying. They were crushed under the weight of it all.

You didn't want that to happen anymore.

You took a step back, not because you were stepping away from the conversation, but because you were stepping into it. You nodded toward the couch. "Let's have that talk."

Aaron's eyes flooded with relief. You both made your way to his couch and sat down.

And then you talked until the sun came up.

—

Your talk with Aaron wasn't easy. And despite your best promises to yourself, you still ended up crying, anyway.

You weren't naïve. That may have been the first conversation you had, but it wouldn't be the last. There was still so much you had to talk about, so much you had to work through, but you had the time to do it.

Your suspension was lifted, but you didn't return to the BAU. At least, not right away. You decided not to throw yourself back into it, to let yourself find your footing first and process everything you tried to shove down.

Every member of the team supported you, and you knew there was a spot waiting for you when you were ready. Garcia had reassured you there were issues with your resignation, anyway (which you knew was undoubtedly her doing). You thanked her for her troubles.

She visited you often while you were home alone, updating you on the team's shenanigans. And Rossi visited you with enough food to feed a shelter, rendering it pointless to go grocery shopping at all. You accused him of spoiling you. He retorted that he could cook for the whole team if he wanted to.

And that's how you ended up where you were, underneath the fairy lights in his backyard as Reid summarized Greek mythology to you.

Gesturing his hands in the air, he explained, "No, actually— although thought to be, Apollo is not the sun god. Helios is. Helios is meant to be a personification of the sun—the sun in human form. But Apollo is god of the sun—an important distinction in categorization. He's not the sun, but he's not supposed to be. He just has sunlike features, and— I'm sorry. I'm rambling, aren't I?"

He looked sheepish, but you were leaning forward in your seat. "No, not at all." You gave him a reassuring smile. "Please, keep going."

Spencer's eyes lit up, and he went on, "Well, Apollo has many more characteristics that make him an interesting god to look at it, like his love of truth, music, poetry, healing, and..."

As he continued, you couldn't help but connect what he was talking about to yourself.

He's not the sun.

But he's not supposed to be.

Inadvertently, you realized what you'd been trying to learn for so long. The answer was right in front of you the whole time, but now, you finally understood it.

You kept trying to be this person that didn't exist. The sun. A work of fiction. But you couldn't be that. The sun wasn't up all the time. It wasn't always bright. It was impossible to be light at every waking moment. The light didn't define Apollo, and it didn't define you.

No, you realized. You weren't the sun.

You were so much more than that.

taglist: @ithinkitzleslie @burrithorr @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @bunchofcells-blog @hotchspearl @famouslywaiting @lailamares @avis-writeshq @zoeyredbird1 @dyslexicreader64 @lolagaming23 @thomasshelbyswife @spct0r @qualitygiantshoepsychic @duruxoxo @idontlikesleeping

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ironwinters · 5 months ago

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"Oops?"

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

tags: smutty blurb, no plot, bucky spooking himself, comfort, fluff and giggles

inspired by that scene in breaking dawn where edward breaks the bed when they fuck. strength kink go brrrrr.

Moonlight and a soft summer breeze makes its way through the open bedroom window, illuminating the room and the skin of your intertwined bodies tangled in the bedsheets.

All that could be heard is the sound of soft moans and skin slapping together. Your back arches to press yourself impossibly closer to the man on top of you, a breathless moan escaping your lips as his thrusts become deeper and more powerful with each thrust, his hand moving from its place on your hip to brace himself with the headboard.

"please," you plead, not even sure of what you're begging him for. you're so close to the edge, and you know you just need one little nudge to get you there.

"god, doll, so good for me," he mutters out, lips brushing against your throat with each word he speaks, warm breath fanning over you.

at the praise, a soft whine escapes your throat, legs tightening around his hips as the knot in your stomach uncoils. the feeling of you releasing around him is Bucky's undoing as well, his hips stuttering to a stop against yours as close as he can be. A deep groan leaves his lips, the grip of his flesh hand tightening slightly on your hip and his other hand grips the headboard.

Crack.

The loud noise of wood snapping quickly pulls you out of your post orgasm haze, eyes trailing up to Bucky's hold on your now broken headboard. You blink owlishly, feeling like your brain is about to short circuit. You knew, of course Bucky was incredibly strong, he's a super soldier. But it was easy to forget, because of how in control of himself he always was around you.

You made him lose that control a little bit. And damn if it wasn't more attractive than it should've been.

Bucky looks bashful, blush rising to his cheeks and ears as he slowly releases the crumbling headboard from his hold.

"Oops?" he mutters.

You grab his face, pulling him into a searing kiss in hopes for a second round.

Bless super soldier stamina.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #the winter soldier #marvel #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #the falcon and the winter soldier #bucky barnes smut #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky x female reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic

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lucidfairies · 3 months ago

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disgusting [e.w]

pairing: preacher's daughter!ellie x old friend!reader

synopsis: when darkness overtakes the righteous, light will come bursting in (Psalm 112:4)

maybe, just maybe, she could get in and break you down. make you reconsider all of the things you swear you love. things that protect you.

they couldn't protect you from her.

warnings: not proof read!, reader is a minor in the beginning (flashback), reader is femme but nothing else is really disclosed, probably short, plot is weak but there, corruption, angst, religion mentioned several times, smoking, stalking, perverted behavior, mass shooting mentioned, sarah is back then dies again, underage drinking, recording without consent (not sex), unrealistic virgin experience, top Ellie, cunniligus, fingering, ass play, double penetration, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, humiliation, pillow humping, crying, smut based on this

wc: 7.8k

a/n: wow this was absolutely insane to write. this was mostly based off of this blurb, I wrote to the author for permission to base this fic off of it but I never heard back so I figured I would leave them credit here :) joel is a bit of a dick in the beginning and tess effing sucks!

the sun poured into your windows as you awoke to the loud sounds of trucks outside your window. it was the first Saturday in September, and the air was beginning to chill. you had no interest in being awoken this early on the weekend, deciding that pulling your second pillow across your face to drown out the noise was the best course of action.

unfortunately for you, the noises didn't halt, in fact, they got louder, as the backs of the trucks slid up and men began transporting boxes into the house next door. you knew people were moving in, but you didn't know it would be today of all days.

stubbornly, you sat up, pushing your hair away from your face and stretching, before standing and peaking out of your window. there were four men coming in and out of the house, as well as three women. on the second floor, you were too far to make much of their faces, but one of them was older, presumably the mother of the other two.

reluctantly, you decided to bake them a pie as a welcoming. your mother loved meeting new people and being as peppy as possible so that they would like her. she was desperate for people to like her - sometimes you were too. and right now, you wanted this family to like you, even if they woke you up at the crack of dawn.

the pie took all day, in and out of the kitchen. by 3pm, the trucks had all dispersed, and the family had moved in. if your mother wasn't away, she would be knocking at their door already. but you knew what it was like to move houses, and you knew that nobody would want anyone at their doorstep during their first day in the home. you decided to go tomorrow.

when the next day arrived, chilly and cloudy, you were ready. you were wearing a pink sweater dress, it dusted the tops of your thighs that were covered by tights. you had white, knee high socks gracing your legs under knee high boots, and they pulled the outfit together. with your pie and sweet smile, you ventured down the sidewalk to the house next door.

the woman who opened the door was the same woman you had noticed yesterday. she was tall, long brown hair that flowed over her shoulders in a gorgeous manner, and she wasn't as old as you had thought upon looking at her yesterday. frankly, she was gorgeous. you wondered if her daughters looked like her, if so, they're lucky.

“hi, can I help you?” she asked. she was breathing harshly, you wondered if it was from moving boxes or something other.

you introduced yourself, offering up your pie. she invited you in, and you noticed that the majority of the first floor was already set up, minus a few boxes here and there. you wondered if it took them all night. she called in the rest of the family to their living room, and you sat the pie on the table in the middle.

as the rest of the family filed in, your eyes locked on the girl in the middle. she was significantly shorter than the first woman you met, tess, and she looked nothing like her - neither of the girls did. she was pale and freckled, and her hair was short. she had it pulled back in a small bun on the back of her head, and she was in a white wifepleaser and jeans.

“it's nice to meet you guys,” you smiled, reaching out your hand and shaking all of theirs. in order, it was joel, ellie, and sarah. ellie. what a pretty name, you thought. her eyes practically burned your skin as she looked you over, taking in every inch of your person.

you quickly found out that ellie was merely one year your senior, and you couldn't get the fact out of your head. she wasn't too old, you told yourself. sarah, her sister, was a year younger than you. but ellie. beautiful, eighteen year old ellie, was looking at you like you were everything, and you were looking back.

an hour later, you were saying your goodbyes and traveling back down the street to your house. you almost spun; the introduction went stunningly. there was no way that the williams didn't like you, which meant that they would inevitably like your family as well. your mother would be elated.

you learned late the week day that ellie loved to smoke. every time you glanced out of your window, she was there, tapping her cig out the window. you couldn't comprehend how someone could spend so much time staring out the window with nothing but a cigarette - or a joint, whichever it actually was. you weren't close enough to see.

you said a prayer for her that night.

it stormed that next saturday, one week after the williams had moved in. it reminded you of ellie. as you walked in to your room, ready to go to bed, you were stuck in your spot as you glanced out the window to ellie's room. the scene was nothing you had seen before. there was ellie, standing in the middle of her room, yelling at joel. she looked angry, and equally sad. they both looked sad.

you couldn't hear what they were saying, but you knew it was bad. ellie grabbed a backpack and began stuffing clothes from her messy floor into it, still yelling at joel. her cheeks were red from frustration and stained from tears. joel was crying. something bad had happened, you could feel it.

ellie said something small before throwing the backpack over her back and storming out of the house. moments later, she was storming out of the front door, into the storm. and she stopped. she glanced up, met your eyes, and stopped. you looked at her as she looked at you; longing. longing something far from reach.

and then she turned, got in her car, and drove away.

you, now two years older and attending university, didn't often think of that day. ellie though - she never stopped thinking about it. she had returned home a handful of times since that rainy night, and by some miracle, you were there every time she was.

nothing about you had changed since that night. you still had your big doe eyes and you were still just as curious as you were that night. every time ellie came home (frequently for the first year, but she hadn't been back), you would peer out of your bedroom window and watch her gather things from her room.

ellie knew that you had asked about her. several times, for the first year, actually. she knew that you wanted to see her. meet her again. maybe even smoke with her. ellie had conjured many an idea as to what would happen if she was there.

so, knowing this, you simply couldn't blame ellie for her aggressive means of knowing your whereabouts. you couldn't blame her for following you home or watching you from below your bedroom window as you changed. you're the one who wanted to see her, even if it was a long time ago.

ellie swore that one day she would approach you. she was desperate to. she thought about you no matter what she did. when she was in the shower, when she was working, when she was getting off. the last one embarrassed her. she hardly knew you, while also knowing everything about you.

she knew your favorite color and your favorite skirt. she knew what kind of books you liked and that you loved to bake. she also knew that on most of your underwear, there were flowers and bows. she knew what you slept in most often. and most of all, most disturbingly, most disgusting, she knew every way to make you cum.

she watched you frantically rubbing your nipples as your hips ground down against your pillow, and she watched as your face contorted in anger every time you didn't finish. and she watched you get on your knees and pray for forgiveness from a god who wasn't listening - because the next night, you did it all again.

ellie dreamt about every way she could make you cum. if she could get her hands on you for one night, she could have you coming over and over. you just needed her, she was sure of it. she had never seen your pussy, not from the ground with you all the way up on the second floor, but she dreamt about what it would look like to watch her strap bottom out inside you.

she craved it.

she knew your schedule so well that she could tattoo it. you left early in the morning for class, came back, did homework, slept, and then went out again. she knew what days you did your laundry and what days you went grocery shopping, she even knew what you got every week, but she was too scared to ever attempt to cross paths with you –

until now, when you decided to change your schedule.

there was ellie, looming in the dairy aisle, gazing at the milk options. she had a favorite brand, but it appeared to be all out, so she was considering her choices. as she opened the door, she heard her name and came to a screeching stop. nobody says her name like that. not since the last time she talked to you two years ago.

she turned towards you, face as pale as a ghost. her ears were ringing, her blood was rushing, and she was sure she was going to faint.

“ellie, is that you?” you grinned. you knew all too well that it was her, but you figured you would ask anyway. she looked like she was going to be sick. maybe she was trying to avoid seeing anyone from the neighborhood; word had spread that she was kicked out. “oh ellie, it's been so long! I've been worried about you.”

she couldn't stop staring, not even when you pulled her it on your embrace. “hey,” she said slowly, “it's been a while.” she smiled awkwardly, attempting to mask all of the feelings that just welled inside her. “how've you been?”

“I've been good, getting by. I'm in school now. you haven't been by for a while. how's it been?” your eyes were genuine, and she immediately felt all of the blood rush back to her face as she blushed hard.

“it's been alright,” there was a pause and you pursed your lips, unsure what to say. “if you want you could come over and I could explain everything that happened. I know you saw it all that night.” you smiled widely.

“it was probably a bad night for you. but if you're up for it, it would quiet my curious mind.” you giggled. ellie must have blacked out. this couldn't be real. “here, give me your number.” and like that, your phone was in her hands. she typed in her number and quickly handed it back to you. “I have to head out, but I'll text you.”

“great.” ellie left the store without her milk that day. she had to go back, but wound up not buying it again when she replayed what had happened the previous day in her head.

you were coming to her apartment. soon. tomorrow. you had texted her about it, several times. you didn't stop texting her. she was so, totally, fucked.

when you woke up the next morning, you were excited. you had craved answers to what happened that night since it happened, and here you were, about to get them. ellie's apartment was in an area that your parents would've called rough. as you walked up to the entrance, the gate creaked and the bell had to be pressed harshly to get it to actually ring up to her apartment. she buzzed you in, and you began up the stairs to the third floor.

ellie was staring far too hard. she could see your legs. it was killing her. she wasn't ready for this, she wasn't ready to sit next to you and have a conversation with you and have you talk back to her. she simply could not.

how was she supposed to look you in the eyes and be honest with you after using your phone number to find all of your social media? how was she supposed to pretend like she didn't get off to the pretty pictures of you on your Instagram at the beach? how was she supposed to pretend like she wasn't attracted to the religion that you had plastered all over your page? maybe, just maybe, she could get in and break you down. make you reconsider all of the things you swear you love. things that protect you.

they couldn't protect you from her.

“well, I brought you some cookies,” you opened your purse and pulled out a small, round tray of chocolate chip cookies. ellie was practically foaming at the mouth already. she reached for the tray and sat it down in the kitchen, and as she walked towards it you noticed the subtle changes in her since the last time you two had shared space.

she was paler now, if that was possible, and boney. she hadn’t been eating much (spending money on weed was a lot more fun than groceries), and it made her cheekbones stick out. her hipbones, which peaked out in an undeniably slutty way from her low waisted pants and cropped shirt was more evidence towards her lack of food consumption, and you worried for her. maybe she would let you come around more, cook her some meals, maybe help her heal. maybe fix her.

that was a nagging thought in the back of your head, and it persisted, loudly, as soon as you met her again. maybe you could fix her. it’s what god called you to do, anyway. fix the broken. fix ellie.

her hand wrapped around the thin wall as she poked her head out. “want a beer? I have corona, coors, heineken-” you cut her off, or assumed you did, because she appeared as if she would continue listing brands.

“I’m good, thanks. I don’t drink.” instinctively, your hand flew to the cross around your neck, and her eyes followed it. she breathed out a small “ah”, before grabbing herself a beer and closing the fridge.

from what you could see from your statue-like spot in her living room that barely had any view into the kitchen, she had tattoos. one tattoo, specifically. it wrapped itself down and around her forearm with different types of leaves, beginning with a large, detailed moth. however, from the cleanliness of the root of it, it appeared that she just got work done. an addition had been added, coming down the top of her hand and stopping just below her fingernails on her middle and ring fingers.

it was a lovely tattoo. and it drew your attention more than it should’ve. you berated yourself; no sane person spent this long staring at and thinking about a woman’s fingers. well, maybe gay women, but you weren’t gay. you simply enjoyed the way it curved around her arm and fingers. “it just finished healing,” your head snapped up and she appeared in front of you, leaning against the table. “I got it done a couple months ago, the bottom part. I got the other part done a couple years back, high, in my friend’s basement.”

you were eternally embarrassed. god knows how long she had been standing there, watching you watch her. “that’s really… cool,” you said awkwardly. “I could never get a tattoo high. or do anything high, for that matter.” ellie hummed, cracking open the beer and flopping down on the couch. with a gesture, she offered you the other half of the couch, and you obliged, sitting your purse on the floor next to you and crossing your ankles.

somehow, you felt equally comfortable in her home as you did out of place. the brightness and niceness of you seemed as if it would disrupt ellie’s dark energy and darkness of her home, but instead you felt welcomed. you felt as if the darkness blended with your light, and it was almost nice. It would’ve been lovely if you could’ve ignored the overarching, lingering smell of weed.

“i’m sure you want to get to the point and then leave,” ellie joked, taking a small sip of her drink. but that wasn’t true - you were in the mood to stay for hours. “a lot happened that night. but a lot led up to it, too. you see, i grew up in a house like yours. joel was a preacher for a while. tess, well, tess didn’t work. not since they met, which was only a couple years ago.”

as ellie took another sip of her beer, you put some pieces together. it made sense now why ellie and sarah looked nothing like her, and why ellie never seemed to be comfortable around her.

“so, knowing that information, when I came out to my dad and tess, neither of them were really cool about it. especially tess,” your brain lagged for a moment as you processed what she was saying. obviously she was gay. that made so much more sense than trying to piece together why a woman who was trying to attract men would dress the way she dresses, with hair and tattoos like hers.

“that’s what started the discomfort in our house, but that was before you, and before the new house,” she sighed, taking another sip of her drink. you were sure that the ‘new house’ meant more than what she was letting on. “a couple days after we moved in and two nights before you saw what you did, sarah was killed in a shooting.” your mouth fell agape.

“is that why you guys were fighting?” your pupils were blown and your mouth was still hanging open, ever so slightly. even when talking about the death of someone she cared for, she still loved the way you looked at her. like you cared.

“part of why. it was a shooting at a mall. I took her to that mall. I was there when it happened. I watched her die,” ellie spoke about the matter like it was just another blip in the radar. at this point in her life, that’s what it felt like. she got high so often that she was over it. she couldn’t afford therapy, so coping with drugs was the next best thing. “all of tess’s problems with me bubbled up that night. she had been in joel’s ear about how terrible I am, how much I smoke, how my lifestyle isn’t one they should agree with, y’know. and then she told him that it was my fault. that I didn’t protect sarah, his only living memory of his other wife. and for a while, he believed her.”

ellie’s eyes fell to the drink in her hands, and she watched it fizz and bubble. she wasn’t crying - she didn’t cry often. but reciting the story for the first time aloud brought on more feelings than she had anticipated it might’ve.

“I’m sure you can imagine the rest. joel and tess aren’t together anymore. tess died, cancer took her. karma sure is a bitch,” ellie laughed dryly, leaning back against the couch and manspreading. “he’s moving soon, since it’s just him in that big ol’ house. but I can’t go back. not after everything he said. not after he picked tess over me.”

“ellie… that’s– I’m so sorry, that’s so much worse than I thought it would be,” you faltered. you couldn’t find enough words, or the right words, to express the deepness you felt for her. “I’m sorry I didn’t try to reach out. I’ve spent years wondering about you, I should’ve made an effort.” ellie tried not to focus on the admission that thought about her, and shrugged.

“you didn’t know, nobody did. joel and tess were quiet about sarah’s death, quiet about their divorce, and when tess finally died, joel lived his life in the quiet. he hardly leaves, doesn’t have guests or friends.”

“I’m still sorry, els. truly.” ellie almost folded. “I have an appointment in half an hour, could we do this again? I’ll bring food, I can cook for you if you’ll let me.” ellie bit her lip, filthy images of you cooking for her (and doing other things for her) flooding her mind.

“yeah, that’d be great. next wednesday?” you grinned as you both stood up.

“perfect, send me your favorite dishes and I’ll go grocery shopping.” she walked you to the door, hand pressing gently into your lower back as she reached around you to the doorknob. your skin was on fire, you were sure you were blushing. through the thin material of your shirt, you could feel every bone in her fingers.

and… the drive to your appointment was nothing short of vulgar. well, vulgar to you. for someone like ellie, your unruly thoughts of her arms and fingers would probably just be considered slightly strange. but to you, your thoughts of her fingers curling against the curve of your waisted, or her arms pressing against your skin was dirty. no woman of god should think of another woman in the way you were thinking about her.

“But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart.” Matthew 5:28.

unfortunately for you, your indecent thoughts didn’t stop at your doctor’s appointment, or in the car on the way home, or as you talked to your mother as you helped her prepare dinner. so, when you sat down at the square table, taking your brother’s hand and your father’s hand, you prayed.

that’s all you did, for the rest of the week -

you prayed at every meal and before you when to bed. you prayed when you woke up, when you brushed your teeth, when you dressed and undressed. you prayed for a clean mind, and you prayed for ellie. Everything about ellie. you prayed that she found healing for her wounds, and that she would be blessed with food for the table and therapy if she needed it.

prayers weren’t the only thing on your mind, though, no matter how much you begged god to cleanse your thoughts.

when the lights were off and the house was quiet, she crept into your mind. and for a while, you let her. you let yourself wonder what her hands might feel like on your skin, or what she might do to you if given the chance. how her voice would sound as she whispered filthy things into your ear in the dark, or if the tattoo traveling down her fingers had a sinister meaning; maybe that was the hand she used when she did things to other women. women that weren’t you, because she hardly knew you and it was obvious that she didn’t have a thought of attraction towards you.

but what if she did?

ellie was going just as crazy as you were, but in a totally different way - an actually crazy way. she was out of her mind over everything about you. you coming to her house only made it worse. she spent hours perched in her spot, watching you sleep, fucking recording you. she smelled her pillows in the living room while getting off because your perfume had found its way onto them. you coming back on wednesday almost scared her. she couldn’t possibly keep herself sane with you around. the only reason she could the first time was because you two were talking about sarah. but this time, just you and her and dinner? she was utterly and entirely fucked.

when you arrived at her apartment on wednesday night, ellie knew that this would never work out. you were in a pinstripe dress, one that fell much shorter than your mother would’ve ever been okay with if you hadn’t snuck out, and white frilly socks that disappeared into black loafers. ellie was finding a level of obsession with you that rooted itself deep inside her, and it was disgusting. gross, creepy even.

“hi ellie,” you said with your thousand dollar smile. you held up a grocery bag, full of ingredients for shrimp scampi. “I got everything we’ll need. my mom gave me one of her fancy recipes, so we’re set for the night.” for the night. ellie wondered how late she could get you to stay. she also wondered how much you’d hate her if she locked you up here forever.

you slipped your shoes off your feet and trotted into the kitchen, setting out all of the materials and pulling the recipe up on your phone. ellie leaned against the wall, arms crossed, as she watched you methodically arrange everything in order of steps. “are you just gonna stand there?” you joked, beginning to open some of her cabinets.

“nope, just waiting for instructions, boss.” she couldn’t help but flirt. maybe if she flirted enough you would stay the night.

with how bossy you were in the kitchen, ellie could only imagine how bossy you’d be in bed. Insisting on what you wanted and making her do it. she also wondered if maybe it was the opposite. maybe this was all a trick, and you really needed someone to tell you what to do all the time. only time would tell - but ellie was impatient.

the kitchen was extremely cramped, and though most days ellie hated this, today it gave her a perfect in. you had the cabinet door open and she needed something on the far side of you. so, in order to touch you, she gingerly grabbed your hips while you bent over to look in her low cabinets and slid behind you, crotch pressing into your ass for a single beat before she made it to the other side. it would’ve been so easy to just push her pussy against your ass and grind, but she had a little more dignity than that, even if it’s what her body begged her to do.

“sorry ‘bout that, babe, gotta grab a bowl over here.” ellie spoke in the sluttiest voice she could muster, and she could tell by the deer-in-headlights look on your face that her plan was working.

a warm feeling rushed through you, from your chest all the way down to your core. you were fluttering all over - the feeling of her hands being on you was just so right. you almost begged for her to come back, grab you like that again, see where it went. you couldn’t think about god anymore, not when she was touching you and calling you babe.

an hour and a half later, the food was finished and you two had eaten, and you gathered on the couch next to each other, same spots as last week. ellie had a movie on, and when you folded your legs beneath yourself to get comfortable, she could see your panties. they were light green, but that was the most she could tell. if she could get them off of you tonight, she could keep them - that’s what she was thinking about.

you were trying not to focus on her hands. her hands. they were right there, so close, begging to be touched. as the moving progressed, you became more and more entranced by them. the way she tapped her thigh and sipped her drink, it was all fascinating. “ellie,” you said, before you could think twice, earning a hum in response, “can I touch your hand?”

her brows knit. “my hands? why’d’ya wanna touch my hands, doll?” a flush of blush fell on your face as you tried to construct a good reason as to why you just asked to touch the poor woman’s hands.

luckily, though, she didn’t push. she simply moved her hand and let you grab it, waiting a minute before beginning to trace the intricate lines of her tattoo. it was calming before anything else. the bottom of the tattoo was just basic, black-filled leaves, while the top was detailed and complex. ellie’s hands were warm, and her fingers were beginning to develop calluses. when you glanced around the room, you spotted the guitar responsible, and let your mind wander onto whether that made it feel better.

ellie was, by some miracle, keeping her cool. that was, until, your fingertips danced away from her hand, sliding up her forearm. her heart beat faster, making her breath quicker. she was getting dizzy. there was no possible explanation for this, other than her obsession with you. this wasn’t normal; she never got this worked up by something so miniscule with other women (not that there had been other women for the last year, she was too busy following you home and watching you through your window).

“ellie,” she looked over, and you were closer now. you must’ve moved while she was busy in her head. your face was so close that she could almost feel you breathing. and when she met your eyes and your pupils blew, big pretty doe eyes staring back at her, it was over.

ellie’s lips on yours were like nothing you had ever felt before. if there was any heaven, it was right here, on ellie williams’ couch, as she grabbed the back of your head with her open hand and pulled you closer to her. moments ago you were going to ask her if you could sleep over (it was dark and it had begun to rain), but none of that mattered now. all that mattered was the way ellie’s lips moved against yours, and the way she forced your mouth open to suck on your tongue. and you could taste her. you could feel her kisses deep down in your bones, and certainly in your cunt, which was what was leading your thoughts.

ellie was violent. she didn’t waste any time grabbing your hips and dragging you onto her lap, sliding her hands up from your hips to your waist. finally, finally, you knew what it felt like to have her slender fingers wrapped tightly around your waist as she continued to suck your tongue. you placed your hands on her chest, balling up the fabric of her shirt and pulling her into you.

but, in that moment, it hit you. you were doing something terrible, something completely out of your character. lust was a deadly sin. you can’t ignore deadly sins.

you pushed ellie back and she pouted, lips swollen and wet. “we can’t do this, its-it’s not what god wants, it’s a sin, els. I think that god sent me to you to help you heal and you-you really can’t heal by sinning.” midway through your sentence, ellie’s lips latched onto your neck, spinning her tongue and sucking your skin.

“sweet girl, I promise you you can.” she went back to kissing your neck, hands sliding underneath the skirt of your dress and up your thighs. she had her hands on your hips in no time, gently guiding them down against her crotch. the seam of her jeans felt good against your cunt, there was no denying it - which led you to wonder why people couldn’t do this. why is something so good such a terrible thing in god’s eyes?

“ellie,” you moaning her name made her moan; all of her wet dreams were finally coming true. she had you here, hips grinding down against her pussy while you moaned her name. there was nothing in the world better than this. “ellie I’ve never done this before.” you whispered, which got you nowhere. instead, she groaned deeply into the crook of your neck, restricting herself from bucking her hips into yours.

“oh but baby I’ve watched you grind against your pretty pillow for too many nights to hear you say that,” you whined, hips jerking into her lap.

“what do you mean?” you pulled her off of your chest, briefly admiring her pink cheeks and light pant before redirecting your focus to the more important portion of the question.

“I used to watch you from your window in my car,” her head fell against your chest. “you used the same pillow every time. it’s light pink, with flowers. matches your bedspread.” your head was spinning. there was no possible way that you were hearing what you thought you were hearing.

“what the fuck,” you sputtered. “you watched me do something so incredibly private? something that’s only supposed to be between me and god? how disgusting are you?” your only problem with what you were saying was that something inside you wasn’t disgusted. something inside you longed to know what she thought about while she watched you, longed to know if she thought you looked good.

“I’m so fucking disgusting, baby,” she huffed, “I’ve spent all year thinking about how I could tear you apart. make you forget about god, break you. make humping your pillow feel like less than nothing compared to the way I make you feel.” you were wet. so incredibly wet that your mind couldn’t be bothered to think about the fact that she was borderline stalking you.

“show me,” you whispered, making her head snap up and her wide eyes meet yours, blazing.

“what?” she said, quickly, hands still firmly planted on your hips.

“show me how disgusting you are.”

ellie was stronger than you thought. her hands were steady as she carried you from her couch to her bed, practically tossing you onto the springy bed as she pulled her shirt off, leaving her in a simple black sports bra. she climbed over you, one arm next to your head and the other on your waist, squeezing it. “I need this dress off,” she insisted, tugging at the material.

you sat up, unzipping the back and pulling it off your upper body before falling back and letting her pull it off your legs, leaving you in a strapless bra and a pair of panties. she was on you immediately, hardly leaving herself any time to toss your dress into a pile with her shirt.

her lips fell upon your chest, kissing along the edge of your bra. she pulled it down from your tits, guiding your back into an arch so that she could unclip it. once she had it off, she was moaning into your skin as she ran her tongue along your nipple. pressing a knee against your crotch to give you something to grind against, she caught your nipple in her mouth and sucked, pressing on the underside with her tongue, hitting the perfect spot that made you whimper against her.

this was terrible. for both of you. you were sinning against god, the one man that truly knew you. but it made you wonder, maybe he didn’t truly know you. not if he condemned you to a life of hiding your attraction to women because it was against him.

and for ellie - ellie was in heaven. but this moment in time meant that she was never going to let you go. her obsession grew with every noise you made under her, so much so that the idea of locking you up here swam across her mind again. she needed you here. she needed to ruin anyone else for you, so that you would always come back. even if it meant you crawled on your hands and knees.

once ellie was done with you tits (which took a very long time), she traced her lips over your sternum and down your stomach, leaving a trail of hickies in her wake. she was like a woman mad when she made it to your panties. she was filthy, pressing her face into you and simply breathing in your smell, basking it in.

but, when she finally pressed her tongue against you, none of her behavior mattered anymore. there were no longer thoughts -worries- about the fact that she watched you during the night, or that she was simply breathing in the smell of your cunt. it was her and you, and you were forming into one being, driven by need.

ellie lapped at you like a dog over your panties, even if it got her nowhere. once you were begging her to take them off she did, peeling them away from you and tucking them in her back pocket. she licked fat strokes from the bottom to the top, flicking against your clit in all directions. every time she hit the perfect spot, your legs shook hard, and your head lolled back against the pillow.

though your hand was in her hair and you could probably hold her anywhere that you wanted, you let her take charge, eating you like her life depended on it. like it was her last meal. she slid her tongue in you, sucked your clit, anything she could do to make you as wet as possible.

gently, she pressed the tip of her middle finger against your opening, unrelenting with her pace against your clit. you hardly noticed with the waves of pleasure rolling through your body, until you felt the slight burn of the small stretch from her fingers. now, her fingers weren’t all that large, but they were boney and long, and when her first finger bottomed out, you were already seeing stars. you were panting her name, arching and squirming every time she angled her fingers up against the spot you could never quite hit inside you.

pulling away from your clit, she pressed another finger into you, this time creating a slightly uncomfortable stretch. with a couple deep breathes, you were rocking your hips into her hand, trying to get the most out of her that you could. “look at me,” ellie demanded, making your eyes snap to hers. “because you’re a good girl, you’re not going to cum, do you hear me?” frantically, you nodded along to her words, but unfortunately, they didn’t last long.

with ellie’s ceaseless pace and her insistence on hitting every pleasure point she could, your stomach was coiling and your vision was going white, mere moments after telling her you wouldn’t, and surprisingly, she let you. she pushed until your orgasm was over, then pulled her fingers from you and sucked them clean, darkness in her eyes that you had never seen before.

“what did I tell you not to do?” she asked, pushing up from where she was laying and standing up, walking over to her closet and pulling out a large shoe box.

“cum.” you mumbled, a little scared and a little excited. you had an inkling as to what was in the box, but you were unsure, desperate to know regardless.

“do good girls cum when they’re not supposed to?” you shook your head, cheeks flaming in embarrassment. a part of you told yourself that this was crazy and gross, that no one was possibly attracted to this and that you should be ashamed, but the other half craved her approval. craved to be good for her, and to do what she says. and that part overrode the other.

climbing onto and kneeling on the bed in front of you, ellie reached beside you and grabbed one of her pillows, handing it to you before standing back up and leaning against one of the posters of her bed. you looked at her, confused. “since you love coming without permission and humping your pretty pillow, you’re gonna do it for me until you come again. can’t be that hard, sweetheart.”

you knew she wouldn’t let you out of this. with a pout, you sat up, placing the pillow between your thighs and sitting against it, slowly rocking your hips to find a nice rhythm. you leaned forward, planting one hand on the bed below you and the other on the pillow, letting your back relax as you found a good spot. ellie stood before you, doing nothing but watching. she followed your hips as they moved back and forth, eventually coming down hard and fast against her pillow as you chased your release.

historically, humping your pillow never really got you anywhere, but you were too scared to finger yourself, fearing that it would make you impure to whomever your future husband was. turns out, all you needed was an orgasm prior to doing it to make you cum.

with a strangled moan you came again, panting as you unmounted the pillow and looked over at ellie, who looked just about ready to fuck your brains out. coincidentally, that’s what she was planning on doing.

she pushed away from the poster and unzipped her pants, kicking them off as she reached for her box. she didn’t only pull out one thing, no, she pulled out an army. first, a forest green strap attached to a black harness, which she sat on the end of the bed, followed by two other dildos, one black and one pink. you couldn’t fathom what she could possibly need three for, and you had to imagine you were in for a rough couple of hours.

“we’re gonna try some stuff, pretty girl. you’re gonna love it, since you love being stuffed so much.” she grabbed your hips, and, with a tug, flipped you onto your stomach. instinctively, you pushed your hips up, gripping the sheets in anticipation. though you couldn’t easily see her, you could hear her uncapping a bottom and squirting something onto either her fingers or the strap, before squirting it onto you.

the liquid was cold, and she started the drip down your ass, until it crept down your opening. with a toss of the bottle, she pressed one hand between your shoulder blades and used the other to maneuver the strap towards your entrance, starting with just the tip. she took it slow, pushing in inch by inch and letting you adjust to them. this was a different kind of full, compared to ellie’s fingers. the strap was stretching you in all directions, burning as you clung tight to it. and when she finally bottomed out, you were sure nothing would ever feel better than this.

once it was all in comfortably, ellie wasted no time fucking into you. she was going crazy watching the full length of her dick get swallowed up by your soaked pussy, covered in slick and lube and her spit. this was every dream she had ever had coming true.

“we’re gonna try something else now, okay?” you whined in protest, enjoying the feeling of her dick inside you, it was almost familiar now. but she didn’t pull out like you anticipated, instead she reached over and grabbed the pink dildo, lubing it up with whatever she used earlier.

“ellie what are you doing?” you asked, part pant. just for the question, she pulled out and took a deep thrust into you, trying to keep you satisfied while she fiddled with the lube. before you could utter another thought, the second dildo was probing your ass, slowly, cautiously, pressing into your asshole. “ellie!” you whimpered.

“you need to trust me baby. I know my girl wants all her holes filled. trust me, we’re gonna fill all of them.” you whined as she pushed the head of the dildo in your ass, tears welling up in your eyes from the burn. after only a few inches, you were sure you couldn’t take anymore. you were so full, everything pressing into you at every angle. but ellie was persistent - cooing at you until she got the last two inches in, and then groaning like a mad man.

the sight was one to die for: you, face and tits squished into the bed with your ass up in the air, full of her dick and dildo. with one hand on your hip and the other placed back against your shoulder blades, ellie fucked you at a rapid pace, thrusts shaking the whole bed against the wall. not only was she chasing your third release, but she was chasing her own as well, and the way the harness hit her clit when she fucked hard could get her there.

with the sight and the noises you were making, ellie came in no time. you followed soon after, crying from overstimulation and the pure feeling that came with a third orgasm around double penetration. but ellie wasn’t done yet - she pulled out two dildos for a reason, and the other was still waiting for its purpose. she did promise to fill all your holes, after all.

pulling out from you and climbing to the front of her bed, ellie used the suction of the dildo to attach it to her headboard. you wondered if she maybe wanted to watch you fuck against it, like you had seen in a few porn videos over the years, but that wasn’t the case.

“you’re gonna suck that dick while I fuck you,” she instructed, and the idea seemed totally crazy, but when your mouth was lined up with the dildo and she was slipping into you again, you were more than willing to try anything.

with each of her thrusts, the dildo hit the gag of your throat, making you gag and choke and moan. you must’ve looked crazy; tears rolling down your cheeks, drool gathering around your bottom lip and dripping onto her pillow. to her, well, she just came again watching you. she marveled at how far down your throat you could take her dick, reveling on how you had ‘never done this before’.

with a squeal and more gagging, you came for the fourth time and final time of the night, slumping against the pillows beneath you. ellie let up when she came again, making you cry even harder. she pulled her dick out and eased the dildo out of your ass, tossing them back in the box to wash them.

“my girl did such a good job,” she praised as she brought you a washcloth, running it down your thighs and over your pussy. your mind was foggy, too foggy to bother with a response or anything other than crawling under the covers (ellie had to lift them up and tuck you in). “you’ll stay the night, yeah?” the bedside clock read one a.m.

“yeah,” you mumbled, resting your head on her chest and letting your eyes flutter shut. when you awoke the next morning, you knew you would have several feelings surrounding everything that happened, the most prevent knowing that it was absolutely fucking disgusting.

taglist: @lvlymicha @pearlywhitecigarettes @na0koz @natalieisntreal @bbnbhm @civiueueueh @mya123abc @bartshart @kaykeryyy @vahnilla @bellaramseysgirlfriend @piercedome @littlemisslexapro55555

#tlou #tlou2 #ellie williams tlou #ellie smut #ellie x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie williams smut #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie x fem reader #tlou1 #tlou fanfiction #the last of us x reader #the last of us #joel tlou #tess tlou #wlw ns/fw

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merlucide · 3 months ago

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THE MIYA SIBLINGS…

Oh your absolutely insufferable, stupid, annoying brothers (..that you guess.. you kinda love..) drive you freakin’ bonkers! Life as a first-year with two obnoxious third-year brothers isn’t easy, and yet, somehow, every day is its own brand of chaos. So, what does an average day in the Miya household look like? Well… here’s a glimpse.

pairings: Miya twins x youngersister!reader (NOT SHIP)

type: Headcannons/blurbs + SMAU (texts, twt)

genre: crack, fluff, comfort

key: y/n = your name n/n = nickname

warnings: cursing, the twins embarrassing reader, reader has no friends lmao, shit/piss mentions, the twins being pervs (yk that tho)

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Everyone at Inarizaki knew the Miya twins. And then they found out about the Miya siblings.

When you first came to Inarizaki, walking around with their man (aka Atsumu and Osamu), the Miya fangirls immediately took notice. At first, they thought you were a girlfriend—until they learned the shocking truth: the Miya twins have a younger sister?!

That’s when the befriending attempts began. They’d wait outside your classroom, invite you to lunch, and you honestly thought they ?? just really wanted?? To be friends you?? It felt really nice!

But the moment they opened their mouths, it was all, “Eeeeeek! Your brothers are soooo hot!!!”

And you were just like, ‘oh’ ‘🧍‍♀️😑’

Yeah those ‘friendships’ did not last very long…

—-And obviously you were popular with amongst the boys. The Miya curse I fear. Samu did nawt approve of your new popularity lol. Tsumu was jealous that people were talking about YOU and not HIM lmao— tho tsumu LOVES bragging about you/showing you off. He’s like ‘oh yeah my baby sister can do this!—‘ ‘welll MYYY sister can do that better than YOURRR sister’

Anywho the twins love having you at the same school!!! Atsumu always stops by your class during breaks either to talk to you or just piss you off lmao. Osamu ends up being your unofficial walking schedule lol (not that surprising tbh) ‘Ain’t ya supposed to be in the library?’ ‘Didn’t ya say ya had a quiz today?’ ‘Why are ya here? Don’t ya got PE?’ He flicks your forehead (affectionate) and is like ‘get to class’ 🙄+😐

(You got him his bowl)

When it comes to typical overprotective older sibling behavior, Osamu takes the crown. He’ll literally insert himself into any conversation you have with a guy—every. single. time. It’s actually the worst. He will embarrass you and terrify the guy. One time a guy came over, all confident trying to talk to you. Before you could even react, Osamu literally stepped in front of you, staring the guy down like he was an inconvenience to his entire existence.

Then with the most uninterested, deadpan expression ever, he just like ‘no’

He won’t let anything start 😒 you def ignore him after he pulls shit like that. He dgaf tho lmao

Atsumu, on the other hand, is like your wingman, sorta.. He hypes up your crushes, encourages the flirting… but the second things actually start progressing (ex:lovey-dovey texts, potential boyfriend territory, lingering touches), he’s suddenly all up in your business—and the poor guy’s too. He’ll casually throw an arm around both you and the guy, all smiles, and go, ‘So, how’s it goin’?😁’

you’re glaring daggers at him your eyes screaming ‘Tsumu, istg I’m gonna kill you’ and the guy’s practically slithering away while you whisper-scream at Atsumu while he acts all innocent. Oooooor he’ll just shriek and yank you away saying how ‘yer too little for boys’, while glaring at said guy.

But if you ever wanna hang out with anyone he’ll try to set smth up for ya!! (As long as he approves of who)

Osamu is nawt good at trying to show his love 🧍‍♀️ his love languages are quality time, acts of service, and physical touch (sorta, he’s not rlly good at it but wants to be close yk?). Like he won’t initiate (most the time) but if you hug him he’ll hug you back. He just like asks if you want him to take you somewhere or smth. He shows his care for ya n tsumu by making food all the time, it’s what he’s good at and loves, and loves that you both love it. He also always wants to be there for ya. Samu is great emotional support, he doesn’t say a lot but says EXACTLY what you need to hear. Will just sit with you and let you get what you need off your chest. He’ll put his arm around you and rub up and down.

Atsumu is very unique at showing his love 🧍‍♀️ his love languages are physical touch, words of affirmation, and quality time. When you were little Atsumu and Osamu would both hold your hand when you would walk around, and when you got older and wouldn’t hold his hand anymore he was so sad 😭🙏 he’s a hugger, but he’s still your older brother, so he’ll like mess your hair up then hug you lmao. Always asks if you wanna practice with him, he always feels cool teaching you something new :)

Atsumu is also your number one hype man like if you ever feel like you can’t do smth tsumu has a whole list of just exactly why/how you can. He’s not even trying to make you feel better it’s what he genuinely believes :)

Oh and they are both way too invested in any drama you’re involved in/even just aware of. The second you run into the room and announce, “I’ve got tea,”they’re already locked in, heads propped on their hands, eyes wide like you’re about to deliver the most important news of their lives.

‘Spill NOW’

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tags: @sharkissm @someprettyname @fishii28 @shrii-kk

well this is all I have for Miya siblings rn 😔😔 tumblr will only let me upload 30 images, I had more 🧍‍♀️🙏

I hope you enjoyed this as much as I do!! I love Miya siblings so much ughhhh I wish they were my older brothers sooo bad it HURTs

lemme know what you think!!!! I LOVE FEEDBACK!!

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made February 11th 2025

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lay-z · 2 months ago

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those ties that bind us

SUMMARY: You choose a new pair of alphas over what you've come to know.

PAIRING: Poly!alpha!141 x omega!Reader x alpha!AleRudy

WARNINGS/INFO: 18+ MDNI | OMEGAVERSE AU | female!Reader; angst; a/b/o dynamics; hurt/comfort; cussing; smut; spit kink; bad Spanish translations; bonding; open end

Based on this little blurb. 🩶

You had a feeling it would happen someday if your packmates, the alphas who you’ve spent and shared most of your life with for the better part of the past three years, won’t finally make a move, make you theirs officially—but now that it happened eventually, you’re not quite sure how to tell them.

Perhaps you didn’t do enough? Didn’t make your intentions clear with none of them? The desire to be claimed, to belong, to be loved—always put off by Price, smiled at by Gaz, supported but never pursued by Soap, and straight up ignored by Ghost.

As you follow Simon and Johnny over the busy tarmac, your combat boots begin to feel heavy with each step you take that leads you further away from Alejandro and Rudy, the alphas who are now courting you and currently staying behind by the truck after saying their goodbyes to their foreign comrades.

Even then, you’d wondered if neither Simon nor Johnny found it odd when you chose not to say your own farewells to the other two alphas after finishing a successful operation, but again they stayed oblivious to the bond that has been blossoming between you and the Mexican soldiers since you’ve first stepped foot into Las Almas.

Just last night it was Alejandro who had told you that, perhaps it will be better if you’re the one to break the news to them, though assuring you: “We’ll always have your back, cariño,”.

And now, the harsh tug you’re currently experiencing deep down in your chest cavity, right behind your heart, only puts the last necessary nail in the coffin for you.

You’re staying.

As if on cue, your body works before your mind catches up—still both mentally and physically recovering from the mission—and you freeze in your steps, coming to an abrupt halt that causes Simon to glance over his shoulder, having noticed you in his peripherals like the vigilant alpha he is.

And it causes a chain reaction, when Johnny follows his leader's reaction, stopping dead in his tracks and following Simon’s line of vision until bright blue eyes settle on you, a puzzled look settling on his ruggedly chiselled face.

You speak up before either of them can: “This is goodbye... for now,” you tell them over the loud noises surrounding you on the airfield, and you try to keep your voice firm and steady, but it cracks at goodbye before your throat tightens painfully enough to make your eyes well up with tears.

Simon and Johnny share a long, meaningful look, having a full-on conversation with their eyes in a language you don’t speak like you’ve witnessed so many times before, and then they fully turn simultaneously before approaching you with purposeful steps that make you brace yourself for an argument.

“Whot’s tha’?” Simon asks, towering and gripping the straps of his bulky tac vest while tilting his masked head like a curious puppy. You know he’s just trying to give you another chance to change your words, but this time you won’t.

“Whaddaya mean by ‘goodbye’, bon?” Johnny chimes in, brows furrowed while his gaze flickers between you and then over your shoulder, eye narrowing as they land on their allies—friends—the alpha males still watching the scene unfold with crossed arms and squared shoulders—looking ready to step in any second if need be.

Johnny takes note of the sudden tension and dominance oozing off Alejandro and Rudy, how the comradery and friendliness from before has now seemingly disappeared soon as he and Simon approached you this time—as if they suddenly have a claim on you that your literal packmates don’t.

And just like that, it dawns on them like a physical blow to the chest.

Simon’s jaw clenches as he tries to reign in the rumbling growl building up in his chest while Johnny doesn’t bother to hide the snarl taking over his face, sharpening his features into something feral; both of their scents spiking in intensity, lacing the hot-humid air with sour pheromones, ready to scent mark and drag you onto the cargo plane with them if push comes to shove.

Your eyes widen at once, a deer caught in headlights, staring at the truck coming full speed at her.

“Ye’re comin’ home with us,” Johnny growls, gloved hands balling into tight fists at his sides to keep himself from simply snatching your wrist before Simon’s hand comes up to rest on his shoulder like a physical leash. “Easy there, Soap.”

Neither of them is angry with you, you can tell that much, but judging by their blown pupils and dominant stances, something strange is happening.

“I’m not coming with you. I’m–” Your heart thumps violently and your breath hitches momentarily, making it harder for you to get the words out as both men stare at you intensely, expecting you to make a choice that’d be in their favour.

But you’ve made your decision.

“I’m staying here... with Alejandro and Rudy. I have–I have already informed Price last night and asked for special leave,” you explain, fidgeting with your hands while your pulse thrums in your neck.

A strange sensation goes through your body as you speak those words; a buzzing energy rushing through your veins as you cut those emotional packbonds, now brittle by the years of neglect, to focus on the future waiting for you just a few yards away—a tiny seedling soaking up sunshine for the first time, finally stepping away from the trees who’ve drowned her in shadows, causing harm without even meaning to.

Johnny shakes his head slowly, disbelief settling on his face as the crease between his brows disappears, eyes softening. For a moment, it almost looks like something inside him shatters, as if he can feel it, too.

“No... please,” he breathes, reaching out to grasp your hand while his shoulders slouch. “Ye cannae jus’... do this, bon. Ye belong with us,” he squeezes your hand weakly, “–our wee omega.”

A soft whimper escapes your throat, one that has Alejandro and Rudy perk up with worry despite the distance, and one that makes Johnny’s eyes water—because he knows what it means. Your decision is final and it’s their own bloody fault.

They should’ve seen it coming, should’ve noticed the signs even amidst battle, and yet they didn’t; thinking they still had time.

“I’ll miss ye,” Johnny rasps before pulling you against his chest only to bury his face into your neck to inhale your sweet scent greedily, hoping it will brand itself into his nostrils—one last time. Warm blueberry tarte, honey-soaked linen, and freshly cut grass, a concoction now dulled by sadness, though still perfect, still—theirs. It makes his teeth itch to bite, to mark, and his chest feels heavy, unable to let you go just like that.

“Are ye sure, luv?” he mutters against your skin and his nose presses into your virgin scent gland in a way that makes you shiver. You nod meekly, eyes squeezed shut as you rub your face against his shirt, leaving your scent on him instinctively. Just for the flight home to make him feel better, you think. Always the good omega looking out for her pack.

“I’m sure,” you reply so quietly, you can barely hear it yourself. “It’s been inevitable from the moment I saw them... smelled them.”

You can’t see it, but your admission shatters them; cracks their ribcages open underneath their gear and stabs their hearts repeatedly until there’s nothing left but bloodied, torn muscle and shredded heartstrings—hurting even a cold one.

After another moment, Johnny releases you reluctantly; strong arms flexing with tension as they lower at his sides. He rests his forehead against yours, chuffs low in his throat—a quiet, sorrowful goodbye that rings in your ears until your tears drip down your cheeks.

He pulls back with a grimace when Simon squeezes his shoulder, like separating himself causes him physical pain, and he leaves your tears to be wiped away by your new alphas, though in every other situation, Johnny would’ve licked them off your skin with flagrant reverence.

“C’mon, Soap, ’s time to go,” Simon announces, giving his Sergeant a firm pat on the shoulder while his eyes never leave you. You peer up at him, head ducked with a hint of shame, tendons flexing in your neck at the tension.

Eventually, Johnny turns away with a pained snarl, speeding up the process like ripping off a band aid and pulling off scab, muttering profanities under his breath as he storms off towards the plane that will take them back to the UK—while Simon stays back, still staring down at you with those onyx eyes of his, though now they hold a kind of softness to them that leaves your whole system reeling.

“Lieutenant–” you rasp, and he huffs through his mask, making your jaw snap closed again.

His gloved hands come up to rest on your shoulders, the skeleton prints spanning wide, thumbs brushing your sensitive scent glands with a tenderness you’ve rarely experienced from him as he leans in to rest his forehead against yours, hardshell mask pinching into your skin.

“...’s olways been you, pet.”

Your breath stutters, eyes fluttering as you try to process his words while your fingers tremble to reach out and claw into his tac vest to keep him close—keep his scent near, the one no omega before you has found as enticing as you.

Too much, too rigid, like ice shards and gasoline fumes jabbing into your lungs with each deep inhale, rather warning off any potential mate than drawing them in.

It made you feel safe and that’s all that ever mattered to him.

Simon lets you go with practiced ease, shoves down his feelings even though his alpha is snarling, thrashing and howling behind his mask of indifference, but he cannot contain the sound that tears out of his throat, thank god muffled by the cloth covering his mouth—husky and unpractised like blunt nails scraping over gravel, a puppy learning to communicate—something akin to a whine, a sound you’ve never heard him nor any of them make.

Your eyes widen, synapsis and instincts firing in your brain, hissing at you to soothe and purr for him, for the alpha you’ve dared to hurt—but then the dirt on the tarmac scrunches under his boots as he turns, leaving his broad back for you to look after while a swooping feeling in your stomach makes you nauseous, and you swallow your pathetic whines, having lost the right to call for them.

There’s an invisible snap and you swear you can hear it, like a cruciate rupture knocking the breath out of you, loud as a gunshot and nasty, leaving you behind with a limp and quivering lips as you watch them walk away from you, though you can see the slight hobble in their own heavy steps.

That night, your new alphas make sure to help you—not to forget but distract you from the pain of severing your packbond instead.

Though, it’s hardly merely the bond that has broken your heart.

They bring you to their private quarters, invite you into their den, a ranch house on vast land, many klicks away from Las Almas, and give you time until the sun sets, and nightfall cools the temperature to something more bearable, to settle in and sort out some of the internal chaos wreaking havoc and lacing your scent with a bitter smack of sadness.

It is obvious that you’ve loved them all—all four of them with equal ferocity. You would’ve taken a bullet for each one, you’ve tended to their wounds, the ones you can see and the one you don’t, took care of their emotional needs, made sure your shared nest was always comforting and warm to them—and for what? To be replaced if another, perhaps more beautiful, sweeter, and docile omega comes along to take the place you should have been given freely and with an urgency bordering on alpha possessiveness?

You have loved them in the dark and it was good—until someone else showed you what the light can truly look like.

It’s easy and effortless.

Your instincts are no burden but a relief to them; the fact that you come from the same line of work only fuelling their desire to make you theirs. They’ve shown it with their eyes, in the way their chests puff out as they inhale your scents, two pairs of rough hands itching to grab and grope and keep.

And just as they do in the field, Alejandro and Rudy work as a team to shed you of your material layers first before peeling away metaphorical ones—until they have stripped you naked of both cloth and invisible barriers, leaving you raw and exposed to them as they devour you whole, slow and methodically.

Their scents are strong and unapologetically wild, and it doesn’t take long until it seeps into your pores to stay; engulfing you in a comforting blanket of burnt blue agave, leaving a taste of finely aged tequila in the back of your throat, dried cloves, chili and cardamom, reminding you of a homecooked meal waiting for you, and the promising musk of their heady desires, hidden beneath a touch of violent smoke rising from the end of a gun barrel—a barrel now pointed at you.

“Yes, you should weep for them, querida,” Alejandro murmurs against your temple as he cradles you against his bare chest; all warm skin and chiselled muscles. “Makes it easier to let go and focus on what’s in front of you.”

The white curtains sweep as a soft breeze sweeps through the spacious bedroom, coming through the open floor-to-ceiling windows; moonlight illuminating the room in semi-darkness as you lounge on the bed.

Between your legs, Rudy hums in agreement, trailing languid, open-mouthed kisses up your supple legs while you spread for him willingly, giving him more space to explore.

“Agreed,” he breathes against your dewy skin, feeling your skin pebble with goosebumps under his tongue as he licks a slow stripe over the sensitive scent gland on the inside of your left thigh, so, so close to your glistening sex.

He groans at your taste and starts rutting against the mattress, grinding his hips slowely, breathing out: “Díos.”

Your legs quiver and you squirm in Alejandro’s arms, a mere bunny embraced by two wolfs, though perhaps you’ve never felt safer—more wanted—in your life.

A whimper leaves your lips, perspiration building above your furrowed brows.

“Are you–” you swallow hard, unsure if it’s too soon to ask. “Will you–”

Alejandro kisses your temple, a deep chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Of course, we will,” he assures you, nose trailing along your hairline, “–just not tonight. It would be too much for you.”

Before disappointment can settle into your gut like a parasite, like another worry adding to your fragile soul, a petulant pout forming on your lips, Rudy is quick to distract you again by parting your outer folds with deft fingers to expose the little treat resting at the top of your pussy, leaving you hot-faced and gasping.

“Pinche... es hermosa, Ale,” Rudy mumbles under his breath, thumb stroking over your swollen clit with unfamiliar reverence. “Voy a probar un poco.”

Your breath hitches while Alejandro smiles against your skull, strong hands roaming over your torso and settling right below the curve of your tits—squeezing and groping your giving flesh lightly as he feels your thumping heartbeat beneath his palms.

“Mi conejita,” he growls before nipping at your earlobe. “I will fuck you once Rudy has prepared you for my cock, yes? Tell me how much you’d like that, cariño–”

The term of endearment, so cute and innocent, followed by pure filth, makes your pulse spike and your pussy throb with its own heartbeat—and then Rudy leans in with a shameless groan to slowly lick and suck at your clit, and the world tips upside down like your eyes rolling back into your skull.

The night progresses in a whirlwind of earth-shattering orgasms and whispered promises—and they manage to keep your mind off the past, giving you but a taste of your new reality.

Rudy eats your cunt as feverishly as Johnny, though less messy and more precise, like he has all the time in the world to learn and explore—and you realize that he does when his teeth graze over the scent gland of your inner thighs again, scraping the sensitive surface with his teeth and lapping up your essence while Alejandro warns him to slow down, let you breathe.

The second-in-command finishes on the mattress, his tan skin sweat-slicked and panting, his ruddy cock spurting a massive load into the white sheets—simply from licking at your sex.

You coo at him when you catch your breath, fingers tugging at his black, fluffy hair to pull him in for a kiss while Alejandro manhandles your legs, pushes them apart and drapes one thigh over his hip as he shifts his weight behind your back for a better angle.

“That’s it, querida, kiss your man,” Alejandro growls, squeezing the back of your neck while he strokes his own prick from base to tip, exhaling a shaky breath when he coats himself in your succulent slick.

Rudy’s tongue is tangling with yours and you can taste yourself on his saliva; messy and passionate, you suck on his tongue with a sensual purr, half-lidded eyes drinking in his wrecked, pretty face.

Alejandro grunts as he lines himself up with your dripping hole, drooling tip dragging through your swollen folds. “Escupir en su boca, hermano,” he orders, voice rumbling with a growl that has you keening, and Rudy is swift to cup your jaw, keeping your mouth open, all too eager to follow his Colone’s orders.

Your breath comes in sharp pants as you stick your tongue out, a breathy moan spilling out your chest as Alejandro thrusts his fat cockhead past your entrance, sinking in an inch or two only to pull out and repeat, your velvety walls swallowing him up with greed.

“Joder,” he groans huskily, resting his forehead against the back of your head.

“Eyes on me, cariño,” Rudy chuckles, giving your jaw a small squeeze. “Feels good, no?” His tawny eyes crinkle at the corners as you nod with your tongue still out, your eyes nearly crossing from pleasure. “Heh, so cute.”

And then Rudy tips your head back against Alejandro’s broad shoulder, making the other alpha watch with his thick cock now nestled and twitching deep inside of your cunt, as he spits a generous glob of saliva into your mouth.

“Now swallow,” he croons before dragging his spit-shiny lips down the column of your throat, feeling it bob against his nose as you swallow obediently.

Alejandro snarls against your shoulder blade, pupils blown with searing lust and possessiveness at the teasing display between you and Rudy, and his hands settle on your hips, keeping you in place on his lap as he begins to thrust his hips up, driving his throbbing cock into your welcoming heat with unbridled need and liquid fire simmering in his veins, spreading like a wildfire as his balls draw up tight.

So close to your virgin scent gland on your neck, he huffs your sticky skin and bares his teeth while you’re blissfully unaware, making out with Rudy until the latter notices the shift in the other alpha—and he swiftly reaches out to grab a fistful of Alejandro’s sleek raven hair, tugging it back to make their eyes meet.

“Not tonight, boss. Tu mismo lo dijiste,” he reminds the older alpha pointedly.

Alejandro growls, then nods. He feels your walls flutter and tighten around his rutting shaft with another impending climax. They share a look, and Rudy tightens his grip with a curt nod—a silent promise to keep the other alpha from sinking his teeth into your mating gland in his ecstasy.

Not tonight, querida.

On another continent, now separated not only by distance but a broken packbond, Gaz paces inside the Captain Price’s office, deadly like an agitated jaguar in its too tiny enclosure.

“This is fuckin’ bullshit, Cap,” he repeats, snarling for the umpteenth time. “Absolute fuckin’ madness!”

His scent—usually so calm and fresh like mint leaves soaking in spring sunshine and fresh lemonade—has turned the air and atmosphere inside the office sour.

He stops right in front of Price’s cluttered desk, glaring at his trusted superior with blatant fury in his eyes as he braces his hands on the polished mahogany, leaning forward.

“How could you agree to this? How could you allow her to stay over there?! To leave our pack?!”

Behind his desk, John keeps his arms crossed tensely, jaw ticking as he clenches and unclenches it, his tongue dry and thick in his mouth as his mistake dawns on him.

The seasoned Captain made a decision with your wellbeing as his priority—always his priority—and now it’s biting him in the arse, becoming more of a simple graze like he’d expected. No, he can feel you slipping, can feel the bond severing, and it’s making him anxious, sad.

Sad. Downright depressed.

John hasn’t felt anything like this before, but he is still faring better than his Sergeant—who had no clue what was happening until he’d staggered into his office a few moments ago, clutching his chest as if someone had stabbed him with a combat knife, whinging like a pup in distress.

Bloody hell, he can’t imagine how Soap must be behaving right now—still stuck in a plane somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean; having only Ghost to turn to and soothe him. Fuck. It’s a bloody disaster.

“Gaz,” John sighs roughly, tries reasoning, “– it's her decision. I couldn’t deny her.”

“Deny her?” Gaz barks out a humourless laugh. it only agitates the younger alpha more. His eyes widen, his face twists into a dangerous snarl. “Fuck that, Captain!”

John has never quite seen him lose his composure like this. He rises from his chair with a warning growl, towers over the Sergeant and forcing him into submission, pulling both rank and dominance to ease the tension.

“That’s enough, Garrick,” he says, finality lacing his sharp tone. “She asked for special leave, nothing more–”

“We are losing her. Our omega. Our girl,” Gaz interrupts, though his voice has lost some of its burn. His jaw clenches as he grits his teeth, keeping his accusations inside as he regards his Captain with a hint of disappointment and desperation.

He swallows hard, feeling the bond continuing to dissipate; it feels like sand running through his hands and there is nothing he can do to stop it from leaving him. He knows that Price can feel it, too.

“I don’t know about you, but I cannot lose her, sir,” Gaz admits, brows furrowing with a distraught whine. “We were planning to make her ours, didn’t we? Or did that fucking plan change, too?”

There is a tense pause. John’s jaw ticks again and he rubs a hand over his coarse beard, sucking his teeth before he shakes his head slowly.

“No, son, it hasn’t.”

1K notes · View notes

em1i2a3 · 17 days ago

Text

Cradle

Pairing: Beefy!Bucky Barnes x Mom(Post-Partum)!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Starts off on a bit of a scary note, Fluff, lot’s of it, reader went through a C-Section, and there is a reference to that, there is accidental swearing, and once again Bucky is just a super soft sweet boi being his sweet boi self…But all in all, very fluffy, very cute, just pure vibes.

Authors Note: This is connected to ‘Forwards Beckon Rebound,’ it’s a little bit of a continuation of sorts but it’s more of a blurb, there’s not a lot connected, this could be read as a standalone too though, I think. Also, Adrianne Lenker has really been a mood for me lately, and thank god she has so many beautiful songs because this one was so frickin fitting.

Word Count: 3,443

Taglist: @sleepysongbirdsings (y’all I’m so mentally old I’m slowly getting used to what to do for these posts lol, so if anyone wants to be part of my Taglist I mean…Give me a shout :))

The last thing you remembered before going under was Bucky’s voice. His large hands framing your face, his thumbs running along the bags under your eyes.

”I promise I’ll be here when you wake up…” His voice was cracking, fear breaking through his words. He was terrified, you could see it in the way his dark blue irises scanned over your face, taking every detail in as if this could be the last time he saw you. Everything happened so quickly that neither of you had time to process anything. One moment you were in the hospital bed getting checked, the next they were preparing you for an emergency C-Section. You were panicking, scared for the baby, scared for yourself even.

You reached up and squeezed his fingers tight–a desperate goodbye you didn’t want to be saying–nodding through the tears that streamed down your face, then the cool oxygen mask slid over your mouth and nose, and you were taken under a sea of black.

————-

Coming back to consciousness felt like being dragged through wet cement. Your limbs were heavy and numb, as if they were being pinned down by invisible weights. Your throat was burning and your mouth was dry, you assumed it was probably from the tube they had put down your throat during the surgery to make sure your breathing was controlled, you heard them mention it in the chaos of them preparing you for the C-Section…At least you thought you did.

Thankfully there was no immediate pain, just a deep, tight ache that buzzed in your lower abdomen reminding you of what just occurred two and a half hours ago.

You felt like you were floating, half-aware, but half-asleep, until the sound of voices pulled you closer to the surface.

“You’re doing perfect hun,” A soft, coaxing voice said, you assumed it was a nurse. Her tone was patient, and warm, almost motherly even.

”I’m…I just haven’t done this before…I don’t think I’m doing this right.” Another voice cracked out, low and thick with nerves. It was Bucky. Your Bucky…Your rock...You could feel your chest twist at the sound of him so worried, but there was such relief when you heard that voice.

“You’ve been doing great. She’s calm, she’s breathing steady. Been asleep for the past hour after that big feed. You’re keeping her warm and giving her something steady to nap on, I’d say you’re a pro.” You could feel your body immediately tense at the word she. A baby girl. You had fought to keep the gender a secret from yourself, and now knowing gave you some sort of second wind in a way, a push to try and keep yourself over the edge so you could stay at least semi-conscious.

There was a soft rustle of fabric, a faint creak of a chair, and the sound of shifting. You forced your eyes open, just the tiniest bit, fighting against the weight that was trying to pull them closed again.

The first thing you saw was him.

Bucky was sitting stiffly in the reclining hospital chair, his broad shoulders hunched slightly forward, like he was attempting to curl himself around the tiny bundle in his arms, trying to make himself seem small in a way, which was nearly impossible given the sheer size of him. His hair was pulled back in a bun, and he was shirtless, with a soft pink blanket covering a portion of his chest and midsection, containing as much warmth as possible. His vibranium hand hovered awkwardly over the fabric, resting there for support, but not fully touching, letting his other arm do all the heavy lifting. You could see the way it was wrapped around her, his enormous hand cupping nearly her whole back with the most delicate kind of softness.

Your vision was still swimming, but you could make out the faint shape of a tiny hand–impossibly small–splayed out over the center of Bucky’s broad chest. Her little fingers twitched now and then, though there were no shifts or squeals, not yet at least.

The entire sight was almost too much to take in.

You could see how tense Bucky was even from across the room, his jaw tight, his brows drawn together. It was easy to tell he was nervous and worried that he might accidentally do something wrong, and every muscle in his body showed that through the way they locked and tensed into place so that he could hold himself perfectly still.

”I-I definitely don’t feel like a pro,” Bucky muttered, “I’m scared I’m gonna hold her too tight…She’s so small.” The nurse chuckled softly, adjusting the blanket a bit higher over the baby’s back with a practiced hand, moving carefully, and reading the tension that was running all over his face. She was treating him with the same tenderness she might offer a brand-new parent, even though she knew the situation.

“She’s not little. Nine pounds, two ounces is a chunky little peanut.” The nurse teased gently, patting Bucky’s vibranium arm reassuringly, “You’re just a big ol’ mountain of a man, and you make everything look tiny.” Bucky gave a small, uncertain laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes, even though it did ease him a bit. He continued to cradle the bundle against him, dragging his thumb along her warm skin, a small smile coming up on his lips as he looked down at a carbon copy of you, just in tinier form.

His head dipped slightly, his nose brushing against the crown of the baby’s fuzzy head, breathing in without even realizing he was doing it. His eyes fluttered closed, and for a second he looked younger and softer than you’d ever seen him before.

“Is it weird if I say she smells like spun sugar…Like Coney Island cotton candy…That real sweet, sticky kind of smell.” Bucky asked quietly, his voice rough with nerves and awe as he cradled the bundle tighter to him. The nurse let out a soft, affectionate laugh.

”Not weird at all,” She soothed, “Every baby’s got their own smell, it’s kind of like a new car smell…But for tiny humans, and you’re certainly not the first tough guy to melt over it, either.” You could see Bucky’s cheeks turn a faint red through the blurriness in your vision. You swallowed against the dry scrape in your throat, heart aching as you opened your mouth to form a word.

”Bucky…” It was barely a sound, just a breath in the air, but he had heard it. His head immediately snapped up, his wide blue eyes locking onto you from across the room, a wave of relief washing over him. His mouth parted, but no sound came out, and he looked wrecked. It was like he had heard the most important voice of his life. The nurse nudged him slightly.

“C’mon, big guy, let’s bring her to mama hm?” Bucky blinked up at her like he’d forgotten he could move, like the only thing that was keeping him focused was you and the tiny heartbeat that was pressed against his chest. Slowly, he shifted to his feet, the nurse helping guide him as he adjusted his hold on the baby with exaggerated care. You could see the way he kept his vibranium arm hovering uselessly by his side as he stepped towards you, and you could feel tears filling your eyes at the gentleness of it all.

You tried to lift your arms, desperate to reach for the both of them, but they barely twitched against the sheets. A helpless whimper tore itself from your throat.

”My arms are still numb.” You croaked, feeling the tingling heaviness that plagued your nerves. Immediately the nurse was beside you, smoothing a hand over your shoulder.

”That’s alright sweetheart, we can still get her tucked up against you, Bucky over here can climb in beside you and secure her on your chest for extra safety.” Bucky stood frozen for a second, looking down at the tiny bundle, then at you.

“I would like that.” You replied quickly. The nurse smiled at your response and held her hands out to Bucky motioning for him to hand over the bundle so he could slip onto the mattress, and fill the space beside you. The hand off was gentle, and you could see the look on his face when the soft warmth of the baby’s skin left him, like he was holding onto the fleeting moment. He kicked his shoes off and brought down the railing beside you, carefully sliding underneath the covers, the mattress shifting beneath the new weight he introduced to it. You knew it would be a tight fit, but you wanted him there with you, and no matter the close proximity, you just craved his steady presence, and he gave you that with no questions.

He slid his vibranium arm around your shoulders, curling it carefully around you, bringing you closer to him with such a protective instinct that you could feel your heart beating out of your chest, leaning into him, absorbing the warmth that radiated off his skin.

”Alright, now you’re gonna help me a little bit and just untie the top of her gown so we can get the little one tucked in.” Bucky nodded once, like he was taking orders on a mission. He reached up to the shoulders of your gown, and you could see the hesitation in his eyes, before gently pulling on the ties, loosening them slowly just enough to reveal the top of your chest. The cool air ghosted across your skin for just a fraction of a second, then the nurse carefully placed the tiny, perfect weight of your daughter onto your body.

The moment her skin touched yours, it was as if the whole world cracked open. The heat of her, the fragile rise and fall of her chest against yours, the indescribable softness of her cheek pressing into the curve of your breastbone, the way she nuzzled her little nose into you with her fists curling up tight against your body–it was overwhelming, but worth every second. You could feel the coolness of Bucky’s vibranium hand run over your bicep, soothing you the only way he could in those moments as he looked down at you, watching tears flowing down your cheeks. You were so relieved everything was okay, and now that your eyes were on her, the instinct of wanting to be closer pulled at every fiber of your being. Bucky brought his arm over her back so he could hold her closer against your chest, keeping her nuzzled on your skin so you could take in every moment, even though you couldn’t cradle her on your own yet.

“That’s perfect sweetheart,” The nurse said quietly, tucking the soft pink blanket loosely around all three of you, securing the warmth once more without actively separating everyone, “I’m going to step out and give you all some privacy, if you need anything the call button’s right on the bed rail.” The both of you nodded, but you weren’t even sure you heard her properly because you were so enamoured by the little bundle that was frowning against you.

The door clicked softly behind the nurse as she stepped out of the room, leaving the three of you wrapped in a bubble of silence. Neither of you moved at first. There was too much floating in the air around you–gratitude, wonder, a love so thick it was hard to breathe through. The only sound that could truly be heard was the tiny, steady coos of the newborn sleeping against your chest.

Slowly, Bucky shifted closer to you, and without a word he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. It was feather-light, the kind of kiss that would’ve broken you in any other situation apart from this. When he pulled back, his lips ghosted another peck against your hairline.

”You are…Incredible.” He whispered, his voice trembling with the weight of everything he was holding in, “The strongest person I’ve ever met.” He added, another kiss landing right on your temple.

“I’m so proud of you Y/N…” You closed your eyes at his words, a fresh wave of tears burning behind the lids, as you leaned down to press your cheek against the tiny crown of soft fuzz that was your daughter’s head, breathing in to calm your heart from seizing up from the overwhelming sensation of love that coated it. You let the scent of her settle in your lungs, and it hit you that it was exactly how Bucky described it. Sweet and warm, soft and sticky like spun sugar on a summer day. You let out a little, tearful laugh against her head.

”You really are right…She does smell like cotton candy,” Bucky let out a low, broken chuckle, tightening his arm around you, his hand stilling against your bicep, shifting so he could get even closer to you.

“I thought I was hallucinating, so I’m glad you confirmed that. I assumed the nurse was just trying to ease my worries when she said it was normal.” You let out a quiet giggle, looking up at him.

”I think it was for the best. You looked so nervous…Like a gentle giant.” He blushed at the way you said it, realizing that you had been watching and listening to his interaction with the nurse for longer than he thought.

“Yeah well…I was scared,” Bucky replied sheepishly, his eyes flickering from you, down to the tiny sleeping bundle against your chest, “She’s a carbon copy of you…I didn’t want to accidentally do something wrong.” You smiled through the burning in your throat, bringing yourself even closer to him, nuzzling into the steady shelter of his body.

”You did amazing, Bucky…” You whispered. He let out a shaky exhale, as if he’d been holding his breath for hours, his forehead tipping down to bump yours. You know how much he needed to hear that, and how much it soothed the nerves that were ripping him apart from the inside. The baby cooed gently, shifting a bit against you, her tiny fist moving along your chest, like she was trying to get closer.

The both of you watched her, your chests moving in sync, taking in deep breaths, and after a while, he broke the silence.

”So…” He said softly, his thumb stroking absently along your forearm, “Have you thought about what you’re going to name her?” You could feel a smile tugging up on your lips at the question.

”I have,” You responded gently, shifting slightly so you could see his face better. He pulled back a little as well, giving you his full, undivided attention, his eyes focused on yours, scanning over your face in anticipation.

”I’ve actually known for months,” You admitted, watching as Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed. You usually told him everything, but this was a secret you kept safe until today, not wanting to be too reliant on getting a specific gender, because truly it didn’t matter, all you wanted was a healthy baby. He tried to hold himself back from looking too desperate for your answer, but you saw through it.

“I want her to have the name of the person who raised my second favourite human being in the world,” You said quietly, your voice trembling with such tenderness it almost felt like you were shaking against him. You could see the cogs turning in his head, his brows pulling together even tighter like he was trying to figure out what you meant by that. You loved seeing the confusion in his eyes in that moment, and it made you smile through the tears that began to build up in your eyes.

”Winnifred,” You whispered, “I’m naming her Winnifred.” You could feel the air get sucked out of the room, watching Bucky’s jaw go slack, blinking hard, once, then twice, like he didn’t trust himself to believe what he just heard. His throat bobbed in a rough swallow, as he took in a small breath.

”My ma…” He rasped, his voice breaking into pieces, his eyes glistening over with unshed tears as he stared at you like he was witnessing a miracle “You…You’re naming her after my ma?” You nodded, smiling through your own tears. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, like he was trying to ground himself, his forehead lowering until it rested lightly against yours, his breath shuddering out over your cheeks.

“You deserve everything good in this world, Bucky…And she would be so proud of you…I want to honour that.” You could feel him shake slightly, as he sniffled, pulling back to look at you again. The sheer sight of him wrecked you, his blue eyes swimming with tears that clung thickly to his lashes. You wished in those moments you could reach up to hold his face between your hands, but they were still tingling.

”You’re…You’re my sun, Y/N…” He whispered, his vibranium hand slipping from your bicep to cradle the side of your face with aching tenderness, “You’re the center of everything for me…I choose to be in your orbit every second of every day…And I don’t want to do anything else.” You could feel yourself choke up a little bit, as Bucky carefully leaned forward, kissing your cheeks gently, soft and slow, like he was memorizing you.

“Because I love you…So fucking much.” His breath ran over your skin as he said the words so lightly you could barely hear them over your pulse pounding in your ears. His confession hung between the both of you, filling the space and sinking into your body like sunlight after a long, brutal winter. You closed your eyes at his thumb dragging along your cheek, your breath trembling as you pushed yourself to speak.

”I love you too, Bucky…I always have.” There was a moment of silence, and you opened your eyes to look at him, seeing a small smile on his lips. It was such a relief to finally say it aloud, and it was the perfect moment to do it. He breathed you in for a fraction of a second, then without words he shifted. His hand slid from your cheek to the side of your neck, his fingers splaying out to anchor himself there. You tilted your chin, nudging your nose against his, then finally…His lips touched yours.

It was barely a kiss at first, it actually mirrored the way you had brushed the corner of his mouth with yours the night he had felt the baby kick for the first time, but only this was more like he was offering himself to you. Surrendering.

You let out a small exhale through your nose, and Bucky answered with a breath of his own, pressing a little closer, kissing you now with just the slightest bit of pressure. The softness of his lips captured yours in such an aching, and burning way…Because it was him kissing you with a kind of worship so raw and stripped down that it made your chest swell.

You kissed him back with everything you had, and with as much care as he gave you, trembling against each other with the weight of it all–the baby sleeping on your skin, the love that tied you together, the history, the hope, and the future.

When you finally broke apart, it was by small fractions, neither of you really willing to let go–your noses brushing, your breath still tangling together in the space between you.

“I’m all yours…” He whispered, letting the words fold into the fragile air, like a promise. Like a prayer. You closed your eyes for a second, breathing every inch of him in–his warmth, his steadiness, and his devotion.

“Forever and always, Bucky…Till the end of time.”

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goldfades · 6 months ago

Note

I feel like we need to have a TikTok trend blurbs I just love the ones you did already.

Like when the reader and Luke is going to bed and he says “goodnight I love you and she says thank you”that one can be good

i love these sm HAHAHHAHAA

the apartment is quiet, the kind of stillness that settles over everything once the day is officially over. you’re in bed, tucked under the covers with the bedside lamp casting a warm glow across the room. luke’s in the bathroom brushing his teeth—you can hear the faint sound of the faucet running and the occasional shuffle of his feet against the tiles.

you’re scrolling through your phone, aimlessly thumbing through videos, when you hear him pad into the room. he’s shirtless, wearing the same old pair of gray sweatpants you always threaten to steal, and his hair’s still slightly damp from his shower. it’s a sight you’ve seen a hundred times, but it still makes your chest do that stupid little flip.

“you on tiktok again?” he teases, climbing into bed and nudging your shoulder with his.

“maybe,” you reply, locking your phone and setting it on the nightstand. “what’s it to you?”

he smirks, leaning back against the pillows and pulling you closer so your head rests against his chest. “just wondering what you’re plotting this time. you’ve been suspiciously quiet lately.”

you roll your eyes, poking his side until he squirms. “not everything’s a scheme, hughes.”

“uh-huh,” he says, voice laced with skepticism but too sleepy to argue further. instead, he wraps an arm around you, his palm warm against your shoulder.

there’s a long stretch of silence, the kind that’s comfortable and familiar. his breathing starts to even out, his hand absently tracing patterns on your arm, and you think he’s on the brink of sleep when he speaks up. your phone is already recording, showing half of your face and the curls behind you.

“goodnight,” he murmurs softly, voice low and drowsy. “i love you.”

you pause for just a second—just enough to be noticeable—before answering in the most nonchalant tone you can muster:

“thank you.”

the room goes still.

his hand stops moving, and you feel his chest rise as he takes a slow, deliberate breath.

“...what?” he asks, his voice sharper now, tinged with confusion.

you shift slightly, pretending to adjust the blankets. “i said thank you.”

he pulls back, just enough to tilt his head and look down at you. “that’s not what you’re supposed to say.”

you blink up at him, feigning innocence. “what do you mean? it’s polite to say thank you when someone says something nice.”

his brows furrow, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head. “but—but that’s not how this works,” he argues, his tone half exasperated, half bewildered. “i say ‘i love you,’ and you’re supposed to say it back!”

“huh,” you say, tapping your chin like you’re deep in thought. “weird. i don’t think that’s a rule.”

“it is a rule,” he insists, sitting up now, the sleepiness completely gone from his face. “it’s literally, like, the rule.”

you bite back a grin, watching as he spirals into full-on disbelief. “are you saying you don’t love me?” he asks, his voice cracking slightly at the end.

“no, i didn’t say that,” you reply, stretching the words out.

“then why didn’t you say it back?!”

you shrug, trying to keep a straight face. “felt like switching things up.”

“switching things up?” he repeats, his voice going higher, and you have to physically turn your head to avoid laughing in his face.

“yeah, keeps the relationship interesting,” you explain, patting his hand like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“oh, my god,” he groans, flopping back against the pillows dramatically. “you’re actually evil. you’re trying to kill me. this is emotional warfare.”

you finally let out the laugh you’ve been holding in, and he turns his head to glare at you, though the corners of his mouth twitch like he’s fighting a smile.

“i hate you,” he mutters, but there’s no real bite to it.

you lean over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “love you too, babe.”

he groans again, but this time he pulls you back into his arms, his chin resting on the top of your head. “you’re lucky you’re cute,” he mumbles.

you grin, snuggling closer. “thanks, love you too.”

“stop saying thank you!”

#luke hughes x reader #nj devils #new jersey devils #hughes brothers #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes x oc #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes fanfic #nhl imagine #nhl #nhl fic #hockey #nhl fanfiction #nhl oneshot #hockey fic #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes x you

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gloomskulls · 4 months ago

Text

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ WHAT LIES UNDERNEATH [cult member peter parker x reader]

pairings: dark! peter parker x reader

blurb/part 2

⇢ ˗ˏˋ SUMMARY ୨୧ after losing your family, your friends, and your boyfriend, Peter Parker casually crashes in your life out of nowhere. His presence was welcoming, as his so-called village is too. But his hospitality seems to have something darker underneath

⇢ ˗ˏˋ WARNING ୨୧ NON-CON/DUB-CON (RAPE), heavy manipulation, toxic relationship, cult beliefs, oral (fem receiving), drugging (use of an aphrodisiac), p in v, multiple orgasms, breeding kink, obsessive behavior, mild violence, mentions of death, depression, suicidal thoughts, implied murder. lemme know if I missed any. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

If you don't wanna see my dark stories, please block the tag #madi: dark content

a/n: this is loosely based on Midsommar, it's a really good movie. I have changed some stuff that i didn't feel comfortable writing or I just didn't want to write. Also this maybe the worst smut you've ever read probably. don't steal any of my shit or I'll steal ur head.

"I'm sorry sissy, the darkness is consuming me, and I will take them with me"

Those were the last texts your sister sent you. You were worried sick about her cryptic message and wanted disclosure from her, but she hasn't written back.

Your sister has been known to be a rather mentally challenged person. She was just venting to you. Right?

It was unnaturally still in the air, sitting at your kitchen table with the phone pressed close to your ear. Your fingers drummed an erratic rhythm against the edge of the table, still collapsed trying to ground yourself. All night, your sister has not picked up her phone. The strange text messages she had sent earlier in the day replayed like a broken record in your mind.

How many times have you been thinking of something really wrong, more than you would admit, but still dismissing it?

Somehow tonight felt different.

You texted Harry to reassure you, but the typical unsympathetic reply only served to add more weight to that chest heaviness again. Now you are left alone with your thoughts, and each one seems darker than the other.

You were about to not pick the phone because it looked like a spam call to you. The number was unknown, but that gut feeling inside you made you press accept.

"Hello?" Your voice dared as you strove to steady it.

The unknown caller said your name as they spoke, "Is this her?" The voice on the other end was calm but carried a cold detachment that made your stomach drop.

"Yes," you replied.

"This is Officer Hill with the NYPD. I'm sorry to tell you we've had an incident regarding your family," she said.

Air disappeared from your lungs suddenly, and your grip tightened against the phone. "What kind of incident?"

"I understand this is tough," she said, her voice carefully measured. "But I need you to come to the station. It's better to speak in person."

The issue of reality has been stretched and heavy between you, and it was so unbearable. “No,” you spoke finally in a panic voiding interiorly. “Please, just tell me now. What happened?”

There was a moment's hesitation in Hill's case. In that moment, you could feel the world starting to crack around you.

"There is no easy way to say this," she finally managed to come up with. "Your parents and sister were involved in a fatal accident. I am so sorry."

You could not comprehend those words for a moment. They swayed in the air outside with an unreal and incomprehensible quality. "What do you mean? Are they okay? What—"

"They didn't survive," Hill said softly, and that cut through your spiraling questions.

The phone fell from your hand and banged tipsily on the table. To this resonating rattle in the small space, however, your ear was tuned out. Your chest tightened, and the phrase ran in your brain, echoing in shallow gasps.

They didn't survive.

The days that followed the funeral just passed in a haze of hollow condolences and noise deafening silence. Your world had been torn apart while everything moved forward—all relentless and lame. Harry, your boyfriend of 2 years stayed as he assured you, but his presence seemed more of a fulfillment of an obligation than any comfort.

He was not exactly a cruel person; at least not really overt, for distance was a high-dubious chasm with every awkward conversation and with every minute spent by him scrolling through his phone instead of talking to you. Not blind are you to those glances he exchanged with his buddies once they assumed you weren't watching. There is pity instead of love and comfort in his eyes whenever you cry.

The last straw fell on a quiet Friday evening. You had dragged yourself to the apartment of Harry, looking for refuge in his presence after yet another sleepless night. He was lounging in the couch with one hand gripping a phone while the other was a beer.

"I feel like I'm falling apart," you admitted softly and settled next to him. Your voice cracked, and at last, the tears that were kept in were poured out. "I don't know how to do this without them. I don't know how to… keep going."

Harry glanced towards your direction, the look on his face inscrutable. After that, he set his phone down and fell into this heavy sigh as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I understand, okay? But you can't keep unloading things like this on me. It's…it's too much."

Your heart sank. "Too much?"

"I'm not your therapist," he said in defensive. "I don't know what you want me to do. I can't fix this for you."

"I'm not asking you to fix it!" You snapped while accepting the anger that had replaced the hurt. "I just need you to be here. To actually care."

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he diverted his gaze from her, tightening his jaw. "This isn't fair," he muttered.

"What do you mean fair!?" you yelled, your volume rising. "Me grieving my whole family? It isn't as terrible as needing the person who's supposed to love me to act and comfort me?"

Harry stood up immediately and started pacing the tiny living room. "I didn't sign up for this," he said. The words cut like knives. "I feel like… like I'm drowning too. I'm trying to keep my head above water, but here you are, pulling me under."

Your breath literally caught in your throat at that last sentence, as if a blow on the physical plane had hit home. "Is that really how you see me? As one who drags you down?" You asked in disbelief.

However, he stopped pacing and turned toward you, shoulders sagging. "I don't know," he said more quietly. "I don't know what I feel anymore. My friends tell me I should end it. They say I can't do this to myself. But I thought, you know, that might help."

"Help?" you echoed, voice breaking. "You think pity keeping me would help? Do you know how humiliating that is?"

Harry looked away. "Well, I'm sorry! alright!? It's not like I want to be part of your fuckin tenth reason in your suicide note!". Guilt was scrawled across his face when those words left his mouth. "I didn't mean for it to be like this."

You stood waveringly. Nevertheless, your voice remained firm. "If this is too much for you, then spit it out. Be frank for once, Harry."

He hesitated, his silence answering the question you hadn't dared to ask outright.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Well, that's what I figured."

You took your bag and stepped out of the apartment, closing the door behind you just before the torrent of tears fell as you stumbled down the street. For the first time in weeks, you were truly alone. Sure, Harry wasn't the best boyfriend, but now you didn't have family, Harry, heck, you don't even have friends to pat you in the back and tell you it's alright.

You were truly alone, crying in the middle of the streets.

A week later, at the dinner party of an old classmate's friend, Peter Parker walks into your life.

Peter wasn't meant to be there—he admitted that soon after you started the talk. "I kind of crashed this," he confessed with a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck. "I heard there was free food, and, uh… I have no self-control."

You laughed against your will. It was a real laugh that felt vaguely familiar after weeks of grief.

He was awkward but charming, with rapid tumbling out of words out of his mouth as he tried to start a small talk. "So, uh, how do you know Sam? Are you a friend from work? Oh wait, no, you don't look old enough to work with him—wait, not that you look like a kid or anything. I just meant—"

"It's okay," you interrupted, smile still there regardless. "I get it. I am also kinda crashing here, I never really got a proper invite, I just found out from one of my old classmates that there was a party, now here I am"

The more you could talk to him, the more you would discover how easy it was to be in his company. Unlike Harry, who had always been polished and withdrawn, Peter was frank and genuine, emotions laid out for all to see.

And by the end of the night, he had known your family. You had not intended to tell him, but somehow the way he listened— actually listened— made it spill out.

"I'm so sorry," Peter said softly, voice laced thickly with empathy. "That is… I can't even imagine what you're going through. But, if you ever need someone to talk to—or like, someone to distract you with dumb jokes—I'm here."

You've been taken aback by his earnestness. Finally, after what felt like years, someone might have noticed you.

It was indeed one of those nights which made time stretch out into eternity. You were there with Peter on a park bench where the faint light of the flickering city lights was shining through dense bushes and trees. The air was crisp, a cool kind that could very much seep into one's bones, yet Peter's company made it bearable.

He had this way of filling the silence without forcing it: sometimes talking, rambling on about whatever random thought invaded his head, sometimes just sitting with a person comfortable in the quiet, and today, he was acting especially thoughtful, staring at some faraway towers protruding above the skyline.

"Can I ask you something?" he suddenly blurted out, breaking the stillness.

"Sure."

He hesitated, bit his bottom lip as if he couldn't decide how to start, and began speaking. "Do you ever feel like…I don't know, like you're stuck?"

You blinked. It caught you off guard. "What do you mean?"

"Like everybody around you is moving ahead, but you're just there standing still," he explained, his words pretty crumbling out in that earnest, awkward way of his. "Like no matter what you do, you can't catch up."

The question was a little more awkward for you than you'd expected. "Yeah," you quietly admitted. "too many times than how I want it to be"

"It's tiring" he said, his eyes still far. "I get that. After my uncle… well died, after all that, I felt like I was trapped in this… I don't know, this loop. So, I couldn't allow myself to be happy because it would feel wrong, you know? Like I didn't deserve it."

You were gaping at him, flabbergasted by his openness. Peter was not the kind to talk much about himself—not like this, anyway.

"How did you get out of it?" you asked in a soft voice.

He smiled faintly. "I didn't. Not really. But I found something that helped."

"What was it?"

Peter gazed upward at the stars. "My hometown. It's a little dot in the middle of nowhere on the map. Quiet, kind of old-fashioned place. But there's something… something grounding."

He stopped for a brief while, casting a doubtful glance at you. "I go back every summer. It's like hitting a reset button or something. And, uh… would you want to join me this year?"

Totally unexpected. "You want me to go with you?"

"Yeah," Peter said quickly, blushing in the face of it. "If you want to. No pressure, or anything. Just you have been through a lot, and I thought maybe time away might help or something. It's not fancy or anything—definitely not the kind of place with five-star hotels—but it's peaceful. And I'd be there, so… you wouldn't be alone."

At his words, your throat became somewhat tight. He was not offering a vacation. He was inviting you to an escape.

"I don't know," You finally ventured with a little quiver of voice. "What if I just feel worse?"

"You won't," Peter said firmly, his brown eyes locking onto yours. "I won't let you."

There was something so genuine about the way he said it, like he truly believed he could protect you from the weight of your grief.

"What is it like?" you asked, helpless curiosity walking over your hesitation.

Peter's eyes set aglow at that moment, brimming over with a lot of excitement. "Oh gosh! Now where do I even begin? Okay, so there's this diner right in the middle of town. It's run by Mr. and Mrs. Beck. They've been married for like fifty years or something, and they make the fluffiest pancakes you've ever tasted in your life. And then there's this old library. Small, yes, but it has this weird charm, you know? Everything is crooked, and half the books are falling apart, but I love it. Oh, and there's this great big field just outside of town—it's perfect to stargaze because you can see the Milky Way out there. It's insane."

Now he was practically bouncing out of his seat, his enthusiasm almost contagious.

"It sounds… amazing," you found yourself admitting. A small smile tugged your lips.

"It's amazing," Peter said earnestly. "And I think you would love it. Everyone is so welcoming there. It's like… a little bubble of goodness in this horrible world sometimes."

For just a moment, you let yourself imagine it, far from the city and the reminders of everything that had been lost, somewhere I might again breathe.

"Okay," you said finally, barely above a whisper.

Peter's eyes lit up. "Really? You're going to come?"

"Yeah," you said, surprising even yourself. "I think I need this."

"Trust me; you won't regret it," Peter continued, his grin stretching from ear to ear.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a flicker of hope. Maybe this trip wouldn't fix everything. Maybe it wouldn't fix anything. But for now, it was enough to know you wouldn't be facing it alone.

It was a surreal feeling about the trip toward Peter's hometown. It was almost a relief because you sensed that you were really leaving everything behind, even thought it was just a few weeks. Driving in a comfortable pattern with Peter talking animatedly about all of the town's strange things, while you listened and occasionally chimed in with a question or a laugh at one of his goofy replies.

As you drove farther from the city and the scenery opened to rolling hills and dense forests before you, Peter shifted in his seat to adjust the radio. The soft tune filled the car and merged with the sounds of the tires over the road.

"You are going to love it," Peter said, glancing at you with an innocent smile. "Air's so fresh it nearly smells fake, and the stars. They're nothing like anything you've ever seen before. I promise."

"I'll hold you to that," you said, smiling despite the nervous knot still twisting about in your chest.

The town came into view just about the time the sun started sinking, dipping the horizon in gold and pinks. It was a little bit smaller than you had in mind, the kind of place that probably knew everyone by name.

Peter slowed the car as you entered the main street, which was lined with quaint buildings that appeared to have been plucked from another era. A few of the local's whereabouts were either on their porches talking, in their gardens working, or taking their dogs out for a walk. They would almost wave at Peter as they drove past.

"See? Told you. Nicest people on the planet," said Peter returning the waves enthusiastically.

"No shit," you said, watching a woman coming across with a basket of flowers smile toward you warmly.

Peter stopped in a graveled driveway leading to a homely two-storied fairy tale house. Crooked white picket fence and wildflower-laden garden, there was little that screamed charm.

The moment the car stopped, from the front door, she came, a petite woman in her 30's with brown hair, beaming with kindness in her eyes and warmth in her smile.

"There's my darling nephew!" she called out.

Peter jumped out of the car, practically bounding onto her, hugging her. "Aunt May!"

"And you must be the girl Peter keeps talking about," she said, her bright eyes finding their way to you. "Peter has told me so much about you."

"Oh, um, hi," you said, stepping out of the car and giving a small wave.

"Then that's it," she said, surprising with her strong hug for her small figure. "It's so lovely to finally meet you. Come in! It's rather hot out here during the summers"

Once you stepped into the house, you were met with interior that was as cozy as anyone could expect, the design suggests mixes between vintage and modern furniture, with colorful throw blankets and knickknacks making it feel lived in. There was also a faint waft of freshly baked cookies, which you soon spotted on the kitchen counter.

"Make yourself at home," May said, "Your room's already set up upstairs. Peter can show you around."

"Thanks May," Peter replied, already grabbing your bag before you could protest.

Up came Peter, leading you to a small but cozy guest room overlooking the backyard.

"Hope that's cool," said Peter, dropping your bag next to the bed. "Not fancy, but it's quiet."

"It's perfect," you said, placing your backside on the edge of the bed and taking a moment to breathe.

In the following days, Peter became your own personal tour guide, leading you through the town every nook and cranny, and introduced you to everyone as if you were already a part of the community, and to your surprise, they all welcomed you with open arms

Mr. and Mrs. Beck would insist on serving you their best pancakes while there at the diner even after breakfast time.

"We have heard so much about you," Mrs. Beck said it with a twinkle in her eyes. "Peter's nearly counting the days until you came."

Peter turned red and scratched the back of his neck. "Thanks, Mrs. Beck. Subtle as always."

Library, this was to be; the charmingly ramshackle structure seemed to sag under the weight of its many books. Peter's eyes lit up as he walked through those rows of crooked shelves with his fingers trailing over the spines.

"This here was my escape growing up," he said, pulling a worn copy of The Hobbit from the shelf. "Any time things got… overwhelming, I'd come here. Just me, a book, and a whole lot of silence."

This was the kind of moment when one caught a glimpse into Peter's world of quiet, reflective, introspective thinking where the depths beneath the sunshine state, as always, reside.

The very field that Peter had described so vividly turned out to be even more breathtaking than you ever imagined. The grass stretched out in every direction, swaying gently in the breeze, and the sky above was that of a canvas painted with stars, brighter and bolder than he had ever seen.

With a dramatic sigh, Peter flopped onto the ground, patting a spot next to him. "Come on, you're not getting the full experience unless you lie down."

You hesitated to lie down beside him, letting the cool grass tickle your arms as you stared up at the infinite expanse of sky.

"Wow," you breathed.

"Yeah?" he said, turning his head towards you. "It's like the universe decided to show off or something."

They lay there silently for a good while with the sound of the rustling grass and an occasional chirp of crickets. That was the most peaceful you had felt in a long, long time.

Maybe it was a little initial self-talk that told you it was just small town hospitality. People in cities don’t wave at strangers, though maybe that’s simply what people do out here. Maybe they were just genuinely curious about a stranger in a little place where everyone knows everyone.

But as the day went on, those small gestures, those innocent jests began to feel… different.

It started out slow.

At the diner, Mrs. Beck lingered longer than she ought to while refilling your coffee, her smile warm but sharp, penetrating eyes boring onto you.

"You're feeling like one of us already, aren't you?" she would have said, almost as if it were a statement rather than a question.

You gave a polite smile with no idea of how to answer. "Uh, yeah, everybody's really welcomed here."

"Oh, good," she said, with a firm nod. "That's what we want."

There's something in the way she said it, words weighing a lot more than they were supposed to.

And so it went; the Becks household was not the only one. The pattern held true for nearly every encounter.

"How are you settling in?"

Not "welcome" or "hi and how long are you staying?" The last kind of question you would expect from someone meeting a newcomer. The question, however, assumed permanence. It assumed that you were settling in, that you live here now.

Initially, you passed it off as just another one of those quirks that could be attributed to small-town hospitality. Maybe that's just their way of being polite. But after a few more days, it became pretty hard to ignore the repetition.

You brought it up to Peter one morning as the two of you sat on May's porch, sipping coffee and watching the sunrise.

"Is it just me," you began, keeping your tone light, "or does everyone here ask the same question?"

Peter looked up from his mug, a confused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "What question?"

"How I'm 'settling in.' Like, literally everyone has said it."

"Oh, that?" Peter chuckled, brushing it off with a wave of his hand. "That's just how people are around here. Small towns, you know? Everyone's in everyone else's business, and they just want to make sure you're happy. It's aggressively wholesome."

You nodded while struggling to let his explanation take root in you, but that feeling of unease lingered.

Then came the presents.

The librarian insisted that you check out a copy of Little Women, even if you just went there to browse.

"You'll love it," she said, sliding it over the counter to you with a knowing smile.

"How do you know?" you asked, only half-joking.

Her smile didn't waver. "I just do."

At the hardware store, the owner gave you a tiny potted shrub. "Every home needs a little bit of green," he said cheerfully, but his eyes had a dark intensity that made him more intimidating.

"Thanks," you mumbled awkwardly, holding the plant as you walked out.

It was the kind of gift given to a father like you, not at all because you wanted it, but so they could wave it in your face.

The real breaking point occurred one night at the diner.

Peter was treating you to dinner there after spending the afternoon wandering around town. It was quieter than usual, the counter occupied only by a few regulars. The place smelled of coffee and fries, and while Peter was busy demolishing a plate of the latter, you excused yourself to go to the washroom.

The hallway at the back of the diner is dark and narrow, the overhead fluorescent lights humming in slightly grating tones. At the door marked "Women," you caught snatches of voices from the kitchen-garbled, urgent.

"…And she's settling in?"

"She seems fine so far. Peter's doing a good job keeping her comfortable."

You were frozen with your hand on the doorknob. Your pulse raced. "Good, she has to feel like she belongs, it's important."

Then there was a crashing sound of many dishes, followed by a long heavy pause.

"So," says the first voice, "you think she suspects anything?"

"No. Not yet."

There, silence fell between the voices after that, then just the faintest clink—the sound of silverware-and the quick pounding of your heartbeat resounded in your ears.

When you stepped back to the table, Peter's easy smile greeted you. "Everything cool?" he asked as he dipped a fry into ketchup. "Yeah," you said quickly as you slid into your seat. "Fine."

The mind remained racing.

They must be talking about someone else—a new hire at the diner. Maybe a new family into town. There was no way they were talking about you.

Right?

You tried to shake it off, sinking into Peter's chatter about the upcoming festival, but the unease clung to you like a second skin.

May's small guest room became so beautiful in the rays of the morning sun that they filtered through lace curtains and softly flecked the walls. You stared ridiculously at the ceiling, a heavy weight on your chest, making sleep unusually elusive. Thoughts had been just too loud and tangled.

Those whispers from the diner, the rehearsed kindness from townspeople, and the way he seemed to brush it all off so easily were elusive things you couldn't shake off. The most you told yourself was that it was probably nothing.

This is what you told yourself as you forced yourself out of bed and down the stairs. Peter wouldn't lie to you; he was the most genuine person you knew. Right?

The smell of pancakes and coffee greeted you in the kitchen.

By the stove stood Peter, his hair at odd angles and humming a tune under his breath. For a moment, you let yourself relax. This is Peter, your Peter.

"Good morning, sleepyhead!" he greeted, grinning at you with that boyish grin. He slid over a plate of pancakes drenched in syrup and topped with fresh strawberries.

"Morning," you replied, low enough to be heard.

"You okay?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Yeah, just didn't sleep much," you tugged and picked little at your food.

"Frowning," Peter said and kept down his fork. "Anything troubling you?"

"No," you lied quickly. "Just one of those nights."

He studied you for a moment, and you forced a small smile. Whatever the unease was, there was no reason for dragging Peter into it. He'd just dismiss it as he always did.

At last, the day was spent in a well-practiced blur of activities. It seemed Peter had made up his mind to keep you as busy as possible, even dragging you around the town park and to that creek he used to catch tadpoles as a kid. And if that weren't enough, he picked you up from the bakery where the sweet aroma of pastries was very strong. Offering you so many pastries till your stomach ached

Evening had cloaked the house in darkness, and so much for bottled up emotions. After dinner, the two of you sat alone in the living room: May well and truly off to bed. And that left you here with Peter sprawled across the couch flipping through some book, while you closed yourself into a tight little knot in the armchair.

"Peter," you broke the silence.

He blinked up at you with alarmed eyes. "Yeah?"

"I need to ask you something."

His brows knitted slightly, but he set aside the book. "Sure. What is it?"

You pause, heart racing. "Last night at the diner I heard something. Two people in the kitchen were talking about me."

Peter's face remained impassive. Still in his eyes, there was a flicker of something that disappeared as quickly as the light.

"What did they say?"

"They said you were doing a good job keeping me comfortable. That I need to feel like I belong." You paused, faltering with your voice. "Peter, what does that mean?"

Peter leaned forward, dangling his elbows on his knees. "It's nothing, they were probably just being nosy. People here care about each other, and when someone new comes in, they get… curious."

"That is not how it sounded," you said shaking your head. "It sounded like, intentional. It sounded much like plotting."

"You're overthinking this" Peter sighed rubbing back on his neck "Seriously, this town—it's different—close-knit. They just want to ensure you feel welcome, happy here, nothing but that".

“Then why does it feel so fake?” you pressed, raising your voice. “Everyone acts like they already know me. Like they’re expecting something to come from me.”

Peter tensed his jaw, and then he did not speak anything for a moment. He then stood up suddenly. "I brought you here for your help," he said in a hard tone. "I brought you here so you might begin a fresh mental state, a place where you could heal. And instead of appreciating it, you are looking for ways to tear it apart."

"I didn't ask for this!" you shot back, standing as well. "I didn't ask to be dragged into some town where everyone acts like I'm part of some… some secret club!"

Peter turned to you, eyes flashing. "You didn't have to ask! You were falling apart. You needed this. And I've been trying my best to make things easier for you, but you can't even see that, can you?"

The words hit you like a slap. Staring at him, breathless, tears filling your eyes. "Peter… why are you doing this?"

He softened immediately, shoulders slumping. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to—look, I just… I care about you. I hate seeing you so lost. I thought bringing you here would help, but maybe I was wrong."

You wiped your eyes, and the mind is busy with thoughts. Maybe he is right. Maybe you are over-reacting. Peter was not that manipulative. He was just worried.

"Okay," you said finally, your voice shaky. "But if this town is so great, then why does it feel like there is something you are not telling me?"

Peter's eyes drifted towards the window momentarily—as if to check whether there were eavesdroppers outside—"It is not like that," he said, whispering faintly barely audible.

"Then tell me what it is," you said. "If you want me to trust you, then stop keeping secrets."

Peter sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging. "Alright," he said. "But you're not going to like it."

"And that's supposed to mean what?"

He moved closer, looking you straight in the eye. "Some things are better demonstrated rather than told," he said, his tone even more pleading. "I'll tell you everything tomorrow. Just…give me another day."

You gawked at him, feeling your belly tie up in knots. Every instinct in you screamed to demand answers right now, but for some reason, the look in his eyes stopped you. He looked… desperate.

"Fine," you said with reluctance. "One more day."

Peter nodded, a relief washing over his face. "Thank you," he said almost inaudibly. "I assure you, it will all come into perspective soon."

But climbing into bed that night only made more pronounced the doubts gnawing at you louder than they had done before.

The cold, crisp evening air wrapped tight around you like a noose, as they led Peter into the woods. Try as you might to ignore the uncomfortable hollow in your gut, the longer you sat in this strange, unsettling village, the more you felt that something dark ran underneath it all. Every villager's smile, how they seemed to know just a little too much about you—everything just felt orchestrated, perfect.

You had held the doubts to yourself, buried deep down because Peter had always been the perfect anchor. But tonight, something flickered in his eyes—his tense shoulders and that almost undetectable flash of something darker crossing his face—told you that you were no longer in control.

You entered the clearing, gasping for air by the time you stepped into the structure resembling a stone chapel. The door agonizingly creaked open, bringing in the cold air from outside in juxtaposition with the stifling heat within. There, illuminated softly, were the others. A few you recognized from the eerily quiet familiar faces that watched you through predatory eyes.

It felt thick and heavy in the air, almost stultifying. The walls were closing in, and the silence was becoming almost oppressive. Peter gently but firmly drew you forward, his comforting presence still providing warmth, though everything else seemed wrong.

He was more weathered and older than you imagined, the drawn skin of his face tight over sharp features, pale and unblinking eyes matching his face. The robe hung dark and almost blended into shadows as he approached you. A murmur swept through the people gathered, and you paid little attention. Everything spun in your head and your heart drummed against your ears.

"Peter," said the man with a voice which grated like a rusty hinge, as if he had been whispering for years. "She has come."

Peter's eyes had been fixed on you for some time, and now he nodded slowly. The heat of his gaze made your skin crawl. The man checked you out from head to toe, and his intense eyes seemed to promise a lot of something. "Perfect," he said under his breath but not for too long so that others could hear him as he shouted, "She is the one. It's time."

Time, just like that word, seemed hollow, reverberating in the air around you like a bad omen. Instead, you opened your mouth to argue or question what part of this was really happening, but then, Peter squeezed your shoulder so tightly that it felt like it might crush your bones.

"It's okay," he whispered against your ear with his very warm breath. "I'll explain everything. You'll understand soon enough."

But understanding was the last thing you wanted to happen. All you had in mind was running. The man stepped forward, never breaking the eye contact. "Our village has managed to survive for many centuries and still thrive at its odds. But there is one rule that we have to abide by—there is one rule that can't be broken. After every eighteen years, one of our own must depart from this world and find someone in the outside world—from beyond these walls to someone pure."

Your mouth went dry. "What… what do you mean by that?"

"Every time a child turns eighteen, he must leave for a period of time to spend in the world outside, learn its ways; but after this period, he must return, and he must bring someone from the outside to add to the village."

Your body suddenly turned ice cold. "What do you mean, bring someone from the outside?" You spluttered. Your voice barely made an impression on the silence.

The smile of the man became broad. "A new family member. A mate. Someone to whom they will get married, with whom they will create children. This is the law."

You turned to Peter with wide eyes filled with horror as your heart stuttered deep in your chest. "What do you mean… a mate? You want me to…?"

Peter tightened his grip on your shoulder and breathed shallowly. "That's how it is done. This is how we survive. The village needs strong new blood. The children produced from these unions keep the bloodline pure, preventing inbreeding."

Inbreeding. That one word roared through your mind like no other thought. You couldn't breathe. You felt suffocated under the weight of all that.

"What… what are you saying?" you gasped, stunned and unable to take in everything being revealed to you.

Peter stepped even closer; eyes dark with something almost predatory. "That's how this works. You're part of the plan now. You have no choice. You are here because you were chosen. You are going to help us keep the village alive. Our survival depends on… "

"No," you whispered, stumbling backward as you tried to retreat. "No, this isn't right. You can't—this isn't—"

And suddenly, an old man stepped beside you, his shadowy tallness overshadowing you. "You will understand soon. You are not the first, nor will you be the last. Every child who leaves returns with someone. And they will mate, they will bear children. This is how we preserve our people, how we protect our bloodline." He said as if it was your duty, as if this was your destiny.

"No!" You screamed tearing the air with your voice now choked in emotions. "This is insane! You're insane!"

The gentleness from Peter that used to soothe you all vanished, replaced by the steely resolve. He took another step forward, and instinctively you recoiled. "I did not want you to have this," he said, his voice low and strained, "but it is how it is. You will come to understand, and you will see that it is for the best."

The other villagers watched you with silent intensity as the space surrounding you felt as if it were closing in on you, with walls pressing from all sides. You could feel their hungry and expectant eyes on you.

You wanted to run. You wanted to yell.

But as soon as the old man reached out his hand to grab you, Peter's hold on your arm tightened, his fingers digging into your skin, keeping you anchored. "You don't understand yet," he said quietly, his voice tinged with something darker, something that, as it sent chills down your spine, made you think he was going to take you off somewhere to be tortured. "But you will. Soon, it will make sense. The only way to survive is this. This is something we can't let you ruin."

You were trapped. The weight of their expectations crushed you, their smiles now twisted masks of something monstrous beneath.

"Your child will also do the same duty," the old man said softly. "When they come back to the village with their mate, they will fulfill their destiny. They will carry our future."

Your chest constricted. Every part of you screamed to escape, to run, to fight against the suffocating nightmare into which you had been dragged. All the while, in the depths of your consciousness, you knew that there was no escaping this; they had planned for this. They had chosen you.

Back against the stone wall of the chapel now, your breath came in rapid, gasping suction since the reality began to drown in you. It beat loudly in your chest, a frantic mind racing for exit routes, for freedom from the path that had been laid out for me like a spider's web in all its horrible detail.

Peter's gaze was cold and cruel; it was no longer the warm presence one had hoped for. The heady words of the old man echoed in your ears, chilling and impossible to escape, like a curse. "You will return. You will bear our future."

As impossible as it was to believe, you finally realized it, this fucked up cycle wanted you to be part of it—and not by choice.

But you weren't going to let that happen.

You pushed past Peter and felt the sharp sting as he grabbed at your arm. You broke free, legs now trembling beneath you, as you headed for the door. You had to get out. You didn't know where you were running, but the woods were the only option. The only chance at freedom. You burst through the chapel door and into the cold night air, stumbling over uneven ground.

You heard footsteps behind you, but you didn't dare look back. The wind howled around you, swallowing up any sounds from the village. Your lungs burned as you pushed yourself faster, harder, your breath ragged from panic clawing at your chest.

You didn't look up when you heard a car approaching, but you didn't stop either, as your mind told you to keep running, to escape, but your legs were beginning to fail you.

The car stopped short before you, the headlights blinding. You turned with a wild heart as the door to that vehicle swung open. A man in a police uniform stepped out, his expression unreadable.

"Hey, are you alright?" he asked, with a soft voice but underneath carrying an authority.

He wouldn't let you trust him, and you could be in danger. "I-I need help," you stuttered, barely able to catch your breath. "They're chasing me. They—they won't let me leave."

The officer stepped closer, his eyes darting toward the woods behind you. "Who's chasing you? What happened?" His voice was smooth, coaxing, calm.

You stumbled toward him, the last shreds of your resistance slipping away. His presence was comforting, the uniform a familiar sign of safety in this strange world that had turned upside down. "Please," you gasped. "I need to get out of here. Please help me."

The officer smiled, that warm, almost paternal smile that gave you a moment's feeling of cocooned safety. "You are well within safety here. Get into the car and I'll take you to the station. They won't find you."

You didn't even think twice about it. Worn out and shivering, you climbed into the passenger seat of the car. The door slammed behind you, then the engine revved into life. You sank into the seat, closed your eyes, letting the sound of the engine create an illusion of safety. Finally, you escaped. Finally, you could breathe again.

The engine growled before heading out with the officer looking at you and softening his expression to almost a grin. "A strange night out here, huh?" Are you really sure you are, okay?"

You shook your head, catching your breath. "I need to get away from those people… I don't know who they are but they're dangerous."

"People can be dangerous, can't they?" he mused.

You glanced at him. "Yeah, I guess. I just don't know who to trust anymore."

Soft chuckle from him, as if to sense that it sounds contrived, that it has to be learned. "What's trust? You just have to know whom to get along with and whom to avoid. It requires experience."

You just turned to the window and trees and darkness rushed by. The mind was reeling from the attempt at grasping everything that has happened as it was really too much: the town; the event; Peter's cold stare; and now this—this officer who has apparently materialized at just the right moment. He must be the one sent to rescue you.

"Where are we off to?" You asked

"Oh, just a little way out of town," he replied, his voice smooth, almost too smooth. "Nothing to worry about."

You nod, fatigue dragging heavily on your eyelids. For a moment, it felt good, like all was well. But then the cop's voice became a personal one.

''I'm Steve by the way, Steve Rogers. Was just coming here for a quick stroll," he began, "I never thought I was going to be out here, helping someone like you. It is really funny, how life turns out."

Brow furrowed, and incomprehension written all over the face. "What do you mean?"

The very slight narrowing of the officer's eyes at you, just for an instant, was followed by his returning gaze to the road ahead. "I spent a lot of time in these parts, and the people can be somewhat…. they are peculiar. But then, I guess you already know that."

Heck, what was he talking about? "What do you mean by a little hard to understand? Who do you mean by that?"

Just above a smile, something confidential, something dark, flickered across the officer's lips. "Well, my wife, Peggy… she was from around here. She got them, you know? Understood what was going on. It took me a long time to realize it, but eventually, I figured it out. I did too."

Your heart stops, hammering against the confinement of your ribs. "Peggy… Carter?" That name rang in your mind like a bell, sharp and dissonant. You had heard that name before, only in whispers, a long time ago.

From what you remembered Peggy Carter was one of the most vicious woman in the police force, even in her short time in doing her job. One day she got married to a man named Steve and nothing was heard from her again. As if she disappeared, she completely left her job and duty, and so did Steve who was a fellow police like her who also vanished from the face of the earth. That was all you knew, and all of that happened 10 years ago. Many believed they moved. Some believed

The officer's smile brightened, but now it had no warmth. His voice went down low, as if telling you a secret you weren't supposed to know, "That's right. Peggy Carter. She was special. A part of something much bigger than either of us ever realized. I didn't understand it at first. Thought she was just a regular woman… but then I saw it. I saw everything for what it was."

It had caught in your throat because your mind was connecting all the dots. Peter, in actual fact, couldn't stop saying that you were here for a bigger thing, that you actually belonged. And now there is the officer, Peggy Carter, the strange village thing, the quite twisted ceremony—now everything starts to get clearer while terrifying you.

Your pulse raced, and once more, you cast a glance at him, eyes wide with realization. "You… you’re one of them, aren’t you? You’re one of their… their plan.”

For just a second, something shadowy, something colder, flicked through his eyes; and with that flicker, somehow you knew you'd made a terrible mistake trusting him.

Steve Rogers, the cop smiled "I was hoping you'd come around sooner or later. You're a bit smarter than I thought," his voice was light, like he was discussing the weather. "However," a dangerous tremor lurked below his words. "Peggy always said you'd be the perfect addition - just like I was, just like she was."

You sprung back, your first instinct was to reach for the door handle, but before your brain could register what was happening, the vehicle shifted violently. Body flung against the door; your head crashed against the metal side with a sickening thud. Stars exploded behind your eyes, and suddenly, everything muffled.

When you woke up from what felt like the worst sleep in your life, but you weren't sleeping, or did you just doze off and you couldn't remember any of it? Everything felt like a blur, memories were juggled up, and everything seemed out of place. How did I get here again? You thought to yourself.

It was strangely silent all around. The engine's rhythmic humming gave way to a stifling, heavy silence. You couldn't move. The air around you was thick and stifling; you had a throbbing headache that was likely to make you nauseous.

You couldn't even comprehend what was happening before you saw the door of the car opened, your whole-body weight made you fall off the vehicle. You audibly groaned as your body hit the rough dirty cement

Lo and behold, standing right in front of was Steve Rogers, towering above you, his face expressionless. His cold stare that piercing through your soul at you while your arms continued to adjust the sleeves of his uniform with a calm expertise.

He circled you as if he was predator cornering its prey. He stopped just at your head. He looked at you with an expressionless face, he slowly smiled, the creepy type of smile you would see psychopaths do on movies.

You wanted to run, punch him in the face and fucking run. But you couldn't, it felt as if your feet have already given up on you, plus the blooming pain in your head made it hard to think.

"It just never gets the job done" He frowned momentarily, your eyes widened in fear as you saw him take a beer bottle from behind his back, you shook your head, no please, please, please. You tried your best to crawl away from him, but you couldn't even feel your legs.

You sobbed in defeat, but he just caressed your cheek and wiped your tears away, as if to lure you into a false sense of security. With all the softness of a feather, he said, "You'll be fine," really more to reassure himself than you. "The ceremony's just waiting for you."

Before you can act, a hard bang on your head seems to lurch your stomach. The officer had swung a beer bottle at your skull; it hit with a sickening crack and within the instant the pain exploded into darkness pressing behind your eyes, and the world went black.

It was the scent of incense—sickeningly sweet and heavy enough to churn in the stomach. Candlelight flickered. shadows danced on stone walls, making the small space feel smaller by the second.

You woke up all lethargic with a blooming headache. You felt relaxed underneath the soft bed that you laid, but once you took in the stone walls, it felt like a train has hit you. All of the events from a few hours ago running you over.

Your mind raced, scrambling for an escape route, but all you saw was Peter standing between you and the door.

He never looked more like a stranger.

The once boyish charm which drew me to him was now a hollow mask as he hid himself behind his dark eyes. The face had no malignance—worse, it was soft, almost tender, like he really believed in what he was about to do. And that thought haunted me most terrifyingly.

"You are trembling," Peter said, his calm and soothing voice only making the fear spike higher. "I know it's a lot, really overwhelming, taking it all at once… but… it will be okay, I promise you."

"Peter, please," you whispered, your voice breaking into pieces at the seams. You could hardly utter a word without your throat choking it. "You don't have to do this. Let me out. I promise I won't tell the police—"

But that was where he cut you off by shaking his head sadly. "You don't understand. This is my home. It is where I belong. And now, it is where you belong too. We are part of something bigger here. Something meaningful."

"Meaningful?" you spat. "You kidnapped me, lied to me, and brought me here to…" The words cracked at the tightness in your throat. You couldn't even say them. I dawned onto you that you have been too trusting with Peer, but who wouldn't? Who knew that clumsy little sweet Peter was capable of doing something this fucked.

Peter stepped closer, casting a shadow over the too small room where it suddenly felt claustrophobic and anchoring. “I didn’t kidnap you. I saved you.”

His voice is insistent, though not harsh. “You were lost out there. Alone. No family, no one who cared about you. Don’t you see? This is your chance to start over, to have a purpose. To be loved.”

“Loved?” The word struck your lips like venom. “This isn’t love, Peter. This is… this is sick.”

It darkened slightly his countenance, as a spark of frustration crossed his face before it was replaced by forced patience. "You're scared," he softly pronounced. "That's normal. But fear does not last. Once you embrace your role, once you understand what we're building here, you'll see that it's not sick. It's beautiful."

“No,” you whispered, the soft sound swallowed by the thrumming of your heart. “No, this isn’t survival. This is—”

“But” Peter cut you off firmer now like a knife slicing through your protests. “It’s already decided. The village chose you. I chose you. And now… it’s time to fulfill your purpose.”

Peter looked at you, with a voice deceptively soft. “It’s not about what you want. It’s about what the village needs. What I need. We can’t let our bloodline die. Every generation, we bring someone in—someone like you. It’s how we survive. How we thrive.”

“Not,” that voice barely came out through the rapid pounding of your heart. "No, this isn't survival. This is—"

The words sent the waves of nausea throbbing through you. Your knees buckled, landing you onto the edge of the bed, your body shaking violently. Peter knelt before you, hands gentle as they gripped your knees. The touch made your skin crawl, but you were frozen, paralyzed by fear.

"You are afraid," he repeated, the tone almost tender. "it needs to be this way. After the ceremony, you'll see there is clearly a need for it."

"Peter," you choked out, barely in a whisper. "Don't do this, please."

He tilted his head, softening in expression as if he really thought given how pitiful you look. "This is for them. For us. For the village. You'll thank me one day."

The door creaked open, and two women stepped in to the door. They moved with quiet, almost unnerving precision their white, long, and flowing robes covering the ground as they entered. Both had faces that seemed devoid of emotion—serene but cold as if they had performed this ritual hundreds of times before.

You instinctively tried to press yourself into the corner of the bed pulling down from Peter. “Who are they?” you asked unsure though your voice came out shaky and weak.

Peter turned toward the women; his posture casual almost welcoming. “They’re here to help,” he said softly as though the explanation should comfort you.

Help. The word in your stomach was like poison. You didn’t need help. You needed to escape.

One of the women carried a bowl filled with a dark unknown substance that shimmered strangely in the candle's light. She laid the bowl down on a small wooden table near the bed, her movements carefully controlled. The other carried a smaller cup with her fingers clutching tightly as she looked at you.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice trembling as you shook your head. “I’m not drinking that.”

It’s just to help,” he said calmly. "You’ve been through so much. You lived so much. You’re shaking. You’re exhausted. This will relax you.”

“I don’t want to relax!” you cracked your voice rising in desperation. “I want to leave! Please, Peter, don’t do this!”

He sighed, as though disappointed but his patience did not waver. “I know you’re scared,” he said reaching out to hold his hand on your knee. “But this isn’t about fear. It’s about trust. You trust me, don’t you?”

Your stomach tilted and a cold wave of nausea was rolling over you. Why would he even ask that question? "Peter, you are not the person I thought you were. I don’t trust you. I don’t even know you anymore.”

Peter’s jaw tightened somewhat ever so slightly, as if flickering with guilt. Peter was the funny and clumsy guy you met at a party, but this Peter. You don't know which dimension he came from. But his guilt was immediately gone in an instant replaced by the same calm, unnervingly patient expression, accompanied with a reassuring smile that could've been comforting in different circumstances.

“It’s my fear. I think that can be said,” he said, his tone softening again. "Once you let go of this, you will see. You’ll feel better.”

He gestured toward the woman with the cup to reach closer to you. Her movements were graceful, fast rehearsed as she held the drinking. The cup itself was simple, wooden. But compared to what's inside looked nothing compared to ordinary. It was a dark murky brown with faint swirls of crimson that seemed to ripple on its own.

Your stomach churned at the sight of it, you wanted to gag at the thought of even coming in contact with that liquid, you said again "I won't drink that." Your voice barely above a whisper.

The woman didn’t respond. She held the cup in her hand, as if waiting for you drink it still.

Peter reached for your hand and firmly gripped on it, but not a forceful one. "It’s okay,” he said softly, his eyes locking with yours. “This will help you. I promise.”

You tried to pull your hand away, but his grip tightened, and the woman moved the cup closer to your lips. Panic rolled. Your heart began to beat, and tears were falling from your eyes. “No!” you shouted thrashing against Peter’s hold. “Let me go!”

But he didn’t let go. His strength was shocking and unyielding as he held your and instructed the woman to force the drink in your mouth. The dark liquid sloshed down the rim, spilling onto your trembling chin as you refused to open your mouth, moving your head back and forth so that you could just avoid the unknown and disgusting liquid.

“Please don’t fight this!” Peter shouted; his tone now laced with urgency and desperation. "It’s better if you just let it happen."

The woman tilted the cup and poured the thick liquid into your lips. You clenched your teeth, refusing to let it in. Peter’s hand moved to your jaw, his fingers pressing firmly until your mouth opened involuntarily. Liquid graced on your tongue, its taste vile and metallic like rotting herbs and rust.

You gagged and coughed violently as they forced you to swallow. The bitterness burned all the way down, leaving an acrid aftertaste that made you want to rip out your tongue, you fell on the bed as you gripped your throat—massaging your throat, a pathetic attempt to soothe the taste that felt like it travelled all the way down to your throat, it didn't have any burning sensation, it just felt like your throat had taste buds.

You convulsed on the bed, “What the- What was that?” you asked; out of breath as you tried to gasp for air.

Peter stood “You’re going to feel it soon,” he said, pushing a damp lock of hair off your brow.

It was a gentle warmth blooming in your chest, then outward like the bright afterglow from the strongest of drinks. Then it grew. It scorched through your veins, making your skin feel alive with a burst of tingling sensations. Your breaths came quicker as you kept trying to dismiss the feelings, but they just wouldn't listen.

“W-What is happening to me?” came the stammers from you in a trembling voice.

Peter knelt beside you again, touching your knee ever so lightly with his hand. “The elixir is working its magic on you,” he said kindly. “It allows you to let go. To free yourself to connect with what is meant to be.”

This warmth soon transformed into a more diabolical sensation, a slow burn that throbbed low in your stomach that stretched to your clothed womanhood. Suddenly every nerve ending on your skin was hypersensitive, sending a shiver down your spine against that crawl of fabric over your body. Heart racing, but it was hardly with fear.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, this isn’t right.”

Peter merely smiled all the wider and relaxed his squeeze on your shoulder. “It’s okay to feel this way,” he said. “Your body is just responding. It’s natural.”

While your mind was telling you every reason to fight it off, your body would have none of it. That heat, the damn heat; it clouded everything snuffing off every thought but that strange feeling growing in you.

Peter leaned in closer as he whispered “This is how it’s supposed to be. Don’t fight it. Just let it happen.”

Your brain screamed against this intrusion, invoking all the force it could muster to reject it, to reject him. But your limbs felt heavy, thick, sluggish, as though they had been clapped into a steel frame. The drug took effect, you loathed it and wished to deny the dull calling of unwanted pleasure.

"Please," you managed to whisper, letting your tears flow down your cheeks. "Don't do this."

In every way this was wrong. You didn't want to partake in this, you wanted out. Peter was not the person you thought he would. Maybe he was before all of this, but not now.

Peter held your face with both his hands—gentle yet firm. "It's been done," he said, pinning his gaze on yours with steady resolve.

The heat had become unbearable; it drummed against your thoughts and created ceilings that pressed down on you. You could hardly breathe, each breath barely manageable since all control was lost over thoughts revolving around him. The very touch of him inflamed every nerve in your body.

Peter continued to lean forward until the distance separating your two faces became almost nonexistent. The darkness of his brown eyes was rendered soft, for all that, it was chillingly out of place now. "You're trembling," he said softly, his voice dipping with mock concern as he brushed his palm over your damp forehead, lingering perhaps a moment too long.

You turned your head away, yet your body was heavy and unwilling to cooperate. "P-please," you whispered, not even sure what it was you were begging for at this point—mercy, some distance, anything but this.

Peter's hand slid down again to cradle your face, thumb grazing your cheek. The warmth of his touch felt like additional treachery against your body, which leaned into his hand, once again, even though the screams of your mind were saying otherwise. "Shh," he said, his voice dropping to a soothing pitch. "It's okay. You're safe here. With me."

His words twisted a knife that lodged in your heart, and you were still trying to find a protest when his other hand clamped on your waist—gentle yet firm. Just enough pressure was applied to make acutely aware of every detail of your closeness: the scent of wood smoke and something faintly sweet, flooding your senses and drowning all your composure.

"You've had to fight for so long," he said; there was almost a tenderness in his voice. "Let it go—let me take care of you."

You shook your head weakly, your lips parting to say no words that would come. Everything in you resisted, heavily dulled by the drug that now crumbled your defenses and left you helpless to bask in warmth blossoming in your chest and the sickening affinity of Peter's presence.

He angled his face, gazing down at you as the thumb of his right hand traced the curve of your jaw. "So beautiful," he murmured, almost a whisper. "Yet you don't even see it? You are something else—so special."

The tears that had built up in your eyes crashed down, scalding lines down your cheeks. "Please," you said again, but it came almost like a feeble whisper, your power to protest fractured.

Peter leaned forward, and his breath ghosted over your lips. "I've waited for this," he murmured, as though revealing a secret. "Waited for you. I thought I would never even have a chance with you since you were so fucking smitten with your dick of a boyfriend. But you're mine now,"

And before you could think, hit him back or convince him otherwise, his lips crushed against yours.

The kiss was languid, purposeful, and claiming. His mouth flowed with an unsettling confidence, an almost eerie manifestation of such rehearsed movement, if it existed at all. You wanted to break apart from him and scream and fight him, but your body let you down one last time; it was folded under the drug and against the full force of his presence.

His hands moved, one remained cradling your face, while the other tightened at your waist as a gentle reminder that you belonged nowhere else. It was a kiss more claiming than forceful, a silent proclamation of his ownership over you.

He finally pulled away but only to press his forehead to yours, feeling warm against your skin. "It's time" he whispered, it was loud enough for the women to hear. They immediately scurried out of the room and closed the door on their way out.

Before even asking what was going on, Peter attacked your neck. You shrieked at his sudden actions. He kissed, licked, and bite every single portion of your neck.

Peter's hot tongue licked your skin as he leaned closer, lips barely grazing the curve of your neck. A shiver made its way down your spine as he softly sucked on the sensitive flesh, forming this sweet vacuum that made your heart stand still.

Peter kept on kissing and nibbling at your neck, fueling his excitement that grew hotter like a fire, determined to engulf you both. His hands tightened around your waist, drawing you closer as he deepened the kiss, lips and tongue moving together in a dance that spoke both pleasure and pain.

You winced; you want nothing more but for this to end. You tried to imagine yourself in another scenario, a happy one. That one time where Harry bought you this wonderful necklace for your one-year anniversary. Things were still calm, peaceful.

You were so deep in thought that the ripping sound of fabric made you flinch. You have realized that Peter has ripped off your thin graphic t-shirt, leaving nothing but your bra on full display for him. But of course, the bra didn't stay on for long.

He ripped your bra off you with such force. He threw the bra elsewhere, that was the least of his worries as your he saw your mounds with all its glory. Blood rushed up to his cock at the sight of you half naked and slightly damp from sweat. You on the other hand just wanted nothing more but all of this to end.

Peter leaned in, his lips grazing your skin down to the soft curve of your delicate breast. His mouth latched onto your nipple, and he started to suckle; the soft gentle tug sent a jolt of sensation radiating through your body. Your hands fisted the sheets as you let out a shriek.

"You have no idea how long I have waited for this moment" His words came in muffled since he was still stuffing his face with your breasts, but you heard it loud and clear. How blind were you? Peter has been lusting over you, longer than you even met him, how come you never realized it? All the warning signs were there, but they were subtle, now they're just coming to light now that it was too late.

He had grown more daring now, sucking, kissing, and licking every inch of your breasts. He nibbled and sucked at the curves, gently biting the flesh around them. Meanwhile, his hands traveled all over her torso, cupping and squeezing dear breasts as if to remember every contour.

"So beautiful," he whispered in between kisses. "Perfect. Mine." Those words sent a shuddering chill up your spine.

Peter stared into your eyes while he was sucking and nibbling on your breasts. They would have been a sweet sight if the present state of affairs were any different.

He released your nipple from his mouth, as drool connected from his lips to your erect nipples.

With urgent impatience, Peter fumbled with the buttons of his shirt and then tore it off, revealing a sculpted torso that demanded attention. The muscles of his torso flexed while he moved, and for a second, you could not help but look at the sheer grace and control that radiated off his body.

Now, Peter had long ceased to be interested in himself; he was now concentrating all his energy and attention on you. The moment he grabbed hold of your pants, and his fingers had clasped tightly around the waistband, panic ran through you at the sight of him pulling down on them. You didn't want to give in, not now, not ever.

Your hands went straight up to push against him; you punched at his chest with all the remaining strength that you have that wasn't stripped off by the drug. Your fruitless attempt on trying to gain some space between your bodies.

"Peter, no," you said, your voice wavering but earnest. "I don't want to. Please!"

His eyes never left the prize, and nothing was going to stop him. He yanked your pants down, regardless of how you kicked and thrashed against the force with which he was pulling. Your underwear met the cool air.

A wave of embarrassment washed over you as you realized that Peter was staring down at the small scrap of fabric that barely covered you in your most intimate area.

He wrapped his fingers around your underwear's waistband. You tried to squirm away from him, but he held you tight, his grip like a vice. In one swift motion, he ripped the fabric from your body, leaving you completely bare.

Peter's eyes had wandered across every inch of your naked body, you tried to look away from him, but your face was met with a wet pillow, you didn't even notice that you have let out a few tears.

Peter dove on to your crotch and his warm breath rolled over your sensitive skin like a wave of fire. His tongue flicked out as he suckled at your clit, and involuntarily, jolts of electricity pulsed up your spine. You attempted to push him off you once more, but Peter was far too strong

Peter continued his assault on your pussy, you felt a familiar sensation happening. You shook your head as your body betrayed you. Peter seemed to notice this, "There she is"

Before you knew it, he inserted a finger in your hole as he continuously licked your clit with such vigor.

You let out a strangled moan as your hand flew to his hair. Peter smirked at this as he slowly fucked you with his finger, which was a stark contrast to his tongue who ravished you like you were his last meal

"God, such a tasty pussy" He murmured, which just sent vibrations to your pussy. He continued, his tongue circles your clit, licking and sucking on it like he can't get enough. "Good lil fuckin pussy" He moaned as if he's the one getting head.

He continues to lap on your juices, slurping any arousal seeping through as if he hadn't drunk water in many years.

His voice low and soft, whispering how good it is, how perfect your sweet pussy was for him. "Fuck, baby, you're so fucking sweet—so good for me. God, I'm so glad your mine now." He kisses it so passionately, muttering praises to it while his tongue laps you up.

And as he continued to lick and suck at your clit, you felt a building pressure inside yourself. It felt like every nerve ending had been ignited by Peter’s ministrations.

Your legs stiffened, your hips jerked upwards, and your entire body began to tremble with anticipation.

With such joy and pain, you felt like you were seeing stars right in front of you. The intensity was too much to bear as your grip on Peter's hair tightened

That instant when the knot finally snapped and a deluge of pure, harmless ecstasy engulfed you, your body contorted, muscles oscillating and contracting rhythmically; an intense orgasm swooping upon you like a tempest.

Your legs stiffened and your toes curled in pleasure. You clutched at anything and everything. Peter's hair, bed linen, anything to hold on to the threads of reality, as everything before your eyes dissolved into an ocean of forced bliss.

River of tears were falling from your eyes. You couldn't help but reminiscence your time with Harry. For the first years you were together with Harry, he was sweet and loving, even if your relationship has turned sour after Harry found another hobby, he would never force himself inside you. When you had sex, it was always consensual.

With the final ripples of the orgasm fading away, Peter finally pulled his head from between your legs. His gaze brushed over you with a kind of possessive pride, and he took the disarray of your body in the messy fondle of your hair, the daze that lingered from where he brought you so close to the edge that you fell over it, and the slick of sweat glistening over your skin.

“You look tired,” Peter said with a soft almost guilty tone, "But I'm afraid that that was just to prepare you, were just beginning"

When those words came out his mouth you shook your head as you begged him, "Please Pete, please" You sobbed, your words barely even intelligible.

"Shhhhhhhh" He shushed you, "The more your accepting, the sooner this will end" No, you didn't want to accept this, there must be another way, there must be.

As he stood up and took off his pants, exposing his erect cock. His cock slightly bounced once the boxers were fully off of him. He climbed on top you as both of you were now fully naked as the day you were born.

"The bedding ceremony is about to begin” Peter said, low in his throat, his voice husky with desire. “It's going to hurt, but I think I prepped you enough”

He then aligned his cock to your slit. You gasped as his bulbous tip entered you, he wasn't big, but he was thick. He slowly pushed his cock inch by inch inside you, your sensitive flesh was still sore from the previous orgasm.

Peter suddenly thrusted deep inside you, fully losing patience, with a forcefulness that took your breath away. His cock touching your cervix when he bottomed inside you, it felt almost painful how intense it was.

“Please, Peter,” you pleaded, attempting to push him away. "You're hurting me."

But Peter just smiled at you, it gave you tingling shudders through your spine. “That's the first step of the ceremony” he said, pulling out then plunging back in. “You just have to learn to accept what I’m giving you, if you learn maybe Goddess will reward you"

His relentless cock was battering your insides, and you were starting to tear up. It was nearly unbearable agony; the pleasure was subtle that you could barely even get the gist of it, the searing warmth that burned itself into your very essence.

“Stop,” you said again, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. "Please just stop."

Through the pain and the fear, you never lost hope. So you fought back with a passion you never had before.

Your hands raked Peter’s chest, ripping at his skin to the point he grunted in surprise. Your fingers sank into his skin, but he only chuckled—a sound that was hollow and empty.

Unfazed, you fought on. Your teeth dug into his shoulder, biting down hard enough to make him hiss. But even as he grimaced, he wouldn’t stop — his hips pumping a relentless rhythm, one that threatened to swallow you whole.

You swung your fists, punching into Peter's face and chest with a frenzied abandon. Forced down in front of him as he sunk his cock deep within your needy hole, you tried to twist away, to squirm free as he held you in place, the weight of his body pinning your hands above your head, forcing you to take this.

And you tried, even though it was entirely pointless. You kicked your legs to try and buck him off you. But he was too heavy — too powerful — and he laughed again as he kept your legs pinned down beneath him.

With each thrust Peter grew more aggressive; almost brutal the heat inside you was burning you up; threatening to consume all reason and make you numb.

You were lost in the agonizing bliss, as Peter's cock continued its merciless assault on your insides. The fire in your belly grew more intense, it felt like it was spreading through your insides like wildfire.

"God, you're squeezing me so hard" Peter breathed as his thrusts slowed down just a little bit.

Yet whilst you sensed you were in pieces on the inside, that you were toppling apart, something in you relished it. It felt like your body had turned against you, reacting to the vicious attack with a disgusting cocktail of agony and pleasure.

Peter thrusts forward and you felt your hips bucking in time with his, your mind spinning in horror. It was like your body had created its own consciousness that responded immediately to the arousal with animal instinct that couldn't be suppressed.

You were losing yourself in the sensations, being sucked into a world both dark and depraved, where no line could be drawn between pain and pleasure. It was the most terrifying feeling in the world, when you wondered if you would ever find a way out of the grip of this monster who was responsible for everything.

With every thrust, Peter became more aggressive, more brutal - You could feel yourself losing control; teetering on edge, ready to plunge headfirst into unknown; uncertainty ignited both fear and anticipation.

Your breaths were coming in small gasps now as Peter gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin like a vice. You attempted to move; attempted to wriggle against him—but it was futile: he was too strong

This friction just poured gasoline into the flames that had been raging within you—turning those pleasurable sensations into unbearable ones. The edge of your sight blurs out; stars dance along the border of your vision as the world narrows down on a single point of focus: Peter

In pure ecstasy moment you found yourself surrendering, submitting to the wave pleasure that is tearing up your body. Its fear inducing and freeing sensation — like leaping off a precipice without a net — not knowing what awaits at the base.

The world went white and quiet. You hear Peters voice in your ear whispering "Come for me" and with that your body explodes into thousand pieces

You weren't sure what happened, your mind all fogged and your pussy sore. The only thing you have noticed was that Peter was still thrusting inside you.

He leaned as he whispered the most haunting words into your ear, "I almost feel bad for you. I guess you should always follow what your parents says, don't trust strangers"

@gloomskulls 2024. DON'T COPY, TRANSLATE OR USE ANY OF MY WORKS HERE OR ANY OTHER WEBSITES. Photos don't belong to me

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bvidzsoo · 8 months ago

Text

♡ ATEEZ as dads ♡

author: bvidzsoo

pairing: ot8 x reader

tw: none

word count: 3.3k

genre: established relationships, parents, blurbs/scenarios

rating: sfw

summary: have you ever tried envisioning Ateez as fathers? well, this is my take on the subject ^^ a collective of short and cute drabbles bellow the cut

a/n: hello, my lovelies, this was a cute little request and despite not taking requests (just wanted to clear that up), today is my birthday and I decided to make this my little gift for you all! ^^ also, anonie, I hope this is satisfying and close to how you imagined it to be! divider

🐿️Hongjoong

☆ Okay, so, despite all the boomer vibes I get from Hongjoong he'd still be the coolest dad, like?! All of your kid's friends would love him because he's just the type of father that not only shows up for his child but also like partakes in like absolutely everything?! Oh, you have an event at school where you have to bring one parent? Yup, Hongjoong is going (dressed to the nines, might I add, while also wearing something matching with his kid) and he's also going to be cheering you on loudly from the sidelines (to the point the other parents will be side-eyeing him, but that's fine, he doesn't care). And like, he's also the type of dad to sneak inside his kid's room when it's completely dark and then scare the living shit out of them as he starts making monster-like sounds, the kid is terrified okay, but soon they are giggling and wrestling, and the child will go to sleep rather fast because Hongjoong managed to wear them out. But Hongjoong is also the type of father who wants to capture everything so he always has his camera with him and he takes a lot of pictures, okay, and he also makes albums at the end of each year because his kid is growing and he doesn't want to miss even a second (are you sobbing? I would be if I had a dad like him).

☆ And Hongjoong is also the type of father to plan trips mostly in nature, where you can go on a hike and just forget about the ruckus in the city, where you can connect with nature and just be in the moment. He would definitely pick a colour scheme or one clothing item that would be matching for all the family members because it's cute and because he's infinitely proud and eager to show off his kid(s) and wife. He cracks jokes (even if they are your typical dad jokes), and he makes sure his kid(s) feel seen and heard. He tries not to pressure them and lets them explore the world while remaining a guide they can always rely on.

🐰Seonghwa

♡ Yup, trust this man to get up before his wife and child to make them breakfast and something to pack for later when they get hungry, he's that type of guy, yeah. We know he's soft-spoken, and I see him as the type of dad who is very patient with his kid(s) and who pays a lot of attention to them to make sure he truly understands them. I feel like Seonghwa would organize "chill nights" where you all cosy up on the couch and pick a movie (which is age-appropriate, obviously) and he lets you eat excessive popcorn because he knows his wife isn't keen on their kid(s) eating junk food.

♡ Also, I get the feeling that holidays would be big at the Park residence. Like, he'd make sure everything is perfect because he'd be also organizing big ass get-togethers where both sides of the family are coming over for lunch or dinner. And I think he'd also love Christmas because he could spoil his family without getting complaints or reprimands, so yeah, he'd make a big deal out of it each.time. He'd help cook and bake and clean, he'd probably do more of that, and he'd disappear for hours because he was looking for the perfect gifts (and trust that each person will get at least three items if not more). I also think Seonghwa would check on his kid(s) anytime he wakes up in the middle of the night, and he'd certainly tuck them in each time, pressing a kiss to their forehead(s). He'd be very gentle and soft and the kid(s) would grow up in a safe space where they'd know they can freely speak and express their likes and dislikes because their parents will be supportive no matter what.

🐶Yunho

❀ This man is a giant, we know that too well, so honestly, piggybacks and him letting his kid(s) sit on his shoulders while they are out and about would be routine at this point. Like, even if his kid wouldn't ask to be carried, Yunho would be sweeping them off their feet and letting them do whatever as he carried them around. I feel like he'd also quite often get cute aggression, so he'd definitely be tackling them (in a gentle and non-endangering way) to press a dozen kisses against their cheeks, and I think he'd also love tickling them because of their cute laughter! (I'm struggling rn, who's getting cute aggression now??) Anyways, I have a feeling that if his kid(s) somehow manages to hurt themselves (like they fall and scrape their knees or hands) Yunho would rush to their side and hold them and sweet talk to them with a pout on his lips and sad eyes, trying to lighten their mood while he tells them that everything will be okay.

❀ I feel like Yunho is the type to get emotional over, perhaps, non-trivial things that concern his kids. Their tooth fell out and the Toothfairy is coming? Yup, a tear is rolling down his cheek because "Omg, the kid is getting bigger!", also you know that thing where they make you stand against the wall (or edge of the door) to measure your height while you're still growing? Yeah, I feel like Yunho would have to take a walk around the house after measuring his kid's height in order to will the tears away because the kid is two centimetres taller than he was a month ago and he “can't do this, why are they growing so quickly?!” Yunho is definitely the type of father who wakes up his kid(s) in the morning by brushing their hair aside and whispering to them softly, coaxing them out of their sleep. He'd also be always smiling, his kid(s) wouldn't know what Yunho's serious face looks like because he'd never looked at them like that. He'd be cracking jokes and making his kid(s) laugh, but he'd also listen to them if they came to him for advice, and I feel like he's great at reading people's moods, so he'd know when to offer them space or annoy them until the kid(s) get fed up with him and give in to him wanting to kick a ball or something.

🦄Yeosang

🜲 Well, let's be honest, with a dad like Yeosang, I feel like the kid(s) would be considered a little peculiar? But like in a very positive sense of the word because have you seen Yeosang's humour? Immaculate, dare I say, and his kid(s) have definitely inherited that from their dad. I feel like Yeosang is generally a calm and quiet person, but when it comes to his kid(s) he gets like hyper because he wants to do everything they ask him to, and he'll talk and talk until his kid(s) are pressing their tiny hands against his mouth to make him shut up. I think Yeosang would love to listen to his kid(s) stories, like "Yes, tell me all about your mate from kindergarten and his rescued grasshopper and also, what do you mean you ate a spider, child?! Spiders are not for eating!!" Yeah, I feel like Yeosang would forget his kid(s) at daycare at least once or twice (only at the beginning, I promise, like my dad forgot me there once: TMI). So what I was saying is, that because Yeosang loves hearing his kid(s)' stories, he will be reacting with grand gestures and everything and it will only amuse his child, because they'd get even more excited to tell him more about his day.

🜲 Also, I feel like while his kid is a baby and can't speak, he'd blabber back to them and constantly poke their tummy "Because babies are so cute, I think I'm going to combust", and he'd definitely rush up to his wife with the baby in his arms to show off that they have reached new levels of communication, and it'd surprise his wife because the two are now blabbering to each other and the baby is laughing and Yeosang is grinning so wide his cheeks are hurting. I think Yeosang would love to take the baby out on walks as the sun is setting (assuming they are in Seoul) and watch the sunset as the sun disappears behind the Han River, and he'd definitely snap pictures with the baby where his face isn't fully showing just so that he can post it, and then he'd take selfies and send them to the family's group chat. I think Yeosang would be the type of father who never shuts up about their kid (even to his own parents) and tries to be the best father, super supportive and, not going to lie, he'd probably spoil them too because he wants to give them everything they want and need. He'd be always there for them, even if just from the sidelines, and if there were a contest for proudest father of the year, Yeosang would surely win it!

🐱San

❀ The most important question here is, who's the baby? Okay, I'm joking but San would definitely sleep facing the baby, eyes watery because he still cannot believe that's his child and that child is going to grow up by his side and he's created a tiny life that will turn into a grown person one day and he cannot stop it just go with the flow. So yes, San would be the emotional type of father, but not to the extent that it becomes uncomfortable lol. He has strong principals/morals so he'll definitely teach his child the views he has of the world and life itself, but he'd make sure to leave space for his kid(s)' own opinions and views, so that they can create their own believes while taking an example out of their father. We all know San's background, so I think he'd definitely sign up his kid(s) to Taekwondo or another similar sport, mostly because he wants them to know how to defend themselves, but also because it teaches them discipline.

❀ San's kid(s)' will be the politest and most well-behaved you'll ever see, I think they'd rarely cry and stick close to their parents because they know they are safe and comforting. San would have a close and good bond with his kid(s), he'd take them places and let them explore the world. Given that San loves amusement parks so much, I'm sure he'd make it a weekly program to take them there, trying out rides that were appropriate for their ages, laughing all day and eating whatever their tummies (and hearts) desired. I think San would only give his kid(s)' the best, so yes, they'll go to the best school, they'll only wear the best clothes, and they'll only eat healthy food (with exceptions, ofc, he's no tyrant to deny a good hamburger and fries), but he wouldn't spoil his kid(s) to the point they become brats. Also, I feel like San would love it if his children would be on good terms with his best friend's kids, so yup, expect a lot of get-togethers and trips with the two/three (or eight lmao) families, which would be a hustle to every outsider lol. So, all in all, San would be strict but so very loving, he'd do his best to raise his kids well-mannered and humble (just like him bfr) and he'd make sure that he was a strong pillar they could always lean on and count on. (why am I getting emotional too...?)

🐣Mingi

🜲 *sigh*, where do I begin??? Bickering, lots of it, because "What do you mean you don't like mashed potatoes but you'll eat french fries?!!! They are the same, child, just eat it and stop whining!!" oh, and also, "What do you mean you want to go party, it's 11 pm and you're only seventeen?!" (if you've seen 10 Things I Hate About You, just picture the girls' dad when he makes Bianca wear that pregnancy vest before going out LMAO). So, yes, lots of nagging too, I guess, but it's actually well-intended and oh so loving!! Everyone thinks Mingi is intimidating (bfr besties) and I think his kid(s)' friends would be intimidated at first sight, but then Mingi invites them inside and goes to the kitchen to fetch them some snacks, and he accidentally knocks into the chair or table and he swears loudly and the kids start giggling because swearing is an adult thing still and it's funny, and then Mingi appears in the doorway and he's scowling, but he flushes when he realizes the kids heard him, so he tries to play it off but really, he looks like a clown so his child's friends instantly take a liking to him!

🜲 You can't contradict me on this, but I feel like if his kid started crying over something, Mingi would stare at them blankly before starting to (fake) cry too and this often leads to 2 outcomes: 1. the kid stops crying and looks at him like Mingi's crazy (judgingly) & 2. the kid starts crying harder because they know Mingi is making fun of them, and it makes Mingi panic, so now he's cradling them to his chest and trying to shush them and calm them down, because "If the wife hears, we're both dead kid, got it???" I think Mingi would be his kid's best friend before being their father, if you get what I mean? Like, sure, he'll scold them and put them in their place if needed, but he'll totally gossip with them and bring them a sandwich just so he can lounge around in their room (because Mingi won't admit it, but the kid is getting bigger and he feels like he's running out of time and that's terrifying), and he'll tell them things that perhaps should've been better if he kept it to himself. I think he'd always be in front of his kid(s)' school (no matter the age) after classes to pick them up, and he'd definitely do carpool karaoke on their way home, only running one red light (excuse the man, he's excited or something). So yeah, Mingi would be caring and careful with his kid(s), attentive and there for them, but he'd show them that just because he's their father it doesn't mean they aren't equal (most of the time), and they don't have to hide anything from him, really. (Just maybe the fact that they didn't come home last night at the agreed-upon hour, oops~)

🦊Wooyoung

♡ Loud, both of them, loud. But it's fine, because if they are loud at least the wife knows they are enjoying themselves. Because when it becomes quiet, that's when you just know they are up to no good. Like that one time when you were working from home and their giggling and screeching stopped, prompting you to check up on them, only to find your kid(s)' hair drenched in some neon-pink colour which is, ofc, washable, your makeup strewn all over the floor because Wooyoung was feeling funny and decided to paint their faces (it looked terrible, but you said nothing). Also, menaces, both of them, to the point they'd wear matching Halloween costumes and freak out the whole street as they'd randomly start chasing both children and adults (they are either dressed as Chucky or Ghostface, there's no in-between). All of that put together, however, Wooyoung would be always by his kid(s)' side if he could, and he'd be teaching them everything about the world. He'd read to them a lot and he'd watch a lot of History and National Geography with them lol.

♡ And yes, we know Wooyoung is a very affectionate person and that he likes to show his love physically, so there would be a lot of kisses, cuddles, hugs and tickles. Wooyoung would love to carry his kid(s) in his arms while they were still that age, holding their small heads against his chest, pointing out things to them as he explained everything the baby was curious about. I feel like Wooyoung would also take the family to the seaside a lot, he'd love to go inside the sea and play around by splashing each other, accidentally getting swept up by a wave, making his kid(s) laugh as their father struggled to find his footing again. And I'm pretty sure Wooyoung would constantly feed his kid(s) while they were eating, putting more and more food in their plate despite it being almost full already, and no matter what age, Wooyoung will coo at his kid(s) because they will always be his babies! (*cue the sobbing*) And I am sure Wooyoung would be his kid(s) safe haven, someone whose arms are always wide open and ready to comfort or just to hold them, remind them that he's always there for them. Wooyoung would be the type of father to encourage his kids, always, teaching them that the world's opinion about them never mattered and never will, that they should always chase their own dreams and live a happy and fulfilled life. And, similar to Hongjoong, his camera's SD card would be filled with so many memories, ah…

🐻Jongho

☆ A complete jokester, sneaky and the type of father to first laugh when their kid falls before going over to pick them up. I feel like the kid wouldn't be able to tell if their father is their worst enemy or best friend at first, because Jongho isn't afraid to scrutinize them and judge them down to the bone, but the next second the man is sticking his tongue out and cracking a joke, and the child is confused because why can't their father just pick one mood for five minutes at least? I think Jongho would love to antagonize his children with dad jokes, he's aware they are terrible but seeing the look on his children's faces is always worth it. Imagine Jongho trolling his kids any chance he gets, as an excuse for preparing them for life (we all know he just likes playing with them), and he'd be tapping their shoulders and hiding behind a tree or something, and he'd run after them down the dark hallway, making scary noises, and he'd randomly open their doors and just stand there with a blank face until his kid(s) are either scared or screaming at him to get out.

☆ I don't know why, but, I have to mention cooking. I'm pretty sure he'd gather up the family at least thrice a week, and their evening would consist of picking a recipe and making it together while some sports plays on the TV and the parents are sipping on wine while the children can have orange juice or maybe chocolate milk. I also think he'd often buy his kid(s) flowers, no matter the gender because everyone deserves flowers, and he'd probably buy them chocolate too because (guess what?) he secretly eats them and blames it on his wife so the children don't pester him about the missing chocolate lol. I feel like Jongho would raise his kids to be smart and logical, always finding solutions and not fearing the unknown (I mean, if your father chases you down a dark corridor, who fears ghosts anymore, no??) and because he's a little sneaky shit, of course, his children will end up like him too ("it's okay to cheat when playing board games", would say Jongho but also whine for an hour if he found out one of the family member's did cheat, acting as if he didn't also). Jongho would be their best pall but also their role model, he'd raise his children to be outstanding and determined, unafraid to go after what they want. I know he'd support their hobbies and always encourage them to try out new things. He'd love quiet evenings where he can hear his kid(s) in their room(s) giggling and laughing about whatever, calling him to keep them company before it's time for bed. <3