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leeknow-thoughts · 6 months ago

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୨୧ POMEGRANATE

𝝑𝝔 son of Hades!Chris x mortal!fem!reader

𝝑𝝔 cw : forced marriage, coercion, kidnapping, Hades is an asshole, Chris isn't an asshole, Soft!Dom!Chris, Sub!Reader, daddy kink, dd/lg, fingering (r. rec), innocence kink, oral (r. rec), spanking, oral fixation, inexperienced! reader, d/s dynamics, age play (not super extreme), p in v, creampie (use protection!!), pussy spanking, pet names, degrading kink, praise kink, bulge kink, lmk if I missed anything!!

𝝑𝝔 hyung line Greek gods m.list | maknae line Greek gods m.list

You were always too busy to think about having boyfriends and sex and things that were normal for women of your age. You never thought it was weird how you avoided romance, even in your teenage years. You thought romance was stupid, and it would just get in the way of your goals.

You busted your ass to graduate valedictorian in college, countless sleepless nights and study sessions is what your life consisted of for four whole years.

You reminisced about your hard work every single day that you worked this stupid low level job. You worked for the largest construction company in the country, Erebus Construction Enterprises. It was owned by one of the wealthiest families in the nation, the Bahngs, the oldest son of the family being the current CEO and his father being the head chairman of the company.

"Y/n," your coworker snaps you out of your trance, "hey, there you are, the team was going to go get drinks tonight? Do you wanna join?"

"No thanks," you reject, "I have a project I have to complete."

Your coworker gives you a look of sympathy before grabbing her coat and clocking out.

You refocus on your project as the desks next to you become empty, workers clocking out, hoping to enjoy their long weekend. Not you though, you still had to finish typing up a paper for the marketing team and make a slideshow for the next accounting meeting.

Hours passed by as you kept typing on your computer. "You know work hours ended-," a voice begins, you snap your head up to look at the man who said it, you find a man in an all black uniform staring at you, he checks his watch, "- five hours ago," the man finishes.

"I'm just finishing up a paper and a slideshow for a meeting we have next Tuesday," you explain to the man.

You take a moment to stretch, leaning back in your rolling chair. "Your name is?" the man asks.

"Y/n Y/l/n," you introduce yourself.

"Ah, just wanted to be sure," the man says.

It takes you a moment to register what he said and reply with, "wait what do you mean?"

"Follow me," he instructs.

When you don't follow after him he stops in his tracks, approaches you again and gives you a stern warning, "you should do what you're told, now come," he grabs your arm.

He drags you out into the hallway and the more you try to squirm and get away from him, the tighter his grip on your hand is. He pulls you into the elevator and presses one of the red buttons on the bottom.

You watch as the sign on the elevator changes from 'elevator' to 'hellevator'. "You might want to hold onto something," the man in black warns.

"Wha-" you begin.

Suddenly you're falling, well the elevator is falling. You scream as it plummets down. You don't know where it's taking you but your stomach sinks more every second you're falling.

Suddenly the elevator halts, and you have no time to brace yourself as you hit the floor. "Don't say I didn't warn you," the man chuckles lowly.

"What the fuck!" you scream, "what the fuck is this place!?"

"It's just hell, honey," he says the answer like it's obvious.

"What?" You look at him with shock and disbelief.

The elevator dings before the doors swing open, "don't go to the basement unless you want to meet Cerberus," the man gives a final warning before grabbing your purse and pulling out a quarter, "there that covers your fine," he hands me back my bag.

"My fine?" You question.

"You just crossed the River Styx, honey, I'm the ferryman," he says it like it's obvious.

You are given no warning before he pushes you out of the elevator, you try to run back inside, but the doors close before you can. You slide against the wall and cry.

You were in hell?

But why?

Ferryman? Cerberus? Like in Greek mythology, the spirit who helps the dead cross the River Styx, and the giant three-headed dog?

Your head fell into your hands and you tried to make sense of the whole situation. A tap on your shoulder causes you to look up, "please- just let me go home!" you plead through a sob.

The woman in front of you holds out her hand for you to take, when you don't take it she grabs your hand and pulls you with her.

She pulls you into a large dining room, the table is set with a collection of magnificent foods, there are four seats, none of them are full.

All of the windows are covered with curtains and the only light source in the room comes from the many candles scattered around the room.

The woman pulls you to one of the seats, and makes you sit down on the leather surface. "Who are you? Let me go!" you try and push the woman off you.

"Tch tch tch, silly girl," a deep voice scolds, "she's dead, she can't speak."

You look to find where the voice comes from, you find the man who spoke standing in a doorway. He wore a simple back suit with perfectly polished leather shoes and a clean haircut.

"Servant," he calls to the woman holding your wrist, "go fetch Chris and Persephone."

The woman bows to the man and lets go of your wrist before leaving out the door she brought you through. "Y/n Y/l/n," he says your name.

He crosses the space from the doorway to the seat directly in front of the one you were sat in. "Who-what are you?" you stutter.

"Well you could call me the devil, but I am not nearly as evil as him," he looks at you like you should know this like it is obvious and you should've known all along, "did the Ferryman not explain to you where you were?" he asks as he takes off the black blazer, placing it on the back of his chair.

"He just said we crossed the River Styx," you recall to the man.

"I see, still-," he pauses and opens a bottle of what looks like red wine before pouring it into one of the wine glasses, "you're a very intelligent young lady, I assume you realized where you were on your own."

"Why am I here?" I ask the man.

"Well it's a really long story, it started off with my nephew, he was given a message for me by these three old hags- that are referred to as the Fates. So being the messenger God and all, my nephew- Hermes- brought their letter to me," he takes a sip of the win before he continues, "imagine my surprise when that letter tells me the name of my eldest son's fated wife, and it turns out being your name. One of the new accounting hires," he man cocks his head.

"Y-you know me?" you mutter.

He hears you clearly though, "I know of every soul to exist, yes I know of you."

"W-why is this happening?" you inquire.

The man sighs, "like I said, you're fated to marry my oldest son," he replies.

"I-I c-can't be," you choke out, trying not to sob.

"Well unfortunately for you, you are," the man says dryly.

"S-so you're the devil?" I ask.

The man smirks, "Hades actually, Satan works in Tartarus exclusively," he explains.

"Hello darling," a woman says from the doorway.

She is utterly stunning, a small frame and dark brown eyes with red rosy cheeks and plump lips. "Hello Persephone," the man-Hades-greets.

The woman walks to your seat and wraps her arms around you, "hello y/n," she says as she hugs you tenderly.

Your words are caught in the back of your throat, "P-persephone?" you somehow are able to mumble.

"That's me, dear," she breaks away from you and walks to the other side of the table, sliding into the seat next to Hades.

"Where's Chris?" Hades asks her.

"He's in one of his moods, you know he doesn't want to do this, darling," Persephone says softly.

Hades rolls his eyes and whistles, within a millisecond a large wolf with red eyes is sitting beside your chair, "go get Chris," Hades tells the ferocious looking dog.

The dog trots away, out the doorway. "Oh, y/n dear, help yourself to the food," Persephone says gently.

You look at the meal prepared on the table in front of you. "B-but I d-don't want to have to stay here like you do," you confess to the woman.

"Don't worry about that dear, besides that whole myth is just a lie, Hades didn't force me to live down here," Persephone calmly corrected.

"Yeah, but he coerced you, I read the story, you were kidnapped by him and Zeus and they brought you down here and you accidentally ate a pomegranate and now you have to stay down here for 3 months every year," you clear your throat then continue, "and those 3 months are known as winter because your mother, Demeter, won't tend to the crops, that's why they all die."

"You haven't the slightest idea of what truly happened," Persephone says firmly, "I chose to stay with Hades on my own volition, winter happens because my mother takes a break during those three months. And Hades and his brother never kidnapped me."

Your mouth falls slightly agape as you listen to her.

"Oh," you say when she finishes talking.

"Yeah," she clears her throat.

"Dad, I told you," a voice comes from the doorway, you turn to look at the man, he was handsome, with dark hair and dark eyes, "I'm not doing this," he continues.

"You don't have a choice," Hades tells him, "now, sit."

The man reluctantly takes the seat next to you, and gives you a quick glance. "Y/n you really should eat," Persephone insists, "it's very good."

"Do you promise me that if I eat I won't be stuck here for forever," you ask her.

"You won't be stuck here forever," she promises.

You hesitantly reach across the table and grab a serving of the food, putting it on your plate and taking a small bite.

The food was delicious, the best you've had in your life. "It's good isn't it?" Persephone asks.

"The best," you compliment.

"Well, Chris, aren't you going to say anything to her?" Hades asks the man next to you.

"Yeah," he sighs, "I don't want to get married."

Hades' first slams onto the table, "Chris that is enough. You know your fate, she knows hers. There is not a choice in this matter," his voice booms.

Persephone gently rubs circles on Hades' shoulder, trying to calm him. "Y/n," she begins, "once dinner is over, you and Chris will be going back to his house, it's just a short boat ride away, if you would like anything you can write to Hephaestus," she explains.

"What about my apartment? And my job?" you ask.

"This is your home now," Hades says, rubbing his temple, "you can visit Earth anytime you like, but you must come back here before dark."

A clock on the wall chimes ten times, "well it is time for you two to go," Hades instructs Chris and you.

Chris sits up and looks at you before extending his hand for you to take. He senses your caution and smiles at you, trying to make you feel more calm.

"Go with him now, y/n, or else," Hades warns.

You hesitantly take his hand and he swiftly leads you out of the dining room and through the house, he opens the front door and steps out with you, the same man that brought you down here is standing on a boat that is floating in that is floating on a glowing surface.

Chris lifts you up onto the boat before climbing in himself. "Where to?" the ferryman asks.

"666 Hellside lane," Chris says to the man.

Chris pulls a coin out of his pocket and hands it to the man. The ferryman begins rowing the boat and you and Chris just stand in silence.

You take in the scenery, large pits of fire with people burning in them next to large pits with meadows and people running around happily. You look into the large pit of fire, seeing the pain and agony on the people's faces as they burn, you reach out for them, wanting to help but a firm grasp on your extended wrist stops you from being able to reach them. "Don't," Chris warns.

"They're suffering," you try to plead with him, pleading for people you don't even know.

"And for a good fucking reason, they lived evil lives," Chris explains.

"B-but they were still just people," you swallow the lump in your throat.

"Bad people," Chris reminds you, "the morals of your world don't always apply down here, but I know for a fact that all the souls in that burning pit deserve to be down there, burning."

You blink at the man, "is that where I'll go? Will you send me there?"

"Never," he replies immediately, "in no reality would I make you suffer like them."

"W-would your father s-send me there?" you ask with teary eyes at the thought.

Chris gently cups your face, "don't worry about my father, I won't let him hurt you."

You nod and Chris wipes a tear that had fallen with his thumb.

The boat stopped and Chris got off first, he lifted you up and helped you down off the boat afterwards. You looked up at the large house in front of you. Ornate and beautiful on the outside. Chris opened the front door and you walked in before he closed the door behind the two of you.

The living room was magnificent, high ceilings with stained glass windows, a large couch in the middle and a fireplace across from it. "Woah," you gawk.

After a moment of silence, Chris speaks, "your room is down there," he points down the hallway with one door at the end.

"My room?" you ask.

"Yeah," he says softly, "all yours," he smiles.

"B-but what about you?" you ask.

"My room is upstairs, it's the first room on the right," he informs.

"Oh," you say.

"Yeah, just make yourself comfortable and if there's anything you need, I'll just be in my room or in my office," he explains softly.

He starts to walk away, "wait!" you call to him, he turns around and looks at you, "my cats, Cookie a-and Oreo- they're still on Earth, I-I don't want them to be lonely or g-go hungry," you tell him.

"I'll go get them for you," he instantly replies.

"They can come down here?" you ask enthusiastically.

Chris walks to you and tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear, "of course they can, I do have a dog though, but she's really friendly, her name is Berry, she's probably playing outside," he tells you, "I'll go and get your cats and bring them back here."

"O-okay, t-thank you," you thank him.

He smiles softly and leaves out the front door. You stand there for a moment, not knowing what to do with yourself, before you decide to check out your bedroom.

You open the door and look around, it looked similar to your bedroom back on Earth. You opened one of the doors in the room to see a huge walk in closet. Multiple floors tall and full of any types of clothes you could think of.

You open another door to see a whole on-suite bathroom. With a huge shower and a jacuzzi tub.

You walk back into the closet, looking for a pair of pajamas. You find a key pad with many buttons, you cautiously press the button that says 'sleepwear' and the closet starts to move around.

The many racks of clothing shuffle around for a moment before the sliding doors open, revealing all kinds of pajamas.

You opt for a blue matching silk pajama set, you slip the clothes on and decide to look around the house that was now yours. You opened one of the large doors that lead to a large grassy area that was fenced in with a metal gate. You take a seat on the back porch, close your eyes, and try to wrap your mind around the day you had.

You hear a dog bark beside you and you open your eyes to see a dog with three heads staring at you. Your first reaction is to scream, not used to the supernatural sight. But one of the dog's heads starts licking your face, making you burst into a fit of laughter.

You sit up and look at the small dog, you look at the large collar around it's neck and read the name. "Berry," you say the dog's name out loud.

The dog perks up and jumps into your lap, "hi, Berry," you coo, "aren't you gorgeous," you say as you pet her.

You sit with the three-headed dog until you hear the back door open, Chris leaning against the door frame carrying your two cats, one in each hand.

Berry rushes to Chris' side, her tail wagging a mile a minute.

You sit up and walk to Chris, gently taking your cat, Oreo, from his arms, give Oreo a kiss and gently pet him. "Thank you," you thank Chris again.

"Don't mention it," he smiles.

You step inside and Chris closes the door behind the two of you. You put Oreo down on the ground and Berry begins sniffing the black and white cat. You turn back to Chris and he hands you your Tortoiseshell cat, Cookie.

You kiss Cookie before you put her on the ground, Berry sniffing her now as well. "You really aren't like your dad," you figure, talking about Chris.

"I hope I'm not," he chuckles lowly, he brushes a strand of hair out of your face, "you should get some sleep," he suggests, "we can talk more in the morning okay?"

He walks you to your room, "wake me up if you ever need anything," he says softly.

You step into your room and Chris closes the door. You hear his footsteps as he walks away from the door.

You did try to sleep, you really did. But you found yourself tossing and turning on the large bed rather than sleeping.

You contemplate waking Chris up for a good ten minutes before deciding you would just watch something on the TV in the living room.

You sat up and walked into the living room, you sat on the large, black, leather couch and grabbed the remote, turning on the TV.

You flipped through channels until you settled on a random channel in a random language you couldn't understand.

"Y/n?" you hear Chris' voice.

You watch the man as he walks down a pair of stairs, rubbing his eyes, wearing nothing but a pair of plaid pajama pants and a pair of red slippers.

"What're you doing up?" he asks softly.

"C-couldn't sleep," you explain quietly.

"O-oh," he hums, walking back up to his bedroom.

Eventually you passed out on the couch, waking up from a nightmare. It took you a moment to fully realize where you were, but you ruled out the fact that you just had a bad dream when you looked around the ornate living room, remembering all that had happened.

A knock on the door made you snap your head up. You hesitantly walk to the door, opening it to reveal Persephone along with a group of servants. "Oh, hello honey!" she muses before stepping into the house as if it was hers.

"W-what are you doing here?" you ask in the most polite way you can.

"Well it's your wedding day!" she announces like it's obvious.

"M-my wh-what?"

"Oh dear, don't play dumb! C'mon we need to get you fitted for a dress," she hums.

She drags you by your arm to your room before practically pulling your clothes off, only leaving you in your underwear. You try to cover yourself but she is swatting your hands away as the servants begin taking your measurements with measuring tapes. "Do you like the color black?" Persephone asks as a servant shows her different fabrics and colors.

"I-I-it's okay?"

"And do you like glitter?"

"N-not really."

"Dear," she scolds, "you should be serious about this, we have the Christian Dior working on this."

"Christian Dior?"

"Yes the owner and founder of Dior-"

"I know who Christian Dior is b-but why?"

"Well your wedding should be perfect!" she exclaims.

"Mom," Chris' voice comes from the door to your room.

"You're not supposed to see each other before the ceremony!" Persephone whines.

"I understand you're excited, but go easy on y/n m'kay? She is scared," he points out and looks at you.

"Oh, c'mon it's just marriage!"

"Mom," he says more firmly, "it's marriage."

"Oh fine," Persephone huffs, "y/n what are your favorite flowers by the way? My brother is going to make us some!"

"Felix is coming?" Chris asks.

"All of Olympus is coming!" Persephone cackles.

"Olympus!" you shriek, "I'm going to pass out!"

Chris lunges forward to support you and keep you standing while his mother and her servants are whispering and talking amongst themselves. "Here, let's get you in some clothes," Chris figures.

If you were naive you would think he's being kind, but honestly you don't know if you can afford to be naive at the moment.

Chris walks to the closet and grabs a pair of clothes and hands them to you. You swiftly pull them on before Persephone is grabbing your hand and pulling you into a seat. One of her servants pulling out a makeup bag and slapping a primer on your skin. "Chris!" An unfamiliar voice calls.

You turn your head to see a blonde boy with freckles standing in the doorway calling to your soon to be husband. "Felix, hey man," Chris says, embracing the man-Felix.

"Oh hey, you must be y/n! Nice to meet you! I'm Demeter's son! Gosh it is scorching down here!" he exclaims and fans himself with his hand.

"Well it's almost like it's hell," you retort.

"Well yeah, dear Zeus, Persephone how can you love someone so much to stay down here for as long as you do!" he exclaims.

"Well you know how much I love Hades," she chuckles to her brother.

You sit still as the servants begin styling your hair and applying your makeup.

"Is Zeus coming?" Chris asks.

"No! Silly! He is far too busy! But he's sending Hyunjin on his behalf," Persephone announces.

"Persephone, the dress is done!" one of the servants says.

"Oh lovely! Y/n look at this! Isn't it stunning!" Persephone calls and shows you the large black ballgown dress.

"Y-yeah, beautiful," you shrug as you feel tears welling up in your eyes.

"It's so beautiful she's crying isn't that sweet!" Persephone proclaims.

You feel so claustrophobic in the room, as you try to bite down your tears. "Mom," Chris starts, "she is crying because she doesn't want to do this."

"Christopher!" Persephone shouts, "she will deal with it! As will you! This is destiny!"

"You don't have to like your destiny!" Chris' voice booms.

You can't help but mentally compare him to his father, they yell the same way. Chris has a better temper but they both can hate the same way.

"Ok," Felix breaks the tension, "Seph why don't you go and get ready I'll watch over them."

Your eyes go wide as you watch Persephone leave the room in a huff. "Sorry you had to hear that y/n," Felix apologizes for his sister and his nephew, "they both have quite a temper."

You turn your head back and wait until the servants finished your makeup and hair.

Chris and Felix eventually left when it was time for you to put on the wedding dress, saying they'd meet you at the venue.

You slipped on the dress in silence and one of the servants tightened the corset on the back.

The boat ride to the venue was silent, only thanking the ferryman and handing him a silver coin when he dropped you off.

"Hi my dear," an old woman greets you at the gate of the garden you were dropped off at, "my name is Clotho, I'm one of the Fates, my sisters are busy today but they give you and Chris their blessing!"

"Please tell Lachesis to cut my time short, I don't want to do this," you plead to the old woman.

"Dear," she coughs, "you'll be immortal once you marry him, it's not like she can do anything."

"I would rather die," you comment.

"I shouldn't tell you your fate, but you do fall in love with him, may as well let it happen," she whispers to you.

Your eyes widen in shock and she holds your hand walking you down the aisle in the garden.

A piano playing a tune in the background as you walk down the aisle with the woman.

Chris is waiting at the end of the aisle and you see Hades standing at the center.

You cry as you stand up there and Hades pronounces you married. Not wanting this to be your fate.

"You may kiss the bride," Hades instructs Chris.

Chris rolls his eyes before gently cupping your face and bringing you in for a kiss that lasts only a second.

You sob on the boat ride back to your house, mascara running down your face. You run to your bedroom and cry into the pillows. Crying until you feel like throwing up.

You had been living in the same house as Chris for a few days, and you finally were able to sleep in your bed at night.

A knock on your door is what woke you up, you sat up and rubbed your eyes while the door creaked open, "y/n," Chris calls out to you.

"Mhm," you grunt sleepily.

"Hey, I got you a present," he explains.

You rise up out of bed and let Chris lead you to where the present is. He has you sit down on the couch and close your eyes and you feel a weight being put on your extended hands. "Okay, you can open your eyes now," Chris says.

You slowly open your eyes and look at the box in your hands, you look up at him before you open the pretty black box. You look at the ticket stubs for a moment, and read the text. Concert tickets, for your favorite band.

"D'you like them? I don't want this marriage as much as you, but I figured a wedding gift wouldn't hurt that much?" Chris asks.

"Like them? Chris-" the words are caught in your throat, "I love them," you smile.

"I-I got you two, that way you can go with one of your friends on earth," he grins.

"I- thank you," you thank him, you throw your arms around him in a warm embrace.

"Of course, y/n, anything to make you feel a bit better," he says dutifully.

Chris showed you over and over again that he would give you anything and everything your heart would desire.

From making a whole art studio in your shared house because you once mentioned that you liked painting during a dinner conversation.

To giving you a phone so you could talk to your friends who were on Earth.

There was no doubt, he cared for you. And you couldn't help but care for him as well.

"Guess who," you peek your head into Chris' office.

He was sitting at his desk with papers laid out over the surface.

"Hey, sweet girl," he hums when he sees you.

He motions you over and you obey, he taps his thigh for you to sit on, and you do. His arm rests on your waist, and you watch as he works. "What'cha doin?" you ask him.

"Finishing up some paperwork for the company," he explains, "did you need anything, honey?" he asks.

You shake your head, "no, jus' wanted to be close to you," you confess.

Chris cocks a brow, "yeah?" he coos gently.

You nod, "yeah, I like being around you."

A smile breaks out onto his face and he turns his full attention to you. "I like being around you too," he confesses.

Later that night you find yourself in your bed, staring up at the ceiling.

You felt hot all over as you thought about Chris, how caring he was, how handsome he was, how dominant he was.

You hadn't felt that way before, what were you supposed to do? That was the first night you felt the intense wanting for Chris. And it certainly wasn't your last.

Every night for the next week you'd think of Chris, you would feel tingly all over, to the point where it drove you crazy. You didn't know what to do with this feeling that was coming from your cunt.

You knock on the door to Chris' bedroom, you hear footsteps before Chris opens up the door, "honey, hey what's going on?" he asks when he sees the tears in your eyes, concern laced in his voice.

"I feel weird," you sniffle.

"Oh, sweet girl," he coos, he gently pulls you into his room and pulls you onto his chest, "tell me what's going on?" he requests.

"I just keep feeling weird, a-and I d-dunno what t'do," you confess.

"Feel weird where?" he inquires.

Your face goes red and you whisper to him, "my- y'know."

He looks at you for a moment before breaking out into a fit of laughter, you swat at him, "I'm being serious!" you whine.

"You haven't like-" he pauses, "masturbated before?"

You shake your head no, and watch as his face breaks out into a look of realization. You tuck your head into his chest as blush creeps onto your face. "Hey, shh, it's okay honey, don't be embarrassed," Chan reassures.

He tilts your chin up so you're looking at him, "whatever you want, I'll give it to you," he hums, his thumb gently caressing your chin.

"Daddy," the words leave your mouth before you can stop yourself.

Chris groans before pulling you in for a gentle kiss, he quickly pulls away before looking in your eyes again. He only looks at you momentarily before pulling you back in for another, more heated, kiss.

That night Chris watched as you touched yourself, gently talking you through the new feelings and watching as you writhed around on his bed from the pleasure.

You heard the front door open and sprung up from your place on the couch to see Chris walk inside. He had just gotten back from work. He looked exhausted from the day's activities. "Chri-" you begin but he cuts you off by crossing the space between the two of you and slamming his lips onto yours.

"Daddy-" you mumble against his lips.

"Hmm?" Chris hums.

"Wanna help you relax," you mutter.

"Just let me kiss you honey," he insists, "let me give you special kisses."

"Special kisses?"

"Yeah," he hums, he pulls your pants down without warning.

Staring at your cunt, he gently kisses your mound over your panties. "I'm the only one who can kiss you here, you understand?" he growls.

"Yes," you whine.

Chris pulls your panties to the side before placing a tender kiss on your clit.

You moan and your fingers run through his hair, "that's a good girl," Chris hums.

You feel two of his fingers press into your entrance and you squirm around due to the unfamiliar sensation. "Daddy," you whine.

Chris' plump lips keep sucking on your clit while one of his fingers pistons in and out of your cunt. One finger turns into two, two into three, until you're gushing all over his face without a chance to warn him.

"That's it," he coos, "such a sweet little pussy," he groans, fingering you through your orgasm.

He places a kiss above your mound before slapping your pussy. You jolt at the contact and watch as Chris sits up and pulls his pants down.

"Here you go honey, gonna give you a treat for being a good little girl for me," he muses.

He strokes his fat cock in front of you before lining it up at your soaking entrance. "Daddy-" you whine.

"Daddy's here, don't worry babydoll," he hums as he pushes into you.

You squirm around as you feel more and more of his cock enter you. "That's it, take it like the slut that you are," Chris spits.

The only thing leaving your mouth at this point is broken cries of Chris' title. Chris sets a menacingly fast pace, pounding into you with your legs thrown over his shoulders.

You feel as his hands run down your stomach, stopping on your lower tummy, "I can fucking feel myself inside you," Chris comments.

You move your hand down and feel the area where his cock is bulging in and out of you. "Oh my god!" you scream as you cum around him.

"That's it, atta girl," he praises, "let me fill you up, let daddy pump a baby into his sweet little girl."

"Yes," you whine, "f-fuck a baby into me w-wan' you t'fill me up please!" you beg.

Chris' movements become sporadic and you start to feel his hot cum seeping into you. He keeps fucking into you as he cums, making sure you take each last drop of his seed.

Honestly, hell wasn't even hotter than Christopher Bahng.

#bun.writes #bunwritesskz #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz #stray kids x you #skz x reader #stray kids #bang chan smut #christopher bang #bang chan #bang chan x reader #bang chan fluff #bangchan x reader #buns.skzgreekgod!au #bun.writes : channie

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pathologicalreid · 2 months ago

Text

hysteria | s.r.

in which the BAU is called into a case in rural Appalachia when bodies start showing up in an abandoned insane asylum

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst (horror?) content warnings: hanging (staged suicide), enucleation, established relationship, ghosts, insane asylum, rope burn, premonition in dreams, death, pov switches, "the green ribbon", lobotomies, abduction, corporeal vs spirit form, CPR, hospitals, painkillers, first aid word count: 8.8k a/n: hey guys i am literally not one to beg for interaction but like if you could send an ask or gimme a reblog if you liked this it would probably make my day. this fic is just an excuse for me to tell ghost stories! and just like that, margotober is over. man, it sure would be a shame if i had something planned for november!

night one

“This is a joke, right?” You asked, eyeing the rest of the team as they observed the property before you. The dilapidated building that stood in front of you was previously completely abandoned, and now you weren’t entirely sure if the yellow police line was new or if the tattered plastic was a result of a crime of the past.

It looked like one of the haunted houses that Spencer would drag you to, one with a much too high budget that would leave you feeling like you needed to scrub cobwebs from your skin. You were waiting for the sheriff to make his way up the hill that the asylum was perched on, the BAU had made it up in SUVs, but the locals elected to hoof it.

Tugging the sleeves of your FBI jacket over your hands, you tapped your heel impatiently and observed the scenery. The fall foliage was in peak season, orange and red leaves fluttered in the wind, falling from the trees until they hit the ground. To the left was the town, small and hidden within a river valley, and to the right was a field of gravestones. Each life lost in the asylum whittled down to a number, hundreds of weathered rocks marked where a body was buried. Even after all of your years with the BAU, the sight still made you sick to your stomach.

The death count on this property had gone up by twelve recently, a group of college kids had found the first body hanging from the staircase, and it seemed like a semi-routine suicide until the local cops did a full sweep of the building and found eleven other bodies, each hanging in a different room.

It wasn’t until the medical examiner looked at them that they realized they were out of their depth, the oldest of the bodies had been dead before they were hung, which told you that hanging the bodies was the intention of the killer and he was beginning to perfect his M.O. Even more than that, the last two bodies had been enucleated post-mortem.

Being grateful for the method by which a person had their eyeballs destroyed wasn’t an emotion you felt frequently, and it was an odd thing to admit to yourself as you consciously blinked.

Over the curve of the hill, you watched as a couple of locals made their appearance, each of them equipped with a flashlight. The sun was beginning to set. Emily had made the executive decision that this case couldn’t wait until morning, so you took off in the middle of the day. Glancing over your shoulder, you found Spencer’s eyes and he gave you one of his patented half-smiles before you looked back at the foreboding building.

The structure had electrical issues, leading to lights flickering all over the crumbling brick walls. The flashes were starting to play tricks on your eyes because you would’ve sworn that you saw a woman in one of the windows, in a long white dress as she looked down at you and your team.

“You must be the BAU,” the sheriff greeted once he was close enough to your group, he waved before huffing impatiently. “Sheriff Shawn Greenbaum, this here is Deputy Conrad Perkins,” he introduced himself and the man with him. You studied them, trying to gauge information about them based on appearance alone.

Emily nodded, reaching her hand out for him to shake and introducing herself before making the rounds with the rest of the team. “Agents Simmons and Lewis are already at the station getting settled, but the rest of us are interested in getting in the building and taking a look around.”

Greenbaum placed both of his hands on his hips before clearing his throat, “That’s not a problem at all. We’ve got a lock up on those front doors to try and keep people out, we’re hoping it’ll put a halt on any more crime.”

Kicking mud off of your boot, you and JJ shared a dubious look. In your line of work, where there’s a will there’s a way—a padlock would do very little to help keep your killer out of the asylum. Even so, you all followed the sheriff as he produced a key from his belt, leading the way to the front doors. They were made of rotting wood. If someone really wanted to get past the lock, they could probably kick them in.

The smell hit you before you stepped foot inside the building, the stench of mildew wafting through the air made you crinkle your nose as you closely followed JJ into the building. A gentle touch to the small of your back told you that Spencer was behind you, each of you shuffling in single file behind the sheriff.

“The first body was found hanging over there,” the deputy, Perkins pointed straight ahead toward the winding staircase. You studied the peeling wallpaper and looked at the faded signs above the different hallways, barely able to make out the words tuberculosis and adolescent as you strolled through the main lobby.

Since they’d initially assumed it was a suicide, the body had been taken down, so even though you had twelve bodies to start your profile with, you didn’t have a fresh crime scene anywhere. In fact, you’d wager a guess and say there’s nothing fresh about this building.

Cringing as you walked over a pile of wet paper, you listened to Emily as she gave everyone jobs, “Reid and I will keep talking to the sheriff, Rossi and JJ, why don’t the two of you check out this wing here with the deputy, and Luke and Y/N can take the upstairs.”

You looked up and found Luke, following him to the staircase and ducking under the noose to go up the stairs, hesitant to use the handrail as you made your way to the second floor, knowing there was plenty of building for the two of you to explore. Pulling your flashlight from your belt for additional lighting, the sight in front of you was worse than what you had seen downstairs. “Watch your step,” you said absentmindedly, bypassing a bucket filled with what you sincerely hoped was water.

“When was this place built again?” Luke asked you, knowing you had done preliminary research with Spencer on the jet. He produced his own light, slipping his cell phone from his pocket and using the flashlight function.

You checked the ceiling, wondering where the beams were and if any bodies had been found in the hallways, “The 1860s,” you responded, keeping your voice soft so you didn’t disturb anything in the building—living or otherwise. You found yourself wanting to walk to the window you had seen that woman in earlier.

Alvez made a disgusted noise at something, and you refrained from looking back at it, knowing you likely didn’t want to know. “And what patients did they predominantly treat?”

Fiddling with the door handle, you nudged the door open with your knee, coughing at the puff of dust that met you on the other side. “They started with a little bit of everything. The elderly, children, adolescents, epileptics, TB patients,” you listed off. “We even found records of people accused of ‘excessive self-satisfaction,’” you continued, finding the window in question. The only thing you found was the same flickering sconce you had seen from the outside.

“Self-satisfaction?” Luke repeated the phrase curiously.

You tapped the sconce with the end of your flashlight, getting it to stop flickering before you clarified, “Masturbation.”

Expectedly, Luke chuckled lightly at your answer, “How exactly would one quantify excessive masturbation?”

Raising your eyebrows, you studied a strange mark on the cement floor, “I assure you; I have no clue.” You turned around, expecting to see Luke right in front of you. “Luke?” You called out his name, confused when you didn’t see him in your line of sight, you flashed your light around the room, wondering if he had found something. “Ah!” You yelped when a hand touched your shoulder, causing you to drop your flashlight.

Luke cackled from his place behind a bookshelf, “It’s gonna be a long case if you’re that tightly wound the entire time.”

You swatted at him with the sleeves of your jacket, “Asshole,” you muttered, taking the practical joke mostly in stride.

“Y/N?” Spencer called from the first floor. Your voice must have carried down the stairs, or they heard the flashlight fall to the ground.

Glaring at Luke, you shouted back, “I’m fine!” You crouched to pick up your flashlight, blowing dust off of it before you tightened your grip around it, “Grow up, Alvez.”

He rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, so what did they do after they took in a little bit of everyone?”

You hummed, stepping back out into the hallway, and looking into what you assumed were offices—most of the patients would’ve lived on the first floor. “They started to focus on patients with mental disorders in the 1970s. Around the same time that medicine in psychiatry started to make advancements,” you kicked at a piece of cloth on the ground. “It closed down in the early nineties when people finally started acknowledging that things like lobotomies and electroshock are inhumane.”

Luke picked the next room, wiggling the doorknob before he used his shoulder to push the door open, “Woah.”

Stepping in behind him, you saw what he was looking at. Along the wall was a mural of sorts, a landscape that featured a caricature of the sun. Next to it, the words ‘let the sun shine in’ were scrawled in black paint.The colors were eerily vibrant for the age of the building, “Well that’s…” You let your voice trail off, looking at the size of the furniture in the room and ascertaining that it was likely designed as a treatment space for children.

“Do you hear that?” Luke asked, shining his flashlight around the room and looking for the source of the noise.

Fortunately, you weren’t that gullible, “Yeah, right.” You scoffed, turning back and seeing Spencer at the top of the staircase, “Hey,” you said, tilting your head to the side curiously.

He smiled at you softly, “Hey, it looks like it’s about to rain, so Emily’s having all of us head back to the precinct. We can look at the M.E. reports knowing what we know now about the crime scene.”

You nodded, looking into the room to find Luke, still shining his phone in every corner, “Luke, it’s probably just a rat or a tree branch tapping on the side of the building.”

Luke’s eyebrows were pinched together in concern, but he followed your footsteps into the hallway, falling to the back of the group as the three of you walked downstairs, meeting the rest of the team in front of the asylum.

“It’s kind of weird,” you said mostly to yourself, though you were entirely aware of the people who were surrounding you.

Spencer hummed curiously, making sure the sheriff wasn’t watching before he adjusted the collar of your jacket, “What’s weird?” He asked, mimicking the soft tone of your voice.

You looked back at the window where the light had started flickering again, “How all of these people were forced into the asylum by their loved ones, and now the word has an entirely different meaning.”

Holding your mug in both hands, you listened carefully to the crackling fire in the lobby of the hotel. Matt stood up from where he was sitting so that Spencer could sit next to you, and you absentmindedly slung your legs over his lap, thinking about the case. More specifically, you were thinking about the scene.

Spencer set a hand on your pajama-covered thigh, using his other hand to hold his book open as you listened to the other noises in the lobby. There was a storm going on outside, and a certain level of unease blanketed the team, leading to a convening in the hotel. Emily and Tara were going over case files, Matt and JJ were on the phone with their families, Rossi was playing Tetris on his phone, Luke was on the phone with someone, and you were just observing.

Eventually, Luke spoke up to everyone, “Hey guys, listen to this,” he said, holding his phone out and clicking the speakerphone button, “Okay, go ahead Garcia.”

Your eyebrows raised in amusement at the revelation that he was on the phone with Penelope, but you were still grateful to hear her voice coming through the speaker.

“I hope you’re all cozy by the fire because I have found a story about your crime scene that will chill you to your bones,” she prefaced, and you smiled slightly at her embellishments. “Catherine Pence was admitted to the Barnham Asylum for the Mentally Ill in 1978 at the age of 53. She lived a totally normal and insignificant life until she was 50 years old and her mother passed away, at which point, the people in Catherine’s life said she started to behave strangely.”

Snapping his book closed, Spencer set the novel in your lap before pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, “Strangely, how?”

Penelope cleared her throat, “I’m glad you asked, Dr. Reid. She was convinced that her mother was still with her. In fact, she would frequently be confused when other people told her that they couldn’t see her mom. Eventually, she started showing other concerning symptoms, so her husband brought her to Barnham.”

You frowned, sharing a glance with JJ, who had hung up the phone, “What kinds of other symptoms?”

“The file I got my hands on specifically cites paranoid thoughts, but that’s not even the spookiest part,” she continued. “When the doctors did their first examination of Catherine, they decided that whatever she was dealing with wouldn’t be amenable to any sort of treatment. She was a very calm patient who periodically had conversations with her dead mother and voiced paranoid thoughts, but they put her in Block D.”

Block D was the section of the hospital set aside for patients in need of around-the-clock care, which seemed a bit extreme for Catherine.

There was a clicking on Penelope’s end of the call before she resumed, “Anyway, Block D had sixteen rooms and there was always some form of supervision, usually a nurse. All of the doors were locked and there were bars on the window, so it was impossible to get anywhere without someone noticing, or so you would think.”

You settled further into the couch cushions, and Spencer instinctively squeezed your thigh.

“On December 1st, 1978, when the nurse went into Catherine’s room with her breakfast tray, she found the room in absolute tatters. I mean, the bedding was shredded, there was broken glass, everything was scattered around the room, and Catherine was missing.” Penelope said, emphasizing the last word.

Luke, who had previously seemed bored by the story, leaned forward, setting his elbows on his knees, “What happened to her?”

Penelope hummed, knowing she had sucked everyone into the story, “The search started immediately. You don’t just have someone escape an inescapable room and move on with your day. The windows, walls, and floor in Block D were completely intact and there was no sign of tampering with the door. No one could figure out how she got out, much less where she was.”

She didn’t wait for anyone to speak before she continued, “Catherine’s nurse said that she was unusually moody and had been for weeks. She completely stopped speaking and showed no reactions when people spoke to her and it was apparently very sudden, but that didn’t really provide any insight into where she could be. The staff searched the surrounding area thoroughly, but there were no leads. Eventually, they notified her relatives and the residents of the town in case she had somehow gotten out of the hospital.”

Then, on January 12th, 1979, a group of men that the asylum hired to do repair work on the second floor found that there was a door locked from the inside.” Garcia cleared her throat before resuming the story, “They also discovered an unpleasant smell emanating from the room, and when they finally got into the room, there was Catherine Pence.”

You wrinkled your nose in disgust, simply just imagining the smell of the room.

“Her clothes were removed and neatly folded next to her and her arms were crossed over her chest, one below the other,” Penelope continued. “Mysteriously, when her body was removed and taken to the morgue, there was a trace left on the concrete floor that corresponded exactly to the figure of Catherine. No matter how many times or what they’ve tried, they can’t get the mark out of the concrete.”

Your blood ran cold at the memory of the strange shape you’d seen in the asylum, “What?”

Penelope hummed, “The medical examiner considered hypothermia as a potential cause of death, but apparently that winter was unseasonably warm, so he settled on a heart attack.”

“Did they ever consider homicide?” Rossi asked, attempting to seem uninterested.

There was a chuckle on the other end of the call, “Yes, they did, but they never found anything else to support that theory. At that point, the room Catherine was found in hadn’t been opened since 1976 when it was used to contain patients with a contagious infectious disease. Since then, the room remained locked.” You could practically hear Penelope’s smile as she divulged the final detail, “Residents of the town say that, sometimes, you can hear cries for help coming from the building. There are even reports of Catherine’s ghost being seen in the window of the room where she died, she just stands there and stares out the window.”

Everyone sat around in silence for a moment before Luke grabbed the phone off of the coffee table, “Yeah, alright, thanks, Garcia.”

“Sleep well, my pretties,” she crooned through the phone before the call ended.

You felt heavy as if there had been a weight placed on your chest, and in an attempt to rectify it, you handed Spencer his book, “I’m headed to bed.”

He looked up at you curiously, eyes studying yours before he nodded, “Alright, I’ll be up in a little while,” he assured you.

Your body carried you to the hotel room, using the key to unlock the door and somehow making it to the bed even after your mind had completely turned itself off. You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you remembered waking up.

As you sat up in bed, you were having trouble holding your head up, finding that you couldn’t turn your neck to see if Spencer had made it to bed. More than that, the room was pitch black when the two of you usually leave the bathroom light on in hotels. Opening your mouth, no words came out.

Small puffs of air escaped your lips, but nothing else came out. You couldn’t move your hands to your neck—you couldn’t move at all. You wanted to call out for Spencer, and even though no sound came out of your mouth, you saw him before you.

Your eyes widened at his sudden appearance, suspiciously illuminated in the otherwise dark room.

Tantalizingly slowly, his hand reached out for you, touching the skin of your neck with his fingertips before pulling. It felt like he was pulling at a thread, and all you could do was watch as his hand came back with a piece of twine pinched between his fingers and your disembodied head fell to the floor.

You gasped for air, holding your hand to your chest and panting, unable to figure out how to get air into your lungs when you so desperately needed it. There were other hands on you, gently placed on your hip and upper back, the latter rubbing small circles as you choked on nothing but air.

“Hey,” Spencer whispered, continuing his ministrations on your back. “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he comforted you, trying to get you to even out your breathing.

Carefully, his hand reached up to your neck, sweeping hair behind your shoulder, but as soon as you felt his hand on the side of your neck, you flinched away from him, nearly toppling off of the double bed.

He pulled you back as gently as he could, “Y/N,” he said, his voice stern this time as he turned to flick the lamp on. “What happened?”

You shook your head, appreciating how secure it felt to the rest of your body, before pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes. “It was just a nightmare,” you answered, the sound of your own voice felt disconnected from your body.

“You don’t usually call out my name in your nightmares,” Spencer observed softly, trying to get you to open up more to him, “And you’ve definitely never pulled away from me like that.”

He was right, you had your general recurring nightmares—mostly work related—but you’ve never had anything like this before. You didn’t know how to explain it to him, because how would you explain to your rational, genius boyfriend that you thought you were seeing ghosts?

night two

You felt his eyes on you, Spencer’s big, brown eyes were boring right into yours as you looked at the foreboding structure in front of you. You weren’t even sure how long you’d been watching the stained-glass window, waiting for something to happen, waiting for the ghost to come back.

Sighing, you leaned back in the passenger seat of the car, thinking about the now-cold coffee that you had sitting in the cup holder and wondering if it would be worth the caffeine if it meant you had to pee in the woods at some point in the night.

“You should’ve stayed at the hotel tonight,” Spencer said, his eyes still focused on you.

You pursed your lips, watching the light flicker in the window, “We have a job to do.” That should’ve been enough for him, it had to be enough for you, knowing that at the end of the day, this was just a case and you’d be going home once you found whoever was doing this.

Finally turning his head, Spencer huffed in frustration as he faced the front door of the asylum. “I know you didn’t get back to sleep last night, so you have to be exhausted now,” he told you.

It was nearly midnight now, and you indeed hadn’t gone back to sleep after waking up at two in the morning, but you still agreed to a stakeout when Emily suggested it. Spencer called you out on it then, similarly to what he was doing now, and you were sure he had something to do with you being paired up together. If you ever found out he had voiced a concern about you to Emily, you were going to have issues.

The cool glow of the waning gibbous moon reflected off of the building, the effect only building the eerie feeling in your stomach, winding itself up like a ball of yarn.

With the morning came another body, and it became clear to Emily and the locals that the camera surveillance that had been set up along the perimeter wasn’t doing anything to bring you closer to closing the case. So, she had you and Spencer sitting in a car at the front entrance, each of you armed and on high alert, no matter what your boyfriend thought.

On the other side of the building, Luke and Tara were in another vehicle, keeping an eye on a back entrance that had the potential to be an access point for the UnSub.

Keeping an eye on your window, you squinted as if you could somehow summon Catherine Pence’s ghost. You wished you’d been paired up with Luke again, who at least had seen the mark on the floor, but instead, you had Spencer, who had meddled with your work out of concern for you.

You sighed, reminding yourself that he only did it out of concern for you, wondering how to approach the issue when an all-too-familiar figure appeared in that second-floor window, “Do you see that?” You blurted the question before you could even think about what you were saying.

Instinctively, Spencer placed a hand on his weapon while looking through the windshield of the car, “See what?”

You furrowed your brows, pointing as plainly as you possibly could to the second-floor window where you saw the woman, “On the second floor. Off to the right,” you said desperately, wanting him to see it, wanting him to believe you. “Don’t you see her?”

Spencer’s hand dropped as his gaze went from the building and back to you, “Honey.” You tried to ignore the emotion-filled tone that he gave you, flooding the pet name with an apt amount of concern.

Sitting back in the car seat, “Never mind, I didn’t—” you cut yourself off, “I just thought I saw something.” You tried to play it off, crossing your ankles one over the other and shifting in the seat, trying to keep your ass from going numb.

His eyes were still trained on you, and you tried to ignore him even as he locked the passenger door from the inside. The car remained absolutely silent until you heard a voice come in from the radio, “This is the Death Star calling for the Bat Mobile, over.”

You rolled your eyes at the sound of Luke’s voice, “Don’t call this car the Bat Mobile,” you told Spencer as he lifted the radio to his mouth.

“This is the Bat Mobile, we can hear you loud and clear Death Star, over,” Spencer responded, grinning at the way you groaned in response. The poltergeist of it all nearly forgotten for just a moment.

Placing your head in your hands in frustration as you waited for Luke’s response, Spencer reached over and smoothed your hair back, the gesture feeling oddly domestic for a stakeout. Maybe that was why Emily never paired the two of you together. “Yeah, we aren’t seeing anything out here, are you clear on your end?”

Spencer’s ministrations on your hair faltered for just a moment before he answered, “No, we haven’t seen anything.”

“Tara just got off the phone with Emily, they got the lab results back on those tools we found by the latest victim,” he informed you, “The blood on it was a match.”

You pressed your lips together in a thin line and shared a look with Spencer. Part of you was grateful to finally feel like you’d made some semblance of progress with the case, but the other part of you felt physically ill knowing that the latest victim had been enucleated using an orbitoclast. Her eyes and sockets were pulverized by a lobotomy pick, and it almost made you feel like you needed a word stronger than sadist.

“Did the medical examiner say the injuries matched the patterns of the other two enucleated victims?” Spencer asked into the radio, holding it close to his mouth as he spoke.

There was a pause before Luke responded, “Uh, kind of.”

You frowned, “What do you mean ‘kind of?’”

Another pause, “The M.E. concluded that the wound patterns are the same on the three latest victims, but the injuries on the most recent one were inflicted antemortem,” Luke explained.

Your eyes widened as the weight of Luke’s words joined the pit in your stomach, her eyes had been pulverized while she was still alive. The M.E.’s conclusion matched the one you had proposed when you saw the blood spatter this morning. You held your breath to stop a sound of disgust from escaping your lips, but you knew Spencer saw it on your face.

“Thanks for the update,” Spencer said, turning down the volume on the radio slightly before setting it on the dashboard.

Swallowing thickly, you placed both of your hands in your lap, studying them as if you’ve never seen them before, “Have you ever gotten the feeling that a case isn’t going to end well?”

You caught him while he was about to take a sip of his coffee, his movement paused for a moment before he took a swig anyway, setting the cup in the cup holder and nodding, “Yeah,” he answered, his voice raspy before he cleared his throat, “I have.”

Running your tongue over your molars, you raised your eyebrows at him in curiosity, “What usually happens?”

Spencer sighed, going back to facing the asylum before he held his hand out for you to take, you obliged, setting your intertwined fingers on the center console. “The case usually doesn’t end well,” he admitted.

“When are you going to tell me what your nightmare was about?” Spencer asked, squeezing your hand as he made conversation, trying to keep the two of you awake through the night.

Leaning your head back, you looked through the sunroof of the car, thrilled to see the sun beginning to rise over the tiny town. “I don’t think it really matters, it was just a bad dream,” you told him, clearly aware of why it mattered.

You even knew why it mattered to him. You’d never pushed him away like that before, but as soon as his hand had gone near your neck, you’d completely lost control of your body. “Look, I know I don’t believe in dream analysis—”

“Oh,” you scoffed, cutting him off. “Yes, you do,” you corrected him, “You do this all the time, you talk about dream analysis, and you claim that you don’t believe in it but then you actually get into it, and you admit that you just don’t like what Freud has to say about it. Then you’ll list everyone who has discredited him before you tell me ‘Jung still has his merits.’”

Spencer was quiet, and you immediately regretted your interjection.

Sighing, you wished you could melt into the passenger seat of the car, “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I don’t think that analyzing my dream right now will do any good, but I just… I’m sorry.”

He was still silent.

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you turned your body as best you could in the vehicle, “Do you believe in the afterlife?”

That got his attention. Spencer turned his head to you, concern etched into his face, “Why are you asking me this?”

You couldn’t tell him. You’d break his heart if you told him that throughout the duration of this case, you’d developed a pit in your stomach and started having dreams about dying. “In my dream, it was like… like I was paralyzed, and I couldn’t move my head. I couldn’t speak or anything and when I thought about calling for you, you appeared.” You sniffled slightly, “You reached out for my neck and your hand came back with a piece of twine, and then my head fell to the ground—completely detached from my body.”

The lack of judgment in his expression was what finally triggered the first tear to fall from your eye, but you didn’t wipe it away. Spencer moved his hand and deftly wiped at your tears with his fingertips, cupping your face in his hands, “You’re not going to die.”

“Spence,” you said, your voice strained by emotion.

He shook his head gently, “Nope, not as long as I’m around. You’re not going to die on this case.”

Your chest ached as your eyes studied his, “Okay.”

“But,” he continued, “I want you to take a step back on this one. No more volunteering for stakeouts, no wandering to the second floor of the asylum, and no listening to any more of Penelope’s ghost stories.”

Nodding, you silently agreed to his conditions, holding out your pinky and waiting for him to present his. Interlocking your small fingers, you each kissed your hands, and you took a deep breath. “What do you think we’re looking at, Spence? Is it another witch hunt?”

Names and faces of people like Leland Duncan and James Heathridge flashed in your memory, but if there was an overlap there, you haven’t seen it.

You didn’t feel like the BAU had a very good track record in Appalachia, Shane Wyland and the still unnamed ‘Mountain Man’ were proof enough of that, but you hoped that Wyland was long dead by now, and these crimes were too organized for the Mountain Man.

“I don’t know, baby,” Spencer admitted, and you knew that it hurt him to say that to you, especially now.

Looking out the window, your eyes caught on Luke and Tara as they made their way over to your car. Spencer unlocked the doors as you hurriedly wiped beneath your eyes, trying to hide any evidence of your upset before reconvening with the team.

Luke waggled his eyebrows at the two of you, “Good morning, how was your night?”

Groaning, you stretched out your neck, “Ultimately uneventful,” you told him, knowing that if anything of real interest had happened, Luke and Tara would’ve been the first people you notified.

“Prentiss asked us if we’d do a quick sweep of the inside before heading back to the precinct,” Tara said, jutting her chin in the direction of the building.

You and Spencer shared a look, but now that you were grouped within your team, you felt comfortable enough to slip your hand in his as the four of you approached the building. Squeezing his hand, your eyes flickered up to the second-story window, and seeing nothing, you stepped into the building.

The smell hit you. The strong tang of blood mixed with that of isopropyl alcohol burned at your nostrils as Tara swore at the sight in front of all of you. A body hanging from the stairwell, eyes completely destroyed, and while the body was covered in blood, the floor was completely void of any red.

“She’s cleaning up,” you observed, stepping closer to Spencer and looking at the streak marks that a rag had made on the floor.

Luke raised his eyebrows, “She?” He asked, confused about the sudden change in pronouns while Tara immediately went to call Emily.

Spencer nodded, agreeing with you as the three of you watched the body turn in the glow of the sunrise, “A man wouldn’t care about the mess he’s leaving behind.”

This revelation left you more confused than anything, you had no idea how anyone could lift that much dead weight, night after night. “Oh,” you breathed, blood draining from your face as you looked up at Spencer and Luke. “We were watching the building all night,” you reminded them. “We never saw anyone enter, but we never saw them leave.”

night three

“Alright,” Emily started, fully equipped in her Kevlar, she looked around the entryway of the asylum, “Rossi and Tara will keep an eye out front in case anyone tries to make a run for it. Reid and JJ will take the tunnels beneath the west wing, Simmons and I will take the east wing, Alvez and Sheriff Greenbaum will head north, and Y/N and Deputy Perkins will stay here in the foyer in case anyone calls for backup.”

In the dark building, Spencer gave your hand a squeeze before everyone turned on their flashlights. “Let’s end this,” Rossi said, earning a hum of agreement as everyone split off into their respective directions.

You wished Emily had done you the kindness of letting you be paired with Spencer again, but twice in the span of a single case was seemingly too much to ask for. “You ever seen something like this?” Deputy Perkins asked you, shuffling his feet across the floor.

Shaking your head, your eyes focused on where the newest body had been found that morning. The body was cleared out and the cause of death was blunt force trauma, but once the realization that the killer had been in the building the entire time settled in, the team got to work on figuring out some of the logistics.

That was when the sheriff brought up the possibility of the killer using a long-abandoned tunnel system. The town had assumed they caved in years ago, but a bit of sleuthing had revealed that there were still a select number of tunnels for her to use.

As long as I stay in the foyer, you reminded yourself, no wandering.

The stench of isopropyl alcohol still floated through the air; it had likely sept into the porous flooring that had been underneath the body. You made note of the flickering lights in the surrounding area, making sure not to get any of them mixed up as you rested a hand on your firearm.

“Did you hear that?” Deputy Perkins asked you, looking up the stairs and shining his flashlight on them, trying to see if he could find anything in the eerie abyss of darkness.

Swallowing thickly, you shook your head in response, “No,” you told him, looking to the left and right of you, wondering if one of the pairs that had been sent off was returning. You hadn’t heard anything coming from the upstairs.

He hummed, taking a step closer to the staircase and setting off alarm bells in your head, “I’m sure I heard a shuffling coming from upstairs.” The pit in your stomach reformed as he planted a foot on the staircase and waved you over, “Come on, we should check it out.”

You hesitated, “We’re supposed to be here if someone needs backup,” you reminded him, nearly pleading with him not to abandon his post.

Perkins shrugged at you before taking another step. “I’m going to check it out, and there’s safety in numbers,” he countered before ascending the steps, making it to the first landing before your feet finally moved.

“Fuck,” you muttered as you followed him up the stairs, taking careful steps so that they didn’t creak beneath you. You reached the second-floor seconds after him, but you shone your flashlight around without any sign of him, beaming the light into the familiar room, “Deputy Perkins?”

You stepped into the room, placing a hand on your firearm as you tapped on the flickering sconce again and looked behind you. Your breathing hitched at the sight of the deputy in front of you, he was crumpled to the floor, his legs folded unnaturally, and there was a lobotomy pick that went straight through his head.

Next to him stood a woman, her clothes were tattered and stained with blood, and she came at you, shoving you to the ground and leaving your gun and flashlight scattered on the hardwood. The force of the impact knocked the wind out of you, and you got yourself out from under her while she frantically searched for a missing piece of the puzzle.

She’d used her pick to take out the deputy, leaving her with nothing to gouge your eyes out. You weren’t sure if you should feel grateful as you rolled over and grabbed the closest thing you could, wrapping your fingers around your flashlight and swinging it aimlessly against your attacker.

“No!” She screamed a high-pitched, blood-curdling sound rang out as you hit her on the side with your law enforcement issue flashlight. The object slipped out of your fingers as you sat up and tried to reorient yourself with your surroundings, you couldn’t see your gun, searching for it as she flung your flashlight back at you, the edge of it catching on your forehead as you fell back.

The UnSub straddled your waist, keeping a firm hold on your throat as she held the pick to your eye, having pulled it from the deputy’s head so that she could complete her ritual, “Don’t,” you gasped, “Think—” your voice broke off as vomit rose in your throat. “Think of the mess,” you told her. “You used all the rubbing alcohol,” you reminded her, pleading with her not to take your eyes.

She was seething, very nearly foaming at the mouth above you as instead of stabbing you with the pick, she used the butt of it to crack against your skull. “You took my friends!” She raged, referring to the people that she had murdered, she was collecting them to keep her company.

“No,” you wheezed, shaking your head even through the blinding pain, “I set them free,” you challenged her, resigning yourself to an untimely demise and crying out when she sat you up.

You tried to claw at her, a weak attempt at saving your own life that received a laugh from the UnSub, an almost childlike giggle. “You can be my friend,” she offered, grabbing an already prepared rope from the floor and looping it around your neck before she slung it around an exposed beam, creating a makeshift rig and pulling on it.

Immediately, your hands flew to your neck, trying to stop the rope from suffocating you completely, and it worked for a little while before your feet lifted off of the ground.

After that, you were gone, left standing off to the side as you watched your body hang from the ceiling while the UnSub who would always remain an UnSub to you watched, cackling as she did so. She cackled up until the moment JJ put a bullet in her brain, the sudden death of your attacker leaving your body to drop to the hardwood floor, the hit softened by Spencer and Emily as they caught.

Tossing the rope to the side, Spencer laid you out on the floor and ducked his head to your chest, listening for breathing sounds. He was listening for anything, any sign of life at all.

There was nothing, so he put his hands on your corporeal form’s chest and started CPR, pushing down on your chest in steady motions.

You knelt down to him, watching tears fall from his face as JJ did her best to keep your airway open and Emily frantically radioed for an ambulance, continuously repeating that Y/N is down.

Assuming your hand would go right through him, you placed a hand on Spencer’s back, surprised to find that he was still solid to you. In a sort of daze, you watched him as he tried to save your life, repeating the same three words over and over again, “Come on, baby.” The mantra continued, tears falling onto your shirt.

You felt like you were on fire as if your body was physically burning while you watched life-saving measures be performed on yourself, “Oh, Spencer,” you whispered. “I’m so sorry,” you said to no one but yourself, knowing that he couldn’t hear you.

Looking to your side, you saw her again. The spirit form of Catherine Pence was watching you die in real-time, and you took a shuddering breath as she knelt next to you, expecting her to impart some sort of spiritual wisdom onto you.

Instead, she placed one of her ethereal hands on the back of your head and slammed both of your forms together. The entire world went dark after that, but you could still hear everything going on, searing pain ran through your entire body, from a throbbing in your ankle to an ache in your ribs to a pulsing in your head, but there was no more pressure on your chest.

“Is she…?” You heard JJ’s voice first, and as badly as you wanted to open your eyes, you just couldn’t gather the strength to do so.

There was heavy breathing and a soft weight on your shoulder, two fingers pressed into the pulse point on your wrist, “She’s breathing. She’s alive,” Spencer answered, out of breath. “Oh, my angel.”

A low groan was the only thing you could muster up.

Spencer shushed you, keeping his head on your shoulder and his fingers on your wrist, “It’s okay, don’t try to talk,” he cooed. “You’re going to be okay, the paramedics are here,” he lifted his head then. “I just want to stay with her.”

aftermath

It was far too bright for you, and the low keening sound that you expelled from your throat was the only way you could think to express that feeling. Whoever was in the room with you understood, turning the brightness down for you, earning a hum of approval from you.

“Hey,” Spencer whispered, his voice barely audible as he tried to keep his voice as low as possible.

The universe was taking pity on you, you knew it because you couldn’t feel any pain, which either meant you had finally kicked it or the hospital you were in had given you painkillers.

Your eyes felt like they were stuck together, the way that they get when you wake up from a perfect nap, and it took a surprising amount of energy to part your lips, expelling a deep breath out of your mouth. The action led to a pinching pain in your chest, causing your breathing to hitch, “Ow.”

“Sorry,” Spencer said, though you couldn’t imagine what he was apologizing for. “Can you open your eyes? How are you feeling?”

A grunt was all he received in response, the single noise begging him to slow down. Your eyes opened just slightly, looking at him through slivers as he smiled softly at you. His eyes were red and there was a box of Kleenex on the table next to him, accompanied by his phone and a cup of water.

He sighed in relief once he noticed that your eyes were opening, “Hey,” he repeated, “You look good,” he lied to you.

You rolled your eyes at him and his smile only grew, “Hi,” you croaked, your throat swollen and dry as you tried to reorient yourself. You were in a hospital, but the view outside of your window was of a city, not the tiny town that you had just been in.

Noticing your confusion, Spencer reached out to adjust your nasal cannula, “They transported you to a hospital in a city. The local hospital just didn’t have the capacity to treat you,” he explained. “I’ve been with you,” he reassured you, “The entire time.”

“I’m sorry,” you rasped, but he waved you off instantly.

Spencer grabbed the Styrofoam water cup from your bedside table and held it to you, bending the straw so that you could get some water.

Noting his silence, you tilted your head to the side, ignoring the way your brain felt like it had been scrambled, “Are you okay?”

He pursed his lips while setting the cup back down, “I just remember thinking about how I promised you that you weren’t going to die.”

The antiseptic air made you cringe, your body becoming more and more conscious as time went on, “I wandered,” you reminded him, making sure he knew that you broke your promise first.

“That wasn’t your idea,” Spencer challenged, knowing you well enough to say that without having experienced it himself. His fingers nimbly adjusted the blanket on your hospital bed, “You followed the deputy upstairs, it wasn’t your choice.”

In your current state, Spencer wouldn’t let you take any of the responsibility for what had happened in the asylum and even though you knew the answer, you asked him anyway, “Is she dead?”

Nodding softly, he took your hand in his, “She’s dead, and someday I’ll let you know her name and read the rest of the case, but today is not that day.” He skimmed his thumb over your knuckles, each of them cracked and bloodied from your fight with the UnSub.

You sighed in relief, a single tear receding into your hairline as you closed your eyes again, “How long have I been sleeping?” You asked, squinting over at your patient care whiteboard.

“Two days,” Spencer answered gently, dragging his fingers up and down your forearm, “You were tired, and your body had a lot of healing to do. It still does,” he added the last part, not wanting you to claim being healed. “Everyone’s still here, waiting for you to be discharged,” he continued, “I should message Emily, actually.”

“And Penelope,” you added, knowing she’d rather hear it directly from him than through Emily.

Spencer chuckled lightly, a sound that was as curative as any medicine you could be given, “I’m sure she’ll be waiting for us at the tarmac in Quantico.”

A small smile sprouted on your face, “She’ll be the one landing the plane,” you laughed slightly, interrupted by a fit of coughing. You placed a hand on your chest and winced, inhaling sharply before trying to breathe through the pain.

“What do you need?” He asked you carefully, setting his phone back down after sending his texts.

You shook your head, “Nothin’, just you.”

It was an action that would’ve previously earned a few stares from the team, and at least one wolf whistle from Luke, you and Spencer slipping into the galley together and closing the curtain behind you. Now it was simply the easiest place for you to get some semblance of privacy as Spencer snipped at the old bandaged around your neck.

Your hair was secured atop your head, keeping it out of the ointment as Spencer used his fingertips to carefully cover the rope burn that had been left around your neck. “Does it hurt?” He asked, eyes focused on his canvas while coating the hollow of your throat.

Shaking your head minutely, you closed your eyes, “No,” you told him, a slight rasp still peeking through your tone.

He hummed in response, giving you a small smile as he went back to the tube, putting more ointment on his fingers, “Liar.”

Opening your eyes again, you looked up at him as your face warmed, “Only a little bit,” you altered your answer. At this point, the worst part about the burn was that the nurses recommended keeping it covered, and Spencer was taking his job as caretaker very seriously.

He checked his phone for something before going back to his prior actions, “I think it’s getting better,” he observed, furrowing his brows as he wiped excess ointment from his fingers.

You took his word for it, having been avoiding looking in a mirror at all costs. Seeing the bruises all over your body was more than enough for you. You flinched when someone else slipped into your oasis, Emily shut the curtain behind her, holding out a pack of non-adhesive Telfa pads for Spencer to use on your neck.

“Hey,” you said nervously, wondering if she had another purpose or if she was simply bringing you some first-aid.

Emily smiled nervously; her eyes studied the marks on your throat as Spencer covered them. You expected her to speak, but she just watched in complete silence.

Raising your eyebrows, you looked from her to Spencer, and back to her again. “You should see the other guy,” you joked, earning the slightest smile from the both of them.

“I just wanted to let you know that however much time you decide to take off, it’s yours,” she offered to you, watching as Spencer unwrapped another packet of gauze.

You hummed, “I’m really alright, Em,” you assured her, more than comfortable with the automatic six weeks that you were granted by the bureau. It was the standard set for all agents unless there was an extenuating circumstance that prevented them from returning to work.

Emily’s nervous smile returned, “It wasn’t a suggestion,” she informed you, letting you know that she was more or less forcing you to take the extended time off.

Peering at your boyfriend, you frowned, “You put her up to this.”

Spencer shook his head, “I didn’t. Stop moving so much,” he urged you, trying to stretch the number of Telfa pads he had before he had the chance to go to a pharmacy.

“He didn’t,” Emily iterated, “But he could’ve, and I still wouldn’t tell you,” she added. “We’ll talk more—both of you. For now, I don’t want to see you around the BAU for a while.”

You sighed when she left the galley, Spencer finished his last placement before stepping back. “How do I look?” You asked him, keeping your question mostly rhetorical.

His smile was so gentle that it cracked at your resolve, “Good.”

Looking up at him doubtfully, you leaned against the counter, “You’re a really bad liar.”

“Hey,” he said, carefully wrapping his arms around you and letting you rest the unmarred side of your head on his chest, “You look alive, and that’s good enough for me.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot #margotober #angstober

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thebeast-dennis-etcetera · 2 months ago

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Drunk and Disoriented

Prompt: You interrupt Aaron’s day to tell him that you might have…been arrested.

You genuinely never thought you’d find yourself in this predicament. You were never the rowdy type, you were a straight A student from middle school all the way through college. It was just suppose to be a fun night out with some of the girls to let off a little bit of steam after a grueling week of work, but somehow it escalated to the cops being called, you put in handcuffs and now having to call your FBI husband while he’s in the middle of a case at work to explain.

After not answering his cell, you convinced the police officer to let you call one more person-though the river of tears falling from your face probably helped a little.

“Hey Y/N?” Emily’s voice greeted.

“Hey Em.” Relieved that she picked up the call, you sniffled. “Is Aaron there? Could I talk with him?”

“Yeah, of course, we’re all here. I’ll hand you over now.”

You waited until the familiar deep voice of your husband spoke before breaking down into another sob.

“Aaron- I don’t know what happened.- I was with the girls and there was a fight and I’m drunk and handcuffed.” You paused so you could gulp in a breath of air before rambling some more. “I think I might be going to jail. I can’t go to jail Aaron. Please come get me. Please.”

“Y/N. I need you to take a deep breath for me, ok sweetheart.”

You did as he said, momentarily snapping out of your panic at his stern but caring words.

“Ok.” After he audibly heard you take a breath, he continued.

“I’ll on my way. Could you hand the phone over to the officer that’s with you?”

“Yeah.”

You offered your phone to the cop that was standing a few feet from you with your hands handcuffed from the front but he just shook his head.

"I don't need to speak with him. Just tell him you'll be booked at the Alexandria Detention Center."

Before you could start crying again, Aaron's voice rang through clear to you.

"I'll see you in less than 10. Don't worry, everything will be ok."

"Ok, Aaron. I love you."

"I love you too."

You hung up and handed your phone back to the cop before he helped you up from your sitting position on the curb and assisted you to sit in the backseat of the cop car. You don't even know where your other friends ended up or if they were being carted off to jail like you.

As he got into the car and began driving, you leaned your head back and closed your eyes, trying not to become nauseous from the "spins". Your mouth was dry with a the lingering taste of tequila while your wrists were becoming sore from wringing your hands in the cuffs that seemed to be just a little too tight. You were sure you looked like a racoon from all the crying and to top it all off, you're pretty sure you left your jacket back at the bar. The strapless cocktail dress was doing nothing to keep the cold plastic and A/C from chilling you.

All of a sudden, the squad car lurches to a stop, causing you to open your eyes and look around, seeing a ton of red and blue lights.

"What the hell is this?" the cop spoke to himself before getting out.

You scooted up closer to the plastic barrier to see better and spotted 2 black SUV's stopped in front of the car, Aaron and Morgan both exiting from one and rest of the team from the other. To say that Aaron looked pissed was an understatement.

You couldn't hear what they were saying but you did see Aaron flash his badge in the officer's face and point over to you. Then like that, the officer came over and opened up the door as Aaron popped his head in.

"Come on, let's get you out of here," he said, unbuckling your seatbelt and taking your cuffed hands in his, helping you out and adjusting your dress for you as the officer quickly removed the handcuffs.

Everything was happening so fast it was making you dizzy but it didn't matter once you felt the warmth of Aaron's suit jacket wrap around your shoulders and his arm protectively pull you close as you both walked over to his SUV.

"This is so embarrassing. I'm so sorry, Aaron," you mumbled, feeling bad that you interrupted their work on catching a killer to come help you.

"Don't apologize. The officer was in the wrong. You did nothing that warranted his behavior."

His tone was sharp but you know he was still just fuming at the cop, not you. He opened the passenger door open for you but you didn't make a move to get in. Instead, you turned to face him and fall into his chest, crying for the millionth time that night. He gave you the hug you were craving and kissed the top of your head, his voice now softer and sweet in your ear.

"It's alright. You're with me now. Just take a breath."

Just like on the phone, you listened to him and stopped crying enough to take in a shaky breath and let it out as his tight embrace loosened so he could look at you.

"That's it. Deep breaths."

He wiped your face and you couldn't help but let out a little chuckle.

"I didn't know you were gonna send the whole brigade to get me. I wish I didn't look like a rabid raccoon."

He smiled and looked over at his team who were talking with the officer, surrounding him as he looked completely uncomfortable and intimidated.

"They wouldn't stay behind even if I told them to. You mean a lot to them and you needed our help. Plus, I wouldn't say rabid raccoon. More like a sleepy lemur."

He laughed at his own joke as you slapped his chest in return.

"Gonna make some sweets for them when we get home," you said, thinking out loud, wondering if you had enough flour and sugar.

"I don't think so. I'm gonna drive you home and you're going to take a hot shower, dress in one of my college t-shirts you love so much, take some Advil with lots of water and go to bed," he ordered with a look that was suppose to be stern but you could see through it.

"Mm. Fine Mr. Hotchner. Only because I am really tired. But come tomorrow, it's on."

Another small smile from him as he helped you into your seat and buckled you in, giving you a small kiss before closing your door. You watched from the side mirror as you watched him walk over to the team and most likely discuss what was happening before coming back over and getting in the drivers seat.

He held your hand and traced light patterns on your skin, almost lulling you into a sleep as you closed your eyes.

#aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner #thomas gibson #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #ssa aaron hotchner #hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #bau team

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blkkizzat · 1 year ago

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ღ 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞!𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨 ღ

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 𝐨𝐟 𝟐

18+ONLY MDNI

kizzatober series: Smooth Criminals

Kinktober Prompts: Clothed Male/Naked Female, Thigh Riding, Knife Play Synopsis: The university campus is being terrorized by a copycat Ghostface killer. As a popular sorority girl with a dumb jock bf, you are a prime choice to be his next victim especially given how he can't stop thinking about you. But you're no ordinary Sorority Girl bimbo, now are you? CW: AU college fic. blood obsession/hematolagnia, bimbo reader, murder, slight DV (from your npc jerk ass bf), unprotected sex, masturbation, slight age gap (roughly 21 vs 28) and dark content. NOTE: If death/killer romanticization related shit triggers you this is probably a fic to avoid because that is happening all through this bitch. I literally wrote a murder fluff smut fic lmfao. WC: 6.5k of 15.4k Lightly black fem coded (reader is an AKA lmfao) but no descriptors.

A/N: This is my first kinktober fic! I'm sorry this took so long y'all but last week been low key hell and I was sick for a lot of it. Also I did struggle with this a bit since this one I decided to do as an whole fic instead of PWP and now its gotten to be so long its definitely going to be in two parts. Sorry there's no smut in the first part, but there is some fluff and some juicy build up. I've never written for Choso before but he's so baby girl omg I'm obsessed with him now but still I'm a bit nervous posting this. sorry if its dog.

Enjoy!

“Ever felt a knife rip through human flesh and scrape the bone beneath?”

Those were the last words a nameless student heard before Ghostface's hunting knife shined menacingly in the air and came down to claim its newest victim.

Shluk! Shluk! Shluk!

Metal slashed through flesh with razor precision.

Gurgled death cries are silenced as the lifeless body collapses to the ground.

A thick pool of blood began gathering around them to fan out and travel around their body down the slanted titled floor to drain.

Choso breathed in deeply.

A wave of calm washed over him.

Peace.

Almost in an enlightened state, he felt the most serene after a kill.

It was beautiful.

Blood was beautiful.

The surging stream of blood that would eventually slow to a trickle, the abstract designs of its splatter and the way it swirled around the body splayed across the ground like paint on a canvas.

Like a painting.

A death painting… and the knife, his paintbrush.

This was his art.

Choso can recall the first time he actually saw blood beyond a minor scrape.

He couldn’t have been more than 6 years old. No doubt trying to impress his younger brother Yuji by balancing on top of the monkey bars. After all this time Choso isn’t certain as to how, but he lost his footing and fell flat on his face onto the unforgiving concrete below.

Screams of children filled the area once Choso pushed himself up onto his feet. He immediately felt wetness rush down his face. However, rather than cry or panic a young Choso cocked his head curiously when he noticed his reflection on the metal jungle gym. A warped view of his face mirrored back at him but he could still make out the bright red fluid cascading down his features staining him in red.

Choso didn’t know how long he stood transfixed, mesmerized by the sight of rouge river that flowed from him until Yuji ran back crying with their parents in tow.

It was how he had the scar across the bridge of his nose till this day, which became unsightly enough he had decided to get a black bar tattooed over it as soon as he turned 18.

From then on he couldn’t deny his growing obsession with blood and seeing it leave the human body. All of which had led him here to this university to attain a PHD in Forensics.

He picked this university, not only for their program but it was the perfect small town playground for Ghostface, a local urban legend from years ago he decided to revive once he felt as he had attained enough knowledge not to get caught.

Choso was meticulous in his process.

Ironclad alibis, no distinctive patterns and no victims with any connections to each other, nor him. Additionally, he had memorized all the angles of the university’s security system (thanks to a security guard he had bribed then promptly killed).

His victims' lives were just his means to an end for his art and most students on this campus wouldn’t amount to much anyway outside of that was how he justified it. Choso did like toying with them on occasion though, fear made the blood pump faster and spray harder once he finally did catch them.

Sadly, he could never admire his creations for too long though before needing to make his own exit.

Almost midnight.

Ten more minutes before campus security makes another round.

He took one last glance at the scene of carnage he had created before disappearing into the night.

☠

In just a mere 2 hours, the news of another Ghostface murder spread across campus.

The university’s students were either scared, scattering back to barricade themselves in their dorms. Or curious, lingering around the crime scene near the safety of the news crews and reporters who had gathered to see who the unlucky victim was this time.

No one however, is likely more curious than you: A third year forensics undergrad, who was just itching to get a real glimpse of your first real crime scene, a Ghostface copycat killer crime scene at that!

You had even left a huge frat party (to be fair it was about to get broken up soon anyway) to trek across campus in the bitter cold of late fall.

“Y/N, let’s go back–,” one of your pledges whined, “–it’s cold and my feet hurt in these heels!”

“Shh, Stassi, shut up! What if this is an initiation test?” another pledge whispered.

Your sorority pledges chatter on behind you and you almost forgot you brought them along. It’s not like you wanted to but, like it or not, they were attached to you at the hip like little ducklings until rush was over.

With a clap you turn on your heel to address them.

“Ladies–”

However you abruptly stop once you see your Forensics TA, Choso Kamo, taking what appeared to be a night jog across the campus quad.

Was he going to the crime scene too? Your face instantly lights up and your pledges look around confused.

“Wait here girlies! I’ll be 5 minutes max…. No, I mean it. Wait right here!”

Your pledges huff quietly, but agree.

They had no choice really as you were already skipping as fast as your not-so-sober legs would carry you in 5-inch pumps over the quad lawn. Truthfully, that was not something they were trying to do too, especially not to chase down what looked like some creepy emo nerd.

“Choso!”

You call out to him and wave, but he doesn’t look like he sees you as you hurry towards him.

“Hey Choooo! Wait up!” You puffed out, trying to maneuver over the grass in your heels.

Choso sighed recognizing your voice, reluctantly slowing his pace. He would have kept on jogging but he knew you would keep calling out to him and draw even more attention that he really didn’t need right now.

Finally catching up to him, you grab Choso’s arm and loop yours through. He flinched slightly at your touch but you knew he always seemed a bit jumpy when it came to physical contact, so this didn’t phase you.

If anything you thought his reactions were kinda cute.

“Where are you going weirdo? All the action is back that way!” You teased with a big grin and pointed in the direction of the crime scene.

Choso tries to ignore how his adrenaline was pumping even faster from you holding on to him than when he was running, especially dressed as you were.

You looked sexy as hell utterly ridiculous.

You were decked out in a sailor costume, which was pretty much just a poor excuse for lingerie at this point. Your white sailor flap collar attached to nothing more than a sparkly navy bra with shiney white and red trims, leaving your midsection exposed showing your cute little belly ring in the shape of an anchor.

This was complemented by a dangerously short yet matching sparkling navy pleated skirt which sat low on your thick hips. Your shapely legs were the most covered part of your body yet still looked overwhelmingly tempting in red glittery garters, attached to white opaque stockings in glittery red heels.

“I’m the weirdo… but you’re dressed like that in 40 degree weather.” Choso retorted, brow raised.

“Duh Choso–”

You released his arm to give him a twirl in your outfit, not noticing the way he nervously wet his lips watching your skirt rise with your little spin.

“–The ‘Get Nauti’ party was tonight silly, where have you been!?”

Oh you know, just casually killing someone. Choso resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Of course he knew about the party.

The campus had been littered with fliers for ‘Get Nauti’ for the past two weeks. Nothing Choso would ever be interested in as he would rather stab himself in the face than attend a mind-numbing party with a bunch of bro-for-brain frat guys.

However, he did take advantage of the opportunity to create another death painting as Ghostface with the rest of campus preoccupied.

He couldn’t tell you that though obviously.

“Gym,” Choso said flatly and shrugged, “Heading back to the dorms n-”

“–You mean you aren't going to the Social Sciences building!? Don’t you remember?!” You cut him off in your excitement.

“The police said they would let us forensic students look at the next crime scene!”

Your face had a warm glow and your movements slightly swayed. You were clearly drunk.

“No Y/N, they said they might let the PhD students, like me, look at the crime scene… and that was only a slim ‘maybe’. You’re still just an undergrad”, he reminded you, much to your dismay as you puffed your cheeks.

But seriously, Choso thought, even the incompetent local police would have enough sense not to let you on the crime scene dressed as you are now, even if you were a PhD student.

“Awe no fair,” you whine dejectedly. “But you should go, Cho! Then you can tell me all about it! Pleaseeee, I’m dying to know what a Ghostface crime scene looks like. I hear it’s kinda gruesome!”

You gazed up at Choso through fluttering long lashes as you poked out your cherry glossed lips. It was a pout that could famously leave any frat boy at your mercy, but it never seemed to stir Choso much (that you could tell at least).

Choso swallowed.

On the contrary, your charms worked rather well on him. His mouth was dry and he unconsciously clenched and unclenched a sweat ridden palm behind his back.

The hell were you doing being this excited over a crime scene? One of his crime scenes for that matter?

Choso really didn’t know what to make of that.

“Y/N it’s late. I still have papers to grade. I’m going back to my dorm now and you should get home too,” Choso said flatly, trying to keep his cool although fatigue was etched into his voice.

He was in peak physical form but still feeling the strain given he just chased his last victim all over the Social Sciences building. Not to mention still having assignments to grade. All which would be fine if he also wasn’t on edge from you right now as well.

“Booooo…Choso yo– ahchoo!” You sneezed from the cold.

The effects of alcohol could only do so much to keep you warm in these low temperatures while you were standing still.

With another sigh Choso unzipped his black track jacket, taking it off and putting it around your shoulders.

He was doing so as much for your sake as his own. Choso couldn’t help but notice your boobs looking like they were going to pop out of your flimsy sailor bra at any moment when you folded your arms underneath them for warmth.

He was really doing his best to maintain eye contact with you.

“Awe thanks Cho, you’re so chivalrous!” You giggled, blushing as you snuggled into his jacket.

You could still feel his body heat lingering on the material but the heady scent of oak and sandwood from his cologne warmed you even more.

You also couldn’t help but stare as the black compression turtleneck he wore underneath clung to his body like a second skin. You had suspicions he was fit but you never saw him wear anything beyond his dark colored button ups and shaggy sweaters when in class.

“Now go home, Y/N. You shouldn’t even be out here alone this late.”

Choso’s stern voice snapped you out of your ogling.

“But I’m not alone silly!”

You pointed to the group of scared and shivering freshmen girls also in various states of sparkly undress all for the sake of ‘getting nauti’ standing on a paved path not too far off.

They looked absolutely miserable.

“I have my pledges!”

Choso gave you an incredulous look. You were too clueless.

“So let me get this straight… You are drunk. You have drunk freshmen with you, who shouldn’t even be drinking in the first place…and you plan on taking them to a murder scene? Where the cops are?” You made an “OH” face and absentmindedly laughed as you came to the realization it probably wasn’t the best look for Chapter VP of the AKAs to take a bunch of drunk and terrified freshmen pledges straight into a recent crime scene. Even if you could put an academic spin on it as it was relevant to your major classes.

Yikes, and on second thought, your house mom would flip her entire shit if she found out.

“Go home Y/N,” Choso said again, shaking his head.

“Besides, you should be more focused on the Chemistry lab midterm on Monday. You know you can’t afford to fail.”

You sulked but relented, he was right. On both accounts.

As your T.A. for that class Choso knew better than anyone just how much your grade depended on passing that lab and you hadn’t even so much as glanced at your notes yet this week.

“Aye Aye, Capitan Choso, sir!” you teased giving him a salute with a wink and lifted knee, your sailor skirt lifting a bit higher.

It was a cute move, or it would have been at least if it hadn't caused your weight to shift all on to one foot. The heel of the sparkly red glitter pump baring your weight sunk into the patch of soft soil beneath you causing your foot to pop out of the shoe as you tumble forward.

You would have definitely ate shit and embarrassed yourself in front of Choso, your pledges and whoever else was walking across the quad at this time of night if Choso’s quick reflexes didn’t catch you.

You let out a squeak and waved your arms as you fell tits first onto Choso’s hard chest.

Shit.

Choso could feel your hardened nipples pressing against him through the flimsyass costume you wore. He tried hard to focus on how cold it was outside. Anything rather than how warm your body felt up against him or how his biceps tensed from the tight grip of your delicate fingers that sought stability from him.

You grinned sheepishly. You thanked him for catching you not realizing the position you were in nor the torment you were putting this man through.

Setting you upright quickly, Choso crouched down to retrieve your shoe.

His plan was to simply place it near your foot but he felt your hand land on his shoulder and you raised your dainty foot up expectantly.

Any attempts to avert his gaze proved futile as Choso couldn’t stop his eyes from traveling up the length of your leg.

Your opaque white stockings practically glowed in the darkness illuminating the shapely calves it covered and thick thighs the tight material cut into. Your hips strained against your garters up until your –he caught himself and his eyes snapped up immediately.

He was a killer, not a perv at least he was trying not to be.

Gingerly making sure to only touch your ankle, you were giggling again as he put your shoe on your foot and placed it on the grass again.

“Thanks Choso! You really are a lifesaver, ya know! I can’t bend down in this skirt.”

“Don’t mention it.” Choso quickly replied, pushing his bangs out of his face in exasperation.

Really don’t.

Choso was trying to forget the flash of red lace he saw that barely covered your plump pu– No he had to stop, you were technically his student even if he was just a T.A.

He would surely have to kill you if he popped a boner right now. He was trying to keep a low profile already and did not need to add ‘sexual deviant' to his name from a student harassment claim.

“For real now, go home Y/N.” Choso silently pleaded you would just listen this time.

He always felt more compulsive right after a kill and didn’t know what he would do if you stayed around him like this much longer.

You finally relented to his relief, nodding and mumbling a sad little goodnight pulling his jacket around your shoulders tighter as you turned to leave back to your pledges.

Choso started to leave as well but your voice stopped him as you looked at him over your shoulder.

“You know Choso…” You smoothed your skirt down behind you and flashed him a pageant winning smile, “I don’t mind that you saw them.”

Before Choso’s short-circuiting brain could even process what you said you were bouncing off back to your pledges. “Okay ladies, now make like Bey and get in formation! Back to the Soro house!”

Your pledges erupted with various replies from–

‘Thank God!’’

‘Did you just go over there to steal that nerd’s jacket? Boss!’’

‘Was that your boyfriend, Y/N?’

‘Y/N’s bf is a starter on the football team, she doesn’t want that weird emo dork.’

‘No, sis did you see his muscles– That emo look is still kinda hot right now, huh Y/N?’

‘Awe, but I want to go back to the frat!’

–all fluttered from the group of chattering girls as you cheerily led them back to the Sorority house.

You laughed at their comments hoping Choso couldn’t hear them though, as they were a bit embarrassing.

Unfortunately for the both of you, there was no way for Choso not to hear your rowdy group of drunk giggling girls, he’s sure the whole quad did.

Choso rolled his eyes as a chill took over him as he started the jog back to his dorms.

He was glad he had given you his jacket though. The way his body had started to respond to you just now the frigid jog back to the dorms would do him good.

He just wanted to shower, grade a few papers then go to bed, he didn’t want to end up fisting his cock to you again tonight.

You had plagued his peace for too long. It wouldn’t do him any good to think of you, it’s not like he could ever have you.

Sure you went to the same university but you might as well have been from two different worlds.

You were a popular sorority undergrad with the attention of virtually the entire male population on campus.

Choso was a PhD student who was used to fading in the background, most avoided him due his looks and academic focus anyway.

He only had an affiliation with you because his scholarships were tied to being a T.A. for undergrad forensics classes.

Also you did have a boyfriend.

An asshole neanderthal football-wide-receiver boyfriend who he would have been tempted to kill already had he not served his own purpose as a reality check and barrier for Choso.

Oh and had an eccentric obsession with blood going for him and was also the Ghostface copycat killer, that too.

He was sure that would go over well with you, Choso mused sarcastically.

☠

Upon returning to his dorm Choso took a shower, graded papers and tried to fall asleep but inevitably jerked his cock off to you.

Twice.

The sounds and images of your ditzy little laugh and skippy little panties consumed him as soon as he closed his eyes. The phantom feeling of the way your nipples felt pressed against his chest and how you clung to him desperately had him feeling near insatiable.

Choso admittedly thinks of killing you often. Just to get some peace of mind.

It wouldn’t be difficult at all to pull off. It’s not like you could put up much of a fight against him.

He didn’t want to break his rule of killing anyone with a connection to him but Choso had also never had anyone stir him the way you did.

You were a distraction and liability to him. If he killed you he could finally stop thinking about you…right?

You would make a beautiful death painting too.

Choso imagines thick red blood splattered across your curves.

The fatal gash from the femoral artery in your thigh oozing out a continuous stream of blood. The cut would have to be considerably deep too considering how meaty your thighs were.

Would the blood streak down your long leg as you desperately tried to hobble away from him in your slutty red heels?

Or would you collapse in fear and surrender to him fully? Landing in such a way that allowed the blood to redirect backwards and soil the flimsy red panties poorly concealing the fat of your cunt as you cried out in fear.

Fuck.

He was hard again.

He reached over to his night stand for his lotion bottle– practically empty thanks to his nonstop fantasies of you.

God, he was pathetic.

☠

The school week that followed was relatively uneventful.

You passed your lab midterms much to Choso’s surprise. Although you always seemed to pass with a relatively decent grade despite how you struggled to get there. Holding firm to your B average in the class and 3.3 GPA in your major overall.

He had to admit you were a better student than he originally gave you credit for. It makes him recall when he first saw you last spring.

You were a late enroll to Forensic Biology 101. Not only that, you burst into the third class of the semester nearly 15 minutes late.

Oblivious to all the eyes your disruption earned, you leaned on your knees as your chest heaved from exertion giving the entire class an amazing view of your tits spilling from your pink crop top adorned with the prestigious “AKA” sorority.

You definitely would have given the class an additional show from bending over in your tight green jean skirt had your ass not been facing the door. Choso eyes couldn't help but travel down the length of your legs, your glossy white painted toes peeking out strappy pink pumps.

You smiled brightly once you caught your breath and apologized for your late entrance but you were newly voted chapter vice president and had just come from your first meeting.

Surely you had the wrong classroom.

“Er– this class is Forensic Biology 101 young lady.” The older male professor had given you a once over also thinking you must be lost.

“Mhm, yup! I’m Y/N! I just changed my major!” you beamed and handed the professor your schedule.

He looked at it and back at you twice.

“Hm, well so it is…but you are already behind, little lady. Go and take a seat next to the T.A. in the back, Choso Kamo, he will catch you up.”

Just his luck. Choso didn’t want to babysit some sorority bimbo who would probably drop this class in two weeks once the labs started.

Your university was famous for the forensics program. If you graduated you were all but guaranteed a job at a prominent lab in a major city but more than two thirds of undergrad students dropped it once the rigorous labs began.

You didn’t look like you would last.

Especially when you told him your interest in forensics came from watching Dexter. You told him how you thought the actor was hott and how his kill rooms were ‘so cool.’ Choso definitely rolled his eyes at that and wrote you off as a soon-to-be drop out.

You proved him wrong though.

You were a bit of a ditz and a huge clutz but Choso came to understand t's more because you had about a billion different things going on in your head at once rather than you just being dumb or careless.

You were also a hard worker.

It was admirable how many activities you were involved in yet still tried as hard as you did in your classes. You always came to his T.A. review sessions and even sought him out at times while he was in the research library to ask him questions.

You were a good student and he was a horrible T.A. for even thinking of you in this way.

The campus bell tower struck noon in the distance and Choso looked down to see that he had only read a single paragraph since he sat down to study thirty minutes ago.

Fuck, he had lost himself in thinking about you again.

Choso put a hand over his face.

He was sitting alone at a picnic table on the outer, less populated edges of the quad trying to read a textbook but every time he heard a high pitched giggle he snapped his head up thinking it was you.

Class schedules were a bit different due to midterms and he hadn’t seen you the entire week other than to administer the lab but that didn’t mean you didn’t still plague his thoughts more increasingly as of late.

It was making Choso a bit reckless.

Needing to relieve stress he had created 2 more death paintings. A mistake as it was rumored the local police would soon reach out to bigger towns for more help and perhaps even the FBI would send an agent soon to campus if this kept up.

He had to move more carefully.

Maybe make it look like there were multiple Ghostface killers for starters.

“3 Victims, One Week: The Copycat Ghostface Reign of Terror Continues!”

You read aloud adding a bit of dramatic flair to your voice as you recite the front headline of the campus paper and jar Choso from his thoughts of you.

Speak of the devil.

You approached Choso at his table and he immediately noticed you were wearing his jacket again, well more like swimming in it as it was clearly too big for you.

This time though you were bundled up in a scarf, leggings and heeled booties. He was glad his face was already a bit red from sitting out in the cold because he couldn’t stop the intrusive thoughts from forming that you looked even sexier cozied up and comfortable in his jacket than in the slutty sailor costume.

“I don’t know why you even bother reading that shit Y/N. They never have any interesting details anyway.” Choso tried to feign disinterest in your arrival but his leg was already slightly bouncing under the table, nervous energy returning.

“Well I have to! You wouldn’t go to the crime scene for me last Saturday, remember?”

How could he forget?

However a part of him did want you to view it though, his masterpieces, his kills.

See how glorious their blood looked sprayed on the walls, the ground, and the general surroundings of his victims.

But he knew you’d never appreciate them the way he did even if you were a forensics student.

“Oh and sorry!”

You interrupted his thoughts once again.

“I meant to give you back your jacket, I’ve been carrying it with me hoping I’d run into you but I ran out today and forgot mine…whoops! I hope you don’t mind me wearing yours a bit longer?”

Your saccharine smile has Choso sucking in a hard breath.

At this point he would prefer you to just keep it, he couldn’t trust himself if he had it back with your scent all over it knowing you had been carrying it around all week.

He would never know any peace.

“Keep it as long as you need.”

“Kay!”

You smile at him as you haphazardly plop your overstuffed tote bag down next to him, which of course spilled all its colorful contents all over the table.

“Oh Crap!”

You lean over to reach for your bag but almost spill the tray of hot coffees in your hand.

“Y/N, Watch out!”

Choso grabbed the tray before it could spill all over his and your belongings and sat it down on the table with a small exhale.

“Oh! Thank you!” You flash him a big grin. “I got this one for you!”

You handed him a grande cup with ‘pumpkin spice dirty chai’ scribbled on it.

Choso preferred his coffee black and he has definitely told you that before but you always just brought him whatever sugary drink you ordered saying he needed to ‘try new things’.

He wasn’t about to turn you down though, caffeine was caffeine and as a PhD student he needed all he could get. Choso also knew it was your way of thanking him for helping you so much in forensics.

“Thanks...” Choso mumbled taking a sip. Shit this is actually good.

You sat down next to him, a little too close for comfort with your spandex clad thigh brushing up against his leg.

“Whatcha reading? Is it for your thesis?” You were perilously close leaning on him as you looked over his broad shoulder onto his textbook.

“Yeah, some forensics texts I need to review for citations. This section focuses on serology and bloodstain pattern analysis,” Choso stated knowledgably.

“Oh! Like in Dexter!”

“Yeah, Y/N, like in Dexter.”

Maybe Choso is growing a bit soft as he can’t resist but to crack a small smile at your kid-like-enthusiasm for the subject, you were incorrigible.

Choso also doesn’t miss the way your eyes sparkle when you ask him to tell you more about his research.

And so he does.

Sometimes Choso forgets how easy you are to talk on the subject. To be frank no one outside his own PHD program ever asks him about his thesis so before he realizes it he’s letting his guard down to indulge you.

You both get so lost in the conversation to the point it hasn’t even phased Choso yet that you are now actually leaning on him.

Your soft cheek rests near his shoulder and your body angles deeper into his as you point to ask him about a passage on the page which he begins to break down.

You try to focus on his words but in the midst of Choso’s explanation your eyes stray from the text up to his face.

You feel your body start to warm.You always thought he was attractive. His dark looks never deterred you if anything they were refreshing from the crew cut preppy jocks around you. Even more so with his piercings in.

Choso never wore any of his piercings during classes or while in the research library. You counted six facial piercings in total from the three on his brows to the septum, labret and finally the black bar piercing through his tongue that darted out exposed with the movements of his mouth.

Studying him further you discover for the first time his tattoo across the bridge of his nose was actually covering a scar. It looked old but like it had been deep.

You couldn’t help but wonder if it had hurt him and why he chose to cover it.

You didn’t even realize you had reached out to touch it until you felt his gaze snap to you.

Stunned and a bit embarrassed, you withdraw your hand.

“Ah, sorry I just noticed your tattoo was covering a scar…” you trailed off hoping he wouldn’t be annoyed with you.

Annoyance was the last thing on Choso’s mind as finally registered how you had melded yourself into his side body.

Although his usual reaction would be to withdraw back, you might as well have him chained down to the table now as he was practically immobilized by you not even being able to look away.

“Uh, yeah it happened years ago when I was a kid...I fell off the monkey bars, there was a lot of blood.”

No one had even recognized it since Choso had it covered years ago. You were the first.

“Oh no! I loved the monkey bars, we used to climb up on them all the time when I was little. I guess those things are kinda dangerous huh? Actually, I’m kinda shocked I never fell, a miracle right?”

You laughed and Choso found himself smiling at you again.

You were too accident prone so it really was a miracle.

“Yeah, good thing you never fell Y/N… It would be a shame to have to get a big ugly tattoo on that cute face.”

Choso swore on his life those last words only were said in his head but from the way your eyes widened he knew he fucked up.

“I- that is.. I meant-”

Choso smacked a hand over his face. He can’t believe he just said that out loud to you. He was really losing it.

“So you think I’m cute?” you teased giggling. You angled your head so you could look up at him from underneath his hand.

“Yeah, about as cute as the blood splatter diagram on this page.” he teased you back. A small smirk on his features as he peeked at you through his fingers.

“Hey!”

Choso chuckled. Little did you know he actually paid you a huge compliment comparing you to something he thought so alluring as blood.

You grab the hand covering his face as your smile widens and you playfully struggle with Choso.

You don’t become aware of your close proximity until you almost bump noses.

Choso locks eyes with you and you feel your tummy tighten as you bite your lip.

You’re still holding his hand and after a while you work up the courage as your other hand comes up to touch his face.

“Your tattoo isn’t ugly Choso,” you breathe out softly.

Choso closes his eyes as you trace the scar beneath his tattoo.

You weren’t sure what you were doing but your hand involuntarily begins to travel across his face and his piercings until they graze over his lips and he opens his eyes again.

Startled by the sudden hungry look in his eyes you pull back your hand but he captures it in his own, him being the one to trap you this time.

If either one of you just moved even an inch forward your lips would touch. You see Choso’s lips part when–

“Yo! Hands off my girl, freakshow!”

“Dean!?” You pulled back out of Choso’s embrace, floored to see your boyfriend and some more of his football buddies heading towards you as you knew they still should have been at practice around this time.

“Oooh he’s in for it now messin’ with Dean’s girl.” Dean’s football friends snickered.

Choso audibly breathes out in exasperation. The moment was ruined and he really didn’t have the patience to deal with your neanderthal boyfriend and his football lackeys who all shared a singular brain cell.

Didn’t they have a ball or something to chase?

“Uh hey, Dean I..”

You stop yourself when it’s clear Dean is ignoring you entirely as he approaches the table. Not even looking your way to greet you.

His aura oozes faux tough guy bully and walks straight up to Choso to size him up leaning on the table to tower over him.

“I’m talking to you, freak. You think you can put your hands on what belongs to me?”

Choso doesn’t look up at him but his grip instinctively tightens on the pen in his hand under the table as if it was Ghostface’s hunting knife.

Dean’s show of bravado going ignored by Choso pisses him off even more that his teammates are with him and the tough guy act is failing to have any real effect.

Tch.

With a swift movement Dean knocks Choso’s coffee over on the table, its half drunken contents falling on both you, Choso and his books.

This has Choso rising out of his seat as he thinks your boyfriend must have an unknown death wish.

Choso’s pen is still in his grasp but by his side now. It would be too easy to drive it into Dean’s neck before the dolt even knew what hit him. A bit extreme, but it could be considered an unfortunate accident of self defense if Dean struck first.

Fortunately, you stepped in between the two in order to diffuse the situation without picking up on Choso’s murderous intent.

You chewed your lip. This was low key, your fault. You technically were dating Dean. Although Dean was always the furthest thing from your mind when you were around Choso.

You didn’t even feel guilty for being caught as you’ve had your own suspicions for a while Dean had been cheating on you anyway, you just couldn’t prove it. You were still dating him more out of convenience than anything else, other jocks and frat boys left you alone knowing you were with him.

The only guilt you actually did feel was for Choso. This wasn’t his problem or relationship but of course Dean was a big enough asshole to make this into an actual issue with Choso since it was becoming clearer how little respect he had for you.

“Dean, what the hell is your problem!? You got coffee everywhere, this isn’t even my jacket.”

“Don’t what the hell me Y/N, you're so fucking dumb you’re going to let this freak get in your pants when– wait you’re wearing fucking his jacket!?”

Dean was yelling now and a small crowd was forming and starting to take out their phones to record.

You could not let this turn into an incident.

“Dean chill the entire fuck out, would you?! It was cold, so he let me borrow it– He’s just my T.A.”

A wave of harsh realization washed over Choso.

Just her T.A.

Right.

Choso is no one important to you, especially with your football boyfriend and social standing on the line.

He’d let whatever the fuck almost happened between the two you just now make him forget that.

Not anymore.

“That’s right. I’m just her T.A. So if you’ll excuse me.”

Choso turned from you both to salvage what he could of his books and leave.

You couldn’t place the emotions in Choso’s words and it made your chest tighten up. But you weren’t trying to write him or your almost-kiss off.

You didn’t mean for it to come out that way but you really lacked the proper words in these kinds of situations.

“Where do you think you’re going, loser?”

Dean grabbed Choso’s shoulder but the intense murderous look in his eyes made Dean release him just as quickly as if he had been burned.

Even his football goon friends unconsciously took a few steps back feeling the very real threat in Choso’s eyes.

Choso smirked as he left. Thought so.

“W-wait Cho–”

You want to stop him but feel Dean’s rough grip on your wrists.

“Whatever, let’s fucking go Y/N. We have an important party to throw later.”

Dean grabs your wrist and jerks you away with you barely being able to grab your bag.

Your stomach twists and you are at a complete loss for words but manage to flash an apologetic look at Choso while you are dragged off.

However when your eyes meet he looks right through you.

The expression on his face is stone cold and it sends a chill up your spine.

© ʙʟᴋᴋɪᴢᴢᴀᴛ 2023. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ, ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ ꜰɪᴄꜱ, ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ, & ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ

A/N: I promise it won't take as long for the second part to come out. I'm half way done with it already! I was just going to wait and post it all together but a like 12k+ word post all at once would be insane lmfao. After I am finished with this prompt the next 3 stories I will do will be from Thrilling Ghouls as they are all much shorter PWPs in the 3-5k range and I won't have to stress so much since I'm realizing all my Smooth Criminal prompts are longer fics and it takes me like a week or more to write them.

ღTaglistღ: @callm3senpaii @arxliana @jujutsualy @luxiethefairy @akaza-simp01 @fredswh0re @missphanosaur18 @moon-esque @samicamy-13

comment on m.list to be tagged in future Kinktober '23 stories

please stop to take a look at this wonderful art of the last scene that @laikatsuki created, tysm again pookie bears!!!

Reblog for Ghostface!Choso to come steal your panties although comments and likes are appreciated all the same!

PART 2

3K notes · View notes

wanologic · 3 months ago

Text

college au prequel: what happened to danny during junior year - 2940 words

Viscous green liquid sludges through a dry river bed, whetting the cracked ground and seeping deep into the void. Soil softens, becoming fat with nutrient. In the most basic definition, still itself, but filled with new matter, ready and accepting of more. This is what it was made for, its purpose. It has been sitting, dry and untended for too long. In this symbiosis it is more than it dreamed to be. Complete in the sense that it has been starved.

Danny wakes up, the dream lingering.

He’s been feeling odd lately, despite the fact that he is more comfortable in his skin than ever. He has a goal, he has support.

A bridge, he called himself.

Even if he’s only sixteen and his influence is contextually small, he has time. People are listening. Ghosts are listening. Small steps over a long period will get you where you need to go, and he’s still just a kid.

A kid who has to get ready for school.

He goes through the familiar motions, snags a quick breakfast and lets his parents know he’s headed out, that he’ll see them later. He’s out the door and on his way before he knows it.

Danny’s grades have improved since his freshman year. The pressure to keep things secret has all but alleviated and his family is sticking close. The world might not know that Fenton and Phantom are the same, but the people who matter do.

He’s managing. Thriving, even.

His extracurriculars are atypical of a high school junior, but he plays his role well. The Ghost Investigation Ward meets Phantom and the Fentons on neutral ground that evening, working their way methodically through a tangle of red tape. Teaching, learning. There’s always danger in compromise, but both parties are being two faced. It’s civil for now.

He’ll do this from the opposite angle on another day, playing border guard for the dimensional tear nestled into the fabric of his basement. Walker would be proud of him. He’s enforcing the Rules.

And it’s all going well as far as he can tell. Things are so much less chaotic than they were, his brawls feel like bonding, his head is no longer on a swivel.

For now, it’s off to his room. A space for himself to decompress after a long day's work.

He spends a lot of time thinking about a prehistoric past. What the future might look like once his job is over. This solid physical reality fed that swirling and infinite realm of emotion directly, once. It didn’t last, but time has passed.

Danny is more aware of this fractured nature than most. He’s sure it’s why he’s had so much success. Why the responsibility falls on him. He feels it every time he calls upon his second self.

And that’s what it is, isn’t it? Human first, ghost second. Humanity is the frame of reference he was born with. Everything new he experiences in this strange half-life is compared against it. Spectra once asked him what he was. But humanity is in his nature. He is a creepy boy with creepy powers. He’s sure of it.

Going ghost.

Returning to humanity.

Not that he prefers one over the other. He’s made the choice. More than once. When his memories were erased or his powers short-circuited he always took them back. Felt the thrumming and euphoric energy pulsing through his being once again. His shape projected and unreal. Weightless. It feels incredible.

At some point, some late night discussion about feelings, whether it was with family or with friends, he realized his dual nature was more of a privilege than he could ever hope to fully comprehend. His human half feeds his ghost half everything. His ghost half is complete. No wonder he’s so determined, so strong. He has never once craved emotion the way the others have. He has intrinsic access to everything. Every failed test, every frustration, every joy, every thrill. He is comfortable and whole. Has no need to lash out. Two separate identities working together as two polar magnets, inseparable through the strength of their attraction, moving through the world as one.

He slips the familiar glowing rings across his body, the cool wash of ectoplasm coursing through his veins. Back again, blood pumps oxygen to his cells. Human. Ghost. Human. Ghost.

This time the dream is stranger.

The river craves the ocean.

Danny feels the sand cake beneath his nails as he digs a trench, a violation of the river’s established bed. There’s a trickle as a thin and frothy stream flows out of sync with the current along the path he lays. It longs for the larger disconnected body ahead. A curious tendril seeking an easier path. He digs deeper, automatic, compelled by a force he doesn’t quite understand.

Is this a bridge too?

He’s both excited and afraid to find out.

The liquid pools at his fingertips as fast as he can dig. Nudging. The sand is saturated and wet in front of him. He’s not sure how much further he has to go. But if he can claw his way through this dense barrier he’s sure it will pick up momentum even without him. The fluid mass can carve its own trench. Wider. Faster. Wider again.

He wakes up in a cold sweat. He somehow feels incorporeal. This isn’t right. He looks at his hands. His fingers in the dark. Clean. Spotless. He feels the sheets beneath his body, the press of the blanket above. So he’s still human then, wrong as it may seem. He clutches at his chest as he tries to calm his racing heart, quell the strength of an intense emotion that he cannot describe. It’s exhilarating. It’s terrifying.

He stops digging and fashions a dam, not yet ready for what the final connection could mean.

His head hurts.

Nausea tucks itself against his gut.

He takes a shower.

It’s Saturday and he has business in the Ghost Zone.

He shifts, expecting the weird feeling to subside. Instead it’s more of the same. Something is off. He ignores it. A thing to worry about later when he has less to do.

His work that day goes smoothly, another step in what he can only hope is the right direction. And it feels nice, giving in to the compulsion and focusing on what is in front of him, what is currently begging his attention, rather than the problems lurking beneath the surface. It is a learned behavior, one he falls back into easily.

Upon his return he feels like he is dragging a piece of the Infinite Realms back with him. The air seems to thicken, the cold steel walls of the portal are closing in on him. The exit is a pinpoint. He’s being called back. He wants to move forward. He can feel silky fingers worm their way over his skin, hundreds of tendrils trying to pull him into their embrace. He stays strong. Moves with intent. The invisible hands can’t find enough purchase and he is finally welcomed back into the Physical World like the denizen he is.

The caress stays with him much longer than he’s willing to admit.

Weeks go by and he only feels stranger and stranger. High. His attention slides off of everything so easily, his eyes blurring mid-conversation, a stuffy feeling, like a balloon that’s expanding well past the boundaries of his head. He loses time. Cancels appointments. He doesn’t feel well, sorry, he’s going to stay home today.

There is something Danny knows he needs to do. He can’t keep existing in limbo like this, his job only half-finished, pulled in two directions but choosing neither. His powers will wane once again in his indecision. His purpose sits unfulfilled.

He lays back and stares at the softly luminescent stars pasted to the ceiling of his room. Takes deep and even breaths as he struggles to remain present. His sister is worried for him, he’s sure. The best he can do for her is secretly practice what she has preached.

Danny eventually thinks back to that trickling stream. The slimy offshoot of the coursing river. He thinks of the dam he dreamed up all those weeks ago, sure it’s bigger now. His denial adds weight and height to the metaphor. Every day it feels less like a figment of his fucked up imagination and more like the worlds are trying to tell him something. What’s on the other side now, he wonders? Is the river still flowing? Are the fruits of his labor still there or has that little hand-clawed pathway dried up? How large is the reservoir pressing up against that sandy hill if it hasn’t?

He’s scared.

He doesn’t want to know.

But this isn’t what he promised himself.

A peek can’t hurt.

The dream comes easily, now that he lets it.

The funny thing about water is that it always finds a way. No matter what people do, how they try to tame it, erosion is inevitable. It starts as a dark wet splotch, the faint idea of a tiny breach in the all-but-permeable barrier between worlds—the river and the ocean. As the spot expands a dip forms on the horizon. The water moves. Under, through, over. Destructive. Alive. Danny shouldn’t have looked but he can’t stop what has already started. Equilibrium will be achieved one way or another. It was only ever a matter of time. He stands in the shallows, cowed as the wall comes down. Slowly first, then all at once.

The edges of panic are sharp and he realizes what is happening only a beat too late.

The dam breaks.

He screams.

He was the dam, he is the trench, the rapid connection of energy flowing out of bounds and rushing along a new path. Lightning striking the rod to avoid burning down the house. The portal below him is a wound, a tear. He is something asked for, something natural. His mind can’t keep up as he struggles to regain ground and prevent being swept away by the violent current.

Dim awareness of his physical body comes back to him slowly as he writhes against the foreign dimension assaulting his senses. A second death. His double life was a conceptual marvel, a switch flipping from on to off, and back on again. He is the embodiment of two worlds, split, distinct. His quest to join them together requires this of him, doesn’t it? Whatever autonomy he has against the will of the universe cannot remain if he truly wants to serve his purpose. It’s a choice he has to make. One that he has been making. One that has been made.

He takes a deep and shuddering breath.

He tries to let go, and finds that he can’t. It’s like being electrocuted all over again, his nerves fried and his joints stuck rigid. It’s a feeling that is impossible to control, tense as he is.

His breath still comes ragged as colors around him saturate and the world warps. He can feel his fear, his desperation, feeding the momentum of whatever is happening. The exchange of emotion, osmosis through a rapidly deteriorating membrane. Thousands of overlapping inputs assault his mind as he feels the energy sliding around in the folds of his brain. He breathes through it. It’s not at all painful, but it is intense. His human points of reference aren’t working to help him conceptualize what is happening. His atoms are buzzing with newfound energy and the world is no longer solid. He tries once again to attempt the mindfulness ritual Jazz has been shoving down his throat, tries to name five things around him. The exercise fails him as he feels his brain liquefy in his skull. He gasps at the sloshing sensation, back arching. He’s going to be unmade.

Instead of loosening his grip, he tightens it. Remembering what it is to be human with all the force he can muster. His knuckles are white. Sweat slips down his brow. If he can’t let go, he has to hold on. He is gasping, thrashing. He’s hyperventilating, he’s sure, but no oxygen floods his system. He wants release, wants off this ride. The world outside of his perception ceases to exist. Flesh slips from his bones and it feels so, so good.

Then he sees it.

His eyes are blind, but he perceives it, somehow. The yawning void of the infinite realms is so much bigger, so much hungrier than he had ever thought. Reading that tablet, all that time ago, he thought his purpose was something simple. Easy in a way that a fourteen year old imagination could rationalize. The earth and the zone were two physical spaces that only needed to understand each other and hold hands to achieve that elusive harmony.

He’d been wrong.

It’s not the earth that feeds the realms. Dimensions aren’t something that can be explained by an elementary understanding of mass and matter. They aren’t some static three dimensional points in time and space. They are universes of their own, expanding, interstitched in a nasty and sticky web of inexplicable physics folding over and back on themselves, forever too complicated to pry apart.

The realms are fed by the conscious universe perceiving itself, the soul, the spirit, whatever you want to call it. Emotions aren’t some grid of faces on a paper, they are infinite, they are cause and effect, the chicken and the egg, projecting forever in a möbius loop human understanding can never truly describe.

He’s going to go insane, he concludes. Here on his bed, on some random weekday, alone in his room. The magnetic pull of his two halves are phasing into each other, becoming imperceivable as the two separate forms he once knew. He’s not even sure that he really exists at this point.

There is another choice to make.

He thinks back to what he knows about this buried history, Pariah Dark, The Ancients, wonders if they considered this connection, what they knew about how this should happen. Is there a way to do this that is objectively correct? If he knew more would it be easier? Or would it go down just the same? He has no desire to conquer. Only to be a bridge. A tether. An example. To show that this merging from two to one can be peaceful, a shift in perception rather than a violent overhaul. It is unavoidable now. His only wish is to remain recognizable as himself.

He focuses not on his mind but on his body. He has to rebuild from the ground up or risk losing himself forever. Start small, a beating heart. Vascular systems. Skeletal. Muscular. Take a breath and pump blood into the empty cavern of his skull. Human is what he knows, though he’s never had to think about it quite this way before. His nerves lace through the structures he’s struggling to create, half intuition, half memory. It feels like being a ghost, all projection and thought, a deep and innate understanding. He knows this. He’s existed this way every moment of his short life and he can do it again. He’s alive, his blood is red, his flesh is tangible.

His brain slams back into his body and he promptly throws up.

The worlds are connected once again.

Danny’s hands shake as he tries to get a grip on himself. He’s been changed. He can feel it. The Infinite Realms has marked him as he has marked it. The world is flowing through and from him. Energy hums under his skin, and in it there is access to a well so deep he’s not sure it could ever run dry.

He finally gets it. This is what being a bridge between worlds means for him.

He gets off his bed slowly. Half floating, half stumbling for balance. His instincts are scattered and his breath no longer sits in his body the same.

This change gives him the authority and the power, the perception and understanding to mend the bleeding fracture between dimensions. He will be listened to. He cannot be hurt. His appearance no longer matters, he is what he is, wholly and entirely. He exists as a linchpin. He is the keystone in the arch where one side is living and the other is dead.

Gravity feels so odd. Like someone changed the coefficient.

He sobs and grabs his dresser for support, woozy and unbalanced, a newborn deer walking on unfamiliar legs. He intends to make his way downstairs. Wants to fall into the embrace of his parents. Needs someone to hold him and tell him that everything will still be okay. He looks to the door.

And without moving, he is there.

Breath comes hard and fast as he steadies himself. His perception catching up to the new perspective. His hand is on the handle, he radiates a trail of semi-physical matter with every motion. It will take practice to appear normal again. He’s reminded of his freshman year.

When he finally opens the door, a swirling green wall is all that meets him. He stares at it, the cold vapor of the Realms slipping around and through him.

He knows the observants exist on the other side. He is sure of it as he is sure of anything. They are there to acknowledge the crown above his head. To observe what he has finally made of himself.

He will tell him that he didn’t want this, didn’t ask for it.

They will tell him that he is lying.

He steps through the threshold.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #ghost king danny #horror #i wanted to explore this part of the au but it is too long and weird for a comic so hey #you get some more writing #fanfic #writing #college au

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miniseokminnies · 7 months ago

Text

rivers and roads —- c.hs

˚｡ pairing: chwe hansol x afab!reader ˚｡ genre: friends to lovers, idiots to lovers ˚｡ wc: 5.6k ˚｡ warnings: 18+ MDNI, drug mention (weed), alcohol mention, one uncomfortable situation with a stranger who is a man, lying to hotel staff, spit kink, oral [m. receiving], multiple orgasms, praise kink, slight dacryphilia, insecurity, anxiety, slight angst with a happy ending ˚｡ synopsis: having just graduated college and having some time before the real world starts two best friends decide to take a road trip that might change their friendship forever. ˚｡ playlist: rivers and roads

mood board by: @myhimbomingi

You smooth your hands over the rough polyester of your ugly blue graduation gown. Staring ahead and starting to fidget in line to walk across the stage you felt a hand slip into yours and give a supportive squeeze. Looking up your eyes met the deep brown of your best friend, Hansol’s.

“Nervous?” he asked softly, beginning to rub circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. Your eyes drifted back to the stage and you nodded,

“What if I trip?” you muttered as the two of you moved forward in the line, the monotonous announcer continuing to read through the names of your graduating classmates. Hansol chuckled, knowing that your concern is valid, but not anything you needed to worry about. Hansol and yourself have been friends since college orientation the summer before your freshman year. The two of you were in the same group and immediately clicked. Slowly the two of you expanded your group, mostly consisting of the two of you and some guys that lived on Hansol’s dorm floor freshman year.

“Chwe Hansol” the announcer boomed over the microphone. He smiled down at you and you felt his hand slip out of yours.

***

“So does anyone have any big plans before we join the workforce?” your friend Seokmin smiled at your group’s last weekly Saturday lunch before you all went your separate ways.

“Y/N and I are going on a road trip” Hansol said nonchalantly without looking up from his menu. Joshua and Jeonghan exchanged a quick glance,

“Oh? Where to?” the latter asked.

“Dunno” you shrugged, “just taking two weeks to see where we end up” Jeonghan nodded, glancing at Joshua again.

“Sounds boring” Junhui muttered, engrossed in his phone, “ow!” he yelped as Minghao shoved his elbow into his ribs.

***

Clutching onto the straps of your duffle bag you began to bounce on the balls of your feet. You saw Hansol’s red pick up truck pull into the parking lot of your apartment complex and you slung your backpack over your left shoulder and your duffle over your right and bounded out the door. Hansol laughed as he spotted you, so clearly excited. He wordlessly took your duffle and placed it in the back of the cab behind the passenger’s seat. You set your backpack on the floor of the passenger's seat and climbed into the truck.

“Ready?” Hansol asked as he got behind the wheel. You smiled widely at him and nodded. He gave you a single nod and started the truck.

Driving with Hansol was always something you enjoyed, the two of you spent a lot of time during college just driving around. He always had new music to play for you. He was always a comfort for you, and comfortable silence, apart from the music from the speakers, took over the drive quickly.

After a few hours of driving and intermittent conversation, you felt your eyelids getting heavy. You shifted in your seat, trying to get more comfortable.

“Close your eyes, nap” Hansol said softly without looking away from the road.

“Mmm, keeping you company” you mumbled, closing your eyes and leaning your cheek on your hand.

“I’m fine, Y/N” he chuckled. You nodded, slipping into sleep quickly. Hansol looked over at your sleeping form, and feeling an odd sensation in his chest, looked back to the road.

You felt a hand on your shoulder, shaking you awake, “Y/N” you heard Hansol, your eyes fluttered open, seeing him close to you.

“Hm?” you hummed, rubbing your eye and looking up at him.

“I found a motel, they have a room for us” he told you. You nodded and picked up your backpack from the floor. Hansol already had your duffle over his shoulder and his backpack on. Once you were settled he began leading you toward the room he rented.

“Where are we?” You called to Hansol from the bathroom and squeezed some of your cleanser into your hand.

“About six hours south of your apartment,” your friend appeared in the doorway to the bathroom, now in his pajamas, and leaned against the doorframe, “I don’t know the name of the town, or what’s here”

Once the two of you were ready for bed you settled in one of the two beds in the room.

“Good night, ‘Sol” you yawned. Hansol hummed in response and shut off the light.

***

You were up before Hansol the next morning. Letting him sleep you slipped into the shower, what felt comfortable in the car the previous day was now responsible for some stiffness. You let the warm water run over your body, getting lost in the feeling. You’re not sure how long you stood there enjoying the warmth loosening your tight muscles before you heard the bathroom door swing open.

“Y/N?” you heard the sleepy voice of Hansol call out, “I’m…I just need to piss”

“Go ahead,” you replied, trying to be less awkward than your friend and beginning the process of washing your hair.

“Breakfast?” you asked, sitting on the edge of Hansol’s bed after your shower. Looking up from his phone he nodded eagerly at you,

“Please, I’m starving.”

***

Hansol and yourself didn’t stay in that town long after the meal, it was small and there wasn’t much to see beyond the amazing local breakfast cafe and your motel. The two of you have been on the road for a few hours now.

“I love this song,” Hansol mumbled, a laugh escaped your lips, “What? I do!” he scoffed at your reaction,

“I know, Hansol,” you reach across the center console to take the partially smoked joint from behind his ear, “I was the one who played you this song, remember?” He watched you from the corner of his eye place his joint between your lips and bring his zippo to the end, lighting it up.

Hansol does remember hearing this song for the first time, the crackle of your old record player in your college apartment. You looked similar to how you do now, hair tied up haphazardly, baseball cap from the university bookstore you bought that orientation day on your head. Admittedly, the hat is much more worn now. You took your single puff of his joint before passing it to him to finish off that day too.

This may be his favorite you he ever gets to see. A single blow of smoke escaping your lips. You only ever want the one, and Hansol only ever smokes his half of the joint when you start it for him. Currently, he was trying to calm his racing heart, and trying to distract himself from the fact that the joint was between your lips a few moments ago.

“Of course I do,” he took the joint between his fingers, drumming the steering wheel, “Feels different now…” he trailed off listening to the words, a year from now, we'll all be gone, all our friends will move away. Absentmindedly, he thought about how different things might be after he drops you off at your apartment in two weeks.

You watched as he blew smoke toward the window, he got this far away look in his eyes, you knew he was thinking. You knew better than to ask, Hansol was a man of few words, and if he wanted to talk about it, he would. Eyeing him you turned up the volume on the radio, you saw the corner of his mouth quirk up ever so slightly, you knew he appreciated the gesture, one of not making him talk before he was ready.

The drive droned on like this for the majority of the day, eventually the smoke stopped curling towards the window as Hansol had smoked it all away, he would need to roll more before bed. Eventually, you saw Hansol blinking furiously, trying to stay awake.

“‘Sol” you reached out to touch his arm, “Maybe we should take a break” he jumped slightly at your touch, so focused on the road.

“Where…” he chuckled, once he had regained his calm demeanor, “we’re in the middle of nowhere” you only shrugged in response,

“Pull over, it doesn’t matter” and soon the impenetrable line of trees on the side of the road gave way to an open field. Hansol pulled his truck off the road matting down the grass in its wake, he drove close to the tree line, worried about getting in trouble if someone saw the car from the road. Once the truck was safely in park you watched Hansol reach to the back of the cab and tugged a few blankets toward you two. Wordlessly he opened his door and moved toward the bed of the truck.

Turning around you watched him spread the blankets in the bed through the back window. He poked his tongue through his teeth in concentration, when he was finished he hopped off the bed and moved toward your side of the truck. You scrambled to look nonchalant, and as if you totally were not watching him, a ghost of a smile playing at your lips.

“C’mon then” he opened up your door. Following him out to the back he helped you up. Laying on your back you felt the plush of the blankets and watched Hansol as he settled down next to you. Once he was comfortable you turned your eyes to the sky and covered your eyes with your forearm. The hand nearest to Hansol was left in its place, unbeknownst to you, his pinky inched closer, trying to build the confidence to take the plunge.

You woke up to a cool drop of water plopping directly onto your forehead. When did you fall asleep? Barely having the time to wonder before the skies open up and begin to drench Hansol and yourself.

“Hansol!” you sat up and shook his shoulders, “Hansol!” his eyes fluttered open slowly, somehow for a moment you forgot the rain was beating down on you as you watched his eyes soften from the confusion they held when he first woke. The softness he usually works so hard to shield you from was on full display, you wanted to stay in this fleeting moment forever, but you realized just as quickly as the gaze softened it turned panicked.

“Oh my God!” he sat up, almost bumping his head on your nose, “it’s pouring” he stated almost too simply. The two of you worked to heave the now soaking blankets out of the bed of the truck and into the back of the cab.

Hansol slams his door shut and throws his head back against the rest behind him. He pushes a hand through his now sopping wet hair. Turning to look toward him you catch his eyes taking in his appearance. After a few seconds of holding eye contact the two of you burst into a fit of laughter.

The drooping fan blades cut through the stale hot air on the ceiling of the motel about thirty miles from where you got caught in the storm. You were sprawled out on the bed looking up at the fan, finally feeling warm now that you were able to change out of your wet clothes.

Hansol was still down in the lobby, trying to talk the motel manager into letting him use their large driers for the blankets. Finally, you heard the door open and the squish of socks inside wet shoes approach you.

“One bed?” Hansol asked. You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking him up and down, stifling another bout of laughter at his state of disheveledness.

“That’s kind of what happens when you take a trip without a plan” you pointed out, letting yourself smile so he knew you were joking. Hansol rolled his eyes, a lazy smile tugging at his lips.

“I guess you’re right” the softness in his eyes returns for a moment, before he remembered he was dripping on the floor, “I’m gonna change…” you flopped back on the bed and resumed the exhilarating activity of watching the blades of the fan lazily cutting the air.

The bathroom door clicked closed and you heard Hansol’s muffled sigh. Imagining him hanging his wet clothes next to yours over the bar of the shower you tried to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks.

“I’ll sleep on the floor” Hansol stated, startling you, you were too deep in thought to notice him. You watched as he busied himself with taking out his phone charger.

“No” you sat up again, “there’s no need to do that, it’s not like we didn’t fall asleep next to each other earlier” you watched him turn to you, greedily taking in his form, his baggy sweats and his t-shirt, “plus this floor is more than likely disgusting”

“Good point” he smiled at you, moving toward what he decided is his side of the bed, the side closest to the door. The two of you settle under the covers and Hansol clicks off the lamp on his side, “Goodnight Y/N” he mutters

“Goodnight ‘Sol” your back was turned to him, but your eyes were stuck open, feeling the adrenaline of an invisible line being crossed.

***

“Do you think everyone in this town is this stupid?” Hansol asked incredulously as the car in front of you break checked him.

“Probably,” you kicked your feet up on his dashboard, “I bet they teach them all to do this at driver’s ed, to cut people off when they’re from out of town” Hansol laughed at your made up story,

“We need to find a city I think” he muttered, “I’m a little tired of motels and small towns” Nodding in agreement you reached for the joint behind his ear, freshly rolled before you left this morning, and tried to not think about the way that his tongue darts out to wet his lips. Hansol slowed at the red light and you felt his heavy gaze as you lit the joint. You had to all but hold yourself down so you didn’t squirm under the sudden attention, inhaling and blowing the smoke toward the window. Meeting his eyes you placed the joint between his lips as the light turned green.

***

“We have no rooms that will accommodate you” the snobby hotel clerk sneers at you from behind the desk. The two of you had found a city six hours west of where you started this morning, and the hotel you decided to try evidently had standards, ones that your leggings and Hansol’s basketball shorts didn’t meet. You opened your mouth to argue, but Hansol beat you to it,

“Look,” he started, surprising you, “it’s our honeymoon,” you had to stop yourself from staring at him like he had grown a second head, “the hotel we had reserved, they double booked us, it doesn’t need to be your best, just a room.” The clerk sighed and began typing furiously clicking through his computer, you took the opportunity to glance at Hansol, questions evident on your face. He merely shrugged with a lopsided smirk painting his face.

“We had a last minute cancellation…” the clerk muttered reluctantly, once again taking in the state of your apparel, “Names please?”

“Vernon and, “ he looked at you expectantly, after no less than a solid 15 seconds of panic you mustered up,

“Kate”

“Vernon and Kate Chwe” Hansol affirmed.

“Well congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Chwe” the man behind the desk offered as he held out a pair of room keys and you had to ignore the way your stomach flips at the sound of that.

The elevator dings and opens its doors to you. Quietly, you both get inside and as the doors close, and not a second sooner you are turning to your friend,

“What the Hell, Hansol?” you whisper urgently, “why—how did you lie like that?”

“You don’t spend as much time as I do with Yoon Jeonghan and not learn anything,” he shrugs, “it got us a room, didn’t it Kate?”

As soon as the door opened to your hotel room you dropped your bag on the floor and rushed to the window. The view overlooking the city was surely better in the other more expensive rooms but this was good enough for you. Hansol leaned against the wall behind you and watched as you perched yourself in the window sill.

The sun was just starting to set and you were determined to watch it disappear behind the skyscrapers. Hansol folded his arms over his chest, acutely aware that the two of you had already been on this trip for almost a week. He tries not to let the reality of life after college, after the trip hit him square in the chest, not now, not when you were so intently watching the slow descent of the sun from the window in the hotel room he lied his way into. Any of his friends would tell you that this was out of character, in any other situation Hansol is almost brutally honest, but if they knew it was for you, they wouldn’t bat an eye.

Hansol genuinely lost track of time just watching you get lost in your world, before he knew it the stars were twinkling overhead and the sun was long gone.

“I think we should go out” you announced without turning away from the window, Hansol’s heart jumped into his throat,

“What?!” he sputtered, trying to process what you just said to him.

“There are clubs here I’m sure,” you turned to him, “we should go out tonight” at your clarification Hansol let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

***

Clubbing wasn’t really Hansol’s scene, and you knew that, but you were hoping to help him break out of whatever anxiety fueled funk he had been in for almost the entire trip. You saw the spark in his eyes a bit back at the hotel when he scored a room. However, almost as soon as the two of you arrived at the club, he parked himself in a secluded corner near the bar and has been nursing a whiskey for the better part of an hour. Currently, you could feel his gaze boring into the back of your head as you were talking to someone on the dance floor.

“I’ve never seen you around here,” he puts a hand on your arm and leans into your ear so you could hear him over the music, “I frequent this spot, what brings you in?” you repressed a scoff, there’s no way this guy memorizes everyone coming to this club in this huge city.

“Oh” you back up slightly, “I’m just on a road trip and passing through” he followed you as you tried to step away from him, trying to stay in close proximity with you.

“Let me show you a good time then,” he put his hand back on your arm and the other on your hip. Unbeknownst to you, behind you Hansol had downed the rest of his drink. You felt a pair of arms snake around your waist and move you out of the man’s grasp. Looking up you saw Hansol, his jaw squarely set.

“Can I help you?” He nearly spat. You saw the other man’s eyes take in Hansol and then moved to rake over your body, “Speak up” Hansol glared.

“I was talking with her,” the man crossed his arms.

“And now” Hansol started turning you toward the exit, “you’re not” you melted into Hansol’s side and tried to just leave.

“Who are you anyway?” the man called, catching Hansol’s arm, “You didn’t even ask her if she wanted to leave with you.” Hansol’s eyes drifted down to where the man had ahold of him,

“I’m her husband,” he went to shake himself out of his grip but he was holding on tight, “I suggest you let go” the man’s hand dropped, “Good choice” and Hansol was sweeping you out of the building.

The cool air of the summer night bloomed in your lungs as you breathed more easily out on the street. Hansol has not let go of your waist, and you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted him to, after the alcohol and the interaction you had moments ago. “Are you okay?” Hansol asked, taking a step back from you, planting his hands on your hips, his eyes searching yours in a panic.

“I’m okay” you breathed, “but….thank you for stepping in when you did” He smiled at you, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Let’s go” he slipped his hand in yours and intertwined your fingers, so no one could question him again.

The walk home was…strange, to say the least. Hansol had never kept his hand in yours longer than it took to give it a reassuring squeeze in the several years the two of you have been friends. In addition to this, you never once felt like you wanted him to let go. You never questioned his assertion that he is your husband back at the club, that’s what he told the hotel, so might as well continue that, right?

In the elevator up to your room things only got stranger, Hansol wrapped his arms around your waist again, pressed the button for your floor, and unwrapped himself from you and stood at the opposite side of the small room, staring at you.

Entering your hotel room you watched Hansol close the door behind you. He took a deep breath and moved toward you, you stayed still, wondering what was about to happen. He cupped your cheek in his hand, setting a swarm of butterflies loose in your stomach.

“I think” he whispered, “if it’s okay with you, while we’re here, we should play pretend” his eyes searched yours again as his thumb moved to rest on your chin. You nodded, however added,

“Hansol…we, we’re friends…” your breath hitched as he applied pressure on your chin with his thumb,

“Ah” he watched your mouth open at his request, “but we’re Vernon and Kate here, we just got married, babe” the pet name rolled off his tongue so easily as he got impossibly closer to you and spit into your now open mouth, you almost recoiled as his action, before realizing he was right. What was there to lose at this point? You closed your mouth and swallowed without him having to ask, which earned you a groan, “God, what a good girl, I didn’t even have to ask…” and then his mouth was on yours, falling into rhythm as if this was something that happened all the time.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders and your fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. His tongue swiped your bottom lip, requesting access that you swiftly granted. His tongue explored your mouth with a fervor that if you were less distracted would make you wonder how long he has waited for this moment. There was no time for thoughts like that, he was backing you toward the bed. He sat you down on the edge with your legs dangling off, and broke the kiss. Settling on the floor between your knees he began to help you remove your shoes, and then your pants, and he began to work towards your shirt before you cut him off with a whine. He looked up at you quizzically.

“Not fair,” you stated, “you’re still fully clothed.”

“Earn it” he chuckled, and reached between your legs to lay the pads of his fingers on your clothed cunt, “shouldn’t be too hard, considering you’re so wet for me already,” which earned him the deepest blush he has ever seen gracing your cheeks. He began slow ruminations on your clit over your underwear, your hips bucking involuntarily at the stimulation, “that’s right” he nearly growled. What you’ve learned about Hansol over the last several years is that he is a patient man, he doesn’t need to rush, but you really wish he would right about now. Another whine escaped your lips trying to egg him on.

Evidently, it worked because he began to peel your ruined panties away from your dripping heat, “God babe, you’re beautiful, all ready for me” he lined himself up and gathered up his saliva and spit into your already wet cunt. He used the mixture of wetness between your legs to ease two fingers inside of you, moaning at the sensation of being filled, your eyes screwed shut. The pad of his thumb found your clit and he began to circle the bundle of nerves meticulously. “Remember what you’re working for” he reminded you, picking up his pace. You felt the coil in your stomach begin to tighten as you heard his fingers working in your pussy.

“I’m…” you cut yourself off with a moan as Hansol curled his fingers inside you to inch you closer to your approaching high.

“Let go” was all you needed for the coil to snap and white hot pleasure overtook your senses. “That’s it, you did so well for me” you heard Hansol’s soothing voice as you were coming down. Your eyes fluttered open as he was standing up from between your legs and pulling his shirt over his head.

“Here,” you sat up and reached for his belt, “I can help” you added, unhooking the belt and pulling his pants and his boxers down. You watched as his cock sprung free, hard and leaking already. Pulling him closer by his hips you watched his face intently, a mix of lust and anticipation. You took him in your hand and he let out a hiss, “You need it that badly?” At your comment he took a handful of your hair and pulled it so you were looking up at him and he gave you a warning look. You nodded in understanding and gave his cock a few pumps before leaning down. You took the tip into your mouth and swirled your tongue around his slit, taking in the precum that had already mixed with your saliva.

“Let me” he thrusted experimentally. You hollowed out your cheeks and sunk your lips further down, in a way letting him know he could use your mouth to get off. He grunted and thrusted into your mouth at a bit of a rushed pace, it was obvious that he was wound up tight. “Good girl, letting me use her, fuck” tears pricked at the corners of your eyes but you were determined. Hansol’s thrusts became sloppy as the tears began to stream down your cheeks, using the hand that was still in your hair he pulled you off his dick, “you have another one in you” he stated as he lay you down on the bed.

He hovered over you and wiped your tears with his thumb, “you okay?” he asked quietly, you nodded, not being able to form words at the moment. “Good” he smiled down at you, you felt him tease his cock head through your folds. You flinched from the sensitivity. Slowly, he eased into you. Simultaneously, you both moaned at the sensation, which made you smile at each other, like this was just another normal night in your friendship, even though that was so far from the truth.

After letting you adjust to his size he began to thrust slowly in and out of you. “I won’t last long, you did too well…” he choked out, your pussy clenching around him at the continued praise. His thrusts again became erratic and you knew he was close. Somehow, you were impossibly close as well, chasing a high that snuck up on you. You felt every delicious drag of his cock on your walls before you felt Hansol pull out and his white ropes shot into your stomach as your high crashed into you.

Hansol pushed his sweat drenched hair off his forehead. The two of you stared at each other for a few fleeting moments, realizing the gravity of what just happened, before silently agreeing that you will figure all of that out later. He climbed out of the bed and hurried to the bathroom and returned moments later with a warm towel and a glass of water.

“Are you okay?” he asked again as he was gently wiping himself off of your stomach.

“Yes,” you assured him, “I am surprisingly calm about what just happened” he smiled up at you before leaning down to kiss your now clean stomach.

***

Hansol and yourself didn’t talk about that night for the next several days, but nothing went back to normal either. He was holding your hand, he was giving you kisses, and right now he had his hand on your thigh as you left that city behind. Hansol insisted you stay there for a few more days than you had originally planned, you had a sneaking suspicion as to why but you decided not to push it. You weren’t one to complain, especially when you were getting pleased nearly every night.

“Take me to see the ocean” you piped up suddenly.

“What?” Hansol laughed looking over at you quickly before returning his eyes to the road.

“Sounds like a good way to end this little adventure” you shrugged. You felt Hansol freeze up for a moment before recovering.

“Right” he muttered, “Let’s get you to the ocean,” he said, squeezing your thigh.

***

You watched out the window as the ocean came into view on your side, you had been to the ocean once in your life, but it seemed important to see it now for some reason. Seeing something so grand felt like a great way to begin your new life in the next few days, you were nervous, but so excited. You watched as Hansol parked the truck in a public beach access parking lot and turned to you.

“Ready?” he smiled

“Ready” you smiled back. You walked hand in hand over the sand and the sea breeze catching your hair. It was early evening by the time you had found your way here so it was cooling down as the sun was setting.

Hansol spread one of the blankets from the truck over the sand, close enough to see the waves but not close enough that it would get soaked from a rogue wave. You sat down and Hansol slotted himself behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You don’t know how long you sat, in quiet contemplation, neither one of you wanting to break whatever spell settled over you two over the last week or so. “Hansol-” you started,

“Vernon” he tried to correct.

“No,” you said firmly, “Hansol, what are we doing?”

“Two more days,” he sighed, “Just…give me two more days, I swear you’ll get back in time” he rested his chin on your shoulder, waiting for your response.

“Two more days, and I get to call you Hansol”

“Deal”

***

You left the beach headed for home two days later, as promised. Hansol drove quietly away from whatever the last few weeks were between you, his hands were firmly on the wheel, he hadn’t touched you at all today. It’s as if with your kiss goodnight the illusion was broken and you were back to reality. You weren’t sure which was better for you, living like Hansol was your boyfriend or having him as your best friend again. Then again, you weren’t sure why you couldn’t have both honestly.

About an hour into your drive Hansol took the joint out from behind his ear and tried to pass it to you wordlessly.

“Oh, I can’t” you told him, “I start my job next week and they told me I need to pass a drug test before my first day” Hansol dropped the joint, pulled over, and flung open his door, “Hansol?! What the fuck are you doing?” You followed him into the woods on the side of the road, “Hansol!” you caught his arm and pulled him so he was facing you, there were tears in his eyes.

“God I am so stupid” he wiped his eyes furiously with the back of his hand.

“Hansol what’s going on” your voice softened at the sight of his tears, you wanted so desperately to wipe them away, but thought better of it due to the nature of the situation.

“Y/N” this is the first time he has used your real name, not a pet name or Kate, in several days, it almost felt foreign to your ears, “this is it! You’re gone after this, you’ll be working and busy, I’ll have lost you and everyone I care about” he threw his head back, looking at the sky, “I have no plans, no job, and no friends,” he looks back down at you, “and you can’t even smoke my weed”

“Hansol…I-” you tried.

“No it’s true, everyone is gone, Hell, some of the guys have moved across the country, I’ll be lucky if I ever see Seungkwan again” Hansol was crying now. “And I know this is a great opportunity for him, and for you, I’m so proud of all of you, but what about me, what am I supposed to do, Y/N?” he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, you could tell he felt stupid about crying and feeling sorry for himself.

“Move in with me” you blurted out, without really thinking, but it felt like a logical thing to say. You watched as he pulled his hands away from his eyes,

“What?”

“You heard me,” you moved closer to him and rubbed his arms with your hands, “move in with me”

“Like…as friends or-” “No” you cut him off, “absolutely not as friends,” it was his turn to cut you off, he closed the short distance between you and pressed his lips firmly to yours.

#chwe hansol x reader #chwe hansol fluff #chwe hansol smut #chwe vernon x reader #chwe vernon smut #vernon x reader #seventeen smut #seventeen vernon #seventeen imagines #svt smut #svt imagines #hansol x reader #hansol vernon chwe #seventeen scenarios #svt x reader #svt fluff #svt angst #bennie’s works

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phyrestartr · 6 months ago

Text

Divine Favour | Sukuna x Kitsune!Reader (Pt.4 | END)

W/C 7.2k #NSFW, male!reader, top!reader, bottom!sukuna, ABO elements, heian sukuna, typical kitsune shapeshifting, jp mythology, canon typical violence, morally grey reader, unhealthy relationships, questionable relationships, power imbalance, ABO elements, gojo/megumi/yuuji/nobara cameos, yuuji/megu/nobara are early 20s, sukuna is controlling/possessive/obsessive, rough sex, not edited enough (oh well) Note: It's finally over (dies like Noctis)

tags: @kamote-kuneho @kamote-kuneho @nyanwko @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9 @3zae-zae3 @chibiduck @kiiyoooo @lukaijah @memedealer-exe @f0th3rr @boretheral @cicithemess @paastaboi @someone0vx

“Google says kitsune are usually attuned to one of the thirteen elements,” Nobara prattled, scrolling through the random Japanese mythology website on her phone. “Itadori, what's his element, huh?”

Yuuji pursed his lips, face growing deadpan as he thought and quickly realized he had no clue.

“Uh…”

Nobara grimaced. “Useless.”

“Hey, I didn't know they were all, y'know, elemental-y, okay?! Jeeze!”

Megumi sighed and shook his head. “We're supposed to be keeping an eye on him, not arguing about garbage you found online.”

The two country bumpkins followed Megumi's gaze to where you snoozed under a tree. It felt a little strange seeing you donned in one of college's spare uniforms, but you seemed quite pleased by the modern take on fashion and aesthetic. Yuuji wondered if you'd take to modifying the plain, black clothes the way you'd done so in the past.

“Oi, kyuubi!” Nobara called as she wandered in your direction, much to the chagrin of Megumi. “I got a question for ya.”

You spared her a sleepy glance before sitting up and stretching with a wide, toothy yawn. It almost took the three aback, seeing how sharp and distinctly not-human your teeth were.

“You and everyone else, evidently.” You hummed and combed your tail with your fingers. “Speak.”

“Is it true that your kind are, like, elemental or something?”

Megumi sighed as he rolled up beside her. “She means to ask if kitsune are elementally-attuned, whether it be to fire, water, earth–that sort of thing.”

“I literally just said that!” Nobara hissed as she smacked Megumi's arm. The raven didn't react in the slightest.

“Yeah!” Yuuji piped up. His face grew red as soon as your lazy stare flicked to him. “I-I, uh–like, y'know, fire. Or…you talked about fire?”

“You are so tactless. It's starting to get sad.”

“Can it, Kugisaki!”

You smiled. “It's true, more or less. I was taught my sort usually falls into one of the thirteen elements: celestial, wind, spirit, darkness, fire, earth, river, ocean, forest, mountain, thunder, sound, and time.

“Then, there are the broadly ‘bad’ sort, nogitsune, and the ‘good’ sort, zenko. Most say only zenko reach total divinity, but that's not always the case.”

“Yikes, so the bad kitsune can be gods too?” Yuuji asked as he sat down with you and pulled at the grass idly. “Isn't that, y'know, bad?”

“Gods are all inherently bad, as far as I'm concerned,” you said.

“Gojo-sensei mentioned you were one,” Megumi offered as he and Nobara sat, too. “A god. The people revered you.”

You snorted and covered your mouth the way you might have if you had the long sleeves of a kimono to aid you.

“They didn't mind me. I don't think they particularly liked me, considering what company I kept.” You hummed and straightened out your sleeve.

“Yeah, but…you're not him, so what's the point in hating you?” Yuuji asked, and you couldn't help but feel more weight and worry behind the words.

“I don't care what they thought of me. I only cared about what the palace residents thought. They were my family, in a sense.”

“Even Sukuna?” Megumi asked.

“That's such a stupid question, oh my god. Boys are so stupid,” Nobara said with a deadpan.

You smiled, though, and kindly still answered.

“Especially Sukuna.”

“Hey, hey! Sorry for the wait!” Gojo called across the field as he made a show of sauntering on over before teleporting in the blink of an eye. “So? Are we all–oooh, are we gossiping?”

“What, no?!”

“No.”

Gojo pouted. “My students always leave me out. Thankfully, my sweet, pious, precious (Name) is nice to me!”

“You're late, Satoru,” you sighed as you stood, tying back your chopped hair into the tiniest of ponytails. “What is the reason?”

Gojo whined and trotted up to you, rubbing and petting your ears to bring you back to his side of the issue.

“It's not my fault! All the higher-ups are sooo annoying and yap sooo much!” He shuffled behind you and played with your three lush tails much like a toddler would. “Who's a good boy? Who's a good boy that's not gonna get mad at the Gojo Satoru?”

You sighed and flicked your ear, thwacking him in the forehead with it. “Let's not waste any more time, cretin.

“What're we even doing, Sensei?” Yuuji asked, rubbing the back of his head after raising his hand like he was in class. “You didn't really tell us anythin’.”

“Yeah, I thought we were just watching the fox until he had to go back in his cage,” Nobara said, arms crossed and expression sour. “Seems kinda stupid. He's not even a threat.” But Yuuji knew there was little truth to that statement.

“I'm guessing the meeting was about relocating (Name).” Megumi looked at Gojo. “So what's the plan?”

–

The five of you walked endlessly through the vast forest surrounding the college. Your gaze traveled up sky-scraping trees, admiring the ancient song of life only you could hear through the soil and air. Wind danced across the verdant canopy above, scattering beams of molten sunlight across the forest floor and dappling the shoulders of the sorcerers before you with golden kisses–a sight you so sorely missed from your tenure at the palace.

The land was not crying here. You'd heard the distant sound from the concrete jungle resting far below the rise of the college, and it shrouded you with jaded confusion and contempt for what had been done to the world in your stead; if you'd been smarter, wiser to the plans of one, could you have prevented this? Or were humans simply inevitable with their evolution? Perhaps it was up to the Earth to find the yang after the yin.

“Okay, this is it!” Gojo called, snapping you from your rampant thoughts.

You looked to where he gestured, and found a simple building. It was reminiscent of the college in its design–modern, but clearly inspired by traditional architecture–and it looked fairly new. A bell attached to a rope stood at the forefront, as did a well for mortals to throw their offerings before ringing the aforementioned chime. Beyond that, the shrine lacked character and decoration. It was a clean slate.

You blinked owlishly, and tilted your head. “This is…?”

“A shrine! For our new on-campus god! How fun is that, huh?” Gojo smiled, proud for a reason you couldn't decipher. “You get to make it home!”

The younger three all deadpanned, looking between each other, trying to parse if their teacher was delusional or just being a menace to society and doing this behind the council’s back. Honestly, it was up in the air.

“I–is that even–” Megumi tried, but gave up and rubbed his face instead.

“So…(Name)’s gonna be, like, our resident god, or something?” Yuuji wondered, feeling his heart pitter patter just a little faster.

“Haha! Sure, if you want to think of it that way.” Gojo smiled and looked toward the blank canvas of a shrine. “In exchange for divine favour, we grant sanctuary. Home. A place to call your own.”

You didn't say much, but your tails swished and flowed as you stared at the humble abode–your humble abode–and inhaled shakily.

“I suppose this will do,” you conceded, still too unwilling to give Gojo the satisfaction of knowing he'd touched your heart. “It's a bit stingy, however.”

“STINGY?”

“Indeed. Now, begone–I have work to do.”

–

Sukuna reached for you when he dreamed. He didn't need to sleep, he had no use for it as he was now, but he convinced himself into the realm of the unconscious regardless, searching for the doorway leading to your mind.

And he tried night after night, day after day, searching and sitting outside the palace of your inner realm once he found the entrance. The door was the same as the one leading to your chambers in your shared home; a simple, sliding door of wood and paper. Beautiful. Comforting.

He knew the door wouldn't open for him, not yet; he deduced what may have happened, and what that would have meant for you all and himself as a result. He'd have to be patient. Wait for you to let him in to confront him, or seek his comfort.

But he didn't expect the door to open so suddenly behind him, sending him rolling onto his back and staring upside down at the most magnificent sight he'd ever beheld–a kyuubi, sitting poised across the room, dressed in a haori several sizes too big, waiting with his back turned as candlelight flickered and lulled the room into a lazy, sleepy haze.

Sukuna righted himself and stood, spirit flailing and tearing itself apart in his uncontrollable want for you, for a desire to return back to the simplicity of this time. But he couldn't go back. Maybe he could recreate it.

“Fox,” Sukuna murmured, excitement igniting the small, human body he'd been forced to mold his soul into. It felt so much worse in this form, his want being so much more fucking unbearable and burning a hole in his damn chest and skull.

You shifted, head turning the slightest toward him yet refusing to give way entirely. But, then you stood, and Sukuna suddenly understood how you felt in the presence of his overwhelming power.

You stood tall. Proud. Powerful. Your ears pointed towards the heavens while your tails fanned against the gates of hell when you turned to face that lover of the past, the one you held so dear for decades.

Sukuna almost felt weak in the knees (or was that somehow Yuuji interrupting his delusions?) when bright red markings caught the light, shimmering in divine sparks of orange and teal in the firelight–and your eyes. Your eyes. They burned with higher purpose. With unreadable certainty and alien understanding. You made Sukuna's gut coil with need.

“My Sukuna,” you whispered to the room. You took a step forward, and Sukuna eagerly met you the rest of the way. “You look so…small.”

He looked up at you–yes, up--and admired your face and godly stature and just how fucking tall and unearthly and powerful you were looming over him.

“Stuck looking like this fucking runt while I'm in his body,” Sukuna explained bitterly. He reached a hand up while he spoke, and you graciously leaned down to let his skin touch yours.

An ache curled under Sukuna's skin, flushing his complexion with heat and suffocating him in those unbearable sorcerer uniform garbs. His pants strained too tight, his jacket and hoodie made his core swelter and his mind grow fuzzy. It was torture.

“He looks so much like you,” you drawled, holding Sukuna's face in kind. You hummed with sympathy when he moaned and leaned into your touch, only abandoning his own rediscovery of your features to hold your palms against him, to indulge in everything so wholly you.

“Forgot what I look like, huh,” Sukuna huffed. “This brat looks like a beaten monkey.”

“So did you.”

“Hey.”

“But I adored you anyway, did I not?”

Sukuna scanned over your face slowly, methodically, wondering.

“Adore. You mean ‘adore’.”

“Perhaps.” You smoothed a thumb over his cheekbone. “It's been some time.”

“You chose me. You belong to me.” Sukuna's lip curled as he growled and forced your hands into his skin firmer as though to leave scars. “Mine. Only mine.”

Your lips quirked upwards and Sukuna pulled you down to kiss you. His voice reverberated between your linked bodies as your tongue licked into his mouth far enough to nearly make him choke. You kindly pulled him flush against you, wrenching more pleased, needy noises out of him with no effort at all.

“You're as starved as Yuuji,” you whispered as his hands fumbled with your ornate clothes, yanking and pulling at them with reckless abandon.

“Shut up.” His grumbling lessened just a bit when you eased your robes open, exposing your perfect skin to him once again.

“I believe it'd displease you if I stopped talking, no?” You tore the clothing off the other's body as he pulled you down to the floor with him, suddenly so eager to submit.

Sukuna scoffed. “I–just touch me, fox.”

It was your turn to purr and keen, basking in the soft tremble of anticipation the all-powerful choked on as he spread himself bare beneath you, your garbs cascading all around him like a waterfall–only you would get to see him, chest heaving, eyes swirling with lust and need, hidden behind a curtain of embroidered flames.

“Poor thing.” You dug your nails into his hips and dragged him toward you, prodding your aching length against his unprepared heat. “You've been so long without touch. Without love. Do you still think it's meaningless?”

The curse snarled, and you caught him by the throat, pinning him in place and jamming your other hand's fingers down his throat before he could bark back at you. And just that simple torture had the king's hips twitching and bucking, slowly falling into time with the rhythm of your digits slipping in and out of his bratty mouth.

“F-fuck you,” he gasped once his mouth fell empty.

You chuckled smoothly. “It's simply food for thought.” You pressed two fingers into him and worked inside with ease despite the crushing heat clamping down around you. You didn't know if his sweet, little body wanted you to stay put or fill him faster.

“Fuckin'--annoying, shithead, bratty fox–” he cut off with a ragged moan as you pressed against his prostate and rubbed against it slowly, firmly, deliciously. His eyes fell shut and his brows twitched up, a vivid look of desperation and concentration making him look far too vulnerable and breedable for his own good.

“It's strange,” you hummed, working him a little faster and jamming your fingers against his sweet spot over and over. “I never thought you'd willingly submit.”

“I need it,” Sukuna growled, fisting his hand around his weeping length and stroking to the beat of your fingers. His hips bucked forward and back, unsure of what searing pleasure to lean into more; luckily for him, you were keen to up the ante.

Your fingers slipped out and Sukuna snarled, crimson eyes snapping open to brand you with frustration. You felt the whip of desperate commands about to crack off Sukuna's tongue, so you wasted no time filling him back up, stuffing him beyond his limits.

The man almost gasped, though it could have just been the force of your cock punching the air out of his lungs. You pulled him against you, seating him to the base with a little effort and brute force. You knew he liked the pain. Pleasure was closely acquainted with it, after all.

“This is what you wanted,” you murmured as you rocked into him.

The curse didn't know if you beckoned an answer from him, or simply stated the facts. So, he didn't answer you. He instead gripped onto your shoulders to keep himself steady while you effortlessly drilled into his core with each and every thoughtful roll of your hips.

And it felt good. An uncomfortable, searing stretch accompanied the deep plunges filling him beat after beat. His body tightened and clamped down around you, forcing your length to rub against the weakest, most sensitive spots inside of him–places no one would ever dream of hitting inside the unruly king. None besides you, of course. You were different. Better than the rest. Fit to fuck and fill him if Sukuna so desired it.

“(Name),” he groaned when you changed up the angle, aiming to rub up against the ceiling of his insides with every thrust. You tortured his weak spot, and made a casual show of forcing his stomach to bulge and distend whenever you bottomed out entirely, and Sukuna reveled in it. He wanted to be yours. Just yours.

“You're so sweet when you submit,” you cooed, leaning down and nuzzling against his neck as you fucked into him harder and faster. “You should have done so sooner.”

Sukuna should have clapped Back, but he couldn't; he was too busy trying to angle himself to somehow get you deeper. He was too busy trying to pull you closer, to graft his thick thighs to your scar-riddled sides like a branch on a tree. He couldn't spare a single braincell on your arrogant Teasing when all he could think was, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me–

“Now he's lost his voice,” you sighed. “Such a pity.” Your hips hit particularly hard to punctuate, and Sukuna grunted.

“Again,” he choked out. “Fuck me like that.”

You branded a smile into his skin with a hum. “Are you sure? I won't stop if it's too much.”

Sukuna opened his bleary eyes and spied your nine tails fanned out, cloaking the ceiling from sight. It felt like staring death in the face. Maybe he'd been in its clutches this entire time. Maybe he wanted–needed–you to be the end of him.

Your hand found his throat again, and Sukuna nodded as best he could, too overwhelmed and overstimulated to get words out of his open mouth–but grunts and groans had no issue bursting through as you left mercy by the wayside and destroyed him as thoroughly as he requested. You were, after all, a selfless god.

Sukuna's eyes rolled back as his head tilted in kind, mouth left agape as you burned him alive; every push of your body into his lit new fires, and every second you stayed connected, more of his soul exhausted itself before rising from ashes once again. The tightness coiling in his stomach grew unbearable and insatiable, hungering for more and more and more until–

“There's no shame in coming undone,” you cooed, your lips and fangs replacing the hand in his throat and peppering apologetic kisses. “Unravel for me, my love.”

My love. My love. My love.

“Fuck,” Sukuna gasped. He clung to you, and you raised your head to kiss him, swallowing his strained noises to keep them a secret from the outside world and himself.

He grabbed at your shoulders and arms as his head tilted back and a hoarse cry left him–just as his body clamped down and sent him over the edge, he realized pushing in and out had become more taxing. Perhaps because of his cumming, or perhaps because of the ungodly thing swelling at your base and ripping him open.

You worked him through his high, never thinking of pulling away from him when he needed you most. Because this was bound to end. He was bound to wake up and feel cold where your hands now touched. He was stuck in the body of another with no hope of reaching you unless he somehow, some way turned the tables on all those weak sorcerers and broke free.

But he would. He'd claim his vessel and walk amongst the new world, autonomous and untouchable. It was only a matter of time.

–

Though Sukuna was selfish in chasing his own pleasure, he soon found immense satisfaction in yours.

The number of times he'd trap you against a wall and finger you until your legs gave out and your voice ran hoarse was too great to count. He couldn't help himself; that bewildered, wide-eyed look you gave him every time you were let go to fix your robes and catch your voice screamed, what was that for? And boosted Sukuna’s ego. He reveled in the glory of being the only one to do this to you, to being the one who forced you to lose composure.

In his chamber, he indulged further. He'd work thick fingers deep inside of you while his other hands roamed and touched, stroking, pinching and rubbing wherever he deemed needed attention. And you were putty in his hands, absolutely melting into everything he did to you, even if accompanied by a shock of pain.

Because you were a creature who only knew sex for the sake of bearing children. Beyond that clan using you in an attempt to create half-breed sorcerers, your primal nature influenced you to only seek out a mate for the purpose of bearing children, and not necessarily for pleasure.

But Sukuna was the opposite. He never thought of siring children. He only thought of pleasure of another's body and the thrill of total domination over them, never the idea he'd suffer the consequences of an heir; he had those women drink a special tea to prevent that for a reason, especially when a handful had come to him, offering their bodies in return for fame and perceived power.

With you, he could entertain the idea, however.

Yes, the mere idea of watching you walk around the gardens, properly swollen with his children, with physical proof of his ownership and coupling with you, sparked something akin to greed in his chest. Though it was a little warmer than just that, admittedly.

–

Yuuji liked you. There was no escaping it, no denying it–he liked being around you. He liked your smile. Your tails. Your ears. The way you scared the shit out of him the first time you properly met. You were just…weird. Interesting. Kind of like Yuuji himself.

But you were kind, too. The times he wandered out to meet you at your shrine to “check up on things,” or because he was bored, he always found you tending to your gardens, talking to the passerby wildlife, dozing at the entrance, and his heart would do something funny in his chest.

Then his mind would rot until all he could see was you sprawled beneath Sukuna, singing the king’s praises while he fucked you into the tatami and bred you.

It wouldn't stop there. Sukuna would taunt him, poisoning him with sinful thoughts and diabolic urges:

You think that fox'll give you the time of day? You, a petulant runt with not a shred of experience beyond your hand? Hah.

Consider it a blessing--you'd probably cum too fast to enjoy him properly. You'd embarrass yourself to death.

I know you think about him when your hand's around your cock. You wish he'd warm it, no? Wish you got to watch his ass take you in?

Go on, why don't you just try? Fulfill your fantasies! Maybe he'll act the part of a pious, pitying god and throw you a bone.

Yuuji, for as airheaded as he could be, knew Sukuna wanted to indulge in you through his vessel. Or, he truly believed Yuuji wouldn't be able to hook up with you and live to remember it. Maybe he was right.

But the young man thought you had a soft spot for him; he wasn't great at reading people by any means, but he thought you always gravitated to him before the others. You always held more warmth in your eyes when they fell upon him, and your preening touch constantly found him, your hands always smoothing out the creases of his uniform while deft fingers fixed his hair and pleated his hood into more attractive folds.

Maybe your touchy-ness toward him was a culmination of your need to parent something. Yuuji didn't fully understand it, but Gojo mentioned something about you wanting children, but you couldn't have them. Not anymore. And so those urges manifested in other ways.

But the young sorcerer wasn't so sure anymore.

“My Yuuji,” you cooed when he came to visit. “You're back again so soon. Is everything alright?”

Yuuji smiled and braced for impact, bowing his head the slightest bit to let you bonk yours against his in greeting. It really reminded him of the way cats would welcome each other. Thankfully, you didn't seem too eager to mark him with a dose of spittle, though.

“Yeah, everything's cool. Just–dunno. Wanted to come see what you were doing, I guess.” The sorcerer shrugged and pocketed his hands after you'd finished lovingly headbutting him.

“Mmh. Well, I certainly don't mind the company.” You smoothed back his hair and fixed the wild flare of one of his eyebrows before stepping away and meandering back towards your shrine. “It feels like something's going to happen soon.”

Yuuji's stomach flipped. “Yeah? You think so?” He followed you, watching the hypnotic swaying of your tails and hips and ass–wait, wait, wait, no, no, no–

What? Am I wrong? Sukuna's voice purred. Looks downright breedable, doesn't he? He said it more like a want than a taunt, this time, like if he were in Yuuji's shoes, he'd jump on you and pick up where you left off.

Shut up, shut up, shut up, Yuuji chanted, trying to calm down. Don't ruin this!

Ruin what? Your sad attempt at courtship, brat?

Yuuji said nothing. Sukuna howled with laughter.

“Natural disasters cannot always be predicted,” you murmured, bringing Yuuji back to the present. “And they can never be stopped.”

The younger frowned and rubbed the back of his neck as he followed you inside. “Eh, I mean…we can stop a lot with sorcery, can't we?”

“And if that disaster is born of sorcery? What then?” You snapped your fingers, and every candle in the room ignited with amber flame.

“Uh…I mean…” He sighed and rubbed his face. “I still think we can stop it. We'll figure out a way!”

You sure about that, brat?

You laughed, soft and kind, bringing a smile to Yuuji instead of a ticked off frown. You had a way of settling his nerves and relieving the tension from tightly wound muscles. Is this the effect you had on Sukuna? Is that why he cherished you so much?

“I admire your optimism, Yuuji. Perhaps I should aspire to be like you,” you said.

Yuuji's face flushed. “E-eh? Wh–no! You're awesome the way you are! And, uh, you're–y’know. You're good!” Smooth. Eloquent. Exceptional.

You hummed and wandered further into the back rooms, allowing Yuuji to follow you to your chambers to relax. “Well, I'll trust your opinion, then.”

“Okay. Yeah. Cool.” The sorcerer cleared his throat and messed with his hood as he followed your lead, admiring the tidy, comfy space you welcomed him into. Pillows and blankets were plentiful and all bunched together on a futon, so much like the nests Yuuji often saw in his dreams. It felt a bit…intrusive to see it in person.

“Hey, uh,” Yuuji started, “I–can I ask something?”

You seated yourself down across the small, simple kotatsu, and gestured for the younger to join you. “Of course.”

The sorcerer sat down across from you. “You and Sukuna. Were you guys–did you ever…y'know.”

You tilted your head, curious. “Go on.”

“Were you, like, in love? Or something?” Yuuji's face burned red at the words. Talking about love was so damn awkward for some reason, especially when it had to do with Sukuna and the fox Yuuji himself pined for.

“Ah.” You tilted your head the opposite direction, and hummed. “I was in love, yes.”

Yuuji's chest ached. “Even now?”

“Eternally.”

“Do you want him back?”

You didn't answer right away, and the festering pain spread from his chest to the tips of his fingers; of course you wanted him back. Of course you wanted your ancient, all-powerful lover back. Why would you ever accept Yuuji in his place? A weak, mortal being?

Before Yuuji could retract the question, you'd shuffled around to his side of the table and held one of his hands in both of yours. The younger couldn't bear to look at your face, and so kept his eyes trained on your elegant fingers smoothing over his rough, scarred knuckles.

“I would not trade a soul that walks amongst the living for a soul that has already lived its life,” you said. “Sukuna has lived. And he has died. He may rise once more, but I do not seek to aid it; he chose to die in hopes of living forever. He must accept what his decision brings, as must I.”

The storm inside of the sorcerer calmed the slightest bit. Sails no longer whipped and frayed; they caught wind and led his heart back to placid waters, though the depths of the oceans could always threaten future treachery. For now, however, Yuuji found safety.

“Man, you really are like Yoda,” He laughed, filling the room with renewed brightness.

You blinked owlishly. “Yoda? What that is, I do not know.”

Yuuji laughed harder and clasped his hands around yours. “Nah, don't worry about it. It's a good thing, though. From one of the movies Gojo-sensei made me watch.”

“I would strongly advise against taking lessons from that man, Yuuji.” Your brow creased as your hands clutched his in a death grip. “He’s not normal.”

Yuuji grinned, then, and held your hands just as tightly. “Yeah, he's weird. But he's smart, too! One of the strongest guys alive, y'know?”

“Even the strongest can make mistakes,” you said. “Even the strongest can lose, Yuuji. Always be careful, even if victory is assured.” Your careful touch graced the curve of his cheek. “I would hate for your visits to stop.”

The sorcerer's heart beat in double-time.

“Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

–

The leaves crinkled and rustled, flashing shades of amber and ruby in the dwindling daylight. Gone was the warmth of Summer's smile; now, the cold, fierce nip of Autumn cut through the air, whispering secrets about the first frost and what it would do to devastate the green around you.

But you were a god. A creature of fertility and good luck. And so, the grass did not die, and the forest did not wither under the coming winter's threats.

It seemed your gifts could not reach into the depths of your soul, however. Perhaps you weren't to indulge in the privilege of what you brought the world--the mortal things around you could make use of a blessing from the divine, but could the divine themselves? Could you bring yourself a remedy to your loneliness the way you brought life unto the ground beneath your feet?

You didn't know.

–

The end of October came, and the world trembled with the force of thousands of lives ending in misery and terror. You beheld it from your home, the sight of the clouds turning orange and red as hellfire devoured all.

Bless me ‘n wish me luck! Gojo had said last time he swung by. Definitely don't need it, but you're my favourite cheerleader, y'know?

That was not too long ago, perhaps a day prior. Maybe it'd only been twelve hours ago since you last saw him. Three hours ago since you last felt his celestial presence upon the earth.

“I would hate for your visits to stop,” you murmured, and your chest froze with the cold.

–

Winter brought with it snow and darkness. Kuraokami had his ways of slipping his icy presence through the slivered cracks of wood grain no matter the time or place; the great dragon would be heard and seen if it was his final act upon the earth.

Not even you could keep him out, the lesser deity you were. But you didn't mind the company; the cold breaths against your skin woke you from nightmares and empty blankness when you dozed and dazed, feeling the days slip by and blur together into one grey smear of solitary existence.

Something had happened. Ever since the sky lit ablaze in a familiar scene of ungodly strength, you felt a shift in the state of existence. In your relevance in the grand scheme of the college and history.

Your sorcerers lost their way to you, you realized. The cushions around the kotatsu stayed fluffed and untouched save for one. Five of the six clay tea cups gathered dust as they waited, hopeful, like you.

–

You woke to the feeling of hollowness. It jostled you to consciousness, in fact; those two little unborn lives swirled and stirred, clawing at your stomach before vanishing in an instant.

Maybe they'd grown too sick and weary of the loneliness and snow, too.

–

Sukuna had walked down this path too many times. And too many times he'd been unable to move, unable to claw his way out of the prison of his vessel to get back to you–but things were different now.

He held a bundle of blankets close as he wandered toward a speck of verdant green amidst the snowy whiteness blanketing the forest, and remembered a distant past he yearned to return to:

Sukuna was a restless creature. He often distracted himself with challenges, duels, leafing through stolen knowledge of other clans–but, on rare occasions, none of that would appeal to his tumultuous mind.

You always appealed to him, however. You, with your lavish tails, your exquisite appearance, your superior poise and prose, you always enthralled him, made him wonder and stare.

Maybe it was because you were always doing something. If you weren't tending to his women, you were meandering around the palace, admiring trophies earned in whatever form they came in: art, weapons, bones. If you weren't doing that, you might be in the garden instead, fine-tuning the patterns drawn in the zen garden yourself and feeding the massive koi. If not that, then you might be asking Uraume to teach you to cook, or you could be fiddling with your loom or–well, it could be anything.

Sometimes, you’d choose to lay with Sukuna and keep him warm and content throughout the dreary haze of winter.

You didn't hate winter yourself, no, but Sukuna most definitely did. The snow and ice were a pain in the ass, and they always threw the garden into a messy disarray of dead foliage and slushy mud that'd have to be tended to come springtime. And it was cold as hell outside. Who asked for that? No one.

“My love,” you cooed as you stepped to his side while he stared out the window. “Glaring won't make the seasons change.”

Sukuna scoffed. “That a challenge?”

“Not at all.” You reached up and smoothed his hair back, stopping pesky, rebellious strands from tickling his forehead. “I'd hate to see what you'd do in an attempt to play god.”

“I'm already a god,” he countered as he snatched your hand from his hair and looked down at you.

“Not a god of the seasons, I'm afraid.” You held his hand and pulled it down to kiss his knuckles. “But a god amidst men, nonetheless.”

Your beast hummed deep in his chest. You had a funny way of setting his roiling soul at ease with your effortless praise and acknowledgement.

“Knew there was a reason I kept you around,” the man purred, leaning down to touch his forehead to yours.

You leaned up into the soft gesture like a cat too eager to be pet. “You'd be quite bored without me.”

“No kidding. I'd go fucking mental if I didn't have you to entertain me.” His voice was a murmur, then, and softened even more when your warm hands cupped his cheeks like he was a priceless, fragile artifact: precious, special, breakable.

“Yes, yes, I go insane in your stead, loved one.” You touched your nose to his, then, before placing the softest of kisses upon his lips.

A light, sighed grumble slipped past Sukuna's lips when your skin left his. It was his turn to nudge his nose against yours, earning himself a petal-like smile from his prized possession, before he blessed you in return, trying to match the kindness you'd met him with.

You held the front of his garbs as you leaned up into him, and his hands all found their places on your smaller frame in return, pulling you closer, keeping you against him. He hardly wanted anything like this in the past before you came along and tore his mind and soul to pieces before hunkering down in the hollow of his ribs and setting up shop. It was aggravating. Captivating.

“Come,” you softly beckoned, slipping away from his desperate hold and leading him back to the bundle of blankets and linens he’d learned to accept as a bed.

As always, he had no choice but to follow, abandoning his mad-dogging of the outside world to join you and the infinite warmth his personal Amaterasu brought him.

“You’re lazy as hell in the winter,” Sukuna noted as he sat himself down in the middle of your nest and let you get to work adjusting blankets and such around the both of you for optimal comfort.

“You're free to traipse off into the snow if you so wish.” You settled yourself by Sukuna's side and tucked under his heavy arms. “I will remain here. Warm. Dry. At peace.”

Sukuna rolled his eyes and pulled you close to his side, squeezing a chirped purr from your chest. “Think I'll pass on the snow.”

You smiled to yourself, feeling warm and content with the settling silence engulfing you as the snow engulfed the world. Winter was the only season where he'd stay by your side, so you often indulged in it, bothering him and sticking to him like a needy pet until spring inevitably rolled around to ruin your happy spell. Because Sukuna was more wild and feral than you. He had to go wander, to go fight. Otherwise, he'd have no purpose.

Unbeknownst to you, he may have another purpose in mind.

His hand breached your clothes and reached down, stopping just above your navel to your surprise. There, he drew gentle, thoughtful circles against your skin. You felt pulses of cursed energy flicker and feel, searching for something neither of you yet knew of.

“What is it you're looking for?” You murmured, knowing full well what he sought.

Sukuna inhaled deeply and exhaled just as heavy. “How long does it take to get one god knocked up, huh?” He tutted and looked down at you, holding an annoyed look while you met him with doey, lovey eyes as you leaned into him more.

“I'm sure you'll be the man who finds out.”

Sukuna grinned to himself and adjusted the lump of blankets he held. Arrogant pride blossomed in his chest alongside his bolstered ego; if he could do this as a mere man, what could he do as a curse?

The king sighed as he breached the warmth of the halo surrounding your humble, comfy abode. He was getting sick of the shit weather in the games, all the cold and emptiness. Being near you was what he needed.

“Oi, don't make a fuss,” Sukuna grumbled lowly to the whining duo he adjusted in his arms. “You wanna get inside or not?”

But before he could make use of his newly freed arm, the doors slid open before him.

And you stood there. Tired. Disheveled. Eyes big and hopeful, yet rimmed with disbelief and shock as you stared at your man and the package he brought to your doorstep.

Sukuna would be lying if he said he didn't melt, too. Being here, standing firm and whole and so very real and untethered in the spot other sorcerers stood in their attempt to spirit you away from him–it was the reason for his existence.

And so was your arms wrapping around him and holding him close.

“Ho? So you did miss me, huh?” He hummed, looping an arm around you and pressing you closer to him. “Sure didn't act like it earlier.”

“I didn't wish to believe in something that felt untrue,” you murmured into his shoulder. “Even now, you're not…entirely yourself.”

Sorrow stained the undertones of your voice. Whether it was for the fate of Fushiguro Megumi, or for the state of your lover, Sukuna did not know.

But he was here. He was tangible. He was in control. Finally.

“At least I'm here, yeah?” He said. And you nodded.

You led him inside and into the room filled with comfort and warmth. Works of embroidery lined the once-unremarkable tapestries draping down from the ceilings and walls, and the wooden pillars now boasted intricate carvings in various states of completion. Seemed like you'd gotten quite bored in your wait.

Sukuna sat with you, being the man to finally make use of the fluffed cushions around the kotatsu as he dragged it to your side to stay close. You needed it. He thirsted for it.

The bundle whined and cooed as soon as Sukuna’s ass hit the cushion, and he sighed. “Think you can take care of this, fox?” He teased, but felt a rush of something overtake him when he caught you with your ears perked, tails swishing, back straight as you stared down at the bundle.

He eased them into your arms and, with shaking hands, you pulled back the wooly linen to find two perfect little treasures staring up at you with big, red-lined eyes. One held the colour of yours, while the other took responsibility for sporting Sukuna's hues, but both boys’ eyes glimmered with divine flecks of gold and amber. Their hair blushed with the colour of sakura petals, and two, itty bitty tufts of soft onyx ears dotted both of their heads like chocolate chips in strawberry ice cream.

Two perfect kits. Your perfect kits.

“You seriously wanted these things?” Sukuna asked, teasing and rude, but softer and warmer than the fire burning in your chest. “Gotta say, they're pretty fucking annoying.”

You swathed your tails around them and purred with the ferocity of an avalanche as you leaned into your partner and doted on the teeny tiny babies he'd somehow brought back to the land of the living. A part of you felt guilty for what this could mean. The rest of you screamed, I don't care.

“Look at them,” You whispered, tracing the roundness of their cheeks with a gentle touch. “They're beautiful.”

“Well, lookit who their parents are.” Sukuna chuckled and held you against his side, which you eagerly melted into. “Kenjaku had a plan for them too, turns out. Who woulda thought?”

“You never told me,” you said. “Why did you not tell me?”

“You would've been pissed,” Sukuna said, voice matter of fact. “Better to just do it and reap the benefits later.”

You looked up at him, and found his gaze locked onto you. “That's quite selfish.”

“I'm a king. I can do whatever I want. I can have whatever I want,” He reminded you. “As soon as I take care of a few pathetic, loose ends, everything'll be in place. Right where it all needs to be. And life goes back to normal."

Your heart did something funny when you read between the lines. “Must you–”

“Don't question me.” Sukuna grabbed your chin and forced you to look down at your snoozing babes. “You’ll lose this. All of this. You'll be left with nothing all over again if I don’t finish this off. That what you want, fox?”

“You know the answer,” you murmured, too content to let him guide you and sway your reason. He tugged your chin toward him, forcing you to look his way again.

“Tell me anyway.” Tell me what I want to hear.

How could you refuse?

“No matter the case," you murmured, soft as forgotten winter snow, "you will always have my favour, Ryoumen Sukuna.”

–

Forever to be loved, herein lays a God's young,

Imprisoned by none, held dearly by the Disgraced One.

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x male reader #sukuna x m!reader #sukuna x you #jjk x you #male reader insert #male reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen reader insert #jujutsu kaisen x male reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

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trivia-yandere · 1 year ago

Note

hi! if you're still taking requests. can you do a noncon smut with jungkook? with things like forced impregnation / baby trapping 😳

yes we can! thank you for sending a request & being patient with us! please read the tags for what is to come for this one-shot - if you are not comfortable with it please do not proceed!

test your morality (jungkook)

jungkook's morality is tested when he's woken from his unconscious state to find you - his best friend - bound before him. @sweetempathprunetree @momnomnom @darkuni63 @chimmy-licious

word count: 3.610

warning: yandere tendancies, dark themes, non-con/dub-con moments, smut, humiliation/degradation kink, bondage, shock collar, crying, sadism, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk,

halloween masterlist

Your tears stream down your face rapidly - so much so that it reminds Jungkook of a streaming river. So hot and fresh and full of emotion.

Jungkook loves you. You & he are best friends. He could date back years - decades - in which you and he had sat side by side.

You were there when he had scraped his knee while playing tag in kindergarten. You wiped his tears away, saying that it was okay for boys to cry after he was being teased for it.

Jungkook had been there for you, as well. You had gained enough courage to attempt to befriend a group of girls just for them to laugh right in your own face - he was scolded for throwing mud on them, but it was worth it.

First crushes, first kisses, homecomings, proms and graduations - you and Jungkook dealt with it all.

The summer after High School graduation was one of his favorites. You two were young and free, having no worries in the world. College began and though you and he couldn’t hang often, you still found time for him just as he did you.

Now you and Jungkook are adults, both the age of 26. You are grown now, having “adult” jobs and responsibilities.

Jungkook loves you - his best friend. He’d do anything for you and he knows you’d do the same for him. Even in such a cruel world, you found someone that you loved and loves you (not as much as he loves you, but it was close enough). As his best friend, you deserved it.

This is why now Jungkook was feeling terrible. It’s a feeling that’s deep in the pits of his stomach - his soul. A feeling that no one should ever know - a dark desire that anyone would keep a secret.

You once told him that to truly know someone, you’d have to know what turns them on - what makes them cum. You were going through a spiritual journey that time and he brushed you off with a nervous laugh.

You were Jungkook’s best friend. He loved you dearly. You didn’t want to know what turns him on or what makes him cum - especially when it had you involved in it.

The feeling is terrible, Jungkook notes. You’re crying, whimpering and twitching. Your throat had to ache - he’s positive of it. Your neck is bright red, veins pulsing as you pant. Your cheeks are puffy as flushed. As you pant, your chest heaves.

You.

You were Jungkook’s best friend.

Jungkook hates himself right now. He hates how tight his jeans feel at the sight of you. He hates how his breathing is increasing along with yours, mouths slightly agape. His eyes dart from your crying, frightened face, to your twitching body.

Jungkook swallows.

The room is bright - not naturally bright, but overwhelmingly. Jungkook panics at first, not recognizing his scenery. The room is completely white, the floors and walls both being tiled. There’s a television in the far corner of the room and beside it a sealed door.

“Kookie…”

Jungkook’s head snaps to the sound of the voice. His blood runs cold.

“Y/N…?”

Jungkook shudders, shaking his head. He stands from his fetal position, trembling.

You are bound across from him on the tiled floor. Your ankles are free, but your wrist aren’t. They’re tied directly behind you.

Your clothing is limited and he notes that it’s something he hasn’t seen before. You’re sporting a plaid skirt that stops directly mid thigh and a button up white shirt, only it exposes entirely too much cleverage.

“What’s going on…?” Jungkook murmurs. He doesn’t remember any moment that would lead the both of you in this room. “Y/N, are you okay-“

“Finally.”

Jungkook flinches at the sudden voice - a staticy robotic tone.

“You two are up. Hello Y/N, Jungkook.” The voice continues. “You two don’t know me and I barely know you. In that case…let’s test your morality.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?!” Jungkook roars. “Let Y/N go-!”

You scream - a high pitch scream filled with anguish and pain. Your eyes are wide, bulging out your eye sockets and instantly, tears drop.

Jungkook racks his mind for what’s going on - then it clicks. Within the last year there’s been a string of unsolved cases. Some were murders of missing people, others were found alive but severely injured and mentally drained. Police wanted to keep the details out of the media so they could focus on finding the person, but what did make it to the media. All of the victims that were alive had stated the person wanted them to “test their morality”.

It was then that Jungkook realized that you were wearing a collar - a shock collar. He feels idiotic for not recognizing it sooner - it’s thick and appears like a belt.

“Repeated shocks can often lead to drastic changes in the heart and respiration rate.” the staticy voice speaks.

Jungkook clenches his fist, swallowing thickly. He forces everything in him to tear his eyes away from you. He inhales and exhales - he recalls the many times he and you would do the breathing exercises. “Count to ten while breathing” you’d tell him.

“What is it that you want?” Jungkook sighs. “Y/N doesn’t deserve this.”

“Doesn’t she?”

There’s silence on both ends. Jungkook slowly turns back to you to find your blurry eyes already on him. His breathing hitches.

“I mean…” the staticy voice comes once more. “...after all, she’s nothing but a whore.”

“No she is not.” Jungkook shakes his head.

“You don’t think that, Junkook.” the voice counters. “I may not know either of you on a deeper level, but I know well enough of how you really feel for her.”

Jungkook feels his heart pound erratically at the choice of words.

“Entertain me, Jungkook. Or can I call you Kookie. Y/N does.” the voice offers a low laugh. “It must be so terrible always being second in her eyes. Women never realize who’s really right in front of them.”

“Shut up.” Jungkook grits his teeth.

“Knowing that you’d been there for her for years and she found another man to satisfy her?”

Jungkook scoffs.

“You should be thanking me, Jungkook. Entertain me now and I’ll let you two leave.”

“You’re sick!” Jungkook hisses.

“And so are you.”

Jungkook flinches when you scream once more, this time your body erratically jerks. Jungkook scurries your way, grasping your shoulders - just as he does your screaming stops. You’re crying once more, the same drastic tears as before.

“How does it feel, Jungkook?” the static voice questions. “To see the woman you love completely helpless for you…crying such lustful tears. Completely bound for you to use.”

No.

Jungkook shakes his head slowly - he doesn’t want to hear your whimpers any more. He doesn’t want to look at your tearstained face - he feels terrible enough about the tightening in his pants.

“I can see the fucked out look on your face. Your eyes are so dark, Jungkook.”

“Shut…up.”

“You look like such a predator.” the static voice begins to laugh again. “Poor Y/N is your prey, isn’t she? So defenseless and submissive for you. Crying for help.”

Jungkook’s hands clench your shoulders gently. He fights everything in him to not look into your eyes, but he caves. You’re silently sobbing, sad eyes on his.

“Y/N is your best friend, right? You love her?”

Jungkook nods his head, his eyes never leaving yours. “I do love you, Y/N.” he murmurs. “I don’t know how to help us right now…”

“Always coming to her defense. You’re like a savior in her eyes.” the static voice speaks. “What are you willing to do to keep her safe, Jungkook?”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head. You begin to cry once more. “P-Please, Kookie!” you sob. “I-I don’t want to feel that pain anymore, I-I-”

“Stop crying, Y/N.” Jungkook places both of his hands upon your cheeks, thumb wiping away your tears.

“I want to test your morality like I do with all my players.”

“What…do you want?” Jungkook grits. He doesn’t want you to be in any more pain than necessary - he doesn’t want to continue to feel the sick pleasure of it. He wishes for whatever Gods above to strike him down right now for such impure thoughts.

“I will let Y/N and you go in about an hour.” The television flashes to a clock as it begins to countdown. “Within that hour, you can either entertain me or…I can use that collar to my advantage. For the entire hour.”

Jungkook shushes you as you begin to cry out for him, trembling.

“E-Entertain you how?” Jungkook sighs in defeat. “Just don’t hurt her anymore!”

The static voice hums. “I want to see just how much you love your friend, Jungkook. I want to see just how much you truly would do anything to protect her - even if it was to use her for your own sick pleasure.”

Jungkook swallows.

“I want…to see what makes you cum, Jungkook.”

Jungkook can hear his heart through his ears. He clenches his eyes shut to try to get rid of your frightened expression - but he cannot.It plagues his mind and he hates himself for it - hates how your screams cause goosebumps onto his skin. How it appears melodic, a beautiful tune for his ears to hear.

“I trust you, Kookie.”

Jungkook snaps his eyes open and it’s as though the room grows silent. He stares at you - did he hear you correctly?

“Y/N…” Jungkook isn’t convinced. He doesn’t trust himself around you right now - or that you know the true meaning of the words you’re telling him.

“I don’t want to be in pain anymore, Kookie.” you cry with a head shake. “I-I can’t-”

There’s another bloodcurdling scream coming from you. Your head shakes from side to side and your back arches.

“Okay, okay, okay!” Jungkook screams, head turning to the large television to the high cameras in the ceiling. “I’ll do it. Just stop hurting her!”

Your head falls back with a low sigh. Your chest rises and falls. You look utterly defeated, babbling incoherent words.

“I’m sure you don’t need any help with getting erect.”

Jungkook can hear the tone in the static voice - it’s teasing him. Taunting him. It’s fueling his point of how sick Jungkook was - even in such a dire time like this. Here you laid bound in pain, begging for him for any form of comfort.

Jungkook shudders.

“It’s getting boring to watch, Kookie.” the voice quips. “The clocks are ticking. If you don’t do something soon…” The threat is empty, but it doesn’t need to be stated. If Jungkook doesn’t continue, you would continue to be shocked. You already appeared to be in between consciousness, in such great pain.

“Y/N?” Jungkook murmurs. He leans close to you, his forehead pressed against yours. “I don’t want you to hate me…I would never hurt you.”

You don’t respond to his words with your own. Your eyes are fluttering, barely able to remain open. You’re groaning and that tells Jungkook that you’re still conscious - not fully succumbing to the harsh treatment of the shock collar.

Jungkook presses a kiss to your forehead. He exhales, allowing his hand to travel from your shoulder to your hips. He swallows. “I promise not to hurt you, Y/N.” he murmurs. He ponders if you can hear him - you don’t appear to be fully coherent.

“Tick. Tock.”

Jungkook looks up at the camera, a glare on his face. He leans away from you with a shake of his head.

What Jungkook is doing is wrong. He doesn’t want to do this to you - not while you’re in between consciousness and dealing with such pain. He doesn’t want this to change the friendship you gained throughout the years. He was able to contain his emotions for you for this long - he was sure he could contain it forever if it meant you’d be safe.

But now you weren’t safe - Jungkook wasn’t able to keep you out of harm's way. You were entangled in such a horrible situation because of his dark fantasies.

The only way Jungkook could bear ever doing this to you was to believe that he was doing this for you - for a good cause.

Jungkook’s hands travel to your skirt, tangling them in the hem of it and he begins to pull them down. His breathing becomes heavy as he does so. It feels scandalous to see you in such a way.

You were always so beautiful to Jungkook. Even as you grew from a girl to a teenager, he made sure to tell you how beautiful you were. When you went through the phase of not loving your body, he assured you that you were amazing the way you were.

It was because Jungkook was your best friend and he loved you.

Your skirt is off, legs falling limp as he removes it fully. His hands gently touch the smooth skin of your legs, admiring how soft to the touch they were.

“You’re still as beautiful as you always are, Y/N.” Jungkook’s pressing kissing to your neck now, holding your body close to him. Only soft grunts are your responses, but Jungkook tells himself that you’re enjoying it - he needs to in order not to feel disgusted with himself.

“I told you I would always protect you…and I promise I’ll do just that.”

Jungkook is now removing your underwear - they were cotton and black, a regular basic pair. They drop besides you, discarded just like your skirt.

Jungkook shudders once more. His mind is screaming that this was wrong - you were his close friend. You trusted him to always keep you safe. If there was someone you trusted, it was Jungkook.

But then there was the devil on Jungkook’s shoulder that screamed at him - that he was doing this for you. He was doing this to keep you safe and out of pain. You would thank him later when you and he survived this. But for now, he had to do this.

Such impure thoughts were what drove him to lick your clit. You aren’t fully unconscious - you react with a strain grunt that excites him. He’s licking and suckling onto your clit, appearing like a lustful fool. His fingernails dig into the skin of your thigh to keep you in place, head bobbing side to side as your juices coat his tongue.

Jungkook’s sanity is slowly losing. There’s no wetter you could be - but yet, he cannot stop himself from spitting on your already swollen clit and lapping it up with his tongue.

Jungkook thinks about the amount of times he had masturbated to you dating back to his teenage years. How he wished it was you when he was with other women; hookups or girlfriends.

Jungkook removes himself from your wet clit and inhales deeply. His eyes are dark and full of sinful lust. You appear more coherent than before, but do not form any words. He lifts himself to look at you fully. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N…baby.” Jungkook fumbles with his pants. “We’ll get through this, right? You’ll still love me after this.”

Jungkook allows his cock to spring from his underwear. His hard and thick, twitching to be inside of you.

“Of course you’ll love me. You’ll always love me.” Jungkook places the tip of his cock and slaps it against your clit. He rubs it, pure ecstasy. “You’re already so wet…I know you love this just as much as I do, baby.”

Jungkook rubs the tip of his cock against your clit, the sight utterly filthy. You’re so wet and warm and willing - so perfect for him. This was a sacred moment for the two of you; two lovers.

Your boyfriend wasn’t someone Jungkook took entirely seriously. You had a few that were never good enough - this current one being the longest relationship. Yet and still, he could never have what you and Jungkook did.

Jungkook enters himself inside of you, head swinging back to loudly groan. You were just as he always imagined. Wet, warm and tight. The two of you connect like a perfect puzzle piece.

Jungkook was becoming far gone. He grasps your thighs and pushes them apart harshly, picking up the pace. Your juices are dripping out of your pussy, coating the floor. The sounds of skin slapping echoes off of the tile walls.

“I waited so long, baby.” Jungkook moans. Your body hits against the cold floor with each thrust, appearing to bring you back to a conscious state slowly. “I know you love it, Y/N. You’re so wet for me.”

Jungkook leans down to wrap his lips in yours. His thrusts only become more rough. His mind flashes for a few moments, replaying your screaming and terrified face as you were being shocked.

Jungkook releases your lips to release a deep groan.

“K-Kookie…”

Jungkook’s eyes widened at the sound of his name. “Y/N, baby…” he grunts. With each thrust he swears he goes deeper. “I love you so much, baby. You don’t understand.”

Your eyes begin to open, but they have a hard time focusing on anything around you.

Jungkook leans back to look at you fully. Your shirt was disheveled, your breast falling out. You were moaning those beautiful moans for him, mouth agape.

“I can have you all to myself now, baby.” Jungkook places his right hand onto your lips, gripping it. Your eyes widen slightly, trying your best to look directly at him instead of past him. “We can be the family we talked about when we were younger.”

Jungkook cracks his hips at an alarming pace. He feels the way you clench around him so heavenly.

“Remember when we were in first grade and I said I’d marry you?” Jungkook chuckles darkly. “That we’d have two kids - a boy and a girl?”

Jungkook releases his hand from your mouth to clench your breast. You begin to heave with the new found air he supplied you.

“Now we can have our baby…”

Jungkook places a thumb upon your clit and rubs. He would allow you to cum - it wasn’t fun if you didn’t cum along with him.

“...and it can be just you and I until then…”

You’re twitching, tears falling down your cheeks. You were overstimulated, but that was okay. Jungkook loves you - he was pleasuring the woman he loves. This was a powerful moment for the both of you, a true bond between two lovers.

“I’m cumming, too, baby.” Jungkook leans down to capture your lips. His thrusts are sloppy but his stamina doesn’t decrease.

With how good you’re clenching around him, Jungkook doesn’t last long. He’s twitching, aggressively groaning into your lips.

The room is quiet once again and it takes Jungkook around five minutes to move away from you. It was as though the dark cloud leaves and the light shines through - the consequences of his actions.

Jungkook eyes you once more. You’re awake, eyes open and now staring right at him. You aren’t speaking, and neither is he. He feels the familiar pit in his stomach - the self pity and hatred.

“Congratulations on surviving…” the staticy voice booms through his ears, but Jungkook cannot take his eyes off of your blank expression. “...I have disabled Y/N’s collar. You are free to remove it.”

You don’t move as Jungkook goes to remove the leather collar. It’s heavy as he drops it beside you. Jungkook places a gentle hand onto your cheek, sad eyes staring into your own. “Y/N…”

“How do you feel, Jungkook?” the voice asks. “Was it worth it?”

“Please let us go.” Jungkook’s voice cracks. “You got the satisfaction you wanted.”

“As did you.” the voice retorts. “Such a passionate scene. The first time I actually saw someone act so lovingly towards a woman.”

Jungkook sniffles. He goes to dress you once more, making sure your shirt is completely covered before he does the same to himself.

Jungkook wraps both arms around you, bringing you close to his chest. He doesn’t want to cry - he has to be strong for you. “Please, Y/N.” he begs. “Don’t be upset with me.”

Jungkook is stiff when he hears quiet sobs. Your shoulders are jerking in his embrace and all he can think to do is hold you tighter.

“The door is open. Always has been.” the voice says. “If you would have checked first, you’d see that there was a key right onto the table outside for her restraints.”

Jungkook’s head snaps to the cameras. “What…w-what the fuck is this?!”

“I wanted to see how far you’re willing to go to live out your fantasies.”

Jungkook holds you tighter. He shakes his head.

Jungkook didn’t know. The voice had to be lying. There was no way the door was unlocked - he was trying to break him. There was no way he would leave you alone in this room while restrained - you were screaming in such agony that he would’ve done anything to relieve you.

Right?

“You can thank me now. Y/N knows how much you love her.” there it was - the same taunting tone in the speaker's voice that mocks him. “You are free to go. Like stated, the door was always unlocked and I am nowhere near you two to do any harm. The key to her restraints are just outside the door. Congratulations again on surviving and allowing me to test your morality, Jungkook.”

Jungkook’s blood runs cold at the words.

#trivia-yandere #bts smut #btswritingcafe #bangtan smut #bangtanwriters net #bangtanwritershq #btswritersclub #btswriterscollective #yandere bts #jungkook smut #Jungkook yandere #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #moral dilemma #jungkook fic #방탄소년단

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imaluvsj7 · 1 month ago

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緑 ──── SECRET GLANCES & SWEET CONFESSIONS ; sunghoon enhypen

SYNOPSIS: sunghoon has a deep rooted crush on the reader but is too afraid to confess

GENRE : fluff ; WC: 1,403

WARNINGS : english is not my first language, not proofread yet, mention of reader being a little shorter than hoon, stalking term mentioned only once but there is no stalking plot in the story, that's all ig please inform if you find any.

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

written in second person pov:

Entering the class you look out for your table where you usually sit only to see, Jake sitting there. Which was weird since you guys had your own fixed places, not through the professors but due to the daily sitting arrangements and habits.

Shrugging the thoughts you make your way to the last bench while getting comfortable you remove your required materials for the respective class.

Soon the profesor walks in and starts to teach while everyone follows him noting down whatever he was teaching but to be (not so) unknownst there was a pair of eyes who was busy admiring diagonally a certain person rather than focusing in front of him.

That certain person was you while the curious pair of eyes belonged to Sunghoon, the shy but loud introvert of the class. He was busy admiring the details of your today's hairpins and the style of outfit you chose to wear.

Admiring from afar Sunghoon did realize after noticing for months, how you love to style your outfits and add some accessories. Some days they are pearl jewelleries, other days it's a bow but today it was a cat paw printed hairpin.

At this point Sunghoon knows your favorite food from the cafeteria but he is still curious about what you like outside the cafeteria. Sunghoon knows your favorite subject, Sunghoon knows your favorite book from the library, Sunghoon knows everything you like or dislike during college hours.

Although he never tried to look out after college hours to not make you uncomfortable or put himself as a stalker but he was curious how you live outside the college, surely he was a whipped guy but way too scared to make a move.

His bestfriends, Jake and Jay tried to convince him and motivate him to confess or maybe just make a small move but he becomes a stuttering mess as soon as he speaks about you— oh the flushing cheeks oh his that turn crimson red when you both make eye contact.

The reason Jake sat on your seat was to give Sunghoon and opportunity to talk to you but the guy was lost between the overflowing river of thoughts. He wondered if anyone knew about his ‘admiration’ for you.

But only if he knew, it was not unknown to anyone in the class that Sunghoon has a deep rooted crush on you, even you know. It was pretty obvious, he was really bad at hiding through that toothy grin which showed his natural fangs and flushed cheeks.

Some people even questioned why he was stuck at you but couldn't make a move, don't think it in a negative way. It wasn't anything related to your popularity or face but many people liked him and some also had a crush on him not only for his visuals but his kind gestures. He ended up politely rejecting them.

People were just curious and concerned if he doesn't make a move then what if he loses the opportunity to be with you. Sometimes these thoughts scare him too, what if you end up liking someone else. Shaking his head he pushed the thoughts aside while focusing on you— opps, your hairpins.

Feeling someone's gaze on your back you turn your head and catch yourself in eye contact with Sunghoon, who soon lowers his head with a flushed cheeks feeling embarrassed getting caught. Soon he scratches his adam apple while looking up only to realize this time you're looking at him.

‘Hi’ – you whisper to him while slightly waving your hand along with a small smile that lights up Sunghoons eyes. His eyes began to sparkle, shooting you his toothy grin showing his fangs while returning your small wave muttering a small ‘hi’ while his cheeks flushed crimson red.

Your smile widens into a grin while raising your left eyebrow at him, he shakes his head in response, his grin never fading. You turn your back at him while his eyes lose the sparkles and his grin turns into a flat line.

Soon his grin returns after you look at him but this time throwing a small piece of paper ball near his foot pointing him to pick it up. ‘Meet me after the class ends in the lobby’ — the paper read. Sunghoons ear turns deep red while he looks up and nods his head at you.

Impatiently waiting for the class to end he bounces his leg, as soon as the bell rings and the professor leaves he jolts from his seat while walking into the lobby waiting for you to come outside.

Arriving in the lobby you search for him soon meeting his eyes, ‘Shall we go to the parking lot, the lobby is very noisy?’- you ask him the question after reaching him. He looks behind you to inform Jake about his absence but the boy who was observing the scene already along with Jay who has walked out of his own class, they both eagerly nod their head for whatever reason while Jake squeals for his friend with his big smile.

‘Sure’- is all he mutters as you grab his wrist and walk down to the parking lot while Sunghoon looks at his wrist blinking to make sure he is not dreaming. Soon after arriving at the parking lot you make him stand near your car while looking at his height.

“I'm not gonna twist my words so let's talk straight Sunghoon”- your statement settles a negative feeling in his stomach but he nods his head. “Till when are you gonna keep looking at me in every corner of college or you are going to make a move I'm tired of waiting okay.” His eyes widen at your boldness but he soon smiles and says “Uhh,,,, you know about my admiration.”

“You stupid — you flick his forehead with your fingers while he winces and rubs his forehead — me, you and everyone in our class knows about your obvious ‘admiration’ which you can call crush you know.”

“Oh,,, so do you,,,you know,,, you also” there he goes as a stuttering mess in front of you. “Before my answer I want you to finish your sentence and tell me how you feel while looking at me.”- you demand while looking at him with a small frown and a small pout.

“I have seen and observed and even some of our classmates have told me but I want your words Sunghoon, I need the confirmation before we move forward with anything.” - sensing your concern he quickly clears his throat and gains his confidence and looks at you properly while slowly holding your hand in his.

“___ I have liked you for almost a year now, sounds pathetic I know but I never dared to make a move because I was shy to stand near you and say anything but I really admire you, I always want to know you and your habits outside college. I want to be the person you send your daily ootds and ask me for the hidden details in them. I want to be the person you feel proud to call your boyfriend. I know I have my flaws but I can always work on them if you want to help me. I will try my best to be the best version of myself for us. Please give me a chance and accept me as your boyfriend.”

His eyes shine with tears of relief, he has finally confessed his feelings for you. He looks at your smile while you place your hand on his cheeks wiping his tears away. “Why are you crying oh my god you are adorable and of course I want you to be my boyfriend. Gosh I was waiting for this day. I like you too hoonie.” “Thank you for waiting for me”- he says softly while trying to reach out for a hug but to make sure you're comfortable.

Observing him you pull him close while hugging him and placing your chin on his chest. You both smile to yourself while not noticing the 2 pairs of eyes who were peeking to look out for his friend but now they both are hugging each other with big grins while Jake puts his phone in his pockets after the recording ends, Jay pulling his hands while they both walk out of the parking lot happy for their bestfriend.

꩜ .ᐟ NOTE : i hope you liked my first written fanfiction i have started writing after approximately 2 years so let's see what's more coming although i will be very slow with postings,,,, also i just wanted this fic to be hoon being a secret admire with title ‘subtle glances’ but here we are i wrote the whole story with a different plot ༎ຶ⁠‿⁠��ຶ

꩜ .ᐟ NOTE : comments to be added into my permanent taglist (i haven't made the taglist yet)

˙ . ꒷ 🍰 masterlist taglist. 𖦹˙—

࣪

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bitterrfruit · 2 months ago

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wild cherries [1]

[masterlist]

Price x f!Reader - tags: modern western AU, cowboy!Price, light sadomasochism, brat taming, spanking, humiliation, chasing, dubcon if you squint 18+ mdni - 5k words

Tell me why, Is it hard to make arrangements with yourself When you're old enough to repay but young enough to sell?

Daddy used to warn you about wandering onto the Prices’ property.

The lichen-coated fence that separated their land and your family’s spanned miles; carving through tall dry grass, through woods of white oak and ponderosa, crossing the babbling river that fed water to both ranches. The barrier itself was fairly short and easy enough to climb over, but there was one small gap where the splintering planks had fallen from their fastenings. Tucked under a towering cottonwood tree, hidden by the grass, it was easy to wander through as if it were your own long-neglected cherry orchard on the other side.

You had almost lost your little gateway, after so many years away; at a college across the country for four, and hopping between jobs like a rabbit for the next few. In that time the grass surrounding the fence had grown long and dense, the thicket far thornier and weedier than it was when you were a girl.

Then, you really only knew the Prices by name. You were expressly forbidden to talk to, let alone look at any of them. They aren’t nice boys, daddy had told you, I won’t have them near you.

Now there was only one left, and it seemed the rules had changed.

Jonathan Price, the last remaining, was a reticent man. A shadowy figure, who you might occasionally see on horseback up on the hilltops of his ranch, tan cattleman hat bowed as he surveyed his acreage. You had met him, once, as a girl. Then, he was in his early twenties, tall and aloof. Eldest of three sons, all three of whom had enlisted and served, sent to fight a war whose nature you were oblivious to in your innocence. He had been absent for years, and once his father was taken by whatever cancer he chose not to treat, John was the only one of the three to return.

His father you had known, vaguely, only as a man that your father despised with an unwavering passion. Some daft rivalry, originating long before you were born, the seeds of which were planted many generations ago. Whatever enmity that existed between dead old men had not quite been passed on to the remaining sons, it seemed – where there might have been out-and-out conflict, existed only cold disinterest.

Your older brother Miles had told you as much, when he picked you up from the airport a three-hour drive south. More than fifteen years your senior, Miles was thrust into the demanding vacuum your father left, and despite laments, he certainly played the part.

“It wasn’t a question,” he chided, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. There it was, that glimmer of your father’s spirit, especially bright whenever Miles got away with telling you what to do.

You hung your elbow out of the window of his carmine red Silverado - a new toy - and rested your chin on the back of your hand.

Only offered back a grumble; “I don’t even know him.”

A lie.

You had encountered him the last time you returned home for summer, and the time before that. Encountered was the sweeter way to put it, pestered might be better suited.

Once you heard he had finally come home, you found yourself impishly eager to pry, to observe, to take a mere glance at the last remaining man of the family yours hated so ferociously. You were strangely captivated by him, in a nosy sort of way. Intrigued by the mystery that shrouded him, the man you were never allowed to know.

And you had always been at the mercy of your wicked curiosity. You couldn’t help it. It was an impulse, a compulsion, to stick your fingers where they didn’t belong. You would habitually explore his acres when you came home from college, then during your brief stints of being in-between jobs. When you ventured through the gap in the fence, you’d prowl around his estate like you were attempting to memorise a maze. You’d peek into his old and empty shacks, pet his mooing cattle, pick handfuls of wildflowers from his unkempt fields.

Sometimes you’d sneak into his stables. You’d coo at his horses, stroke their velvet snouts, feed them the flowers you had plucked with a smile. They had grown to like you, his sweet horses, you wished you could know their names. They probably liked you more than him, no doubt, the mysterious little neighbour that would sneak in at dusk and feed them treats.

But your most regular habit – one that had gotten you into trouble before – was your proclivity for picking bunches of glossy red cherries from his rows of fruiting cherry trees. The orchard was under-loved and weedy, but those glimmering little baubles of ruby were just too delightful to let fall to the grass and rot.

The most recent occasion you had slithered into his orchard, last summer, he had caught you. While your arms were stretched far above you, reaching among the droopy branches and floppy leaves to pick the brightest sun-ripened cherries, you heard him holler;

Hey! I see you in there, missy!

Lips stained red, slick with sweet juice, you gave him a puckish grin before you ran off like a hare and hopped back over the fence.

There’ll be trouble next time I catch you over here, little lady, he had roared after you, watching you clamber over the oaken planks. You hear me?

Miles chuckled at your retort, dragging you back from the warmth of your rose-tinted reverie. “Well, he knows you.”

“So?” You bit, shutting your eyes as the warm summer wind lapped at your skin.

“So, it’d be rude if you don’t go and say hi.”

“I don’t think he’d care whether I say hi,” you muttered. “He hates us.”

Miles returned a terse sigh. “I’m trying to change that. I don’t want us to keep fighting the same fight our dads did. I don’t think anyone alive even remembers what the fight was about.”

You knew you were getting close to home when you drove past the towering boxelder tree with the crooked trunk, the one you had named the wobbly tree as a little girl; it always looked like it was on the verge of toppling over. From that tree onwards, you had committed the landscape to memory. The distant mountain peaks that caught the red glow of the afternoon sun. The dense lumber pines that coated the closer rolling hills. The rows of poplars and cedar windbreaks that protected their plots of farmland. The blue and yellow wildflowers that grew over the edges of the chip seal road.

You listened to the roar of cicadas, loud enough to be heard over the engine of the truck; a sound you didn’t realise you missed so dearly until you escaped the perpetual industrial hum of the inner city.

Home, at last. Under the old log archway, boasting the hanging wrought iron sigil of a rearing stallion, and your family’s claim; Fenton Ranch. The truck rolled over the raw gravel of your long driveway, reduced to dust under decades of heavy tyres. You could smell home in the air; distant firesmoke, livestock, cut grass. You drove past the stables, then the sheds, you spotted some of the familiar faces of ranch hands that had worked for your father before they worked for Miles. Among them, some new ones.

Your generations-old house came into view, two storeys high with a wrap-around veranda, cladded in chipped white siding and adorned in carved cornices. Sat atop a circular hill of dry grass, it was sheltered by a ring of century-old white oaks that kept it shaded from the blistering summer sun.

At the top of the porch steps stood your sister Evelyn, tall and strawberry-blonde, she leaned against a column and offered an insouciant wave as Miles pulled the truck to a stop.

Dust rose from under your sandalled feet as you hopped out of the truck and into the gravel, raising your arms to the sky to stretch out the tension that had built in your stomach. As the stretch forced a squeal through your gritted teeth, Evelyn called to you;

“Hope you don’t think you’re on vacation, Honeybee.”

There was a touch of humour in her tone, but knowing your ever-pragmatic sister, she was not joking.

You did think it funny how quickly hearing your nickname hurled you back in time, had you feeling as though you had never left home. A teasing sobriquet stemming from your toddlerhood; having learned that bees get their honey from flowers, you developed a penchant for suckling on them - clovers and dandelions that you had picked from the grass, honeysuckle and lilac plucked from bushes within reach. My little honeybee, mom used to call you. A nickname that stood firm after she passed, repeated in honour of her, so often that as far as those around you were concerned it had long usurped your birth name.

Miles hauled your old suitcase from the bed of his truck, unrequested; he was a gentleman, on occasion, when he felt it appropriate to be one. You followed him towards the house, stopping to greet your sister en route as he continued to carry your cargo to your bedroom.

Evelyn gave you a smile and hug with her slender arms, quick and purposeful. Straight to business; “So what happened with Wendell Bishop? I thought you liked it there?”

The marketing agency that recently had you in their employ, the third company you had worked for in the last two years. You stifled a roll of your eyes with a slow blink, not wanting to argue with your sister in the first five minutes of returning home - though it would be far from the first time. Despite Evelyn being closer in age to your brother than yourself, you bickered like you had been born a day apart.

“It was fine, I just - it wasn’t for me.”

“Ugh, for God’s sake, Bee.” She groaned, “it’s never for you.”

You had no dispute within you but a shrug, and you walked past her to head indoors.

“You know you can’t float around forever,” she barked after you, and you shut the screen door behind you.

The interior of your house was breezy, windows and doors open to allow the summer draught to flow through every room and corridor like blood through veins. The old hardwood creaked and groaned underfoot as you wandered towards the staircase, catching brief glances at the old family photographs that peppered the patterned walls. Some from your childhood, some faded sepia film dating back three generations; Fenton ancestors whose names you had forgotten or never learned.

Miles brushed past you as you made your way to your bedroom, and he stopped you with a word.

“Evelyn made jam,” he said, and the edge in his tone told you that you needed to stop and listen.

The recipe for the strawberry jam the women of your family would make on special occasions was one passed down from grandmother to mother to daughter since the inception of the line. It incorporated a touch of cranberry to make it a little tart, a sprinkle of salt to deepen the flavour. What made it extra special, mom would say, was that it was made with love. You didn’t imagine Evelyn put much love into it, because it wasn’t written explicitly into the recipe, wasn’t given quantifiable measurements.

“You’ll take him some, won’t you?” Miles asked, when you only gave him a small grin of pleasant disinterest.

You chewed your lip, kicked the floorboards with your heel. Inevitably, you would have slinked over the fence and skulked around the Prices’ land once the sun kissed the horizon, once you could be sure the man and his ranchmen would be settling in for supper. Some unfathomable part of you would rather be caught by him in the act of a crime, than to knock on his door like a sycophant.

There was something vaguely humiliating about the idea, presenting yourself on his doorstep, as though supplicating for approval you didn’t want or need. Obvious that you had been ordered by your authoritarian brother to go and apologise to Mr Price for your past transgressions. While, in actuality, Miles was not at all privy to such transgressions, you knew Jonathan would find sneering satisfaction in seeing you feign politeness, play at being ladylike.

As far as Miles could tell from your sulking, though, you were merely nervous about being forced to greet an intimidating stranger. Not entirely incorrect, you supposed.

“Sure,” you finally conceded, with a huff. “I’ll go over in a bit.”

Miles offered a pleased grin under his sun-bleached beard, placed his sturdy and grateful hands on your shoulders. “‘Preciate it, Bee.”

You took a brief hour to recuperate after the long drive. Rinsed your face and combed out your wind-knotted hair, unpacked your well fed suitcase into your old and rickety chest-of-drawers. Everything you owned you had stuffed into luggage - the lease at your little apartment had come to an end, you knew you’d be home for the foreseeable future. You hung your winter coats away in your closet, out of season. You lined up your shoes and boots by the door.

You greeted the working collies with a scruff of their heads and a kiss on their noses, as you ventured outside into the heat of the afternoon. You said hello to the greying foreman who knew you from your girlhood.

“Soda’s turned out behind the barn,” he told you, and you gave him a sunny smile as you trudged over in your well-worn boots; their tan leather dry and wrinkly, the thread of the embroidered paisley patterning had come loose in spots after years of putting the boots to work.

You spotted your painted mare in the middle of the paddock behind the stables, grazing on golden grass, dried to hay. Recognised her by the white splotches on her chestnut coat, the bright stripe that ran down the centre of her head and turned her snout pink. She raised her head at your familiar whistle, and you heard her whinny cheerily before she trotted towards the log fence you leaned over.

“Hey, sweet girl,” you cooed. You petted her snout with a loving hand, and she nickered softly to greet you. “Missed ya.”

You led her through the gate into the shade of the barn, adjusted her bridle over her head and fed the bit between her teeth. Using an old step-stool you hoisted yourself up and over her back, with no stirrups to help you.

You had always preferred riding bareback; Soda’s coat was soft, and her back was narrow and forgiving. You imagined saddles as corsets, that the poor girl lacked the kind of mouth that could tell you how sorely uncomfortable it was. But you thought she said as much in the ways she could, with a toss of her head and a loud snort whenever she was approached with one.

Besides, you often took her for rides on a whim, forgoing instructions to stay within sight of the house - it was easier to hop on her back and trot off into the trees without having to saddle her.

Your short powder-pink sundress rode up your bare thighs as you adjusted your legs to bestride your horse. You tugged the linen hem down with a shimmy, to avoid revealing the treats underneath to the odd ranchman that passed by. Mom would always chastise you when you rode in a skirt, hammered on about how indecent and impractical it was. She wasn’t here to tell you so, now. If she was, you would have told her it was too hot for jeans.

“Hey,” you heard a sharp holler from your sister, she trotted towards you as you rode Soda out of the barn. “Hold up.”

You looked down at Evelyn - only on horseback did you have the ability to do so - and she raised a crocheted net bag for you to take. Carrying three jars of jam, each a different shape and with multi-coloured lids - you had almost forgotten your homecoming gift.

“Oh, yeah,” you said, with an apologetic giggle, taking the bag by the handle. “Is there still some left for us?”

“Plenty,” Evelyn replied through a smile. “He doesn’t get all of it.”

“What’s a lonely man going to do with all this jam, anyway?” You asked coyly, and Evelyn pursed her lips at the playful derision in your words.

“Hopefully, eat it with a spoon and think about how kind we were to share it with him,” she answered, with her brows raised. “And come to ask us for more.”

You tilted your head, a bewildered knit between your brows. “You guys buttering him up for something?”

She gave you that pacifying grin, the one that told you she believed the true answer would be beyond you. “‘S nothin’ like that, Bee. We’re just trying to smooth things over.”

Her answer was dishonest, you saw through her simper. But it was never worth the effort to pry any further. “Whatever,” you chuffed, tugging at the reins and setting off.

“You can take the truck, you know,” Evelyn yapped, before you had the chance to give Soda a gentle kick to speed her up.

Shrugged. “It’s a nice ride.”

Evelyn frowned at that. “How would you know, hm?”

Another shrug, you concealed the flush in your cheeks as you turned to trot down the drive.

It was a nice ride. Soda had a steady gait that never made you sore, and she was pleased for the outing, as easily bored as you were. You decided to take the conventional route to the Price ranch - this was an official visit, after all. Stayed in line with the drive, you mindlessly plucked leaves off of reaching branches as you passed them and tossed them to the grass beneath you. Cars and pickups passed you on the road, kicking up dust and making you squint. The sun of the late afternoon was baking on your back, but the warmth was a tender embrace, and the gentle breeze that cooled you was a kiss to follow it.

The majority of the trees on the Price Ranch were bunched around its borders, though the odd fir or cottonwood was scattered among the wheatgrass-coated hills; enough shade for his hordes of black anguses to huddle under.

You passed under the towering arch of the gate, the logs aged and splintering, the stone pillars holding them up were worn down by wind and dust. The sign above you flaunted in great big letters, like a shout, PRICE. Beneath it the head of a longhorn, carved directly into the stained pine shield that hung from its chains. The road to his gargantuan farmhouse was winding but mostly flat, and you gave Soda an encouraging pat on the side of her neck, as if she was the one in need of reassurance.

Even the house was foreboding, much like the man himself - dark and expansive, constructed with stacked logs and piled stones, rock chimneys climbed up three of its walls. Its windows were vast but few and far between, grids of stained wood crossed over the glass and made it difficult to see in from a distance; to your chagrin.

You dismounted Soda by a fenced pasture, and hitched her reins to one of its posts. She was a loyal girl, but as helplessly subject to her curiosity as you; she needed an anchor to keep her from drifting away and whinnying at the stallion in the paddock over.

Patting down your skirt and hanging the bag of clinking jars from your shoulder, you marched with an artificial confidence up the stone steps of his front entrance. Drummed the front door with your knuckles in three sturdy knocks, you hung the net bag by the handle from two demure hands, fingers knitted together.

You swallowed.

Came the deep thumping of heavy footsteps, they approached the other side of the door, slow and beating. A clatter, a thud.

The door swung open and just about vacuumed you inside, you adjusted your feet so you didn’t lose balance.

Jonathan was almost as tall, near as wide as the doorframe he stood in. He glanced above you, expecting someone taller, before he craned his head downward to look at you, and you felt your heart flip behind your sternum.

“Well,” he huffed, voice hoarse from a day’s worth of yelling. His stare narrowed as he soaked you in, crow’s-feet creased; piercing eyes raked from your head to your feet, painfully slowly, and back up again. “Ain’t you a nice surprise.”

His cocksure voice was rumbling and deep, it sunk under your skin and made you turn pink. You had only ever heard him shouting, heard his roars in the distance when he chastised either you or his ranchmen. Now he uttered his words so low that you could hear the gravel in his throat, it made you want to press your ear to his padded chest and feel the vibrations of his sonorous voice directly from its origin.

You took the same time to inspect him - realising you hadn’t ever seen him up this close, close enough to smell him. He smelt of hard work and cigar smoke, salt and musk, the warmth of his mammoth body reached out and touched you as if the evening air was suddenly cold. His smoky blue t-shirt had stains of sweat between his broad pectorals and down from his neck, the cotton coated in dust - he had only just turned in from a long day of wrangling, hadn’t yet had the chance to shower or to change.

He lifted a bronzed and furry arm to lean his elbow against the jamb of the door, so thick with well-earned muscle they threatened to tear the sleeves of his shirt with the slightest flex. You wondered if he picked up his cows with his bare arms, carried them around like they weighed no more than bales of hay.

His cheeks were ruddy with sunburn and vigour, his firm jaw coated by a dark and barely kempt beard, specked with silvers. His expression was stern, though a glimmer of interest in his steel-blue eyes belied his severity. Heavy lids hung low by virtue of looking down at you, his lips in an analytical curl under the thick moustache that grew under his nose.

You blinked up at him, and opened your lips to speak - but a gruff snicker from him sucked the air from your lungs before you could utter a word to greet him.

“Brought me a gift?” He asked richly, glare stuck on you and not the sack of ruby-red jam you hung from your fingers.

Finding yourself, you gave him a pursed smile. “Miles made me come and say hi.”

“Made you, did he?” He snorted, oozing a knowing arrogance.

“Yep,” you said, lifting the bag to present it to him. “Eve cooked up some jam.”

You saw his temples bulge as his jaw clenched tightly, expression sinking into what looked to you like twisted disappointment.

“Nice o’ you,” he grunted disinterestedly, paying no mind to your olive branch. After a troubled sigh, he asked; “Where’ve you been, lil’ miss Honeybee?”

The use of your nickname made gooseflesh shiver down your spine. He could only have heard that from your siblings or their ranchmen - how often had they spoken to him? Discussed you while you weren’t there to hear it? Last you thought, they never interacted at all. Now, he seemed to mock you with it.

But he uttered it so casually, with such a coating of sugar, that it rinsed you like praise.

“Just working,” you replied flatly, shuffling on your feet, vaguely embarrassed to admit you had abandoned the job already. “In the city.”

“Mh,” he hummed, giving you a placid nod. “Back for good?”

You bit back the smirk that coaxed your lips. “Maybe.”

“I’ll have to build a taller fence, then, won’t I?”

Unable to discern if there was any humour in the forcefulness of his tone, your tongue curled behind your teeth as you tried to find a response that wouldn’t incriminate you.

And you failed. “I’m a good climber.”

He didn’t quite smile, you saw his chest rise and fall with a hounded breath.

“I bet you are.”

The air became thick, filled your lungs like smoke, and you almost coughed in the loaded silence.

“Y’know,” he started, crossing his arms over his wide chest, tucking his hands under his arms and inadvertently augmenting the biceps you shamelessly stared at. “Your sister came ‘round the other day. Warned me about you.”

Your brow furrowed at that. “Really?”

You could tell he battled a grin, he licked his teeth behind stiff lips. “Uh huh.”

Wondering how often he had conversed with her, you swallowed the juvenile jealousy that rose in your throat. “What’d she say.”

“That you’re prone to getting in trouble,” he said, through a deep purr. “But she told me you don’t try to.”

You tilted your head, and the sly simper that had you had been containing finally curled in your lips. “I don’t know why she’d say somethin’ like-”

“I don’t believe her,” he gritted, steamrolling over your flimsy defence.

Heat blossomed in the apples of your cheeks. “You don't?”

“No,” he rumbled, leaning down to you. His face a foot from yours, you shrunk under his glower, watching him cautiously from under flitting lashes. “I think you try very hard.”

You held your tongue between your teeth, taming it before it gushed out something you might regret. Clawed at your mind for any kind of refutation, but it melted like sugar on your tongue.

Watching in bashful silence, John reached forward and hooked a finger into your bag. Reaching inside, he plucked out a jar; it was dwarfed within his wide hand, he spun it around in his palm as though looking for a label. He went to open it, and the tendons and muscles of his forearms rippled under his skin as he twisted off the stubborn gingham-patterned lid. It broke loose with a pop.

He dipped his pointer finger into the juicy red preserves, scooping out a lump of it. Thick finger sticky with the sugared fruit, he put the tip of it between his lips, sucked it clean as he looked down the bridge of his nose at you.

His mouth made wet noises as he evaluated the flavours with his tongue, you felt a flutter in your core. Lips pursed, he raised his eyebrows. “‘S good,” he remarked.

You smiled sheepishly. “Well, it’s yours,” you raise the bag. “These too.”

He twisted the lid back onto the jar, then took a step towards you as he reached for your net bag and dropped the jar back in with the rest. And he continued forward, another step, and you landed on your hind foot. You inched backwards as he loomed over you, and backwards again; you felt your heel go over the edge of the top step, your balance tipped - until his firm hand caught your upper arm, and he swiftly held you upright.

Lost for words, you opened your mouth. “I-”

But he shut you up with a bear grip of both of your shoulders, and adrenaline needled down the nape of your neck. He lifted you a few inches off the step, and spun you around like a doll before dropping you unceremoniously back to your feet, facing out towards your horse.

He was instructing you to leave, unsaid but unsubtle.

“Go on,” he chuffed, and your breath hitched as he gave you a cajoling pat on your behind with his palm to coax you forward.

You obliged him, walking abashedly towards Soda with your heart in your throat and your gift ungiven. He followed you closely, not allowing more than two feet of distance to grow between his body and yours; as though prepared to snatch you if you dared to bolt.

“Tell your sister, I don’t want her goddamn gifts,” he sneered, and you dared not look over your shoulder at him.

Soda gave you a quiet nicker as you came to a stop beside her, ears flicking nervously at the predator behind you. You shushed her gently as you unhitched her reins, and using the bottom rail of the fence you stepped up to mount her. Reaching over her back, your legs hung over her side as you awkwardly tried to pull yourself upward.

You felt the evening breeze under your skirt, quietly aware of how much of yourself you bared to him. You wondered whether he might be stealing his glances, if he might have spotted the pink hem of the panties you wore underneath. You wondered if he thought they were pretty. You wondered if he wanted to see what they concealed.

You yipped as you suddenly felt his hand against your ass, a heavy fist; realising quickly that he had clutched the hem of your dress, when he tugged it downwards to give you some decency. Scolding you implicitly.

With a frayed breath, he growled; “And I don’t want fuckin’ trouble.”

Swallowing a timid gasp, you pulled yourself up onto the mare’s back and mounted her properly, legs hanging over either side of her torso. You hoped that from your perch he couldn’t see the glowing red in your cheeks, the flare of heat that spread over your decolletage like a rash.

“You hear me?” He badgered, arms crossed and brow rigid.

You gave him a winsome nod, an imperceptible simper, as you gave Soda a soft kick in her side to set her off.

With an innocent grin, you crooned; “I’ll do my best, mister.”

can you tell i love neil young

#john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain price #john price x f!reader #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic #cowboy price #bitterfruit fics

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yelenasdiary · 5 months ago

Note

omg open requests??? this is like super specific BUT maybe gambling addict neighbor fem!reader x rich (maybe like mafia leader or powerful lawyer or just like shield agent lol) natasha. reader is natasha’s neighbor and one night she’s super beat up in the apartment hallway or smth cuz she’s super in debt from illegal gambling and couldn’t pay back. natasha is super protective of reader (maybe r has a small kid or smth), sees this and lets her inside, patching her up, and pays her debt to free her. or beats up those who hurt her neighbor. or both. platonic or not! up to u ! sorry this is so long but feel free to do what u want w the concept! thx ! glad to see requests open again!

Bailed Out

Pairing: Lawyer! Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Reader (Platonic)

Summary: Your neighbour helps you after a little ‘misunderstanding’

Angst

Warnings: Gambling Addiction, Illegal Gambling, Mentions of Physically Assault, Blood and Bruises | 1.7K

AC: Thank you for sending this! Sorry it took so long; I hope you enjoy it! x

Natasha sighed in relief when she finally got to her apartment complex, just knowing she was only a few feet away from being able to kick off her heels and throw her brief case to the side and enjoy what was left of her night. She carried herself up the first three flights of stairs before she heard the soft sobs of a woman crying in the hall. She turned the corner and dropped her brief case instantly when her eyes landed on you, on the floor in tears.

“Y/n! What happened?” She rushed to your side. You flinched at first, scared she was going to give you another beating not noticing who she was at first. “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you” Natasha added, gently lifting your chin up. She saw your busted lip and the small river of blood that came from it. “Who did this?” She asked sternly.

“It’s nothing, I’m f-fine” you sobbed, avoiding eye contact with your neighbor.

“This isn’t nothing, where’s your sister?” Natasha questioned in a panic.

“She’s inside, please I don’t want to worry her. I’ll be fine” you replied, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “Come inside and we’ll get some ice on that lip” Nat suggested before helping you up onto your feet. She picked up her brief case and searched her coat pocket for her keys before unlocking the door to her apartment. You followed behind her into her kitchen where she handed you a bag of frozen peas.

You took a seat at the island in the middle of her kitchen, bringing the bag of peas to your busted lip while Natasha got you a glass of water. “I promise you; this is nothing. Just a little misunderstanding” you said, breaking the silence. The lawyer cocked a brow, “you know that my job is to prove somebody is lying, right?” She said, “so you can sit there as long as you want and tell yourself this is nothing, but I don’t believe you” she added. You looked up at her and sighed, “I just owe some people money” you admitted.

“For what?” Natasha asked, keeping eye contact.

You hesitantly shook your head, “it doesn’t matter, this is my problem. I’m sorry you saw the end of it”

“Somebody just beat you up in the hallway outside your apartment over some money. If it’s something illegal, I don’t care. I’m not going to turn you in, I just want to help. How much danger are you in?” The red head said sternly. You took a few moments of silence before finally confiding in her. You lowered the bag of peas and took a sip of water to help swallow the lump in your throat before you looked at Natasha once more.

“I owe $20,000 in bets” you admitted. Natasha nodded at your words, “I just wanted to help Casey get into a good college, I swear. But I won a few times and put most the winnings away, but I guess” you paused, feeling ashamed of yourself for not only having to admit to your neighbor but also yourself that you have a problem. “I guess I got lost in thrill of winning and now I know some really bad people a lot of money, money I don’t have, and I have no idea how to get” you added.

“Why didn’t you come to me? I would’ve helped” Natasha replied.

“Because it’s my responsibly to look after myself and Casey, it’s just us and I didn’t want her to stress about not being able to get into the college she wishes” you explained, placing the bag of peas back onto your bruised bottom lip. You felt defeated, the feeling of being weak soon washed over you as your eyes dropped to the glass of water in front of you. “What’s the deadline?” Natasha asked.

“Tomorrow night at 6pm” you replied in an almost mumble.

Natasha gently lifted your chin once more to look at her, all you could see in her eyes was disappointment which only made you feel worse than you already did. “I’m going to pay it off, okay?” She says.

“N-Nat, no. I can’t ask you to do that”

“You’re not asking. I’m telling you; I’m going to pay it. You won’t be paying me back in money, you can make it up to me by promising me that you’ll go to GA meetings, okay? We’ll find you a group close to home and I’ll take you so that Casey doesn’t suspect a thing” Natasha replies sternly so you can’t argue with her about it.

“Why would you help me?” You asked.

“Because I care about you and Casey. You’re a smart woman, we all make mistakes, but I know this isn’t what you want. You don’t want to live in fear over money, trust me, I’ve seen enough cases come and go with the cause being over money. Besides, if you want to put some money away for college tuition, I have a few filing jobs I’d be happy to pay you to do if you’re looking for that extra cash” Natasha offers.

“Are you sure? I mean, I’m sure I can find a way to pay them back. This is my mistake”

“Will you stop for a moment? If I were you, would you do the same for me?” Nat asked. You nodded instantly, “right, so case closed” she added with a soft smile. You gave her a smile in return only to re-open the cut on your lip.

“Take the peas with you, I’ll come home early tomorrow with the money, and you can come with me to drop it off, okay?”

You nodded at the lawyer’s words before sliding off the stool at the island of her kitchen, “thank you Nat, I really mean it” you said before she showed you out.

----

The next afternoon, you found yourself sitting in the passenger seat of Natasha’s car while you watched her take the bag of money to the tall man standing in an alley way. Your right knee bounced in fear while you kept your eyes on the entire interaction that was before you.

“Where’s Y/n” the man asked when Natasha dropped the bag at his feet.

“You don’t need to worry about that” she replied as the crook picked up the bag, unzipping the front pocket to check the money inside, “there’s $30,000 in there. $20,000 to cover her debt and the, let’s say tip, is so you guy never both her again. I’m not joking before you laugh, if I ever find out that you or your boss or anybody else in your little illegal gambling games comes near Y/n or even lays another hand on her, I promise to shut down your little business here and you along with your friends will be locked away for a very, very long time” she threatened.

“Hey, I don’t give a shit, I’m just the guy who picks up the debts but uhm, I’ll pass your message on” he replies with a chuckle.

“That’s not good enough” Natasha spat, “I need your boss’s word that Y/n is free” she added, keeping stern eye contact with him in the dim light from the streetlight. The taller man rolled his eyes as he pulled out his mobile phone from his back pocket. Natasha waited patiently for the silence to be broken.

“Yeah boss, I got the money, but some woman wants to talk to you” he said, talking into the phone. His words caused Natasha to raise her brows, some woman? She thought to herself. “I don’t know who she is, she knows Y/n, said she needed your word that we won’t rough her up anymore” he added, making Natasha to roll her eyes. “Give me the phone” she reached out.

The debt collector handed Nat his phone, “Who am I speaking too?” The voice came through the phone.

“Nobody you need to worry about unless you bother Y/n again. I’ve given your lost dog $30,000 in a bag, 20 to cover the debt and 10 in hopes that you and your business will never bother Y/n again”

The man on the other line chuckled, “I can’t control what the beggar does with her life, if she comes to me and loses again, that’s on her” he replied.

“Do I have your word?” Natasha repeated sternly.

“Yeah, whatever. Better be $30,000 in that bag exactly” he said before hanging up. Natasha tossed the mobile back to the man standing in front of her, “run along now” she cocked a brow at him, not wanting to leave until he couldn’t be seen.

----

You gave your new co-worker a soft smile as you made your way to Natasha’s office to find her lost in the email she was reading. Knocking softly on her door, she looked up at you and gave you a lit nod to enter.

“I won’t be long, I just need to send off this last email” she said, her eyes quickly returning to the screen of her computer.

“Take your time” you replied, taking a seat across from her desk. It had been three months since your neighbor basically bailed you out of a lifetime of endless debt and since that night, you’ve kept your promise to her. You attended a gamblers anonymous group once a week which Natasha took you too and waited for you afterwards and you took her up on her offer of the filing job. It wasn’t a full-time position, two days a week in an office of your own, scanning and filing documents both physically and digitally.

The money you made from the second job was put into a savings account for your sister’s college tuition. She had a couple of years before that time would come, giving you plenty of time to save up as much money you could to help her out.

“Alright, let’s get out of here” Natasha smiled, logging off her computer, “I don’t want to see the inside of this office until Monday” she added causing you both to chuckle.

“I was thinking, after my meeting tonight if we could go to dinner? My treat, I really would like to thank you for everything you’ve done for me” you said as Nat gathered her things, “Casey will meet us after, I told her we were working late tonight” you added.

“Sounds good to me but dessert is on me” Nat smiled. You playfully rolled your eyes at her comment, “I won’t win this one, will I?” You asked. Natasha shook her head, “nobody can argue a good peanut butter sandwich” she chuckled.

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#yelenasdiary asks #anon #fanfiction #marvel #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader

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