#Just to the point where I only need to see someone face-to-face every six months instead of 3 months!
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You Missed My Heart: PART 2
PART 1 LINK | PART 2 LINK | PART 3 LINK
Description: Miguel had died months ago. At least, my universe’s Miguel had died. Maybe I should have noticed when I could feel him touching me in my dreams, but grief is a hell of a thing. That is, until I woke up in a house that looked just like mine, but somehow different.
Miguel had taken me from my universe and put me in one where he could relive his past, whether I liked it or not.
Word Count: 11,305
Author’s Note: I swear I re-wrote this three different times and all of them were drastically different. I checked for typos, but I’m posting this at four in the morning so there may be a few.
Content Warning: smut, mild breeding kink, reader is being held against their will, dub-con (if you squint), piv, oral, unprotected sex; Miguel gets injured at one point; Miguel being manipulative and an ass, bit of angst (I mean his wife and child are dead so yeah)
Minors DNI! Story is below the cut
I groaned as I opened my eyes. My face was pressed in the crook between where Miguel’s ribs and arms would normally meet. He had moved me there in the middle of the night when I had managed to drift too far away from him. I had tried to squirm and protest, but I ended up caving before he would let go. I knew he was stubborn enough to pin me there out of spite and it wasn’t worth it.
Miguel was still awake somehow. It was dark in the room, save for the faint light that drifted through the curtains. Whatever time it was, it was either too late or too early for him to be up.
“Go back to sleep.” Miguel said. His voice was stern but gentle. I slid my hands down and grabbed onto the edge of the blanket. I hauled it upward, pulling it over my head. He let out a low chuckle as he watched me try to disappear.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Just after three.” He leaned down and pressed a quick peck against the blanket that covered the top of my head. “Get some sleep.”
I glanced up at the gap between his chest and the blanket. Moonlight streamed through the window, painting his features in soft lines and shadows. He looked angelic. He was focusing on something in front of him, frowning and furrowing his eyebrows every so often.
What was he doing?
I gently pulled down the blanket so that I could see what he was up to.
Miguel was propped up on a pillow that leaned against the headboard. His eyes were focused on his hands, which were held out in front of him, spaced apart by about six inches, palm facing palm. Threads glistened between his fingers in the moonlight. His fingers were twisting and weaving new threads around the ones that lay between his fingers. The thin webs had been pulled from his spinnerets in his upper wrists. It was like watching someone play cat’s cradle.
One of his arms rested on my back. It didn’t hurt; it wasn’t even uncomfortable, but it did hold me in place, only allowing me the bare minimum of space for my chest to move as I breathed.
“You should go to sleep, too.” I said. I turned my head back and buried my face in his chest. He smiled, continuing to work.
“I’m not tired.”
I glanced up at him. His dark eyes were beautiful like this. His face looked peaceful. I was too tired to see if he was lying or not.
“Have you gotten any sleep yet? Any at all?” I asked. He shook his head.
“I’ll be alright. Just close your eyes.”
I nodded, too tired to argue with him. I started to say something, but the words slurred together until I fell silent. Sleep pulled me in, welcoming me warmly.
“I know, sweetheart.” He whispered, never faltering in his work.
Something clattered to the floor downstairs, ripping me from my dream.
I winced, feeling the sun burn my eyes as it streamed in through the window. I tried to push myself upward, but I was overtaken with a dull ache in all of my muscles.
Fucking hell.
It felt like I had been in a car crash. Every part of my body hurt. But, the most noticeable ache was between my legs. I swallowed hard as I pushed myself upward. I needed aspirin.
As I moved, I couldn’t help but notice a divot in the bed on Miguel’s side. It was lined with sheets that had been ripped through. The hole was a decent size; roughly the size of a fist and a couple of inches deep.
It hadn’t been there last night. At least, I hadn’t seen it there.
I slid my right hand over to touch the edges of the divot. It was the perfect size to accommodate Miguel’s hand. But why was it there?
I winced, feeling a sharp pain shoot through my body. If he was in a decent mood, I could ask him about it. If not, it didn’t really matter.
I leaned over and grabbed the bottle of aspirin. As I moved, a faint twinkle caught my eye. I flipped my hand over. In the middle of the night, Miguel had slipped something around my ring finger. It was a thin band that had been braided from webbing and then tied off on the front of my finger with a small knot.
Huh.
I tapped my thumb against the material, expecting it to stick to my finger in the same way that the web had stuck to my ankle last night. But this one didn’t. It had been worn smooth by his fingertips. The material looked almost silver in the early morning light. When I pulled my hand into the shadows, it looked almost like braided moonstone.
I wasn’t sure whether to feel violated by the fact that he had placed a wedding ring on me in the middle of the night, or impressed by the precision it had taken to make it.
I turned my hand back and forth, inspecting the thing from all angles. If I had known him for any meaningful amount of time, it would have been a sweet and loving gesture.
I groaned. It was a gift from the man who had basically kidnapped me from my home, but still, I needed to take whatever nice gestures I could get, no matter how presumptuous.
I unscrewed the cap and dropped several pills into the palm of my hand. I pushed the first pill into my mouth. As I went to swallow, I couldn’t help but notice the faint numbness that lingered on my bottom lip. It was in the exact spot that his fangs had nipped, either on purpose or mistake.
That’s… weird.
I swallowed the pill and then leaned down to touch my thighs. Bright red marks covered my legs, showing off his handy-work. I quickly slid my fingers along the skin… only to meet the same result.
The skin was numb. It was almost impossible to move the half centimeters of flesh that had been ever so gently nicked. He hadn’t bit me; not really. Just a graze was enough to do that.
Jesus.
I winced as I downed the second pill. Then I pushed myself up from the bed and made my way to the dresser. I needed something to wear. But, I wasn’t wearing more lingerie. It already hurt to walk; I needed time to heal before I wore anything close to that again. I sighed as I stepped across the room, looking for something to wear. Miguel had laid his sweatshirt from last night on the dresser. I was sure that he had left it for me after my complaint last night.
Maybe it was a peace offering. Or maybe the sex had been the peace offering and this was just him being nice.
I quickly pulled it on. It was long enough to cover my hips and a good part of my thighs. I quickly snagged a pair of underwear from the dresser and pulled them on, as well.
Downstairs, something else clattered to the floor. What the hell was he doing?
As I stepped into the hallway, I noticed the boxes that had been piled up outside of the yellow door. I flipped open one of the cardboard tabs. Inside lay my things. At the bottom of the box, I noticed the sleeve of one of my sweaters. He had brought me my things, just as he had said he would. Did he ever go to sleep last night?
I padded down the stairs, making my way to the kitchen with every step. I figured that that was where he was. He didn’t seem like the kind to just linger around the house, looking for some kind of mindless activity to fill his time. He seemed too serious for that.
I stepped into the kitchen and was immediately greeted by an unexpected sight. He was standing in front of the stove, pushing around eggs in a skillet. The downstairs was cold from the winter air but he was still wearing only a thin t-shirt and a pair of boxers.
He was a portrait of domesticity.
I watched him closely as I stepped into the room.
“I made breakfast.” He said.
“Did you get any sleep?” I asked. I couldn’t help but notice that the shattered plate had been picked out of the sink and had been thrown into the trash. He turned to meet my gaze. The dark circles under his eyes told me everything that I needed to know.
“Miguel, you need to go back to bed.”
“I’ll be fine.” He frowned as he pushed the spatula around in the skillet. “I made coffee.”
“Thank you.” I made my way toward the coffee pot that rested on the counter beside him. As I did, his eyes never left the stove. I reached for one of the coffee cups that had been laid out for me. As I did, I glanced back at Miguel. God, he looked tired. “Do you always have trouble sleeping?” I asked.
He scoffed. “I sleep perfectly fine.”
“Okay then.” I muttered. Guess that was a touchy subject for him. I rolled my eyes as I grabbed the coffee pot. I filled the mug with the dark liquid. As I leaned forward to slide it back into its original spot, Miguel stepped to the side and pulled open the door to the fridge. Without missing a beat, he pulled out a container of creamer and handed it to me, then slinked back to the stove before the eggs had the chance to begin to brown.
“Thank you.” I said. Warm light from the kitchen caught the ring, making it twinkle again. I considered asking him about it, but I decided not to. Surely he would bring it up if it was something that he wanted to talk about.
A dark strand of hair fell across his forehead as he focused on the skillet. “Do you need any help?” I asked.
He quickly shook his head. “What’s on your mind?” I wanted to get even a scrap of conversation from him; I needed some idea as to what he was thinking about. Maybe I should just leave him alone. Maybe he liked to exist in silence. I mean, if nothing else, he seemed used to it.
“Work. How did you sleep?” He asked.
“Okay, I guess.” I added the creamer to my coffee and then returned the container to the spot where he had pulled it from. I carried my mug back to the counter, watching as he lifted the skillet off of the stovetop. I lifted the mug to my lips but then suddenly jerked it back. The glass was hot; it burned the skin of my lower lip everywhere except for the small spot in the center of my mouth.
“Fuck!” I touched the skin and was met with a familiar numbness.
Miguel dropped the skillet onto the stove and rushed forward. Within seconds he had cleared the area between the stove and the counter, moving so that he was standing directly in front of me. He towered over me, wasting no time to invade my personal space. “Sorry, I’m fine.” I said. I brushed my fingers along my lip, grazing the burned flesh and then the numbed skin. It felt weird and I didn’t like it.
“Okay, sweetheart. Let me see.”
“It’s fine. I just burned myself.” He shook his head before reaching down and gently grabbing onto my chin. He pulled my head upward. My eyes met his for a moment before he turned his attention down to the mark on my mouth.
“Move your hand.” He instructed. I did as I was told and dropped my hand down to the cold stone of the counter.
“Miguel, I’m fine. I promise.” He didn’t believe me; I could tell from the deep line that had formed between his eyebrows.
“Open wide.” He instructed. His thumb slid across my lower lip. The touch was feather-light; almost too gentle, too caring.
“Your face is red.” He remarked.
“This is demeaning.” The words slurred together as he inspected my mouth.
“Is your lip numb?” His perfected vision could see the minute scrapes against my skin; tiny cuts that had been collateral damage in the excitement of the previous night.
“A little bit.” He winced, but quickly fixed his expression before I could comment on it.
“It should wear off in a couple of hours. You weren’t actually bit so the effects shouldn’t be too bad. Just be careful not to hurt yourself.” He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of my head.
“What if you had bitten me?” I asked. He released my jaw from his hold.
“That’s not something you need to worry about.”
“But if it had… let’s say I’m someone else and you bit me, what would happen.” His face twitched. Something flickered behind his eyes as if he was considering it. His eyes didn’t leave my face.
“That’s not… no.”
“Miguel, it’s a basic question. I barely know anything about you. If you’re planning on keeping me here, then I want to know-” he cut me off.
“And I said no. Damn it, why isn’t that enough for you? What are you wanting from me?” His voice was sharp and cold, like metal. Suddenly, the device on his wrist let out a low chirp. He glanced downward.
He gave a low sigh. “I’ll get you a plate. You didn’t eat anything last night.” He turned and quickly began to mess with the thing on his wrist.
I glanced down at the counter. A chorus of beeps came from his wrist as he worked. I gently slid my teeth against my bottom lip; the numbness was strangely fascinating.
Without a word, Miguel sat the plate down in front of me. Steam drifted off the fresh eggs that covered the plate.
“Thank you.” He didn’t answer me. His eyes lingered on my face for a long moment before he leaned back against the countertop.
He rolled his hand around his wrist, moving his eyes between me and the device. “I have work to do today. But I restocked the fridge so there’s plenty for you to eat. Feel free to help yourself to anything you like. The TV in the living room works, as does the stereo. Most of your books should be upstairs, so you should have plenty to occupy your time.”
“Thank you.” I said. I stabbed a bright yellow piece of egg with my fork. “How long are you going to be gone?” I asked.
“Are you going to miss me?” He paused, waiting for a response. I nodded, partly because I knew it was the right answer and partly because I thought I would, even if just a little bit. He smiled, proud of my answer. “It shouldn’t be too long. Just a couple of things to correct, then I’ll be right back.” There was something about the way that he said the word ‘correct’ that made me wince. He meant kill; I thought of the blood on his face and knew what he meant when he said he fixed things.
“Is there anything you think you’re going to do today?” Miguel asked. He wanted to know my plans for the day. Well, gee, Miguel, I’ll probably stay trapped here.
Then something occurred to me. I was the only person here and I knew more of what was going on now. There was no reason I shouldn’t be allowed to explore.
“Can I leave the house?” I asked.
“And where would you go?” It seemed ridiculous to him to even ask. Why would I ever want to leave when I could sit in an empty house all by myself and pretend I wasn’t his prisoner?
“Out.” I said. “Maybe walk around the block. Is there another block or does it stop after what I can see from the front stoop?”
“There’s other blocks. But I don’t understand why you would want to leave the house.”
“Fucking hell, Miguel.” I hadn’t meant to say it out loud. I turned my attention to the plate. He ground his teeth together for a moment. He was choosing to ignore what I had said.
“If you need something to occupy your time when I’m gone, I’ll get you a pet.” That doesn’t replace the fact that I wanted to leave the house. I wanted to pretend that my life was normal, even if there was nobody in Nueva York anymore. I could still act as if things hadn’t changed.
“Ah, a pet for your pet. Doesn’t that seem a bit redundant?” I muttered. That jab had been entirely intentional.
It was true, though. I was a pet to him; maybe I received different forms of affection than the standard house cat, but the same rules seemed to apply. He would come and go as he needed; I was to stay where I had been placed, always ready and willing to entertain when he came back.
He rolled his eyes as he leaned against the counter. He continued to poke at the device on his wrist. “I’m ignoring you.” I rolled my eyes as I continued to eat.
“It isn’t fair to lock me inside of a house and never let me leave. You ever heard of cabin fever? I’m going to end up going insane in here.”
“I highly doubt that.” His hair bounced as he spoke. He was shaking his head at me while he messed with his device.
“Miguel.”
“You’ll be fine.” He said it like it was the end of the discussion. Hell, it wasn’t even a discussion; he just kept saying no.
“Come on!”
“Is there something you’re wanting to say to me?” His tone was harsh.
“Yeah, you’re really pissing me off.”
“You’ll get over it. You always do.”
“Just tell me why. If you think I’m going to run away then where would I even go? There’s nothing out there. So why?”
“It’s for your own good. Just stay in the damn house.” I rolled my eyes as I took a sip of the cooled coffee.
“You never fucking tell me anything and then you get pissy when I ask questions.”
“I am not being pissy.” He shook his head and muttered something under his breath. There was a long moment of silence between us.
“Don’t call me pissy.” He muttered. He sounded more annoyed than actually angry. He almost sounded like an annoyed child. I had to fight back a laugh at how petulant he sounded.
A weird silence hung in the air. I began to eat, ignoring how he fixed his eyes on me. Though, any time I would look up to catch his stare, he would glance back down and fiddle with his wrist.
"I really do believe that you could start to like it here. I think you just need time. Then, you'll start to warm up to me."
He brushed his hair off of his forehead and let out a low sigh. "You do love me. You just need time." He said the first part for me. He repeated the second part for himself.
I did love him, at least a little bit. Even if just for the fact that he looked so much like another version of himself; a sweeter version… a softer one.
Maybe he was capable of being that way. Or, maybe he was too far gone.
His eyes moved upward to meet mine and I felt a sudden wave of shame wash over me.
"You look beautiful this morning." He said.
“Miguel,” I asked. His features softened at the sound of his name. “Is there any chance that I’ll ever get to go home?”
He winced. “If you go back to your timeline, one of two things could happen. Either time will find a way to correct itself and you will die or everything will collapse in on itself. If that happened, it would kill every single person you’ve ever known and billions more.” A bright light shone from his wrist.
It was time for him to go.
He let out a low sigh. “I don’t…” His voice trailed off. He looked down at the ground for a moment. “I can’t send you back to die. I won’t.”
I guess that was my answer.
He stepped toward me. His face had softened. “I want you to be happy and safe. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” I didn’t reply. He moved closer, stopping only once our bodies were almost touching.
I looked at him, unsure of what he wanted. He leaned down, placing a finger under my chin. It was the gentlest touch he could manage, yet it was backed with unfathomable strength. He lifted my chin up to meet his gaze.
“I love you. I’ll be back as soon as possible. Be a good girl for me. Okay?” I nodded. He pushed a quick peck against my lips before he walked off, heading toward the archway that connected the kitchen to the living room. Once he vanished from sight, I heard him begin to speak into his device.
A pink and orange light enveloped the living room; it was so bright that I winced. The light vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.
Then, just like that, he was gone.
I sighed to myself. Well, no time like the present.
I pushed myself up, grabbed my coffee mug, and headed upstairs.
He would be gone for hours. There was no harm in exploring, especially since he wasn’t here to stop me. If he didn’t want to tell me anything, then I would have to find it out for myself. After all, curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.
I stared at the yellow door upstairs. Not knowing what was inside was going to eat me alive. I knew it wasn’t an office; Miguel didn’t stay here long enough to do anything but drag me around and then try his idea of a romantic gesture. Maybe it was a storage room, but even then he was entirely too cagey about the whole thing. He didn’t strike me as the kind of person to have some kind of mindless hobby.
Maybe he was living out the story of Bluebeard and there was something macabre inside. Maybe there was something perverse inside.
It didn’t matter; I had to know.
I pushed several of the boxes out of the way. I slid them several feet to the left. I could just move them back when I was done and he would never know. Stepping forward, I reached out and grabbed the door handle. Then, I gave a firm twist.
It was locked.
Damn it.
Who the hell did he think he was, anyway? He’s the one who locked me up. He’s the one who said I couldn’t leave the house. He’s the one that did all of this in the first place.
I couldn’t help but notice that the locks on my door and this door were different. This door was aimed at keeping other people out of the space; mine was aimed at locking me inside, like a princess in a tower.
I needed some way to get the door open. I was sure that I would understand this all a little better if I could just figure out why he was so determined to keep this a secret from me.
Then, I remembered my Miguel fighting with the floorboard in our bedroom. Before he embarked on his noble mission to defeat the squeaking sound, he had bought a case of beer and a new set of screwdrivers. If this version of him was so determined to make a perfect copy of my house, then he would have added the set.
I dashed to the hall closet and quickly pulled out the black plastic case that rested on the bottom shelf. Bingo! I plucked the screwdriver from the box and then walked over to the yellow door. I knew that with the old style of lock, I just needed to get the metal inside of the keyhole to move. If it moved, then the door would pop open with no issue.
I slotted the screwdriver into place and then twisted hard. At first, it didn’t even flinch. Then, after a moment, the lock groaned and then popped open. I quickly twisted the brass door handle and smiled as the door opened. I pushed the door open wide and then flipped the lightswitch.
What the fuck?
The room was small. Every wall had been painted a soft yellow; it was a step up from the stark white that the original room had been. A small stuffed elephant lay in the middle of a crib that was pushed against the far wall. A framed ultrasound sat on the bookshelf. Little pieces of a life; of hopes and memories, all packed away to be forgotten.
None of this was from my timeline. In my universe, this was just his office. It was where Miguel would disappear to for most of the night after returning from work. After he died, I locked the door and pretended the room didn’t exist. When the men from Alchemax showed up to take the cardboard boxes filled with his work, I didn’t even have the courage to peek inside of the room. The room was the black hole in the house, eating away at any chance of sleep or happiness that I had.
At least that was something this Miguel and I seemed to share.
I stepped into the small room, moving toward the bookshelf that rested against the far wall. The shelf was the only thing that looked familiar.
A box rested on the bottom shelf. I quickly dipped down and pulled it free. I flipped the lid and discarded it onto the floor in front of me. The box was filled with small photos. Some were older than others, each faded and weathered to different degrees. I sunk down to the floor. I moved so that I was sitting criss cross.
I reached inside of the box and pulled out one of the photos. The picture was weathered, but I could still make out a version of me staring up at him with an adoring gaze. She wore a wedding dress and he wore a suit.
Jesus.
I sat the photo on the floor beside me and then reached into the box and fished out a small handful. I started to sift through them, viewing little pieces of Miguel’s life as I went. When I reached the last three photos, I stopped. They were pictures of Miguel holding a little girl. She was small and perfect, with his eyes and his smile.
His child.
I winced as I looked at the pictures. The last photo was of Miguel and I standing behind her. She was sitting in a small plastic highchair with a cake in front of her. On it, there was a glowing candle in the shape of a ‘1’. Miguel’s mouth was open in the process of saying something as I laughed. It was a moment that was frozen, giving him a small slice of time to keep when it all disappeared.
Fucking hell. I leaned forward and put the pictures back in the box. I didn’t want to look at this anymore. I felt my stomach flip as a wave of nausea overtook me.
However, as I leaned over, I spotted several more photos in the bottom of the box. But, I did know these pictures. I just hadn’t known that they had been taken. In two of the pictures, I was inside of the bookstore that I had worked at. They were pictures of me, taken in my universe. But, when did he take them? After my version of him died, I didn’t go back to work. I was lucky if I left bed most days. So these pictures were older than that.
Suddenly, I became aware of the footfalls that came from the stairs.
Miguel was home entirely too early.
And I was still in the nursery. My head was still spinning from the pictures. I tried to make myself get up and frantically put the pictures back, but I couldn’t make my body move.
I heard him begin to make his way toward the bedroom. But, when he saw that the yellow door had been opened, he picked up his pace.
I didn’t look back at him when he stepped into the doorway.
I didn’t want to meet his gaze.
“You’re not supposed to be in here.” His voice was lined with rage. I stared at the wall. I could hear him swearing under his breath, his tone flickering between pissed to sad and then back again. I glanced back to look at him for a moment. His face was tight and his eyes burned red.
“This was your office… I’m sorry, his office.” I lifted my hand upward to point at the wall with the small window. The window had been decorated with pink curtains. “His desk was against that wall.” I glanced to the side of the room and then pointed at the left wall. “He kept all of his boxes against the wall. I only ever went inside of the office once and that was when I heard him and my dad arguing about something. But I never… I never found out what it was.” The screaming had happened two days before Miguel died and I couldn’t help but wonder if the two things had been connected.
“I just wanted to know what was in here. That’s all.” I said. "Are you planning on locking me in my room again?" I asked.
"No."
The man stood in the doorway, lingering like a ghost. His features softened as he watched me. He walked deeper into the room, moving so that he was standing over me. He sat down on the floor beside me. His large frame was only a foot away from me; close enough to touch, but not so close as to scare me. As he sat there, I was once again reminded of how his body had always dwarfed mine. His body was large enough to provide me with either the utmost care or utmost cruelty, depending on which Miguel I got.
“You had a child?” I asked.
He winced. “I did.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” My voice was little more than a whisper.
“No.” It was a sore spot for him. It was then that I noticed that he was focusing on the far wall, unable to meet my eyes.
I was also a sore spot for him.
I looked down at the floor as he began to speak again.
“All I’ve ever wanted is to keep you safe.” He said. His face twitched. His eyes began to fade from red to brown. He was reliving all of his failures, past and present.
“I understand.” I said. He let out a dry laugh.
“But you don’t. You really fucking don’t. Do you know what it’s like to watch you die in every timeline? Every universe? Either before or after me, there you go. Either you burn to death or are crushed or get killed in a car crash or die in some freak fucking accident… and I’ve had to sit and watch.”
He shook his head. Several dark strands of hair fell across his face. “I’m not a good man. I’ve done… horrible things.” I flinched at his words. I couldn’t tell if it was self awareness or just simple self hatred. “I just wanted a part of you that was entirely mine. A piece of you that I can love and… keep.”
He said the last part so casually. It was as if it was all just a part of the daily dysfunction of a man with a savior complex and the full power to act upon it. He had everything a man or god could ever want, except for the power of self control.
What he had done was unfathomably wrong, but the smallest part of me could understand it. The only real difference between us was that he actually could do something about it; when I lost everything, I could only lay in bed and cry.
However, there wasn’t enough money in any timeline to make me admit that to him. Telling him I understood his actions would only feed into the delusion that this was right… that this was inherently good.
I nodded slowly as I took in his words. He leaned back against his arms. He pushed his hands against the hardwood as he looked around the room, as if reliving a memory. His face was crestfallen.
My fingers brushed his. He flinched, but then gave into the touch. I slid my fingers on top of his, pinning his hand between my skin and the cold hardwood. He sat still for a moment, taking in the small crumb of affection. Then, he lifted his pinky, moving it so that it slipped on top of my ring finger.
He glanced down at our hands. His eyes became fixed on the small ring; he was entranced at the fact that I hadn’t taken it off yet.
Miguel opened his mouth to say something, but he quickly changed his mind. He closed his mouth, allowing for the silence to overwhelm us.
We were both kind of pathetic. But, I felt especially so at how I still wanted some kind of closeness with him.
I didn't want to be alone, even if the only option was with the crazy man.
I glanced up. My eyes met his.
I leaned forward, moving so that my face was only inches away from his. The room was cold and I was sure that he could see the hard goosebumps that had formed on my skin. His eyes danced over my face before drifting down to my lips. He looked like he wanted to tell me something, but it was as if it was stuck. Whatever words he wanted to say wouldn't come out.
I filled the last inches of space between us. Slowly, I pressed my lips against his. Our lips moulded together, fitting like puzzle pieces. He let out a low groan.
He pulled his lips away from me, giving me a chance to catch my breath.
He lay his forehead against mine. Then he whispered something that was so faint, I couldn’t hear most of it. But, I could have sworn that the last words were a soft "I’m sorry."
The next few weeks, we existed as ghosts. He barely spoke to me. On the rare occasion that he was home during the daytime, I would often catch him staring at me with a weird mixture of adoration and sadness. He was gone until late most nights. I had taken to crawling onto the couch and falling asleep there most nights. The house was too empty; too quiet. He wouldn’t come back until late and would then, without fail, haul me back to the bedroom. I would awaken every morning to a cup of coffee on the bedside table. He would squeeze my shoulder gently, though he was always gone by the time I opened my eyes.
My head lay against one of the pillows that I had dragged downstairs from the bed. I sighed as I turned over. The couch wasn’t uncomfortable, it was just weird to try and sleep when there was no noise coming from outside. I had gotten so used to the sounds of the city lulling me to sleep. Now, I would toss and turn for hours until I would turn on the TV for some noise.
I pulled one of the blankets higher up on my body. The house was freezing. I glanced up at the clock on the wall.
Just after two.
Where was he? He usually came back around one or so. He was late. Time was ticking on and he was nowhere to be found.
Damn it. I winced, realizing that I was actually worried about him.
Suddenly, a bright light filled the first floor. I jerked upright, turning toward the kitchen. “Miguel?” I asked. I quickly pushed myself up from the couch and made my way to the kitchen.
"Miguel?" I repeated. I flipped on the light to the kitchen and saw him standing there. He was doubled over with one hand grasping the back of a chair. Blood dripped from his nose onto the faded tile below.
"You need to go to bed." His voice was rough. I stepped deeper into the room, ignoring him. He let out a groan as he tried to pull on the back of his suit. He reached for something, but he couldn't grasp it. He dropped his head, trying to catch his breath. I stopped several feet in front of him.
Slowly, he lifted his head. Blood covered his bottom lip. His face was bleeding from a cut on his cheekbone. It was a gash that was slowly oozing dark blood.
"Oh my God. Miguel!" I rushed forward, filling the distance.
"It's not as bad as it looks. They’ll heal, they just need a bit of time.” He said. Blood ran down his jaw as he spoke. He looked bad; bad enough that, if he had been the other version of himself, we would have immediately been on the way to the hospital.
There were several gashes that had managed to cut through his suit, exposing the skin beneath.
Dear God, what the hell happened to him?
"Go away." He said. He waved his hand, motioning for me to do as I had been told. He leaned over the side of the counter. Bruises were blossoming on his tan skin, painting him in shades of blue and black.
"Just let me help you. Are there any bandages in the house?" I asked.
"I don't need help."
"Miguel."
"What?" His voice was harsh; his words lined with actual pain.
"Stop being so damn stubborn and just let me help you." I said. I walked over the lower cabinet and pulled out a hand towel. I stepped back toward him, hoping that he would soften.
Instead, he scowled at me. "Go to bed. You're just working yourself up over nothing."
"This isn't nothing."
He rolled his eyes as he stepped forward. "I'm completely fine." His leg went out from under him. I tried to catch and steady him, but instead, we both tumbled to the ground below.
I watched as several of the more superficial cuts on his body began to close.
"Jesus, Miguel. What happened?" He shook his head as he pushed himself off of the floor.
"It's nothing. That's why I didn't want you to see any of this." He paused. "What the hell are you even doing down here?" He grabbed onto the counter to steady himself. Part of me expected to see him break the counter under his fingers.
I pushed myself off of the floor and rushed to his side. "Is there anything I can do?" I asked. He shook his head.
"I'm going to clean up. Go to bed." He winced as he stepped away from the counter. Based on the way he winced as he touched his side, he probably had a cracked rib.
I couldn't imagine anything that was strong enough to do this to him. Unless it had been something, or several somethings, that were all exactly like him.
"I'm going to help you." I said. I eyed one of the deeper bruises that covered the side of his jaw. He caught me staring at the dark mark.
"They'll heal, I swear. I can heal relatively fast." He said. Fear tore through me. What if he was wrong? What if he was lying? He hadn't meant for me to see him coming home. He had fully intended on keeping this hidden from me, regardless of how badly he was hurt. "The worst ones are the cuts but even those will be fine in an hour or two."
I had already lost him once…
He glanced over at me. Fear swirled in my eyes as I watched him. Based on the way that his face twitched, I knew he could see it.
He glanced down at the floor. Then, he leaned to the side and caught my arm in his gloved hand. His touch was gentle, but commanding.
"Come here." He instructed. I shifted toward him, moving until his chest was almost touching mine. I could hear his steady heartbeat and feel the warmth that was pouring off his skin.
"I love you. I promise I'm okay." His voice was no more than a whisper.
"Just let me help you." I said. He sighed to himself, giving in to my attempt at kindness.
The downstairs bathroom was quiet. Miguel was perched on the edge of the tub, watching as I leaned over the edge of the basin.
I turned the metal handles to the tub. Warm water spurted into the bottom of the tub. I watched as it began to pool at the bottom. Outside, I could hear the thunder boom. Rain beat against the roof of the house, filling it with the soft sound of water hitting
"This isn't necessary. You should go back to sleep." He said. He pressed the towel to his face. Most of the blood had stopped flowing.
"I wasn't asleep."
"Why not?"
"The house is creepy at night. It's too quiet. I'm used to actual sounds from the city and there just aren't any here."
"I'm sorry."
"It's fine."
Soon, the tub was filled three quarters of the way. I leaned over and quickly turned off the flow of water. I straightened my stance and then looked back at Miguel. He offered a soft smile. A bruise blossomed just below his eye, though it immediately began to fade away.
"I was really worried about you." I admitted.
"I'm okay."
"Are you?" I didn't believe him. He looked rough. It was as if he had been dragged through hell. It hurt to look at him too long.
"This is all… purely superficial. I'll be better soon." I crossed my arms. Worry and fear covered my face; it was impossible to hide.
"Sweetheart, there's nothing to worry about." His voice was like warm honey. He lifted his hand upward and motioned for me to come to him. Without question, I did.
One arm gently curled around my waist. The other drifted upward to ghost the side of my face.
"I'm okay. This all just…" he sighed. He leaned his face forward and gently touched his forehead to my stomach. Warm skin pressed into my shirt. I could feel him slowly inhale as he breathed me in. Then, he lifted his face, peering up at me in the dim room. "This is just how it is." His voice was no more than a whisper.
"You look tired." He said. He noticed the dark circles under my eyes.
"You're one to talk." He let out a humorless laugh.
His fingers slid across my cheek, wiping away a dark droplet that had landed on my skin. The material on his fingers was smoother than I had imagined.
"You don't have to take care of me."
"Well, you don't seem to have any sense of self preservation. So if I don't, I don't figure you'll take care of yourself." I said. He looked at my face for a long moment. A soft smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.
"No, that's not it. I think you care about me." Pride bubbled in his voice. I rolled my eyes.
"Strip and get in the tub."
"Yes, Ma'am." He taunted. He winced as he reached backward again, tugging at the neck of the suit. His usual gracefulness was gone. He groaned, pulling at the back of the suit to no avail.
"Are you okay?" I asked. He winced again as he tried to grab onto something that wasn't there.
"I got hit earlier and I think the thing broke. I can't get it to move." His fingers worked over the material but it was no use.
"Here. Let me get it." I said. He stooped downward, moving so that I could actually grab onto the back of the material. He awkwardly leaned over as I pulled at the metal on the back of the suit. It looked like there had once been a zipper, but the tiny handle had been busted. Below it were several small clasps that had been bent down to cover the path of the zipper.
"They really did a number on you." I murmured. I pushed my thumb under one of the clasps. I bent it forward, moving it so that I could see the path of the zipper. I did the same for the other pieces of metal that had become deformed. Then, I pinched what remained of the head of the zipper. I pulled the zipper downward, hearing him sigh softly when I unzipped the material between his shoulder blades. His skin spread out between my fingers, warm and slightly wet from sweat.
"There you go." I said. I released him and stepped backward. He should be good to go now.
I watched as he effortlessly peeled the suit off of his bruised body. The bruises were changing in color, some getting darker as others began to fade before my eyes.
He pulled the suit off of his arms, then down his muscular torso. As he reached his hips, I looked away, suddenly very aware of the fact that he wasn't wearing anything beneath the skin tight material.
My face turned bright red. I looked at the door behind us, waiting for him to climb into the water. "You're blushing."
"No, I'm… just get in the water." I heard him chuckle as he stepped out of the material. He crudely folded the material and then tossed it across the floor. It landed in a pile beside my left foot. I rolled my eyes.
"Sweetheart, you don't have to look away from me." He said. I heard the water move as he stepped into the tub. I turned around, watching as he sank into the bath.
I watched a dark bruise on his bare collarbone fade into his skin before disappearing. It was as if it had never been there to begin with.
He was always full of surprises.
Miguel leaned back against the cold metal of the tub. Outside, lightning shot across the sky. It filled the room with a sudden white light.
“I’ll clean up the floor in a little bit.” He said. The tiles in the kitchen and bathroom were stained and slick. In the dim light, the droplets on the floor looked almost black.
“No, you’re not. You’re going to go to bed after this.” I said. “And you’re actually going to sleep.”
"That's what you think." He muttered.
"Are you always this stubborn?” I asked.
"Only for you, sweetheart."
I grabbed a towel off of the counter and gently dabbed it against his cheek. His eyes focused hard on my face as I tried to tend to his fading wounds. He was attempting to read my features. I sat down beside the bathtub.
“Do I want to know what happened?” I asked. It wasn’t a playful or light question. He could hear the weight in my voice as I cleaned his face.
“You wouldn’t like me anymore if I told you.” It was such an honest comment that I could tell it pained him. If I knew what he did when he was away, then any chance of me loving him would vanish.
Maybe it was best that I didn’t know.
"Are you in any pain?" I asked. He shook his head.
Steam from the tub drifted upward, clinging to his strong chest in thick beads.
"Why have you been ignoring me for the last week?" I asked. His face tensed.
"I haven't been."
I scoffed lightly as I gently wiped his face with a towel. "And you said I was bad at acting."
"I've had a lot on my mind." He said. I nodded slowly.
"You can talk to me." I said. He offered a faint smile. He couldn't, because it was most likely about me.
"Are you mad at me?" I asked. He shook his head.
"No, I promise." I looked down at the tile floor. I didn't know what to say to him. Something weird hung in the space between us.
Suddenly, his voice cut through the cold air.
"Get in with me." He said.
"What? No." I said. He furrowed his brow. He hadn't expected me to refuse.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because you're wounded and I don't want to hurt you."
He let out a low laugh, almost as if he was mocking me. "Believe me, it's impossible for you to hurt me. Now be a good girl and get in the tub."
"You know I'm not your pet, right?" He smirked at my words. A pet was exactly what he considered me to be; maybe a darling pet that he seemed to have a steadfast devotion to, but a pet nonetheless. I rolled my eyes and began to stand up from where I had been perched.
"Come on, sweetheart. Just get in with me. Please?" His voice was warm, much like his eyes. I sighed as I watched him.
A nagging voice told me to just walk off. Just go to bed and ignore him. He was clearly fine. Everything that he said would happen, had actually happened. He was healing up perfectly fine. He didn't need to be babied; he was a kidnapper, not a stray cat that needed to be brought in from the rain. But still, I couldn't make myself leave the small bathroom.
"Please?" He repeated. I groaned before I stepped back from the tub. I grabbed onto the bottom of my shirt and pulled it upward. I hauled it over my head and then discarded it onto the floor. My pajama bottoms and underwear followed close behind.
Stepping forward, I felt the cold air bite into my skin. I winced before casting a leg over the edge of the tub. I had picked the opposite side of the tub to where he was sitting, though something told me he had wanted me to climb on top of him.
I sank into the water across from him. I lifted my hands to my chest and quickly crossed my arms in an attempt at maintaining some sense of modesty. Miguel's eyes traced over me, drinking me in. His gaze was so intense that it made me squirm.
"Stop staring at me." I said.
"You're beautiful." His voice was low and warm. I readjusted my arms to make sure I was covered. I wracked my brain, searching for something to say.
"So, what's the thing about this timeline?" I said.
"What do you mean 'thing'?" He asked.
"What makes it different from my timeline? I mean, there's absolutely no way that everything is the same. And, even with all of the people gone, there's got to be something weird here."
"Firstly, ouch. Bold of you to assume that my work isn't perfect." He lifted his index finger as he playfully chided me.
"What's the second thing?" I asked.
"Secondly, aren't we enough of a 'thing'?" We were both here. That was weird, as far as timelines went. We were both alive and okay, regardless of how we had ended up here.
"Come on. Surely there's something weird here. Maybe they call tuna by some other weird name or maybe the movie Titanic doesn't exist here."
"Well, you're the only person here, so you can call tuna whatever you want. I may mock you if you choose something ridiculous, but that's entirely your choice. Also, I don't think that any movies have ever come out here."
I watched his face as he spoke.
Goosebumps danced across my skin as I sat in the water. "I think I'm about to get out. The house is too cold to be in here." I said.
He leaned forward and reached out his arms. In one smooth movement, he hauled me upward and he pulled me into his lap, making sure that my back was pressing into his chest. He leaned backwards, lifted his right thigh upward, and promptly placed me there. His other leg spread outward. His warm skin pressed into my back. I could feel the hard outline of muscles as I sat there. I squirmed.
"This isn't fair." I murmured.
"Sure it is."
"How do you figure?"
"I dragged you over here, fair and square." He smirked. He pressed a kiss to the back of my shoulder. I rolled my eyes as I turned to look at the window. Rain beat down against the empty city. Clouds drifted across the sky, leaving several patches visible.
"The stars are different here." I said.
"Hmm?"
"The stars." I lifted my hand upward. I pointed toward the window to show him what I meant. "Pegasus is supposed to be right there. It's gone. The only one there is Andromeda."
Andromeda. The chained woman.
The irony was not lost upon me.
My ring was my chain; Miguel my warden. Yet, I couldn't bring myself to take the ring off or to truly push him away.
He pressed another kiss against my back. This time, I could feel the stubble of his jaw scrape against my skin.
"You're warm." I murmured. He smiled against my skin.
"I'm glad." He gently sucked on the soft piece of skin. I gasped, feeling his fangs graze for a moment. Though, by the time the sound had left my lips, he had already pulled back.
"Sorry." He said. He inspected his handiwork on my flesh, making sure that he had not broken the skin.
I glanced over my shoulder, watching him as he slid his fingers along the skin of my back. He was enjoying getting to touch me. He could still see the novelty in how new it was.
When he shifted under me, I felt the hard shape of his erection brush the back of my thigh.
Without thinking, I glanced over my shoulder again. I leaned backward, moving until my back touched his chest. I looked up at him. His eyes were warm and soft.
"What?" He asked. Without a word, I kissed him. He sighed against my mouth, moving slowly and carefully. As he did, I felt a familiar want beginning to stir inside of me. Slowly, I pulled away from him. I then tried to move off of his leg and was mildly surprised when he didn't try to hold me down. Instead, I lifted my hips upward and began to rearrange myself in the water, moving so that one leg sat on either side of his hips.
I slid my legs around his waist and then pushed myself closer to him. The bottom of the cast iron tub was slick beneath us. It was hard to arrange myself in the water, but somehow I managed. Miguel leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against my lips. As he did, I lifted my hands upward and grabbed his shoulders for leverage.
“Careful, careful.” Miguel said. He placed a hand on the curve of my back to make sure that I didn’t slip in the water.
“Aww, so you can be nice.”
I smiled as I slid my hands across his strong shoulders. I could feel all of the muscles flex under my fingertips. A soft smirk painted his lips. God, he was gorgeous. It wasn't fair for one person to look this perfect.
But, looking at him, he looked like he was bone tired.
He leaned in for another kiss, but I bobbed backward. He already looked clean enough; I wanted to tell him to get out of the water and go to bed.
"What's wrong?" He asked. He looked hard at my face, searching for something in my features. But, before I could speak, he followed it up with another question. "Are you scared of me?" He asked.
"What?" It caught me off guard.
"You heard me. Are you?"
A little bit.
"I don't think you would hurt me." I said. It wasn’t a lie.
“I would never hurt you.” His hands drifted to my face. Gently, his traced his fingers along the curve of my jaw, taking in every feature. “But, are you scared of me?”
I knew exactly what he was referring to. The eyes, the fangs, even the sheer size of him was intimidating. But, under all of that, he was still just Miguel. Even if he wasn’t my version of him, I knew he wouldn’t hurt me.
“No.” I said. He offered a faint smile that didn’t meet his eyes. He didn’t believe me, but he seemed grateful that I would be willing to tell him what he wanted.
“I love you.” He said.
“I love you, too.” He smiled at my words. I knew that it would make him happy to hear them. They were only three little words, yet they seemed to mean everything to him.
As I watched his face, I couldn't help but notice how exhausted he looked.
"You look tired. You didn’t sleep last night. You haven’t slept any of the other nights, either. I woke up to go to the bathroom around four and you were still awake. " I said.
“Yes, I did sleep.”
“I saw you… Please just be honest with me.”
“Aren’t I always?”
“No, you never are.” He rolled his eyes at the accusation. “Why don’t you ever sleep?” I asked. Rain continued its assault on the roof, growing louder as the storm reached its peak.
“I usually can’t.” Thunder rolled so loud that I looked toward the window.
“Bad dreams.” A dark tendril of hair fell across his forehead. I reached forward and gently brushed it out of the way.
“About what?”
He shook his head before he pressed another kiss against my lips. That was his way of changing the conversation. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to talk about it.
“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered. His hand snaked between our naked bodies. Without hesitation, he grazed my clit with the pad of one of his fingers.
I gasped at the sudden touch. But, I didn’t move away. His index finger swirled over the bundle of nerves, forcing my toes to curl. I inched my body closer to him, begging for him not to stop.
He rubbed faster and faster. I could feel myself getting closer to finishing. Miguel watched me with a burning intensity; his eyes were dark lust as he worked. I ground my hips against his fingers, feeling the pleasure beginning to grow in my lower stomach.
Suddenly, it overtook me. I gasped and almost fell forward from how suddenly a blinding warmth shot through me. Each touch was too much; it felt like I was on fire. Miguel caught me before I could tumble off of his body. He held me as I twitched on top of him, spasming from his gentle touches.
As I began to drift back down from the orgasm, I could feel his cock as it lay against his stomach. He was painfully hard. Every time I would bob a little too far forward in the water, I would brush into it, feeling just how desperate he was.
“I think it’s time to call it a night.” I whispered.
“You don’t want to stay in here with me, sweetheart?” His voice was velvety and sweet; his little nickname for me was lined with lust.
“No, because I’m not on birth control. You’re going to end up knocking me up.” I said it partially as a joke.
He didn’t laugh.
Oh.
“Miguel.”
“We have children in every universe.” He said it so softly and calmly that it was as if he was saying the sun was yellow and the sky was blue. It simply was the way of the universe; it was how things were and always would be.
“We didn’t in mine.” I said.
“Because he died. Besides, it wasn’t for a lack of trying.” My face turned bright red. There was something in the way that he said the last part that raised a suspicion I hadn't had before.
“Were you ever watching?” I asked.
“Not from outside of the window or anything like that, but I did catch… glimpses in your timeline.”
“Miguel!”
“I was working!” He defended himself. “I never watched went out of my way to watch you two when you were… intimate. The only times that I ever spied on you were when you were alone.”
“What do you mean when I was alone?” I remembered the photos of me that I had found in the box.
“When he was at work and I thought something would happen to you; when I was worried about you.”
He was telling the truth, at least as far as I could tell.
“Why didn’t you ever spy on him and I?” I asked. I expected him to say that he respected me too much to do that. Then again, he treated me like a pet, so it was rather questionable how much he respected me.
“Jealousy, mostly.”
“Oh.”
“I’ve been alone for a long time, sweetheart. He had you and he was always working; he was always gone.” He said.
“You’re always gone, too.” He frowned at the statement.
Maybe all of the versions of him truly were the same. Based on how he winced, he seemed to be considering that fact.
“He couldn’t protect you because he was never there.” He said.
“Nothing happened to me. There was nothing to protect me from.”
“But there could have been.” He was obsessed with the idea that I was fragile. Which, I mean, compared to him, I was. But he still didn’t have to be this worried.
He was haunted by the idea of me dying and obsessed with the idea of saving me. Maybe it was to make up for his past failures.
“I’ve lost you in countless timelines. I could never risk it.” He winced. “But, you’re here now and you’re safe. You’ll always be mine and I’ll always be yours.” He said. We belonged to each other, whenever or wherever we were. The notion both charmed and chilled me. But, one of those feelings quickly won over the other. Or maybe it was just the lingering effects of the previous orgasm.
“Do you want me?” I asked. I was hoping to sound sexy; I just sounded pathetic.
“More than anything.”
I leaned forward and gently grabbed his cock. He groaned, lifting his hips upward so that I could have better access. I slid my hand up and down several times before I moved my body closer to him. As I moved, he held onto me, making sure that I didn’t slip in the tub. I carefully lined him up with my entrance, feeling another wave of want wash through me. I curled one arm around his shoulder.
“Ready?” He asked. I nodded quickly as I clung to him.
I whimpered when he slid inside. My fingers dug into his shoulders. He groaned as he sunk all the way in. I felt my body stretch, trying to accommodate him.
After a moment, I pushed my legs into the tub and lifted myself upward. He curled one arm around my waist, watching me in wonder and awe as I slid down again, making us both groan.
I lifted one hand off of his shoulder. His body had been through enough tonight. I didn't want to risk the one-in-a-million chance that I grabbed onto a sore spot. I gripped the cold edge of the tub to balance myself. But, just as suddenly as I had placed it there, it was pulled off. Miguel pulled my hand into his, lacing our fingers together.
He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss against my lips. I smiled, giving into his mouth. The kiss was brief; it was broken when I gasped against him mouth, feeling a warm pleasure begin to grow inside of me.
I bounced my hips, feeling him hit deep with every movement. I moaned. My stomach was beginning to tighten.
He tightened his hold on my hand. One of his fingers brushed over the ring that I was still wearing.
I was his. I belonged to him.
As if he could read my mind, he pressed his lips against mine again.
When he pulled away, he said "Open your eyes."
I did as told. My eyes met his as I slid downward on his cock. Then, before my body could meet his, he thrusted upward, making me gasp.
"Keep looking at me." He said. I nodded as I lifted my hips upward. He groaned, quickly burying himself deep inside of me. He wanted to watch the way my face twitched with pleasure when he fucked me. He wanted to see what he did to me; what power he had over me.
I tightened my hold on his hand. If he was a normal man, I was sure I would have accidentally broken one of his fingers from how hard I was gripping him.
I lifted my hips, then brought them down on him just as he slammed inside of me. We did it over and over again, forcing out gasps and moans from each other.
“Miguel, I’m close! Don’t stop!” I moaned. I was so damn close. I could feel the tightening in my lower stomach every time he sheathed himself inside of me.
Then, all at once, I felt a wave of heat wash over me.
I gasped, clenching around him as I came undone. Pleasure coursed through my body, making my toes curl and my head fall back. Miguel pressed a kiss to the base of my throat as he hammered inside of me, not stopping his pace.
After a moment, he let out a low groan. He moaned my name and I was suddenly very aware of the warm fluid that filled me. It was leaking down my upper thighs and into the water around us.
The pleasure began to fade away. I gasped, trying to catch the breath that I had been holding. Miguel smiled and leaned back against the tub, his body tired and spent. A mixture of sweat and water glistened against his skin.
It was around three in the morning. I could feel the exhaustion beginning to sink into my bones.
I moved to climb off of him, but just as he had last time, he held me in place. One hand held my hips in place, pinning me on top of him. I sighed, giving up any notion of fighting. It was useless; his grip was ironclad.
"Let me hold you... just for a little while." His voice was soft. His other hand drifted to the curve of my back. He pulled me forward, moving me until my chest lay against his.
"I'm tired." I murmured.
"I know, sweetheart."
I leaned my head against his shoulder and closed my eyes. I could hear his heart in my ear. Its strumming was low and steady. His skin was warm. "I missed you." he said.
I wasn't sure if he was talking to me directly, or some distant memory of me. But I would take what I could get.
"I missed you, too."
He pressed a gentle kiss against my damp hair. Outside, lightning cut across the sky.
@levisbebe @amplsblog @spider-biter @taleiak @ladyfairenvale (I tried to tag everyone who asked! I’m sorry if I missed you!)
#miguel o'hara#Miguel Ohara smut#Miguel o'hara smut#Miguel O'Hara x reader#miguel ohara x reader#Miguel ohara x you#Miguel o'hara x you#Miguel ohara imagines#Miguel ohara fan-fiction#Miguel ohara fanfiction#spiderman99 smut
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Swimming Pool ✿ Aaron Hotchner
We Shouldn't (And Yet We Do) - Part One
Pairing: DBF!Hotch x f!Reader
Words: 12.6k
CW: 18+, NSFW, mdni, smut, a little angst and so much fluff.
Summary: You return home for the summer because of your parents’ drama but luckily for you, your father’s friend, Mr. Hotchner, is there to bring you some much needed comfort.
Tags/warnings: shitty family life, age gap relationship (reader is 20, Hotch is 40), teasing, groping, perv!hotch, inappropriate thoughts and behavior, grinding, daddy kink bc fuck you, fingering (f receiving), protected piv sex (wrap it before you tap it or at least make sure you talk it over with your partner and get tested!).
a/n: Thank you so much to @canuck-eh for writing Loose Morals and reigniting my passion to write this series, and to @xladyxdreamer for putting up with my Moments angst to the point where this series is now my penance for it. Finally, to whoever started the DBF!Hotch train, you are a god and I love you.
Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.
Coming back home in the middle of summer was…a lot. You’d just finished your second year away at college and you weren’t supposed to come back home until Christmas six months later, a compromise you’d agreed to only for your mother. But then she’d called out of the blue, sobbing, hysterical, and you had booked a flight back home to Virginia before she’d even hung up.
When you did finally arrive the morning after, she was much calmer, but the edge in her voice remained and you knew something was wrong. The only problem was that she refused to tell you what it was. It wasn’t until your high school friend took you out to lunch later that she finally clued you in as to what was going on.
Your father had apparently been caught getting busy with another one of the professors at the college he taught at. Someone had taken a…suggestive picture and now everything was in shambles. Well, not everything, mostly just his own marriage. From the little bits of information you were able to string together from your mother, it was clear that he was gaslighting her into believing that the picture was taken out of context and he wasn’t actually having an affair.
It had all blown up in your face about twenty minutes ago. Your house was packed with people, mostly your father’s close friends, colleagues, and their wives. He had decided to host an end of term/start of summer cocktail party to quell whatever doubts lingered amongst his social circles that whatever had or had not been taken didn’t mean anything and his marriage was still going strong. What he hadn’t accounted for, however, was you coming back to make sure your mother was alright.
You’d been holding onto the anger all afternoon as you followed your mother around, yelling and complaining and just desperately trying to reason with her. You’d never been a huge fan of your father. Sure, he’d done the bare minimum to give you life and was now paying for the part of your tuition that wasn’t covered by all the scholarships you’d gotten so that you didn’t have to graduate with massive loans. But aside from the small kindnesses he awarded you every so often, your relationship was nonexistent.
It was almost as if he’d predicted your mood because he didn’t arrive at the house until the party was minutes from starting. You had thought about leaving, about going out and getting wasted with your high school friends, but before you could even tell your mother you were going out, you found her crying in the master bedroom. And just like that you were back to seeing red.
The door swung open and you practically stormed towards it like a woman possessed.
“We need to talk,” you started. “No, let me rephrase, I need to scream at you and you’re going to listen—”
“Honey,” your father said sternly, opening the door fully. “Do not be rude to Aaron, say hello.”
Shame hit you like a bus as Mr. Hotchner came into focus behind your father. Fuck, he was good. It was eerie how clever your father could be when he didn’t want to be told off, when he knew that he’d done something wrong and instead of owning up to it he’d do everything in his power to avoid talking about it.
“Hi, Mr. Hotchner,” you managed through gritted teeth as your father walked past you and into the kitchen.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he replied, an amused smile on his lips. “I didn’t know you were coming back for summer break.”
“I’m not,” you tried to keep your voice steady. He must’ve known why you were angry, why the sudden outburst, but he didn’t reply, he simply nodded, lips in a thin line, trying to look anywhere but you.
“Well,” he broke the short silence. “I better put this on ice.”
He held out a bottle of Scotch he’d presumably brought over from his own house next door and walked after your father. You stood alone at the open door, the freedom of the night away from the exhaustion of fighting against your parents alluring. And yet you couldn’t seem to walk out, couldn’t seem to will your legs to move you in the direction of the rational choice.
Your heart was beating unbearably fast, and it wasn’t because of whatever was happening between your parents. No, it had everything to do with the FBI agent that had just walked into your home and the way he had clearly glanced down at your exposed cleavage before he had to immediately shift his gaze to anything else.
Aaron didn’t want to leave you there but he truly didn’t have a choice. You were wearing a tight black dress, so tight in fact that he could’ve sworn he saw every curve of your body. What had made it even worse was the way your breasts were practically spilling out of the garment, the trim of your lacy bra peeking around the edges. He’d felt like a teenager all over again, his crotch tightening uncomfortably as he tried his hardest to listen to the words coming out of your mouth to make sure that he responded eloquently.
Your mother had already put out ice buckets and he practically slammed the bottle into an empty one. Was it stupid to chill Scotch? He honestly couldn’t even remember anymore as he desperately wished he could’ve dunk his already hardening erection on the ice as well. He needed to get a grip, needed to calm down, needed to pretend like he hadn’t already seen your body in the many pictures you had posted online in the two years that you’d been gone.
He served himself a double, watching as you left the door wide open and retreated back upstairs. He lingered by the table for a moment, finishing his drink and calming himself down. He’d known you for a little over two years, at least on a first name, dinner at your house every month, type of way. You had just graduated high school when he started teaching part time at the college where your father also taught. The two of them had become fast friends and in the months that followed while you waited out the summer to start classes you had babysat Jack while Aaron was away on cases.
It was wrong and he definitely knew it. But there was something so captivating about you, about your kindness and curiosity and interest in not only his work but in him as a person. You loved getting to know people, getting to share secrets and discuss the root of existence and emotion and life. It was easy to forget that you were this young, your eloquence far higher than most of the adults that had just started shuffling into your home.
He’d filled his glass up once more as your father’s friends and his colleagues arrived. He plastered on a polite smile and greeted everyone as they made their way through the house. The repetitive nature of small talk for the next twenty minutes allowed him to forget about you, calm his body down enough to appear normal, collected.
He had migrated to the backyard with the rest of his colleagues after a while, the men around him engaged in mindless conversation about the break ahead, their vacation plans, and anything that wasn’t about the elephant in the room, because he knew, they all knew, that your father had clearly been caught redhanded and if they didn’t get their wives to agree that he was nothing more than a victim, they could be taken down next.
You waited until the backyard was packed with people before you emerged from your room. If your father didn’t want his friends gossiping about his affair tonight then you’d give them something else to talk about. And what better thing to gossip about than your father’s college age daughter practically displaying her body for all of his married friends and their wives.
Wearing that skimpy thing that did nothing to cover you up could only mean one thing – you were trying to get back at your father. Aaron couldn’t help but almost choke on his drink as he watched you saunter back out of the house. His ears began ringing loudly as you swayed your hips, clearly asking for attention. You walked right up to the edge of the pool and dove in without so much as a single word, the stark contrast between the cocktail party and your rebellious, summer blowout attitude jarring.
He couldn’t help but notice your father’s absence back out in the courtyard, your mother also conveniently nowhere to be seen. He could only assume that she was either consoling his poor, broken ego or sucking him off inside. Either outcome made him feel incredibly bad for you, bad that you had to come back home to rumors of your father’s infidelity and your mother’s complete denial of it.
While she was working overtime trying to fix a one sided relationship, you were determined to lash out against it in the most childish way you could possibly think of, and that unfortunately meant parading around your backyard filled with middle aged men in practically nothing.
Well, fortunate for him because he got to see the way your nipples hardened against the sheer fabric the second you stepped out into the cold night air, got to marvel at way your waist dipped into your full hips, the plush muscle begging to be squeezed tightly, got to catch the faintest glance at the outline of your pussy against the red material. It was unfortunate because he knew he wasn’t the only one staring at you and he had to bite his tongue as he began to hear the men around him murmur about your body.
He wanted to step up and use his own frame to shield you from them, to hide you away from their practically salivating stares. But instead he simply took a sip of his drink and allowed himself to watch you like a hawk, to silently guard, determined to step in if any of them actually decided to turn their thoughts into action. Because even then he couldn’t help but feel protective of you.
Your father came barrelling out of the house mere minutes later, your mother practically running to catch up and stop him. He was about to blow up, about to make a scene, one that you were eagerly waiting for when her hand landed on his chest and he seemingly remembered where he was and who he was surrounded by. He instantly relaxed his face and Aaron couldn’t help but take a step forward, tense and ready to fight him.
“Honey,” your mother spoke instead, layering the guilt on thick. “Please get out of the pool, I don’t want you catching a cold.”
Aaron set his glass down and walked over to the little hamper by the grill, expertly fishing out a large towel. He could feel everyone else start to notice that he’d moved, that he was inserting himself into something that clearly had nothing to do with him. But it didn’t matter the second that your round, hurt, expressive eyes met his. His gaze softened, just for you, to let you know that you didn’t want to make this any worse than it already was. And for the first time ever, you listened to him.
Your mother thanked him as he walked around them, towel extended in his hands for you to simply curl yourself into it. He could tell your cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, and when he draped the fabric over your shivering body, he could smell the faint, lingering scent of alcohol on your breath. He sighed deeply, just for himself and you followed suit, taking the moment to compose yourself.
“Thank you,” you whispered, delicate fingers taking the towel from him and wrapping it around yourself, terrified of what your reaction would be if you’d let him do it for you. You were back inside the house in seconds, the party resuming quickly as your parents started their rounds of greetings and small talk. He lingered by the pool for a few minutes, not wanting to be incredibly obvious about following you inside.
He told himself that he only wanted to make sure you were alright, that there was nothing wrong with being concerned for you after what had just happened. And so when the waiters began to pass out hors d'oeuvres, he took advantage of the distraction and slipped back into the house.
“Sweetheart?” he whispered loudly as he willed the wood beneath his feet not to creak loudly against the final step of the staircase. “Are you alright?”
The second floor was deserted, terrifyingly quiet and dark. He noticed the light was on in your bathroom across the hall from your room and he approached. The second his shadow landed over the wood, the door swung wide open, greedy hands grabbing a hold of his shirt and pulling him into the small room.
“I need you,” you slurred, your hands sliding down towards his belt, trembling fingers struggling with the silver buckle. He couldn’t stop the groan that erupted from his throat, the sounds spurring you on.
He was so distracted by the thrill, the shock and surprise of your neediness, of your clear desire for him that his brain short circuited for a second, lost to the sensations he’d been craving from you for years.
You’d never done anything like this before, never even flirted with each other as far as he was concerned since he made sure to watch his words around you, only allowing himself one thing, to call you sweetheart. Which could only indicate that your sudden boldness meant that you’d thought about this just as much as he had, that you’d caught him staring at you with hunger in his eyes just like he’d caught you staring at him with danger in yours.
“Sweetheart,” he said bluntly, trying to use his words before he was forced to use his hands to stop you. “You’ve had a lot to drink,” you scoffed. “You’re upset,” your hand squeezed over the outline of his cock and it took everything in him to not let out a single sound. That seemed to do the trick as your confident demeanor slipped away and the terrified girl desperately trying to hide resurfaced.
Tears laced your eyes, your chest began to shake, your hands trembled, slowly slipping away from his body. He scooped them both up in his warm, large palms, bending your arms over your chest before pressing you tightly to his. You began to sob then and it broke Aaron’s heart. Your face landed over his frantically beating heart. If you noticed through your tears you made no effort to comment on it. He held you like that for a while, not caring at all that his clothes were definitely wet now.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered to him, arms crossing over your chest in a feeble attempt to cover yourself up now that you were clearly not going to get what you’d wanted only seconds before. He crouched down and picked up the towel off the floor, this time making it a point to drape it over you and wrap you tightly in it. You felt like a child, a dumb, stupid child that had just thrown a tantrum and had been scolded. It was humiliating.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart,” he assured you, allowing himself to talk down to you just a little. His heart was still racing, his mind even more so now as he realized that the barrier that he’d put up between the two of you all those years ago had just been shattered into a million pieces. “Why don’t you take a shower and get some sleep?”
You nodded, refusing to look him in the eyes. But he would not have it. He hooked a finger under your chin, gently yet forcefully, pulling your gaze up to meet his. His thumb ghosted over your bottom lip, your mouth opening slightly without him doing anything to you.
“Good girl,” he hummed and you practically whimpered, your thighs pressing together. The side of his mouth curled into the tiniest of smirks before he removed his hand from your body completely and walked out the door, leaving you alone in your bathroom with a fire burning in your chest.
You were unsure when the decision had been made, but you’d awoken the next day to a letter from your mother on the kitchen counter, the house spotless as the cleaning crew she’d hired probably went through it the night before. Your parents were gone for the rest of the summer, apparently one of your father’s friends had a timeshare at some resort in Italy and they were able to squeeze your parents into their trip last minute.
You released a sigh you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. The memories of the events of the night before had been washing over you in powerful, drowning waves ever since you opened your eyes fifteen minutes ago. You regretted at least ninety percent of your actions, having been so wrapped up in getting back at your father that you had completely forgotten that your actions would also affect your mother. The look of disappointment, of complete and utter shame and embarrassment that had taken over her face as she spoke to you haunting, especially now in the brightness of the day.
And then there was Mr. Hotchner. Fuck, you cringed every time you remembered what you’d done, how you’d come onto him so pathetically. You couldn’t deny the rejection didn’t hurt but he had been right. You were upset, unbelievably so, and it would’ve stung even more to think of your first time with him to have been because you were trying to make your father angry, not because you actually wanted to sleep with him.
And oh boy did you want to.
As much as Freud was an idiot, you were very aware after two years of your psychology degree that your attraction to older men had everything to do with your need to seek the approval your father denied you from your romantic partners.
You’d had a very childish crush on Mr. Hotchner for years. It was silly, something that kept your pussy wet at night and made your friends giggle whenever you told them about the hot neighbor that you used to babysit for. But you knew he was unattainable. You could never have him, and sadly, that only made you want him even more.
In an act of defiance you hadn’t done what he’d told you to do the night before. Instead you took off the remaining pieces of clothing you still had on and tossed them into your shower before you walked across the hall to your room, pulled out the shitty bullet vibrator you’d left behind two years ago, and desperately tried to get yourself off. To say you’d been unsuccessful, your fingers and the weak device never even coming close to what you truly desired, what you needed.
That had only made you angrier, angrier at yourself, angrier at him. By the time you had drank your first cup of coffee all of your embarrassment had washed away into cold, seething irritation. He clearly wanted you just as much as you wanted him. You definitely hadn’t imagined the way he responded to your touch, the way he’d groaned in response. And that was the problem. He’d been holding himself back, whatever friendly relationship the two of you had built, one that you regarded as honest and sincere nothing more than a facade he’d concocted to keep you at arm’s length.
You grabbed a pair of sunglasses that your mother must’ve left on the kitchen counter and placed them over your eyes before walking back out to your backward. You were aware that there was a specific spot in front of the sliding doors that he could see from his house next door. You’d noticed it when you were babysitting one time, the thrill that he could’ve seen you in your bikini at some point that summer driving you insane.
You didn’t want to be at arm’s length anymore. You refused to let whatever fears you were holding onto because of his relationship with your father to stop you from going after what you’d wanted for so long.
You dragged a lounge chair over to that exact spot, the blaring sun perfectly over it as the excuse you needed in case he brought up your pathetic ploy. Once you were satisfied with your placement you shrugged off the robe you’d been wearing, the fabric falling off your shoulders and pooling around your feet in an instant to reveal absolutely nothing covering your body.
You’d fallen asleep at some point, completely naked and aggravated. You made sure to take your time getting into a comfortable position over the chair, chest out, legs curled suggestively, putting all of your assets on display. With the bait set, it was now a matter of waiting for him to bite.
You heard him yell your name across your house about ten minutes later. It didn’t surprise you that he had his own set of keys, your stomach already twisting in anticipation and excitement at just how easy it had been to get him exactly where you wanted him.
“Are you decent?” he asked with a smirk in his voice. He knew you weren’t. “Jack is here with me.”
You practically leapt off the chair, frantically picking up the robe and putting it on as the two of them walked out onto the backyard. Jack said your name then, chipper and excited, immediately melting away any ice left behind. You turned around just in time for the boy to wrap himself around your legs, squeezing you into a tight hug which you reciprocated, pulling him up to sit on your hip.
“Hi, angel,” you greeted the boy. “How’s summer treating you?”
“Hot,” he replied, trying to push himself away from you. You couldn’t help but laugh, setting him back down in the shade. “Can we swim in your pool?”
“Of course you can!” you replied. “Do you mind if I join you?”
The boy’s eyes practically widened out of his head in joy, turning back to his dad with just an unbelievable amount of energy.
“Not at all,” Mr. Hotchner replied for him and you shot him a smile before you excused yourself to go change into something kid appropriate.
To say that he’d seen your little display was an understatement. He’d been sitting on his desk in his home office, finalizing his weekly schedule with Jessica when he saw you step out. He knew, after much trial and error, that you couldn’t see him from this angle, and so he made no effort to move to get a better look.
And then you took off your robe and he was abruptly presented with your naked body. His mouth went dry in an instant, his pupils dilated, his heart pounded against his chest. It took him a full minute to realize that Jessica was trying to get his attention before his brain reconnected with his body and he asked her to repeat herself.
Five minutes later he was hanging up the call and rushing down the hall to ask Jack if he wanted to go swimming. The boy practically leapt to his feet, running across his room to get himself ready. They didn’t have a pool at their house, so your mother had generously let them use theirs after you went away for college. She’d even gotten them key to the house and sent him the alarm code every time they changed it just in case.
Aaron changed into his swimsuit in record time, practically tripping as he ran back and forth, all over the house, looking for the many, many toys that Jack definitely needed to stay distracted for the next few hours. As much as he wanted to walk over alone, find you naked and eager for him, fuck you on the lounge chair and then probably inside the pool to cool off, he couldn’t leave Jack behind, he wouldn’t leave Jack behind because he didn’t want you to know just how much you had affected him.
This was a power move, one that he had fallen for instantly. What he needed to do was not give in, not give you what you wanted, continue to frustrate you, to tease you until you couldn’t take it anymore, all because he wanted to remind you that he held all the cards, that he was the one calling the shots, that he would be the one on top while you writhed in pleasure beneath him.
You returned a few minutes later in a plain black one piece. To say he was disappointed was an understatement, but he admired your decorum while you were around Jack. It was like a flip had switched, eyes clouded with lust and desire clearing away to joy and excitement to spend your day with a hyperactive kid instead of lazily sunbathing your troubles away.
You handed Mr. Hotchner a bottle of sunscreen, having specifically chosen the cream kind instead of the spray so that he’d be forced to touch you when you asked, “Would you mind getting my back?”
He looked up at you with the same eyes from last night and you were surprised your knees didn’t buckle. He looked at Jack then to make sure the boy was adequately engrossed in his toys, clearly deciding which ones he was going to play with first, before he opened the bottle and squirted some of the cream into his palm.
“On my lap,” he ordered, low and just for you to hear. Your eyes immediately darkened and he smirked knowingly. You rolled your eyes then, reminding yourself that today was just playful after all.
You stepped forward towards his opened legs and prettily sat yourself down on his thigh, your back to him. You’d already put your hair up so he went right in. His warm, sticky palms landed on the sides of your neck first, slowly sliding down your shoulders before they returned to the center and then slid down your exposed back. While you couldn’t wear the skimpy, barely there suit you wanted, you’d still chosen something that gave him a subtle peek of your body.
He continued his movements, unapologetically taking his time, dragging his touches, lingering over your neck and putting pressure around it. You shivered under his hands, your ass unconsciously grinding down on his leg.
“Be a good girl and stay still,” he purred in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. You stilled immediately, his fingers squeezing around your neck softly in reward. “All done.”
Your brain processed the words and yet you made no effort to stand up, and he made no effort to make you. His hands grazed down your arms, the backs of his fingers practically leaving feather light kisses on your skin until they landed on your hips. He gave your love handles a squeeze before he let his hands settle over your lap, leaning down to rest his chin on the crook of your neck.
The gesture itself had been so casual yet unbearably intimate that you didn’t notice you’d stopped breathing until your lungs started to burn. You inhaled sharply, your entire body shivering as you tried to keep the panting at bay.
“You say the word and I’ll stop, sweetheart,” he whispered against your neck, gentle and kind, his tone meant to reassure you that you still had power. You nodded and he pressed a kiss below your ear, making you shudder once more. “So responsive for me.”
A whine escaped your lips, making Jack turn back to face the two of you. His hands were off you before you could even register, your own body reacting instinctively as you shot up to your feet.
“Ready to get in the water?” you managed, flashing the boy a bright smile. He nodded enthusiastically, picking up a few of his diving toys in one hand before taking your outstretched hand with his other one. He diligently led you to the shallow end of the pool and Aaron watched as you both threw the little fishes into the deep end, giggling as Jack tried to toss them farther than you.
He took a moment to compose himself, a moment to shift the material of his swim suit to try and hide the evidence of his arousal. He hated how easy it was for him to come undone around you, how you had him wrapped around your finger and could get him hard by simply existing. It made him feel young again, his libido higher than it’d been in years, and it was all because of you.
He was brought out of his thoughts when he heard you and Jack splash against the water. Jack resurfaced first, already panting as he worked overtime to keep himself above water. You appeared then, like a beautiful mermaid coming above water to lure unsuspecting sailors to their deaths. And in that moment Aaron knew that he’d sink to the bottom of the ocean if it meant he could have even a taste of you.
“Daddy!” Jack yelled, getting his attention. “Come into the pool!”
“Yeah, daddy,” you teased. “What are you waiting for?”
All the playfulness drained from his face in a second, making you choke on your own saliva in response before it reappeared as if nothing had happened. Your thighs rubbed together, the knowledge of the effect your words had had on him thrilling.
“Coming buddy,” he replied to the boy, choosing to ignore you as he stood back up, kicking off his flip flops and cannonballing into the pool.
Jack’s laughter brought you back down to reality as the waves his dad had created crashed over you, cooling your overheating face. You watched him resurface at the other end of the pool, one of the fishes you’d thrown under between his fingers.
“One to zero,” he announced playfully and Jack gasped, immediately diving down to gather as many fishes as he could, giving Aaron the perfect pocket of privacy to glance back at you. His face fell into a stern look of warning, daring you to call him that again to see what you could find out.
You smirked back briefly before diving underwater, the mere mention of a challenge overshadowing whatever tension lingered between the two of you.
You grabbed three fishes, swimming across the pool towards him underwater. You made sure Jack was above water before you made your move, fingers wrapping around Mr. Hotchner’s trunks to pull yourself out of the water as you practically climbed him.
You felt him tense against your touch and that made your body flood with warmth once more. You made him feel like this, you made him react like this, you had the same effect on him that he had over you.
Your head pierced the surface and he wasted no time pulling you further out of the water, his arm hooking around your waist again and pressing your hip against his painfully hard erection.
You gasped loudly, nervously looking around and noticing that Jack had thankfully gone back underwater so at the very least he wouldn’t see the euphoric expression on your face.
“Fuck,” you moaned, your hands steadying yourself against his chest. “Mr. Hotchner,” you whined and his grip tightened.
For a second you forgot about where you were and the game you were still playing. Your eyes landed on his. They were hazy, glossed over and dangerously close to snapping.
“Address me properly,” he ordered, lifting his knee to slide between your legs and press you further into him. You swallowed a moan, your breathing ragged, your skin unbearably tight over your body.
You opened your mouth to speak but the word was screamed into existence by a voice that wasn’t yours. The two of you turned to face Jack who was eagerly swimming over to where the two of you were. You started to shift uncomfortably, trying to pull away from him, but he kept you in place as if you weren’t caught in a compromising position.
“Did you get tired of swimming?” Jack asked you like this was the most normal thing in the world and you managed a nod. “That’s okay! I get tired sometimes and daddy has to hold me too.”
Your cheeks heated up once more and you thanked every deity out there that the sun was so hot on your skin that the kid didn’t notice a change. Jack reached out and grabbed a hold of his father’s shoulder to keep himself above water before pulling out his other hand from under the water, a fistfull of the colorful fishes in his palm.
“I got six!” he told you and you finally snapped out of your daze, groaning dramatically as you showed him your own loot only being three.
“I demand a rematch!” you told the boy before tossing your fishes back into the pool. He followed your lead and held your stare, the two of you seizing the other up before he got tired of waiting and dove back into the water, his giggles getting swallowed by the water.
“Little cheater!” Aaron let you go then and you followed after the boy. You were so concerned with winning the silly game that you didn’t even notice the dopey smile across his face, one that he couldn’t hide from himself, one that almost made his heart burst with happiness.
You played with the fishies a few more times until Jack was complaining that he was starting to get hungry and the three of you got out of the pool to dry off while Mr. Hotchner ordered lunch.
You reapplied Jack’s sunscreen, placed a hat over his head and a towel over his body before you walked into the house to make a pitcher of lemonade and get some of the fruit your mother had bought a few days ago so that you could snack on it while you waited for the pizza to get there.
You’d cut the lemons and had started squeezing them into the pitcher when his hands wrapped around your waist again, his front pressing against your back forcefully. You ground your ass back into him, never once stopping your task.
“Hi,” he whispered in your ear.
“Hello,” you replied, squeezing a half of a lemon with your hand, too lazy to get something else dirty.
“Thank you for today,” he continued, his hands now slowly running up and down your sides, begging to elicit a reaction from you. “I know it’s not exactly what you planned but Jack is having a lot of fun.”
You hummed in agreement. “I’m having a lot of fun too.”
“Oh, yeah?” he stepped forward, locking you in place between the counter and his chest. “I’m having a lot of fun three.”
You snorted at the insinuation and the terrible joke, and he laughed in return, the two of you devolving into a fit of giggles like you’ve known each other intimately for years. And in a weird, almost strange way, you had. You’ve always had this rapport with him, this deep understanding of each other, mostly because you were both so into the other that you’d actually spent many nights asking questions, eager to know more.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked you once the laughter subsided and your heart started beating rapidly once more.
You immediately twisted around in his grip, holding your hands up and away from him as the juices from the lemons ran down your arms.
“Yes,” you heaved and he didn’t waste another second as he pressed his lips to yours. They were so soft and still warm from the sun still lingering over them, lulling you into a sense of safety. You opened your lips as his hands left your waist and cupped your jaw to press you further into him. You moaned into his mouth as his tongue entered, deepening the kiss into a hungry and desperate mess.
He pulled back so you could breathe after a few more laps and your eyes blinked open, the light reflecting against them and making them shine almost ethereally. He smiled, his thumbs rubbing over your cheeks. You returned the smile, somehow already feeling warm and fuzzy from just a kiss. He leaned in again, his nose playfully tickling your own, making you giggle sweetly. He truly wanted nothing more than to make you laugh all the time.
He was about to press his lips against yours again, already craving the feeling like a man that had been left to wander the desert for days, when his phone rang loudly, interrupting the tender moment. He sighed deeply, apologetically looking at you and you immediately shook your head, letting him know not to worry about it. He picked up the phone, determined to make the conversation quick so he could return to what he truly wanted to do.
In the meantime you finished the lemonade, washed your hands with soap, and brought the pitcher, some glasses, and the bowl of cubed watermelon to the table outside. You checked in on Jack, the boy having fallen asleep, making you chuckle softly. You sat yourself at the table and waited for him to come back, already missing his lips.
It was certainly an interesting turn of events, made even more interesting by how easy it was to fit into his life. Even with your parents you always felt like the odd one out, like they were their own thing and you just sort of existed around them. But with Mr. Hotchner and Jack…you felt like you just fit right in, like you’d always been a part of their family.
When he finally exited into the backyard he bore a very different expression on his face, one of remorse and stress. The playfulness from before had left his body and all that remained was the stoic FBI agent you’d sometimes get when he returned from cases or…got called into one.
You sighed deeply, knowing that was exactly what had happened and he had to stop himself from melting at the thought that you just knew what he needed before he could even ask it.
“Do you need me to look after Jack?” you asked as he sat down on the chair across from you.
“Please,” he replied, taking your hand in his and squeezing gently. “Jessica can pick him up at school Wednesday afternoon and take him to her place.”
You nodded, returning the squeeze and trying to alleviate his guilt with an understanding smile.
“When do you leave?” he asked you then, one of the many elephants in the room finally getting addressed.
“Friday morning,” you replied and it was his turn to sigh, defeated. As much as you understood his work and just how much he needed it, he also understood your own, your life being far away from D.C., far away from him. He just wanted you all to himself, here with him all the time, and it pained him that he couldn’t have it.
After allowing himself another moment of sitting in silence, of feeling his emotions and letting them tear his heart into pieces, he stood up, pulling you to your feet with him. He crushed his lips to yours and your hands finally tangled in his hair, his own greedily squeezing your hips.
“Pizza should be here any minute,” he mumbled against your lips.
“I got it, don’t worry,” you replied, pressing a closed kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Why don’t you say goodbye to Jack?”
He nodded, reluctantly letting you go as he knelt down beside the lounge chair and woke the boy up. You watched as they said their goodbyes, your fingers coming up to trace your lips where he’d just kissed you, all the conflicting things you were feeling crashing over you at once.
The first phone call came that same night. It was late, you were already asleep when your phone vibrated on the nightstand next to you. You were honestly surprised that you’d heard it, annoyed more so than surprised as your eyes blinked open painfully.
“Hello?” your voice was deep, hoarse and clearly exhausted.
“Hi, sweetheart,” his on the other hand was soft and awake.
“Hi,” you replied, settling back on the soft pillow and closing your eyes.
“Did I wake you?”
“Mhmm,” you whined and it broke his heart.
“I’m sorry,” to his credit, he did sound sorry.
“It’s okay,” you mumbled.
“I just wanted to say goodnight to Jack.” And to you.
“He fell asleep immediately…” You tried to stay awake, desperately, but sleep was pulling you down, the heat from spending the entire day under the sun had seeped deep into your bones, making them heavy. The current had sinked your boat and you were peacefully sinking under the waves with it. You didn’t even register him calling your name, realizing that you were probably out of it, and finally telling you that he’d call you another time.
You woke up bright and early the next morning, your senses overwhelmed by just how much his bed smelled like him.
It was honestly a stupid thought, that the things that were his carried him with them, but it didn’t matter how many times you’d slept here in the past, there was something so all consuming about them now.
Your three days with Jack went by quickly. You had forgotten how much of a perfect kid he was, how attentive and kind and easy it was to take care of him. Getting him ready for school was a breeze, breakfasts were filled with laughter and him rambling on about the dream he’d had the night before. Once you dropped him off at school, you found yourself missing him more than you ever had, and so you spent your days wandering aimlessly.
On Monday you cleaned the entire house, top to bottom. You put on one of Mr. Hotchner’s records on and drowned the house in music, your voice booming just as loudly as the singer’s, wanting nothing more than to distract yourself from the ache in your chest.
On Tuesday there was a lice outbreak and luckily, Jack was not affected. They still had to shut down the school for the day, so Jack had gotten a half day. You took him to the store to buy enough baking supplies to start your own bakery, and spent the rest of the afternoon making cookies and cupcakes.
It was around six that your phone rang. You were in the kitchen, cooking dinner for the two of you. Saucepan forgotten, you immediately crossed the room, fingers fumbling to answer the phone.
“Hey, give me one second,” you cut him off, putting him on speaker before you stepped out into the hall. “Jack! Your dad’s on the phone!”
“I don’t know if I should be touched or offended that you don’t want to speak with me,” he cracked and you couldn’t help but smile, making your way back to the device on his counter.
“I always want to talk to you,” you hummed. “But I also know you’re busy and—”
“Dad!” Jack ran into the kitchen, swiping the phone away from you and running right back down the hall. You laughed to yourself, returning to the stove before you burnt something.
You hadn’t been speaking, not really. Every so often you’d send him a picture of what you were up to and he’d do his best to reply, always short and sweet. He never sent any pictures of his own for obvious reasons, but it still made your heart constrict every time that you woke up the morning after to a missed call from him.
They were on the West Coast, in a small town somewhere in Oregon. At least that’s what you’d gathered from the messages here and there. By Wednesday you said goodbye to Jack at dropoff and told him you’d see him for Christmas. He was, understandably, very upset, since you’d just spent, what he kept calling, the best three days of his life with him. It broke your heart, shattered it into a million pieces, but you reminded him that you didn’t live there anymore and that you had other places to be. Obviously not cooler than spending time with him, but that it was still important.
Jessica called you that afternoon to let you know that she had Jack and you chatted for a bit. She was always so easy to talk to, her openness to their strange family dynamic almost overwhelmingly supportive. She always remembered your birthday, always sent you a card (one that you knew she’d been making Mr. Hotchner and Jack to sign every year), and always made sure to ask if you were coming back home for any major break.
She liked having you around, liked the extra support you had given them while Jack was out on his own break, liked that the boy clearly loved you and felt safe around you. And after the three days you had spent with him then, it only made sense to start thinking about actually coming back home next summer to help them out, to have an excuse to see him as often as you could.
You spent Wednesday and Thursday working on the tasks you'd been left with from your internship. They had graciously allowed you to go home after you informed them there was a family emergency, but you still had to meet the weekly quota, just like everyone else. Being in your house alone was...exhausting. It was too quiet, too empty, too devoid of Jack's infectious laugh and...and Mr. Hotchner's low and inviting voice.
You hadn't spoken to him since you let him know Jessica had picked his son up. You knew he was busy, knew that he probably didn't want to speak to you while his mind was not in the right place, while he was using most of his energy to do his job. He didn't text and so neither did you. And as much as you understood why, the silence had only made your heart clench in pain, your brain already overthinking all the possibilities.
He was supposed to arrive in a few hours, having received the only text he'd sent to tell you that they were about to take off and that he should be back home in a few hours.
You’d decided to get one last swim in before you returned to your concrete life that was Brooklyn. But if you were being honest with yourself, you just needed a distraction.
You’d been drowning, quite literally, as the finality of the distance that you were about to put between yourself and Mr. Hotchner loomed closer and closer. Sure, he traveled a lot for work, he was away at least sixty percent of the time…but you had moved away two years ago with the intention of cutting yourself loose of all the ties keeping you in D.C.
It had been easy to do so, the only one that truly hurt you every day being your mother. But now, after sitting with your overwhelming crush that has snowballed into catching actual feelings for him…was hell.
You needed to talk to him about it, needed to ask him to tell you that everything was going to be okay, that you could make this work, whatever this was. But you also didn’t want to pressure him, didn’t want to pressure yourself to get tied down to something that could very easily not work out.
You were floating on your back, simply allowing the water to gently rock you around the pool when you saw a pair of slacked legs walking towards the edge of the pool.
“There you are, sweetheart,” he hummed. “I’ve been calling for a whole minute and you didn’t answer.”
You stood yourself up, shooting him an apologetic smile as you walked towards him.
“'m sorry,” you murmured, the tightening on your heart only squeezing harder now that he was really here. He shot you a smile in response but he looked tired, defeated almost. You could only imagine what it must feel like to walk around with all of that weight, with the burden of the atrocious things they dealt with every day.
He squatted down next to the edge and you propped yourself up on the space between his legs to pull yourself high enough for his lips to reach yours. The kiss was short and soft, domestic almost, as if you did this every time he came back home from a long case.
You slid back into the water, unable to hold yourself up any longer as an excuse to put some distance between the two of you. You were certain that if he stared at you for even a second longer, he would definitely know there was something wrong, that somehow he’d be able to see into your body and realize just how contorted your heart was.
“Join me?” you asked, trying to change the subject before it was even brought up.
He sighed, conflicted. “I don’t think we should, sweetheart.”
“Please,” you whined. “I promise I’ll behave.”
He chuckled at that, knowing fully well that you most definitely would not, because he would most certainly not. But he found himself standing back up, quickly shrugging off his button down, the white wife pleaser underneath, his shoes, socks, and pants. You watched him in awe, mouth hanging slightly open as you began to salivate, your desire quickly making you forget all about your painful feelings.
He smirked at you as he sat down on the edge of the pool and slowly lowered himself into it. You hadn’t realized until he stretched his hand out to you that you’d drifted away to the other side of the pool. You took a small, steadying breath, trying to appear as normal as possible before you walked back to him.
His hands wrapped around you instantly, bringing you into him tightly. It was almost as if he relaxed into you, his breathing deep and steady, a drastic contrast to your rapidly beating heart. You tried so hard to copy his rhythm, to blend into it in a feeble attempt to not raise suspicion, to show him that you were happy he was back.
And it worked...for almost a second.
“Thank you for taking care of Jack,” he said.
“It was my pleasure,” you replied almost too quickly.
“Alright, what’s wrong?” he pulled back, his gaze desperately trying to meet yours.
You hated him so much, hated how good he was at his job, hated how he could read you like it was the easiest thing in the world. Meanwhile, you were having to use all of your knowledge to just guess how he was feeling.
“Nothing’s wrong,” you lied, your fingers subconsciously fiddling with his hair. He sighed, shifting your core away from his as his hand snaked down to pull your swimsuit bottoms out of the way. Your eyes widened in shock and confusion, finally snapping up to meet his but his attention was no longer on your face.
Before you could question the sudden advance, he plunged his middle finger into you, making you moan loudly, your walls clenching around him.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he ordered, his finger curling upwards to hook against the spot that he somehow knew instinctively would make you come undone.
You whined, holding onto him tighter. “I’m scared!”
“Of what?”
“This–” he curled his finger again, another moan erupting. “Us– fuck, I’m scared that I won’t be able to see you every day and it’ll mess up whatever this is,” you practically screamed.
His movements stilled and you decided to foolishly allow yourself to meet his eyes. He was staring at you with what you could only describe as relief?
You blinked, realizing that he was allowing you to read him like he could read you. You’d said exactly what he was thinking, what he was also holding in, what the heaviness that he carried had been about.
He pressed further into you. “Do you want to be mine?”
“Yes,” you moaned. “I want to be yours, all yours.”
“That’s good,” he groaned. “Because I want to be all yours too, sweetheart.”
You whined at his words, the tight grip fear had on your heart releasing just enough to let you breathe again.
“I thought…” you trailed off, afraid that if you said what you’d thought aloud that he’d hate you. Instead he just waited patiently for you to muster the courage to say what you’d been holding in. “I thought you might only want to fuck me and nothing else.”
He shoved another finger into you at that, as if you say how dare you think that. You moaned again, your body tensing up, your walls pulsing around his fingers, practically keeping them hostage inside of you.
“So tight,” he mumbled, clearly needing a moment to regain his composure before he spoke again. “I’ve wanted you– to be with you for a while, sweetheart. I was just…afraid of how it could destroy your relationship with your parents.”
The second elephant in the room reappeared and you couldn’t help but get another one of your fears off your chest.
“Did you know he was…” you trail off before you can finish your sentence but Aaron knew exactly what you wanted to ask him.
“No, I didn’t,” he shook his head, intensely observing your reaction. When you tensed under his touch he wasted no time to press a soft kiss to your temple. If you didn’t know but now you do then why are you still hanging around with him? That was the second part of your question, of your uneasiness, of your tensing body.
“To see you,” he murmured against your skin and you pulled back from his touch, far enough to look him in the eyes. “I kept coming back to see you.”
The confession made your stomach flip. You didn’t know how to respond, how to tell him that you’d felt the same way in a way that didn’t make you come across as insane or clingy or immature. So instead you smiled softly, leaning forward to press your lips to his once more. His grip on your body tightened, his lips on yours opened, pulling you further into him. You may not have tomorrow, but you definitely had tonight.
“I am more than happy and willing to take this slow, to just see where it goes,” he makes it crystal clear, no way to misinterpret his words, no way for you to twist them until you’ve convinced yourself that you’re crazy. Instead you just let your mind free.
“Please fuck me,” you begged and a groan loudly erupted from his throat. His fingers resumed their fast pace but you whined in response, trying to stop him. “No, I need your cock in me, please.”
He shushed you then, kissing your temple gently as he only doubled down in his forcefulness.
“Let me make you cum first,” he replied. “I gotta stretch you out, you’re so tight.”
You whimpered then, a symphony of breathy moans as you remembered just how big he’d felt through his pants. If he was telling you he needed to work you up before he could slide inside of you then you would obey. Fuck, the anticipation alone was going to be the death of you.
The water began to splash over the edge, the constant crashing of waves somehow in perfect synchronicity to the pace he’d set. It quickly became overwhelming, as if your pleasure was so intense it was actually transcending your body and manipulating the world around you.
You moaned into his ear, your hands desperately digging into his back, trying to anchor yourself to him, afraid that you could slip away at any moment. He began peppering kisses along your jaw, each one lower and lower until he was physically unable to reach any more of your skin due to the water level.
You were so close, so, so, close and he could feel it. Your body had tensed, your toes curled against his lower back, pulling him closer to you. And with one final thrust against the spot inside of you that made you see stars, the band snapped and you were screaming, not caring if the neighbors could hear you.
He worked you through your orgasm, his fingers slowing down to a bearable pace as you rested your forehead against his chest.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” he asked, clearly concerned that you hadn’t said something for a couple of minutes. You nodded against his body, slowly pushing against his chest to face him.
“Never better,” you replied and his eyebrows shot up in provocation.
“Do you want to make them a little better?” he teased and you couldn’t help the smile that took over.
“Yes.”
He pulled his hand out of you and you whined at the loss of contact.
“Such a greedy girl,” he mocked. “You’re about to be stuffed with my cock and you’re whining about missing my fingers.”
You shivered, eyes darkening as he grabbed a hold of your hand and led you back to the shallow end of the pool. He helped you out of the water, his hands attentive, possessive, never once letting you take a step without being on you.
Once you were out of the water he pulled you into him swiftly, lips back on yours with abandon. You practically melted into his touch, into his embrace, into him. Every thought in your brain was about him, about how soft his lips were, about how he smelled like a warm fire in a forest, about how his rough hands felt on your body, about how desperate he was for you.
You didn’t even register as he undid the knots of your bathing suit, only felt the cold air against your nipples, making them immediately perk up. The back of his hands accidentally brushed one as he shuffled to discard your top and you moaned into his mouth. The noise that reverberated from him in response was addictive. His eyes snapped open and he pulled back, your own lips chasing his in protest.
But he didn’t give you a second to figure him out as he arched your back with his hands, his mouth latching onto the nipple he’d just touched. It was your turn to mewl, eyes glossy and hands hungry to dig into him.
“Aaron,” you whimpered and he froze, ice cold, fully stopping his movements. His mouth softly unlatched from your breast, a thin string of saliva connecting him to you. Your face heated up immediately, the mere thought that you did something to upset him filled your eyes with tears.
“What did you say?” he asked, softly, as if he knew you were feeling like a small little animal and he needed to be careful not to spook you.
“A-Aaron?” you mumble, not even once fully comprehending what you had just done.
“You’ve never called me Aaron before,” he explained, taking pity on how much your brain was clearly not working at the moment.
You blinked in confusion, a tear accidentally falling down your cheek. He immediately wiped it away, looking down at you with eyes filled with nothing but adoration.
“I’m sorry—” you started, unsure exactly what you’re apologizing for. And he shuts you up with a kiss immediately.
“Say it again,” he groaned against your lips.
“Aaron,” you repeated, his name finally feeling heavy and important on your tongue.
He places a kiss on the corner of your mouth. “Again.”
“Aaron.”
Another kiss, this one on your neck. “Again.”
“Aaron,” he licked down to the base of your neck, his teeth greedily sinking into your soft skin as his lips suck. “Fuck, Aaron, please.”
You whined again, the sting of his mouth marking your body absolutely making you lose it. Whatever wits remained evaporated in an instant. When he pulled back, eyes practically raven, face flushed, lips plump and swollen, you couldn’t help the need to reward him.
Your hands landed on the pronounced outline of his cock against his still wet, black boxers. He wasn’t quick enough to stop you as you wasted no time pulling the fabric off him. Your eyes widened, your breathing hitched in your throat, your hand trembled slightly as you abandoned your efforts to get his boxers down his thighs and instead tentatively returned your hand to hover over his length.
He was so hard, the vein running along the underside practically pulsating. You tentatively traced it with your nail and he hissed. You smiled to yourself, your full palm replacing your finger as you wrapped your hand around him, slowly pumping him.
His own hand curled around your wrist, demanding you to stop. Your eyes shot up to finally see him, to see just how clenched his jaw was, just how deep his breathing had become.
“No, sweetheart,” he huffed. “I need you.”
As if you could both finally read each other’s minds, you untangled yourselves from each other, discarding the clothing that remained on your bodies and tossed it away before his eyes landed on you, on your naked frame, now right in front of him and not far away, separated from him by the haziness of glass.
His eyes raked lower to your pussy and his brows knitted in surprise.
“You have a tattoo,” the question blended into a statement as his hand gripped your hip, pulling you forward so that he could see it better. You bit your lip, amused by just how mesmerized he looked.
“A friend of mine gave it to me first semester,” you explained, omitting the many health code violations, how you’d been high and couldn’t remember actually getting it, or the fact that you had been sleeping with your friend when he did.
He traced his thumb over it, the placement was lower than your hip, easily hidden by your underwear and small enough that he’d never been able to make it out at a distance. His thumb dug into the center of the shitty heart then, anchoring his grip as he pulled you back to him. You moaned at the sting and it only spurred him on, the realization that you liked it when he hurt you igniting a fire in him.
His other arm hooked under your ass, lifting you over his shoulder. You gasped loudly, your confusion quickly turning into a fit of giggles as he moved you both towards the lounge chair that you had rearranged earlier that week to face his house.
He made sure to hook his foot around the pants he’d discarded earlier, kicking them forward with his foot, making sure that they landed right against the chair. He then unlatched the backrest and quickly set you down on it, your entire body over the comfortable foam cushion your mother had bought last year just for the Hotchners.
He knelt between your legs, hands running down your body to pry them open for him. It didn’t take much as you opened yourself up to him eagerly. He grinned, the smile that graced you one that you’d never seen from him before, one that even he couldn’t remember when he’d smiled like that last.
Before he forgot, he reached over to where he’d thrown his pants, growing impatient as he struggled to pull out his wallet and procure a single silver wrapper from it. You’d been so consumed by the moment that you hadn’t even thought about protection.
You thought about telling him not to, that you were on birth control and that as far as you were concerned you were clean. But you had no idea where he’d been, not that talking about his sexual partners bothered you, but bringing it up now did not seem like the right time.
“Someone was sure of himself,” you teased, watching him roll on the sheer latex over himself with more concentration than you’d ever seen from him before, and that was saying a lot.
He retaliated by slamming his tip into you without warning. Your head fell back, a moan rocking through you and down to your core, the waves reverberating against him, causing him to take a sharp, steadying breath.
“You ready, sweetheart?” he panted, a little condescending and you swallowed the urge to fight back, to resume the game you’d started when you called him daddy. He didn’t know just how deep you were willing to go, how much fun the two of you would have.
But tonight wasn’t the night for it. You needed him, craved him, desperately demanded that he fill the ache between your legs. You nodded, your hands gripping the cushion below you.
He couldn’t help but chuckle at your need to anchor yourself, his ego boosted so high he had no idea how he was supposed to come back down. But he didn’t care, he couldn’t care, not when you were laid out in front of him like a buffet, what he’d been starving for the only thing on the menu now.
His left hand wrapped around your thigh, opening you further. You propped your other leg over the armrest, and he pushed forward. He had not been lying, fortunately for you. He stretched you painfully, practically stuffing you full.
He made it halfway into you when you hissed, one of your hands shooting up to wrap around his bicep, urging him to stop. He stilled immediately, slowly rocking his hips back to slide out of you before slowly pushing himself back in.
That’s when you fell, your arms giving out under you. An accomplished grin lit up his features. He sat himself back up on his heels to tower over you. Your hand sliding down to the one he’d wrapped around your leg, your fingers lacing with his, almost like a pinky promise as he continued his slow rhythm, never giving you too much, never forcing your body to take anything it wasn’t ready for.
You could practically feel the wetness dripping out of you, coating him more and more with every thrust. He could clearly feel it too, the slick making it easier for him to slide in and out of you each time.
He took it as an indication to keep going. He thrust back into you, pushing himself just an inch further than before. You were a mess of whines and whimpers, your back arching in response, needing him fully in you.
“Please, Aaron,” you slurred. “More.”
He pulled out of you completely, the desire to see himself slam back into you fully overwhelming. His hips pushed forward, easily sliding himself inside to the hilt, your ass slapping against his hips beautifully. He moaned then, his hands flying to your hips, locking you in place. You whimpered, your head craning up enough to see there was no space left between the two of you.
“Fuck,” you mumbled, your walls clenching around him unconsciously.
His eyes shut close in pleasure at your movement, jaw clenching, fingers digging into your skin deeper. You took him in, on the verge of coming undone, on the verge of cumming in seconds like a teenage boy that didn’t know how to stop himself.
You giggled, your warm laughter bringing him back to you as he realized what you were laughing about. He scoffed, blush creeping over his cheeks in the most adorable way. You clenched around him again, deliberate and mean. He almost screamed then, the moan that left his lips guttural and raw.
“Sweetheart, you’re killing me,” he huffed. “I don’t want to cum yet, give me a second, alright?”
You sighed, feigning annoyance, but respected his request, unclenching your muscles to give him a moment of respite. Your hands began to draw circles over his own, nails slowly dragging up his arms and towards his chest, gentle, curious, exploring.
You took your time, diligently running your fingers over every ridge, every dip, every single one of the scars that littered his abdomen. They were smaller now and faded from what they had been when he was first attacked, but you knew they were there.
He hadn’t told you the full story, hadn’t really mentioned it aside from briefly alluding to it when he was forced to explain a comment Jack had made in passing one time, a comment about his mother. But you’d noticed them years ago, and as much as he could act like he was over it, like he was comfortable being shirtless around you, you needed him to know that he was safe, that he could trust you.
He didn’t flinch under your touch, instead he hummed, his own hands shifting their grip on you to show you how much he appreciated your touch.
“Did you catch the bad guy?” you asked suddenly. He turned to face you with a scolding expression, this is clearly not the time for this. It only made you laugh again, embarrassed. “What? Thinking about gross things helps!”
“I don’t want to ever think about that when I’m with you, got it?” he commanded.
“Yes, sir,” you replied and his eyes darkened once more, whatever fear of bursting immediately leaving his body as lustful greed flooded back in, emboldening him.
“What you called me the other day,” he started, somehow both confident in what he wanted to ask and yet boyishly shy about it. “Are you okay with that?”
“What did I call you?” you acted dumb, so dumb indeed that it got you another powerful, forceful jam of his cock. You squealed, his tip now uncomfortably pressing deeply into you. “No, daddy, ’s too much,” you whined, your voice hitching into a sweet, high pitch that made his cock twitch inside of you. “It hurts.”
“Too deep?” he asked in his normal voice, making sure to check in with you. You nodded, desperate for him to pull back, and he immediately returned to the comfortable pain. You let out a deep breath, air filling your lungs again. He was concerned, but more than anything he was turned on, the desire to ruin you too strong. “I’m going to start moving, alright?”
“Yes, daddy,” you mumbled and he groaned loudly, his cock practically taking on a life of its own and making him react in a way he’d never experienced before.
Aaron understood what desire was, he knew what it felt like, knew what to do with it, but this? This wasn’t desire. This was debilitating, allconsuming, painful almost. His brain disconnected from his body, it was as though he was floating next to his body as well as feeling everything that was happening around him, to him, because of him.
He wanted to consume you, wanted to lose himself to the perfect sounds coming out of you, wanted to feel your tightness around him all the time, wanted to drown and stay at the bottom of your waters forever.
His moans danced with yours in a delicate choir ensemble, the slapping of your bodies coming together becoming the bass keeping the pace, the rattling of the lounge chair against the concrete floor the percussion, the scrapping of the mattress against the plastic the strings – it was all too much, too good, too perfect.
“I’m close, sweetheart,” he whined. “Rub your clit for me.”
Whatever coherent thoughts were left in you forced your body to obey immediately, your shaky hand landing in between your bodies. Your fingers were met with a lewd amount of slick, your clit puffy and screaming out to be touched. You rolled your fingers over it and the sensitivity sent you into overdrive, a snap of electricity running all the way down to your opening.
He moaned in response, your core starting to tighten with each thrust, with each touch. The pressure was tight, tighter, desperately trying to force your dam to burst.
“Daddy,” you whimpered. “Daddy, please, please, please, please–”
“Cum, sweetheart, cum all over me,” he demanded and you let it break. Waves of pleasure crashed against you, your entire body shaking, thrashing, slamming against his. Your moans turned into whines, you dug into his forearms, your legs hooked around his waist, pulling him further into you, locking him in place.
The second he felt you clench against him, the second he felt your core tighten, your slick warm his entirety, your nails digging into his arms so hard he wouldn’t be surprised you drew blood – he lost it. He managed to thrust into you two more times before he slammed himself as far as he could inside of you, not caring if it was uncomfortable for you.
He came hot and hard into the condom, his own pleasure blurring his vision, making his own body shake against yours, making his heart feel like it had skipped a beat. He stopped breathing for a few seconds, the sensations too overwhelming for his body to remember that it needed to breathe to survive.
You were panting hard, your chest rising and falling as if you’d just ran a marathon. Your nails had stopped digging into his skin but he barely registered the lack of pain. It wasn’t until you ran your fingers over the indents in his arms that he opened his eyes, seeking yours immediately.
You waited until his gaze met yours as if it was about time it did. You smiled lazily at him, completely spent, content, satisfied. He returned the smile, allowing himself to lower his body down over yours. His chest pressed against your own, softly caging you, holding you captive as his aching lips found yours.
This kiss was unlike any of the ones you’d shared, unlike any of the ones you had shared with anyone before. It was definitive, possessive, claiming you as his, and yet it was unbearably gentle, playful, wholesome.
He was the first to pull back for air, but he didn’t move away, instead he pressed his forehead to yours, his gaze unflinching, trying to communicate so much with no words at all. It was like he was making sure to savor every last drop, committing the sight and feeling of you to memory.
Aaron took much of his life for granted, the routine of it all having numbed him to most things that other people would deem as exciting or fulfilling. The only area of his life where that wasn’t the case was his son. That little boy made everything worthwhile, every battle worth fighting, every day worth living. And now, looking at you, feeling how good he’d made you feel, he knew had found something else, someone else, that made him feel excited for what the next day could bring. That made him feel fulfilled in more ways than he could yet comprehend.
Whatever doubts you’d had, whatever walls you had started to put up to protect yourself now laid crumbled all around you. He was right from the start, you were his, whatever that happened would happen, the best that you could do was ride the waves and see where they would lead you. All that did matter was that he was there and that you knew that he was also yours.
If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading! This chapter was a blast to write after all the angst that Moments has killed me with.
My requests are open! I have a few chapter ideas for Mr. Hotchner but I would love to hear what y’all would like to see. Even if it doesn’t make it into the actual series, I will try to write some cute lil blurbs.
And also, because I’m a writer that needs validation, please leave me comments or love letters if you’d like to remain anon. I need the praise and love, thank you 🩷
Ps. The next chapter is titled Guest Lecturer so you can imagine what kind of debauchery I’m about to write.
Pss. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future updates!
#dbf!hotch#dbf!hotch x reader#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x female reader#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotchner smut#aaron hotchner#dbf!aaron hotchner#professor!Hotch#perv!hotch#we shouldn’t (and yet we do)
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please more age gap Bruce Wayne PLEASEOLEASEPLASEPLEASEPLEASE
YES OFC ML!!! HERES CRADLE ROBBER!BRUCE WAYNE TELLING READER HES BATMAN (expanding on this post)
you and alfred are the only people in the manor, it's almost midnight. you know this because alfred let you in, telling you everyone's absent after you ask where they are. making your way up to bruces room, you take note of the stillness, the absence of noise, chaos. you silently open the double doors into the masterbedroom, and sit on the edge of the bed.
bruces presence has becoming more and more scarce in the past two months, and in a couple weeks you would be celebrating six months together. he's been more fatigued as well, and there's been countless unexplainable injuries - and some of them weren't of the smaller kind either. it's gotten to the point where bruce would sometimes wince when you touch him, brushing it off with 'muscle pain' until you lift his shirt to reveal a swelling bruise or a cut or graze. "you know how clumsy I am, baby." he smiles, and he's right, you do know. he's not clumsy. he's hardly ever available at night, and the 'date night' plans turn into a brunch on Saturday instead.
all of this makes you start questioning and overthinking your entire relationship, was he seeing someone on the side? are you not good enough? did you do something wrong? no. you didnt. couldn't have. you're as good as it gets and you know it, he knows it. even the tabloids are noticing how unhappy you're looking, always slightly pouting, perhaps a bit more clingy; always tailing bruce like a lost puppy.
tears form, and you do nothing to stop them. it's been a while since you've had a good cry. and as Steph says, "even a girlboss needs to cry!". and you completely agree. you let out all of your bottled up emotions out, sniffles turning into heavy sobs, but quiet enough to keep alfred from worrying.
through your overthinking and sobbing, you don't hear bruces heavy footsteps, and you don't hear him when he opens the double doors to his room. you do however, hear him when he gently calls your name. blood rushing to you cheeks, you stop your sobbing, wiping your nose. but you don't face him. bruce moves toward you swiftly, sitting down next to you and scooping you up into his arms, placing you onto his lap so you face him. he sees you actively avoiding his eyes, so he places a gentle, but firm hand on you jaw and guides your face to look at him. "what's got you crying, huh, pretty?" the nerve of him..."you." you hiss, furrowing your eyebrows. his face grows solemn, the colour draining. you see this as a sign to rant to him about whay he's done. and you do. you go off on him, yelling, hitting his chest and ugly crying. he just listens, nodding every now and then in acknowledgement. his calmness irks you, "do you have anything to say for yourself, bruce?" you cry into his chest, soaking his black tshirt with tears and mascara. you resurface, resembling a panda with the way your mascara smudged around your eyes. bruce, reading the room, bites back his smile and instead let's out a long sigh.
with his arms around her still, he stands, keeping her steady. "gotta show you something. you might not like it though..." the vagueness of it worries you even more. he retracts his arms from you, taking your hand and leading you to his office. while you stare off into the distance, bruce does fiddles around (I forgot how he enters the batcave thru the office 😭) and then the bookshelf reveals a secret elevator. your jaw drops as he leads you into it, pressing the button to go down. a few moments later, the elevator stops and opens, revealing a high tech...basement? cave? he steps out, you do the same. you notice how cold it is, wrapping your arms around yourself, "...what is this...? I don't understand.". the tears start up again, and this time youre unsure why. bruce comfortingly rubs your back, shushing you gently. "I...I'm...batman." he says quietly.
it takes a moment for you to process what you heard. "so you're not cheating on me...?" you sniff, looking around you. bruce goes red, oh. that's what you thought? he shakes his head, "no, sweetheart. never." he guides you toward the batcomputer, letting you play around a bit as he watches. if bruce is batman...does that mean.. "so...damian is robin? and the others are...?" you look at him with a quizzical look, sniffling. he gives me a small smile, "yeah, baby." "that explains a lot." you hit his chest and chuckle.
hope this was alr, please send asks abt cradle robber!bruce wayne or dick or jason!!!
#°○☆spectr3inl0ve#cradle robber!bruce wayne#monty loves dc#bruce wayne imagine#bruce wayne headcanon#bruce wayne x reader#bruce wayne smut#bruce wayne x y/n#bruce wayne#batman x reader#batman x reader imagine#ignore these tags im just trying to get more reach#jason todd x reader#jason todd x reader smut#dick grayson headcanon#dick grayson x you#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson imagine#red hood headcanon
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I Can’t Hardly Stand It
BFF!Eddie/Fem!Reader NSFW
Summary: College guys, despite your best attempts, have been leaving you high and dry and desperate in the bedroom. Now, with you back in Hawkins for winter break? Let’s just say your six-foot-something best friend is looking like a real good way to relieve some of that long-standing sexual tension.
That is, if you don’t ruin your friendship in the process.
Word Count: 5.5k
How do you ask a friend to be more than a friend? To lift a foot and place it, however tentative and skittish over the well-established boundary? To enter into a realm of unknown, unfamiliar feelings that, in all likelihood, could destroy that friendship? Crumble it to dust? How the hell does one do that, exactly?
It was a question you had been turning over and over in your head for days, hoping that contemplating it enough would bring you a sudden enlightened answer. But nope. It was still the same agonizing question. You thought it, and in your mind you saw Eddie’s eyes. Big, brown, wet and wide.
How do you ask your friend to fuck you?
When the idea first came to mind you discarded it like a deer stumbling away from a car on a highway. The thought was obscene. Way outta line. You and Eds… you went back years. Maybe a decade at this point. You and him in fifth grade, goofin’ it up out on the playground in the Indiana winter cold, play-fighting with sticks as swords. And now, him calling you once or twice a month: the connection long and expensive and only affordable if all you said was hi, how are you, that’s great, talk to you later. But NYU was your dream school. He knew that. He’d encouraged you to take the scholarship, to get the fuck out of the sleepy town that too often trapped people in little lives that went nowhere.
And you did. You did it. Packed your shit and left, moved into a freshman dorm buzzing with excitement and academia and dirty laundry. It was fun. New York was big and loud and alive and full of cute boys to meet. Oh, meet them you did. Date after date, smiling faces, clumsy, heated kisses.
That’s where the problem really was, see.
You wanted it. The big sin. La petite mort. And without fucking fail, every single skinny-legged eighteen-nineteen-twenty year old you collapsed into bed with was baaaaad. Like, painfully, stupidly, unbelievably bad. Their breath stank or they sweat too much or they popped off like bottle rockets against your bare thigh after just a minute or two of naked squirming and sloppy makeouts. And that left you alone, buzzing with a deep, red hunger. Unfulfilled, day after day. Month after month. It made you realize you needed something more. Someone you could talk to, tell what to do, share information and words with without it feeling awkward or dictatorial or rude. Someone who wasn’t, by and large, a stranger.
Your mind went to one person and now you just couldn’t fucking shake the idea. Kept seeing it in your head. Kept thinking what if.
The plane from JFK landed back in Indianapolis for winter break. Snow was high outside, brilliant diamond-white against cerulean sky, icicles trimming the roof over the pick-up zone in great crystal stalactites. Your breath was fog in the air. And, right on time, god bless him, the familiar brown-and-tan Chevy Nomad van came rolling up with tire chains that growled against the heavy ice.
Your heart jumped directly from your chest into your mouth. Eddie rolled down the passenger window.
“Lookin’ to hitchhike, hot stuff?” He was grinning ear-to-ear, brown eyes crinkling. Ever the comedian. When you muddled through the dirty snow and tugged on the locked handle a few times, that grin got bigger. “Gas, grass, or ass. Can’t let you ride for free.”
“You let me outta the cold right now, Munson, or I’ll have to resort to violence.”
“Oooh, scary. Fine. Get in here.”
He’d driven three hours out to get you, through a small snowstorm and over miles of ice, and three hours back. Not a single complaint. Not a peep. No, instead, Eddie was all sunshine smiles and wicked, warm cackles, asking about your adventures in the city and pulling animated reactions. His rings winked in the cold winter light slanting through the van’s dirty windshield, and his hair was just slightly longer (and drier) than when you’d left four months ago. But he was the same old Eddie, really. Taller than you by a million miles. Soft, broad lips with a sprinkle of new-growing mustache. Bitten fingernails, long eyelashes. A voice like tire rubber and tobacco smoke, which he reeked of.
Funny. It was easy to downplay how much you missed him when you were sequestered in the warrenous dorms at NYU. Now, with him a foot away, watching his veiny hands tap tap tap on the wheel to the rhythm of ‘Rattlehead’? There was heat in your bones. Lapping across your skin, over your cheeks when you glanced down at his narrow thighs, the way they flexed when he accelerated. You hadn’t considered the what if throughout the years of being friends with him. Now it wouldn’t leave your brain. Now that what if brought new thoughts. New need-soaked mental imagery.
Christ, you were hopeless. A single thought about Eddie’s legs flitted through your mind and it brought that roaring wall of unfulfilled heat back with a vengeance. You needed a drink, or several. Or maybe a mallet to the head.
When the Hawkins town sign blew past on the frosted asphalt road to town and Eddie offered you a beer, you leapt at the chance. Especially when he’d enthused about his uncle already booking it to his shift at the plant by now. It wasn’t until you were stomping snow off your boots on his stoop in the late afternoon sun, walking into his shared trailer and getting hit by that unequivocally Eddie smell that you realized the error of your ways. Maybe, just maybe, hanging out alone with the guy you’d been sexually fixating on for weeks in the place you imagined him in the most at night, a hand between your thighs in the dark, wasn’t a good idea.
Eddie popped the top off a heineken in the narrow kitchen and handed it to you. His fingers were icy from the winter chill, smooth against yours. You hid the way your hand jerked a bit by bringing the drink up to your mouth, not even bothering to set down your carry-on before taking a hefty pull.
“Two more months and I can buy these babies on my own. Twenty-one, here I come.” He boasted warmly. His mane of hair shimmied and shook as he fought with the cap on his own bottle: it popped off, plinking against the cabinet before escaping to the linoleum ground, and he scurried after it. You got a long lecherous view of his broad, lithely muscled back under his tight Megadeth shirt before he stood up again, blowing hair away from his mouth. “Won’t even need to use the shitty fake ID ol’ Ricky had made for me.”
“It is pretty crappy.” You agreed. Your mouth was dry. God, you two were so alone right now.
“Yeah. I’m, like, genuinely surprised nobody’s called me on it yet.”
“Is Charles still manning the gas station? That guy’s ancient. He probably doesn’t have the energy to call the cops on you when you’re buying a six-pack.”
Eddie snickered and fuck, it was like liquid sunlight, all soft and good. Another thing you hadn’t realized you’d missed, its effects diminished over the phone. “That’s totally it. Hadn’t even crossed my mind.” He leaned on the counter and sipped his beer, looking down at you and tilting his head to the side. His hair followed like water. “Damn. I kinda missed you, Agatha Christie.”
You swallowed, hard. It was difficult to be under his gaze, now. Knowing the fantasies you’d had. Those brown eyes dredged up every sweaty, slick-fingered moment of imagination between your sheets. “You expect me to be surprised by that?” You replied with a plastered-on smile. “The six-hour commute and free beer kind of gave it away.”
He thunked a hand against his chest. “Foiled again. You see right through me. C’mon.” His beer bottle clinked on the fridge as he passed you, swaggering to him room like he was king of the world. “I got a new strain shipment and a ‘lil freebee along with it. You’re gonna dig it, for sure.” He turned around in his bedroom doorway with dramatic fury, a hand clutching each side. “Two words: Purple haze.”
“Lead the way, king ditchweed.”
“It’s not ditchweed!”
It wasn’t ditchweed. It was, in fact, a nice, smooth smoke. That’s what you elected to focus on, passing the blunt between you and Eddie on his bed, the window cracked just enough to circulate the air but not enough to turn his cramped, messy room into a freezer.
He was leaned up against the headboard, all relaxed, that smile-crinkle under his eyes near-permanent. Eddie took the blunt from you and took a hit, exhaling through his nose: vapors curled up the sides of it and into his curtain of dark hair.
You remembered your fantasy from a week ago, about the ball of that thick nose pressed hard against your clit while his broad, flat tongue punched deep into your— you cleared your throat and shifted around, working sensation back into your buzzing cross-faded limbs.
Well, the sun's gone down, and you're uptown. And you're just out runnin' around: I can't hardly stand it, you're troublin' me! Lux Interior was whining, Elvis-esque, on the record lazily spinning on Eddie’s player. “Okay.” You conceded. “This is good.”
“The song, or the weed?” He brought up a sock-clad foot to deflect your attempt at hitting him, laughing. “What? New York mighta changed your taste in music. Mighta made you forget how good the Cramps were, and shit.”
“You know I was talking about the weed, dummy.” Soft, sentimental affection in your voice was as unmistakable as anything. You just couldn’t help it. Eddie smiled, pressing his lips together and looking away: your eyes drifted to the tendons in his long neck. Beautiful. You wondered how they’d feel under your tongue.
“So. Tell me about the city boys.” He said after a few moments of comfortable silence. When you groaned and put your face in your hands he chortled. “Seriously! Are they cool? Do they do slam poetry? I bet they’ve got you just hooked, huh. Ridin’ the subway and shit.”
“We don’t have to talk about boys, Eds. I can’t imagine that’s entertaining for you.”
The metalhead shrugged and took another drag. “Can you blame me for wanting to keep tabs on your bodice-ripping paperback escapades?” He cupped his face, mimicking a cherub. “That’s just how good of a friend I am.”
“Alright, alright! You ham.” You turned that what if over again in your mind. “It’s been. Weird. I’ve met a lot of guys, sure, but. I dunno. They’re not… great?”
“Define not-great. Do I need to kick someone’s ass?”
“How honest do you want me to be?”
“Uhh, mega-honest. Obviously.”
“Eddie, they’re shit in bed.”
Eddie exploded into a cacophony of coughs, thumping his chest and bending away from the headboard. Only when he was done, eyes watering, did he speak, giving a disbelieving shake of his head. “Wow, that was… honest.”
“Hey, you asked.” The ragged hem of your comfy travel shirt was looking really interesting right now. You chose to focus on it. “I’ve, uh. Been with a couple guys, now, and each time, they’re just…” You sucked on your teeth, trying to phrase it tactfully. “Selfish. Like I’m not even there. Like they don’t care at all about me. And I’m half the fucking equation in that— that goddamn horizontal tango, you know?”
“That sounds pretty frustrating.” Eddie, for once in his life, sounded serious. His voice was soft, like he cared.
“Trust me, it is. I thought about calling it quits a couple of times, y’know? But I’m human! I got… wants. And needs, and stuff.” The silence after your words was deafening, and the record switched softly-playing tracks. The what if came back. And fuck it, you were a little high and a little tipsy and hey, if bringing this up ruined everything, you’d be on a plane to New York in a few days anyway. “You know how you used to, like… joke? When we were high? That it was just you and me, whining about being lonely, and we should just.” You struggled. “Help each other out. Let off steam.”
Eddie stared. And stared. His eyebrows lifted. For a moment you were worried he would be frozen for eternity. “Uh. Okay. I, hah.” A laugh of disbelief jumped out. He pinched his nose and shook his head. “Okay, uh. If I’m, uhh… misinterpreting this, feel free to, like, punch me. Just… full force. You, uh…” God, how many interjections could this man use? “You wanna. Have sex with me?”
“It’s so weird, I know.” Your words were a blurting, flushed, panicked tumble. You hadn’t really registered it until he said it out loud. “It’s so totally weird, and I shouldn’t have said anything, seriously, just forget it—”
“No, no.” He wetted his lips nervously, that pink tongue darting out. Eddie’s eyes were wide. “No, uh. It’s— I get it. We all, like. Get a little backed up sometimes, right? Nothing to be ashamed of.”
“God, you did not just say backed up—”
“You know what I mean!” He ran a hand down his pink-flushed face, hunched forward and cross-legged, close enough to touch. Close enough to feel his body heat. “Jesus. Jesus shitfuck.”
“Eds, let’s just pretend I didn’t say—”
“We could. We could do it.” He interjected. That tongue between his lips again, trapped, a little slice of wet, shining pink. “Um. I, uh. If it’s something you wanted to do.”
Your stupid betrayer heart was drumming double time, making your palms clammy and face red. “You don’t have to say yes because of me.”
“Hey. You’re a chick, and I’m a dude, and that’s like, basic biology 101 so… I wanna.” His gaze, skittish, like he was a timid fawn, met yours for a second and it was like steel against flintstone. It sent a zing up your spine. “It’d just be like… helpin’ each other out, and shit, right?”
“Yeah.” God, your mouth was dry. You hadn’t felt like this, shaking like a virgin, since you were sixteen. You’d laid yourself emotionally bare in front of him. Told him you needed to be touched. Loved. And he’d said yes. “Just helping.”
A beat of silence. Then another. Then another. Eddie leaned forward and then you were kissing.
It was a wet, searing thing. Like a current of electricity was passing between you, hot and bright and so, so unlike anything you’d felt at fucking NYU. He grunted against your mouth, leaning forward into you. Then there was a hand on your knee and god, fuck, fuck your life, that wasn’t supposed to feel good. That wasn’t supposed to feel like your skin was lighting up gold under his palm, and yet here you were. Illuminated by his touch like a celibate.
“You gotta,” Eddie spoke in breaths, crowding you against the thin wall of the trailer, heat bleeding from his chest through his shirt, “tell me what you need, ‘kay? Promise?”
“More.” You replied immediately. You grabbed at him on instinct, getting a fistful of his shirt, tugging it up, up over his head: he moved with you immediately, pulling it off like it offended him, and oh. His nipples were dusky-dark pink, his pectorals small hills. The skullish demon head over his heart was staring you down.
Eddie pressed a sloppy kiss with searing lips to your upper cheek, eyes centimeters from yours. Looking at you all gentle and needy. “Can I take your shirt off? Please, I wanna—” He swallowed and his adam’s apple bobbed. “Wanna see you.”
“Yeah.” Your voice trembled like an autumn leaf. “You can see me, Eds.”
His hands were so broad and firm. They rolled your shirt up over your head: Eddie hissed through his teeth. “God, fuck. Fuck me, man. Look at you.” That dark brown gaze was locked on your tits, the way your bra cupped them together. “Those New Yorkers have no idea what they’re missing, man.”
“Eddie.” You said softly. His gaze snapped back up to you, framed by dark curls of hair. “Touch me.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I can, uh. I can do that.” His lips parted as he touched you, hot palms traveling up your ribs, over your shoulders. He dipped his head, planting kiss to your collarbones: it was like you’d been shot, a slow, scalding heat spreading from that point. Eddie held one of your hips and slowly, ever so slowly, eased you onto your back. You knew he could see your jackrabbit heart racing in the veins on your neck, see the way your shallow breaths were so fucking fast.
When you pawed between you two, sticking an arm against his burning-hot stomach to fumble with the fly of his jeans, he made a choked noise and grabbed your wrist. Eddie was breathing heavily against your face, holding himself over you with one arm braced by your head. “Wait, wait.” He took a deep breath. Hairs tickled your face. “Uh, just. Just wait.”
“I wanna touch to you too, Eds.”
He looked like the words falling from your lips were as good as head. “Jesus— not yet. Not— I don’t wanna end this too fast, and if you keep, haah—” another expletive when you pressed fingers blindly to his fly, down against his dick, “— doing that, that’s where we’re gonna end up.”
With a hum of frustration at being denied, you tilted your chin up in a demand for another kiss: he conceded without a fight, saliva-slick lips heady and addictive. You felt like you could kiss him forever, like this: the curtains drawn, early dusk darkening the room, his skin against yours sending frissons from your head to your toes. You pawed like an animal. Fingers clutching his back, feeling his shoulder blades move under his skin, his ribs expand and contract.
When you brought a thigh out, knee bending to hook a leg around his narrow hips, he seemed to make up his mind. “Fuck, okay.” He broke the kiss again. “D’ya think— can I take your pants off?”
“Yeah. Yeah, god, Eddie, please.”
Like it was a goddamn race Eddie had your buttons undone and you were helping him shuffle your pants down and throwing them to the floor. He made another noise in the back of his throat and rested himself at your side, up on one elbow. Eddie put a hand on your sternum and slowly, agonizingly slowly, dragged it down. His face turned up to you every once in a while: checking in. Making sure you were still here with him. His fingers caught on the hem of your underwear for a second and you sucked in a breath, but he kept going.
Feather-light pads landed on the lips of your pussy over your underwear. So light you could barely feel it. They traced up and down in slow, careful circles. Eddie looked almost hypnotized by the fact that he was even touching you: he watched his own hand like it was a magic show.
“Tease.” You huffed out, bucking up slightly against his fingers.
That crooked smile returned. “Nah.” He looked at you with affection. “Just tryin’ to make it good.” Those finger pads went up, up, up. Eddie tracked your expression, lips parting gently when your eyes bulged because oh, yep, that was your clit he’d caught for a second. He focused in on that little stiffening nub, snug under damp fabric, and the muscles in your stomach curled. “Ohhh, fuck. You like that, huh? Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You barely eked it out. “Feels nice.”
“Bet nobody gave her any attention at your college, huh?” His words hit you like thunderbolts, and you swore you felt yourself clench around nothing. Eddie’s tongue was trapped between his teeth again. He thumbed your clit round and round in circles.
“Eds.” Your voice was a warning, desperate though it was. “More, c’mon.”
“Tell me what you need.” Maybe with someone else the words would have come out commanding, domineering. But Eddie was looking down at you with those big wet eyes like you’d hung the moon, like he’d do anything to please you, lips parted all rosebud-soft.
“Get inside me. Please. Just— your fingers, put them in, please.”
Still laid out long beside you, his fingers crept underneath the hem of your underwear, rasping against your trimmed bush as he slowly pulled the fabric down, down, down, till it pooled around your knees. “Fuck.” He said again, intelligently. “Fuck. Fuck. Can’t believe you’re letting me do this.” A finger ran down the parting line of your folds as he spoke and you jerked like a woman possessed. “Can’t believe you’re letting me touch you, god.”
His finger hooked at your soft, sopping, willing entrance. “Wait.” You blurted. His veiny hand froze. “Two. Two, uh, fingers, Eds.”
“Okay, yeah. Okay.” His voice shook. And then those long, calloused, beautiful fucking fingers were delving into your flesh, just thick enough for a little stretch, a little delicious addictive burn: if you weren’t so hyper turned-on by the sight you’d be embarrassed about how absolutely sopping you were.
Your walls fluttered around his fingers and he looked like he’d died and gone to heaven. “So warm.” Was all he got out unevenly. There was no warning before he was slowly and rhythmically fucking you with his fingers, the slick squelch loud as thunder. The sight of his broad hand disappearing between your gently parted thighs was... addictive. You held his forearm tight as he fingered you, your grip moving with each slow thrust.
This was fantasy. This was perfect fucking gratification. Sweating nearly-naked on his messy duvet, surrounded by his quintessential smell, Eddie inches away from you all laid out with a tent in his jeans so hard it looked like it hurt. This was just like your daydreams. Better, even.
You let your head fall to the side, where he was laid out all long next to you. It rested against his chest. You could feel the hum of his hummingbird heart behind the flesh and bone. “Eddie...” the word was a breathy sigh, but it earned him dropping his head over yours, pressing a wild, wet kiss to the crown of your head, leaving his mouth there. He groaned into your hair when you squirmed, thighs shifting, clenching around his fingers.
“Shit— sorry, hold on, thing is fuckin— killin’ me, hurts so bad.” He muttered hoarsely, pulling fingers from your heat to fumble with his fly. His digits were too slick to get a grip on the zipper and oh man if that didn’t do something for you. You reached across your stomach without a second thought and pulled it open, and hello.
Eddie was so hard it looked like it ached. The head of this fat cock peeked out from the top of his briefs, so red it was nearly purple. It was shiny, smeared with drooling precum that slicked up the turtleneck skin around it.
You thumbed the shaft over the fabric. Eddie sounded like he’d been socked in the gut. “Ohhhhkay.” He wheezed out. You crept upwards, dragging down his underwear and popping his bobbing cock out. It twitched, kissing his hair-dusted abdomen for a moment. God. You’d never wanted anything in your mouth so badly. You bet he tasted good: like salt and skin and Eddie.
The noises he made when you cupped him, running a loose grip up and down his shaft in lazy pumps, should have been illegal. They made the soft, wanton and slick heat between your legs feel like a bonfire, like an ancient calling demanding you do what humans had been doing for centuries before you.
You wanted to swallow him to the base. Wanted to stay there for eternity, feeling him throb under your fingers and feeling his fingers in you. But poor Eds was on a timer. And you wanted as much as you could get.
“Eds...” You trailed off, looking at him, how he held himself coiled-up tight while you touched his dick, like he was focusing so hard on not cumming. His wide eyes glittered in the low light. You kissed him again: quick and messy. “Can we...”
“Yeah.” His reply came out as a squeak and he cleared his throat. “Yeah. Please.”
“We need a condom.”
“Right.”
He was off the bed like a shot, shaking the mattress, flinging open bedside table drawers like a mob croney coming to collect debt money. He rifled through their contents with extreme (almost desperate) prejudice. The prize was found: a shiny gold-foil-wrapped Trojan. Seeing him stand at the foot of the bed, framed between your knees in front of you, dick twitching in the air and foil between his teeth? That was a sight that was going to be burned into your mind for the rest of your life.
Eddie tore open the condom with his teeth and spat out the corner. He fumbled to roll it on with shaking hands. “Shit.” He hissed, the condom springing off several times. It was like someone had set him to vibrate.
Your hand closed over his bigger one. Slowly, together, you got the condom on: shiny and off-white on his cock.
He was still huffing like a racehorse. You couldn’t blame him: your body was alight, all active like you’d run a marathon. You didn’t know what it was: it was never like this with other guys. Little touches didn’t set you on fire. Gentle, caring fingers didn’t make you gush.
With Eddie’s help you laid flat onto your back once more and eased your hips to the edge of the mattress. He stood between them, thighs pressed against mattress cover. His hands were warm on your thighs: kneading them, drifting up and down a few times while he looked down at you, his chest patchy with blush.
“You sure?” He asked. There was anxiety in his voice. This wasn’t just being handsy. This was all the way.
“Yeah. ‘M sure.” When he let his cock rest on your pelvis, hefty and scalding, you swallowed hard. “It’s you, Eds. I trust you.”
Eddie bit down on his lower lip, hard, and lined himself up with you. It was only when the head of his cock nudged your slick entrance and your pussy clenched rhythmically in reply, in excited hopefulness, that you realized how true that statement was.
That’s why this was taking you apart. Not because it was sex. Or good sex. Because it was Eddie.
He pushed into you slow with a hand clamped down on each thigh and it was like seeing god. The breach was fat and full, heat on heat, no resistance. You both made noises. He fit you like a goddamn glove.
Eddie swore, over and over, when he got up to the hilt. His eyes clenched shut, face screwed up, steeling himself against the overwhelming pleasure. And for you, that was agony.
“Eds, c’mon, please, please move.” You weren’t above begging.
“Fuuuuuck me, man.” He groaned out all high and breathless, and then he was clenching his teeth and snapping forward, hips bumping against you so hard it made the fucking bed sway. He fucked you like he was trying to keep you, like he was trying to make this the best you’d ever had: he even canted his hips up, hunting for that spot inside you that he’d read made girls go mad.
“So good, so wet, god, so good,” Eddie rambled like a lunatic, a drop of drool falling free from his red lips. “So fucking warm, huh, aren’t you? Yeah you are. So nice and warm, warm on my dick, fuck, love how fucking soaked you are.”
You were in heaven. No, somewhere better. Somewhere where sex wasn’t a sin and you were getting your guts rearranged by your best friend, the guy who knew you the best, who saw you, the real you. “Eddieeeee.” You almost couldn’t get it out, breath punched out of you so deliciously with each thrust. “My clit, Eds, touch it.”
He brought a hand to it instantly, fingers sliding through the wet where his cock spread you open and dragging it up in rough, wild circles around your clit. You could see all his dark-eyed focus was on you: fucking you, filling you, giving it to you exactly how you had needed it for so long. Taking care of you.
Fuck, that thought was gonna make you cum.
“More, please,” You begged, “so close, Eds, so—”
“God, fuck me man, you— you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to see you cum, oh my god.” Eddie spoke like he couldn’t stop himself, all disjointed and panting over the pornographic slap of his balls on your ass. “Wanted to see it for so long, please, please, lemme see it, lemme see you—”
His begging, his disclosure, his desperation— you went careening off the edge into the abyss while he rubbed frantically at your clit, and you swore your eyes rolled up into the back of your skull.
There it was. The thing you’d been craving, bone-deep, for months.
The perfect orgasm.
Drifting back to earth, you had a body made of melted butter. A body made of summer sun and amber. Pure contentment radiated through every single immaculate cell.
Eddie was still fucking you. Short, uneven thrusts, sweat beads rolling down his chest, long, wild hair sticking to his face. His brows were down in focus, lost in sensation. You lifted two shaking legs and wrapped them around his waist, locking him into your snug cunt. He looked up at you in hazy, pleasure-drunk shock, and then you squeezed down on him as hard as you could.
“Fuck!” Was all he barked out, and then he was doubling over, staggering forward against your hips, pelvis stuttering. Gripping your thighs like lifelines. He thrust once, twice, three times more, and then Eddie— your exhausted, beanstalk-tall, wild-child Eddie— collapsed on top of you, heavy as all hell. The crown of his head was right under your nose, and you could feel his ribs against yours.
He couldn’t see you right now. You let yourself smile fondly, satedly, into his hair.
Together you breathed raggedly, radiating body heat. The clock in the kitchen, past the ajar door, continued to tick. The silence was no longer charged: it was honest, relaxed. Fulfilled.
“You’re so heavy.” You said eventually.
“Thanks. I’ve been working out.” Eddie’s voice was muffled in your tits. After a time, though, he raised his head. Propped himself up a bit on his elbows over you. Spat hair out of his mouth. “So, uh.” His lips opened and closed like a fish, awkward and unsure. “Was that, um. Good for you, or...?”
“Of course it was good, Eddie. Obviously! Don’t ask stupid questions.” You replied with mock seriousness: an age-old bit you’d always done with him. A sign that hey, no camaraderie lost, right?
He played along, looking mock wounded. “Well, I didn’t want to assume. It’s not like it went on for an hour, or ended with a squirt, or—”
“Okay, okay, I get it.” You laughed. He was staring at you in that fond way again. The guitar pick on his necklace tickled your clavicle. “I mean... we have the rest of the night, right?”
He looked stunned. He blinked a few times. “I mean— yeah, like, if that’s something you want to—”
“I want to.”
Another blink. The tongue made its reappearance. “Okay. We can... okay. Yeah.” The slow grin began its climb onto his broad face. “We can totally do that. All-nighter.”
“Don’t get cocky.”
The Munson landline was a little ragged, but it worked. “Yeah, mom, I can’t wait to see you too.” You said into the phone tucked between your ear and bare shoulder as you leaned against the kitchenette counter, hand in a bag of chips. You watched Eddie fight a box of waffles for their delicious cargo and pop four into the toaster. “The snow’s just real bad right now. You know how it is. I’ll get in tomorrow, I swear.”
Eddie slowly shook his head, hands on his hips, hitting the disapproving church-mom pose. He mouthed for shame and wagged a finger. You threw a chip at him. It plunked ineffectually off his bare chest.
“Love your too, mom. Yeah, I’ll sleep warmly tonight. Bye.”
“Oh, you’ll be sleepin’ warm, alright.”
“I knew you were gonna say that!”
“How could you possibly know what I was gonna say?”
The two of you returned to amicability, trading jabs and scoffs and sparkling smiles: but in your mind, somewhere in the far back, you held on to what he’d divulged in the heat and fervor of the moment. That he’d wanted to see you cum. Wanted to see it for ages.
He’d thought about you. Like you’d thought about him. You tucked that away for later. Now, though? Now you were laughing your ass off while Eddie juggled burning-hot waffles with his bare hands before dumping them onto a plate and flapping his singed palms about like a bird.
So. How do you ask your friend to fuck you? Turns out, sometimes, you just ask.
#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x reader#my writing#if this has typos. no it doesnt. its simply so so late and i am so so sleeby
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Liar pt.2
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8
Pairing: Gojo x fem!eader
Warnings: Pregnancy, blood, mass k1lling, heavy themes kinda, angst, not proofred
Word Count: 1.1k
A/N: Here's Part 2! If anyone wants a part three I will definitely but bc i'm busy with school It will probably come over the weekend so ya'll will have to wait a week 😭 Y/N and Kouki didn't make appearances in this part unfortunately but I felt like Satoru just needed hi moment. This is more serious than py.1 so I still hope you like it. Not proof red.
Month 3
Satoru
Gojo layed practically lifeless on his bed, devoid of any life or emotion other than pain. He hadn’t left the room since his arrival for he had lost his entire reason to live. He doesn’t even know how he survived before you. He had run out of tears to shed as he wallowed in pure unadulterated anguish.
All you had ever asked of him is to be there for you, to love and cherish you. You had never asked for more from him. You had always been a shoulder to lean on, you had always unconditionally loved him no matter how long he abandoned you, how many arguments you had or how many lies he told. And all you had ever wanted from him, is for him to be there, and he couldn’t even do that. Now not only did he lose the love of his life, but his son too.
If you had told him even five years ago that he not only would have settled down with someone, but had a child with them, he would have laughed so hard he would fall over.
His biggest fear was always being inadequate. What if he wasn’t a good father. He can’t even protect you, how would he be able to protect his own child? A life that he brought into this world with the most perfect woman in the world but tainted with his blood.
If only he hadn’t taken that mission. If only he had been there. If only you weren’t harassed into leaving him.
Suddenly, his pain slowly morphed into anger, pure red hot hatred.
They did this.
The higher ups, his parents, all of them. They forced you to leave. They are the reason why he lost his wife and child. It was all their fault that he lost everything. Gojo was overwhelmed with the want to shed all their blood. To get justice for you, his son, for having to surfer in his absence. All those disgusting excuses for humans did this.
And they. Will. Pay.
Month 4
Satoru had been struggling to find a way to control his emotions. The extreme pain and hatred that coursed through his veins. He couldn’t let them know what he was planning, but all he would see was red as they dared to show their putrid faces to him. Gojo found himself doing something he had never imagined he would as he drowned himself in alcohol
He had reached a point where he wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to kill while sober. He would wake up, drink, get dressed, drink, work, eat, drink and fall asleep with a bottle of whiskey in his hand.
He hated it so much and knew you would hate to see him like this but every time he walked past the untouched nursery and gazed the crib lying empty at the edge of the room, he could never hold back his emotions and would sob on the floor, leaning beside it and drinking to stop the pain. To stop feeling. He just wanted to make it stop.
All this showed him just how much he needed to fix the jujutsu world. He needed to make sure that his students would be safe, that they would never have to experience this form of immense, unbearable sadness. He had to do this once and for all.
…………..
Twenty elders filled the conference room, gazes landing on the six-eyes sorcerer seated at the foot of the long table, sipping on a glass of bourbon and completely ignoring their presence
Gojou was currently considered a fugitive and the higher ups were only taking this opportunity to catch him off guard. If only they knew.
“So, you decided to finally show yourself,” His father mumbled,sitting to one his right, his mother on his left..
Satoru stayed silent as all of them took their seats. Ancient and renowned former sorcerers. All of them, in one room. ALl the higher ups of not only jujutsu tech, But the Jujutsu world. Every single one of them.
They simultaneously began to question him, their voices filling his head only adding to his anger. He clenched his fist so tight his nails drew blood from his palm.
“Why,” He mumbled in an almost inaudible tone, yet loud enough to silence all those seated at the table.
“Why what?” an elder of the zen’in clan questioned in a gruff tone.
Fear filled their eyes as a chilling and heavy cursed energy loomed over the room, radiation from the white haired sorcerer.
“You harassed my wife and son to the point where they fled the country,” Ho practically growled under his breath, finally taking off his glasses and looking up at all those who sat before him with bloodshot eyes.
“You really think that that stupid commoner could even raise a-”
Vivid violence and k1ll1ng under the cut, skip to the next cut if uncomfortable with this.
........
The man's words were cut off by his head exploding, blood splattering on those who sat beside him, his lifeless body slumping down on the table. They screamed and began to curse out Satoru but he went around the room ruthlessly slaughtering each and every one of them. One. At. A. Time.
And he made sure they all suffered a slow and painful death while his parents sat there and watched it all unfold before their eyes. As Satoru completed the butchering of the higher ups, he slowly walked towards them, hair dyed a deep red from their blood, clothes drenched in the same. He slowly leaned towards his father.
“You’re next.” He whispered ominously.
He straightened himself and slowly walked out of the room, leaving the heaps of corpses behind him and never turning back.
……..
Gojo, slowly opened the door to the grand door leading to his cold and empty home. He forced himself into the shower, washing away the blood that latched to his skin, hand gripped tightly around your ring which hung loosely off his neck. HIs tears mixed with the water cascading from the shower, finally feeling one of the many burdens he carries on his shoulders melt away with the grime on his body.
He made his way to his bed, sitting on the soft comforters and picking up the picture he kept on his bedside table, in a small gold frame.
He gently kissed it before laying down and clutching it to his chest, mentally preparing for the turmoil he will experience starting tomorrow. But he was ready to fight the entire world if that is what it took. As long as he was making a world safe enough for his son to live in, he would fight the devil himself.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8
Even more sceptical abt this one..... Angry Gojo tho......
@porridgesblog , @giannitaa , @c0pkiller , @havens-not-here
© gojos-fr-bae
#gojo satoru#gojo#jujutsu gojo#gojo x reader#gojo saturo#gojo x you#gojou satoru x reader#jjk gojo#gojo imagine#gojo satoru x reader#satoru gojo#gojo angst#gojou satoru x you#satoru gojo x reader#jujustu kaisen
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im gonna be honest, I keep rereading pt 3 and 4 of the slasher handler and fantasising about how incredibly sexy it would be if kyle acquired a handler of his own by accident or on purpose and he finally understands simon's obsession now 😵💫
Slasher Handler Masterlist
Kyle and Simon aren't friends, per se. They only met through Johnny, because Johnny is sloppy and impulsive and never knows how to clean up his own messes. It's offensive to Kyle's meticulous nature and, apparently, appeals to Simon's need for a pet.
Since Johnny's been serving time for the last nine months, with nine months to go (sloppy work, he's lucky Kyle was able to clean things up), Simon's gone to ground. Every now and then, news of his work pops up. Once, one of the victims had ended up at the hospital Kyle works at.
"The Ghost Killer strikes again! Ah...! Run...!" Kyle had muttered to himself, taking the unconscious young man's rapidly fading vitals. They'd found him in an abandoned building, an old hospital well outside of Simon's usual territory. Which means something has changed.
That evening, sipping a beer, he'd called Price on his burner.
"What can I do for you, Kyle?"
"Just letting you know that your dog is out of the yard. The big one, not the terrier," Kyle answers with a smile. "He left behind a bit of a mess, but there was only one little rabbit left suffering. I handled it."
Price had hummed on the other end. "I saw the news. 'S not like him. I'll check in." And then he'd hung up.
Months later, and Kyle finally has an answer when he catches Simon trailing behind a woman not once but three times. He's surprised to see her face, an old classmate and the justification for his second ever human kill. He's almost sad to know that she's been marked for death. When he hears about the Ski Lodge massacre and the Ghost copycat, he has a drink in her honor.
So it's a surprise when she reaches out to him online and asks to meet.
She's frazzled and wild-eyed when she sits in the chair across from him. She's also wearing one of Simon's beanies. And when she reveals what Simon's been up to, he can't help but laugh.
Simon - the weird, off-putting, murderous Ghost - has somehow managed to find the one person in the world who devotes herself to a project more than him. The Final Girl Girlfriend.
They're both doomed.
Kyle begins the painstaking process of reviewing his daily journals for mentions of Simon and their shared connections. It's very unlikely that Simon would be caught alive, and even more unlikely that he'd say anything about Kyle or Johnny or Price. But unlikely isn't impossible, so it's important to start getting his stories straight now.
Reviewing, flagging, and annotating his journals from his initial meeting with Johnny to now takes a month and three days. It's always an interesting process, looking at his life with the advantage of hindsight. There's always a new fascinating pattern to examine. For example, that first summer, he'd meet with Johnny every other week, and two and six days later, he'd gradually step up a patient's blood thinners.
Another pattern that's emerged is that he hasn't dated anyone for more than 35 days in the last three years. That's about as long as it takes for his exacting nature to become... a conflict. It's not much of a problem. He's a nurse, he works long hours. He's got a gym routine and volunteers at the local pet rescue once a week. He's a part of the community, so he doesn't stick out as a loner. But he's also solidly at a point in his life where someone would expect him to have a partner.
He makes an online dating profile. It takes a week for him to delete the app.
"Darlene," he greets the head nurse with a smile and her favorite coffee at the beginning of his next shift. "How are you today?"
"Kyle." As always, she barely glances at him, just holds out her hand for her drink. "You're early. What do you want?"
She's right, he's thirty minutes early. He grins. "You wound me. Can't I just want to know how a beautiful woman is doing?"
Darlene gives him a blank look over the top of her bifocals. "Save it for the maternity ward, Garrick. What do you want?"
"Just wanna know the lay of the land," he says, coming around the desk and taking the seat next to her. He likes Darlene because she only expects him to be coy for a short time. "Been on the apps, trying to date. But my hours make things difficult. You know everybody's business. How is anyone in a relationship around here?"
"The surgeons are all on meth, the rest of the doctors are on coke, and the nurses are either fucking each other or their high school sweethearts," Darlene says, dry as a desert. "You know this already. What do you actually want?"
"That's it," he says with a shrug. "Just want to know who's not seeing anyone, or if you know of someone at another campus with the time."
She takes a sip of her coffee and thinks for a moment. "Stay off the psych and plastics floors. Maternity floor's about to get a whole new batch since all of those idiots got pregnant within three months of each other. But there's something in the water up there, so unless you also want a baby, I'd say leave them alone."
"James is on the maternity floor," Kyle points out.
"James cheated on his boyfriend and his side piece with another nurse," Darlene points out, settling into her coffee and gossip. "Which is another reason to stay away from plastics, but also trauma and rads. I didn't know you were bisexual."
"Doesn't come up much," Kyle dismisses, sipping his own coffee.
By the time Kyle has to clock in, they've explored the pros and cons of almost every department. The prospects are pretty grim. Maybe being single isn't the worst thing in the world.
He makes a point of spending time with the other nurses for the next month. He goes out for drinks and karaoke, attends a couple of baby showers. Lets on to a couple of gossips that he's looking, tells another that he's not sure he has time to date. Enjoys the conclusion of a project when a racist old bastard finally has the heart attack he can't bounce back from.
And then the nurse coroner flags the death for investigation.
Kyle doesn't panic because technically all deaths in the hospital are investigated. But he is intrigued. His own notes show that the patient's condition was well within the expected parameters of recovery and relapse. His medications were administered appropriately while Kyle was on shift, and the hydrogen peroxide added to his IV would have been nigh undetectable.
In the end, the hospital is not determined to be at fault for the death, and that's all that administration cares about. But the cause of death is changed from heart attack to embolism in the record, and that is intriguing.
"Knock knock," Kyle says, poking his head into the office area of the morgue. He expects to see Dennis, the older gentleman running the morgue unit, who waves back at him. He doesn't expect the new face, sitting across the desk from him.
"Good morning, Kyle," Dennis greets, waving him in. "Been a bit since you've come to see us. Care for some tea?"
"Can't," Kyle says, apologetically. "Just dropping someone off."
"Well, at least let me introduce our new nurse!"
The new nurse gives him a no-nonsense handshake and a nod. They don't say much beyond their name, and Kyle is pleased to put a face to the name on the investigation into his last project. He wasn't exaggerating when he said he couldn't stay long, so he says his goodbyes.
But when his next completed project is flagged for investigation again, he decides that maybe it's time to take an interest.
#cod#fanfiction#dark fic#slasher handler#kyle gaz garrick#gaz appreciation nation#dragonnarrativewrites fanfiction#coffeeshop chats#thank you so much for this ask#this really helped me push through the writers block!
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can you please do an story (fluff only) with Damian Priest X Fem Reader (both have an crush on each other rhea is the only one who knows but don't tell them about the shared feelings), where Reader is an childhood friend of Rhea and also an Wrestler in WWE, Rhea notice that Reader is admiring Damian all the time and Rhea planes to go out with All of the Judgment Day and reader to celebrate Judgment Days first Anniversary in a local bar/club and reader and Damian gets all flirty and touchy all night an later ending up confessing and share an long kiss where they get caught by rhea and the rest by rhea saying "took you idiots long enough to be on that point"
Entwined hearts
Not my gif^
Damian priest x fem! Reader fluff (a little sad but not much)
Warnings: mention of alcohol,other than that bad spelling and grammar(im dyslexic)
Word count: 1.8k
Ty for the request!
Please if you like this feel free to send another
Y/ns pov
I look around the quite locker room waiting on judgment day to finish their promo, my heart beat picks up when none other than damian priest starts talking. I met him about six months ago when Rhea invited me to one of her partys, as i stayed close to her, cause i didnt know many people as i was a beginning wrestler he walked up to us and began talking to me. He was really sweet to me, staying with me when rhea walked off to another group of people, we stayed the whole night talking to each other. About how hes Secretly a cat person, how hes not a big fan of Rheas partys, however talking with me was one of the best experience hes had at one of said partys. After that we stayed in touch. From hanging out at the gym to going out to dinner with the rest of the judgment day, as the time we spent together grows so did my feelings for him, after I lost my match last week I was clearly upset and angry and he sat with me comforting me instead of going out to get drinks with the rest of the judgment day. And of course I had to tell Rhea about this, how could I not she’s been my best friend since we started school. She walked back into the locker room “Rhea he looked so good out there!” I basically yelled out. “Y/n, you need to tell him. This little crush of yours is getting out of hand, you gush over him every time you see him you be drooling over him.” She said. I knew she was right I was obsessed with him not in a bad why, I think. “Why would he like me tho Rhea, he has other girls falling on their knees for him” I tried to get her to understand why I haven’t said anything “if you only knew” Rhea mumbled out. I didn’t hear all of what she said. “What do you say?” I asked, “nothing nothing, you want to get drinks with me and the boys tonight maybe you could get some alone time with Señor money in the bank.” She joked causing me to blush. “Yeah I’ll go what time?” I asked “after the show, we are about to head out so we have time to get ready I know you drove yourself. So maybe just maybe someone will ride with you?” She said. “I hate you..” just as I said that the rest of the judgment day walked in. “What you two in here talking bout?” Finn said falling on the couch. “Just how y/n didn’t want to drive herself back to the hotel, and I know we came together so I was wondering if someon-” she was cut off by Damian “I’ll do it!..I mean I don’t mind if you don’t mind y/n” he said the last part kinda embarrassed rubbing the back of his neck. “I’d like that..I need to shower. So we should probably go..” I said trying to hide the child like smile on my face. “Yeah let me just grab a change of clothes, you mind if I shower in your room, our room are like 7 floors apart and the elevator is broken” he said laughing at the end “I don’t mind” I said walking out the locker room shooting rhea a almost scared look
We make our way to my car he asked for my keys, that I gladly hand to him as I’m not to fond of driving. He walked a bit in front of me and opened the passenger door for me “here you go y/n” I blush a bit, no one has ever opened the door for me “thank you Damien” I smiled as he closed the door getting into the driver side. I smile softly as we make our way to the arena, and to the hotel “I’m glad you are coming for drinks tonight y/n” he smiled glancing at me, “me to, I probably won’t drink tonight, tho” I told him “why not y/n- don’t be like that?” I shook my head “I might” he smiled as we drove back to the hotel. It was mostly silent, a pleasant silence.
When we got back to the hotel we hurried upstairs “I get the shower first!” I yelled as we made our way up, pushing Damien out my way softly “y/n!” He picked me up, putting me behind him so that now he was in front of me. He got to the room before me even though he still had to wait because I had the room key. “Ha I got the key I’ll still get in first” we walked in and I walked over to my stuff grabbing my stuff to shower. “I’ll be quick I promise” I told him running to the shower “alright” he sat on the couch as I walked into the bathroom. I quickly undressed and got in the shower. I washed my hair then my body, then taking a quick moment to wash off the stress from the day behind me. I wrapped the towel around me and walked out the bathroom. “Hurry hurry” I told him. He looked at me and blushed. “Oh..okay yeah.” He rushed into the bathroom to shower
As he got out the shower I finally finished getting dressed. I put on a black bralette with a mesh shirt over, with a black pencil skirt some tights and combat boots. I look around the room not being able to find my jacket. “Damnit” I continue to look around the room under the bed in random drawers. “Y/n, doll? What are you looking for” he said as he come out the bathroom. “I can’t find my jacket. I need it to look good” I flopped on the bed “y/n you don’t need a jacket to look good, but you can wear mine” I look at him a soft smile on my face “are you sure?” I asked softly “of course doll.” The way he spoke to me made me think he feels the same way. But i don’t know. I just grabbed the jacket he gave me and put it on fixing up my hair a makeup. “You ready to go?” I asked as I watched him finish putting his hair. “Mhmm I’m ready, you want me to drive?” He asked. “Please, not really in the mood for driving tonight” I said softly. “ gotcha” he grabbed the keys and we made our way to the bar.
As we got to the bar, we walked in together tho I walked off to find Rhea, of course she was in the at the bar with dom, I get over to her, she smiled at me “the normal?” The bartender said softly, and we were here a lot “yes please” I say softly handing him a 5 for the drink, I didn’t want to start a tab tonight. “Here you go,” he handed me my drink and I walked off to go find Damian, but he was sitting at a table with another girl..one I’ve seen before but I couldn’t put my name on it she had her hand tracing his arm tattoos. Watching this broke my heart. My eyes instantly teared up as I went back to the bar to get me something stronger. After about 3 more drinks, it really set in, my mind was racing, I have always been light weight when it came to drinking. So I decided to go sit in the corner. Jd came and sat beside of me, he didn’t really talk much he was to much into watching his girlfriend dance a few feet away from us. I sat with my head against the wall looking around. My eye land on the one person I didn’t want them to at the time. Damien. He looked at me with almost relief before walking over and pushing jd out of the way.
“Y/n, there you are, I’ve been looking for you for a minute now, are you okay?.” He looked concerned. At that moment I didn’t know if I wanted to laugh in his face or cry..I just wanted it all to be over, my emotions completely taken over by the alcohol, tears threaten to spill from my eyes. “Y/n, hey talk to me..why are you crying?” He brought his hand up to my face softly caressing my cheek, I looked at him before pulling my face away from his hand. “Is this a game..some shitty game..” I mumbled out. “What do you mean a game?” He said softly not trying to upset me even more “you..me..I don’t get it..you basically flirt with me all day, all day, I let you drive me here, and what do you do on the way here flirt with me more, but what..now that we are here you are with some other girl, letting her touch you and shit!” I was crying at this point trying not to make eye contact with him, I look up to see tears forming in his eyes “y/n please don’t cry, I didn’t mean to make you feel like this, I only started talking to her to get my mind off you, but I couldn’t, all I could think about was I wish this girl would shut up, because you,you are stuck in my head and I can’t get you out” I look at him, my tears of pain slowly shifting to tears of happiness. “I think of you..every single night y/n, I think about you when I win my matches” he softly grabs my hands “I look forward to any chance of being with you..y/n I’m in love with you” he said softly, “I have been since that day at Rheas party” I could only look at him, I was stunned. I was so happy, my actions spoke before my mind could think and I pulled him into a hug “I love you too Damian, since the day we met” I clung on to him like my life depended on it, in that moment it felt like it was only us, I would never expected to be confessed to, in the back corner of some random bar, but honestly I could not wish for anything better. He pulled away after a few minutes, our eyes meeting “y/n l/n, for six months you have been the best person in my life, I want that forever, will you please be my girlfriend?” He asked “yes yess yes, a million times yes” before I could think about anything else I kissed him, it felt like fireworks where going off around us.
“It’s about damn time..” I look up to see Rhea standing in front of us “you knew this whole time” both me and Damian said at the same time, “of course I did” she said before walking off. Both of us laughed before sharing another kiss.
Thank you for reading,
Xoxo v4mp-
#rhea ripley#wwe rhea ripley#wwe fic#wweoneshots#damian priest#damien priest#damian priest x reader#wwe x reader#wwe fluff
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Inbound, Outbound
The first submas fic I ever wrote! LOL I decided I needed one final thing for april fools so you get this fic from. about a month and a half ago! I think a lot has changed since I wrote this and I'd love to come back to the reuniting :3 maybe making it longer or what have you. but for now. here you go!
Sometimes when you wait for things, they come back to you. Sometimes they don't. Emmet continues life as normal as he can until the point in which the thing he's been waiting for the most finally does come back. Today just happens to be that day.
(6745 words)
Ingo comes back on a winter day that Emmet would’ve otherwise forgotten.
It’s a pervasive winter in Nimbasa this year, the sky a white-blue, grey where it touches the edges of the buildings high above his morning train into the city center. Today is just as slow as usual, fifteen stretching into thirty, stretching in to forty-five minutes as people crush their way into the train car number eleven, Emmet’s favorite car on the six-in-the-morning inbound to Nimbasa commercial district. This train doesn’t go direct to Gear Station—it’s about four blocks from the city center. Which means that the train car is filled with grey and black suits, small children, and people in coats too thin or too bright for the weather. It’s his favorite car because if he looks over the few heads currently standing in front of him, he can see a poster with Elesa on it, advertising the Nimbasa Gym in bright, yellow and black letters. He doesn’t mind the length of the ride, really, even with the extra twenty minutes of walking. It gives him enough time to think, whether that be better or worse.
Emmet sniffles, pushing the scarf further up his nose, trying to keep in the heat. He can feel his face starting to red with the cold, and the subpar heat of the train car isn’t doing much help. He likes this car—he likes the whole system, because it runs so efficiently even with the stops, but he would like it a bit more if it were properly heated. He once bore Elesa to sleep talking about the rail system near their apartment complex in the city suburbs and art district, and after that he kind of kept it to himself and the engineers on shift.
The train car is still cold, and his scarf slips down his nose again as he adjusts his grip on the handle above him. Scrunching his face, he burrows into the collar of his coat and shrinks his shoulders to make space, shutting his eyes. He moves with the train car, as he does every morning, and sighs into the fabric of his coat. He files the cold away in the back of his mind. The train ride becomes routine, which means it fades into the background of his life, where everything rests mutely.
He might be somewhat of a celebrity, but the 6am is too crowded and too tired to notice him, or Ingo, or Elesa, for that matter. Elesa could live in the city center—running a gym is a lucrative business, and her clothing line, her brand deal, the posters with her face on them, even here in this train, raked in enough money to more than sustain on. Instead, Elesa lives two streets down from him (them) in a large apartment and she holds the crook of his arm on the train to keep steady. She didn’t this morning, though, which means Emmet has a little more stability where he stands, and a little less company. Not being recognized this morning means that he slips effortlessly from the train as the doors slide open, spilling out with other shoppers and business folk. He ducks through the exit as someone holds it open, and the smile on their face lingers a bit too long when they catch his eye. He thinks the words I’m sorry for your loss might come and hit him across the face, but they only nod. Emmet moves through the crowd alone again.
He makes his way carefully up the steps and onto the sidewalks of inner-Nimbasa, stepping with purpose as he stares down at his shoes. There’s a fine layer of ice and slush on the ground, but no snow. Anything that did fall just added to the grey slush on the side of the sidewalk, crunching under his boots as he walked. The cold still bites at his face as he makes his way down the block and across the street. He can still feel his fingers, though, which is a good sign. A few more streets of cold and slushy snow and trying to block the wind with his coat and he would be in the relative warmth of Gear Station, all tan marble and smooth floors.
Winter. Of course the winter lingered. It was still winter when Emmet got off the train alone and it was still winter and cold and breezy and dark, now, as Emmet stood in his (their) office, watching the clock.
5:45pm. He realizes he hasn’t eaten all day as a hard pang stabs through his stomach. Emmet takes a breath. It’s easy to fall into routine when nothing else seems to fit. It’s what he tells himself. He finds a way to make the day go faster, maybe looking for something at the end that wasn’t just the next day. He never had this issue before, waiting for the day to pass only for it to bleed into the next, and the next, and the next, and for the weekend to stutter and pause that blissful continuing trend. Work, go home, sleep, repeat. It gave no time to think about anything else—especially not Ingo.
It took longer the first year. Everything constantly pressed hard on the wound still open. He still remembers when everything shut down around him. It wasn’t winter then. It was spring, where the air still twinged cool, but he wasn’t kicking snow off his shoes before he entered the engineer’s office and ducked down the hall and to his and Ingo’s space. It was an almost instant halt, like throwing the emergency break. Emmet’s whole life screeched and threw up smoke.
He remembers the first time someone questioned him that wasn’t the city police, staring up at him, mouth moving with words he didn’t understand. He stuttered, unable to form an answer to what do you think happened? How was he supposed to know? How was he supposed to put pieces together when he felt like he had been smashed into star fragments?
The subway shut down for three months straight. He could barely pick himself out of bed, and when he did, he couldn’t make it out of the door. He remembers lying in the dark for far too long, turning off his phone so no calls came through. The day bled into night and into the next day, with no routine, no operating procedure. Everything in his life revolved around Ingo—and now there was a distinctly Ingo shaped hole in his chest that he couldn’t fill. He remembers crawling his way out of the comforters and making it to the threshold of his bedroom door, sinking to the ground and staying there. It was only when Elesa made her way in that he moved, coaxed onto the couch to drink a glass of water. There were days where neither of them spoke. Elesa would set a duffel in the corner of Emmet’s room and a toothbrush in his bathroom and wordlessly, the space became hers too. Half asleep one night, she mumbled, very quietly, that it had been days since she’d had the energy to battle. The Nimbasa gym waitlist had grown to fifteen people. He said he was sorry. She laughed like she meant it. Tired. They were tired. Life moved on without them for a while. He held Elesa’s hand.
Every dark coat had been him, every set of stripes, every loud and hearty laugh. The space in their fridge, in their bathroom, on their couch, the spaces Elesa subconsciously left when she visited, all stayed like he might appear and fill them. At some point the spaces became memories, and the memories became a dull ache. The dull ache let him work, and the work became an ache instead. And then he started looking for answers. When he found none, he just kept looking.
He hangs up his white coat, noise from Gear Station trickling into the background. He puts his hat on the hook next to it.
He is Emmet. He feels okay today.
He combs his hair back with his fingers, stepping back to navigate around to his desk, shutting off the computer screen and moving through the familiar motions of packing away his day. Eelektross snuffs, sleeping curled around his chair, still nursing a singe from their last battle. The rest of his team are tucked away in pokeballs, neatly set into the bag still resting on the desk. He runs a hand over the scales on Eelektross’ head, listening to the snort turn into a purr, long and rumbly. At least someone’s enjoying themselves. He leans against his desk.
“Excellent job today, Eelektross,” he says. “Too good.”
Eelektross rumbles out an affirmative sound Emmet’s learned to recognize over the years. Tired and comfortable and thoroughly pleased. He’ll be sleeping under a huge eel weight tonight, most likely, which would be good for them both.
From the corner, Chandelure chirps. He glances up, watching her tilt lazily back and forth, flame flickering under the office’s lamplight. He raises his eyebrows, tilting his head at her.
“Ah—” he says. “I forgot, Chandelure. Is it time for the rounds, then?”
She chirps again, twirling in place. She nearly bumps the wall, moving out of the way as she remembers how much space she actually takes up. Emmet snorts, shaking his head. He rises from his leaning on the desk, shaking the feeling back into his right leg.
Gathering his coat and hat again, he pulls it over his shoulders, and opens the office door for Chandelure.
The two wander out into the filling-full train station. It’s busy now that so many are leaving work, Gear Station echoing with his footsteps and the tired laughter and voices of patrons filing in and out of the turnstiles. As he steps out, the noise is almost instant. Ah—he caught departing crowds at the wrong time, as the battle subway came to a close at the days end and people were busy reassigning themselves and marking their places for tomorrow. The energy in the station is bright and cheery. He lifts his hat, waving one hand, smiling with just his mouth. Chandelure spins, singing to herself. He offers a little bow as he departs, listening to cheers of his name until he manages to slip into the service stairs and away from the light and the noise.
He follows the familiar service corridor where it diverges from the central station, staring up into the rafters and eyes tracking across the windows high above him. Night trickles in, noise obscured by layers of stone and brick and marble. The stretch of granite towers above him, echoing the flicker of pride he feels swirling in his chest. Chandelure twirls ahead of him, leading him down to the closed lines as his eyes drag away from pidove in the rafters, cooing to themselves.
It’s important to walk the lines at night—mostly for the host of patrat and joltik and the occasional drilbur that liked to make the tunnels their home, but also to check that each car remained stationary, that light still flooded the dim tunnels, that someone wasn’t trapped. It wasn’t always his job—not with so many that staffed Gear Station, both above and below him. Maintenance often fell to him when it was needed, where he lingered in the office long after his scheduled shift end, when the last outbound train returned.
The stairs down are quieter and darker than the rush of energy and light and cold air above him in Gear Station.
Emmet starts his way toward the platform. Whatever he couldn’t find in the tunnels today, Eelektross would find later tomorrow morning, well before the first battle train. It was good he didn’t have to worry about the main tracks as often—not for checks and not for maintenance. He would mourn his sleep schedule much more than he already did if that were the case. Walking those initial tunnels would take him hours, knowing how far the service platform stretched.
Emmet doesn’t like this part of his job. It was always Ingo’s job. Everything seemed like it was Ingo’s job, now that it rested on his shoulders. When they’d first pitched the idea of the subway to the head of Gear Station at the time, it had been a risk Ingo automatically assumed. When he ran the night shift, safety checks were his duty, as much as they were Emmet’s in the morning. They’d assist with repair and management of the rest of the station as needed, falling into step alongside fellow engineers. There’s a small group in this tunnel now—voices echoing down the small corridor as he travels its length, a drilbur perched on their feet, warily inspecting a section of track. He supposed he considered himself lucky—any scheduled repairs to the Battle Subway could be completed shortly after the subway retired for the day, meaning he could be present if anything went wrong. This bit of maintenance was purely preventative—making sure nothing would be jostled loose by a rogue Earthquake.
Emmet ducks passed the group, nodding along as they toss bits of information his way, wishing him a good night.
Fetching the flashlight from his pocket, Emmet smacks it against his hand. The beam flickers to life, illuminating the tunnel in front of him far more than the stretch of yellow floodlights above his head. He sweeps the beam around the tunnel, listening for anything or anyone.
Emmet makes his way off the main platform and into the tunnel proper, along the service grate, eyes following the tracks. He stands at the edge of the platform for a moment, gazing into an empty car, light shining through. It reflects off the posters and signage inside, dull yellow where the lights inside don’t shine. He shivers. The air feels cold and charged, like a stray joltik had crawled up his neck and now rested in the collar of his coat. He turns the collar out, sweeping with one hand. No joltik. Rolling his shoulders back, Emmet steps back from the car and continues onward. A few feet ahead of him, Chandelure twirls idly, like she’s waiting for him to catch up. He waves the beam of the flashlight at her and she startles, chirring out, annoyed.
“You can check on your own if you don’t want to wait,” he tells her.
She warbles, waving her arms back and forth. He makes an affirmative noise.
“That’s what I thought.”
The large loop stretches further on to his left, where he can’t see, blocked by the stretch of railcar. He follows Chandelure through the space between the cars, ducking his head as they step onto the opposing platform, and continue their way back up. He pauses for a moment as they do, feeling his body go light as his head spins. He reaches out to the side wall, hand against the cold stone as he takes a long breath. Emmet blinks back spots for a moment, shaking his head gently. His stomach feels like its in knots, rolling over itself as he seems to settle from his moment of vertigo. No lunch will do that to you, he supposes.
Chandelure flickers. They’re almost done, which is good. It means he’ll be able to sit down for a second before he has to run to the train. They won’t need to check the two-team tunnel tonight—not only has Emmet not been able to run it, he checked it two weeks ago. He lingered a very long time in there, didn’t he? It had put a terrible ache in his chest enough to call Elesa to walk him home. Emmet frowns—Chandelure flickers again, dimming, brightening, dimming, brightening again. There’s that rush of dizziness again. He breathes out. He’s too far in his head, today, isn't he?
“Chandelure,” he says, in a way that almost reminds him of Ingo—a little out of breath from walking, but mostly just curious. “Is something wrong?”
She chimes, wobbling in place, eyes narrowing. It feels hesitant. Emmet shudders. After a beat, he reaches up, placing a hand on the near-glass surface of Chandelure’s body. She moves back toward him, chiming again.
“Right,” he says. “It’s different, right? Something’s changed.”
Another chirp.
Something tugs at his mind. Wasn’t there something he read about clairvoyance in pokemon? Future-telling, future-seeing, or whatever. But Chandelure’s behavior isn’t indicative of anything. That would just be odd. He can feel for just a moment the way his heart thumps a little faster against the line of his jaw. It couldn’t be that. It’s just what Elesa always said—he was looking for something that wasn’t there.
“Yyyyep-yep,” he says, mostly under his breath, voice thick. “But it should be fine, Chandelure. Let’s keep going, our track moves forward.”
She tilts back and forth, like a wave of a hand. Emmet snorts as they start forward.
“You know I’m always one for a battle,” he says plainly. She chirrs, moving around to his right side, putting herself between the train car and Emmet. He follows her movement only for a second as they walk up the tracks, eyes still fixed on the steps up to the station.
The city subway still rumbles through the ground and the walls around him, the noise soft and consistent as train cars move past. He pauses, listening in, shutting his eyes for a moment. It was late, now. He could feel a tired ache seeping into the creases of his elbows and right under his knees from standing all day. His head was starting to hurt, spinning as he stood completely still. He sighs roughly, squeezing his eyes tightly for just a moment. He’s lucky the pain didn’t extend to his feet—he would have to do quite the jog to catch the outbound train toward home, unless Elesa happened to be staying late again and could walk him back.
They start together toward the entrance as Emmet does his final scan of the furthest-out platform, satisfied nothing is out of place. The same cold air of the train tunnels permeates even here, despite the warm wash of yellow light across the walls and marble pillars. Emmet breathes in, the weight of the day settling on his shoulders as he stretches over his head, screwing up his face as his back pulls. He nearly complains—he feels much too old for this—but he can feel the sharp poke of Ingo’s voice in his mind—well, I’m two minutes older, so you can imagine how I feel—and it stops him pretty quickly. He’s not even thirty-five. What can he do but complain, right? Emmet fishes his keys from his pocket prematurely, ducking between the cars as he steps onto the loading platform.
Chandelure stops ahead of him. Her trill is quiet as Emmet reaches her side.
There is a man standing on the platform.
Emmet is very good at telling cosplayers from the real thing. You would think that would be some sort of a joke, but they really like to be authentic. Ingo and him never sold any merchandise of their coats or hats for fear of, well, that. This. Whatever this person was doing, standing on the closed platform in a ruined coat that looked like Ingo’s.
Emmet swallows. Looks like and not is, right? Looks like and not. Not. Certainly not. Not when he turns and catches his eye. The breath lodges itself in Emmet’s throat, burning hot. Certainly not. Because he is very good at telling illusions from real life, and there are no dark types in the tunnels that can use copycat, and copycat can’t extend the likeness of himself onto another person who looks. Like. Who looks like his brother. And isn’t. Emmet tries to breathe. The breath is sharp on his teeth. His hands are shaking when his vision blurs, and he smears tears across his face.
Ingo looks frightened for a moment. When he looks into Emmet’s eyes, the grey looks washed out. Emmet breathes out, feeling it catch as he sighs, biting the inside of his cheek to keep grounded. There’s. It’s like nothing moves behind his eyes. Not a faint light of understanding. Not a spark of clarity. Ingo places a foot behind him. The line of Emmet’s spine goes cold all at once.
He stands still as he watches a slow realization pass over his brother’s face like a red flush, some flicker in his expression, before he sees his chest seize and breath stutter. Ingo blinks hard and fast, like it might be helping something, eyes flicking over Ingo’s face. He reaches forward, as if he’s expecting to push through Emmet and into air instead, and not the solid body he stands there with. It’s like his body moves before he realizes what’s actually happening. Emmet watches his movements, still calculated in the same way as they’ve always been. Emmet drags in a breath, sniffling hard.
The lines of Ingo’s face pull. Emmet reaches out to him, copying. It’s what he’s always done—what they’ve always done. He steps forward, lurching to meet him.
The mirror image of himself, his brother, his Ingo, collides with him hard. Emmet feels him crumple into his arms as he drags him forward, arms locking around his ribcage. He squeezes Ingo tight to him. They buckle, Ingo leaning into him for support as his body is wracked with sobs. Emmet struggles to breathe as he sinks to his knees, smearing dirt and dark grime over his white pant-knees and boots.
Ingo’s hands fist in his coat as they fall. He squeezes Emmet in his arms, fighting for breath as he presses his face into his shoulder. Emmet laughs and it morphs into sobs. He turns his face into the tattered collar of Ingo’s coat and squeezes his eyes shut. Ingo. Ingo. Always Ingo. The bony joints of his elbows digging into his ribs as a kid, crushing him with his weight when he lost a pokemon battle, standing in his bedroom door at night when he had a nightmare. Cooking beside him, picking up his coffee, watching him tie Emmet’s tie around his own neck before passing it back to him. His brother Ingo, breathing too shallowly under his hands as he holds him, shaking with the effort of holding himself upright. He can feel the bones of his spine and shoulderblades, sharp and protruding even through several layers of fabric. His face looked so pale and thin. But Ingo holds him tightly, much tighter than he ever remembers, and it’s not just fear or relief or grief holding him to that strength, either. Emmet wheezes out, word unforming in his throat.
It’s not a nightmare. It feels real and warm and solid, like Ingo, like the platform under his knees, like the cold breeze on the back of his neck. Ingo may look different, far too gaunt for Emmet’s liking (and he supposes, now, that it may be like looking in a mirror, and he wonders how many bones Ingo can feel under his coat) but it’s him. No illusion or actor would crumble like this. It couldn’t be some sick joke—right?
He manages out words, and the first thing he chokes out through tears, voice warbling hard, is:
“Ingo—”
“Emmet,” Ingo grits out.
“I am Emmet—” Emmet says weakly. “You are Ingo. You are real.”
“I—” Ingo chokes. “I am. I’m real.”
Ingo certainly feels that way. The breath echoes in his lungs, damp and wobbly. Emmet can feel his heart slam against his ribcage. He feels so small in his arms but he shakes with the effort of keeping himself stable and with the effort of holding on. He can feel his shoulders move and the way his tears have started to soak through Emmet’s coat and shirt. He’s real.
Emmet laughs weakly, equally as wet.
“You are very strong,” he says softly, sniffling in, almost amused. “What happened to my brother?”
Ingo laughs. Emmet feels a new wave of tears bubble up in his chest and in his eyes. He presses his face into his shoulder a little more, like it were possible.
“Too much,” Ingo says, voice pitching. “Much too much.”
Emmet sighs into his shoulder, a sound he doesn’t think Ingo’s ever heard before. Ingo’s seen him cry a few times, especially when they were kids, but Ingo was always the more emotional of the two. This sound is such an odd mix of relief and grief and exhaustion pulled from his chest, like all the energy had trickled out of him.
Emmet holds tight to his brother in front of him, words not surfacing like they should. He only manages the weak sobs pressed into the collar of his coat. He screws his eyes shut again, clinging onto Ingo’s coat. The tile is cold and unyielding under his knees. Burning starts to prickle through his shins. Real feelings. Real sensations. Something to tether himself to. Ingo sniffles, coughing damply. He lets his body deflate a touch. Emmet’s chest twists and squeezes tight enough around his heart he feels it shove its way into his voice-box and beat there, pattering away.
“It’s you,” Emmet finally shudders out, voice breaking, sounding much more fragile than he wants to allow. Ingo burrows closer like it may do something. Emmet squeezes him. “Go-Go, please tell me this is real.”
“I promise,” Ingo manages. “I swear it.”
“You do?”
“You are Emmet,” he says slowly, sniffling. “I am your brother. I am real.”
“Good—” Emmet shudders. “Good.”
Ingo makes a pained noise, sighing out to his shoulder.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. Emmet shakes his head, stilted from where he rests it.
“Don’t be sorry. Just—” he trails off. Just. Don’t leave again. Yeah.
Ingo nods slowly. After a moment he says:
“You are real,” in a half questioning tone. Emmet nods.
“I am. I am not a dream,” he says, huffing out a wet laugh. “You can pinch me.”
Ingo snorts.
“That’s not how that works,” He argues, own voice damp and amused. Emmet thumps his back between his shoulderblades.
“Go-Go,” he complains. Ingo wheezes. This feels so familiar it hurts.
“Sorry,” Ingo says, but the tone that leaks into his voice sounds like he’s very much not sorry. “I’m sorry.”
Emmet huffs again, soft and brittle.
“Ingo, I missed you,” he manages. “I missed you so much. So very much.”
“I know,” Ingo says softly, relaxing his hands, splaying them out over Emmet’s coat. “And yet you kept the subway running in my absence—” he huffs, amused. “Bravo.”
Emmet laughs once, just a small little sound, before it turns back into sobs, muffled against Ingo’s tattered coat. He leans his weight back as much as he can, trying to pull Ingo further into his arms, as if it were possible. Light cascades around them as Chandelure floats over, chiming softly to herself. Ingo pats Emmet’s back, running a little line over his shoulderblades as they sit together. He feels Ingo shift, as if he’s turned his head toward his Chandelure. Warmth blossoms in his chest.
Ingo mumbles out something Emmet almost hears.
“She took your absence very hard,” Emmet says, trying to add to a conversation he hadn’t heard.
Ingo sighs, short and soft. They’re less holding on and more leaning, now.
“Oh,” he says softly. It’s all he says before he turns his head back into his shoulder. Emmet pats his back. He feels like someone’s taken toothpicks to his nerves. Why does it hurt? Why does Ingo sound so lost?
He leans back from Ingo, but he doesn’t let go. His hands find his shoulders, pulling away enough to see him properly. Emmet’s eyes scan his face. They’re the same grey as he’s always known them, but so much more tired, now, deep lines and dark circles around the bottom. He’s frowning, just a little, eyes still red-rimmed from crying, tears still falling haphazardly. Ingo sniffles. His hair lies the same, despite being unkept, and he’s got a terrible facial hair situation going on, like he’d forgotten how to use a razor. When Emmet studies him, Ingo’s face goes soft. He opens his mouth like he wants to speak, but shuts it when Emmet frowns.
“Ingo,” Emmet says, frown deepening, eyebrows furrowing. He sniffles. He prods at the hollow of his cheek, looking perplexed. “You look horrible, like someone’s shaken twenty pounds off you.”
“Ah,” Ingo says, looking away.
“You may be much stronger than you were, but you look like you may fall over if I let you go.”
Ingo swallows. His expression morphs a few times, until he shuts his eyes, furrowing his eyebrows.
“I might.”
“Ah!” Emmet says, holding to his shoulders a bit tighter. Ingo smiles, just the sides of his mouth lifting. It feels right. “Don’t.”
Ingo snorts.
“I’ll try.”
Emmet nods, mouth a fine line. Ingo’s eyes flick over his face, this time. Emmet feels like pokemon under a magnifying glass being scrutinized. Ingo watches as Emmet blinks tears away, watches them track over his face, and watches as he reaches up to wipe them. Emmet shakes his head.
“I’m sorry,” he says, voice softening at the end unexpectedly. He swallows down a wave of cold guilt. Ingo’s hands clasp around his biceps.
“Emmet—” he starts.
“It’s okay,” Emmet manages out, expression cracking. He sniffles in, pulling in a fast breath as he does. He hears it catch, feels the shudder than comes with it. “You—it’s you.”
“That’s right,” Ingo says meekly, loosening his grip. Emmet’s wobbly smile falters, just for a moment.
“That’s good,” Emmet sighs. He blinks a few times, sniffs again, wipes at his face. Ingo’s hands fall away from his arms and into his own lap.
The frown lingers on Ingo’s face long after he’s dropped his hands. Emmet rises to a slow, shaky stand. Stuffing his gloves in his pocket, he wipes at his face with the back of his hand, giving Ingo a watery smile. When Ingo looks up at him, Emmet feels something click into his chest, warm, full, and settling. He smiles wider, enough to feel his eyes start to squint shut, enough to watch Ingo copy him, and the smile looks so natural on his face. It’s good. This is good. This. Feels. Good. It feels good.
“I don’t think you should sit on the floor anymore, Ingo,” Emmet says. He extends his hand.
“I think I’m a bit too old for it,” Ingo tells him. Ingo takes it. He holds his warm hand, half palm and half wrist. Emotion tumbles in his chest, painfully tight, as he leads Ingo toward the tunnel entrance.
There’s something Ingo isn’t saying. Emmet knows it’s important. It’s not important enough to say now, that is, but he can feel it in the air of Ingo next to him as they duck into the empty station, back to the office, away from eyes that might say something before Emmet is ready to let the world know who showed up at his doorstep. It’s fine if Ingo doesn’t remember his pokemon, or the layout of Gear Station, or how he should feel, or where he’s been. He can’t ask him to. Not when there was a moment where Ingo couldn’t remember him, no matter how brief. He pushes fear deep into his chest and refuses to let it rise up.
He won’t let them diverge. He won’t let Ingo derail.
Whatever happens next, he’s not letting go of him.
The night comes easier than most.
It starts with Emmet sending a text—it’s last minute, which he despises, but he informs the head of the station that he isn’t feeling well and won’t be in at work for the next few days. He receives a spaced, but enthusiastic reply, and a reminder to use his sick time before he loses it. Probably better that he’s taking more days rather than less. Emmet feeds their pokemon, moving around the kitchen as he hears the shower running in the room across from his own. Busying himself with routine means he worries a little less about the question tugging at his mind, or the rush of anxiety and energy as he remembers everything, replaying it over and over again in his head. What if it isn’t Ingo that steps from the room? What if he looks completely different? What if—
Galvantula bumps his hand, nibbling at his sleeve. He’s still holding the bowl of food. He sets it on the floor as instructed, briefly pulled away from his thought.
Now, situated in the living room, a takeout bag rests on the coffee table, where Emmet is sitting next to the table, pulling out foil wrapped sandwiches and bags of chips and a too-shaken can of soda. He’s been watching Ingo’s face for a good part of the evening, seeing as lines come and go, how the sharp shape worsens when he frowns. Now, in a thick, high collared sweater and pajamas, grime scrubbed away with a hot shower, Ingo looks very small, and very alive, and very cold. Emmet pokes him with a socked foot as Ingo takes another ravenous bite of his egg and cheese sandwich. He has egg yolk all over his hands and down his chin.
“I am Emmet,” he says, an awed smile lingering on his face. “And I am certain you are going to choke if you eat that fast.”
Ingo blinks, still chewing. Maybe two sandwiches was the right move after all. Emmet hasn’t touched the one he bought for himself yet. He’s been too busy making sure Ingo drinks a glass of water. Ingo flushes, though, as he realizes he’s made an runny-egg mess of the plate balanced on his knee. He looks sheepishly away, searching for something to wipe his hands with. When he can’t find anything, he sets the sandwich down, and wanders back to the kitchen.
“It’s like you haven’t eaten in weeks,” Emmet remarks. His stomach flips a bit at the implication, wondering when the last time Ingo actually had a warm meal in his body. He realizes he doesn’t even know where he’s been. What could be wrong with him. What he’d seen. He seems dazed, a bit lost, a bit spacey. It had taken him a good thirty seconds to recognize Emmet on that platform—though, if Emmet’s honest with himself, and he often tries to be, he isn’t much better. He’d swallowed down confusion just as fast as he could, and that was only a moment before he’d thrown himself at his brother. Ingo’s shoulders are a tense line.
“I’ve eaten,” Ingo says.
“Good.”
When Ingo wanders back over, sitting in his same spot, Emmet pushes the glass of water toward him. Ingo nods, smiling a little as he picks it up and takes a long drink. After he’s finished and set the glass down, Emmet starts on his sandwich. Between his first bite of hashbrown and egg and the next, he says:
“Ingo,” followed by. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
The two go quiet, even with the sound of foil and sandwiches. Ingo swallows, staring into his patterned plate. Emmet watches his face as much as he did prior. He can tell when a pause is calculated for drama, for intrigue, for embellishment, but this one is full of Ingo’s mind scrambling. Emmet can’t see it in action, but he can certainly imagine a million Ingo’s running around in his brain space, trying to compose an answer for Emmet that would satisfy him. Ingo takes another bite in the meantime.
Emmet stares into bits of potato in the foil on his lap. They’re not very interesting.
“What happened?” he asks softly, not looking up at him. He hears Ingo sigh, and sees him put the plate down in his peripheral.
“I—” Ingo starts, and the stutter of his voice is indicative of something very clear to Emmet.
“Ingo,” he says, looking up suddenly. “Don’t.”
Ingo swallows. His throat bobs. Emmet doesn’t even have to finish his sentence.
“I’ve forgotten everything,” Ingo says, in a way that is so un-Ingo-like. “Almost everything. It’s just—there. Right out of reach. Right out of my reach.”
The television casts color across Ingo’s face, obscuring his expression. Emmet fights to keep his expression cool and neutral, despite the way his heart begs to jump into his throat and throw a party. He has a sandwich to eat, not a heart. Silly heart. Silly Emmet. He supposes now that’s why Ingo’s reaction to Chandelure was so stunted. Or the way he skirted away from the station like it may reach out and pinch him like a dwebble. He takes a bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly.
“I don’t know why,” Ingo continues, picking at the seeds on top of his bagel. “I don’t know how, either. And I don’t think I can stomach the where and what, yet. I feel sick when I think too hard. Dizzy and sick.”
Emmet swallows roughly.
“It’s okay,” he says. Ingo shakes his head, shutting his eyes. Emmet watches his face warp, faltering as he holds back whatever emotion’s just bubbled up in his chest. He screws his eyes shut, new tears dripping down his cheeks and off his chin. “Go, listen—”
Emmet reaches. He brushes Ingo’s hand, and Ingo jerks back on instinct, recoiling. He looks at Emmet, expression blank, nervous, then cracking all at once. Emmet’s own face falters as they meet eyes. Emmet holds his hand over Ingo’s, waiting, still crouching in front of him. He tries for a smile, even as Ingo goes blurry.
“I’m glad you remembered me,” he warbles out. “We can keep going from there. Our tracks move forward.”
“I don’t believe my car in this two car train is very safe, Em,” Ingo sniffles. He takes Emmet’s hand, though, and Emmet curls his fingers over his, both hands around his one hand. He squeezes ever so.
“We’re known for our safety checks, brother,” Emmet says gently. “It’s just our standard operating procedure.”
Ingo laughs softly. The sound is damp, but real. Trying to be something positive. It’s all he can ask of him.
“Understood,” Ingo says. He nods, setting his face, despite the way tears still cloud his eyes, and his mouth still wobbles as he sniffles in. “We shall depart then.”
“We will!” Emmet says, squeezing his hands again. He drops them, then, patting Ingo’s knees like he were beating on the table. Ingo huffs out a laugh, shooing him away.
It doesn’t hurt any less, knowing how much might be absent. But it soothes it a bit to watch Ingo smile.
Later, sitting on the couch together, Ingo rests against Emmet, sandwiches eaten, chips picked through, water drank. His face has regained a touch of color, hands no longer shaking with exertion. He breathes slowly and softly as Emmet flips through television mindlessly, looking for anything. To his left, Eelektross snores, head resting on his knee. He runs a hand absently along the scales at the top of his head, listening to the drone of purr and the chatter of late night television.
“Brother,” Emmet says softly. “Ingo.”
Ingo makes no sound. His breath stays even and slow. Emmet snorts. Right. He supposes it’s payback—he can’t remember the amount of times he’d fallen asleep during movie night with Elesa.
Elesa.
Emmet startles.
Reaching for his phone, he hastily manages a message to Elesa. Something like: Come over ASAP. Good news. Very good. About Ingo.
But his message reads in all lowercase like a run-on sentence, so he hopes in the morning Elesa will decipher it.
Emmet leans back, Ingo’s sleeping weight falling to Emmet’s side as he lies down on the couch cushions. His brother only partially adjusts in his sleep, better tucking into one side, head on his shoulder. Warm with sleep and food, Emmet lets his eyes unfocus. There’s too much static resting right under his skin to let him sleep.
This is good, though. A moment of reprieve for him, and desperately needed for Ingo. Maybe in the morning they’ll talk about getting rid of that ridiculous beard of his.
Emmet hums softly to himself. He listens to the drone of the television for a moment, blissfully tired. There’s a moment of quiet just long enough to feel sleep tug at him.
Someone pounds on his door.
Ah. Well.
Miscalculation on his part, then.
#submas#subway master emmet#subway master ingo#pokemon black and white#pokemon fic#pokemon black and white fic#submas fic#it's very. this is very special to me#i think it could be longer! and a little more detailed! and i think i wanna come back to it at some point and post it on ao3#it's kind of like this. oh well i've seen other executions i like just as much as what i decided#and it makes me wanna weave more in#i think i could eventually but not today LMAO#maybe once i post my other fic i'll rewrite this as the second chapter. big eyes.#yesyes.. that's what i'll do < shut up tuna
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A look at the struggles Atsushi faces throughout the series, and how he grows to resent the justice he was forced to learn. As well as his connections and contrasts with Akutagawa.
Atsushi is very different from a typical protagonist, who try's to save everybody they can, and never wants to kill anyone. Because he didn't develop this mindset from an inspiring, kind mentor; or from some innate sense of justice, or even from just his own hardships.
It was literally beaten into him through his whole childhood.
graphic depiction of abuse ahead:
Atsushi is compelled to help people. I defiantly think part of it is that he is just a kind person in general, but It is also a compulsion that he cannot refuse.
He is forced to disregard his own feelings and safety, he suffers so much pain, but he can never refuse, which is why he views it as a curse.
In BSD killing is not treated with the same 'good people can never, ever be willing to kill someone' that a lot of shows treat it as.
The entire ADA minus Kunikida was willing to try and kill Mori to save Fukuzawa. Fukuzawa has killed in the past, and told Kunikida to shoot Dazai if he sensed any evil in his heart(Dazai Osamu's Entrance Exam). Kunikida has been shown to be willing to kill if absolutely necessary
I point this out to show that Atsushi's refusal to kill is not just 'because he's a good guy and would never do that'. We see in BEAST that, if twisted a bit, he can be made to kill without hesitation. His refusal to kill comes from a much darker place, and makes him a perfect foil to...
Akutagawa.
Akutagawa and Atsushi have incredibly similar histories, It's literally spelled out in BEAST that the two of them have more in common then they have with anyone else. Both children raised in hell. But there was one key difference, The value they saw in the lives of others.
I've already talked about how Atsushi was raised to think that his own life had no worth, and only the lives of others mattered. But for Akutagawa it was the opposite. He grew up in the slums, where every stranger was a potential threat to him, his friends and sister. He had to learn to kill without hesitation, and to see no value in anyone else's life.
Dazai only made this worse, telling Akutagawa that if he couldn't defeat anyone in his path, that he had no right to live. And brutally punishing any sign of weakness.
Both Akutagawa and Atsushi search desperately for validation, and the right to keep living. They walk on opposite sides of a mirror, each only seeing half the picture, neither willing to see themself in the other.
Which is why they can both show the other exactly what they need to see.
The two of them hate each other so much because they are the same ,they each embody what the other most hates about himself and this is why they can each teach to other to overcome that hatred and to see the whole picture they were both denied as children.
Their growth over this past few arcs; with The death of the orphanage director, Akutagawa that killing everything won't solve all his problems, Atsushi having to stand up and pull himself together to save the ADA.
Akutagawas greatest flaws were his short-sightedness, and inability to see beyond himself and learn from his mistakes.
While Atsushi's greatest flaws were his crippling anxiety and indecision, as well as inability to let go of his past.
Opposite ends of the same spectrum, so now they must guide each other to the middle and find a balance.
Finally, the 'promise not to kill anyone for six months' with this, Atsushi is showing Akutagawa the value that can be seen in the lives of others. We see this in the security guard Akutagawa spared being the one to distract Fukuchi and let Atsushi escape. Akutagawa seems to have truly grown a lot since he and Atsushi last saw each other. But what about Atsushi?
Spoilers for chapter 107:
I think that Atsushi will kill Akutagawa. We know that Akutagawa died before he was converted into a vampire, and with his lung condition being established just before then, even if they find a way to revert him, he would still be nearly at the end of his life.
I think that Akutagawa will probably temporarily regain control of his body, but be unable to revert fully, so he will ask Atsushi for that duel he promised him. It would even parallel Atsushi "killing" Shibusawa in TDA, since both were technically already dead to begin with.
Atsushi taught Akutagawa how to value lives, and the patience to consider his actions and Akutagawa will teach Atsushi the conviction to take them and how overcome the guilt he feels within himself. each one going from black and white, to grey.
#bsd#bungou stray dogs#bungo stray dogs#bsd atsushi#nakajima atsushi#bungou stray dogs atsushi#bungo stray dogs akutagawa#bsd akutagawa#ryunosuke akutagawa#bsd analysis#character analysis#bungou stray dogs character analysis#bungou stray dogs analysis#shin soukoku#bsd sskk#sskk#bsd manga
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Thirteen: The Man That Raised Me
Charles Leclerc x Nova Teller (OC)
Till The Wheels Fall Off Masterlist
Warnings: drug use, abandoning, neglect
Small town meets the fast lane. What happens when two souls meet? Will it end in happiness or will they both crash and burn?
As always reblogs and feedback is highly appreciated ❤️ if you want tagging in future parts let me know ❤️
There was a calmness in the air as both me and Charles laid soaking up the sun, I knew I would have to deal with the giant elephant in the room. I needed to come clean to him about my past. I didn’t make a habit of telling anyone my life story, but there was something different about Charles that made me want to tell him every traumatic detail. He made me feel safe and if we were going to see where this thing between us was going he deserved to know the truth.
Propping myself up on my elbow I took a deep breath, “I need to explain something,” I whispered, keeping my focus on the sight of the waves crashing against the rocks on a distant beach. “I saw the confusion on your face when I mentioned changing my last name back to Haynes,” I had spent years blocking out my early years, keeping them under lock and key but now it was time to face the fear of opening up to someone.
“You don’t have to tell me if it is too painful,” he said softly, moving so he was now sitting in front of me, his hands resting on my knees.
“I want you to know,” I mumbled, moving my gaze so I was now looking at him, “JT isn’t my biological dad, he adopted me when I was five, it is something I am eternally grateful for. He is the man that raised me, even though I’m not a Teller by blood he treated me like his own.”
Charles stayed silent as I slowly eased myself into telling him about my past, the feeling of his hand on my knee provided me with the comfort I needed to feel safe.
“Jax wasn’t keen on the idea of having a little sister at first, especially one that was only three months younger than him. But, he quickly got over that, the bond we formed only grew stronger as the years went by. I swear the two of us caused Pops to start turning gray in his late twenties,” I said with a small laugh, Pops always used to call me and Jax his troublemakers but he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Letting out a shaky breath I reached for my bag, fumbling inside until I found the packet of cigarettes, pulling one out of the box I placed it between my lips whilst I fished around for my lighter. I couldn’t help but pause moments before I lit the cigarette, did I really need this right now or was I using this as a crutch.
A heavy sigh escaped my lips as I moved the smoke away. I had been trying to quit for months but I just couldn’t seem to break the habit even if I had managed to cut down on them. Placing the cigarette back in the box I refused to turn to smoking in this situation. Feeling Charles’ arms wrap around me, I focused on the sound of his heartbeat to steady my nerves allowing him to become my bad habit.
Although there was nothing bad about becoming addicted to this man.
“My biological parents were,” I said pausing, ignoring the churning in my stomach, “are drug addicts, I was born addicted to heroin to the point I was only given six months to live,” tears were streaming down my cheeks, I had overcome a lot of obstacles in my life but without JT I sure as hell wouldn’t be here right now.
“Oh sunshine,” Charles whispered, his voice cracking as he spoke.
“JT saved my life, I was only five but can remember the day so clearly.”
The icy wind caused JT’s cheeks to burn, but that didn’t matter to him right now, all that mattered was the young girl that needed his help. Since the day Nova was born he promised to keep an eye out for her, protecting her when and where he could, to always be her guardian angel. He had gotten wind that Jenny and Darren were out on another one of their benders leaving their defenseless little girl home alone.
Tonight was the night he would save her from the living hell she was in without a care for any consequences. Pulling his thick coat tighter around his body, he fought his way through the snowy garden, carefully watching where he was treading because he knew the state the garden had been left in.
These people didn’t care about anything or anyone, all they cared about was scoring their next hit.
John thought when Nova was born things would change, hoping the moment they saw their new born baby strung out on heroin, they would turn their life around but they never did. He was honestly surprised how Nova made it past her 1st birthday, especially when she was only given a life expectancy of six months. In his heart he knew she was a fighter and she was going to be a fierce female, he just needed to get her out of this situation first, providing her with a safe home to be able to be a normal child.
Reaching the back door of the property, he quickly tried the handle first not being shocked that it had been left unlocked. He knew Nova’s situation wasn’t good but he had never stepped foot in this house, not through lack of trying though, every time he tried he was quickly escorted off the property by a strung out Darren.
The moment he entered the kitchen he felt his stomach tighten, the bile rising in his throat as the smell hit him first. He couldn’t even begin to describe the stench that filled the house but it was making him feel nauseous. Pulling his hoodie over his mouth and nose he reached out flipping the lightswitch only to be greeted with no power whatsoever.
“Nova, my sweet little angel are you in here?” John called out, trying not to startle the young girl if she was about.
“JT,” a weak voice called out from the darkness.
“I’m here, I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart,” he responded, pushing his hand into his pocket, fumbling to get his phone. He needed some sort of light to be able to guide himself through the bomb site of a house. He could hear his heart shatter as he shone the light around the kitchen. Every surface was covered in empty beer cans, vodka bottles, along with used needles and other drug paraphernalia.
Moving his phone so it was now shining at the floor, he carefully maneuvered his way through the room, making note of where there were dirty needles scattered on the floor. This poor girl had been through hell and she was only five years old, only two months younger than his son.
“Nova, I promise you everything is going to be okay,” he whispered, as he reached the girl, seeing her in nothing but a ripped onesie that was covered in stains, “nothing bad is ever going to happen to you now.” Tears filled his eyes as he crouched down, he quickly unzipped his coat before wrapping his arms around Nova scooping her off the floor, holding her close to his chest, his main concern was with how cold she was, automatically he pulled his coat around her, hoping the heat from his body would help slow her shivering down, “let's get you home, little one.”
Tears were freely rolling down my cheeks, I would never forget the day my life changed forever. The steady sound of Charles’ heartbeat provided the strength I needed in the moment.
“He is my guardian angel,” I whispered, letting my fingers dance across Charles’ skin, “even before he pulled me from that house he was always looking out for me. The deadbeats that were my so-called parents always brought me down, they always made comments about my body and how I looked,” my voice was weak as I spoke. I felt like I was opening up old painful wounds, I felt so vulnerable right now, “they always said the reason there was no food in the house was because I ate it, because I was a greedy child.”
Taking a deep breath, I roughly wiped my eyes with the back of my hands, pushing myself to my feet letting my fingers tangle in my hair, “I never realised I wasn’t supposed to be so fucking hungry all of the time!” I screamed into the sky, tugging at my roots.
“Oh Sunshine,” Charles whispered, rocking me gently in his arms, “you were only a child.”
“They were my fucking parents, Char. The people who were meant to protect, nurture and love me. I thought they were helping me. When in actual fact they were spending the money for groceries on their next score,” it was only now I realized I still had a lot of pent up anger bottled up inside of me.
Charles pushed himself to his feet, instantly wrapping his arms around me moving me back onto the sun lounger. His hands moved on to the sides of my face, softly wiping my tear stained cheeks.
We both stayed silent for a moment, I focused on the feeling of Charles’ gentle touch. Taking a deep breath I decided I wasn’t wasting any more tears on them, they didn’t deserve it.
“JT cared though,” I said with a small smile, “he would always make sure he picked me up from preschool along with Jax, taking me back to the clubhouse. He always made sure I got a decent meal, a warm bath and provided me with a loving safe environment,” taking another deep breath, I felt the weight being lifted off my shoulders, coming clean to the man in front of me made me see clearly for the first time in a while.
JT had put his own life on the line to save me, yet I couldn’t take the time to listen to what he wanted to do regarding his health.
Me and Jax needed additional help.
“The day after he pulled me from the shit hole he went straight down to the court house, petitioning for adoption,” I smiled, knowing that even though he wasn’t my father by blood he would forever be my Pops, the man that made me the woman I was today. “I will always remember the day he officially became my Pops, you know legally,” I said with a slight chuckle in my tone, “the moment we got back from the courthouse he had Happy set up his tattoo equipment and he got mine and Jax’s name etched permanently over his heart.”
Charles stayed quiet, more than likely processing all the information I had told him but I didn’t need or want his apologies for the world failing me.
All I needed was him.
The fact he hadn’t cut the trip short and bolted said everything to me, “that man means everything to me, so to see him suffering like this is fucking killing me,” I mumbled, fiddling with the bracelets on Charles’ wrist.
“Let me help you, Sunshine,” he hummed, blinking back tears himself, “if you need money, you’ve got it. If you need extra support, I can arrange it.”
My heart practically exploded at his kindness, we had only known each other for a little over a week and he was offering to do whatever he could to make not only my life easier but Jax’s as well. Resting my hand over his heart I let my eyes flutter closed, “I appreciate the gesture Charles but I can’t accept your money,” I whispered, hoping he wouldn’t get offended that I was turning him down. “Me and Jax will be fine, we always figure things out.”
“Babygirl, you shouldn’t have to struggle,” he said softly, taking my hand in his, “you have got to be one of the strongest women I have ever known, the things you’ve been through makes me want to kill everyone who has wronged you. You shouldn’t have to just manage, let me help you,” he whispered, pausing for a second, “please.”
Taking a deep breath I knew this wasn’t going to be something I could sweep under the carpet, the look on Charles face was genuine, he really wanted to help, “I will think about it okay.”
He flashed me a smile but it wasn’t hopeful, already knowing my biggest downfall was my pride. He had seen me practically run myself into the ground, rather than asking for any form of help. I wasn’t going to let my dark past hang over our heads for the rest of the day, especially when Charles had rented out a yacht for us.
@withmyteeth @chibsytelford @stillbreathin @danzer8705 @keyweegirlie @celestialams @dragon-of-winterfell @ohthemisssery @a-distantdreamer @sgkophie @angywritesstuff @enchantedbytomandhenry @scribbuluswrites @dangerouspursepeachbear @buendiabebeta @ferrarifwendvale @theplobnrgone @charlesleclercje @queenslife @panicforspec @justme2042 @liv67 @derpinathebrave @clcspeonies @pleasantducktimetravel @raaaaabzzz @mehrmonga @sbgal @fangirl-lb @pitconfirmbutton @oslokij @tall-tanned-tattoo @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @pumpkin-spice-hate @talicat713 @band--psycho @little-diable @i-love-scott-mccall @fourthwallhateclub @theysayitscrazy @rosieposie0624 @choochoo284 @meteora-fc @beeroses @darklydeliciousdesires @the-jer-bear @extraneousred @youflickedtooharddamnit @babypink224221
#charles leclerc#Charles Leclerc x oc#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc fanfic#Charles Leclerc x reader#f1#f1 x oc#f1 imagine#sons of anarchy#jax teller#jax teller x reader#jax teller imagine#sons of anarchy imagine
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Oh, Edmundo, you enigma.
Edmundo Diaz's love life has left 911 viewers, or at least some, scratching their heads for six seasons.
If Buck and Natalia began seeing each other before Eddie even asked Marisol on a date, and it seems Buck and Natalia were not a long-term couple based on the Eddie's verbiage and snarkiness after Buck admits they broke up then just how long was Eddie dating Marisol before he asked that woman to move in?
Bobby called Buck out for finding himself in relationships without knowing how he got there. I think Bobby needs to give Eddie the same speech. Let's look at the history:
Shannon hits on him. He accepts. She gets pregnant. They marry. I am still not convinced Eddie was in love with her. I think he loved her in some way, but not that way. After they had Christopher, he loved her as the mother of his child. That's it.
He introduced Ana to Christopher quickly. Remember, she took care of Christopher during the blackout. So, we know Eddie has a history of pushing women into the role of partner/parent much too soon.
Marisol was helping him supervise Christopher's dates and being asked to move in within what may be a few months? Why? Based on canon, it is obvious Eddie knew next to nothing about Marisol other than she would babysit Christopher and when Christopher was away they could play.
We all talk about Buck's issues, but Eddie's romantic history puts the "fun" in dysfunctional.
Everything we know about Eddie's romantic history is one giant crimson flag. He has never pursued a woman for normal reasons, such as thinking she is pretty, liking her personality, or just plain attraction. The woman either pursued him or made it clear they were interested if he wanted them. (They were thirsty. Remember that parent-teacher conference with Ana?) Even before he met his blind dates he knew it wouldn't work out. How do you know the person isn't your type before you ever meet them? When he reached the point of moving from casual to focused with Ana and Marisol, he found a reason to run. Every time. He even admits he used the military to escape his wife and son.
Eddie's behavior is not that of the usual heterosexual, allosexual man in his teens, twenties, and thirties that you encounter. The man NEVER looks at women and he is surrounded by beautiful women. He only pays attention when a woman blatantly hits on him, or someone tells him he should be pursuing a woman. We've seen Chimney, Buck, and Bobby turn their heads for a woman and flirt, but never Eddie.
I think there are only a few possible reasons Eddie's behavior is odd.
He's demisexual. He only experiences true attraction once an emotional bond has been created. That may explain why his "attraction" to Shannon endured, even in the face of all of the evidence that they were terrible together. They were friends first. Personally, I think she was his comfort zone. He knew her and being with her would give Christopher the family he thought his son deserved.
He's asexual. I don't think that is the case. I think he enjoys intimacy, but getting to the point of genuine enjoyment and connection is not happening with the women he dates.
He's not into women but doesn't know or doesn't want to know. This is a very real possibility. Eddie may not realize being into men is an option. His background may have prevented it from being an option in the past. When you consider where he was raised, the doctrine of his faith back then, his career path, etc., being gay may never have been an option. So, he forced himself to find women he could make an attempt to build a life with, he actively repressed his real attraction, or he just didn't know he was into men. It would explain why he feels he is "performing" on dates with women and how he knew before the date they weren't his type.
Eddie is not the stable guy who has his stuff together. Eddie and Buck bonded because they are both messes. Buck is just open with how messed up he is. Eddie hides it.
(I have numerous allosexual, heterosexual male figures in my life and have had them in my life forever. Please believe me when I tell you I know more about how they behave and think than I ever wanted to. Sometimes, when they were sharing way more than I wanted to hear, I was hoping the neuralizer from MIB would suddenly become real.)
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can we have first kiss with Hallritt and Tuxam plsss?? I really like Tuxam's "No way" voice line😭😭
Ahh thank you for the request! I liked Tuxam’s voice line as well :33!
“You missed a spot there Y/N! Lord Tuxedo Sam would be here any minute now and I don’t want to see a speck of dust in these chairs, when he arrives! This dining room needs to be spotless!” Tuxam chastised you, pointing at the rows of chairs that you just finished dusting off.
When Tuxam asked for your help to set up the dining room for the upcoming dinner with Lord Tuxedo Sam, you happily accepted, not thinking much of it, and was just happy to help a friend out.
What you didn’t expect was for you to do most of the work, whilst the Tuxam was monitoring and hovering all over you, all while critiquing your every move under the guise of giving you helpful advice. Suffice to say, annoyed couldn’t even begin to describe it what you felt.
“I already dusted those chairs! You saw me dust those chairs, and they’re fine! They are more than fine!” You snapped at the short blue haired knight, exasperatedly waving around your feather duster, to fully emphasize just how fine those chairs were.
Taken aback by your sudden outburst, Tuxam stepped back and didn’t say respond for a while. Though it may have not been very gentleman like to keep on questioning you, he couldn’t help but have his doubts if what you’re saying is true.
“I understand that but what about-”
“And the floor is clean if that’s what you’re asking! I mopped it like six times, which you would know because you made me mop it six times!”
“Well yes, but is it clean enough where you-”
“-Can see my own reflection? I promise you if every mirror in this castle were to be stolen, the floor would make a very good substitute.”
“What!? Someone stole all of our mirrors!” Tuxam exclaimed loudly, seemingly ignoring everything that was said after you said the word “stolen”.
“What? No! That was just an exaggeration to make a point! Nobody stole-”
“This is a serious matter, Y/N! We need to alert the security and the knights about this intruder! I’ll call Lord Tuxedo Sam and inform him about the sudden turn of events, unfortunately that means we’ll have to cancel our dinner, but for the sake of our kingdom and for ours and Lord Tuxedo Sam safety, we have no choice but to…”
As Tuxam droned on and on about a intruder that didn’t even exist, you knew that no amount of words would get through to him in this state. So without thinking, you marched towards him, putting your hands on his shoulders, and planted a light kiss on his lips to silence him once and for all.
His words immediately got caught in his throat as soon as your lips met his, all thoughts about chairs, intruders, Tuxedo Sam, all went out the window, as he melted in your kiss. Only once you pulled away and were met with Tuxam’s bright red face, did you realize what you have just done.
“I-im sorry…! I-I don’t know what came over me, you were just freaking out and I just thought…” The annoyed look you wore earlier, quickly got replaced with a bashful expression as you stumbled over your words. Too embarrassed to even say anything, much less look at his direction, the blush that was settling in your cheeks was definitely not helping your case.
“N-no it’s fine, really! You were right, I got way too over my head and w-well you know…!” Tuxam squeaked out, his overbearingness and strictness from earlier was no longer there, if the blush in his face was anything to go about.
For a while, you two stood there in awkward silence, too embarrassed to say anything. Eventually though, Tuxam broke the silence, when the initial embarrassment and shock settled down.
“So… about those chairs-”
“Oh my god-”
“Oh Y/N look at this! This is perfect for Lord Kitty, don’t you think?” Hallritt asked, holding up an apple shaped earring for you to inspect.
With Lord Kitty’s birthday just around the corner, Hallritt decided to take you shopping to look for her birthday gift, one month in advance.
You were more than happy to tag along, not only did you adore Lord Kitty, it also gave you the chance to spend more time with Hallritt. With Hallritt’s being a knight in training, you didn’t get to see him often as much you wanted, since he was so busy on most days.
“Oh those do look cute! But don’t you have enough apple related gifts in your cart? I really don’t think Lord Kitty needs an apple shaped earring, an apple shaped watch, an apple watch, an apple plushie, and a apple necklace” You tried to reason, pointing at the mountain of a shopping cart that carried more apple related gifts than you can count.
“Nonsense! There’s no such thing as too much apples when Lord Kitty is concerned!” Hallritt proclaimed, waving your concern off, as he put the apple shaped earrings in the shopping cart. You playfully rolled your eyes at him, knowing whenever he has his mind set on something, there is no one that could convince him otherwise.
That’s how the rest of the day followed, with Hallritt buying out every single store that crossed your paths, while you halfheartedly tried to convince him to cut back on the expenses. By the end of the day, you were positive if you put anymore items in your shopping cart, the cart would break down due to sheer physical and mental exhaustion from carrying so many gifts.
“I think we’ve done enough shopping for today, our shopping cart looks like it’s on its last leg, so how about we call it a day, sound good?” You suggested. Truth be told, as much as you were glad to spend the day with Hallritt, you were really using the shopping cart as an excuse to take a break as your feet were getting soar from walking around so much.
Hallritt didn’t respond to you, in fact it looked like he wasn’t even paying attention to you, but rather looking past you, as if there was something more interesting that was going on behind you. Turning your back to see what exactly was captivating Hallritt’s attention, you were met with a large red booth that carried a variety of plushies, one of them included a red apple plushie.
With a soft chuckle, you turned your body towards Hallritt, who was still paying attention to the booth, already knowing where this was headed.
“Would you like to go the booth, Hallritt?” You asked softly. Your question seemingly broke Hallritt out of his trance, as he stared at you sheepishly.
“If that’s alright with you! I know you’re tired from walking so much, so we don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
“Nonsense! It’s for Lord Kitty’s birthday, how can I say no to that” You replied earnestly, giving him a bright smile. He smiled back, happy to have your approval.
Once you made your way to the booth, the vendor explained the rules of the game. All you had to do was toss a ring and have it land around the bottle, it was pretty simple, and you had confidence that Hallritt could easily win the plushie in one round alone.
“Oh no! I lost again!” Hallritt dejected voice filled the room, as he lost another round of ring toss.
Well… you were confident that he could pull it off. But the sad truth is, Hallritt didn’t seem to have any luck winning the apple plushie, no matter how many rounds he played, no matter how many different ways he tossed the ring -left hand, right hand, from the side, from the back, from the front-, it didn’t matter, the ring refused to go around the bottle.
Seeing how upset Hallritt was getting, not to mention that time was quickly catching up to them, you wanted nothing more than to encourage him and to keep on going. But words didn’t seem like it was enough, and with how little time you two had left, there was only one solution that you could think of that would give him the encouragement he needs.
You slowly walked up to him, face red as an apple, fully aware of what you were going to do. Hallritt, who was fully concentrated trying to plan his next move, broke out of his train of thoughts, when he saw you walking towards him.
“Hm? Is there something wrong Y/N?” Hallritt asked curiously, a bit confused as to why your arms were around his neck.
Embarrassed by his oblivious nature, you were tempted to back off and not go through with it, but you already came so far and were committed to following it through, even if it did cost you your pride, at least it would satisfy your growing curiosity about it.
“I-I’m trying to give you encouragement…!” You lamely said, not even bothering trying to hide the deep blush that was forming in your face. Hallritt, still confused, titled his head to the side, not quite sure what you meant by that.
“Oh yeah? How so?” Hallritt asked, you blushed even harder, internally wondering if Hallritt was genuinely confused or was he just teasing you. Though you already knew the answer to that, as Hallritt didn’t have a mean bone in his body.
Taking the fact that he hasn’t pushed you off yet as an incentive to keep going, you pressed your lips against him, deciding to show him what you mean instead.
You heard Hallritt gasp in the kiss, but the shock quickly faded, as he returned your kiss, holding your waist tightly. You could feel him smiling in the kiss, which gave you a case of butterflies in your stomach, overjoyed that he seemed to be enjoying it as much as you are.
The kiss ended way too soon for your liking, though as he pulled away, you could see a faint blush on his blush. You gave him a small smile, knowing you probably looked worse than him in that regard.
With a sheepish nod, he stepped towards the booth, giving you a bright smile and a small wink, before turning around and tossing the ring onto the bottles, successfully winning a round of ring toss once and for all.
He ended up winning the red apple plushie, but to him, your kiss was the best reward he could ever ask for.
#ahh I hope you like it!! it was really fun writing this especially Tuxam’s!#I also tried a different style of writing that leaned more into an x reader/scenerio route than the last one so I’ll hope you like it!#fragaria memories#sanrio#hallritt#tuxam#🍓: memoria
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You Were the One, Part 19
Summary: Lloyd finally comes home
Pairings: Lloyd Hansen X Reader
Rating: fluffily explicit
Warnings: soft!Lloyd Hansen, explicit sexual content, explicit language, smut, PIV sex, unprotected sex, creampie, 18+ ONLY
Word Count: 2.4K
Previous
Series Masterlist
"I need to know where you're going!"
"You don't need to know jack shit!" Lloyd shouts at an agent. "Unless there is something else you need me to do?" he waits while the new owner of his agency shakes his head. "Good, don’t call me when you fucking need me, I’m retired.
Lloyd walks out of the office, still a bit bloody and bruised, but he has more important things to do. He had made his promise and he kept it. He was done, and going home to you.
"God, that guy is such an asshole," he mutters to no one. "Still think he's hiding something."
Lloyd checks his vehicle making sure that there's no tracking device before taking the long way home. Rushing to get away from these people, and back in comfort. Wanting to just see your face.
It might have taken some travel, but he could see you through the window, bending down, and most likely cleaning up a mess from the day. He smiles softly when you turn to the side, and he can see the small swell of your belly. It had been too long, and he didn't even know. This must have been what you were wanting to tell him. A sweet little baby, and he had missed too much time. You pregnant was one of his favorites.
With a deep breath, he gathers his bags to head to you. You're alerted right away to someone at the door, your eyes flick upstairs, and then back to the door. Walking to grab a gun, and you point it at the man who enters, but then you quickly return it. "I thought you were gonna die," you give him a disapproving look. “Lloyd, you shouldn’t have done that. There’s a reason I didn’t want you involved with Six, and…I almost lost you.”
"I know, Honey, but I’m here now," walking into the light, you see the marks on his face. Cuts butterflied together, and gasp at the sight. "Honey, I'm fine. Just got one less finger to touch you,” he raises up his left hand, and the pinky ring you had given him for a wedding band was gone. While at home, he always wore a wedding band, but that pinky ring was his favorite. It was his secret that he had you with him.
"Lloyd," but he's over to you with a few quick strides. Grabbing up your hand, and moving you around in a slow dance, "There's no music, babe."
"Shh," he says, his hand sliding over your belly, and he caresses your skin gently. "How far along?"
"Five months."
"Really?" he playfully asks, leaning forward to nip at your back. "You must have known before I left. I was trying to be all sexy with my breeding talk, and you were already pregnant. And what is the sweet little caterpillar?"
You roll your eyes, before resting your head on his chest. Moving your hand over him, your ring glimmering in the dim light. "You know I don't find out without you."
"He or she is keeping you too far away from me," he continues his slow dancing with you. The two of you breathing in the other, melting into each other. You hate when he leaves, but loves when he comes back. This time much more bittersweet. He had retired, and you thought he wasn’t going to come home to you. Those moments of him and Six alone had terrified you, but now he was right at your fingertips. The man you loved with every part of you, and the life that you had built together was everything.
Court Gentry zeros in on his target, and furrows his brow, "He's got a wife?" A low growl crawls up his throat when Lloyd spins you around, and he gets an actual look at you. You were stunning. He blinks the tears out of his eyes, remembering that first time he envisioned you pregnant with his child. It suited you. And you didn’t wither away to being a housewife, you worked remotely. For him.
"A wife?" Dani asks over coms. She can’t see what Court sees, but she can’t fathom why anyone would want to be with Lloyd.
Lloyd pulls you back off of him when his eyes flick over to the stairs, "No!" you let out an airy giggle. "Don't you dare, they’re sleeping. It’s been hell trying to get Ferryn to sleep without her monster fighting daddy around. And I can’t quite crawl on the floor like you do,” a hand smooths over your bump when you look at him. His eyes going back to the stairs.
“Lloyd no.”
"But...I wanna see them," grabbing his hand, you pull him into the bedroom, ignoring his feigned whines.
"You're gonna see your wife first."
"Oh really?" you slowly nod your head, before slipping off your nightgown, "I really like seeing my wife,” removing your bra, he smirks, “I really really like seeing my wife.”
"And she really likes seeing you," it doesn't take much to get Lloyd stripping out of his clothes. Walking over to you, his hands roam over your curves, learning your body like this. Each pregnancy had proven to be vastly different, and he had five months of this one to make up for. His fingers indent into your skin, until you push him back on the bed.
"You think you're a badass, huh?"
"I think I'm horny and pregnant, and I've been waiting for you to come home. Begging you even. And I thought I wasn’t ever going to see you again. Not to mention, you did a terrible job of listening to me ," you crawl up onto the bed, gripping his cock, and giving a few kisses to his tip. Kissing down the veiny girth, before licking all the way up.
"If you're so fucking horny, then quit teasing," slinking up his body, you move to straddle him, with your swollen stomach, he helps guide you over him, and you sigh in relief. Sinking down to the root, and you had never felt better. There was a sense of completion when you and Lloyd connected this way. Things were always right when you had him. He had every part of you. Every single bit of you belonged to him, just like every bit of him belonged to you. You became each other’s keepers the day you let your guard down, and the two of you had created such a beautiful life together.
You knew he had a dangerous job. Knew that one day, he might not come home to you, but for now, you were going to relish having him here. Just like this. And now, he was yours. You’d figure the rest out as you went. Knew that you would have to relocate and he’d have to become someone else, just like you did. But for right now, you were Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd Hansen. You two were unstoppable, and better together.
Slowly grinding on his length, you trace the outlines of the scars on his chest. Seeing his face turn into the softest pleasure at the way you tenderly work yourself over him. "You know what my favorite thing about you like this is?" you sigh out a questioning moan, and he continues. "You're so sensitive. You've been clenching down on me for two whole minutes. Let go."
"No, I want to enjoy you," you push back the need to orgasm, and not that Lloyd is complaining. Not when he's balls deep in your quivering cunt. "Baby..." you sing up to the ceiling. His hands groping your engorged tits. "Lloyd...Lloyd I, I..."
"There ya go let go," his voice almost purrs up at you, and you feel a blanket of warmth cover your body. "You got more in you? Daddy's not finished."
Smirking at him, you readjust yourself for reverse cowgirl. Getting the perfect angle to bounce over him. Lloyd in a front row seat to watch where the two of you connect. Able to watch your body writhe over him.
Sitting up, he kisses your sweaty shoulders. Showing his love for you with every peck he whispers onto your skin. Circling his hands around to cup your belly, before sinking lower.
Your clit, neglected and swollen when he starts stimulating it. Whispering up what a good job you were doing, "Making me feel like a king, Honey. I'm almost there."
Your pussy sucks his beautiful cock in its velvety folds, and the both of you ache for release. Looking back at him, he captures your lips with his. The both of you swallow each other's sweet sounds. Stuttering your hips, while you cum together. Moaning at his added sticky warmth, and you slow your kisses to the sweetest most intimate kiss. The two of you are still connected, but you know if he's wanting to go upstairs, you shouldn't wait much longer.
"Lloyd, they miss you, too."
"Well, let's go get the rugrats then. We gotta get you cleaned up first," even the way he rids you of his spunk is the sweetest and most delicate thing. A warm cloth ridding you of his seed, and you can’t help but to give him sweet and innocent kisses to his lips. Finishing only to kiss over you cleaned core.
"Wash your lips, babe. You're not kissing our babies with that mouth."
While he may laugh, he does clean up his mouth, but just to check, you give him another kiss. "Better."
"Better?" he asks, and you nod with a smile. He leans in for a giggly playful kiss. Enjoying the side of Lloyd no one ever gets to see. There really was this secret softness, but the fact that he saved that for you and your kids, made you weak in the knees.
"Mommy?" a sweet voice creaks in the night. Her chubby little hand holds on to her stuffed rabbit, while the other rubs her eyes. "Bubba is crying," thankfully you and Lloyd are in fact dressed. As she stumbles towards you, reaching up her hands, but then she opens her eyes more, and sees her hero.
Screeching out a, "Daddy!" before running to jump into his arms. "Oh daddy! I missed you!" She nuzzles onto his shoulder, while her hand pets over his mustache, giggling so hard at her daddy finally being there.
"I missed you, too, Pixie Dust. God, have I missed you. I thought about you, and mama, and Holdie everyday."
"Ferryn, you and daddy stay here, I'm gonna get Holden, okay?"
"Can we sleep in here with you?" you kiss her nose, answering yes to go get your growing boy. It seemed right to have your babies with you and Lloyd tonight. You weren’t the only one that needed to feel him, just to make sure this wasn’t a dream.
Hearing Lloyd and Ferryn's giggles even upstairs. He leans over blowing raspberries on her, and she tries pushing him off with no success. Just repeatedly saying daddy, sure that if she quits, he won't be here. She had a beyond special bond with her daddy. While he loved Holden, he was definitely more of a mama’s boy. Desiring you to hold him over his daddy.
Walking up the stairs, not to see a crying baby, but one bouncing in his crib, making grabby hands with a cadence of mama. "I know, and I got a surprise for you."
As soon as Holden sees Lloyd he lets out a joyful scream, "Daddy! My daddy!"
"Hey buddy," Lloyd answers. Reaching towards you to hold both his babies in his hands, he tilts his head to the side, thanking you for this life. He was grateful everyday to you for giving him the life he didn’t think he wanted. Now every night he got to go to sleep knowing he made two, and almost three of the most beautiful and smart babies he could ever think of.
"Dani, he's got kids. I can’t…” Court says, tearing his eyes away from the four of you. You looked so happy. Even the way you constantly found a way to touch Lloyd. The way your daughter would watch you and Lloyd give each other kisses. It was oddly beautiful, and it hurt him even more.
"Do you have an open shot?" She responds. “Remember the mission. Lloyd was willing to kill you, kill Claire, and he’s the reason Fitzroy is dead.”
Court becomes heavily annoyed, because there most definitely isn't an open shot. Your body in front of him, while he holds two children. "No," he answers shortly. The whisper of Claire telling him that Lloyd wasn’t allowed to hurt her, and he had to get home to you ringing in his mind. You were the reason that Lloyd didn’t hurt Claire. You were protecting her, and he listened.
Lloyd walks the kids to the bed, snuggling everyone in. With the sweetest little conversations of what they did and learned while he was away. Waking up in the middle of the night found them drifting off quickly, but you just want to stay awake to gaze at your handsome husband. "I love you."
"Love you, too, Honey," with a hand on his chest, you move to give him a kiss. Memorizing this moment and how perfect he is. Everything felt right with him. Everything was warm and wholesome, when Lloyd was anything but. Until you saw him with your babies. His arm draped over both of them, resting on your belly. “I’m home.”
Court stares at your eyes and just how you look at Lloyd with the utmost fondness, he doesn’t remember you ever looking at him that way. He could finish this mission, and leave you a widow. Leave his two kids crying as they try to wake their daddy, but that little girl, he can’t shake the feeling. He just needs to get close enough to you, and to talk to you, but killing your husband would not make for a very good conversation.
Last second, he changes out his gun. Taking a play out of Dani’s book, he takes a deep breath, “I’ve got the shot.”
"Take it!"
You open your eyes, screaming out his name, when you see a glowing red dot, "Lloyd! No! No!”
He has seconds to react. Turning his body to cover yours and the kids he shouts, "Son of a bitch!" Leaving you staring horrified as his eyes slowly close. Ferryn wakes up confused.
“Lloyd, baby, no! Shit. No,” crying until you realize that there was someone who had Lloyd as a target, and now he would have you and your babies. And that would not happen.
Next
Masterlist
Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @bookwormchick91 @whimsyplaty92 @bambamwolf87 @curlycarley @infatuatedjanes @randomagnes0210 @8oopsiedaisy8 @spider-thot0115 @sstan-hoe @xcaptain-winterx @buckysteveloki-me @sgtjaamesbaarnes @writing-for-marvel @alwaysclassyeagle @mrstangerinejohnson @jlc3276 @elrw24 @kattreffic @lettersandsodas @saucy-sassy-sparkly @crazyunsexycool @pigwidgeonxo @dontbescaredtosingalong @royalwritersoftheuniverses @bigphattygyal @seitmai @awkwardgiraffe726
#you were the one#lloyd hansen x reader#lloyd hansen x fem!reader#lloyd hansen x y/n#lloyd hansen x you#lloyd hansen smut#dilf!lloyd hansen#dilf!lloyd hansen x reader#lloyd hansen fic#lloyd hansen fics#lloyd hansen fanfiction#chris evans#sierra six#sierra six fics#ryan gosling
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I wrote my first full Geraskefer (Geralt x Yen x Jaskier poly) fic! It's a..."it's not really unrequited, Jaskier is just a dumdum" fic. It has a POV chapter for each character.
It is below AND on Ao3 (5k words)
I wrote it as part of a fandom event with @witcherficwriters for @demeter918
Jaskier
When Jaskier fell in love with Geralt, it hit him hard and fast--like an arrow straight to the heart. Yen was different. Falling for her had worked like a poison, like droplets in his wine, building up in his body unnoticed, year after year until he was weak and unsteady.
That was the truth of the matter. But it all sounded so cliche.
Bollocks.
His metaphors needed work.
Jaskier leaned against a large oak tree and picked at his lute. Every few notes, he stopped to scratch lyrics on his parchment.
He needed something that rhymed with venom.
Jaskier was in a forest, by himself, half drunk. His heart ached in the empty place where his friends used to be. Once upon a time, this had all been easier. Simpler. He had known his role and had played it well.
In the first several decades of his relationship with Geralt, Jaskier was the one who picked up the pieces. The witcher and the witch were always at each other’s throats, always scratching each other’s eyes out. When the fights were over and the dust had settled, Jaskier was always there with a pint and a friendly ear.
Then, after Voleth Meir, things changed. It had felt so odd, drifting away from Geralt, and being there for Yennefer during that cold, brutal phase when Geralt wanted nothing to do with her. Jaskier was the only one left in Kaer Morhen who provided her with any warmth. He was the only one who she could turn to.
If you asked an average member of the public to describe the famous troubadour Jaskier, you would be hard pressed to find someone who would use the terms reliable or constant. And yet? That was what he had been for them--his witcher and his witch. Jaskier had always been their port in the storm.
And while it had certainly troubled him over the years to see his friends hurting, he found comfort in helping. And, if he were honest, he may possibly have felt a tiny bit smug. A little, itty bit superior. While they fought, he patiently counseled. While they scratched and hissed, he embraced and listened.
The childish, fickle poet got to play the hero.
It had taken the sting out of the unrequited yearning.
But then the worst thing possible happened. Geralt of Rivia and Yennefer of Vengerberg made up. And not just temporarily.
They grew.
They matured.
Parenting Ciri together eventually brought them closer than ever. And about six months ago, Geralt and Yen had purchased a lovely home by the sea.
THE SEA.
Jaskier’s face screwed up like he’d sucked a lemon. He spat on the ground next to him.
What rhymed with betrayal?
He had always understood that he was the friend, not the lover. It was true that both Geralt and Yen had kissed him at different points in their sordid histories. Each moment was burned into his memories for good. He was convinced that on his deathbed, the phantom caress of their lips would carry him back to the soil.
But every kiss, every touch that strayed from the bounds of friendship, had always felt furtive. Stolen. They had never spoken of it, and Geralt and Yen had always returned to one another.
Up until about six months ago, he thought he was fine with that.
But this new home by the sea changed everything. It was physical, conclusive evidence that they would be settling down together. Making a life. A future. Without him.
After about a month, the dinner invitations began to arrive for him at Oxenfurt. He would sit at his desk in silence and stare at the curled up parchment, picturing sitting around the table with Yen and Geralt. His heart ached with yearning for them. But he would only get as far as imagining what it would feel like to see their clothing hanging together, to sit on the furniture they picked out as a couple, and to witness their contented smiles, before he grew sullen and resentful.
Dinner.
Dinner in the home he was not a part of.
But he couldn’t say no. There was no rational reason to say no to generous invitations from cherished friends. So he decided to pretend he hadn’t received the invitations. He fled Oxenfurt for some conveniently timed walkabouts. They, however, knew he liked to hang around Posada, so an invitation had arrived for him there. So, Jaskier took off again. And again. And again. That was how he’d arrived where he was, on the outskirts of bum fuck nowhere, drunken and writing shitty ballads.
He tried to play another stanza, but the notes slipped from underneath his fingers, and dropped like bricks, making a discordant sound.
It was twilight. He looked at the empty wine flask at his knee. Shit. He may as well stop for the evening and stagger to an inn. Maybe the solution was to get more drunk. Yes Jaskier, he said to himself, that was a wise choice indeed.
“Master Jaskier!” A messenger boy popped out from the bushes.
Jaskier shrieked in surprise. The messenger boy was startled by his outburst, and shrieked in return. He was young, barely out of adolescence, wearing a hat pulled down to his prominent ears.
Jaskier clasped his chest. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that!” He shouted, affronted. “You rogue! You snot nosed, uhhhh,” his brain was foggy, so his voice trailed off, not able to come up with any better insult than uhhhh.
“I apologize sir!” the messenger pleaded, “but I’ve been tracking you for ages. You’re a tough man to catch.”
Jaskier swore under his breath. He thought he’d lost the little bugger. What happened to standards? What happened to work ethic? The messengers were rapidly gaining both, and it troubled him. You could barely escape a legal summons anymore, nor messages from your dearest friends.
“I have another message from Lady Yennefer of Vengerberg and Sir Geralt of Rivia.” He held out a cream colored square of paper. It was a lush envelope this time, affixed with a black and white seal.
Geralt and Yen had designed their own seal to affix to the envelopes and parchments that they sent as a couple.
It was so very...
Jaskier eyed his lute, instead of the messenger boy. He just needed a word that rhymed with cloying.
The boy waved the envelope impatiently in front of his nose. The slight scent of lilac and gooseberries wafted towards him. Scent was a funny thing. A funny and powerful thing. This particular scent brought very specific memories roaring back to life. It brought back Kaer Morhen, in the wreckage of Voleth Meir, when his arms cradled the petite frame of one raven haired sorceress as she quietly pretended not to cry.
Suddenly, Jaskier felt like a complete ass.
He swiped the envelope, and sent the boy away with free advice to never ever fall in love. He sat back hard against the rock and opened the envelope, reading it against the dying of the light.
Yennefer
It was raining.
Yennefer had not planned for rain.
She straightened the silverware again and smoothed out the napkin. Damnit. She was turning into Tissaia.
“Why is he avoiding us?” she demanded. “We’ve sent him ten invitations by now. He’s gotten at least one, there’s no way he hasn’t.”
Yennefer couldn’t bring herself to speak her real fear aloud. Does he not want us? No. Of course he wants Geralt. Is it me? Does he not want me? A warm hand covered her own. She raised her eyes.
“He’ll be here,” Geralt assured her.
They sat together, on either side of a table for four. There was one more place setting immaculately staged in front of the empty chair. Geralt and Yen sat in silence, listening to the rain tap on the roof.
“It is so rude not of him not to answer. He should at least say yes or no.”
“He’s an ass,” hummed Geralt. “But he’ll be here.”
Yennefer nodded. He would be here. He would. He would come and she would show him the house that they bought and decorated with care and love, and she would feed him the food that she and Geralt had made with their own hands. She would tell him about the town, how lovely and vibrant it was and how well he would fit in. And when he had seen everything this particular life had to offer him, they would make him a proposition. They would extend him an invitation.
“And what if he does come?” Yennefer blurted out. “What if he does come, and when we make our offer, he thinks we’re some kind of degenerates? What if he laughs, what if he--”
Geralt snorted. “Jaskier?” He laughed. “He’s the worst degenerate I have ever met.”
Yennefer swatted his arm softly. “Well, we aren’t. Not really.”
Geralt leaned in and kissed her softly on the cheek. “You’re nervous. Don’t be nervous. And don’t read his thoughts when he gets here. He hates that. If the answer is no, then it’s no.”
Yennefer leaned into his kiss and sighed. The fireplace crackled. The wind ripped through the branches of the olive tree by the window, and it sent leaves flicking against the window. She turned and pressed her lips softly into his. Her eyes closed and she inhaled his warmth, his scent.
Her dear witcher. Her Geralt. Finally they were getting the chance to rest together. To build a life. She let out a trembling breath as she pulled away and opened her eyes. She gazed at him fondly.
“This is all your fault, Geralt. I blame you entirely.”
Geralt grimaced and gave her The Look.
“It is,” she insisted. “If you hadn’t brought that beastly little man into my life, if you hadn’t introduced us, if you hadn’t made him marginally more tolerable by your association with him, I would never have taken him more seriously than I ever should have.”
“Yen.” Geralt leaned towards her, looking patient and understanding.
“He’s a bastard and I don’t even care,” she protested. “And what is more, I never should have.”
“Yen,” Geralt said again, like he was comforting a cranky child.
It made her feel like a cranky child and her voice grew louder. “And I don’t! I don’t care! I haven’t. And what’s more, I don’t even care if he comes tonight. If he knocked right now, I don’t know if I’d even answer it, I’d leave him outside to drown, and catch cold, and it would serve him right--”
Her tirade was suddenly muffled by the sound of a bang on the door.
Yennefer and Geralt leapt to their feet, rattling the dishes. They stood, facing each other in the candlelight, the moment hanging in the air. Geralt smiled in that way that said I told you so. Yennefer grinned back at him.
The sorceress tore open the door.
There he was, ragged and sopping wet, dripping water onto her landing. The sight of his face after so long was overwhelming.
“Hello?” he said, though he said it like a question. “You summoned a bard?” He laughed weakly.
“Well it’s about time. Come in,” Yen said. “You look like a wet alley cat, and you smell like it too.”
Jaskier stepped inside, water dripping onto the rug. He looked at her, and his eyes seemed to have gotten even more blue, if that were possible. They stared at one another for a tense moment. This was normally the moment in which he would either compliment or insult her lavishly.
But he didn’t. He smiled tentatively and he seemed, well, Yennefer wasn’t sure how he seemed. Apprehensive? Nervous? She began to reach out with her mind out of habit. Geralt preferred for her to read his mind rather than to be forced to speak his, so she’d gotten into the habit.
But she felt Geralt’s urgent hand on the small of her back and she yanked her mind back like she had touched a hot stove.
Jaskier opened his arms, and with a voice that sounded cheerful and forced, said “Well. Don’t just stand there, rejoice! The famous bard Jaskier graces your humble home.”
“Yes, and you look ridiculous.” Yennefer touched the sad soaking feather drooping from his hat. “I think it’s dead, bard.” She tugged on the top of his boots. “And what the fuck are you doing wearing these in this downpour? Are they rainwater collection devices?”
Jaskier yanked her into an embrace. It was cold and wet and jarring. It also made her heart leap with joy and her eyes prickle with tears. Geralt wrapped his arms around the two of them, and didn’t let them go until he heard Jaskier’s teeth begin to chatter.
Geralt
Sometimes, when Geralt found himself in awkward social situations, he pretended that he was on a hunt. He would gather data with his senses instead of worrying about what he would say next.
This was one of those moments. Instead of letting the uncertain tension in the room seep into him, he looked around and gathered data.
Geralt sat in his own dining room, at a teak table he had made with his own hands. The table settings had been done by a servant girl called Fiona who came over for a few hours on odd days. She had folded the napkins into birds. They were lined up like little soldiers, ready to absorb the detritus of dinner.
Yen sat to his right. She had on one of those soft gowns that she often wore around the house. It was a crushed velvet green that made her look like she glowed from within. Whenever she wore it, he had to be careful how he touched her if he wanted to get anything productive done that day. The fabric was warm and flimsy and it drove him insane the way it slid under his fingers. It was a vulnerable, gossamer barrier between his desire and her bare body that felt like it could be removed with just one tug. Whenever she wore it, it was all he could do to keep the wolf in check and his hands to himself.
“I can’t believe you like these old things,” she would sniff.
But she knew. She loved to provoke him, then trap him between her thighs. He loved that too.
He inhaled, and she smelled as she always did. The scent of lilac and gooseberries had grown to become the scent of home, calming him on contact. Beneath that scent was her beauty potions. She had spent twice as long on her face and hair that morning, though he’d known better than to call attention to it. It was her armor. Her arsenal. It was all in preparation for this; this battle with her fear of being rejected.
That was another thing he wasn’t allowed to speak, but he knew it to be true. Geralt always assumed rejection was imminent, so he was pleasantly surprised when he didn’t receive it. But Yen had more pride than he did. In some ways, she was more vulnerable, though if he said that aloud he’d lose his nuts. He understood though. He looked at her softly, as she faced off with his oldest, dearest friend, her fingers clenching her knees under the table.
Geralt had been trying to avoid really looking at Jaskier, but now he did. He had to gather data, after all.
His gaze settled on Jaskier, and he tried to empty his mind.
The bard had been soaked to the bone, so Yen had offered him a fresh change of dry clothes. It was perfectly logical. But now Jaskier sat directly across from Geralt, wearing the witcher’s clothes.
The fireplace was directly behind the bard, which was a problem. Geralt’s tunic hung half off one of his shoulders, so the loose fabric was made transparent by the back lighting. The shape of Jaskier’s strong shoulders and the thick pelt he called chest hair was entirely too visible for the witcher’s comfort. The light from behind made his half wet hair look like a bedraggled halo, which, unfortunately, Geralt also found very charming. But most distracting of all was the scent. Jaskier had dried himself, but the subtle scent of fresh rain clung to his skin, mixing with the scent of Geralt.
It provoked a territorial instinct in the witcher that he was trying to tamp down on. This was a delicate situation, and he didn’t need to add flame to the fire. But it was no use. When he looked at Jaskier in his clothes, a voice within him growled.
Mine. Fucking Mine.
Back in the day, Geralt had never gotten enough of Jaskier to sate him. They’d kissed and groped in the cover of darkness, but things had been so chaotic then.
Everything then had been about Ciri. About survival. They were on the run from every power hungry bastard on the continent. There had been nothing left for what he wanted. When the dust cleared, he and Yen had made their way back to each other first. They were both focused on Ciri, after all. They had built their bridges. But he hadn’t meant to leave Jaskier behind.
Geralt looked at his friend now, and all he could think about was all the things he had never gotten to do. He’d kissed him. But had he kissed him properly? Tenderly? Like he meant it? Had he even paid attention? And what about all the places on Jaskier’s body that he had yet to touch or see in the beauty of daylight?
“Don’t you think, Geralt?” Yen asked, voice sounding tense.
Geralt startled. “What, dear?”
Shit. What had he missed?
Yen smiled, tight lipped. “Don’t you think this is a lovely area, Geralt? A great place to live? Doesn’t it have a thriving artistic community with plenty of bards and craftsmen and artists around?”
Geralt smiled too. “Yes. Yes. Definitely.” He wanted Jaskier to want to live here, and it seemed like just the thing to say. “Lots of bards.”
But Jaskier looked pained. “Other bards, you say?”
“No.” Geralt blurted out. “No. None. No other bards anywhere.”
Yennefer sighed. There was an awkward pause and he could see the gears turning. She was changing tactics. “How about a tour of the house?”
Again, Jaskier smiled but looked pained. Geralt felt like they were torturing the man, but he wasn’t sure how. He understood Yen’s impulse towards mind reading sometimes. “Yes,” Geralt answered. “A tour.”
“No! No thank you!” Jaskier said, a little too loudly. “I can see it from here!”
Yen and Geralt had already pushed away their plates and begun to stand. They plopped back down again.
Jaskier coughed and fiddled with his napkin. The little bird had long since unfolded into a shapeless mass, yet his napkin was still clean. Geralt looked at his plate. He and Yen had eaten their entire meals, but Jaskier hadn’t taken a bite.
“What’s the matter?” Geralt leaned forward and instinctively put his hand on the table, reaching towards his friend. Jaskier glanced at it and his face fell.
“I saw the room. When I was changing.”
“Your room?” asked Yen, her voice tight. “You don’t like it.”
Jaskier looked down at his napkin again, as he pinched and twisted it. “I do, it’s lovely. I saw that you put a lithograph up for each of my favorite bawdy houses in each of my favorite cities.” He smiled, and his eyes looked like they were growing wet. “And you put dried buttercups and music sheets.” He finally looked up at them. “It is so thoughtful and kind. You are the best friends anyone could hope to have.”
Yen leaned forward now too. She held Jaskier’s hand until his fingers stopped fluttering. Their eyes met. “Then what is wrong?”
Jaskier looked at Geralt and then back at Yen. “I wish the two of you weren’t so fucking kind. Because that means I must be honest with you.”
“Honest?” Geralt asked. “About what?”
Jaskier slipped his hand free of Yen and sat back in his chair. She returned her hands to her lap, so Geralt reached under the table and laced his fingers together with hers. They were clammy and nervous.
Jaskier looked at the ceiling. “I’m a selfish cunt.” He looked back at them, more confident now. “Alright?”
“Yes,” Yen agreed. “We know that.”
Jaskier continued as though she hadn’t said anything. “I am not worthy of your friendship. Because,” He drew in a slow breath, then released it, “I want more.”
“More?” asked Geralt.
Jaskier swallowed. “Geralt, I have all of these feelings. I tried to deny them. I tried to change them. I don’t want to feel this way.” He was speaking so fast now, Geralt was having trouble keeping up. “But I do. So I am not going to be able to come and stay here just yet, in this beautiful room, not until I can calm this beast in my heart, and can accept the love of your friendship without wanting more. It’s why I avoided your invitations. Instead of answering honestly, I avoided you, and now I must decline your hospitality for the foreseeable future. Because,” he tapped the table a few times, “I am a selfish cunt.”
There was a moment of silence between them, though the fire crackled away noisily.
Yen cleared her throat. “You want more? From who? Which one of us are you talking about? Me, or Geralt?”
Jaskier’s shoulders drooped. “Yes,” he said. “Yes.”
There was a longer moment of silence. It was a delicate, brittle silence, as they all sat, trying to grasp for their next words. Geralt finally broke the silence.
“Why don’t we take that tour of the house.” He slipped his hands around Yen’s waist. “Let’s show him the bedroom.”
Jaskier squeaked a protest. “Geralt, you weren’t listening, please don’t do this to me--”
But Yennefer was up in a flash, tugging him by the hand.
Jaskier
Jaskier allowed himself to be pulled along because he didn’t want to fight with Yen. But when he stepped into the bedroom, his heart sank, exactly as he was expecting it to.
It was a lovely room. It reflected the elegance and taste of Yen, but it was unfussy in a way that felt like Geralt. The bed was large enough to accommodate a small army. They must have had it made special so they could be as acrobatic as Yen wanted to be.
Jaskier swallowed down the lump in his throat. They could both be so kind, and yet so cruel. He’d said he didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to see where they carried on without him.
“Jaskier.”
Yen was still holding his hand. He focused on her, and immediately regretted it. He felt vulnerable. His eyes were prickling, his throat constricting. And despite his emotional turmoil, he still felt that old attraction to her.
How could he not?
Look at her.
Those incomparable, violet, doe eyes. The softness of her hands. The shameless grace of her low swooping neckline which, from his higher perspective, revealed most of her lovely breasts. They’d been in his mouth once, on his lips.
He cleared his throat and corrected his wandering gaze. “Yes?”
She stepped close. Too close. He became aware of his quickening pulse. He glanced nervously at Geralt. Geralt sat on the bed, leaning back on his hands. He didn’t seem concerned that the love of his life was a bit too close to his best friend.
Yen cradled his face, forcing him to look at her once more.
“Yes?” he repeated doubtfully, his voice cracking like an adolescent.
Yen pushed up onto her toes and gently tugged him down, just as she pressed her lips to his. They were pliant and petal soft, and before he could think, he moaned and clasped her slight waist, clenching her tight.
Yen, lovely Yen, pressed into his lips with her tongue. There was no mistaking this kiss for anything friendly.
Panic came roaring back, and Jaskier dropped her waist and stumbled backwards, covering his mouth. He was too ashamed to look at Geralt. “Geralt,” he croaked. “No. I mean. I’m sorry. I didn’t-”
His back hit the wall. Yen was looking at him like she did sometimes. Like she thought he was a fool, but she was resigned to it. She shook her head as though regretting all of her life choices. “Geralt?” she asked.
Geralt stood up from the bed, almost lazily. He stretched, giving Jaskier a moment to admire him too. He wore a tunic much like the one Jaskier had on. When he stretched, he revealed a sliver of belly. He’d been eating better, and he looked thicker than Jaskier remembered. He looked absolutely divine.
While Jaskier was busy admiring him, the witcher took three long steps towards him. The witcher was so large and broad, but he moved so gracefully that it made Jaskier’s head spin.
Jaskier tensed. He wasn’t sure why. What would Geralt do to him? He lifted his arms in defeat.
But Geralt was not angry. He did not push him, or anything else Jaskier feared. Instead, the witcher looped his arms around Jaskier’s waist and spun him.
Jaskier felt the room spin and his body drop. Geralt was dipping him.
He managed to relax and let himself be thrown backwards into Geralt’s arms. Then Geralt leaned down and their foreheads touched, their lips were so close together.
Jaskier smiled tentatively and touched Geralt’s cheek.
Then, Geralt kissed him, fiery and passionate. It was just like some romance novel. Jaskier let himself go. He sunk into Geralt’s arms and pressed into his kiss. Some part of Jaskier’s mind was vaguely aware that Yen was watching them.
When Geralt returned him to his feet, Jaskier was dizzy. He was giggling like a schoolgirl, and he was dizzy.
“Do you understand now, bard?” teased Geralt.
Jaskier touched his own lips and looked from Geralt to Yen. “Oh.”
It was all he could say. He was a poet, damnit. A poet.
Oh.
Yen giggled too. She did that so rarely. It was a fucking gorgeous sound. A girlish, carefree sound that she so rarely made. “Moron,” she said, as she threw herself into his arms.
Jaskier nodded, in a daze, stroking the small of her back and pressing a kiss to her hair. “I think I get it,” he said, his voice rough.
“There are three pillows on the bed, Jaskier,” said Geralt. He pointed at the bed. And yes, it was true. “There are three hooks by the door,” Geralt continued, “for robes and things--” his voice trailed off.
“We made you a room,” said Yen, voice muffled by being pressed into Jaskier’s chest, “just so you could have your own space if you want it. But we want you to live in this one, with us.”
Geralt draped his arms around them, encircling both of them. “You only need to use your room when you want privacy or need a break.” He kissed the top of Yen’s head. Then he kissed Jaskier’s temple.
Jaskier was never speechless. He always had something to say. But he could not quite believe that life would give him this blessing. After everything they had been through. After the pain, and torture, after the imprisonment, the loss.
He was really going to get to have this.
“Well,” Yen asked. “What do you say, bard? Cat got your tongue?”
Jaskier let his head drop onto Geralt’s impossibly round, impossibly solid shoulder. ‘I accept,” he said. “I accept.”
-----
Jaskier had, of course, had sex with multiple people at once. When he could afford to, or he was on someone else’s dime, he paid for multiple people to attend to him at the brothels. There were also those nights when he had several fans who wanted him after a performance, and weren’t averse to sharing. He loved the attention, that was no secret.
But this.
This was something new.
He had never made love to two people at once, not people that he would lay down his life for. And while he was aware that some people had more than two individuals in their relationships, he supposed it hadn’t occurred to him that Yen and Geralt might be like that, and for him of all people.
He was nervous at first. But when he saw that touching Geralt made Yen smile, and that touching Yen made Geralt’s eyes darken with lust, he relaxed.
When Geralt and Yen asked him what he wanted, he was in such shock that he fell back into old habits. He grasped Yen’s thighs and ate her out like she was his last meal, though he had never done that with Geralt fucking him from behind. It was unspeakably sexy. It also made him feel important that two people like Geralt and Yen wanted him like that.
They learned how to move together, they touched one another, kissed one another, and rolled around together on the bed big enough for an army.
When they lay in the afterglow, Jaskier asked if he’d died and gone to heaven. It was truly difficult to fathom that he could have both. Choosing anything was the bane of his existence and it seemed too good to be true that it would not be required of him.
Geralt assured him that when Yen began to use his legs to warm her feet, he would change his tune.
“That’s the main reason you’re here, bard,” Geralt had said. “I was tired of being the foot warmer.”
That night, Jaskier fell asleep with a contented sigh on his lips.
He was with Yen. He was with Geralt. He was home. Home at the house on the sea.
#the witcher#geralt of rivia#jaskier#yennefer of vengerberg#geraskefer#descarada writes#geralt x yennefer x jaskier
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for the ask thing, if you’re still doing them, give pickles some love 🥹 fluff C, G, I, M, T
I am! Although I’m considering just writing full alphabets for each of them at some point lol
C- Cuddles
He’s very awkward the first time you cuddle up to him. He’s gotten touchy with other people before, but his platonic/sexual love is very different from the way he feel romantic love. When you drape yourself across him, he stares straight ahead, red in the face as he stiffly rubs a hand up and down your back. He brain is freaking out over the fact that you’re touching him, you’re touching him, holy hell!
After that initial moment, he’s a lot better. Now he feels comfortable getting snug with you at random moments and will gladly accept your affection. It definitely becomes a casual pastime, where he messes on his phone or just talks to you for an hour or so.
If he’s drunk, and it’s late at night, and he wrap your arms around him…he just starts crying. He tries to hide it, but it becomes pretty difficult when he’s shaking and sniffling right there. It dawns on him how loved he feels and how amazing you are. They’re very happy tears, but he unfortunately falls asleep before giving you an explanation, giving you some distress until morning.
It’s rare, but he’ll sometimes still cry at random, soft moments.
G- Gentle
Most of the time, he won’t be. He’s impulsive and witty with the way he acts and this doesn’t cease around you. He knows you can handle his jokes and he loves seeing you laugh at them! He doesn’t understand trying to baby you.
Until he finds you in a difficult moment, crying or hyperventilating, and he recognizes his own weaknesses within you. So he does what he always wants done to him; he’ll sit right there, tell you it’s all gonna be okay, and cradles your head in his lap. Probably offers you some weed too.
If you have breakdowns and panic attacks often, he gets increasingly better at helping with them and, by circumstance, dealing with his own freak outs as well. His gentleness always comes out when you most need it.
I- “I Love You”
It’s a bit of a mixed bag.
When you’re just beginning to know each other, maybe before even being in a relationship, he’ll spout out a “Love ‘ya” anytime you do him a quick favor or even make him laugh really hard. It’s not super serious and he says it to a bunch of people all the time. In all honesty, it doesn’t mean that much to him and it shouldn’t to you.
It’s not until later, six months to a year in, when he finally means it. He’s thought that he loves you for a while, but he always keeps the words from leaving his lips. Until he just can’t.
He’s laying on you chest as the two of you finish up a movie. You turn off the TV, lamenting that it was just mediocre despite what all the reviews said. He’s drowning in your warmth, you scent, he feels all the buildup from the wonderful time he’s spent with you filling up his throat. You shift slightly to pull a blanket over the both of your bodies, settling in to sleep on the couch. His face buries into your stomach.
“I love you.” He says, the words small, muffled, and yet so heavy to him. He feels like his skin is about to tear open with how hot he suddenly gets.
“I love you too, hun.” You say, casual, as though it were obvious. He shudders as your nails slowly trace down his back. He falls asleep, comfortable, flustered, and praying that this moment lasts forever.
M- Morning
“Eghh, it’s too demn earhly!”
It doesn’t matter if it’s 2AM or 2PM, Pickles is going to say that every damn time. If someone didn’t force him awake, he’d sleep forever. He hates waking up and hates you waking up as well, so he’s gonna clutch onto your clothing as you try to leave bed. Once you finally tear away, give him a small apology kiss, he’s going to continue to sleep as you shower, get dressed, whatever.
He’ll only wake up on two terms; he either misses you in bed and so he’ll crawl out, try to convince you to come back, and once that doesn’t work he groans that he’s already up and might as well get dressed. OR, you yell at him to get dressed because he has a band meeting in half an hour. He’s annoyed at you for a little bit, but he realizes that you’re right and gets it over with.
T- Try
At first, maybe in the ‘wooing’ stage, he really wants to impress you. Not necessarily with his money, but just by how cool he is, so your dates are gonna be at underground parties and your gifts are gonna be rare and unusual.
But he actually prefers to stay casual. The effort he puts in becomes more so about you having a good time with him rather than by just how awesome it sounds in theory. Pizza, wine, and sex sounds like a great date to him. He loves buying funny little gadgets and trinkets as your gifts. Everyday is going to be about making you happy and comfortable, not just in shock by big gestures.
If anyone else has a request, refer back to here!
#dethklok#metalocalypse#polyklok is real#dethklok headcanon#metalocaypse headcanon#pickles the drummer#metalocalypse x reader#metalocalypse pickles#request filled
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SIX OF CROWS COLLEGE/MODERN AU???
(even tho technically they'd all be in highschool following cannon age)
shut up.
oh lord
i love imagining my traumatized little characters in happy worlds,
background knowledge:
grisha arent a thing in this au and there is no current wars
Dorm Arrangements:
Inej and Nina requested rooms together the same day they could, Kaz managed to get a room alone and so did Wylan. Matthias doesn't go to college nor does Jesper.
disclaimer:
i will write more lore about this collige au esp jesper and wylan because we need more gay men in healthy loving relationships
(its me im the gay men)😭
"Hey, Kaz!"
The boy, who was previously watching a particularly ugly bird, looked up to see Inej and Nina. Both of the girls wore matching sundresses.
The five were going swimming today. Although Ketterdam was known for it's dreary and bleak weather, it was summer which meant they got three whole days out of the month of August to enjoy a sunny day.
"Where's Jesper and Matthias?" Inej asked Kaz, as if he could telepathically communicate with the two idiots.
"I think Matthias is meeting us at the watering hole," Nina chimed in. She was typing away furiously on her phone and every so often a curl would fall in front of her eyes and she would angrily push it away, only for gravity to drag the curl right back where it fell before.
Suddenly, a loud chime startled the group, well, not really. Kaz did not only jump but also let out a little yelp as his phone went off. Inej and Nina laughed until they were both a wheezing mess.
"Oh. My. God." Kaz could barely make out the girl's out of breath words. Before she could elaborate, Nina began to have another laughing
fit.
"It startled me, that was all." Kaz grumbled, crossing his arms and pulling out his phone angrily. He had been gifted the device from Inej, it was a Christmas gift. Kaz, ever the old man in a young adult's body, had no clue on how to work the damn thing. Currently, it was the ringer that was giving him hell but last week iMessage was kicking his ass.
"Jesper texted me," he said, "He's asking if we mind if he brings an extra person."
"Jesper?" Nina asked, "With a date?"
Inej, the ever loving and gracious friend, smacked Nina's arm. The latter gasped dramatically and pretended to cradled her arm.
"Don't be rude. It's probably just some poor person Jesper wanted to drag along on an adventure," she shuddered and Kaz shook his head, "He does that too much."
"I agree, we should say no."
"What?" Inej interjected, even Nina raised an eyebrow at Kaz's suggestion, "Let them come it'll be fun. Maybe we can make a new friend!"
Kaz, however, did not see Inej's point.
Nevertheless, he texted Jesper and told him the stranger could come. The things he did for that girl.
Originally, Kaz met Nina junior year of highschool.
She had just moved from Ravka and they were paired together for a science project. The project was complex, it was meant to show an overall understanding of what they learned that year. The two extensively worked on it for two months and proudly presented it. Although they never became "friends" in highschool, both kept contact and Kaz even showed up at Nina's 18th birthday.
"Sorry I missed your sweet sixteen," he said as he handed Nina his gift, "I didn't realize those were an important thing to you." Kaz shrugged, Nina noticed, as he said the last part. I didn't realize those were an important thing to you. He cared, Nina realized that day, he acted like he didn't but he definitely did. Before she was sent to Ketterdam she was not the most popular kid on the playground. Friends were hard to make when you get singled out by someone many people look up to.
For Nina, Kaz was a breath of fresh air. Not that she would ever let him know that. He might get violent.
Behind them, the three could hear a car pulling up. Jesper's light blue Honda Civic parked poorly in a spot nearby. His face peeked over the roof of his car and he began wavely excitedly when he saw his friends. The passenger side door opened "Uhm, where are my keys?"
Kaz, who had been watching this for a second stepped up. In his fingers, the keys swung lazily.
"I'm driving."
Jesper groaned as Kaz forced him out of the truck. There was no arguing with a brick wall.
After Jesper almost ran into a dear, Kaz would not let Jesper drive in a car that he also was in. The group laughed and gossiped on the way to the watering hole, when they arrived Kaz was voted as designated Spot Finder. He was not swimming so he was tasked with finding a place for all their stuff and making sure it's not stolen.
ok im gonna edit this later and add im so sornee rn and CAN NOT breathe😭
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