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celtic-crossbow · 7 months

Text

I’d Break the Back of Love for You

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Commonwealth (No France)

Warnings: Oral (f receiving), sexual situations

Summary: You have some serious appreciation for Daryl’s shoulders.

A/N: As you should, reader. As you should.

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

“How long will you be gone?” You asked before popping a strawberry into your mouth. Daryl had brought them home upon his return only two days prior. You didn’t ask where he found them and he didn’t offer, but he wasn't banged up so he likely didn’t risk life and limb for them. Well, anymore than he always did by going outside the safety of the Commonwealth.

He was already gathering supplies to head out again after a broadcast that Eugene had picked up on the radio. There wasn’t much to it. Just a couple of scrambled words and a lot of static. Not enough, in your opinion, for Daryl to run out and risk himself.

The archer gave you a quick look, a corner of his mouth tugging upward when he noticed the plate of strawberries by your hip. “Few days maybe.” He answered, wrapping some bread and grabbing a couple of refilled bottles of water. He placed the items next to his shirt, on the counter you were currently calling a seat.

When he scratched at his chin, your eyes followed his movements but lingered once he had dropped his hand and moved on with packing. His goatee was more of a starter beard these days, no time for trimming. It didn’t bother you. The salt-n-pepper hair felt good when scratching against the right patches of skin.

There were so many things about your archer that you could admire in that regard all day if you ever had the chance.

The obvious one being his cock. You couldn’t say it was the biggest you’d ever seen but it was definitely to be admired. The first time, back on the Greene farm, he’d pushed into you and you’d nearly came from the stretch alone. It wasn’t just about size though. The man knew how to use it to make you come apart over and over. It always made you want to giggle when you would think back to how socially stunted he had been one day and then the next, he was fucking you stupid over Hershel’s porch railing.

His hair was so long now, the waves taking off a few inches. It was well onto his back when wet. You could still remember when it was barely over his eyes. You had loved it then too. But now, when you would bathe together, you’d have him sit in front of you so you could wash it for him. You’d always end up playing with it; braiding it or carding your fingers through it. However, the best thing was how it clung to his face and neck when he was sweaty after a thorough fucking. You’d push it off of his face, letting your fingers catch on the tangles as you kissed him.

His hands were so much bigger than yours. On the few lazy mornings you were granted, when Carol would get the kids to school for you, you’d just lie there and hold your hands together. With your palm flat against his, he could bend his fingers over the tops of your own. It was easy to imagine his thick fingers inside of you. He had sent you tumbling into oblivion plenty of times with only one curling within your walls. Those hands didn’t just hold weapons; they worked magic, too.

But it was the man’s shoulders that did you in. All that lean muscle that contracted and moved as he lifted and tugged at things to pack. You’d never admit it, but the nights alone in his absence, it was the thought of your legs over those broad shoulders and his face buried in your cunt that brought you to completion over and over.

You really needed to hide any of his shirts that weren’t tank tops.

Who would’ve thought that out of any part of that man, the one that would make you almost instantly wet was his “shoulders—”

“What?”

You shook your head and looked around a bit wildly until you found his gaze and locked on. “Hmm?”

“What ‘bout my shoulders?” He asked as you lifted another strawberry toward your lips. His question had you fumbling the fruit, catching it at the last second before it could fall to the floor.

You laughed nervously. “Shoulders? What? I didn’t say—” you stuffed the entire berry into your mouth to stop your embarrassing rambling. Hopefully, he’d just let it go and keep packing.

That hope went careening out the window when he looked down at his right shoulder and then back at you, a smirk on his face and a twinkle in his eye.

“Nah, ya definitely said somethin’ ‘bout shoulders.” He sat the canteen he had been about to fill next to the sink and started walking toward you. “Still got my hearin’, Sunshine.”

You felt heat pooling in your cheeks and…other places when he leaned into your space, a hand braced on either side of your hips. The strawberry was swallowed down with an audible gulp.

“I, uh, like your shoulders.” You whispered. Daryl laughed in the form of an exhale and leaned in closer, his lips coming to press against the side of your neck. Maintaining any sort of control was almost futile. “Daryl, you need to get packed.” You attempted to sway him but he simply hummed against your flesh.

“Whatcha thinkin’, pretty girl?”

You groaned but leaned back your head to grant him more access. “A lot of things that are gonna make you late.” He didn’t respond to that. Not verbally. He grabbed your hips and pulled your body to the edge of the countertop, your groin coming into contact with the evidence of his own arousal.

“You’re right.” He rasped against your collarbone. With one roll of his hips, you both gasped from the friction. “I guess I should be gettin’ on with packin’.” He rolled his hips again, growling against your jaw. “D’rather have those legs’a yours over these shoulders.”

You whimpered and squirmed against him, mewling when the rough fabric of his jeans grazed against your sensitive core through your thin sleep shorts and panties. That voice of his always made you putty in his hands. “I—please, Daryl.”

“M’gonna give ya whatcha need, Sunshine.” He leaned back and tapped both of your biceps. “Up.” Your arms were immediately raised and your shirt pulled over and off. The cold air against your nipples had them hardening before Daryl could even touch you.

Your small hands found his shoulders, gripping tight while he worshiped your breasts with mouth and hands. The skin of his palms was rough and calloused but that alone brought you so much pleasure. He cupped your left breast, kneading the soft mound and pinching your nipple while circling his tongue over its twin. You had never been so sensitive to a man’s touch in your life, but Daryl could play your body like an instrument.

He pulled off of your breast with a wet pop and searched out your lips, his tongue pressing through to tangle with your own.

“Lay back.” He ordered against your mouth. You did as you were told, only slightly embarrassed by how you knew your wetness was showing through your shorts. Of course, that was the first thing he noticed when he took a step back. “So wet for me an’ I’ve barely touched ya.” His thumb pressed into your clothed opening and trekked upward, earning a few panted moans and a raise of your hips.

He continued past your pussy until he reached the waistband and turned his hand to dip his fingers underneath it. Joined by his other, he pulled your shorts and panties off in slow movements, letting them fall onto the floor.

His large hands pressed into your inner thighs to open you up so wide that it bordered painful. All you could do was bite your lip and watch him. His tongue creeped across his bottom lip, and you shivered.

“Prettiest pussy there ever was.” He commented absently, releasing one of your legs so he could slide his index finger up and down your slick lips. He was rewarded with a needy whine and the sight of you clenching around nothing. With a smirk, he moved his finger straight to his mouth, not pushing it past his lips until you opened your eyes. “Sweet lil’ thing too.”

“Daryl.” You whined. You both knew you weren’t above begging. It was only a matter of whether or not he wanted to hear it this time.

“I gotcha, Sunshine. Gonna make ya feel real good, okay?”

You had zero doubt about that.

“Sit up for me.”

You planted your palms on the counter and came up to meet him, wrapping your hand around the back of his neck to drag him in for a kiss. He chuckled, a sound you adored, and pulled away from you to sink to one knee. A sweet kiss was pressed into your left thigh and then he was looking up at you. Oh, you were burning that sight into your memory for later. He placed his hands beneath your knees and stilled, smirking.

“You’re gonna need to hold on, pretty thing.”

You gave him a quizzical look but then he pulled you forward, his face diving into your waiting cunt as his hands quickly moved to your ass. You had just enough time to twist your fingers in his hair before he was rising from the floor.

“Oh, fuck.” You yelped, not just at the sensation of his tongue breaching your opening, but also at being six feet off the ground. How the man knew where to walk was anyone’s guess but his steps were sure. Your back pressed against the wall beside the refrigerator, giving him a little leverage to really work at your pussy in earnest.

The initial shock had worn off, now replaced by the sensations his mouth was causing and the absolute thrill of legitimately being perched on those fucking shoulders while he devoured you like a man starved.

“Fuck, that feels good.” You praised, fisting one hand in his hair while the other came up to palm the wall beside your head. He knew exactly what he was doing in every sense at that moment. You could feel the tense muscle below your thighs. His tongue delving deep inside your fluttering walls. His nose rubbing against your rapidly swelling clit. His beard scraping your overheated flesh.

A new wave of arousal seeped out of you and he groaned, happily lapping it up with sounds that definitely did not belong in a kitchen. The cord inside you was heating up, coiling tighter and tighter in your belly, an absolutely delicious feeling of both tension and ecstasy building and yearning just below the skin.

When he slid his tongue up through your wetness to flick at your clit, you almost couldn’t stand it; desperate to cum and hear him cooing praises after he drank every drop, but also wanting to savor the delectable journey toward an inevitable mind blowing orgasm that would likely leave you unable to speak anything but his name.

“Fuck, oh, right there!” You slapped your palm once against the wall with a long, wanton moan. You wanted to grind against his face, aid in coaxing your high out of you, but he seemed to know exactly what you were thinking. His grip on your ass tightened and he pressed face even closer to you, lips encircling your bundle of nerves to suck at it while his tongue worked it from inside his mouth. “Goddamn, Daryl! Fuck!”

He went back to kitten licks, tilting his head down so his nose continued to press at your pulsing nub while he slurped up any new arousal that had dripped out of your entrance.

He was killing you. And you loved it.

Daryl Dixon may have been called many things in his life, but absolute destroyer of pussy needed to be added to that list. When he wasn’t sucking your ability to think right out of your clit, maybe you could remember to call him that in front of one of your friends.

“Fuck.” You felt like you could almost cry, your orgasm not just creeping closer but sprinting. “Daryl, I’m—I’m gonna cum.” He gave your ass a hard squeeze, his way of demanding you let go.

It was gradual, a pins and needles sensation that started from where his lips pulled tightly on your clit and spread out through your limbs, causing them to begin trembling. Then it was all at once, a wave of pleasure hit you so hard that you jerked and the back of your head hit the wall while your hands pulled roughly on his hair. There were a few moments unaccounted for, your vision overtaken by darkness and stars and the distant sounds of your own screams of his name.

When you came back to yourself, your arms were dangling uselessly. You were panting while your body spasmed through the last pulses of your high. And Daryl was eagerly lapping up every drop.

Once you were completely spent, you felt one of his large hands slid up to brace the small of your back while the other lifted one of your legs from his shoulder. He switched, gripping just above your hip on that side to keep you from falling while he moved your other leg. Then you were sliding down until he stopped you just in front of his face, his lips readily pressing against yours.

You could taste yourself on his tongue, feel your own wetness smearing across your face from where it had gathered on his beard. The kiss itself was sweet and lazy and loving, whispered praises between each press of his lips. Your feet slowly touched the floor and his hands came up to cradle your face.

You wanted to melt against him and beg him not to leave you. To clean you up and take you to bed so you could surprise you both by climbing above him and riding him until he filled you over and over. That fantasy had you reaching to cup him through his pants, feeling the straining hardness for only a moment before he gently grabbed your wrist.

“Let’s take a bath an’ getcha cleaned up an’ ready for bed.”

You pulled back, frowning in confusion. “Don’t you have to leave?” You felt your heart spin when he gave you the sweetest smile; the one he gave to only you.

“Nah, need to be here.” He tucked your hair behind your ear, one side and then the other, before gently cupping your chin and kissing you. “They can send someone else.”

“You mean it?” You asked, eyes sparkling with more hope than you meant to reveal.

“Nah, lemme go an’ finish packin’.” He started to turn away but you caught one of those beautiful shoulders to easily spin him back to you. He deflected your attempt to smack him by ducking and hoisting you up over the very same shoulder you had grabbed. “You’re stuck with me.”

“Oh, woe is me!” You laughed, kicking your legs to get out of his hold. You didn’t even remember you were still naked until he gave your ass a gentle smack as he walked up the stairs. Once at the top, you wiggled forward so you could reach and slap his ass one good time. “Hey, if that’s what happens when I say your shoulders are sexy, what would you do if I said you have a nice ass?”

He barked out a laugh that you didn’t hear often enough and used the heel of his boot to kick the door closed.

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admiringlove · 10 months

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[4:02]

you could hear your heart, thumping loudly in your ears as you lay bare-bodied in his arms. the covers are cozy and the air is cold, whilst his embrace brings you warmth. his breath fans over your forehead as you, in a sleepy haze look aimlessly at the wall.

gosh, you wish you could turn the time back.

to when, exactly? when did any of this start? a few hours ago, when the two of you were just best friends watching a movie together? not quite, you think. because in truth, you have never been just best friends with suna rintarō. you have always been something more. the line between friends and something has always been blurry, too.

so when could you go back to? that day last month, when he started seriously flirting with you after his relationship with that pretty girl majoring in english ended? you knew he was messing around. as his best friend, you were privy to these things. suna was the type of boy to take his life lightly when it mattered the most. perhaps he regretted it later, but you'd never know. you never knew what thoughts juxtaposed in his mind. the most you could do was predict his actions. which of course, almost always have shitty fucking consequences.

maybe you'd go back to the really rainy day last year, when it was pouring so harshly that the two of you got stuck at the bus stop downtown. sitting together, thighs touching and hands clasped against one another, shivering against the cold while being inches apart from the other's lips. what a day that was. you finally understood that day that you could never really move on from him even if you tried your hardest. he would simply always be there. rin had that effect on people where he would linger like the scent of a cigarette—not leaving someone's mind for days on end.

or really, should you be going back to that time in high school when you first developed a crush on him? walking home together while talking about volleyball, or watching the videos he took of the twins fighting, sharing chuupets and being excited about indirectly kissing. gosh, those were really the days, weren't they? when you'd get giddy when he simply called your name.

yet here you were. in his bed, staring at the off-white wall, wondering if you could ever go back to being those two hopeful kids. maybe you should have pushed him away when he cuddled close. or maybe you shouldn't have come here at all. but you did. you gave and you gave because that's in your nature. and suna? he's a taker, of course. he never took you for granted though. it's what made you trust him with your life.

your heart still thumped loudly, almost banging in your ears. regret is what you felt—because after all these years, all you were good for was some cheap sex around a month and a half after his break-up. it felt filthy to you. maybe not to him, because he laid next to you, sleeping soundly. your mind, however, would not stop running. it's like suna never got tired of being the most important person in your life. your life almost revolved around him, but at the same time, it didn't.

you slowly turned, not wanting to disturb his sleep. in hindsight, you should have just taken his arm off. but you didn't. you choose the hard way out. because his touch would feel like pity that he takes upon you—perhaps that's why you felt so cheated. never in a million years had he looked upon you in this way, even if his words meant something utterly different. you knew he couldn't see you in this light because you were innocently present throughout his life. he probably saw you more as family than the unholy sins you've committed tonight.

you're finally not facing him, your body barely being covered because suna hoards the covers. you sigh, sitting up. the digital clock on the nightstand reads that it is four-twenty-six in the morning. it pains you to stand and get dressed in such a way. you watch him as you swiftly pull on your jeans, and walk out of the room. one glance is all you allow yourself. because you know it's better not to look. it's better not to give into your deepest desires, since you know that none of them will come true anyway. you grab your things and muster up the courage to leave him like that—alone, and bare.

"what're you doing?" you flinch when you hear it. the croaky, yet deep enough voice that sounds almost hazy like a midsummer fever dream. you turn, eyes glassy and lips parted. he looks at you with squinted eyes and a yawn, as he scratches his head. his hair is inevitably a mess, and he adorns nothing but a pair of sweatpants that hang loosely at the lower part of his hip.

"nothing," you mumble, "i just remembered that i have a busy day so i should probably go."

god, stop talking. you wanted to choke yourself. he looked at you as if you'd said something stupid. and suddenly, you felt like a child in front of him.

"you told me you have nothing to do today before we," he clears his throat, "y'know."

"yeah, and now i have things to do," you say, firmly. you want to stand your ground. you refuse to be a puppet in his games. and you refuse to be pitied. suna was always a puzzle to you, finding ways to keep you coming back for more as if he were some sort of sick addiction.

"oh," he says. he's leaning against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches you grab your things. you look back at him as you sling the bag over your shoulder, car keys jingling in your left hand. he sighs, "well, i won't stop you if you're busy."

that's the thing. you want him to stop you. you want him to grab your wrist just as you're about to leave, and whisper something to you that'll make you stay. you yearn for him to say something. anything. even if it's blatantly platonic and hurtful, you want him to part his stupidly soft lips and stop you. but he does not.

he stays there, watching you walk out of his apartment. the bitterness in your throat spreads across your body, filtering its way deep into your heart. it hurts so much that the pain becomes physically invasive as you sit in the driver's seat of your car and go through the lonely roads. he still lingers like a tattoo kiss in your mind, and you feel idiotic for thinking he could ever love you. the bitter realization that his heart beats for another would underscore your every interaction, like a discordant note in your sweet, imaginative and one-sided symphony. an out-of-tune symphony, perhaps.

and you think, maybe that was all suna was meant to be. someone who uses you so much that you have nothing left to give anymore. you'll always be the peasant that's on their knees, and he'll be the aristocrat that stands up tall with a smirk on his face—ready to take what he wants at all costs.

to yearn, and yet not be yearned for in return, to love, and yet not be loved in return; this was the dreadful burden born in secret tonight, a cruel punishment for your heart that dared to dream of more than just a mere friendship with him. an almost silent agony, etched in the bitter sweetness of love unreturned, in the silence of a night shared with suna rintarō who was simply, devastatingly, just a friend.

based off this request. part two to this fic is now available.

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veintrry · 1 year

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the tension that rises between us.

wanderer x gn!reader, nsfw, grinding, finger sucking, consensual. reader's race, skin colour, sexuality, gender, body size is not specified/ anyone can read! not proofread, this is bad. 1.4k

let's just put it like this; one morning you wanted to be particularly annoying and this was the consequence of that. or reward. that's for you to decide.

AN: hi i hate this with a passion and by far this is one of my worst works ever lord what was I thinking

ac: lanamaru (tmblr)

You wouldn't have usually pulled this sort of thing, in fact, you never had. So why now? Your reasoning was pretty simple. Your dumb little mind seemed to have still not been fully conscious yet, and relying solely on your dumb mischievous ideas you didn't even give them a second thought. So, you could only guess the idea you got as you saw Scaramouche sleeping peacefully. On any other day you would've done anything to avoid waking him up, but today? Today was a day to try new things!

You inch a finger closer and closer to his cheek, and poke him. To your surprise he doesn't awake, and you can only assume its because he's gotten so used to being around you that he's softened up his defenses. Hastily crawling on top of him you get a good view of his face. GOOD view. You notice how nicely curled his lashes are, how his lips appear to be slightly darker on the inner part, how there's barely evident red stains near his eyes likely from his eyeliner. Only you get to see this, only you.

You rest on top of him, sat comfortably for yourself, and you move a hand to touch his face, but opt to only hover over his cheek as to not wake him. You began to wonder was this the sight that had lasted years? Unwoken, undisturbed. He looked so sweet like this, when he wasn't covering his feelings up. In a way, his vulnerability felt like an affection in its own way, after all it wasn't something easily granted.

"Kuni..." You whisper. You had practically forgotten you were meant to be annoying him, and at the reminder you completely changed what you're doing. You could say a slight curiosity came to you, one you couldn't erase... If he was to awake to see you like this, sat atop of him, he'd likely push you off, right? Or maybe he'd grumble about how you had disturbed his sleep. But, what if the circumstances were different.

Biting your bottom lip out of hesitation and slight nervousness, you slowly drag your hips up and down his groin. It felt lewd to do this, it wasn't really on your bucket list, but maybe it should've been. There is something that had you smiling to yourself as you peered down on him, you almost wanted to giggle at the sight of his sweet figure and soon you felt this rotting sweet sensation turn more needy. Even so, you didn't speed up. You just eyed him like a prey, mouth watering awaiting him. You rested a hand next to his head to have an even better view of the way his hair framed his face, to see how his jaw was slack and how his lips parted. You wanted to kiss them. You wouldn't though, not yet. A part of you, no, most of you wanted him to wake up. You didn't want to do it yourself, you wanted him to find you like this. You find yourself rewinding the idea of him seeing you like this, his reaction, what he'd say, what he'd think, and you attempt to keep those little whines of yours to yourself, that is, until you begin to speed up.

You let out short heavy breaths with each glide over him, feeling your core burn up you think its engulfing your entire body. Honestly, you must be shameless to do such a thing, if not that then you must simply enjoy the idea of being humiliated.

"You're so needy. Even I'm not this impatient."

You halt. Straightening your back, you look wide-eyed at him. It's not like you're actually shocked, but this is how people should react to being busted, right? "Ah, well... you looked pretty?" A brow lifted at your reasoning, giving you a humorous smirk. "I looked pretty. So you started grinding on me? I've never heard of people doing that."

Frankly, you didn't want to be interrogated for what you were doing, you didn't know why you did it either, impulses exist! Attempting to get off of him you move your hand away from his face and lift your leg over him before he's pulling you down again, hand gripping your wrist, pulling your face closer to his.

"Did I say you could stop now? You should know better than that. Finish what you started."

You feel a cold hand slither to your hips, holding you in place. Even though he was the one beneath you he still had a way to compel you with his eyes, it was honestly astonishing the power he held over you. "Don't tell me you've gotten shy, need my help?" His teasing was evident, he was making a mockery of you and yet you still wanted his aid, even you have your limits. "Yes. Maybe I do." You grumbled. "Hah, All you had to do was ask." He wasted no time in doing his task, leading your hips back into their previous rhythm. There was a way he gripped onto you when he felt you push deeper into him, like he was doing his all to keep his nails from digging into you. "To think you would've done something like this. You're absolutely shameless."

You replied with nothing but muffled sounds as you kept your mouth shut, biting your tongue. He didn't like that. No, he was always a fan of your sounds, after all no one else could hear them, not only that, but he was the cause. He was the reason for everything. That being said, he must confess that having woken to you like that, well, it was rewarding to him. To think you found him so attractive, that you liked him so much you just couldn't help yourself. But if you wished to make yourself feel welcome then he wouldn't protest.

The tip of Scaramouche's nose touched yours, his eyes lidded as he gazed at you with a calculating look as though he had you figured out. "Cat got your tongue?" He cocked his head to the side. There was no way you could muster a reply, no way you'd even want to. Covering your mouth to do your best as he pushed you harder onto him, at this point you didn't need him to guide you, you didn't even need to think of what to do, your hips rolled against him pleading for more friction, any friction against the bulge you can feel beneath you. You knew he liked it, no, he absolutely loved it when he had you for himself.

"That's no good." Releasing your wrist he reaches for the hand jailing the sweet sounds erupting from your throat, pulling it away with ease as you put up no fight. Your body was lazy, your eyes staring at his chest, only now realising the tight black clothing he had on. You were keeping yourself up with only one hand and even so you felt your strength slipping as you wanted nothing more than to just feel him. "Open your mouth for me." You spare a glance up at him, with want, not only for him, but to see him needing you too.

You separate your lips, mouth open awaiting his next move, and as you eye his facial expression, his satisfaction with your behaviour, how lustrous orbs eye you with such lust swirling within them. He picks up your jaw to get one proper look at you with drool spilling down your lips onto your chin. He swipes it off with his thumb, licking it. "All for me." He eyes his wet thumb, then you. Inserting two digits into your mouth, he speaks demandingly, "Suck." And despite his harsh tone, you feel your heart pump more and more. To you, this was no more than a sign of his want. So you do as he asks. Lacing your tongue around his fingers, taking them in, and bobbing your head as you even plant kisses on them.

You could hear his breathing, how unlike yours despite it being quieter, clearly an attempt from him to hide it. His breaths were heavy, but they asked for more. Scaramouche observed as you practically sucked his fingers off as though it was his very own cock. And he found his mind trailing far far away with new ways to toy with you after you're done entertaining him. Maybe you should do this more often.

#kunikuzushi #wanderer #wanderer genshin #wanderer x reader #genshin scaramouche #genshin smut #genshin scara #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #scara x reader #scaramouche smut #wanderer smut #kunikuzushi x reader #kunikuzushi smut #genshin impact #genshin fanfic #genshin headcanons #wanderer headcanons #scaramouche headcanons

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vodika-vibes · 2 months

Note

Hey vodika!

Congrats on your follower milestone!

Could I request f!Jedi reader x Sev

Garnet

Autumn evening

Thank you! Love you! Xx

Forever

Summary: Of all of the things that Sev hates in the universe, watching his Jedi get hurt tops the list.

Pairing: Clone Commando Sev x Reader

Word Count: 777

Warnings: Reader is seriously injured here, though I didn't detail how she was hurt. Reader is described as formerly having long hair.

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: So, I tried my best with this, but it's not easy to write when you can't focus for longer than a few minutes at a time. I'm sorry if it's not quite what you wanted. If you don't like it you can send another request and I'll write something when I'm not sick.

Sev knows that he’s not the gentlest of men. He knows that he’s quick to anger and that he enjoys violence just a little too much for most people to want to put up with. Sure, his own batchmates know that sometimes he says those things simply because it gets reactions.

But most of their brothers don’t.

He doesn’t mind it. He gets along better with his batchmates over anyone else anyway. Well, his batchmates and their jedi.

His Jedi.

She was a surprise addition to Delta Squad shortly after the war began. Someone who was supposed to manage their mission loads and help them so they could take more dangerous missions.

And she quickly integrated herself into Delta Squad. She was careful to not step on Boss’ toes, listened to Scorch’s jokes, redirected Fixer when he was being his most ornery, and was able to temper the worst of his temper.

How could Sev not fall in love with her?

And Sev has never been the type of man to tiptoe around things like feelings, so he told her as soon as he knew that he loved her. He fully expected her to turn him down, but she surprised him by releasing a musical laugh, and agreeing to go on a date with him to see where this leads.

That was nearly a year ago now, and somehow Sev is still able to claim her as his girlfriend. Somehow, because he thought for sure that she would kick him to the curb months ago.

His gaze drifts from his rifle, which he’s been cleaning, to his Jedi.

They’re holed up in a Jedi Safehouse, and his brothers are out trying to find a way off this planet, while Sev chose to remain behind to look after their barely conscious Jedi.

It’s a shame she hasn’t been able to enjoy the planet properly. His Jedi loves this type of weather, when it’s cool and the leaves have started to change. Sweater weather, she calls it.

Though, she’s not saying much of anything at the moment.

She’s nearly gray-faced, and her layers of robes have been removed and replaced by bandages. Her hair had been shorn into a much shorter style, due to the sheer amount of matting that they hadn’t been able to fix-

And then she stirs, her fingers flexing against the thick blanket granting her some modesty.

Sev swallows hard and sets his rifle to the side, before he stands and walks over to her carefully settling himself on the floor near her cot. Her pretty eyes flutter open and focus on his face, “Sev-” She mumbles his name, and she lifts her hand, which he catches and threads her fingers with his own.

“Hey there, Pretty Girl.” He replies, “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

“-where?”

“We’re still on the same planet,” He explains as he gently squeezes her hand, “The others are out looking for a way out.”

She tries to sit up, but Sev is quick to push her back prone, “I should be helping them-”

“You need to rest.” Sev insists.

“But, it’s not safe.” She tries.

“Hey,” He waits until her pretty eyes are locked on him, “No one here is going to hurt them. We’ve already killed anyone who might try.”

She blinks at him.

Sev smiles wryly and he brings his free hand up to rest against her bruised face, “They had you, cyar’ika. They had you and they were hurting you, there was no other option.”

She sighs softly, and she turns her head to kiss the palm of his hand, “I don’t deserve you.” she mumbles.

Sev just laughs, “I think that’s supposed to be my line.” All of the tension has drained from his body now that she’s awake and talking, “You deserve far better than me. It’s a shame that I’m not so good a person to just walk away and let another person have you.”

She lightly squeezes his fingers, “All I want is you, though.”

“You have terrible taste in men.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Slowly, Sev brushes some of her hair out of her face, “No one is ever going to hurt you again, cyar’ika. I promise.”

She smiles at him, soft and warm, and Sev leans in to press his lips lightly against hers, pulling away just as quickly as he leaned in. “Now, get some more rest. As soon as we have a ship, you’re going to take a nap in a bacta tank.”

She just sighs, “Will you stay?”

Sev brings their joined hands to his lips, and presses a light kiss to her knuckles, “Forever.”

#star wars #tcw #vodika-vibes 500 followers celebration #clone commando sev x reader #sev x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

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the-hopeless-haze · 1 year

Text

You Know I’m Not That Girl

Summary: You don't want to be tied down. You've lived almost your whole life running from commitment. But Aaron wants more from you. You don't know how to handle that.

Word Count: 10k+ (I KNOW)

Warnings: smut nsfw mdni

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His mouth is on yours again.

Hot, heavy, heady, like you could get drunk off his kiss.

You don’t know that he picked out that shirt you’re taking off his body just for you. You also don’t know that he combed his hair this morning thinking of you brushing it back when it falls forward on his forehead. For whatever reason you also failed to notice that he let that waitress he was interviewing in relation to the case back at the diner flirt with him much longer than he would have if you weren’t in the room. If only to get a reaction out of you, however selfish his motivations were.

But the thought in the back of his head hurts more than he can bear.

That you noticed all those things. And you didn’t care.

It wasn’t so far-fetched. You are a profiler like him, after all, and it causes you to glean things from people that you’d rather not know. It makes it harder to be innocent, naïve, happy. Because you learn how to read people, and you learn how to separate paranoia and fiction from reality and fact.

In the same token, though, learning how to read people led Aaron to learn how to be unreadable. How to be a blank canvas, stoic and resolved, never granting anything a reaction. It worked well. It allows him to morph easily, because his tether on who he is outside of the job is so loose nowadays, especially after divorcing Hailey.

But you could’ve seen the signs and chosen to ignore them. It’s unclear how obvious he is, because what he feels like is his skin is on fire every time you walk in the room. If that were the case, though, there’d be a lot more talk of what the two of you were doing behind closed doors. So far, no one knew, or no one was brave enough to talk about it loud enough for him to hear.

Aaron knows he should just enjoy this. He has you, half-naked, begging for him to touch you. Kiss-bruised lips—you did that to him. Hair disheveled by your hand. Cock hard and straining under his dress pants, well, that was your influence too. You are here. Tangible. Real.

Though sometimes he gets the feeling all you’re giving him is your body. Like your soul is far away. Detached. You’re giving yourself to him, sure, you’re arching your back at the touch of his hands and you’re kissing him back fervently…. But there’s nothing else behind your actions besides a desire to get off.

Maybe he’s not being fair, exactly. You’ve done nothing to indicate you don’t care about him. But whenever he asks to see you outside of the office, the jet, the bedroom…. You come up with an excuse. You kiss him again until he forgets what he asked you. And then it’s back to this.

It was never his intention to make this just about sex. He’s barely done a casual thing in his life, never mind having a casual situationship. It wasn’t long after Hailey, and if he was being honest, he’d wanted you before that, and even though he’d never cheat… Haley knew his eyes were wandering. She could smell it on him. Takes one to know one. At least he didn’t actually commit the deed with the ring still on his finger.

And then… you both went undercover as a couple and it was one thing after another, caught your eye in just the right light and then your lips. It was in Vegas, of all places, but what happened there didn’t stay there like he thought it might’ve. Once he had you… he wanted you in whatever capacity you’d grant. Even if it was just sex. Even if you refused to talk about it.

But it was getting unbearable to keep holding back.

“Aaron,” you say breathlessly in his ear. “Where are you? Because you’re not here with me.”

Funny you should call him out like that.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he whispers, carding his fingers through your hair, pushing it back, away from your face, looking into your eyes in the dim lighting of the room, feeling his own brim with tears. Quickly, he diverts his gaze to above your head, leaning up to press a kiss to your forehead. “I promise I’m right here.”

You try to swallow against the lump forming in your throat. He needs to not do this tonight. You need to do whatever you can to make sure he doesn’t do this tonight. You can’t handle a confession, or more of a conversation than “good night” after you fuck him.

So you wiggle out of his embrace, start leaving wet open-mouthed kisses across his torso, heading down lower, lower…. Down the length of his body until you reach the fabric of his pants and he’s flushed red in the face.

“Honey…” he says quietly. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” you tell him.

And you think from the look in his eyes maybe you misread him. This alone might result in him professing his undying love for you.

You don’t know how he stayed married to Hailey that long if she refused to give him head. That’s the first sign right there, especially when she demanded it for herself. Or, well, that’s what you’ve gleaned. He’s much too gracious to be throwing his ex-wife under the bus. Still. You know he didn’t get this often, if at all.

It’s usually not your favorite thing in the world, granted, because a lot of men are too rough and you don’t like to be manhandled when you’re already struggling to breathe. But Aaron was so gentle the first time, caressing your hair and praising you in between whimpers and breathy moans.

Let’s just say it was hard to look at him in the office the next day. If nothing else the two of you are a perfect sexual match.

You can’t believe you ever got him on his back.

You must have caught him off guard, in those bright lights of the Vegas casino, both of you a little tipsy off the free drinks, neither of you really playing the slots even though the case was over. The plane needed emergency maintenance. Funny how these things just happen like this.

You were still clad in your sequined dress, high heels, and heavy makeup and you remember making an off-color comment about how your fake marriage for the case was never consummated. And he said something stupid, stiffly, like, “Well. It was fake.”

And you said, “Well, what if at least the consummation part was real? We should’ve done that first, you know, to really sell it. Maybe we should have sex now, you know, in case we ever need to go undercover again.”

When his eyes widened and he cleared his throat you knew you had him wrapped around your finger.

You knew you had him long before that, though. JJ, a beautiful blond woman, always knew when men’s eyes were wandering where they weren’t supposed to, having been a victim of it her whole life. And she informed you on multiple occasions that Aaron’s target was you. She wasn’t wrong. But to act on it? You had to be crazy.

You knew it was stupid from the get-go, and not just because you’re technically his subordinate. You were in the midst of two situationships prior to him, and you knew logically both of you wanted different things. Yes, he married his high school sweetheart, and maybe the divorce led him to think a little differently about what sex and relationships meant to him. Ultimately, though, you know what he wants. A live-in girlfriend that will marry him someday, have his kids, and give him the whole white picket fence deal that he thought Haley would’ve given him.

But you’re not that girl. You never could be.

Even if you could be locked down, you care too much about your career to give it up while he works. Little does he know you’re vying for his position if it ever opens up. You wouldn’t be so cruel to oust him, no, but if he or Gideon were to ever transfer…

But you know Aaron won’t leave. His career was the mistress that broke up his marriage, not you. He chose it over her time and time again. And he would choose it over you, too, when push comes to shove. Leave you alone when you’re swollen pregnant with his kids and he’s halfway across the country. Doesn’t sound like your idea of a good time. You almost can’t blame Hailey for wanting an end to it. Raising kids with someone like that is akin to being a single mom anyway.

Kids aren’t even something you want. If you can’t stay with a lover for longer than six months, you don’t know how you’d be able to handle an eighteen-year-long commitment, even if it was your own flesh and blood.

You’re theorizing a lot about what this man really wants from you for someone that’s never had a conversation with him about it. But you two don’t talk much. You made sure of that.

He’s not saying anything as he helps you free his cock from the confines of his dress pants, hard and leaking pre-cum already, and you look up at him where you lay crouched at the end of the bed. He’s hesitant, still.

“Touch yourself,” you say quietly, looking at him, commanding him softly.

He does what you say, bringing his left hand to wrap around the base of his cock and fisting it, giving what seems like an experimental tug, like he’s never touched himself before.

Which you know is a lie.

But you make him nervous.

He does it again, again, again, and without warning you lean forward and lick the pre-cum weeping from his tip, whimpers leaving him as he stops moving his hand.

“Did I say you should stop? No. Keep going,” you order, and he nods in agreement and starts moving his hand across his length again.

You almost wish the rest of the team could see how easily you get him to submit to you. It’s quite honestly the best part of this whole arrangement.

You watch him for a little bit, seeing how his cheeks get redder from exertion and beads of sweat start forming on his chest and neck, and he’s fluttering his eyelids closed, muttering your name under his breath, begging you to touch him and put your mouth on him again. What a sight for sore eyes. He’s not going very quickly, just steady and sure, like he does all things. Again, you meet him, tongue swirling around the tip of his cock and he’s able to keep his ministrations going until you run your tongue over the underside of his cock, meeting the edge of his hand in the process.

Both his hands fly to your hair now, and you take the hint he’s all set with the teasing. You take more of him in your mouth, feeling him settle hot and heavy against your tongue.

“Jesus Christ,” he whimpers, massaging his fingers gently through your hair. “You feel so good, so much better than my hand.”

You would certainly fucking hope so.

Leaning back a little, you let go of him, pressing hot, wet kisses along his length, leaving smears of red lipstick in your wake. When he’s wet enough for your liking, you take him in your mouth again, suppressing your gag reflux to take almost all of him. You were never much of a deepthroater, again, because it’s not fun to have a man jab the head of his penis in the back of your throat, but for Aaron, you’ll try. You can at least give him this if you can’t give him anything else he wants from you. You know he won’t try to hurt you in the search of his own pleasure.

Unlike some people.

The tears pricking your eyes are due to the feeling of his cock in your throat. Nothing else.

Aaron shouldn’t look down at you because he thinks he’ll cum right then and there. You’re bobbing your head up and down on him now, the feeling of your lips and your cheeks hollowing around him almost too much to bear. He knows he sounds desperate, wrecked, stupid, even, his voice unrecognizable to even himself as he grunts and whimpers your name, begging you, pleading with you… for what? He doesn’t know. Everything. He wants everything you can give him.

More than you’re willing to give him.

You were very good at distractions.

You’re also very good at telling when he’s about to cum, and you stop right before he was going to warn you.

“What was that for?” he asks, panting, coming down from his almost high, still feeling needy and disoriented.

“You should know by now. You’re only finishing in one place. I suffer through birth control for a reason,” you grin, letting him kiss your mouth as you travel back up to his face.

“You should know by now that I can last for more than one round,” he teases, kissing you again.

“Still have to wait for that refractory period, old man,” you retort. “And I’m not feeling patient tonight.”

“No? Neither am I, then,” he says, reaching forward to snake his hand in your panties, feeling how damp they are against his knuckles, and he inserts his index and middle fingers into you, pumping slowly, methodically, stretching you out, trying to ignore his throbbing cock. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers.

“You can cool it with the flattery, Aaron. You don’t need to woo me. You already got me in your bed.”

“Not really a way to accept a compliment.”

“I wasn’t accepting it. Please just stop talking and get me off.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “No, honey, look,” he says, his fingers leaving you for a moment to turn the light on all the way. Nodding toward the mirror on your left, he climbs back on the bed. “Look at yourself. See what I see.”

You don’t really see anything to gawk at. You’re just a woman with mussed hair, sitting in a lacy black bra and panties, but when his hand wedges its way between your legs again, you realize you can use this to your advantage. Fuck his bullshit, making out like he was trying to help you increase your self-esteem when ultimately, he was just using you to get off like everybody else.

But two could play that game.

Something about watching his frame envelop you, watching his fingers scissor in and out of you in the mirror, dripping wet with evidence of your arousal… well, fuck.

“See?” he murmurs, kissing your mouth, but you’re still watching the mirror, and even that is more erotic, being able to see him and feel him from all angles. “So beautiful.”

When his face disappears between your thighs you think you might cum right then and there. Seeing only his black hair, your hands fisted there, the muscles of his back and arms flexing as he holds onto your hips… Christ.

“Aaron,” you hiss as the bridge of his nose runs over your clit.

“Mm?” he asks, not bothering to stop licking at you, his voice muffled by your cunt.

“Wish you could see yourself right now, fuck,” you whine.

Aaron pulls back from your body to look at you, grinning like a goddamn psychopath as you whimper from the sudden lack of his mouth. “I like the view down here.”

“Then get back down there, you bastard,” you say, pretending to be irritated but you’re smiling, too. “You can’t see anything, anyway, dumbass.”

“Still one of my favorite pastimes,” he says, fucking his fingers into you again, causing you to buck your hips against his hand involuntarily. Taking a glance into the mirror, Aaron begins to understand why this turned you on so much. It wasn’t so much about watching himself, no, it was you from a different angle, seeing you as a whole instead of the bits and pieces he usually gleaned in the glimpses of light.

Eye contact in the mirror is somehow sexier, hotter, and more intense. Intimate. Watching you watching him watching you watching him. Hair frazzled. Skin sheen with sweat. Hands gripping onto skin and sheets. The whole picture rather than the tiny details now on display.

“So wet for me, honey. So gorgeous,” he coos, rubbing his thumb over your clit.

“Aaron—“ You start to protest, but the words die in your throat and you grit your teeth, head falling slack on the pillows behind you.

“Sorry, honey, but if you want to get off you’ll have to suffer through my compliments,” he says, grinning at you again, leaning up to kiss you, the taste of you potent on his tongue.

“Fair trade, I guess, Aaron, fuck,” you hiss, bringing your head back up to watch him as he travels back down your body, disappearing between your legs, and you think if this is all he ever wanted to do for the rest of his life (besides work, of course, neither of you could ever give that up) you would be the happiest woman alive.

Aaron can tell you’re close to your peak, your thighs squeezing his head and trembling against him, and he looks up at you briefly, saying, “Honey, you can let go.”

And you do, the coil breaks finally and you cum, gasping out his name as you pull his hair just hard enough that he grunts yours out in almost a scolding tone.

“You’re lucky I’m nicer than you,” Aaron says after kissing your mouth gently and brushing the hair out of your eyes.

“Not hard to achieve,” you say, smiling at him, letting him lean down to kiss you again. You deepen the kiss, wrap your arm around his neck, wrap your leg around his hip, and straddle him, your cunt dangerously close to his cock.

“Fuck,” he breathes into your mouth.

“Exactly,” you quip, and he chuckles.

You think these are the only times you ever see him smile.

You try not to dwell on that as you sink onto his cock. It’s easy to forget anything you were thinking about now, feeling him fill you completely, hearing him moan your name as you start fucking him.

It still amazes you how desperate he is in bed, given how restrained he is elsewhere.

You’re so close to driving yourself over the edge, Aaron meeting you thrust for thrust, the friction against your clit each time almost enough… but then he reaches for your waist, stills your movements, and flips you onto your back, and you look at him questioningly.

“Is this okay?” he asks gently.

“Yeah. It’s okay, but was that not doing it for you? Because it was working for me.”

“I just… I just wanted to be closer,” he says, leaning down to kiss you softly, setting a slow pace as he starts fucking you again. “I can’t reach you like that. I can’t kiss you. I just… I need this right now. I want to be closer. Is that okay?”

There it is, the lump in your throat returning. His eyes are looking into yours imploringly, begging you for an answer, that yes, it’s okay, yes, you understand, yes, you want this too.

You can’t find words so you just kiss him like he said he wanted, and it’s different, not being able to see his face now, making out the entire time he’s inside you, the kiss turning messier as his pace increases. Your bodies are impossibly close, god, you’ve done everything in your power to avoid missionary with this man to avoid this, his body completely enveloping yours, just inches away from putting all his weight on you.

It’s taking everything in him not to say it. Not to say he loves you. It’s all that’s running through his head right now, sweat dripping down his back, but he knows you’d rationalize it away, say it’s because he’s fucking you right now that he’s bringing this up, that when his mind is clear he won’t feel the same way.

Even hypothetically, you break his heart.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Aaron, right there,” you whine, arching your back, drawing him out of his pity party, and he fucks into you with renewed fervor, making sure to angle his hips the exact same way each time, doing anything, anything at all to make you feel good. Predictably, you let go quickly, your cunt squeezing him as you cum, and he knows he won’t last long either, and true to form it’s a few thrusts until he’s spilling into you, slowing his hips until they still, his cock starting to grow soft inside you.

“Will you stay tonight?” Aaron asks before moving off you.

“Yes,” you nod.

“The whole night?”

“Yes, Aaron,” you say. “Why?”

“I… I want to wake up and you’re still here…. I…” His voice trails off before he can tell you why. Because he sleeps better when you stay. Because he can pretend you’re really his if you stay the whole night. Because he loves you.

“So you can fuck me again in the morning before we go in?”

He tries not to frown. Of course, he’d always want to have sex with you… but it seems like you know when he’s on the verge of a confession, on the verge of asking for something more and you always divert the conversation to sex instead.

“We’ll have to get up early,” you say, stroking his hair absentmindedly. This, you don’t mind. This, you can do. You can stay the night. You can sleep next to him, bodies still intertwined. You can kiss him good morning, tease him for his morning breath.

What you can’t do… you can’t believe he really loves you or that even if he did, a real relationship outside of the bedroom and the office would work out.

You and Aaron had a rocky start. You were transferred from a white-collar crimes unit the second a position in the BAU opened. Always an issue with authority, you antagonized him whenever you thought his decisions were wrong, which came as a shock to the rest of the team who seemed happy to fall in line. But you refused to sit idly by while a man had the audacity to be incorrect and lead his entire team down that path.

He never raised his voice, but you did.

And he wasn’t always wrong.

You still don’t know how he possesses this much restraint. You envy it, almost. Control. Self-control.

But you didn’t know that that in itself is what made his eyes wander. You were exciting, tantalizing, and stimulating. A wildcard. The arguments between the two of you meant something, unlike the same tired ones he had been having with his soon-to-be ex-wife at the time about how he was never home, how she wanted children and didn’t want to raise them alone. They were at an impasse. He wasn't with you. Even when you nauseated him back in those early days, there was always a solution to whatever issue was at hand. Unlike at home.

It was the same thing. Day in. Day out. And he thrived on predictability. It’s what keeps him centered. Or so he thought, until you came into the bullpen, guns blazing. What he wants though… he was never going to get. From either Haley… or you, it seemed.

Sighing, Aaron rolls off you to let you go to the bathroom and brush your teeth.

You didn’t even bring your own toothbrush from home. He bought you one to keep here.

He follows you into the bathroom, grabbing his own toothbrush, and the eye contact in the mirror this time is different. More poignant. Simmered down. Hollow.

“Try not to look so miserable, Aaron. I did just fuck you,” you say.

“I’m just tired,” he lies.

“Mm.”

“When are we going to have a conversation?” He asks you after spitting out toothpaste in the sink, coming over to hug you from behind, and kissing your jaw gently.

“Who needs conversations?” you tease, leaning back to grind against him.

Maybe you were getting to be predictable, too.

But he tries not to let it get to him. You’re still in his bed, wearing his shirt to sleep in, wrapped in his arms.

And you still are when the sunlight bleeds through the blinds.

———

Aaron didn’t get it at first, but now he does. You said he wasn’t the only one you were sleeping with from the get-go, not completely honest prior to getting him in bed, but after you fucked him and then he almost gained the courage to tell you he saw you as more than just a friend with benefits, you dropped that bomb.

He didn’t expect it to be this close to home.

But he understands now. Morgan would’ve been his first guess if it was anyone else on the team, but oh, was he so wrong in his heteronormative thinking.

The way you used to sidle up to Elle, smirking, flirting, giving her that look he thought was reserved just for him. He knew… All those secret glances, the way you hugged her, let her fall asleep on your shoulder on plane rides back… and it’s part of why he feels like he can’t overstep, ask you to be with him seriously. Why he can’t tell you how he feels.

Now he sees Elle, trying to keep a frown plastered on her face but she can’t help but laugh at whatever you said. You squeeze her shoulder. You act like nothing’s wrong. But he can see in the way Elle averts her eyes from you that there’s a rift between the two of you. It was never too noticeable in the field. The two of you are solid agents and you’d never let the personal get in the way of the professional. There was a decrease in the jokes and smiles you shared together, and you’d sit next to him on the plane instead of her. But other than that…It was an invisible severance of ties.

Now, though, the two of you were the only people on the floor, the only two that got sucked into paperwork this evening, and he recalls it’s been a while since both of you drew the short straw together. It didn’t use to be like that. You two would always offer together, he recalls, order Chinese takeout or pizza, take the overtime, and tell him to go home to his wife, that the two of you could handle it. That was before he started having sex with you.

Nowadays, you either stayed with Morgan, or on the off chance you’d stay with Elle, either one of you would leave early, most often Elle. You’d tell her you got it. Often Aaron would take pity on you and take half the stack despite your protests, and sometimes you’d bring your half into his office and work in silence, in tandem with him.

Fair enough. He was your rebound just as you were his.

You cup Elle’s cheek with your hand, kiss her cheek softly before moving away, and he can make out you saying “I’m sorry.”

Elle turns away, jerking her body away from your touch.

You fake a smile.

“What is wrong with you?” she says, raising her voice.

“Elle, I…”

“No. You don’t get to do this. You ended this by sleeping around.” “You said you didn’t want anything serious! And you knew you weren't the only one when we started this."

“That didn’t mean I wanted you to go fuck somebody else. Or for you to leave me out to dry after I was just in a fucking hostage situation!”

“It’s the job, Elle, you—“

“How can you be so goddamn insensitive?” she asks, eyes blazing at you. “You weren’t trapped for hours in a train car in the middle of Texas with an unsub armed with two guns! No. You were fucking somebody else. That’s what you were doing.”

“No, actually, I was working to get you out of there,” you snap back.

“Right. Reid was more instrumental in that operation than you ever could have been.”

“Why don’t you go fuck Reid then and fuck off?”

“You know what? That sounds like a good fucking idea. At least he actually cared about my well-being after the fact. You’re all set with your ex from college and your new mystery man you won’t tell me anything about.”

“Listen, Elle, you told me you were fine. I didn’t want to press it. And I haven't seen my ex in over a month."

She sets her jaw, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re colder than some of the guys we bring in, you know that, right? What the fuck? I don’t care that we were never going to be flag wavers who came out to the whole team and put our careers and lives in danger. Sure. It was mostly for fun. But I thought you saw me as something more than just a fuckbuddy. I thought I was at least your friend. No one’s fine after that. You know that. Although I don’t know, maybe you would be. Must be nice to be so detached.”

“Elle… I’m sorry. Okay? I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t know you were struggling. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I would’ve been there if you reached out.”

“Yeah. It’s always like that, isn’t it? You can never be the person who chases, never be the person who asks if someone needs anything from you,” she scoffs.

“Elle, I… I’m sorry.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because I am!”

“Okay.”

“I still want to be friends.”

Elle laughs sardonically, shaking her head. “Not yet. You’ve got to give me space right now.”

“I gave you a month of space.”

“It wasn’t enough. I need some air.”

And she starts walking away in a huff, and that’s when Aaron realizes he needs to pretend he was doing anything but watching this public display of disaffection. He puts his key in the lock to his office, but you hear it in the dead silence of the building, and you look up and see him, making eye contact with him across the awning.

And your face falls. It’s not anger or sadness at the way you’re looking at him… it’s fear. He recognizes that look all too well. And it breaks his heart, to think you’d be frightened of his reaction to anything you brought to the table.

Aaron walks down the stairs over to you, and you’re trembling. “What’s the matter, honey?” he asks softly.

“Nothing. I’m okay,” you lie, blatant lies always falling from your mouth. Why couldn’t you ever just be honest with him?

“You don’t seem okay. Why don’t we go talk in my office?”

“I’m okay, Aaron. Please,” you say, but your eyes are brimming with tears as you speak. “Please just… let me work on my files. I don’t want to be here all night.”

“I don’t care about the files. I want to make sure you’re okay, and I know you’re not. Please talk to me. What’s going on with you and Elle?”

“I… how much of that did you hear?” you whisper nervously, your voice taking on a higher frequency than normal.

“It’s okay. I’m not mad.”

“But I…” You trail off, leaving what you are unspoken. Jesus, you wonder what he must think of you now. Slut. Dyke. Whore. Cunt. Bitch. Just another woman who fucked him and then fucked him over. You were waiting for the slurs to start spilling from his mouth.

It’s not like the two of you were exclusive.

But you know for him it was only you and part of you feels guilty anyway.

“I’m not mad,” he reassures you. “I could never be mad at you.”

Oh, God. There it was again. The false promises, the ones you get at the start of every relationship. Wasn’t that what Elle said to you, or some variant of that... until things got too close for comfort for you and you stepped back? Like you always do?

“I highly doubt that,” you say, trying to level your voice and fight back the tears threatening to spill over onto your cheeks.

“I don’t want to ignore this. I want you to be able to talk to me.”

“I have nothing to say,” you tell him, a little harsher than you meant to. You expect him to nod curtly at your attitude; like maybe he would have when you first started working here, walk back into his office, and call it a night.

But he doesn’t walk away. He steps forward and wraps you in a hug that you don’t return, your arms still crossed over your chest against his body. His lips press against the top of your head and you hate this, you feel claustrophobic wrapped in his embrace, and you wish you could be normal, that you didn’t fuck up everything good you ever had.

But he’d be another one on a long list.

“Honey… I don’t care if you’ve been with women. I knew about this before, anyway, or suspected the two of you were together. If that’s what you think the issue is, I want you to know it doesn’t bother me at all. It shouldn’t bother anyone. I’m sorry I had to find out this way instead of you telling me on your own terms, but I… I still care about you. This didn’t change anything for me. Okay?” Part of you wants to psychoanalyze his statement, tear it to pieces, and make him an asshole for saying it. Because…no, it shouldn’t need to be said. He’s not a hero for this. It should be a given, that whoever you’re with would accept who you are. But you’ve had past men you’ve been with be bullies, terrorize you for it, make you feel like a whore, dirty... like you’re less of a woman for it. Projecting all their insecurities on you.

And for a man as traditional and reserved as Aaron… you somewhat expected him to be the same way if he ever found out. At the very least you expected him to call things off, and ask for some space. It’s a relief and a burden at the same time that he didn’t. You’re glad he’s accepting and it means there’s one less bigot in the world, but now it’s so much harder to villainize him or to make yourself believe he only sees you as a recurring one-night stand.

“Please talk to me,” he begs, pulling away from the hug to look at your face.

“What is there to say, Aaron? You caught me. I’m a whore.”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that,” he scolds. “I’m not mad about that, either. It’s not like we ever really discussed what we were.”

“Jesus, Aaron, what’s it going to take for you to hate me?” you ask, shaking your head. “I refuse to believe you’re this much of a pushover after Haley.”

He stiffens a little at the mention of her name, but he nods. “Why would I hate you? Anyway… yes. She cheated on me. But she had my last name and my ring on her finger. It’s a little different than… whatever it is we’re doing. We didn’t put labels on this. You told me you were still seeing somebody else. I knew there was…overlap. We never talk about what it is, and what we want from each other. Hailey and I were far past that point and she betrayed my trust.”

You hate how courteous he is about this, how he’s refusing to put any blame on you at all. You almost wish he would scream at you. At least that you know how to deal with.

“I told Elle,” you say quickly. “About us. Or… well… not us. Not that it’s you. But that I’ve been sleeping with someone else. I told her a month ago, probably two months later than I should have. And I never told you about her… because… I hadn’t been seeing her as much since we started sleeping together, either, Aaron… and I didn’t know how you would take this.”

“I told you. I’m not mad,” he says. “It’s okay. Everything’s still okay. Please. You can still come home with me tonight.”

You frown, and shake your head. “It’s been every night this week.”

“Did I wear you out, yet?” he asks, smiling a little more suggestively than usual.

You smirk devilishly, finally returning to your natural self. “You know you never could.”

“Then, please. I’ll take half your stack and we can head to my place after. I still want you.” Aaron punctuates his statement with a kiss to your forehead.

—————-

And so you let him take you home, your place this time, you let him kiss you, tangle his hands in your hair, you let him tell you how gorgeous he thinks you are without a mirror on the side of the bed to prove it.

You let him tell you he loves you without stopping him this time before he gets there. But you don’t say anything back.

You like him. You do. He makes you laugh, he’s handsome, and you know he would treat you well. He has, so far, and you’re not even dating.

But he’s too good for you. One girlfriend before you, who he married. No flings to speak of. He always tried to be perfect, color in the lines of what a stereotypical man should be in this day and age, although you did appreciate he was never boastful about it. Strong yet caring. Stern yet soft-spoken. Intelligent, but he knew his limits.

You weren’t like what men thought women should be. You certainly never fit into that mold.

He stops fucking you, stills inside you.

“Please say something. Did you hear me?” he asks you.

“What?”

“I said, ‘I love you’”.

“No, you don’t, Aaron. Stop it,” you say.

“When are we going to have a conversation?”

“Not now,” you say.

“Then when?” he asks, searching your eyes for something more than your words were giving him.

“Not when you’re fucking me. Jesus Christ. Way to kill the mood, Aaron,” you say, trying to come off like you were teasing.

But he’s not taking the bait today.

“It doesn’t kill the mood for me,” he says quietly.

“Aaron, please,” you say, trying to thrust up against him.

He ignores you. Now he knows his only chance to get you to listen to him is if you’re in bed with him. Now that he knows your track record from what he gleaned from your conversation with Elle. “Remember when we had that case that looked like a satanic ritual attack? And you told me I was stupid to go after that heavy metal kid because you used to be into that, and you went on a whole tangent about how I needed to learn the difference between profiling and stereotyping?”

“Mm.”

“And you were right.”

“Yes. I was.”

“And I just… I don’t know. I love that you’ll speak your mind. I love that you’ll call me out when I’m wrong. I love that you’re not afraid to be a little… hostile to get your point across when you know you’re right. That you’re subversive. That you’re also… kind when the situation calls for it. That you’re witty. That you’re so, so, so intelligent and gorgeous and…. I’m not good with words or emotions. I know you’re not either. But believe me. Believe me when I tell you I love you because… I really do. And I want this to be something else. Something more. I want us to be exclusive. I don’t want… I don’t want you to be afraid and push me away like you’ve done with other people in the past.”

“Aaron. Your cock is in me right now. You’re not thinking straight,” you say, teasing again, kissing him, but he breaks away.

“Can you be honest with me? Please? Like I was just honest with you. What do you want from this?”

“This. This is what I want,” you answer.

“Just sex?”

“I don’t know. We’re friends, Aaron. We get along… for the most part. What will really be so different if you call me your girlfriend?”

“What do you think will be so different that you’re so against it?” he asks.

You sigh. “Things are good right now. Aren’t they?”

“They are, but I want more from you.”

“What more could I possibly give you, Aaron? I fuck you almost on the daily. When you were happily married, did you get that?”

“I wasn’t happily married,” he sighs.

“Exactly. That’s an oxymoron. It won’t be any different with me.”

“I think it would be. You’re not a choice I’m making at seventeen.”

“Aaron, stop it. I’m still just a woman.”

“You’re the woman I want. I want to be with you. It’s… yes. The sex is great. I’m not complaining. But I… I want to be able to take you out to dinner. Go for runs with you. Be the only one you sleep with.”

“So it is about that. It does bother you.”

“No. It didn’t.”

“But it does now.”

“I don’t have to be mad at you for it to bother me. Like I said. It was never anything we discussed until now.”

“Yeah. Now that we’re discussing it, do you feel better? Because I don’t,” you snap.

“Honey… it’s been killing me. Keeping it secret, close to my chest.”

“If you really cared about me, you would move,” you say, trying to bring levity back into the situation and get him to fuck you again as you roll your hips up against his.

“Okay,” he says solemnly, pulling out of you, and searching the floor for his boxers.

“Where are you going?” you ask.

“I can’t… I can’t keep doing this, having you close but not as close as I want you, knowing you don’t feel the same way or want the same things. I held on too long for something I was never going to get with Haley. I can’t do it with you, too.”

You don’t say anything. You stay there, naked in the center of your bed, and you watch him get dressed, and you watch him leave your bedroom. You meet his hollow-eyed gaze. You don’t say a word.

You know it’s over.

It takes a lot of strength for Aaron to exit your apartment.

But he finds it anyway.

——————

You’re talking to Reid enthusiastically about the book series the two of you were reading. Or rather, that you were catching up on that Reid had already finished.

That was another thing Aaron loved about you, how you seemed to be one of the only members on the team that actively sought out Reid’s eccentricities and special interests. In fact, he may have been the only member you hadn’t had choice words with at one point.

You could be gentle when you wanted to be.

He knows he shouldn’t be looking at you. He should be avoiding you unless it’s absolutely necessary to be in your presence. But it was so very hard to ignore you, even if you did break his heart for good this time.

There’s another person who’s watching you.

Elle.

It’s hard for Aaron to read Elle, sometimes, too. She comes off reserved. Uncaring. He wouldn’t have thought the hostage situation bothered her as much as she claimed it had with you the other day either.

No one in this room is good at dealing with emotions. Compartmentalization? Everyone could teach a class on that. It’s what you studied, being profilers, people that hid away the depraved parts of their psyche to be able to function as members of society. So it only made sense that the rest of you would fall in line with that, albeit maybe not to that degree. Refuse to discuss anything that bothers you, though. Relive nightmares over and over again. Tell no one.

He’s tired of it.

“Elle, I need to speak with you,” Aaron says softly. “In my office.”

“Something wrong?” She asks, averting her gaze from you.

“I just need to speak with you,” he says, leading her up the stairs and unlocking the door of his office, and letting her follow him in. “You and her… you two were…”

“What?” she asks, already on edge.

“Together,” he says stiffly.

“As in?”

“Dating.”

Elle laughs sardonically, biting her nail anxiously. “No.”

“I’m not mad or upset. Whatever you tell me is held in strict confidence here. For both of your safeties,” he assures her gently.

“I said no. I meant no.”

“Then…?”

“Why do you care, Hotch? It’s not going to affect my work.”

“I just… I want to know.”

“For your own curiosity?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

Aaron doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t want to put Elle in a precarious position, make her not only come out of the closet but also admit that she slept with you. But he needs to know where he stands.

Well. Takes one to know one.

“Wait a second. Son of a bitch. It was you,” she says quietly, realization visibly dawning on her. “You’re the man. You’re the one she told me she was sleeping with. There’s no other reason you’d pull me aside like this. Wow, she likes to keep it a little too close for comfort, huh? Maybe she’s trying to sleep with the whole unit.”

“Don’t talk about her like that,” he says firmly.

Elle shrugs. “It’s not anything bad. If that’s what she wants to do, she should have at it. We both know she could score. She’d definitely give Reid a good time.”

“Stop it,” he scolds.

“You can’t tell me I’m being unprofessional. You pulled me, your subordinate, in here to talk about how you’re in love with her.”

“Excuse me?” he asks firmly.

“God, Hotch, it’s nauseating. It’s all Morgan and Garcia talk about. It’s very obvious. You’re not exactly subtle. I didn’t know you were getting any, though. Good for you, I guess. That’s about as far as you’ll get with her.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, furrowing his brow.

But he knows exactly what she means.

“She’s distant, right? Cold, even. I thought maybe it was because she didn’t want to come out with a sign that says she sleeps with women, which, fair enough. Lots of reasons to stay closeted in this day and age. I’m not exactly a flag waver myself. I knew I wasn’t going to be walking down an aisle to her someday. Still didn’t mean it didn’t hurt that whenever I asked her anywhere besides my bedroom she flaked. Eventually, I got sick of it. It’s whatever. I wasn’t under any real delusions about what we were. I just got a little pissed and told her off. I was stressed because of the job and I took it out on her. We all do it. We’ll still be friends. I just want to play the game a little longer and ice her out.”

“Do you… want her?”

“No. Not anymore. I’m not as lovesick as you are. You can try to go for her. Like I said. Don’t think you’ll get farther than you have. Are we done here, or am I getting paid extra to give you a therapy session?”

“We’re done here. Cool it with the attitude.”

“Why? You let her talk to you however she wants.”

“Agent,” he says warningly.

“Right. You’re not in love with me. Special privileges,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Not a word of this to the rest of the team.”

“Yeah, no worries, Hotch,” she says, smirking and nodding. “I think surprisingly I’d have more to lose than you if it got out.”

Meanwhile, you had sat at the desk across from Morgan, thanking him for running coffee duty.

“What do you think that’s about?” Morgan asks you. “Hotch and Elle.”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” you lie, sipping at your coffee, wondering vaguely if they're swapping stories about how much of a bitch you are. “You ever think you’ll settle down?”

“Why are you asking me that? You’re more of a player than me.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Jealous?”

“Not in the slightest. Your life is messy and I don’t even know the half of it. Wish you would sleep with the boss man, though. Man’s lovesick.”

You wince a little. “Who? Gideon?”

“Yeah,” Morgan replies sarcastically, then drops his voice lower, “I’m telling you. Hotch would drop anything in a heartbeat if he had one second with you.”

“He had more than that.”

“You’re kidding me,” Morgan says, leaning back in his chair. “Okay. Then why does he still look at you like he didn’t?”

“Because I don’t want to be the next Mrs. Hotchner.”

“He had one girlfriend his whole life and he married her. And look at him. He’s not a player like us. You can’t fuck with him like that.”

“He’s a grown man. He knew what he was getting into.”

“Did you?” he asks. “Because I think somewhere in that cold, bitchy heart you love him, too. Can Hotshot Hotchner do it? Tame this femme-fatale?”

“You’re not funny, Morgan.”

Morgan shrugs. “I think if anyone could tame you it would be him. He’d certainly be the only one willing to put in the effort to.”

“Nope. He left like they all do,” you counter.

“Because you let him.”

Because you let him.

You didn’t even try to stop him.

These things were true. What was Aaron supposed to do with that?

————

All you taste is blood. The metallic-tinged liquid in your throat, your back pressed against the car, and you had your arms up to block the perpetrator but he got the best of you anyway. It’s a swift kick to the stomach and you bend over, the wind knocked out of you, and you’re spitting up blood, seeing it bright red and viscous on the grass in front of you. Your lungs burn, and your head aches, but the adrenaline coursing through you is enough to overpower that and to give you the strength to knee him in the balls, hard, and he keels over, groaning in pain. Morgan takes the opportunity to pull his hands behind his back and snap the handcuffs on him while you fall to your knees, leaning against the car for support as you struggle to catch your breath, still swallowing blood, wincing at the taste in the back of your throat.

It was your mouth that got you in trouble again, predictably. At least if nothing else you proved he had a temper and was easily provoked. You expect Gideon to chew you out later anyway. Aaron was still avoiding you like the plague.

“Can you hear me?” A voice asks, coming from above you, soft yet distinctly masculine and you realize it’s Aaron. What?

You nod, chest heaving, but you can’t speak even if you tried.

You feel him loosen the buttons of your shirt at your throat, rubbing your back soothingly. “Just breathe. It’s okay. You’re okay. You did well. Good. Just like that. Can you walk?”

You try to push yourself off the car and take a few steps, but your legs give out and you fall back into his arms, the adrenaline that was pushing you a second ago gone now that you weren’t being attacked anymore.

“Hey, hey, hey, easy,” he says gently, supporting your weight. “I’m going to get you to a hospital.”

“I don’t need…” you manage to rasp out, shaking your head.

“Shh. Shh. If you never let me use my authority for anything else again I’d be fine with it as long as you let me use it here. You’re going to the hospital.”

Calling an ambulance, he clears out the rest of the scene, letting the other members of the team go back to the office with the perpetrator, checking in with you at what feels like five-second intervals.

“I’m okay, Aaron. Really. I got kicked in the stomach. I’m fine,” you say when you can catch your breath.

“You could have a broken rib. Or nose. You’re still bleeding,” he points out, using the sleeve of his dress shirt to wipe the blood still dripping from your face.

“I think I would’ve heard either of those.”

“What if you lose too much blood? Hm?”

“From a nosebleed?” you question.

“It could happen.”

“Why are you… why are you acting like you care?”

“Acting?” Aaron asks, then shrugs. “It’s not acting.”

“You didn’t have to stay with me.”

“I wanted to.”

“Why? You could’ve made anyone else stay with me.”

“I wanted to be the one to make sure you’re okay,” he says, taking of his blazer, unbuttoning his dress shirt and handing it to you, leaving him in just his white undershirt. “You need to keep pressure on that. Stop the bleeding. Here.”

“Aaron… why? This isn’t just routine. Reid got hurt the other day and you didn’t—"

“Because I still love you,” he says quickly, looking you in the eyes. “It doesn’t just go away. I thought… I don’t know. I don’t know what I thought I was going to achieve by leaving that night. It hurts either way.”

“If it’s any consolation, I miss you,” you say quietly.

“I have two questions, then,” he says, exhaling, deciding to take a chance. There was nothing more to lose.

“Yeah. What?”

“You miss me? Or the sex?”

“Can’t it be both?” you ask sheepishly, blushing a little.

“I suppose.”

“What’s your second question?”

“You miss me? You don’t love me?”

“Aaron,” you say, moving his shirt away from your nose. “That’s not a fair question. I don’t know if I’ve ever loved anyone.”

“Why did you let me leave?” he asks.

“I didn’t agree to a third question.”

“Just answer me,” he says, exasperated.

“You were going to leave anyway, Aaron. We don’t want the same things. I don’t want to get married, and give up my career to raise your children.”

He shakes his head, looking at you incredulously. “Where in the world did you get the idea that either of those things were what I wanted from you?”

“You were married and it didn’t work out, you’re older, you—“

“See what happens when you refuse to talk about things?” he says, laughing a little. “Yes. I wanted a wife and a family. And I had a wife and the chance of having a family and… it fell apart. And in the aftermath of it all, there was you. I was never asking to tie you down and make you feel trapped. I’m not asking for you to have children if that’s not something you want. I’m certainly not asking you to give up your career for me while I work. You aren’t what I thought I wanted. You would’ve… you would’ve terrified me if I met you two decades ago. But you meet me where I’m at now, and that’s what matters.”

“I would’ve terrified you?” you tease.

“You do, now, too,” he grins. “A little. But in a good way.”

“Did you actually call this ambulance?” you ask.

“You know they take forever to get anywhere,” Aaron says, looking at you concernedly. “Why? Anything new hurt?”

“I’m fine, Aaron,” you say, rolling your eyes at him. “I would’ve been fine with an urgent care.”

“Forgive me for being cautious.”

“Forgive me for letting you leave,” you say, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest.

“I already did,” he responds quietly, reaching for your hand and squeezing it gently.

“What… what do you want from me, then? Because I… I don’t understand. I’m argumentative, divisive, and hostile. I don’t know the meaning of restraint. I don’t—"

Aaron shakes his head and kisses you, then pulls away, looking down at you and grinning as the red and blue lights from the ambulance arriving start to illuminate you in the dark. “You taste like blood.”

You laugh more than you should have at that, your sides aching as you do. “You really are a profiler, huh?”

“Some might even say a good one.”

“What do you want—"

“I don’t want you to change. I want you to still call me out when I’m wrong. I want you to argue with me like you always used to. I never want you to feel like you need to hold back, act differently, or be somebody else. All those things you listed… I love about you. I just want you to be with me like I told you. Go out to dinners and breakfasts with me. Cook with me in my kitchen. Have wine outside with me in the summer. Go for runs with me. Drag me to Taylor Swift concerts with you. I don’t care. I want it with you.”

The paramedics exit the ambulance before you can respond, and they’re helping you onto the stretcher and taking your blood pressure, and asking you what happened, and it’s not until you walked the few steps to the stretcher that you realized how much that son of a bitch really got you. Maybe Aaron was right to be this worried.

Not that you’d tell him that.

They leave you in the emergency room to wait, as they’ve deemed you non-emergent amid the heart attacks, strokes, and overdoses being wheeled in. You’re breathing. Which is good. Your nose stopped bleeding. Which is also good. Your oxygen level is normal, which means you didn’t puncture a lung with a broken rib, which is excellent.

Now that you’re alone again, or, rather, without an audience of paramedics, you look at him, drinking him in again, letting yourself look at him for the first time in weeks. Broad shoulders, dark hair, large hands. Calm demeanor, even here. Strong. Commanding. Yeah. As much as you were a man's nightmare, he was a woman's dream.

“What you want doesn’t sound half bad,” you admit.

“Why would I want to trap someone I love in a situation where I knew they’d be miserable? I know you value your freedom and your career. I would never ask you to compromise that for me. I just… I needed to step back because you would never even let me speak. You never let me take you out. You only let me take you home. And it… it hurt, honey. But I still love you.”

You wince. “I don’t know how to be in a relationship. I don’t know how to love. I’m broken.”

“That’s the thing I don’t understand. You’re always putting yourself down. Why do you think you don’t deserve this? That you don’t deserve to be happy?”

“I don’t know, Aaron. I’ve never seen a happy ending. For me or anyone else.”

“That doesn’t mean you should never try. And it doesn’t mean we can’t be happy now.”

“But it will hurt—"

“It will hurt anyway,” he reminds you. “These past few weeks have been hell.”

They haven’t been fun. He isn’t wrong.

“I’m not the easiest person to love.”

“Neither am I,” he admits. “I know I don’t bring a lot to the table. But I love you. And… Christ, it doesn’t take a profiler to see you’ve been damaged by somebody. I don’t blame you for living the way you have been, switching people out, and toying with people like you must have been toyed with on a larger scale. I don’t need to know the details if you’re not ready to share them with me. But whenever you feel like you’re ready, let me know. I want to listen.”

“Aaron,” you mutter. “Why can’t I just be fucked up?”

“You could be. But I don’t believe that’s the case.”

You don't say anything for a moment, leaning your head against his shoulder, listening to the idle chatter of everyone else in the emergency department waiting room. Kids crying, grown men screaming, and nurses talking calmly to patients. And then you focus in again on Aaron, listening to the steady rhythm of his breath, smelling the warm spice of his cologne against his neck, feeling the heat from his skin against yours.

And you think... maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

The journey was hell. But it brought you here.

"Okay," you say, with strengthened resolve. "I can't promise anything, but..."

-----

taglist @mrs-ssa-hotchner @mechformers @agentrose17

#Aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x reader smut #aaron hotch x reader #Aaron Hotchner #hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #hotch x reader smut

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artificial-transmutations · 8 months

Text

Perfectly Normal

Devon wasn't a homophobe, really. He was, and he was pretty sure about that, just a normal guy. Not "cis" or "straight" - those were completely unnecessary new words to describe what had a perfectly fine word since ages: normal.

He was a normal man who lived a normal live, had his normal share of girlfriends over the years, had a normal job as a baker and was overall just normal. Even when describing his body, he would use the word: Normal build, not too big or too small, with brown hair in a normal haircut. He wore normal street clothes and voted in the normal, conservative way.

Devon was even, according to himself at least, very tolerant of other ways of life. Sure, he would cast the normal odd look when someone told him that he or she voted for some progressive, liberal or green party, and sure, he was strictly against any of those new woke things, but for example, Devon didn't care if someone was gay.

At least, if those fairies didn't bother him. If they just kept their abnormal fetishes in their bedrooms, everything was fine. Where Devon drew the line, however, was when those people went out of their way to let everyone - Devon included - know of their weird preferences. Those "pride" parades, for example, or when two men had to kiss in public. Or hold hands. Devon wasn't opposed to gay marriage, too, as long as they didn't marry each other. No, marriage was between a man and a woman, and sure, Devon didn't see why gay men shouldn't marry women. Everything else was out of the question, of course, and Devon didn't get why people were branded as homophobic who said such things. It was just a fact: Marriage between two men was not normal.

Devon, however, was a tolerant person. He would allow the gays to exist, even though they were gross. Just keep their distance, and Devon wouldn't have any problems with them.

Everything changed, however, when Devon's best friend, Marcus one day came out to him as gay. At first, Devon was taken aback.

"Why?", he asked, and Marcus replied, "Because I love men. I'm in love with a man."

"No", Devon replied, "I meant why did you have to tell me? This isn't normal, Marcus! Why couldn't you keep your perverse preferences in the bedroom?" Devon tried to keep calm but couldn't help feeling somehow betrayed and disgusted by his childhood friend all of a sudden.

"Devon, I didn't choose to be gay. I don't get how it's not normal. Love is normal, and I'm in love with a man. That's not... not normal. Perhaps you should update what you think is normal sometimes; it's 2023, not 1973."

With that, Marcus left, agitated himself, Devon to his brooding.

This was just unfair. Why did Marcus have to be that way? It wasn't a problem until he said it. Of course, Devon had read the 'argument' of what was normal and what wasn't before, in numerous online discussions that he had been part of, but to hear it from his best friend - former best friend? - made him think. However, regardless of how he shifted the thought around in his head, Devon was unable to come to a different conclusion: Something like that, men sleeping with men, was not - could not be - normal. There was just no way, he could ever see something like that as normal.

Of course, that meant that Devon would have to re-think his friendship with Marcus, a fact that hurt him a lot.

"God, I wish he would just be normal!", he exclaimed to no one in particular. Little did Devon know that a mischievous sprite had been listening in and decided to grant his wish - although not in a way he would expect.

As some hours passed, Devon calmed down more and more. What was he getting so upset about, after all? Perhaps Marcus had been right. It was 2023, and the definition of what was normal was perhaps a bit different from what he was used to. There was certainly no reason to end his friendship with Marcus over that. Devon was straight and... Marcus was gay. That was it. Perfectly normal. It wasn't Devon's cup of tea, but, hey, it didn't have to.

Devon felt really good with that insight. So good in fact that he decided to close the bakery sooner today and grab a bit of coffee in the shop across the street.

He usually avoided the place since he had the strong suspicion that the barista was one of those homos, but suddenly, that didn't matter anymore. It was normal, wasn't it?

So, Devon ordered his coffee and when the barista handed it to him, he said:

"Here you go Sir! Might I add that you look very handsome today?"

Devon felt flattered! Sure, he wasn't gay, but being complemented always felt nice. He smiled brightly and replied: "Thanks!"

"No, seriously, you should think about wearing something more form-fitting. It would suit you well, I think. Perhaps some tank tops to bring out the guns?"

Devon looked down on himself. Yes, he could very well imagine wearing those! His arms were nice and strong from the hard work in the bakery and the colorful tank tops he wore brought that out handsomely. It was sometimes a bit cold in the winter, but since it was always warm in the bakery, those were pretty much his standard attire.

"Yeah, right? I love tank tops!" The barista looked at him as if he had seen a ghost or something, but quickly regained his composure.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that, Sir." After a short pause, he added: "Would you... mind if I touch them? Your arms, I mean, they're just so strong."

Now, Devon wasn't gay, but he couldn't see anything wrong with that request. A bit of friendly feeling up was perfectly normal, after all, so he just nodded. He was the only customer in the shop, so the barista came over and groped his arms.

"Amazing!" he muttered, and Devon wasn't entirely sure if he was still referring to his arms.

"Do you mind?" the Barista asked, but before Devon could nod again, his hands were already exploring Devon's manly chest that was only clad in the thin fabric of the tank top. After a few more moments, the barista's hands went under his shirt and felt up Devon's abs and chest, with his fingers running through the forest of hair there. This time, he didn't ask for permission, but why would he? This was a perfectly normal thing to do, at least to Devon!

When Devon noticed that the barista wanted to pull off his tank top, he helped him by holding his arms up before continuing to sip on his coffee. It was fairly obvious that the barista sported an erection in his jeans - good for him, Devon thought.

"You know", croaked the barista, "perhaps you should try something more... dangerous than a jeans. A pair of shorts would really work wonders with your ass and your... bulge."

Devon almost laughed out loud. What was that guy thinking?! It was not like he wore any other clothes. Colorful tiny shorts, with tank tops - that was all the cloth he wanted to wear. Not even socks, if he didn't have to. And the tops were optional as well - sometimes, Devon wore only stringy mesh tanks - or none at all. That was normal for him!

Devon jumped a little as the barista pinched his exposed nipples, the ones with the piercings. It was okay, of course, normal even, that's why he had nipples. It just came as a surprise. "Sorry, I flinched." he smiled at the other guy.

The barista didn't reply, he was busy pawing Devon's ass and cock through the shorts with both hands. Devon wasn't gay, but it was good to see the barista was enjoying himself. Apparently, the other man's cock twitched and pulsed within the confines of his pants.

Devon took another gulp out of his coffee and nodded towards the other man's crotch. "Glad to see you're enjoying yourself." Devon repeated the words from his thoughts.

"Uh, yeah, sorry about that." The barista said and went red instantly.

"No, no, nothing to be sorry about. That's perfectly normal, you're a guy after all." Devon said.

"Yeah..." the barista said, hesitated shortly before asking:

"Would you mind giving me a blowjob?"

What a ridiculous question. Devon was certainly not gay. However, giving other men a blowjob was just common curtesy, especially if they asked this nicely.

"Sure, no problem." He said. He took another gulp of coffee and set the cup aside before getting down on his knees. The other guy had opened his pants by now, and Devon took his hard cock in hand and began rubbing it. He knew how he wanted girls to blow himself, so even though he had never done it before, it was fairly easy for him to do it right.

The barista moaned out loudly.

"Damn, that's good! How are you so good at this?!"

Devon gave him an answer, even though it was a little difficult while his mouth was stuffed with cock:

"I don't know - it's normal, isn't it?"

"It sure is!" the barista replied and pushed his dick all the way into Devon's throat.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum! You're making me cum!"

A moment later, the barista shot a load of hot sperm into Devon's throat. Devon wasn't sure what to do with it but decided to swallow and drink it down with the rest of his coffee.

"Thank you!" he referred to the coffee and the gratis cum shot with it, of course.

"No... problem." the barista was still out of breath. "See you again tomorrow evening?"

Devon just nodded. That's what he was doing normally, right? As he exited the coffee shop in his colorful and skimpy clothes, he glanced at his clock. He really needed to hurry now if he didn't want to be late to service Marcus and his boyfriend. Of course, Devon himself wasn't gay, but this was just... normal for him.

#male transformation #mental transformation

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argisthebulwark · 16 days

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Nothing Left For Me, I Am Pleading

summary: The fallout after you learn he's cheated on you. gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used. feat: Vilkas, Miraak, Farkas, Brynjolf, Cicero warnings: angsty hurt/no comfort. cheating in an established relationship. swearing. reference to sexual acts, nothing explicit. masterlist

Vilkas' fingers are uncharacteristically chilly when they grab your arm. Your stomach churns at the contact - mere hours had passed since they'd touched someone else. "Don't go." You see every muscle in his body tense - does he anticipate you lashing out at him? Your anger is far too cold for that, a detached hatred that drowns out any love you've felt for him. "Give me one good reason to stay." You sniff, glaring up at the man you've loved so deeply that it hurt. Your heart is shredding in your chest but you refuse to show him. After last night, he does not deserve to see you hurt. You will grant him no opportunity to comfort you. "I thought of you the whole time." "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" You seethe, wrenching your arm from his grasp. "How kind of you to remember me while fucking some stranger at the tavern." "Please." His voice is caught in his throat when he steps closer, hand still reaching uselessly toward you. "I - we just lost Kodlak. He's the closest thing I've ever had to a parent and I felt so fucking lost. I didn't know what to do with myself." His nose wrinkles and you know he's fighting back tears. Strangely, you feel no urge to comfort him - all you want is to escape this damned room. "I was there." You curse your voice for wobbling. "Farkas was there. Our friends were right there - we were all there grieving Kodlak. Together." "I know." He mumbles, sucking in a shaky breath. "I should have talked to you - I don't know why I did that. Nothing makes sense." "You should talk to someone, maybe your brother." You press your lips into a tight line, clamping down the sob tearing at your throat. "I hope you can figure things out, Vilkas." You do hope that he can figure things out. Grief is messy but when you turn away from him, there's a sense of finality to it. You clench your fists to stop their shaking and before you can take that first step away from Vilkas, his voice stops you dead in your tracks. "Can we try again someday?" His voice is so defeated, as if he already knows your answer. Why did he bother asking? "I know that Kodlak meant a lot to you." You squeeze your eyes shut against those damned tears. "But I can never forgive this." "I understand." Vilkas sniffs and you're glad you turned away. The sight of him crying could break you. "I'll always love you, though." You can't think of a response that doesn't break your heart.

"It meant nothing, Mal Dov." You smack away Miraak's hand - you know he wants to caress your face, to calm your nerves as he has so many times before. You can hardly think past her fucking voice ringing through your head. "After that, my hopes of being named High Priestess don't seem so far-fetched. Our lord truly is blessed, isn't he? Well, I suppose you know that better than anyone." She'd bumped into you like it was a silly little mistake, dragon mask pulled aside to display the messy state of her lipstick. The thought of what she'd done for Miraak - the thought of him with anyone else, it makes you sick. "Nothing?" You spit the word back at him. You hate that look on his face, the tears gathering in his eyes. He has the audacity to make you feel like the hurtful one. "In my time, it was quite common to maintain a concubine -" "Oh, fuck you!" Angry tears spill down your cheeks, that hot ball of rage fueled with every word that passes his lips. "You would burn Tamriel if another man dared to kiss me, yet you expect me to be alright with some priestess getting on her knees for you?" "My beloved, please allow me to explain." Miraak reaches for you once more, an offer that feels so loaded. You know that if you take his hand he will whisper sweet apologies in your ear and promises that he will spend the rest of his unnatural life with you. He will tell you that a passing moment with a priestess means nothing compared to an eternity at your side. "No." You reject, gulping past the knot in your throat. Drying your tears you turn, hands shaking when they clench at your sides. "No explanation will undo your actions."

Sunlight bursts over the horizon, bright and cheerful. Farkas' snores echo across the hall as your weary eyes wander toward the window to watch. Your throat is raw from swallowing those ugly sobs and your cheeks are stained with war paint and tears. Clutching your knees to your chest you wait, stuffed into the same chair you've been seated in for hours. When the doors creak open your heart leaps into your throat. You've practiced the speech over and over, memorizing the words and praying that you won't stumble but it's all gone when you see her. The woman is half dressed when she scurries through Jorrvaskr, offering you a kind smile when she spots you. "Sorry if we kept you up." Her voice holds no malice - you're certain that she's interpreted you as a disgruntled housemate. "Can you point me toward the exit?" Your voice ceases to function, merely pointing her toward the front doors. Uncertain of how much time passes you remain there, knees tucked to your chest scrambling for the words you'd planned out so carefully. "Gods, it's bright." Farkas' rich voice causes a fresh wave of tears. Through blurry vision you watch him emerge from the living quarters, one hand shading his eyes from the sun. "My love - what day is it? I thought you weren't back until Middas?" "The assignment was easy." You gulp, hating the way he kneels right in front of you. His thumb traces through the mess of war paint on your face and you suck in a deep breath. "Everyone acted so strange when I returned. I thought perhaps it was because I was a bit early - they were all fairly drunk." "We drank far too much last." Farkas moans, still scrubbing at your cheek. "I can hardly remember anything past dinner." "When Aela tried to stop me from going to bed I knew something was wrong." "My beloved -" "I saw you." You sob, shoving at his bare chest when he attempts to hold you. Your heart is cracking deep in your chest, fat tears spilling down your cheeks but you can't let him piece you back together. "I heard you, Farkas -" "It was a drunken mistake. Please," rough hands cup your face but you're shaking your head. You can't see him through the tears but you know he's crying too. "Please don't leave me." "I can't stop seeing it." You hiccup, curling deeper into the chair. "I can't even look at you."

"I would have raised him better than that." Karliah's hand pats your shoulder. "The Brynjolf I knew would never do that." "He did." Your voice sounds scratchy and far away. Whether it's from rage or the alcohol you aren't certain. You're lying flat on the bar, Vekel's infinite patience saving you from the floor as the world tilts and dips around you. "I have some friends in the Brotherhood." Delvin pipes up from somewhere far away. You aren't sure if you're laughing or sobbing at his comment, noises and tears slipping out of you. "Want me to kill 'im?" "I could kill him for you." Vex offers and you bury your head in your arms. You feel sick - you'd hoped that too many drinks would rid that image from your brain but it persists. His lips on her skin, her fingers in his hair, the sound of her sighing his name. "There you are." His voice still sends shivers down your spine. You bury your face in your arms, mind still stuck on the way his hand wrapped around someone else's waist. "I've been lookin' for you -" "To what?" Vex snaps. "Looking to do some more damage?" "Love, gimme a chance." "Get away from me." "C'mon, I know it was fucked up but we were together for years. I told her I'm with you, that we had to stop before things went too far -" "I said get away from me." You whirl toward him, the world spinning and your stomach flipping dangerously with the motion. Warm hands are there to steady you, Brynjolf's familiar scent filling your nostrils as your bleary eyes struggle to focus on him. "Talk to me, love. Just for a bit, yeah?" "We are done." You stare up at him, hating the way his eyes still make your heart flutter. "I'm taking some time off -" "Don't say that. Think of the Guild - we need you, I need you." "You should've thought of the fucking Guild!" You sob, hands smacking against his chest. "You should've thought about me! You don't get to do this, you don't get to make this my fault." "I know sweetheart, trust me I know it's my fault." "You should probably leave for now, Bryn." Karliah taps his shoulder when you devolve into a mess of sobs. His hands slip from your face and gods help you, after everything you hate to feel it. "Give it time." "I'll be here, love. Whenever you're ready I'll be here waitin' for you."

"I'm sorry." Cicero snivels, falling into your lap. "Cicero's so sorry, Listener - please don't leave me, don't leave your awful Keeper." The indecision is paralyzing; so badly you want to comfort him, to comb through the mess of his hair and wipe at his face until he's calmed down but you cannot. You can't stop thinking about the dreamy look on his face after someone else's lips touched his. "Please, Listener." He gasps, fingers screwed up in the front of your armor. You can't bring yourself to rebuff him but do not have the capacity to soothe him. "Please, Cicero is so sorry - they were helping with Mother's rituals and so kind to me, so sweet helping with prayers and honeyed words." He hiccups, a sob breaking up his explanations. You want nothing more than to forgive him, to wipe at his tears and tell your beloved that everything will be alright, but find those words too difficult. "Was I not enough?" Your voice breaks, tears finally spilling down your cheeks. The flood of emotions is too much all at once when Cicero buries his face in your shoulder. God it hurts - you've known hurt but nothing like this, betrayal that cuts down to the bone. "You're everything!" He howls, both your bodies shaking with the weight of his sobs. "Terrible, awful Keeper - I don't deserve that title, the Listener deserves someone much better." "Calm down." You urge, unable to resist rubbing a hand down his back. The sensation of his body curling into yours is so familiar but there is no warmth, no love in the way he clings to you - only guilt. His voice is torn as he mumbles your title over and over, apologies mingled in as he professes his guilt. "Love you, Listener. Love you, love you, love you..." he trails off, wet kisses placed along your throat. "Silly Cicero made a horrible mistake but oh, how I love you." "You know I love you." You choke on the words, shocked at how hard it is to say. You do love Cicero, you always will. "But my beloved -" "Don't, Listener - please, your Keeper begs you." He sniffles, breaths finally evening out. "Don't leave poor Cicero. Anything, I'll do anything, just don't leave." "I don't think we can get past this." His arms tighten around your middle, tears streaming down your face as the raw pain pounds through your body with each beat of your wretched heart. "You know I love you, my Cicero, but I don't think there is any mending this." You sit there, clutching Cicero to your chest and crying until your lungs threaten to give out. You are both painfully aware that as soon as you let each other go that is the end. When he slides from your lap he will no longer be your Cicero, you will simply be two Brotherhood members who cannot look each other in the eyes. So you hold him, allowing him to cry into your armor and shedding endless tears over the love you've both lost.

#writing #skyrim x reader #x reader fanfic #angst #vilkas #miraak #farkas #brynjolf #cicero

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pavlovianfuckery · 2 months

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catch me if you can or whatever

basically what it says in the title. make silly bets, get silly prizes, like creature-dick and the worst cardio session ever

This is a nightmare. Your lungs are burning and your legs ache, but still, you run. If you had known that one childish impulse would get out of hand like this, you might have thought twice before teasing him the way you had.

It had started as something silly, trying to pry him away from his work for a few minutes, nothing more. A quip about him needing to lighten up hadn't been quite enough, so in the spur of the moment, you had simply snatched the book he'd been reading right out of his hands, absconding deeper into the library with a barely suppressed laugh. You hadn't expected him to chase you, though. Granted, it wasn't in any great hurry but pursue you he did, finally cornering you between the towering bookshelves.

"That was juvenile, even for you. Do I truly bore you so?" The way he'd chided you lacked any real heat though.

"Is it so terrible to want your attention for a few minutes? You have all the time in the world to work." Fiddling with the folds in his coat, you gently nipped at his bottom lip. "Surely you can do the rest later?" It was not much use though.

"As much as I'd like to indulge you, I cannot, not tonight. Although..." he'd paused, thinking for a moment, "if a chase is what you're after, why not make it something a bit more exciting than these childish antics in my library?"

"I'm listening."

"How about a small wager? If you can evade me until sun-up tomorrow, by any means you can imagine, you may ask me for anything you would like." That piqued your interest. He'd humour you from time to time, that wasn't uncommon in itself, but he was usually so serious.

"That doesn't sound so hard. What's the catch? With you, there is always one of those." Which was true, for all that he might have accommodated you in the past, he would usually find some way to be a bit of an ass about it. If you didn't know better, you might have mistaken him for a fae. Your scepticism seemed to amuse him.

"Should you fail, I will do with you as I will, whatever that might entail." That hadn't sounded bad at all, butterflies filling your stomach at the way he'd smiled at you, just a hint too sharp."It may not be as pleasant as what you might be imagining, I'm afraid. After all, what would be the point of this little game if you were simply planning to let me win?"

"I'll make you work for it, don't worry." The words had come out a lot more confident than you felt, but you weren't going to let him know that.

"Good. I will even give you a headstart." You'd started protesting about not needing him to do you any favours, but he'd simply covered your mouth with his, cutting you off. Judging by the way he had kissed you until your knees felt like jelly, he perhaps hadn't minded being pulled away from his work for a while, after all. When he finally let you up for air, you'd noticed that he'd stolen his book back.

"Hey!"

"I'll be waiting. Now, wake up."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In hindsight you're kicking yourself for agreeing, it had been so stupid. At first, you simply tried to hide, mostly to see what he would do. By any means you can think of, he had said, and being in the Dreaming made it easy to let your imagination run free. It seemed like as good a start as any, disguising yourself as a butterfly and joining one of the great swarms in the palace gardens, doing your best to blend in. Evidently, it was not as smart as you had thought, because he found you in barely any time at all.

"That's very clever, my love. You will have to do better than that, though." He paused, considering. "I did promise you a head start, did I not? Five minutes should be plenty, I believe."

Did he think you were that slow? Your dismay must have been apparent even in this form, a hint of a smile forming on his lips.

"Which is it going to be, my sweet? Are you going to waste time sulking, or are you going to run?"

You run. Or fly, rather. You're not quite sure what exactly you turned into this time other than "bird", but you're small and fast, and that's all that matters. In no time at all, Dream is nothing but a dark smudge against the grass, rapidly shrinking. The speed is exhilarating and for a moment you forget the bet, the silly little game, all of it. Not for long though. Silhouetted against the sky like this you make an easy target, so you dash for the only cover you can find.

In the Waking, it would be cold and wet and miserable, but not here. Here the clouds are warm, covering you like a soft blanket as you make for the nearby forest, the treetops barely visible through the mist like an untidy fence off in the distance. It's not too far, and if you hurry you will have enough hiding places to have a fighting chance, so you pick up the pace. And then something moves above you, dark wings parting the mist in great rolling waves. It's hard to see much, but you can tell that it's big, whatever it is.

"Is this the best you can do? I was expecting you to take this a bit more seriously." There is no way that it has been 5 minutes already, but before you can call him out for cheating, great talons are raking through the air. They miss you with barely an inch to spare, ruffling your tail feathers. He is seconds away from catching you and by the sound of it, you might get a bit more than you bargained for if you let him do that. You dive.

Despite the breakneck speed, he's all but nipping at your heels the entire way down, leaving you no choice but to hit the ground running. The grass is slippery with dew, turning your landing into a slide and making you lose your footing. Not for long though, strong hind legs and claws of your own giving you grip and a burst of speed as you launch yourself into the tall grass. A hare might not have been your first pick, but it's not like you had time to think. It makes gaining ground easy though, darting this way and that towards the treeline, narrowly evading the grasping talons.

You make it into the forest, the dense undergrowth giving you enough cover to shake him off. The thick layer of fallen leaves deadens every sound, and it takes you a few seconds to realize that he's not behind you anymore. In fact, you can't see or hear him at all. It's not likely that he would have given up that easily, but your legs feel like over-cooked noodles so you stop to catch your breath. Finally yourself again, you sit down heavily on a tree stump, lungs still heaving like bellows. Since this is all technically a dream, it feels deeply unfair that you get winded at all. You remind yourself to ask him about that later, but you suspect that running in your dreams does not count as cardio.

Dawn is still hours away, and you have no clue how you're going to make it until then. At this point, it feels like you might as well give up. You're pretty sure he wouldn't do anything too bad, and there is no way you can keep this pace up for much longer. The sound of a dead branch breaking nearby is loud, taking you by surprise.

At first, you're not entirely sure what you're looking at, except that it's not any kind of animal that you know. It's pale, with a starved look about it, all sinew and bone. Between the dark tufts of fur and the gangly, oddly proportioned limbs, it is entirely alien. Even the way it moves is unsettling as its antlered head swivels in your direction, its eyes fixed on you. Black eyes.

As it turns out, you do have the energy to keep running after all.

For a few fleeting seconds, you almost think he might let you go. But then he chases after you, more branches breaking. It's over in less than a minute. If you hadn't tripped it might have been one and a half, maybe even two. But soon, a clawed hand pushes you down onto the ground, leaving you splayed out like so much prey. Wriggling only makes him put more of his weight on you, claws pricking your skin.

"Be still." His voice is almost felt rather than heard, reminding you of gravel being ground underfoot and the bubbling of mud, nothing like his usual smooth velvet. There is a gibbering at the back of your mind, every base instinct telling you to flee, to get away by any means possible before you're eaten."Or would you deny me my prize?"

For a moment you consider it, calling it off. He hasn't held that against you in the past, and he wouldn't now. And despite appearances, you're pretty sure he wouldn't actually eat you. This close you can't help noticing the disconcerting amount of sharp-looking teeth though, so you take a deep breath to try and calm yourself.

"No." Your voice isn't quite as steady as you would have liked it to be but you reach out to touch him all the same. His skin is warm and dusted with fine, almost invisible hair. It's a strange, almost sticky feeling, and when he pulls away to move down your body, you half expect it to coat your fingers like moth scales. When he reaches the apex of your thighs he nuzzles there, drawing your scent deep into his lungs with a low rumbling sound.

The way he picks at your clothes with the tips of his claws is almost dainty, the fabric giving with little ripping sounds as he works your legs free, leaving you bare. When he spreads your lips to expose you to him it's with the gentlest touch, careful not to scratch you. Aside from his eyes, the way he works your clit is the only familiar thing tonight, teasing you until you can hardly stand it. When the tip of his tongue probes your entrance your eyes drift shut, anticipating what's to come.

"No, look at me." Once he's satisfied that you're watching he slides his tongue into you, inch by slick inch, not stopping until his teeth prick your skin. He could swallow your entire cunt whole like this, easily fitting all of it in his mouth with room to spare.

The movement of his tongue is a slow, undulating thing as he fucks you with it, drinking down every drop of your juices as he massages every sweet spot at once. It's a wholly new sensation and it's got you craving more of it, making you grab hold of his antlers to better grind yourself against him, but he just gives a low growl and splays one huge hand across your stomach, keeping you still as he feasts on you. Craning your neck you can only just glimpse his length, massive and ridged, the broad head already leaking and turning the dark fur between his legs sticky.

"Gods, Dream, you're not planning to fuck me with that?" He doesn't respond right away, so intent on devouring you, not stopping until you're trembling.

"Remember the agreement, my love. Do not refuse me now." His expression is harder to read like this, but the want in his voice is plain enough. Stroking your sides soothingly, his voice turns almost cajoling as he continues, "Turn over."

Perhaps against your better judgement, you do as he asks, your stomach fluttering with equal parts desire and trepidation. The smell of decaying leaves and trampled undergrowth is thick in your nose as he puts you on your hands and knees, face nearly touching the forest floor. It's hard to stay still as he starts slowly pushing inside, careful not to crush you under his weight as he mounts you. He makes it less than an inch before you tense, certain that he's going to split you in half somehow.

"Wait, I don't know if..."

"You can take me." He presses against you another fraction of an inch, not bothering to let you finish talking. "You will."

At first, it feels like he's demanding the impossible, but gradually you manage to relax. He takes his time working his way inside of you and when he finally bottoms out it's with a guttural sound, his breath ruffling your hair as he pants against the back of your neck. You half expect some form of "I told you so" but it never comes. Instead, you simply breathe together for a few moments as he gives you time to adjust.

When he moves it's so slowly, like he could break you somehow. When you don't, he gets bolder, pulling nearly all the way out and then thrusting back in, making sure you feel every ridge and bump. Every noise you make seems to egg him on until his teeth are at the back of your neck, not quite drawing blood.

He takes his time, holding you steady as he claims you utterly. Even when his teeth nick your skin he doesn't falter, probing at the cut with his tongue until saliva dribbles down your neck. Even the way he tightens his grip on you is entirely other, leaving you unable to do anything but wriggle in the dirt, black spots dancing across your vision.

"Dream, please!" Everything is pressure and a gasp is all you can manage. You can feel him swell inside of you in response to your pleading, and then one huge finger settles over your neglected clit, the claws a reminder of just how easily he could rip you apart like this.

In a way he does, rubbing at you until your release is so close that you can nearly taste it. Teetering right on the precipice, you're not sure if there is even room for you to come, he's got you stretched so wide. He's insistent though, trapping you between his hand and his cock, not letting you squirm away no matter how much you try.

In the end, he reaches his peak first, jaws locked like a steel trap around your neck as he spills deep inside of you. It feels as if it might never end as he pulses over and over until his release is running down your legs, black like tar. Even then he manages to keep up the slow, full strokes, refusing to stop until you hurtle over the edge.

When you finally do, it knocks the breath out of you, leaving you no air to even scream. The girth of him makes your cunt struggle to clench and as he fucks you through it, he very nearly gets pushed out. He doesn't let up until you almost collapse under his weight, utterly spent. Even as he lays you down on your side he doesn't withdraw, just pulls you close and curls in around you with a sound that while strange, sounds content enough. It's oddly cosy like this, his deep rumbling breaths against your back, and for a few moments neither of you says anything. As the light-headedness starts lifting and your heart stops pounding like you've run a marathon, you can't quite hold back a sigh.

"Something troubling you, my love?" Even distorted, the amusement in his voice is apparent.

"Were you ever going to give me a fair chance to win?" With the soreness setting in, it's difficult to keep some irritation out of your voice.

"Perhaps." This time he doesn't bother to disguise it, and you're grateful that you have your back turned so you don't have to see the smug expression on his face. "As I recall, you agreed to the terms."

"You cheated!" You emphasize the words with an elbow to where his stomach should be, though not very hard. It barely connects, and you're too worn out to stay annoyed. There is a crick in your neck and you wince, hoping it won't follow you into the waking world. "Next time, remind me not to interrupt while you're working."

At first, he doesn't respond and you think he might be having a coughing fit. For a second you wonder if an Endless can even get sick, or if something else is wrong. Then he nuzzles your neck and you realize that the dreadful noise is him laughing at you. Not very loudly, but still. By the time you wake up, you still haven't decided whether you should be annoyed at the cheek of him, or just be happy that you heard him laugh for the first time.

#dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #sandman x you #sandman smut #dream of the endless smut #the sandman fanfiction #my shitty shitty writing (affectionate)

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dickmedowndc · 6 months

Text

Kiss Tax - Bart Allen x Reader

Word Count: 1,856

Summary: Bart had always been affectionate in your relationship. Quick to give or ask for anything from a hug to a kiss – the latter of which he had made a habit of giving before each mission he went on. At least when it wasn’t something last minute or it was manageable. But you had finally decided to return the affections more yourself, beginning to ask for a “kiss tax” on small things such as passing through the door or handing over a drink. A practice that Bart seemed more than happy to adopt and turn around on you just as quickly.

Notes: Partially inspired by something from Feels Like Fighting Gravity, one of my upcoming OC/Canon fics, where Wisteria tends to demand a “kiss tax” for things – I thought it was cute. Also, inspired by a relationship headcanon that Bart tries to kiss his partner before each mission, just in case.

…★…

It was quiet.

Far too quiet.

You had been reading in absolute silence by the window for some time now, a storm pounding on the windowpane in a consistent lull, only interrupted by the bright white flash of lightning and the cracks of ground shaking thunder that sent a vibration through your home and body.

The quietness that had you narrowing your eyes and sliding a bookmark between pages was not the silence of nature – not with its ongoing war cry – but rather the silence of your home. It was unnerving, unnatural, after becoming so used to the sounds of a speedster making himself comfortable within the walls. Setting the book aside you reached over, grabbing your phone and flicking the screen on to see the time: 4:57 PM. Bart had been due back from his 3-day mission more than 3 hours ago. Granted, it wasn’t uncommon for a speedster to be late back from anything, but for such a stretch of time with no word from him, it was becoming concerning.

But you had faith in your partner and knew when he was free from his duties or the debriefing – or wherever he was – that he would be back. That was not to say, however, that it would stop you from curling up on your bed and waiting a bit longer. At least you told yourself that had been the plan, but the moment that your head hit the pillows you found your eyes were growing heavy without your consent and you fell asleep.

When you woke later it was with a start and a pressure pressed against your entire body, one that was vibrating as it laughed. Just as quickly your eyes flew open and landed on your boyfriend, all too amused with himself and face shoved into the crook of your neck as he continued to shake in his absolute mirth.

Finally, he stopped, just long enough so he could peak up at you and the faint mumbling against your skin could be deciphered. “Did you miss me?”

“I always miss you,” you assure, bringing a hand up to run it through his fluffy hair. “But I’m also starting to miss sleep.”

He said nothing, only pressing a series of too-quick kisses against whatever exposed skin he could reach. The actions leaving you a squirming mess under him as you tried desperately to avoid his attacks, finding yourself short of breath soon enough.

“Bart please, please stop,” you gasped out, one hand trying to pull his head back by his hair, knowing you weren’t hurting him too much, and the other trying to shove him back by one of his shoulders. It did little to dissuade him, his onslaught continued until there were tears in the corners of your eyes and you could no longer beg for him to show mercy. It shouldn’t have tickled you too much, and perhaps you should have seen it coming, but it was the very speed that he left those feather light touches, and the hands on your side keeping you from hiding, that made it all the harder to calm down.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Bart stilled. His hands were still planted firmly on your sides, but he allowed his body to collapse onto yours. He seemed as content as could be to just rest his head on your chest, looking up at you with faux innocence as though he had not been lovingly tormenting you only moments ago. He was good at that, and he knew it. “Too cute to be mad at” you had said one time, and he had run with it for situations such as this.

Finally free to take in as much air as our lungs burned for you could finally calm down. With one hand limp at your side, the other that remained webbed through strands of his hair had just enough feeling for you to pull him forward. “Come here,” you murmured, pressing a quick kiss to his lips when he finally complied. When you opened your eyes and pulled away, the only thing that you could see was the elated grin of your partner.

“What was that for?”

“A kiss tax, you have to pay a kiss tax now.”

Bart cocked his brow at you. “What am I paying for?”

“For tickling me, you menace. And maybe I’ll make you pay another one for being cute.”

“What if I don’t want to pay the tax?”

“Sorry,” you huffed, a gentle hand to his cheek, “no tax fraud allowed.”

Bart only laughed, following your gentle pull before kissing you once again. “For being attractive?”

You rolled your eyes at his words, moving to correct him swiftly. “For being criminally cute.”

“I think I can live with the kiss tax, even if it’s just to get you to start kisses more.”

You waved him aside, knowing it wasn’t a rude jab. Bart had known about your shy nature and your hesitance at giving physical affection on that level. It was well discussed. But it did not stop him from poking fun at it on the rare occasion.

But what you had not known that day, after fully deciding to lean into the kiss tax idea - because your boyfriend deserved it, and always made time to give you what physical affection he could, including a goodbye kiss before every mission – was just how happy it would make Bart. And just how eager he would be to pay said tax for each little thing.

But three weeks later it was resoundingly clear to you.

Bart had always been the more affectionate of the two of you – not that it wasn’t mutual. But he had never shied away from asking or surprising you with hugs or a quick kiss, he gave compliments like he needed to do so to breathe. It was a pre-fight good luck charm for him to find you wherever you were and kiss you before he had to go unless he did not have the time. Hand holding, domestic mornings just cuddling in bed, hyping you up to those around you. It was just the way he was.

And in private you returned his affections. Your own flustered nature leaving you stuttered over it in the company of others. You enjoyed it nonetheless.

But now Bart had gotten a taste of you regularly starting these moments, and he was enjoying it.

“Can you hand me that water?” he called, puppy dog eyes on full display as he stared longingly at the bottle from over the bed of the couch.

You could only shake your head at his antics before bringing it to him, still partially distracted by something you had been reading on your phone; Anita had been recorded during one of her saves recently and you were checking the highlights, mentally reminding yourself to congratulate her later. Your train of thought was interrupted when Bart cleared his throat. Puzzled, you stopped, looking at him in a silent question of what was wrong.

“I have to pay the tax, don’t I?”

You could feel the way your lips twitched up at the corner. You couldn’t miss the chance to mess with him. “I don’t know if I'll be collecting any tax on water.”

He looked like a kicked puppy almost immediately. He would put Dox to shame with the sad eyes he was pulling.

“But you took tax the other day.”

You could only roll your eyes before motioning him forward, the air knocked from your lungs when he practically threw himself over your lap. So much for reading the rest of the article, you mused, tossing your phone aside. You took a moment and just squished his face between your hands, earning a grumble as he turned away to break your hold. “Alright,” you said, relenting at last, “come here you big baby.”

Bart was more than happy to oblige, stealing a kiss faster than you could even register the act.

But when he pulled back, he had that look on his face you sometimes found you would regret later, like he knew something, or was planning something. You ignored it, knowing full and well that if he wanted to keep his secrets for the time he would, especially if he thought it would make the payout all the better.

The best you could do was enjoy the tranquility of the moment and resign yourself to whatever fate awaited you.

That fate, as you found out only hours later, was Bart now flipping the script on you.

Where it had previously been you requesting a kiss tax before letting him into your bedroom, Bart now stood in front of it, puffed out and taking up as much space as he could. “You need to pay the tax, sorry babe.”

You snorted and crossed your arms. “I need to pay the tax in my own place?”

“Don’t you do that already?”

Your arms drop to your sides as you sigh. “Alright, come here, you.” You pull him forward and give him a kiss, before ducking under him and making for the kitchen before he can change just how much tax you owe. Not that trying to outrun him has ever worked in your favor before anyways, but it always seems to make the both of you laugh, and that’s enough.

But his demands for kisses don’t stop there, and you find that Bart seems to have found a new past time – finding what things he can still do for you and still be able to collect tax. It isn’t every time, thankfully, so it keeps you on your toes enough. Nor does it seem to diminish just how excited that he gets each time you still make him pay with a quick kiss as well.

That’s good, because the way he lights up is something that you’re hoping you get to see for a long time to come still.

An admission you let slip after stealing another kiss when he tries to pull you in to cuddle.

Bart seems to go completely soft at that, eyes half lidded, and arms thrown around your waist so he can pull away long enough to just watch you for the moment. “Anybody saying you can’t?”

“No, but I wanted you to know. I don’t always tell you as much as I maybe should.”

Bart breaks out in a smile there – he could put the sun to shame – but it’s just as soft as it is bright. “You show me all the time.”

You can only raise a brow at that. “Really?”

“You do,” he insists, pulling you closer. “It didn’t take me that long to figure out how you show it.”

It's like a weight you didn’t know had been there is lifted when he says that. The kiss tax had been in part to show him that you cared just as much, and knowing that he already knew? It put you at ease. Enough so that you quickly found yourself curling into his chest to be lulled asleep by his heartbeat, aware he wasn’t far behind you.

#nicole writes #dc x reader #bart allen x reader #impulse x reader

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just-a-torn-up-masterpiece · 8 months

Text

i know the end

part three of three | series masterlist

emily prentiss x reader

18+: naughty murder gfs, evidence tampering, corrupt fbi agents, descriptions of blood, injury, murder, implied abuse, death, angst, fluff

wc: 5.1k

Emily woke up before you after a night of sleep much more peaceful than it should have been, cradling your head that lay on her chest. She listened to the peaceful tones of your soft breathing with her fingers stroking through your hair. Seeing your hand that so gently rested against her stomach only reminded her of the previous night, how she’d seen you from afar with the same hands gloved and wrapped around the handle of a knife.

It was almost a fever dream, the idea that she’d been so infatuated with the gruesome sight only just began to settle in. And she didn’t regret a thing, much to her surprise. She watched the fluttering of your closed eyes, imagining the sound nights of sleep you’d had after each life you took. You were curious to her - you always had been - the goings on of your mind were never clear to anyone, the coldness you sometimes direct towards those in interrogation. They’d all been quietly surprised at the nonchalant way you brushed off your first case with the team and now she supposes she understands why. You were no stranger to the darker side of the world, the hauntings of the things that settle in, and she sees now how it has become a part of you.

She heard the shift in the breaths you took and pressed a kiss to your forehead when you began to stir, smiling slightly at the way you held on to her more tightly when you felt the solidness of her comforting body beside you.

“You called me your girlfriend last night,” you sleepily muttered.

“I did,” she answered with a huff of a laugh above you. “I thought it was about time I did. Especially now we’ve seen these hidden parts of one another.”

It was true. After bearing your deepest darkest crevices of your souls to each other after months of rendezvous, it was only inevitable you’d take that official oath together.

“So, what’s next, my little killer,” she whispered. You heard the smile in her voice and you looked up at her as you returned it.

“I’ve got it under control, don’t worry.”

“I’m sure you have but keep me in the loop, hm?”

“James Grant,” you stated, rolling onto your back with the side of your head pressed against hers.

You said it with a shrug as though it was obvious, she supposed it was, though she was excited to brainstorm a plan. It was exciting her devious streak she’d always wished to entertain.

“That’s it?” she laughed.

“Well, yeah, kind of,” you uttered back. “I planned every last detail down to the piece of hair I left on a tree. I figured they’d find it, tie it back to him, and the mountain of evidence against him and it’s a closed case.”

“God, I love your brain,” she musingly sighed. “Listen, I was thinking about it a little after you woke me up with your snoring -”

“I don’t snore.”

“Okay,” she retorted with a roll of her eyes at the playful shove you gave her. “Anyway, I’ve got a couple ideas. Feel free to turn them down but I figured, go big or go home.”

You sat up eagerly at that, so pleased to find her just as enlivened at the prospect, so much so you had to peck her lips with a grin against her. When you nodded, she began.

—

The atmosphere in the police station didn’t differ too greatly from the days prior. With a case that hits as many dead ends as this one, it's hard to keep any semblance of a spark alive. You were all running on caffeine to combat the early morning tiredness, the weariness that had taken its place with all the frustration.

Emily’s knee brushed against yours from where she’d taken a seat beside you, looking over the files in front of you with a fresh sight she’d been graced with. Truly, neither of you were digging much into the repetitive information you keep scouring through - you didn’t need to - you were just waiting for the pieces to fall into place. You acted as though you mirrored everybody else, searching for something you may have missed. Evidence that won’t be found.

They didn’t know it was all fruitless and you could now at least share the amusement with the woman beside you, only feigning concentration whilst you threw each other small smiles and discreet flirtatious touches beneath the table. You were both itching for the next step and as though the world had listened, Hotch’s phone rang out into the uncomfortable silence.

It was a moment of dread for those not in the know, listening in to Hotch’s side of the conversation, reading his expressions and the way he rubbed at his forehead.

“A woman on her way to work found another body,” he deadpanned as soon as he hung up the call with a click. “Stab wounds, mutilated hands, rope around the wrists.”

“Definitely our guy,” Derek spoke, receiving nods around the room as you all stood to receive your orders.

“JJ, Emily, Y/N, head to the crime scene. Morgan, Rossi, Reid I want you to take statements from the witnesses, see if they know anything of the area - talk to anyone who works around there - bars, stores, anything. I’ll head to the ME’s office to go over the other victims before he performs an autopsy. I’ll keep you updated.”

“I’ve got a good feeling about this one,” Emily murmured as the group of you made your way out of the building, earning hopeful murmurings from everyone else and an amused smirk from yourself.

After a quiet car ride there, you arrived at the scene. Police tape framed your work and you took the issued camera that was handed to you, pulling on the gloves Emily passed you before making your way over.

“Yep, definitely our unsub,” JJ sighed as she took in the sight.

“Robert Allen,” Emily began, reading from the ID card she carefully slipped from the wallet she found in his jeans pocket. “Not much else in here, a couple nickels worth of change and a Blockbuster loyalty card.” She spoke the latter part with an amused quirk of her brow and if you weren’t at a crime scene you would have laughed.

She had to admit the slight unease she felt at the body beside her boot-clad feet. The blood and gore had never bothered her, but knowing that you - her otherwise innocent and oftentimes sweet-natured girlfriend - was responsible did bring out a shiver in her spine. However, any thoughts she possibly should have had were erased completely by the memories of the evening. She glanced towards the tree she’d pushed you against and thought back to the way you moaned her name; how she’d taken you back to the hotel to strip you down and wash you clean of any remaining blood before she made you breathe out her name once more.

Seeing what you’d done in broad daylight always came with pride. You could see it all clearly without the darkness of the night shrouding it - you’d done it for a reason after all, surely you deserved to admire it. The scum you’d rid the world of.

Blood had trickled from his lips into the scratchy beard that covered his chin. You remembered the wet gargles at the back of his throat as he gasped for air. It had splattered onto his neck, adam’s apple painted red along with the collar of his shirt.

You crouched beside him with the camera snapping photos with a flash, finally able to eye the violent wounds that were scattered all over him. You hadn’t counted but there must have been at least fifteen - Emily was quietly amazed. She’d never seen you angry, though had sometimes noticed bruised knuckles she assumed came from the assault of a home gym punching bag. Your anger was quiet and bubbling, she’d easily seen this in the brief conversations of your past you’d let her entertain before changing the subject to one less painful. She watched you take photos as though it was like any normal case with her gaze softening at the realisation she could see all of you now. She could see the pain that rested on your shoulders. The torment that had always been there was so clear to her now and all she wanted to do was hold you in her arms and let you be mended.

You continued taking note of the corpse and all the blood. You took photos to accompany those on the corkboard at the station, close-ups of battered hands. The skin was black and blue and otherwise coated in blood. Your knife had stabbed clean through and the force of your strong grip had bent his fingers out of shape, pointing in ways they certainly should not. The rope was slightly frayed, bound tightly around his wrists, digging into the skin leaving it red and raw around them.

It was just like the others. You’d done a good job.

You stood from your position to pass the camera back to somebody who’d have them processed and made your way over to JJ and Emily where they spoke to the forensics team.

“We’ll have to check for DNA again but other than that, it’s all pretty much the same as the others,” you spoke. “Maybe check his clothes and the surrounding trees - he could’ve brushed against them,” you suggested to which the expert nodded in agreement.

“There’s blunt force trauma to his head too,” you added. “We’ve had no luck finding anything before but it was probably a rock,” you continued with a gesture towards the plethora of stones around you.

“Needle in a haystack,” JJ muttered.

“Mhm. Chances are he tossed it in that stream - it could be anywhere by now and we’d be lucky to find any DNA even if we did get our hands on it.”

“Alright, well, keep us posted if you find anything,” Emily concluded before the three of you wandered back to the SUV. You were all a little more hopeful now at least - there had to be some concrete evidence at some point. Especially considering the apparent devolving the offender seems to be approaching, what with the shortened time between this murder and the last one.

Just with any few hours following the discovery of a new body, there was a wait time. You could only go over the facts for so long until you needed a break, hoping on a call revealing new information to form an arrest plan.

For now, it was just a waiting game, so Emily suggested she go and grab coffees. The pot in the run-down, and usually uneventful, police station was akin to battery acid and the offer was gratefully accepted by all just for a taste of something more bearable.

“Donuts too, if you’re buying,” JJ smiled when the two of you pulled your jackets on to leave.

“Only because I’m feeling generous,” you uttered back.

You’d studied every inch of this town. Every road and lane, every bypass and alleyway. You were thorough and meticulous with every detail memorised. You knew the route Emily should take to get to James Grant’s house in a time that would get you to the cafe and back to the team in an appropriate amount of time. You knew how to adjust the systems of the vehicle to keep the tracking system from revealing where you truly went. Emily daren’t ask you how. She just appreciated the knowledge that she’d found somebody even more highly strung than herself.

When she parked outside the worn-down house she let you lead the way, trusting the in-depth surveillance of the house you’d informed her of this morning.

“I did a lot of library book browsing for this so please give me credit,” you mumbled as you led her to the back of his house.

The wood paneling along the walls was poorly kempt and the security was obviously minimal. Kudos to you for tracking down the perfect suspect, she thought. Even his house was practically in the middle of nowhere and its appearance hardly differed from those of serial killers you’ve apprehended a number of times.

“I’m assuming you know how to pick a lock,” you asked her as you bent down beside the rusted gas lines attached to the bricked walls and began following the instructions you’d given yourself to achieve the desired outcome.

“Of course,” she huffed as though it were a ridiculous notion to presume otherwise. “I’ll head in, do what I need to do and you’ll be ready to leave when I come out?”

“Of course.” Your tone was identical to hers and she rolled her eyes playfully before you parted ways.

It took a little time for you to be finished and back in the car. She looked at you giddily when she turned her body to face you from the driver’s seat, a glint in her eyes you’d never seen but already adored.

“You’re so cute when you’re up to no good,” you breathed, she felt your smile against her lips when she pulled you in for a kiss. It was soft yet possessive as though she was staking her claim on this enigmatic being she’d found and caught. You felt her plump lips on yours when she pulled away, with little space, to talk into the palpable air.

“I think I love you.”

“I think I love you too, Emily.”

“This’ll work, right? This plan, I mean.”

“If I’m right - and I’m barely ever wrong,” you began as she chuckled. “He’ll come back from work, light a cigarette and the rest will happen on its own. We’re counting on the timings of it all but other than that it’s concrete.”

“And if it’s not?”

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Now, drive on, I want a croissant.”

–

JJ and Derek weren’t oblivious. They’d noticed the way you and Emily act around each other and the change in your demeanours following your love-filled confessions was obvious to them - they shared a knowing look at the way Emily sported a rare blush at something you muttered to her out of earshot. They’d had their suspicions but had kept their distance, figuring you’d say something when you felt ready to.

Right now though, mouths and stomachs were satisfied as they all pored over information. There was a weight lifted from the air as though you all somehow knew that this would be the one to pull it all together.

The familiar ringtone solidified it all. That noise that had been stomach-dropping for weeks now was finally tinted with hope. Hotch didn’t hide the relieved upturn of his mouth at the voice on the other end of the line, letting his usually stoney face show emotion for just a moment.

“They’ve found DNA at the scene. It’s small but it’s enough. Jame Grant is our unsub,” he voiced once the call was over.

“We got him,” Derek smiled, determined to close this tiring case for good.

“His work shift is almost over, if we leave now we won’t get to his property much longer after him. We’ll meet him there - let’s go.”

��

When Emily brought the car to a halt just as she had a few hours ago, she gave your hand a reassuring squeeze just as she always does before you got out. This time, though, she didn't even attempt to hide the display of affection from JJ and Rossi who sat in the rear seats. Right now, she didn’t care if anybody saw, she loved you and she silently pleaded that any powers she didn’t believe in would let this plan go smoothly.

You all noticed his figure through the unclean living room windows as you quietly approached his house, guns out in front of you and vests securely fitted to your bodies.

Nobody knew how he’d react to the hostile situation so a silent approach was favoured. Emily made her way to the back of the house with recognition in her footsteps until she was out of sight; Hotch urged you and JJ to make your way to the front door while he and the remaining members of the BAU dispersed themselves as per routine.

“Make your approach on three,” his voice sounded through slightly muffled comms.

With a mirrored nod in JJ’s direction, you started a cautious walk forward, readying yourselves to kick the wooden door with the solid soles of your shoes. You noticed James make his way toward the kitchen and released a shaking breath at the closeness of your plan finally coming to its end. You’d made it this far without a hitch and you gritted your teeth with a slight nervousness at the severity of the need for this to go correctly.

It was tricky to piece together what happened next.

One second you were near his house and the next your ears were ringing as you blinked out of an unconscious state you don’t know how long you’d been in, You knew that the sunlight made your eyes squint and you knew that the hand you shot up to the pain in your head didn’t help.

The sounds around you floated in and out but you could sense the commotion. Your lungs heaved for a breath that was difficult to inhale until you unclasped the FBI vest that held your torso hostage. You knew that the coughs you spluttered out hurt your ribs that were surely bruised and that your fingertips were slick with blood from the cut above your left eyebrow. You knew that this was meant to be there. Was it? You didn’t know at this point.

You managed to struggle into a seated position to find JJ and her soot-covered self kneeling next to you with concern written over her face. Her cheek was beginning to bruise but she looked okay other than that. But your body ached.

“What happened?” you managed to stutter out, feeling Derek’s presence crouch down beside you while the rest of the goings-on were yet to catch up with your haze-covered mind.

“Grant. He must’ve figured we’d caught him,” he rushed out. He was more concerned with helping you stand on shaky legs.

Was this your plan? You were desperately wishing for your brain to catch up - you needed to know if this was how it was all meant to play out.

Even though you hurt all over with JJ and Morgan on either side of you helping you to keep your balance, your only thought now was her.

“Where’s Emily?” you asked them. They shared a look you wish you didn’t notice. “Where is she? She was at the back of the house, where is she?”

You didn’t listen to their shouts for you to say away but they didn’t try to hold you back when you wrenched yourself away from them. They only followed you over to where the others had gathered, where fire teams had put out the flames and people rushed around. It was chaos but all you could focus on was her.

You only noticed the ruins left where the house had once stood when you read the forlorn looks on their faces. You saw the tears that threatened to fall but you still darted your eyes around for a glimpse of the raven hair you’d run your fingers through countless times.

“Where’s Emily?”

Your voice was croaked and small. You didn’t look at them when they gave you an answer you didn’t want to hear, only keeping your eyes on the rubble before you, hoping for a glimpse.

“She’s gotta be here. She’s okay - I know it.”

You must have looked pathetic whilst they watched you clamber over ash and debris, calling for a name that wouldn’t answer. You heard some muffled sobs and ignored the calls of your name. You were looking for something. You saw it after a while, it wasn’t much but it was her. An FBI identification card, charred and burnt but somehow still surviving enough for you to see the photo of her face. She’d told you many times that she hated the lighting - how she’d argued with the staff who wouldn’t let her retake it.

You let the tears fall freely when you held it in your palm. This was your plan, wasn’t it?

Again, nothing really made much sense. Time wasn’t linear and the blurring of the world you once knew flew right by you with a silent ride to the hospital. A befogged mind wasn’t much use for comprehensible thought when you had your cut stitched up. It was all silence now. The ride back to the bureau and the subsequent journey to a somber apartment. It was all silence without Emily. You think you love her, though, so that will carry you through.

–

A week later, an injury healing, a body almost free of pain, it was time to face reality. Complete your plan once and for all. You dressed in black and eyed yourself in the mirror with a tentative touch to the scarring mark on your face, the permanent reminder of it all.

Your apartment was empty and quiet and your footsteps echoed louder than you hoped they would as you made your way to the front door.

Where you’d usually hold her hand on the short walk to the car, your palm was empty and cold. The music on the radio wasn’t the same - you hadn’t realised how much of you was consumed by Emily. Each and every thing held space for her, a space not currently occupied. You pulled up to the cemetery alone, completing a car ride that was nothing but a blur.

Without her here to help guide you through, each day existed around you. You were behind a fogged-up pane of glass just watching on, creating cracks to let the air in, preparing to let it shatter and set you free

You’d not spoken to anybody since it happened. You were only given a week off work - you were due back on Monday. When the crying faces of your colleagues surrounded you, you graced them with little attention. It was difficult to take your eyes away from the empty coffin that prepared itself to lower into the soil - you thought she deserved better.

Just the mere pondering back onto that day made you sick to your stomach. From being told that any human remains would be unsalvageable, to being given the official announcement of her death, to sleeping in an empty bed with nothing to accompany you besides your pain. It was enough to make anybody sink.

The sky reminded you of her and so did the clouds. The perfume she’d left at your apartment lay against your neck and it was as though she was there with you.

You didn’t listen to the talkings of your peers, their heartfelt words couldn’t break through the rigid edges you’d surrounded yourself with. You didn’t pay attention until it was your own turn to speak; JJ whispered a word of encouragement through a cracking voice and assured you with a squeeze of your arm. You didn’t have a piece of paper or any notecards because the scrawlings onto paper meant nothing compared to her. They couldn’t even begin to describe her.

“Emily Prentiss was one of those people who made everything brighter,” you began. “Once you met her, it was hard to imagine a life without her - anybody who had the privilege of being her friend was lucky. Though, it’s impossible to know just how great the jackpot you’d scored was until it’s taken away.”

The birds chirped in the trees a few metres away while your friends wiped their cheeks of tears.

“She accepted every part of me wholeheartedly - she never did anything conditionally. She was a woman of integrity and pride and light and love,” you couldn’t help but smile at the memories of her. “She always told me she thought that I was made for her, but I think that, really, she was made for me. She truly was the best of me and nothing will ever be the same again.”

–

On Monday morning you pulled into the parking lot of the Bureau into the empty space beside the car you knew belonged to JJ. It was 9 a.m. on the first day back after the departure of the most wonderful woman to ever exist and everyone had been as punctual as ever.

You boarded the elevator alone with an empty cardboard box in one hand and an envelope in the other, addressing nobody with anything more than a tight-lipped and polite smile as you put the box onto the desk you once sat at opposite Emily. They only watched you take strides into Hotch’s office with questioning glances thrown around the bullpen.

“Good morning,” he greeted you when you approached his desk. His words were as flat as always but, being the observant individual you are, you saw each and every microexpression that swam across his face at the appearance of a white, unsealed envelope atop the paperwork he’d discarded his pen onto.

“Morning,” you uttered in response. “My letter of resignation.”

“This is a little rash, no?” he answered you. He hadn’t expected to lose the second of his best profilers within a week, especially not through the means of a formally scribed note.

“I can’t work here anymore, Hotch,” you explained. “There’s nothing here for me anymore.”

With that, you took your leave once more with zero room for any more questions or persuasions to get you to stay.

“Hey, what’s going on?” JJ asked you when you began to pack any belongings you had from your desk, emptying the drawer of any semblance of yourself you could find.

“I’m leaving,” you shrugged.

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” you nodded. “Listen, I care about you all and this isn’t a goodbye forever. I’ll keep in touch but, without Emily, this place isn’t home anymore. I can’t stay in a city that doesn’t belong to me.”

There was quiet that followed. They didn’t know what to say and they knew that nothing could keep you from going but it didn’t mean it hurt any less. You knew what you had to do to leave it all behind. The plan. The murders. The cases. The lack of the woman you know you love. So you cleared your desk until all it held was your badge and FBI-issued gun.

Goodbyes are seldom easy so you kept it short for all of your sakes. With hugs and well wishes you left the Behavioural Analysis Unit in your rearview mirror. It’d all stay fixed in your periphery but the tunneled vision you forced yourself into so long ago could only face one way and that was forwards.

When you finally got back into your car, the box accompanied those already piled high on the back seats. The long drive you set out on was filled with music that felt more emotionally charged, and the wind that passed across your skin through the wound-down windows felt freeing and cool, giving you the fresh and breathable air you’d been desperate for.

Your head was overflowing with Emily.

You thought of the way she scrunched her nose with the smile that accompanied a laugh, how the length of her neck would be completely visible if her head flew backward with a chuckle. You thought about the gleeful way she would sing along with the radio and drum along with the rhythms with her fingers on the steering wheel.

You remembered the first time she’d cooked for you and how, despite her own expectations, not only did you not have to opt for a delivered meal but it was also perfectly created. She’d rewarded herself with an extra scoop of ice cream to follow and you’d taste the mint chocolate chip when she kissed you afterward. When she first invited you to drinks without the remainder of the team present you saw her blush for the very first time and at that moment you realised she’d been as enamoured by you as you'd been by her.

When she’d drive you’d admire the side of her face as though it were a piece of art and though she’d bashfully urge you to avert your gaze you’d only deny the request and tell her she was nothing short of a masterpiece. Each line and contour of her body was forever engrained into your mind, filed away with all of the other things you loved about her. Her smile, her eyes, the way she always holds you while you sleep.

You especially loved the revelation she’d gifted you with - that you and her were similar in more ways than you’d both once thought. That she, too, hid darkened parts of herself away in the shadows that followed her. Her mind, as brilliant as you always had known it to be, only proved itself spectacular at the plan she’d conjured up. With the pair of you working on it, there were little to no ways it could hit a hitch. Plan A was expanded upon and a Plan B was there to fall back onto.

She truly was made for you. Her body and her mind gelled with yours in a way so perfect you could never pull them apart.

Being a trust fund kid at heart, it didn't come as a surprise when she informed you of the safehouse she kept hidden and buried a few states away. She’d shown you photos; a secluded area, a place to have a new beginning if she so needed. You were too excited to linger in the parked vehicle when you pulled onto its driveway, hurrying to the front door with a knock against the stained glass window that barely let you see in. Through the translucent glass, you could only make out an indistinct figure approaching.

When the lock clicked with a metallic clang and the door creaked on its hinges you were met with that face you’d learned each inch of. A large grin pulled at her lips and brought small crinkles to the edges of her eyes and her arms instantly reached out to hold you. Emily touched the almost healed cut with concern appearing alongside the happiness but she and you both knew it was merely collateral damage.

Because your plan had worked and here you both are. Safe and sound and, more importantly, together.

“Honey, I’m home.”

#emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily prentiss fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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