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prolix-yuy · 4 months

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Beautiful Release

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: You and Din have an agreement. Simple, clean, easy. But not this time.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, IT'S PEGGING DIN TIME! Anal sex (m receiving), rough sex, sex toys, fingering (m receiving), handjob, frottage, blowjob, swallowing, cumshot, mentions of oral sex (f receiving), mild dubcon (Reader isn't aware of Din's mental state and stops the session to re-negotiate boundaries), painful sex, sex as self-flagellation, hurt/comfort.

Notes: Welcome to my addition to the Peg That Middle Aged Man Event 2024! This idea had been bumping around in my brain and this gave me the perfect excuse to write it. Thanks @wannab-urs for organizing this event, making the gorgeous banners, and giving me a chance to live my fantasies after S3 gave us the most delicious kneeling restrained Din image. I will never forget it, it's burned into my brain forever.

Set after S2 and before The Book of Boba Fett.

Cross-posted on AO3

He’s come to you before, but never like this.

Din always treats your encounters like serendipity, but from the first time you’ve known how far from the truth that is. He finds ways to drift into your path, tilting his helmet like he never expected you to be at this spaceport, which you prefer for its discretion, or in this cantina, which serves a hell of a barium fizz. The niceties always devolve into the silent request, which you never fail to fulfill.

But now, there’s a holomessage blinking on your control panel.

Send me your coordinates. Usual encoding.

It’s brisk, cold, mostly to protect you both, but even then something’s off. He’s never admitted to seeking you out. Something stirs deep in your stomach, consulting the encoding slug he gave you ages ago in case you ever needed him. Funny, the first time you’d use it would be because you think he needs you.

Your winding relationship with Din Djarin began at the business end of a blaster, but you can’t fault him for that. The ship you were flying then had all the hallmarks of a slaver vessel, but when he found your crew of rebel sympathizers he lowered his weapon. One escort and a few short-lived conversations later, and you’d forged a razor-thin alliance.

Your paths wound their way across and through each other for over a year, and in that time Din warmed to you. He gave you his name, his allegiances, his contacts if needed. In return you forged documents and built jammers for his ramshackle ship. Mutually beneficial, and after a time pleasantly warm. His laugh always surprised you, a low chuckle when you turned a phrase just right on him.

And the kid! The curious little gremlin that had been accompanying him more in recent times did help to smooth the rough spots. Grogu’s presence always brightened your days, brief moments of pure joy from his tireless antics. Din seemed to be ever the exasperated protector, but when he tucked Grogu into his arm his aura glowed.

However, the times when Din “stumbled” upon you with seemingly no purpose had little to do with play dates or trades. Well, maybe only in the most euphemistic sense.

It was on a cargo run - cargo being more frightened people fleeing under the guise of your fake shipping business - that Din first encountered what would bring him back to you time and time again. There was a man among the stowaways who took an interest in you, the feeling mutual. He wound his way around like a lothcat in heat, and when you whispered how you might be able to pass the time he enthusiastically agreed.

You weren’t much of an exhibitionist, but the ship wasn’t meant for privacy. So when Din happened upon you bending the man over a cargo crate, your strap slickly splitting him open as he moaned behind your clamped hand, you did feel some mild embarrassment. You weren’t sure how long he watched you thrust into the other man, but the little cough that alerted you to his presence made you turn and take him in.

He was clearly affected, hand gripping his belt as the other clenched by his side. Fascinating. The Mandalorian had surprises in store.

The man garbled about sucking Din’s cock, letting the Mando cum on his face while you pounded his tight hole, but you stuck your fingers in his mouth and picked up your rhythm again. You’d met other Mandalorians in your travels, but Din’s particular religion was much stricter than most. He might take hefty offense if you assumed any of the armor could come off. Instead you let him watch without comment as your companion came all over the side of the cargo crate, soothing him through the aftershocks. As you cleaned him up you noticed your audience fled, and you determined never to speak of this.

It would take two months for Din to come to you.

“People like this?” he asked when you showed him your strap and assortment of attachments. You shrugged, picking out the one you secretly thought he’d enjoy.

“Some do, some don’t. It’s just one of many things I like,” you said, leaning against your bedroom wall as he filled the small space with restless energy. “I’m sure you like plenty of things too.”

There it was. The little roll of the shoulders and flex of a hand that told you Din wasn’t as inexperienced as some would believe.

“Never tried something like this,” he mumbled, and you smiled under the knowledge that he was nervous. Din Djarin, feared throughout the galaxy, and dearer friend than you ever expected, had something he wanted and didn't know how to ask for.

“Would you like to try it?” you said, taking the last barrier away. He tilted the helmet down, fingers restless on his hip.

“Yes.”

That first night you didn’t fuck him, though by the end he was so close to begging you almost came from the sound. Instead you opened him up with your fingers, got him used to the feeling of fullness and how to connect it to pleasure, while he laid on your bed and gripped the sheets so hard you thought he’d rip them. His pants bunched across his thighs, you got to admire the cords of muscle rippling as you made him shake and choke. His cock, velvety and weeping on his stomach, made your mouth water, but you only offered to suck it when he was just on the precipice. Your hot mouth wrapping around his head, two clever fingers stroking his prostate, tipped him over into bliss as he shouted his completion. Pride swelled in your chest at his belabored breath, chestplate heaving and thighs quivering on either side of your head.

When you returned from cleaning up he was already dressed again, despite your protests to wait and let you ease him down from this new experience. He thanked you, awkwardly, and left quickly. Lying in the same bed that night, still smelling of him, you reasoned with yourself. He probably had a lot of feelings to sort out, both around his pleasure and the fact that you gave it to him. You hoped he trusted you enough to know you’d be discreet. And, as your fingers slid into your underwear, you hoped he’d seek you out again.

It was only a week before you were at the same spaceport again, his heavy boots clanking up your ramp. You tried to hide your own nerves, but when Din stood before you and let the visor drag up and down your body, a delicious grin crept onto your face.

“Ready to try more?”

Indeed he was.

He enters your ship without preamble, a brief flit of concern clouding your features at how quickly he disarmed your security measures. You weren’t expecting him for another hour. He must have jumped to get to you.

It’s thrilling, to know the Mandalorian’s need is so great.

But when he enters and closes the door behind him, the energy is…off. Not seductive, teasing, edged like the other times. No, he’s holding his body so tight and so still. There’s nothing aggressive in it, but you glimpse why his enemies fear him. Without a face, and with so much obscuring the flesh beneath, you’re not sure when he’ll strike.

He catches you rummaging through your drawer, the strap in your hand. Assessing, you give him a gentler smile than usual, hands visible, softening your stance.

“Hello, Din.”

He nods, quickly, unbuckling his belt and yanking his cape free. Both fall to the floor carelessly. You press on.

“How about you tell me what you want?” you say, watching him carefully as he opens his pants plaquet. The mouthwatering strip of skin you covet peeks from beneath his top.

“Just need…need this,” he says, and while naturally a man of few words you’d taught him to be more vocal in this respect.

“Okay, Din. How about you kneel on the bed and we start there?” Your voice lowers into a soothing register, reaching for his arm.

“No,” he almost shouts, startling your hand back. He recovers. “No, I want…” You can practically hear him licking his lips on a sigh, slowing himself down. “Can you sit against the headboard?”

Brows raised, you nod. He’s never ridden you before, always preferring to let you take him from behind or on his back. Pulling the strap-on over your leggings, you settle against the headboard and wait for him. He doesn’t take long, kneeling on the bed briefly in contemplation before swinging over your lap. Shucking his pants half down his legs, you can’t resist a giggle.

“Might be better to take them off,” you tease, letting your hands lay featherlight on his hips. A huff crackles through the vocoder but he doesn’t move to disrobe further.

“I’ll open you up a bit first,” you say, one hand reaching for lube while the other snakes its way to his hole. You encounter surprising slickness, but he’s nowhere as warmed up as you get him.

“S’okay, I took care of it,” he mumbles, both hands coming up to grip the headboard above your head. Slicking lube on the dildo, you move to finger him enough to ease your way in.

“Just a little more…”

“I’m fine.”

The curt retort snaps your face to the helmet, now more of a cowled chin and shining halo of beskar above your head. There’s something bubbling uncomfortably under the surface, something you feel the need to drag out by the scruff of the neck, but it’s Din. You never talk feelings with Din. Frankly, you barely talk at all during, or after, any of your nights together.

“Sorry,” he breathes, forcing relaxation. “I’m ready. Please.”

Your eyes linger for a moment longer, then you circle the base of your cock in waiting.

He descends slowly, gritted breaths and sharp blasts of air from his nose echoing above you. You watch the strain in his thighs as he sinks and sinks, his cock only half-hard against his stomach. Leaving a hand on one hip, you stroke soothing paths up and down his lower back, watching for discomfort. Instead he’s marble around you, coiled, body not releasing as usual. Normally when you fuck him he dissolves, rolling his hips back onto you and choking out praises of how good you feel.

None of that comes. He meets the base of your cock and immediately slides back up at an almost punishing pace. He can’t be that acclimated yet, and his pained hisses and grunts only make that more apparent.

“Din, slow down,” you request, hands firmer on his hips to try and even his pace. If he heard you he says nothing, now slamming his hips down on your cock. “Din,” you beseech again, nails starting to dig in. His grunts grow to growls, something from the heat of battle, your headboard creaking from his crushing grip.

Clarity overtakes you, the shudder of his stomach and forceful downstrokes only getting more intense. There wasn’t pleasure in this. Something is eating up Din inside and he’s trying to fuck it out of himself. And he’s using you to do that.

“Din Djarin, STOP.”

The echo of your voice, strong and steely, finally brings Din to a stop with your cock buried deep in his ass. His chest heaves in front of you, limbs quivering from the exertion, but he’s as still as he can be. Gripping his chestplate, you push him back enough to look him in the visor, your anger righteously reflected back.

“You don’t punish yourself with my cock,” you order, teeth clenched and seething. “Do you think so little of me, that I’d just let you rip yourself to shreds without a word?”

Din freezes, but this time you know it’s shame. If you were in a clearer headspace you might have tried reassurance, or asked him to lay beside you and talk about what’s destroying him, but you’re just too upset.

“Is that all you come to me for?” you spit out, knuckles aching from gripping his armor. He’s silent for long enough that you consider throwing him out before he speaks.

“Something happened. And I just want to…be empty. To not think about it every moment.” He leans forward and your visage warps as he presses his forehead to the crown of your head. The anger thrums but starts to ebb as he folds around you. “I didn’t know where else to go. You’ve always taken care of me. More than I deserve.”

The sadness in his voice is palpable, and even with your mouth still sour from his deception you find the compassion to wrap your arms around his middle. The chestplate presses into your cheek, a metronome for Din’s slowing breaths.

“If you have any care in your heart for me, don’t ever do that again,” you grit out. Din’s breath catches.

“I care for you,” he says, and a door in your heart you never realized was cracked widens for Din’s admission.

“I care for you too, you karking asshole, which is why I want you to say something instead of trying to hate fuck your feelings out.”

Din’s chest begins to shake again, but you’re sure it’s laughter this time. You manage a giggle of your own, letting him lean back and look at you again. The motion shifts your cock in him, and his sharp sigh arches your brow.

“If you wanted to forget, you could have just told me,” you say, rolling your hips sensuously up into his clenching hole. Din’s head drops back, grip tightening on the headboard again as you grind into him.

“Please,” he begs, so soft and vulnerable you can’t help but give him what he needs.

Slowly you press up into him, guiding his hips to rock on your cock. You love the feel of his ass in your hands, well muscled and perfect for grabbing, manhandling him just enough to show he can let go. He follows your direction reluctantly at first, but as you plant your feet and start thrusting with more range he loosens. You can feel it in his arms, holding on to the headboard for dear life, and the building rhythm of his hips meeting yours. For a man whose life is violence, you never want to bring that into your sessions. But a light swat on one asscheek pulls the most delicious moan from deep in his chest.

“Fuck,” he groans, bearing down on you even more. Tilting your hips, you arch his back enough that you’re sure to hit his prostate on the next thrust.

“Maker!”

There it is.

“Close your eyes,” you whisper. Waiting a moment, you zero in on that perfect spot inside him and hit it with every one of your thrusts. “Do you feel that? Feel how good I’m fucking you?”

“Yes, fuck,” Din curses, one hand flitting down to squeeze the base of his cock. He’s at full attention now, head bobbing against your stomach. You swell with pride that he’s having to stave off his orgasm so quickly, but you’ll be the one to make those decisions now.

“All I want you to think about is how good you feel,” you purr, tugging his hand away and replacing it with your own. You long for his skin against yours, so you pull up your shirt to skim the head of his cock against your soft belly. He chokes, stuttering away but he’s trapped between your hand and thighs.

“Wait, Maker, I’ll cum if you…” he garbles, but his body keeps meeting your grinds. You shush him gently, stroking from base to tip and smearing precum over the head.

“You will, but only when I let you. You know I’ll make it good for you, make nothing but this pleasure you’re feeling fill that head of yours.” His rapid nod almost knocks you in the head with the beskar, but he manages to tuck into your neck instead. The helmet is a shocking cool against your skin, but the act of burrowing into you must be rewarded. Bringing your arms around him, you press along the length of his body, trapping his cock between.

“I’m gonna pound into this tight ass until you cum all over us. You like that?” The wail Din lets out shoots heat to your cunt, wishing more than anything that you’d opted for a toy that gave you a little stimulation too. Instead you hammer fast and hard, barely pulling out. Your hips and thighs burn with exertion at his bulk on top of you, but he’s frantically bouncing back and rutting his cock into the wet mess your bodies make.

“Don’t stop,” he gasps, and you’re not sure if it’s the vocoder but you think his voice sounds watery. “Please, cyar’ika, don’t stop.”

Cupping the back of his neck, damp with sweat, you whisper, “I’ve got you.”

With a handful of final pumps you’re coated in his cum, sliding around your belly as he seizes over and over. Pressing deep, you hold strong against his shuddering body as he finishes. Each weakening thrust draws him down on you, heavier and loose-limbed.

The armor makes it hard to find the soft spots, so you take to kneading the back of his neck and palming his spine. Before his last aftershock, you urge him higher on his knees so you can slip your cock out - slowly, so as not to shock his jellying body. Easing him down, you hold his head in the crook of your neck and settle him on your lap. His hands slide down from the headboard to your shoulders.

Then you hear it. A tiny sniff, then another. You can’t pretend you didn’t notice them so close to your ear. So you gather the broad man in your arms and hold him. His hands don’t know where to rest, finally winding loosely around your lower back.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” you tell him again, and the sniffing starts to recede. His body, however, slumps against yours, and it takes all of your strength not to start giggling.

You fucked the Mandalorian right to sleep. Bravo to you.

When Din finally stirs, a deep rumble in his throat, it’s been almost an hour. Your toes are half numb and you’re dying to shift into any other position, but much like a lothcat falling asleep on your lap, you couldn’t bear to move Din. Especially when he started snoring, one of the most endearing and hilarious sounds you’d ever heard him make.

In the time he slept you wondered what happened. What terrible thing hollowed him out and haunts him. Something keeps him up at night, if the depth of his sleep is any indication. Recent, possibly. Traumatic.

Your breath caught in your throat. If something happened to Grogu you know he would have told you. You ask after him all the time, teasing that you’ll be his Auntie (Din always says he has plenty of them across the galaxy).

Had you seen the Razor Crest fly up? Where was that old bird anyway?

What happened in the time since Din last saw you?

The cycle of possibilities always ends the same. Maybe he cares for you in some way, but not enough for you to ask. No matter how much you want to.

A shift on your lap alerts you to Din waking, kneading his shoulders and neck lightly to alert him to your presence. He’s never slept with you before, but it wouldn’t surprise you to learn that he’s quick to draw at unexpected circumstances. Of which this one definitely is.

“What…” Din croaks, and if not for the helmet you would have offered him water.

“It’s okay, you’re on my ship. You’re okay.”

It takes Din another minute to realize what’s happened. Him, half naked on your lap with your strap pressing against his ass. You, covered in drying cum beneath him. In a flash he’s swinging his leg off your lap, attempting to stand but obviously they’ve gone as numb as yours because he stumbles and crashes out of sight.

“Oh kriff, are you…?” you start to ask, but as quick as he’s out of sight he pops back up again, tugging up his pants and tucking himself away.

“Sorry, that was…I didn’t mean to…do that.”

All of the heaviness and anger and lust fizzles away to laughter as you try to suppress the ridiculousness of the moment. After a moment of indigent head tilting Din’s shoulder also shake, chuckles fuzzing out of the vocoder.

“Oh Maker, what an understatement that is,” you sigh, wiping your stomach with the edge of your bedsheets. Din visibly cringes, hands on his hips.

“Sorry for the mess,” he apologizes, but you wave it off.

“I’ve had much worse, believe me,” you shoot back. Clean enough, you sit on the edge of the bed and look up at the inscrutable man.

“Want to talk about it?”

Din’s stance shifts, helmet tipping down for a moment before coming back to your face.

“...Not yet.”

You hum and nod. “Well, you know how to find me if you do.”

Din nods. “Thank you.”

As he picks up his effects you shimmy off the harness at the foot of the bed, mentally ticking through the steps to clean everything. Din watches you set it down, stilling until your eyes come back to him.

“It gives you pleasure as well?” he asks, which raises one of your eyebrows.

“I mean, about as much as rhythmically hitting your hips against someone can do.” His posture changes into something hard to decipher, so you continue. “I’ve got a few that do more for me, but it depends on the person I’m with. Comfort, boundaries. As you’re well aware.” You gesture to the armor, his chin tucking down to look at it.

“So you’ve never cum with me?” he asks, and a sudden feverish heat blooms under your skin. Din has a sex appeal you appreciate, but have never acted on beyond what he’s asked for. Now, something’s changed so dizzyingly fast you’re scrambling.

“Well, you’re pretty spent after our sessions. And you leave quickly. I don’t ask for more than you can give.”

Din takes a step towards you, putting his belt and cloak back down.

“What do you ask of other people you fuck?”

Your heart hammers in your chest. How can he turn the tables so quickly and spectacularly? Trying to gain the upper hand, you pull a confident face on and speak as breezily as possible.

“Most can’t get it up twice after I fuck them within an inch of their life, so fingers, tongues, toys, any and all of the above are excellent ways to repay the favor.”

He’s even closer now, and the facade is barely holding up. It’s like the vulnerability he showed you can’t possibly be returned.

“You’ve never asked me,” he says, and you can’t believe there’s a note of regret in his voice. The bed hits the back of your legs, and you steady your voice even though those words make your pussy throb.

“I didn’t think it was allowed.” Your voice drops low as Din steps into your space.

“Difficult, but not forbidden.” Din’s hands come to your shoulders. “Sit down, please.”

Your knees fold so fast you bounce on the bed, looking up at him. He joins you on one knee, hands coming to rest on your thighs.

“I broke my Creed. I would do it again, for the exact same reason, but now that makes me an apostate.” His hands come to the helmet, thumbs tucking underneath the lip.

“Din, what happened?”

He pauses, and you swear you can feel his gaze through that smoky visor.

“Close your eyes.”

Darkness surrounds you, then a hiss and a thunk.

Then the voice of a man you care for, unfiltered and bare.

“I’m not ready for anyone to see my face. But I want this, with you. If you can forgive me.”

You could be dreaming still. It would make just as much sense.

“I forgive you, Din. But just this once,” you sneak in at the end just to hear how melodic his laugh sounds. Then his hand splays over your stomach and urges you to lie back.

“I hope you don’t mind teaching me this. I don’t have much experience,” he says, fire licking through your body as he tugs your leggings and underwear off.

“Don’t worry, you’re a quick learner,” you say breathily.

And when he finally kisses you, sweet with your musk on his tongue and your orgasm dripping from his fingers, you teach him how to do that as well.

END

"I need some distraction Oh a beautiful release Memories seep from my veins Let me be empty Oh and weightless and maybe I'll find some peace tonight.

Sarah McLachlan, Angel (yeah I know I used the sad dog song)

#PMAMC 2024 #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x f!reader #mando x reader #mando x you #mando x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #prolix fics

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explicit-tae · 2 years

Text

Cruel Intentions (Part 1)

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (Italics meaning past events)

Genre: smut, Mafia!Jungkook

Warning: (eventual) smut, yandere themes, mentions and display of death, blood,

Word Count: 8,335

Description: You adored your eldest brother - you truly did. Before his addiction got the best of him, he was amazing at caring for you and your other siblings. Now, however, it was your turn to care for him without the help of your siblings who long abandoned him, advising you to do the same. Once your brother manages to get himself imprisoned, you realize just how much trouble he got himself into. Once your family is threatened, you offer to pay off the debts your brother owes with the one thing any powerful man couldn't resist - your virginity.

"Are you aware of the father...?" The woman asks when she brings a fresh cup of water to you, her eyes scanning your bump. She watches you drink the water hastily, droplets dripping down the corner of your mouth and down your chin. She leans back into her chair, tilting her head and waiting for a response.

"T-Thank you." you murmur to her, your left hand caressing your bump. "I must keep going-"

The woman halts you from standing up. She gives a head shake and sits you back down. "You've been traveling by foot this entire time?" she asks, your disheveled appearance already giving her the answer she needed. "Where are you headed to?"

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Because, to answer your question, you don't know. You had nowhere to go, no one to fall upon. You had siblings, yes, but that would be putting their lives at risk - the lives of their children at risk, as well. That was something you couldn't bring yourself to do.

"I cannot allow you to leave in this state." the woman is stern, her grey hair poking out beneath the scarf she wore upon her head. "Especially when you're expecting a child."

You shake your head. "I-I have to go. I can't stay in one place for too long." you try to explain, but the woman wouldn't listen.

"I found you asleep in the middle of the field, utterly exhausted. My son helped bring you here. You were beyond dehydration. I don't know your situation, nor do you have to explain to me. But as a woman who has nothing but her own child, I cannot allow you to set off on your own." the woman stands. "I'll be making dinner soon. Down the hall to the right is a guest bathroom, you can use that to clean yourself up."

And you do, running yourself a hot shower. You were unsure how you made it along the country side. You didn't have a cellphone any longer - you destroyed that long ago. You also didn't have a map, and even if you did you weren't sure if you knew how to decipher it. It's been months since you managed to escape him, but doing so hasn't been easy. You walk for days on end sometimes, only stopping to sleep wherever you are deemed safe. You didn't have a destination - but knew wherever would be better than with him.

You haven't had a proper shower in months. You ran out of money long ago, having slept in cheap motel rooms that offered shitty breakfast - something that could satiate you and your growing belly. You never stayed in the same place for too long, understanding the fact that they were looking for you - to either bring you back to him or kill you out of revenge. Either or, you were a walking target - one of the reasons you had no desire to stay with the woman and her unknown son.

But you couldn't leave - she wouldn't allow it. Not when you woke up early in the morning to already find the woman cooking breakfast. Not when she gave you clean clothes and medicine for the cold you had. Not when she fed you delicious food and offered old baby clothes that once belonged to her so - that she washed freshly the day of. She offered different remidies to make the pregnancy go smooth, each remedy being the perfect batch.

You hadn't met her son until a week later, him strolling through the door with a confused look on his face upon seeing his mother and you cooking around the kitchen. You waddled around, your stomach in the way and your kicking baby far too energetic.

"This is my son, Soobin." the woman introduces her son with gleaming eyes - he was her pride and joy.

Said man offers you a kind smile that makes your heart melt. He didn't say much, but the act of kindness he displayed was one you hadn't witnessed in years. Men didn't act like Soobin unless they wanted something from you. But Soobin didn't desire anything - from you at least. He was kind and gentle, assisting you in whatever he could. Pulling out your chair, getting anything that was out of your reach - he even massged your feet because they were swollen.

Over the months of your stay, you understood now that it was long term. The woman - whose name was Byeol. She kept everything she had for Soobin when he was a baby. She dusted and cleaned off the old crib, washing the sheets and allowing you to set up a small nursery in your bedroom. She had many stuffed bears and toys, even a rocking chair that creaked when you rocked back and forth.

It brought you to tears knowing that she assisted you without understanding your situation. How someone could be so affectioate without desiring anything in return.

Byeol insisted on making memories - she had scrap books piling up of Soobin. She took many pictures of you - you cooking, washing dishes, rocking back and forth in the rocking chair, everything she could of your growing bump. She insisted it was the memories you needed to look back upon.

"Have you decided on a name?" Soobin asks you one day. Byeol had gone down for a nap and you and Soobin opted to sitting on the porch, the sun shining but the weather was just right. "I know you don't want to go to the city for whatever reason but..." Soobin leans back and glances your way. You never told him why you were afraid to go to the city and thankfully, he never forced it out of you. "...we can find out the gender."

The gender of your child was something you always thought about. You wanted a girl - someone whose hair you can do. Dress up in cute clothing - Byeol had many netural clothing that once belong to Soobin, and after a few years you ould eventually find yourself a job once you deemed it safe enough to do so.

The act of having a boy terrified you, to say the least. You couldn't imagine raising a man - you didn't know how to. One thing you did know was that you'd be damned if you allowed your son to act the way his creator did. You wouldn't call him a father - you had no desire allowing him the knowledge of your pregnancy prior to your escape. What he didn't know wouldn't put your child at risk.

"I think it's best if it's a surprise." you tell Soobin, your hand resting on your belly. Your child must've been asleep, they weren't moving or kicking at the moment.

"I know someone. A friend." Soobin's eyes widen. "They could offer you an ultrasound right from home!"

You laugh. "That's a lot of equipment to bring into the household." you say, but the act now gets to you. You have never seen your child via ultrasound. You have been present before for your sisters ultrasounds and seeing them. Even hearing the heartbeat was emotional for you and you were nothing but the aunt.

You cave into Soobin's request and a few days later you are watching the moniter closly as the woman shows you your child. Byeol has a soft smile on her lips and Soobin is utterly confused. "How do you know that's the foot?" he asks, his eyes seeing nothing but black and white blobs on the screen.

"With years of schooling and medical practice." she says. "Do you want to know the gender?"

You bite your lip, eyes wandering around to see Byeol and Soobin. Soobin gives you a thumbs up while Byeol grins. The decision was yours and you find yourself nodding.

The woman hums and her eyes scan the screen. "It's a boy!" she cheers, as does Soobin and Byeol, but your smile flutters and the corner of your eyes swell with tears.

You had 4 older siblings, you being the youngest of 5. Growing up you were closest to your eldest two siblings, Yechan (your first born sister) and Hyun-woo (your first born brother). You recalled the many times they'd taken you to and from school, brought you with them on errands and even took you to the park when they weren't busy. You would often get confused with being Yechan's daughter due to the age difference.

Se-hun (your second eldest brother) and Ye-Rim (your second eldest sister) was a different story. You often argued with Ye-Rim over petty drama which resulted in you two fighting. Se-hun ignored your presence most times, you being nothing but a younger sister who annoyed him every now and then.

Yet and still, they were your siblings and you loved them. Now being 22, your and Ye-Rim's relationship was better. She no longer considered you a burden of a sister and you enjoyed your nieces presence. You visited Se-hun often now that he was married with 4 kids - something you were shocked to think back to. But, he wasn't alone in children when Yechan had the same amount.

You strove to be the perfect aunt, buying whatever gifts you could for 9 children, trying to take them out of your siblings hands for a bit but you were just one person, afterall.

Your siblings were all doing great for themselves - all except Hyun-woo. When you were a child, Hyun-woo was hard working. He worked every night until late and every morning made sure you all had breakfast on the table to eat. The man you witnessed now was not the man of your childhood - there seemed to be no life behind his eyes. He appeared a mess, oftentimes. His hair was greasy and his teeth had a dull grey color. He wasn't old in the slightest but appeared to be as though he aged like milk.

"I told you to leave him alone." Se-hun sighed once, shaking his head. "He was far beyond himself."

"I couldn't have him around my kids." Ye-Rim snickers as she washes her dishes. "When I did he left cocaine in the bathroom."

"He's going to drag you down with him, Y/N." Yechan warned, and how right she was.

Hyun-woo didn't take long until he was arrested for petty theft. His drug addicted mind had him breaking into homes, stealing small items. Sometimes he would remain in said homes and hide to do nothing in particular. You managed to bail him out the first time, raising enough money (no thanks to your siblings) and bailing your brother out. The next month, he was back - this time off to prison.

"You should've left him there the first time." Ye-Rim told you. "So he could've thought about what he was doing with his life. Your bail money went down the drain."

Down the drain was right. You had a hefty savings - you weren't a university student. You decided that working was best after High School, but all the savings you had was poured into your brother's bail just for him to off to prison shortly after. You were stuck - working check to check. You didn't wish to live off of your older siblings - they had children and lives of their own to manage. So you decided - pay your rent to have a roof over your head or eat with no where to lay your head. You chose your rent with a little money left over for necessities. It was difficult - but you managed.

What you weren't able to manage was the two men in dark suits coming into your work place looking for Hyun-woo. You widen your eyes at them - because, for one, they knew you and your workplace but also because they were bold enough to do this in broad daylight. At you telling them that your brother was in prison, they left. You thought this would be a sigh of relief, they whoever those men were wouldnt be returning.

You were wrong.

They did return and even were kind enough to trash your house. You were home when the door was kicked in, a scream erupting through your throat. The men had destroyed everything in sight, a robotic look in their eyes and actions. Almost as if they were being compelled to do this - maybe by a higher up. Before they left, one of the three men had come forward to your weeping figure and dropped to his knees. He eyes you for a moment too long before then tells you that they would be returning a week from that moment to claim your brother's debt - a total of 64 million won.

Your heart stops at the high price. You questioned how in the world there was so much money to be loaned to someone that appeared as your brother did - grey teeth, some missing. Greasy hair was often left in a low bun and stubble on his chin and cheeks. He was an utter mess and a known addict - what else could he be? How much drugs were dealers willing to give someone with no job or money? You had kept your valuables hidden from him - he was a known thief and even you being his youngest sister didn't leave you untouched.

You worked extra hours the next day at your job - the grocery store appreciating it, they were already short staffed. Whatever you had left that wasn't broken by the men you sold - your couch, the tv in your room and livingroom (that was only half broken but pawn shops don't discriminate). You even sold jewelry, not as though you had anywhere to wear it. You were still down millions of won, the money not being realistic for you to attain in a short amount of time.

So, here you were scouring the internet for ways to attain large amounts of money, legal or illegally. You were desperate to do anything, at this point. You got your answer when you were invited - via vpn tracking, sadly - to a private event. You were skeptical, but the invite said that if you had anything valuable to sell, you could through the black market - an event that happened every few months in an underground location.

You went - your fanny pack holding a bottle of bear mace and a pocket knife and a mini taser. Your backpack holding a change of clothes for this occassion. If this was a trap, you refused to be down bad and die there. You've lived this long, far too long to die like that. At your arrival at said place, you were disappointed to see that there was no one there. You looked around the abandoned alleyway, the dark light alley lights flickering as you let out a sigh of defeat.

"Looking for something?" a voice startles you. The tall man crosses his arms behind you. He steps back, allowing you space.

"I,uh...I guess not. I'll be leaving." you take a few steps back yourself, not wanting to be too close to the man.

"Are you trying to buy or sell anything?" the man says, his eyes narrowing. He was being conspicuous without saying too much in the case that you weren't looking to do that.

"S-Sell." your lips purched.

The man nods, he turns towards a metal door. "Follow me." he tells you.

You follow behind him, your hands on your fanny pack in case you need to grab a quick weapon. As the two of you walk behind the door and down a dim lit hallway, he opens a wooden door at the end of the hall and motions for you to enter. The room was huge with loud chattering. Sea of people, all dressed far more expensive than you, holding glasses of wine and champagne. Your eyes glance to the man behind you. "What do people sell here?" you ask him, unsure if this was the correct place to do this at.

"Everything." he says. "Expensive jewlery - stolen or not. Property, businesses, foreign exchanges...sex." he shrugs. "Whatever you have to offer. State your price - start high. Someone will be bound to buy what you're selling."

You nod your head. "I-Is there a restroom?" you look around. If you were going to be selling yourself to the sea of men, you were bound to change into whatever cheap lingerie you brought in your backpack, long jacket hanging over your shoulders.

Everything was separated into categories just like the man stated. Sex was the last exchange sold and this late into the night you were nearing exhaustion. Your feet ached in the heels you wore that you took it off the second hour and slide against the floor in a sleepy haze. You were standing up right when the catergory you were waiting for was now. There was many woman, all shapes and sizes, offering sex - some in more ways the others. Their asking prices weren't the same as what you were going to be asking far, far less. Nonetheless, like the man states - start high and state your price.

You were next. The lights of the stage seemed brighter than every when you were the center of attention. The host speaks with you silently, his eyes widening at your asking price.

"64 million won." the host states into the microphone, you hear a few gasps and snickers. You gulp, taking a deep breath. You removed the long jacket, letting it fall to the floor. Your lingerie was simple, a white lace that shown more than you desired, but if you were going to sell sex you needed to ooze sex. "Tell me, why do you think you deserved 64 million won?" the host asks, trying to get you to sell what you could.

"I'm not just selling sex." you speak into the microphone, the sea of people watching you making your stomach feel uneasy. "I'm selling my virginity."

The crowd erupts in more gasps, and with that the biddin started. One man offered 64 million straight out, his old shaky voice cracking. You were disgusted, but kept your smile on your lips. Another man shouted 65, the next 70. The last was what has you yelping. "400 million won." the voice says, this time it didn't sound old or cracked out. It was young and deep - determined. "Cash."

"Sold." the host says, head shaking in disbelief at the amount of money you were about to obtain for your virginity. You gulp, your eyes watching the figure make their way to the stage. You're captivated, watching as the man - couldn't be much older than you - make his way onto the stage. Something in your gut is telling you - he was familiar to you.

He grasps your jacket and places it upon your shoulders. He pushes you gentle towards the left side of the stage and down the small stairs.

You two had a lot to talk about. For one, you couldn't believe that amount of cash the man took out of the black bag, He shows you, allowing you to see that he was serious about this. You fidget in you stance, the man intimidating you. He wasn't the one who appeared to need to buy pussy - or virginity. He was young, piercing dark eyes with the same dark hair. He had a lip ring in the corner of his lips and the smirk he gives you was enough to have you want to fuck him without the money.

"Before we...make out a contract. Why are you doing this?" the man asks you. He has taken you to his car, a black mercedes with dark tinted windows. You two sit in the back while a man drives him.

"I need the money." you admit.

"64 million won is a lot of money to need." the man chuckles a response. "College? Mortage?"

"My brother's in debt." you say. You were exhausted. You tell the stranger everything - how your brother was a drug addict who finally met his match in prison while you were left to pay for the damages. How the men destroyed your home and only allowed you a week to conjure up the debt your brother owed. You admitting to selling nearly everything you owned and now deciding the last thing you did own was your diginity and virginity.

The man remained quiet at your rambling. You remained quiet the rest of the car ride to your home. Much to your surprise, the man had given you the entire 64 million won, stating that he would be back to collect his debt you owed to him and give you the rest of the money he promised. Your eyes sparkled and you nodded with determination. You got out of his car with a short bow, vowing to be the best you could to him when he returned.

What you weren't expecting was the man to indeed return the day of the debt collecting - right on time. As you allowed the man inside your home, envelope in your hand with the amount of cash they needed, your door, once again, was kicked in. The man, along with one other, raises their guns at the men in your sitting area.

"What the hell?" one of the men hiss to the intruders, arms raised. His eyes widen in realization. "Jeon-ssi? What are you doing-"

A shot ranged out and all you could do was drop to the floor, eyes wide. The man, Jeon, shoots the man speaking, a crazed look in his eyes. The man screams at the bullet through his shoulder. A few more shots ring and you're now crying on the floor, a pool of the mens blood surrounding you. You may have fucked up and got yourself into deeper shit than you imagined.

You hear footsteps approaching, but you don't open your eyes. You never do - not until you feel fingers wrapped into your hair and yanking you upward. You hiss, eyes shooting open, the tears pooling out faster now. "P-Please..." you try to shake away from the familiarly strange hand.

The man removes his hands from your hair and steps back, head tilting at you. "Stop crying." he murmurs. "I'm not going to kill you."

You sniffle. It was hard to believe this man wasn't nefarious when he and his friend murdered the men in your home seconds ago.

"That's it." Jeon nods, a smile on his pierced lips. He reaches out to wipe a tear from your left eye. His hand then caresses your cheek. "I can't believe these cowards left you in such a compromising position."

You gulp, shaking stiffly. You couldn't move, far too afraid that he wold put a bullet through you next if you had.

"Come." Jeon says.

"W-Where are you taking me?" you cry out when you feel him grab your shoulders and bring you closer to him. "I-I don't need the money anymore, take it-"

"Hyung, please wait in the car for us." Jeon says to the man behind him, a tall man with narrowed eyes and broad shoulders. He does so, not bothering to close the door behind him. "You...fear me." Jeon says to you. "After I got you out of debt and handled the men who disrespected you."

You want to scream and cry, everything at once. You were beyond frightened and you swore if you could piss right now, you would.

You remain still when he brings himself closer to you. "Let's go home, Y/N." he tells you sternly, the look in his eyes telling you that he wasn't going to say it again.

You take a deep breath, humming softly to yourself. You were rocking back and forth with a hand rubbing your growing belly. You felt indifferent now knowing the gender of your child. You thought of the future of you and your child - how you would be cuddling her to sleep every night, breast feeding her until she was full, bathing her. Now, you were doing this to a baby boy.

In the past you wouldn't dare be disappointed in the gender of your child. However, the past you once thought you would be married first, have a dog or a cat before allowing a child into the picture. Obviously, that was not the case in your situation. You now pondered on how your child would look, if he'd look like you or the man from your past or take your features.

Nonetheless, you couldn't dwell on the gender any longer. You will soon have a child to raise, far from the drama that came with the Jeon empire. You would be the sole influenced - along Byeol and Soobin - to this child, needing to have him be the man you wished you encoutered from his father.

"I like the name Dal." Soobin stands in your door frame. He leans against it as he eyes you.

"I chose Jin-Seon." you murmur to the man.

He raises a brow. "You did? When? Why didn't you say anything?" he was excited, possibly more than you now, at the fact there was going to be a baby in the home.

"A few hours ago. That's the only boy name that stuck...with me." you stop rocking to glance towards the old crib. Soon you'll be putting your son in that crib."What if I'm a terrible mother?"

Soobin gasps at your sudden words, far taken aback by your change in demeanor. He steps inside your room to get closer to you. "Why would you say that? You'll be an amazing mother!" he assures. He kneels down so he can be face to face with you. "What's going on?"

You shake your head. You couldn't tell Soobin of your past and the worries you had to raise your son to not be like his father. Of course, he wouldn't be around you two for Jin-Seon to be a bad influence, but still, they were blood after all. You were afriad you would fail your son like you failed to help your brother.

"I know we haven't been together as friends for long, Y/N...but I know you'll be a great mother. You're already so motherly to Jin-Seon. He is in great hands." Soonbin gives you a smile that makes you want to cry - his kindness was overwhelming. "And if you need any help, Eomma and I are more than willing to. It take's a village to raise a child, Y/N, I'll never allow you to do it alone."

You were unsure how long you were kept into the room - possibly a day or two. It appeared as a guest room, everything neat and organized and not lived in. You hadn't showered yet, either, the blood of the men soaked and dried onto your skin. You were disgusted and horrified with what was bound to happen to you. This man, who you have yet to know the name of, has not returned.

Often, you lay upon the bed that you were given, hoping to sleep away the memories but they never left. You were always left with waking up every few hours in a cold sweat and a yelp, the memories of the shooting, the blood and the cold eyes of your captor.

While you lay awake, your mind drifts to the outside world. It's been days - maybe a week? has anyone tried looking for you? You haven't been to work in so long, has anyone called the police? Has your siblings been notified? The act of being labled as a missing person was what terrified you - you were missing in plain sight, unsure of when you'd see the outside world.

The door jingling makes you freeze in your spot. You lay your head against the pillow and hold your breath, not wanting to make a sound. "How long has she been here?" a voice comes, a voice of an older woman. "She's covered in blood and you left here like this? Is this how I raised you?"

The lights in the room turn on from a switch just outside the door and you hiss lowly, your eyes not seeing brightness for so long. You begin to shiver when the voices and footsteps come closer. "I didn't know what to do, Ajumma." the familiar voice of the man you called Jeon says. "You know how the Hyung's are."

His voice now was different from when you last heard of him - there's no venom laced in it, nor is it deep and threatening. It's normal, light when speaking to the older woman. You feel a hand on your shoulder and your shivering stops. Your eyes glance upwards to see them - Jeon and the older woman, hair dark but a few strands of grey caught their way out. She had wrinkles covering her forehead and low bags covering her eyes. "Let's get you up and bathed." she says.

Your eyes are low when you stand up, stomach rumbling and knees shaking. The woman turns her head to glare at Jeon. "Did you starve the poor girl?" she hisses. "Jeon Jungkook! You're just the same as your father." she looks back to you with softer eyes, "Come with me. We'll get you bathed and fed."

You follow the woman, your mind puzzling together. His name was Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.

Once the older woman took you to a large bathroom, the floor - cold against your bare feet - was marble and clean. So clean you could see your reflection against it. The shower was separate from the large tub and as you turned the water on, you marvelled at how many faucets and power jets of water sprayed out. Soon you were scrubbing your skin roughly with the vanilla scented bodywash to remove the blood stain from it, but nothing felt good enough. You still felt dirty with blood, sweat and even the tears that dried up upon your skin.

You wash your hair with the shampoo that was inside the shower, not caring if the ingredients were good for your hair or not. You didn't have time to care when you were in a foreign home with people you didn't know. You were unsure if the man was allowing you to shower simply because he wanted his payment or because he geniually cared (suddenly) for your appearance and well being.

A knock sounded on the door as soon as you turned off the shower. You watch as the door opens and the woman comes in. She smiles at you warmly and lays down a towel, a robe and under garments. "So you can get out of those old clothes. I'll make sure that boy get's you a closet full of clothes."

You nod. "Thank you." your voice was meek and quiet. She leaves the bathroom and you make your way to dry and dress yourself. You knew you couldn't hide inside of here forever, but you wanted to. You were unaware what was going to happen next with the man that was Jungkook. All you did know was that you were left terrified of him and who he was. Him killing the men in cold blood without batting an eyelash - that only told you he was one of the same of these men, just possibly more powerful.

You twist the doorknob once you are done, poking your head out. The hallway was quiet and there was no sign of the older woman. You contemplated if you should remain in the restroom or wander around. This estate was foreign to you, all you did know was that the man, Jungkook, wasn't going to allow you to leave anytime soon.

You decide to get out of the bathroom, closing the door behind you. You tiptoe down the hall, your bare feet cold against the marble floor. You wrap the robe tightly around you, trying to remember the way you came and go back to the dark room. But luck wasn't upon your side and you find yourself utterly confused as to where to go. Every door appeared the same as the next, all dark, modern and closed. You didn't have the guts to open any and see for yourself, afraid of what's behind it.

"Looking for something?"

You yelp, startled at the sudden voice. You stiffen and turn around with wide eyes.

"You must be Y/N." the man steps closer to you. He reminded you of Jungkook, the way he was attractive with a hint of intimidation. His features were symmetrical, jaw line sharp and angular. It was his eyes that attracted you to him - you were unable to look away. They were as if he was calling you towards him without saying a word. "You are as cute as the little one said you were." he coos.

The man reaches you, his hand coming out to stroke your face. "I can tell you are truly innocent as he says. Never been touched by a man. Or woman - I'm a judgment free man." His laugh captivates you. As close as he was to you now, you could see around his eyes the lightest shade of eyeshadow around them. "Tell me, are you looking for Kookie?"

You're stuck, unsure of how to respond. So you nod your head, assuming "Kookie" was "Jungkook" who you previously met. The man grasps your hand and tugs you closer to him. He interlocks your fingers and soon the two of you are walking down the hall together, hand in hand. It was as though your nervousness - even fear - had gone away. THe closeness between the two of you made your nose catch his scent - a bittersweet aroma that gave off a spicy yet fruity smell; inviting.

"People call me Himeros." the man murmurs to you, his voice in a hushed tone as if it was a secret. You gulp and nod, your little knowledge of greek mythology, you were certain he was the living embodiment of Himeros. "But my family calls me Jimin, and since you're with Kookie, you can call me Jimin, too."

You listen to him talk about random things, remaining in a comfortable silence as he guides you down another hall and soon you're in a large sitting room, surrounded by men in dark suits. 6 men stood out to you - one being Jungkook - their suits were white in contrast to the dark ones surrounding them. They all sat huddled together in a deep conversation when you arrived. They sat on a deep burgundy leather couch, a medium size glass coffee table in the middle - the colors of the room being a mixture of gold, silver and black. Your eyes trained on the men surrounding them, some staring out the large windows. It was at that moment you noticed they held guns - large rifles and a few others you know not a single idea of.

Your nerves kick in again being surrounded by so many unfamiliar faces - all men at that. Your hands unknowingly squeezes Jimin's and he shakes his head. "It's alright. No one here will hurt you." he assures, noticing your uneasiness. "Kookie." his voice sings songs. It makes the group of men sitting stop and look towards your way, eyes scanning you up and down.

Jungkook's eyes lock with your hand in Jimin's. He leans forward, tongue in cheek.

"Don't be that way." Jimin giggles, unlocking your fingers. "She was lost so I brought her here to you. Hospitality." Jimin gentle places his hands on your shoulders, a smile on his lips as he looks towards Jungkook.

"Is this the girl?" a man asks, his voice deep - the deepest you've heard a man have.

You witness Jungkook nod, standing forward. "Y/N." he says to you, his lip curling upwards slowly.

You remain silent, unsure of what to respond with.

"Does she know your name?" a man chuckles, his laugh high-pitched as if laughing at his own (lame but truthful) joke. You wouldn't know his name if it wasn't said by the older woman. "She looks so...scared. Like a little mouse."

"I would be, as well, if I were in a room full of men in nothing but a robe." another man says, he slouches against the couch with a bored expression. "Why did you bring her here and not his room?"

Jimin scoffs. "I do the right thing and it's still wrong, right, little mouse?" Jimin shakes his head and then looks towards you. You nod slowly, unsure of what else to do. Jimin smiles in return. "Well, Kookie," he turns towards the man. "She's all yours. I have a job to do." Jimin's hand slowly pats your shoulders and then he turns around, strolling down the same hall you came from.

"Come." Jungkook says to you, strolling to you and taking your hand in his. "We'll discuss things later, Hyungs." he calls over his back as he saunters down the hall with you.

"But we weren't done-" the deep voiced man starts, but then groans when he realizes Jungkook has no intentions of turning back.

"Damn kid." another man hisses.

Jungkook and you walk for a few minutes before reaching a room. When he opens the door, you realize it isn't the same room you were held in. He gently tugs you inside and closes the door behind you. The room was fairly large in size - double than the one you had been in. You figured the lights inside the room were motion sensored because it lit upon your arrival. In the middle of the room lay a large bed - possibly king size - with an upholstered headboard. The sheets upon the bed were satin and you noticed the amount of pillows spraw upon them.

The bedroom itself was modern and minimalistic, on each side of the bed sat a nightstand. There were 2 doors opposite to one another that you assumed were closed, you assumed they were closet space. "Do you like the room?" Jungkook's voice sounds. "It's much bigger than the last. Come." Jungkook strolls ahead of you to one of the doors. He opens it wide, your eyes trail inside the large room - quite bigger than you expected.

"This is your closet. He'll have to fill it up eventually." he trails off. Your eyes dart around the room - it was bigger than your sitting room back at your apartment. The mirror facing you was large that had lights surrounding it - also sensored. The room had wall shelves that reached the ceiling and a few in-wall drawers. It was luxurious, you'd amit, but you were afraid to ask why he was doing this for someone he paid to sleep with? "Do you like purses? We could display them on the top shelf."

You nod your head, agreeing with whatever he desired so you wouldn't upset or offend him. He smiles and then motions for you to follow him again. He reaches the next door, it opens and displays a bathroom. The floors were the same marble tile as the last one. What caught your eye was the circular bathtub and the large floor length window that displayed outside the estate - a mixture of flowers and vines. The shower was to the right of the bathtub with several faucets while the double sink and vanity mirror displayed on the left.

"My closet is in here." Jungkook says. "It's smaller than yours but does the job."

A knock was what caught you two by surprise. You turn towards the bedroom door then to Jungkook. You watch as he opens it to peek out, then opens it wider once he realizes who it is. "Ah," he smiles. "Food is here. I forgot I ordered food for us."

You were marvelled at the many trays of food coming into the room, all on rolling tables. The men - this time in chef attire - roll in the tables and display it for you and Jungkook. You questioned why Jungkook ordered much food for the two of you - you noticed many amounts of meats, different side dishes and even - as displaced as it was - a few slices of pizza. The last table to be brought it were the drinks and a large bowl of ice.

"I wasn't sure what you enjoyed eating." Jungkook says with a low chuckle. "So I ordered everything I like."

Soon the two of you are eating. You sat yourself far from him, nibbling on the food slowly. Jungkook wasn't shy in his own home or in front of you. He ate as if not swallowing at all, his eyes wide with pleasure. You ate a few more wings and called it enough. You wiped your mouth with the napkin and remain silent, waiting for the man to be done.

"Are you done eating?" Jungkook asks; he realized you hadn't picked anything up in a few minutes. At your nod and releases his grip on the slice of pizza he was holding - the cheese and pepperoni oozing off of it slowly. "Are you-"

"When are you going to fuck me?" you ponder loudly, possibly coming off rude.

Jungkook is taken aback. He turns his head fully to you and raises both brows.

"I...I would rather you get it over with." you murmur. You feel uncomfrotable against his gaze.

"Get it over with?" Jungkook snickers. "I told you already you aren't going back."

You're trembling now, fear overcoming you. You didn't think he would actually keep you here for his own personal reasons. He was a powerful man - you see that now by the way he had men lining up to cater to him. Not only was he powerful and obviously wealthy, but he was attractive and surprisingly young. He has to have women lining up to even get the chance to sleep with him (with nothing in return) yet he has chosen you - someone who only truly needed him for money.

"Why would you want to leave? I gave you shelter - better than that run down apartment you were in."

Jungkook's tone and words offended you. You didn't come from money. You weren't raised poor either, however, you were raised to work for what you needed. You afforded a well enough apartment in a decent area. You saved up your money to fully furnish your apartment with what money you did have to make it feel like a home; not only that, but you cared for your brothers addictions (unknowingly) and gave a little cash whenever your siblings were low and in need. You didn't need Jeon Jungkook to insult the way you lived.

You turned away from him, your fists clenching. It wasn't smart to talk back to him, he was a man after all and could easily overpower you if needed be.

"Would you prefer we slept together before the ceremony?" Jungkook sighs. He scotts closer to you, placing the trays of food back upon the rolling tables. "So it'd be easier for you?"

"What ceremony?" you murmur, your head turning towards him. This wasn't making much sense to you. But, you willing to sell your virginity to any man willing to pay wouldn't make sense to anyone - and you refused to tell your siblings such when the time came.

"Our wedding, silly." Jungkook chuckles. He taps your nose as if you were a silly child. Your eyes widen at the statement and when you realize his laughter died down and his eyes narrowed - he was serious. "I told you this was our home, baby. I gave you a large closet for you to fill."

You gulp. Your head was spinning and your stomach churned. The sensation of your body in this state was nothing but uneasiness, you felt lighthead and ready to faint. You snap your body away from him. "I'm not marrying you." your words were stern - as stern as they could be while you were frightened of the man. "That was not the agreement, Jungkook. I would never agree to sell myself to marriage."

"But you are willing to sell your virginity?" Jungkook snaps. "That makes the situation better?"

"No!" you hiss back at him, voice raising. You felt horrible enough that you were willing to give up something sacred to whatever greasy man was willing. But you didn't wish to put your life or those of your family in more danger due to Hyun-woo. "I just-"

"Watch your fucking mouth, Y/N." Jungkook interrupts you with a grasp of your chin. "I got you out of that situation with those men and I managed to kill their boss that was threatening you. How could you be so selfish?" he spits.

You tear your chin from his grasp and yelp.

"My men are at your disposal. My wealth and power is yours." Jungkook again grabs you, this time his large hands gripping your cheeks to force you to look at him. "You'll be my wife and a part of Bangtan along with my own brothers, their partners and children. I'm the only one left in the family to be wed and bear an heir."

You feel sick. You couldn't help but cry out at the thought of marrying a man and bearing his child without your consent - he didn't give you much choice. This couldn't be your life now, not with a man like this. A man you didn't know anything about and vice versa.

"Shh, baby, don't cry." Jungkook pulls you into his chest. You didn't fight him and instead allowed yourself to cry into his chest while he caresses your back. "I know it's overwhelming, but you'll be happy with me. I promise. We can see the world, you and I!" he continues to caress you while promising you every and everything - besides your consent and freedom. "Do you like babies?" Jungkook asks suddenly, his hands stopping the patting on your back. "Maybe we can visit Hyung's home tomorrow. He has the cutest daughter! That should be able to cheer you up!"

You cry harder at the thought.

"Is this necessary?" you ask Byeol, arms crossed. You stood outside your bedroom, facial mask below your lips.

"Put your mask on, Y/N!" Soobin yells, his eyes wide with shock. "You can't inhale the paint! It's not good for the baby!"

You do as you're told with a roll of your eyes. You hear Byeol giggle beside you. "To him it is."

You were woken up from your afternoon nap by Soobin. He had shook you awake and insisted you leave the room so he could paint it. You were initially irritated by the sudden act, but Soobin wouldn't bulge. He was now painting the room - the wall in which all of Jin-Seon's belongings sat - determined to paint the white clouds as neat as he could.

"I just wouldn't want to trouble him." you sigh. "And you. This is your home after all. I wouldn't want to intrude."

Byeol gently slaps your shoulder. "You could never be an intruder, Y'N. You know this now." she shakes her head, upset at the audacity of you thinking you would ever be considered a burden here. "Soobin is just overjoyed that there's more life in the home. It's always just been the two of us."

And overjoyed Soobin was. After he spent two days painting one wall - a simple set of clouds and mountains in different shades of blue and greys, he was done and added a few finishing touches. He adds Jin-Seon's name onto the wall above the crib given to her by Byeol. He then adds a few shelves, already displaying the ultrasound picture he had framed and gifted you. Next to the ultrasound was a picture he took of you off guard - hand resting on your stomach while you munched along on a piece of cake Byeol had made. It wasn't your favorite picture of yourself, but you enjoyed the act of kindness Soobin showed.

"I still think it's all too much for something temporary." you told Soobin, but your heart was full at the kind gesture.

"It's never too much when it comes to Jin-Seon. I want him to feel loved." Soobin smiles at you, his eyes squinting. You feel your heart flutter at him, he was entirely too kind for his own good. "And I want you to feel welcomed here. You don't have to leave as soon as Jin-Seon is born."

You let out a sigh. Your eyes glance away from him and to the wall, trying to avoid his gaze. They were making it hard - Vyeol and Soobin - for you to ever want to leave them. Byeol was utterly kind, always making sure to cook you delicious food. She insisted you needed a strong and healthy baby. She oftened wash the sheets and your clothes, even when you insisted you could do it yourself.

Soobin was much like his mother, always welcoming. He came home everyday with different types of snacks and treats for you to try. He would give you the company you craved after Byeol rested. He encouraged you - ensuring that you would always be in good hands with them.

"I won't force the two of you to stay." Soobin tells you, his voice low into a whisper. "But there isn't a time limit. You can stay for as long as you need to. This is your home just as it is ours."

Your throat clenches and your heart is now beating faster. You turn to Soobin and offer a trembling smile. He frowns at you. "Y/N. What's wrong?"

You're crying. You are sure it's the hormones. You looked like a crazy fool crying at Soobin. He must feel horrible with himself and questioning what were the words to set you off.

"You all are so kind to me." you cry, whipping the pathetic tears from your cheeks. "I don't know where I'd be without your hospitality."

Soobin releases a laugh. He brings you closer to him, in a hug. He rubs the top of your back and shakes his head. "You don't have to cry, Y/N." he ensures. "We'll always be here for you and Jin-Seon. I promise." he says.

Alright so here's Part 1 to Cruel Intentions. This would be a multipart series, I hope going between present to past isn't too much to understand.

Prequel | Next | Masterlist | Part 3

#explicit-tae #btsmasterlist2022 #bangtan smut #bangtanwritershq #bts smut #btswritersclub #cruel intentions #bts mafia #bts yandere #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #btswritingcafe #btswriterscollective #mafia jungkook #jungkook yandere #cruel intentions masterlist

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bit-b · 11 months

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AVOID USER "THATTECHNIQUE"

There's a VERY problematic artist that's been infamous in the Hat in Time sphere for a while. It is the user "ThatTechnique". They've been called out in the past for their suggestive/explicit drawings of the young characters in 'A Hat in Time'. They have long since been banned from the Hat Discord, and generally shunned by the community.

Recently, a document released detailing her attempts to groom a 14-year-old aHiT fan. The screenshot evidence shows clear attempts to manipulate this teen into being in a relationship with them. I encourage people to go read the document. I do warn that it's stomach-churning. And people sensitive to grooming and discussions of NSFW should proceed with caution. Though, any explicit material has been censored and cropped. Investigations were done by 'Impactor' and his team. The doc was signal boosted by 'Aster'. 'The Thatti Document'

Despite this evidence, Thatti is trying to play it off like the document is no big deal. Saying that the document didn't reveal anything that people couldn't already figure out. (complete lie, since the grooming evidence is brand-freakin'-new™) Also, she didn't reply on the tweet that had the Google doc. She instead replied to Impactor's comment saying "On stand by for questions as always". My guess is that she did this so that she wouldn't inadvertently make the callout show up in people's feeds. A user would need to add a couple extra clicks to reach it. Not a lot of extra distance, but distance nonetheless. This is clearly an attempt to de-legitimize the claims made by the document, and to manipulate her current followers into thinking that reading it is a waste of their time.

Even though she claims it's a "waste of y'all's energy", 2 hours later, she made a poll on her account letting people know that she's considering closing her main account and making an 18+ one in it's place. She also plans to focus on using her Tumblr account for her SFW art.

This tells us WAY more about how she actually feels about this. If this was about not liking Twitter, she'd just up and leave the platform. NOT create an 18+ account to replace the SFW one. And a few of her followers have even chimed in saying how odd it is for her to wipe out her whole account instead of leaving it up as an archive.

She knows she's been caught. And she's running.

I write this post to warn people on Tumblr about her actions. She's been here a while, but it seems like she's planning on making it her new art home. If that is the case, and if this isn't an isolated incident, she might attempt to groom people here.

I urge you, DO NOT engage with ThatTechnique. Don't comment or reply to her posts. Do not @ her. Do not DM her anything. A manipulator is VERY risky to interact with, and you could put yourself in danger by doing so.

Instead, spread the word about Thatti. Warn others about her past and current actions. To be extra cautious, block her on whatever socials you have in common with her.

If you are/were a victim of Thatti, Impactor is keeping their ear out and wants to hear from you. Please get in contact with him via DMs or mentions on Twitter. He plans to update the document with whatever new information he can find.

I wanna thank Impactor for organizing this document, and thank everyone who gathered and contributed information. More specifically, I wanna thank Apple for reaching out and giving all these details about their abuse. That was a brave thing, and I applaud you for it. I genuinely hope that things smooth out, and that these callouts give you a level of closure. Please stay safe, everyone. There are some great people in this community. But every community will always have some creeps on the underbelly.

#ahit #a hat in time #hat in time

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pub-lius · 2 months

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WAKE UP ITS HAMILTON TIME (hamilton pt 1)

everyone thank richard for getting me to put all my knowledge about alexander hamilton in one place. if you're at all new or confused, @thereallvrb0y once asked me 3 years ago to tell him everything about every historical figure i can, and since then i have been doing that. now we are onto the last one on the list he gave me, and studying hamilton is literally my life's work, so here it is. on tumblr.com. for free.

my sources for this are Ron Chernow and Hamilton himself and a strange amalgamation of knowledge from different museums, documentaries, interviews with historians, and other otherwise publicly accessible knowledge that i have compiled into the vast library inside my mind! you can find my notes in the link in my pinned post. let's go (this historical research is sponsored by the ghost of freddie mercury and my aunt who made me a whole pot of coffee)

Background Information

Ron Chernow loves to talk about how the island of St. Kitts and Nevis was formed, but that's not fucking important. What's important about Hamilton's birthplace is that it was positioned in the Caribbean in such a way that made it a very easily accessible port, however the coastline was pretty smooth which made it generally unideal for mooring ships.

Source: The St. Kitts' Scenic Railway; Six Frigates: The Epic History of the Founding of the US Navy by Ian W. Toll, p. 112 ("Basseterre Roads was not a good natural harbor. It was little more than a dent in the otherwise smooth coastline that ran along the western side of the island. There was no pier- visitors were obliged to run their boats directly onto the beach, sometimes surfing in on waves that broke heavily as they reached the shore.")

Now, notice that St. Kitts and Nevis is, in geographic terms, to the right-ish of the Caribbean. That means when you're coming from Jolly Ole England, you might make a pit stop in St. Kitts and Nevis. So if you ignore the fact that the island has no natural harbor (at least not a good one), it might be a good economic prospect for a young merchant, right?

Well, not if that merchant is James Hamilton, because he was an idiot. And I say that lovingly, or at least more lovingly than Ron Chernow did. Ron Chernow also emphasized that St. Kitts and Nevis was filled with the 18th century version of Shameless, and also Jewish people. Ron Chernow might not hate Jewish people, but he does hate the character archetypes in Shameless. In Shameless terms, James Hamilton was like Frank Gallagher.

Disclaimer: knowledge of Shameless is not necessary to understand that being compared to a guy named Frank is not a good thing

I've already made posts about Hamilton's parents and brother (here, if you'd like to read that ig. weirdo), but I want to talk about the things that Hamilton would have learned from his parents. Later in life, Hamilton vaguely alluded to his father's failings in business being due to an excessive amount of generosity and not really understanding where he should and shouldn't spend his money. This did not by any means make Hamilton stingy with his money, or even smart, for that matter, but it did make him want to be something specific: independent.

James Hamilton's tragic flaw was his dependence on other people, whether it was his older brother or Rachel Faucette or his business partners, etc. Due to the position and order in which he was born, James was never destined to be a leader. He wasn't exceptional academically like other non-first-born-sons, such as James Madison, or dispositionally inclined to organize and inspire, like George Washington. He was just a dude, and he was a dude who was not built for 18th century society, especially not in the Caribbean. From what we can tell, James Hamilton was a gullible, moderately intelligent man with symptoms of autism and non-descript mental health issues. He was basically fucked from the get-go.

Source: Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow (p. 12-16); Papers of Alexander Hamilton, vol. 25, p. 89, letter to William Jackson, August 26, 1800 ("In a capacity of a merchant he went to St. Kitts, where from too generous and too easy a temper he failed in business and at length fell into indigent circumstances.")

Rachel Faucette was like James Hamilton's polar opposite. She was forced to learn how to provide for herself, not being able to rely on anyone, because that could be ripped out from under her feet at any moment, and the only thing concrete in her life was herself. She was a woman, and that was what most women had to learn at some point.

Rachel was also perfectly poised to be the clear moral guide for young Hamilton. When James Hamilton left, he basically sacrificed any reverence his son might have for him, and instituted Rachel as Hamilton's sole role model for his developmental years and i just burned the shit out of my hand with coffee.

Disclaimer: James Hamilton had nothing to do with me burning the shit out of my hand with coffee, I promise. You can't blame all your problems on deadbeat dads

If you're a Sigmund Freud fan, (good opener, I know), you're aware of the Oedipus Complex, and that's not exactly what I'm talking about, but yk. look it up. This theory proposed by Freud was only partially rejected by the psychological field (due to the fact that not everything is about wanting to fuck your mom and kill your dad, and also that's not the story of Oedipus Rex like. at all??), but the part that still rang true was that children do have a unique attachment to the opposite sex parent.

Psychological studies show that children tend to describe their opposite sex parents more favorably than same sex parents. Why? I don't know, I'm not a psychologist, I'm an 18 year old who drinks coffee like he was 5 kids to raise.

Source: "The Relation between Attachment to Opposite Sex Parents and Attachment to Romantic Partners" by Gary L. Grogan and Dr. Mary E. Pritchard, p. 10 ("However, most significant for the present inquiry were the findings that respondents described their opposite sex parents more favorably, and same sex parents more critically.")

This statistic is visible in Hamilton's descriptions of his parents, and must have been enhanced by James Hamilton's early departure in his son's life, the consequences from that which seemed constant, but also by the reputation his father had built on the island he left Hamilton on. Hamilton would grow up to see his mother not only providing for herself and her children, but also overcoming the consequences of James' actions, which provoked resentment towards his father, and admiration towards his mother. This will develop as a theme throughout his life, but we'll touch on that as he grows up. He isn't even born yet! So let's get on to that.

Source: so when I say Hamilton's description of his mother, I really mean HIS son's, but JCH most likely got this description from his father, Life of Alexander Hamilton by John Church Hamilton, vol. 1, pg. 42 ("...a woman of superior intellect, elevated sentiment, and unusual grace of person and manner. To her he was indebted for his genius."); for the sake of my reliability and reputation, I'll include JCH's description of his grandfather for comparison, Intimate Life of Alexander Hamilton by John Church Hamilton, p. 13 ("Hamilton's father does not appear to have been successful in any pursuit, but in many ways was a great deal of a dreamer, and something of a student, whose chief happiness seemed to be in the society of his beautiful and talented wife, who was in every way intellectually his superior.")

Early Life

Alexander Hamilton was born ginger on January 11, 1755, and I don't entertain the argument that he was born in 1757 because I'm not an anarchist and I believe society has laws (I'm actually lying, I'll talk about the birth year debate in the college section). Hamilton was not, however, born black or Jewish. He was also, potentially, born not James Hamilton's son.

"Wh- WHAT?! *cries*" I hear you say, and I know, it's shocking information, but yes. First off, Hamilton was not black in any percentage more than the Pillsbury dough boy is black. This theory comes from the fact that Rachel Faucette was a lower class woman and therefore we have no proof that she WASN'T partially black. I don't even have to dispute that for anyone with a gram of critical thinking skills to see that that isn't a valid historical hypothesis.

The Jewish thing has a little more merit to it, and there's a whole book about it that I haven't read. There is some evidence to suggest that Rachel Faucette's ex husband, Johann Lavien, could have been a secret Jewish person, and possibly caused Rachel herself to convert, and she tried to pass on that to Hamilton by having a Jewish woman educate him when he was a toddler (that last part is a true fact, and is the earliest piece of information we have about Hamilton's education). If this is true, (and it's nearly impossible to prove true or false because well if Lavien was a secret Jew, it was a secret), it did not impact Hamilton's religious beliefs in any way, and he identified as a Christian throughout his entire life.

We'll do a paternity test on Hamilton later, just hang tight. See, this is how I get you, I say something controversial, and then I don't talk about it until 16 paragraphs later.

Source: Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow, p. 9 ("A persistent mythology in the Caribbean asserts that Rachel was partly black, making Alexander Hamilton a quadroon or an octoroon. In this obsessively race-conscious society, however, Rachel was invariably listed among the whites on local tax rolls. Her identification as someone of mixed race has no basis in verifiable fact. (See pages 734-35 [this is in Chernow's Acknowledgments, and he just talks about how he used a paper trail to come to this conclusion, and thought genetic research would only confuse the evidence. He also discusses that there is a small chance that Hamilton fathered a black child named William Hamilton, but I can go ahead and tell you that's false due to the fact that Hamilton had just arrived in America when William was born -HWS]) The folklore that Hamilton was mulatto probably arose from the incontestable truth that many, if not most, illegitimate children in the West Indies bore mixed blood."); Life of Alexander Hamilton by John Church Hamilton, vol. 1, p. 42 ("...rarely as he alluded to his personal history, he mentioned with a smile his having been taught to repeat the Decalogue in Hebrew, at the school of a Jewess, when so small that he was placed standing by her side upon a table); Ibid., vol. 7, p. 710-11; Papers of Alexander Hamilton, vol. 26, p. 774, "Comments on Jews"

Hamilton's education began with his mother, who is almost definitely the person who made him fluent in French by the time he came to America. Despite limited access to books (34 books in both French and English to be specific), Hamilton still studied everything he could from a young age, with an early love for learning new things and proving that he was smarter than you. However, most of his education was in the School of Hard Knocks Community College, which was amply provided by the environment around him.

In the height of the British Empire, the Caribbean was essentially a social prison for anyone who broke the moral laws of the colonial, Eurocentric society of the time. This included pirates, prostitutes, drunks, thieves, and basically anyone who didn't fit the mold for a member of high society and/or someone who could serve high society and their lives of luxury. Hamilton, by birth, was one of these people.

Hamilton's father moved the family to St. Croix right before he left, which was a dramatic shift from Hamilton's life on St. Kitts and Nevis. In St. Croix, everyone knew Hamilton's mother as the disgraced ex-wife of Johann Lavien, and therefore knew her two sons as "whore-children", which was a word usually given to illegitimate children. Here, Hamilton was roped in with the degenerates of society, and it was practically said directly to him that he was destined to be unholy, unclean, worthless, and disgusting. Could you believe that this would have an impact on his mental health?

Along with seeing the poor lifestyles of the inhabitants of the Caribbean, Hamilton also saw glimpses into a very different world: ~rich people~. There were few rich white people on the islands, and they owned vast amounts of enslaved people, with the black to white ratio being 8:1 in the Caribbean. These enslaved people were forced to live in horrible conditions, and Hamilton saw it everywhere- his mother owned three people, but they were often rented out to garner profit for the white family, rather than working a plantation as others in the Caribbean did. Violence towards enslaved black people was only part of the violence young Hamilton witnessed in the Caribbean, some of which came in the form of dueling *insert ominous music*

Source: Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow, p. 18 ("To the extent that dueling later entranced Hamilton to an unhealthy degree, this fascination may have originated in the most fabled event in Nevis in the 1750s [a duel between two men where one of them was killed"); Ibid., p. 19; Ibid., p. 23-24

James Hamilton abandoned the family in 1765, and the reasons he did so are debated, but most likely are due to debt. However, there's another possibility that I've alluded to before: Hamilton's paternity.

So, remember, Rachel Faucette is not a perfect angel, and she also didn't particularly care for matrimony. There is a chance that she was with other men besides Hamilton and Lavien, and though we have no evidence that she was, there is an interesting character I'd like to throw into the mix.

Thomas Stevens, a moderately rich guy, was a merchant who lived on King Street in Charleston, St. Croix, with his wife Ann and his son Edward, who was born a year before Alexander Hamilton. Thomas Stevens was a very generous guy, and Edward Stevens would later be lifelong friends with Alexander Hamilton. And uh. They looked almost exactly the same. I really wish we had a portrait of Edward Stevens, but according to literally everyone, it was hard to tell the difference between him and Hamilton. Now, statistically, we all have some kind of doppelganger out there, but like what are the chances that they grew up down the street from each other and their parents had suspiciously close connections? Now, I'm not saying that Hamilton should have been Alexander Stevens, I think that's pretty irrelevant, but it is possible that Thomas Stevens... you... ARE THE FATHER!!!

Source: Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow, p. 27-28 ("Nevertheless, in the absence of direct proof, the notion that Alexander was the biological son of Thomas Stevens instead of James Hamilton would clarify many oddities in Hamilton's biography.")

The Hamiltons' life post-dad-desertion was actually somewhat comfortable due to Rachel's kickassery. She established a little store for a source of income, relocated a couple times, rented out the enslaved people (as one does, i guess, that's such a wild phrase), and kept a pet goat for milk and cheese and idk soap or whatever else people make with goat milk. Her sons would help out, possibly providing an origin for Hamilton's incessant need to be productive at all times without resting. At times, they were supported by his aunt Ann Lytton Mitchell, who he would remain loyal to until his death. During this time, as he was old enough to understand what his father did, is probably when his fiercely loyal, chivalrous and family-driven attitude developed.

Source: Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow, p. 22-23; Ibid., p. 28

I'm so hopped up on caffeine I could do a triathalon.

Hamilton and his mother were both afflicted by a strange and unspecified illness in the winter of 1768. The primary symptom was a severe fever, and they were treated with purgatives, medicinal herbs, and bloodletting. Nothing helped, and Rachel died at 9 pm on February 19. Hamilton miraculously survived.

Immediately, Hamilton and his brother James had everything they owned taken away, indebted by bills charged against them by local debtors. Their half brother inherited whatever else belonged to their mother, which brought up the marital scandal all over again, beginning a legal battle that lasted for around a year. In the end, the two Hamilton brothers were left with two things: jack shit and fuck all.

Custody of the two boys was appointed to their cousin, Peter Lytton. In my notes, I described him as "white trash" and "insane", including the quotes, so idk who said that. Peter Lytton lived with his black mistress and their illegitimate child. He killed himself on July 6, 1769, and what's strange about that is that we don't know if he shot or stabbed himself. I don't know who got confused about the difference between a knife and a gun, but that isn't my problem.

To make a bad situation worse, Peter Lytton didn't leave the boys anything in his will, and neither did his father, who did "his best" to help. His best could have been even just mentioning the name Hamilton in his will, but whatever, I guess.

These events held very important lessons for the young Alexander: 1) nothing lasts forever; 2) everyone dies; 3) the legal system is terrible; 4) rich people hate you; and, most importantly, 5) the only way out was up.

Source: Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow, p. 22-27

On His Own

This marked a split between Hamilton and his older brother, but this didn't seem to affect him as much as what happened with his parents- possibly because he wasn't biologically his brother, but I don't really care about that. What's more important is that Hamilton was almost entirely on his own, with inconsistent housing, so he couldn't always rely on the Stevenses. He was in a very similar situation that his mother was in at one time not long ago: alone and self reliant.

Hamilton was already working for the mercantile company, Beekman and Cruger. This company was later renamed, so I'll just say that Hamilton worked for Cruger, who was a business man with ties to New York. Hamilton worked as a clerk at this import-export business, giving him the responsibility to monitor intake and outtake as well as the organization of papers and just generally keeping everything in line. Due to the international relevance that was St. Croix, Hamilton often used French in his business dealings. Here, Hamilton perfected his handwriting into that elegant mess we know and can't read, picked up information on shipping/navigation, and learned his famously proficient math skills, particularly in relation to finance and economics.

Hamilton's famously maniacal work ethic began here, but so did his yearning for military valor. The first piece of personal correspondence we have from Hamilton is a letter to bestie Edward Stevens, and was made very famous from The Musical.

"Im confident, Ned that my Youth excludes me from any hopes of immediate Preferment nor do I desire it, but I mean to prepare the way for futurity. Im no Philosopher you see and may be jusly said to Build Castles in the Air. My Folly makes me ashamd and beg youll Conceal it, yet Neddy we have seen such Schemes successfull when the Projector is Constant I shall Conclude saying I wish there was a War. I am Dr Edward Yours Alex Hamilton (sic)"

Source: Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow, p. 29-30; Alexander Hamilton to Edward Stevens, November 11, 1769, St. Croix; Library of Congress, Image 13 of Alexander Hamilton Papers: General Correspondence, 1734-1804; 1734-1772

When Cruger left St. Croix for New York due to medical reasons in 1771, he left 16 year old Alexander Hamilton in charge of his primary source of income. And you're probably thinking that's a stupid idea. Because it is.

BUT ITS ALEXANDER HAMILTON. SO IT WAS FINE??? Well, fine for everyone besides the captain of the HMS Thunderbolt.

The Thunderbolt pulled into St. Croix's busy harbor after crossing the ocean and manned by a veteran captain, however Hamilton was not satisfied with the outfitting of the ship nor the quality of the goods that had been transported.

"Reflect continually on the unfortunate voyage you have just made and endeavor to make up for the considerable loss therefrom accruing to your owners." -Alexander Hamilton to Captain Newton, February 1, 1772

You can really see Hamilton's "I'm better than you and I know it" attitude shining through, made more shocking than ever than the fact that he was SIXTEEN YEARS OLD and talking to a man who was LITERALLY TWICE HIS AGE. The only reason he didn't lose his job over this is because he was right. The mules that had been transported were in such poor health, Hamilton had to pull strings to get them sold, and the wood was too waterlogged to be sold on the open market, so he sold it to a private buyer who was able to find something to do with them. He showed quick thinking, confidence in his abilities, and managerial skills. It was these skills that would later appeal to George Washington, not his financial abilities, and led to his most important appointment.

Source: Papers of Alexander Hamilton, vol. 1, p. 23, letter to Tileman Cruger, February 1, 1772 ("It would be undoubtedly a great pity that such a vessel [the Thunderbolt] should be lost for the want of them [cannons]."); Ibid., p.4, letter to Captain Newton, February 1, 1772; Alexander Hamilton: A Biography by Forrest McDonald, p. 128 ("Taken aback, Washington replied, 'I always knew Colonel Hamilton to be a man of superior talents, but never supposed that he had any knowledge of finance.")

Cruger's firm also engaged in the Atlantic slave trade, as did the majority of trading firms in the Caribbean and the American south. It was this exposure to the abhorrent conditions on slave ships and the violence African people faced in the triangle trade that shaped Hamilton into a vocal opponent of slavery- when it was convenient. More impactful was the fear he developed of slave revolts, as was very common in the Caribbean because of the disproportionate slave to free/black to white ratio in the islands, and this would later define his views on the French Revolution and public protest in general. He and Thomas Jefferson had this in common.

Hamilton continued studying books in his free time, and the local newspaper, the Royal Danish American Gazette, began publishing poems from an anonymous young writer- obviously it was Hamilton. His poems ranged in subjects, and aren't particularly good, but they're better than any poems I've written angrily in my journal about my evil exes, so that is to his credit.

Hamilton's poems took a religious turn, most likely traceable to the arrival of Reverend Hugh Knox, who took in Hamilton as a mentor. Clergymen were a hot commodity in the hell hole that was the Caribbean, and Knox had a lot of work on his hands, but he took a particular interest in Hamilton, specifically in getting him out of the aforementioned hell hole. He saw that Hamilton was incredibly intelligent and hard working, almost to a fault- he was probably the first person who was genuinely concerned for this dude's health over how much he worked.

Fun fact, Knox also had personal ties to the Burr family, but that is literally only a fun fact and not a sign that Burr and Hamilton were star-crossed lovers in fair Verona or whatever Chernow has deluded himself into thinking.

Source: Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow, p. 32-33; Ibid., p. 34

Source: National Guard Bureau, "Examining Lessons from Katrina 10 Years Later"

Then, a massive hurricane struck the Caribbean on August 1, 1772. It was incredibly damaging, causing mass destruction in St. Croix, and this is most definitely one that we in the south would evacuate for. Even my dad would evacuate for this one, and it took a lot of convincing to get him to evacuate for Katrina.

In reaction to this event, Hamilton wrote his famous letter to his father detailing and reflecting on the storm. And finally, I'm giving y'all my analysis of this letter that I keep saying I'll do. However, this post is already incredibly long, so I'm going to do it in a google doc and attach it here.

Source: Alexander Hamilton to The Royal Danish American Gazette, September 6, 1772

The letter was published to The Royal Danish American Gazette, which spread around the afflicted community. Knox's congregation gathered money for the anonymous young author (now not very anonymous) to sail to the American mainland for his education. Originally, Hamilton went to study medicine, due to the high demand for doctors in the Caribbean (his knowledge of anatomy would remain helpful throughout his life). However, at some point he decided he would not be going back to the Caribbean, and switched his focus to law, but we'll discuss that more in part two.

Source: Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow, p. 37-40

Well, there's part one. I did all of this in one day because um. I don't know, but it is now one in the morning and i have to wake up earlier than normal. so that's fun. i hope y'all enjoyed. shout out to my mom for proofreading half of this, and shout out to my aunt who gave me coffee, that was a horrible idea. i'll be back with part two at some point, which will probably be more concise because hamilton's childhood in the caribbean is where most of the theories are, so yeah. love y'all.

#alexander hamilton #history #amrev #american history #american revolution #hamilton #18th century #caribbean history #long post #research #heavy breathing #this is my career guys #do it for richie 💪#amrev history #i also watched like half of a chris chan documentary during this #and an entire markiplier playthrough #this is my spring break

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harrystylesfan2686 · 2 months

Text

Starfall

Pairing: Mor x Reader

Summary: Day 6: Character A was so busy planning the perfect Starfall party, they forgot to get a date. Character B has an idea.

Warnings: Unedited, I'll do it after.

A/N: First of I am so sorry this is taking me this long, sorry if this one sucks I wrote it in a hurry. This is my submission to starfall week. Hope you like this 💕

Tagging: @carinaswife @starfallweek

Dialogue Prompts Masterlist

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You sigh looking around The House of Wind. It was your responsibility to hold a party this year, you had volunteered after seeing how much work Rhysand and Feyre already had. He was a little hesitant at first, never having given someone else the job of organizing the festival celebration, but he ultimately agreed because you were right, he didn't have time to think about such things.

You knew you had to do your best, having a dull party wasn't an option. There was no way you were forcing Rhys to take a break one year only for him to regret and never give the responsibility to anyone else.

You went all out, no limit on anything. Alcohol, decoration, food. You were busting your ass from an entire month, planning this party. You wanted it to be perfect, wanted everyone else to think it was perfect.

"You've done a brilliant job." Mor's voice filled with wonder as she looks around the room. A small group of people had gathered around the room, chatting and drinking, waiting for the show to begin at night. The actual crowd yet to come, considering the party had just begin.

You had heard a lot of compliments this evening, everyone seeming to like what you did with the opportunity. The heavy decoration getting special attention and wondering eyes. You admit, if felt really good, the appreciation but you were yet to get the approval of your high lord and lady.

When you turned around to look at More, your breath caught up. Wearing a shimmering white gown that started at her chest, just the right amount of her cleavage picking out from the hem, with no sleeves, showing off her smooth skin, and ending at her ankles, her feet tucked in light blue heels. And adorned with a thin diamond necklace and earrings.

She looked break takingly beautiful.

Gods the things you want to do to her.

Her eye brows raise in a silent question when you dont say anything and just stare at her. You close your opened mouth and clear your throat, trying not to seem like a hopeless in love. She doesn't know of your feelings and you don't intent on telling her.

"Thank you. You look- really good." You silently curse at youself for being dumbstruck. Her lips pirk up in a smirk, the slight hitch in your voice revealing a lot more then you wish for it too. She thanks you and stands beside you, looking over at the people.

"So, why are you not ready yet? You planning it would make people believe you would be the first to get ready." Her tone teasing but that doesn't stop you in sighing.

"There was a problem with the music band, trying to clear it took more time then I thought it would." You glance down at yourself, standing in a plain shirt and pants, while everyone else was looking thier finest. You should probably get ready now, before more people come.

Mor lets out a hum before speaking again, "And who is your date for the evening?"

Your cheeks flush and you look away from her brown eyes, "I don't have one."

She turns to you, eyes furrowed. "Why not? The last I heard you were with a handsome cook."

"That was months ago." Before I realized just how deep my feelings run for you. You don't speak the words you think. "And I didn't get any time to ask someone." You shrug.

"But you want one, don't you? Seeing you without a date on Starfall in wired for me." It's not a dig, you know it because it's true. You always had a date at Starfall, different males and females in your arms every year, inhopes that someone will spark your interest more then the female standing in front of you, none have made it to second year though.

"It's alright." You shrug again, trying to make your statement believable.

She is silent for a minute before nodding to herself, seeming decide on something and smiles. "I will be your date."

You freeze. Your eyes snapping to hers the second later. Mischief written clearly in them as she takes your hand. "Oh- No, no. It's alright you don't need to do that for me- I mean, I'll be alright. Cause like I don't need a date. Not that I don't want one but, I don't need one- I'll just stay single fur one year. It's okay. You don't need to-" You babble in nervousness, unable to think straight as her smile widens at your state and her hand grips tighter on yours.

"Y/N, shut up." You quickly do, knowing if not then you'll probably say something you'll regret later. "I will be your date It's finale. Now go get ready."

She releases your hand and nudges you toward the bedrooms. You go obediently, without another word as you try to process what just happened.

This is like a dream come true.

-☆-

A knock your door disturbs you as you try to think yourself up in the mirror. You are ready, wearing your dress and hair the way you decided. You look beautiful, smiling at yourself as you turn to look at yourself from every angle. Mor having told you about your plans just made you more motivated to look your best.

You nod at yourself one last time before turning to open the door. Standing on the other side is Morrigan, holding a bouquet of flowers. Her mouth openeing slightly as she looks at you, up and down, and again, not knowing what to say.

"You, look really beautiful." She smiles at your and you blush under her stare. "And these are for you." She hands you the bouquet. "My date." Her smirk widens when you take it from her, your face unable to hold your smile. You thank her and she holds out a hand,"Shall we?"

"Why not." You nod and put aside the flowers, taking her hand and closing to door behind you. "I still can't believe you declared yourself my date." The two of you laugh and you prepare youself for the night ahead.

-☆-

At the end of the night, you stand at a balcony, looking over the stars crashing into each other. The colours illuminating against your face and you close your eyes to bask in them.

"You truly are so beautiful." A murmur laced with wonder speaks from beside you as Mor comes, leaning on the railing ahead of you. Your smile automatically widens at her voice, her perfume, her presence. You open your eyes to look into hers.

Oh how gorgeous she is.

You want to hold her close and never let go. Kiss her and touch her until all she knows is you. Love and pamper her in the way no one ever has. Stand on this very railing and scream on top of your lungs, declaring your love for her until the entire world knows just who you belong to.

Maybe you've had quiet a lot of drinks.

"Kiss me." You whisper, your drunken mind not caring about the consequences of your words.

Her eyes flare in surprise, "What?"

"Kiss me." You repeat, grining widely at her.

She is silent for a moment before she lifts her hand to cup your cheek. "You don't mean that."

"I do." You nod enthusiasticly. "Kiss me." You say aloud for the third time, looking at her lips and licking your in anticipation.

"No, you kiss me." Now she can't help but agree, seeing the happiness in your eyes. She wants you, so much, but if your doing this just because your drunk, she might as well let herself this small moment of content.

Your hands lift to wrap around her neck and your lips rest on hers. Both of you sighing in content when you finally kiss the other. In a rush of moment, your tougnes mangle, your breaths mix as you moan in the others taste. Having tiptoed around the other for years, you finally let yourselves have this small moment, not caring about the future.

You kiss each other like your life depends in it. Your head spins, from the alcohol or the kiss your not sure. Mor's lips just as intoxicating. You kiss until your lips feel numb, you finally pull back, resting your foreheads together, looking into the others eyes with equally widened smiles.

You don't care what happens in the morning, only that you love her now and kiss her again with everything you have.

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#acotar #acotar fandom #acotar fanfiction #acotar fluff #morrigan x reader #mor x reader #mor #morrigan fanfiction #starfall week 2024 #starfall week

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criminalmindswhore · 9 months

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Dark Pieces of Me pt. 2

Hey girl queen pussy bosses, here's part 2! This part is going to be LONG because I want to keep it in 3/4 parts. Enjoy!

Also fun fact, Mateo is an actual food stand across the street from San Fran PD, look it up.

TW: violence, mentions of organized crime, terrorism, mentions of suicide

Part 1 | Part 3

The sun crept into the curtains of the cheap motel you booked somewhere in Kansas. You didn't sleep but you knew you needed to take a break. Your hand was throbbing from clutching your gun the entire night. You stood up from your post in front of the door and gathered your small bag of items. Stepping into the tiny shitty bathroom you splashed water on your face and caught a glimpse of your reflection. Dark eyebags, perfectly braided hair, a bruise under your eye from the fucker who tried to steal your gas pump. Thoughts of Emily lying on your couch, watching Pulp Fiction made you feel a little comfort. You knew you would never see her again and it made your heart feel so heavy. Shaking away thoughts of what could have been with Emily, and the stolen thoughts across the bullpen. You grabbed your bag, tucked your gun into your waistband, and walked out into the morning sun. You walked into the office and dropped the cash needed for your stay on the counter. "Good morning Ms. Jones, how did you sleep?" The sweet old lady who owned the place asked. "Good, much-needed rest from driving. Thank you for the sandwich last night, my stomach was screaming at me." The owner nodded, "Of course hon, you looked like you needed some sunshine in your day." You have no idea. "Do you have any maps? Mine got soaked last night." She nodded and slid one across the counter. "Have a good drive." You smiled, a seemingly sweet old lady running a motel all alone? She was a badass and you knew it. You did a quick, good scan of your car looking for any signs of tampering before entering. San Francisco was going to be torn to pieces if that's what it took for you to find him. His words repeated in your head over and over, "If I will kill 5 people for every one of our men you killed. You will be last."

In San Francisco, the team was split into two. One team focused on finding you, the other on solving the current case. You walking out had to do with this case, if they would figure it out they could figure out where you were. Emily's nails were in rough shape, she was worried sick over you. She knows where your head is, she knows how dark that place is. She knows the fear and the numbness that comes with running. She had no idea what you did for work before the BAU, it hadn't come up. You've heard of her past, how she left the team. You were her replacement, you saw the damage it did. "How could you do this to them after seeing that?" She thought. "Hey Prentiss, we got something." Derek popped his head into the office where Emily was fixated on your phone records. She stood up from her chair, smoothed out her shirt, and followed Morgan. "Hi Em." Garcia spoke up from the phone, Emily smiled, "Hi Pen." Penelope needed to hear her voice. Pen was the only one to notice how you two disappeared one night during dinner. Bombarding you both with questions the day after. You both maintained that you felt sick and Emily came to help you. "So after fist fighting the United States government I got Y/L/N's record unsealed. We know this case wraps around her. Before she came to the BAU she worked as an undercover OP for the National Counterterrorism Center. Specifically, she led a mission on a domestic terrorism cell that was building up to a big event." Everyone in the room took a deep breath, this was all bringing up old wounds. All eyes turned to Emily and JJ, they knew most about this. JJ spoke up, "Pen send us every single file you have and look for any spottings of the cell she was after." Penelope sighed sadly, "That's the thing. Y/N took all of them out on her own. Her cover was blown in the middle of their hub and she had to fire her way out. The only survivor is paralyzed." Hotch interjected, "Who is it? He's training someone to get his revenge and Y/N is at the top of the list. This cell didn't disband, this person rebuilt it." An officer stepped into the conference room, "We've got 5 more bodies."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you crossed over the bridge into San Fran. You knew he was here, you knew he had men. The sun beaming into your eyes as the sunset. You drove until you found an apartment for rent in the heart of the city, apartments were always checked last by Henry. "1 bedroom, 1 bath, $500 a month" Perfect. You called the number and told him you would pay the first 2 months in cash today. He met you out front in under an hour and gave you the key. You shook his hand and then bang. A shot rang out as the man hit the ground. You immediately took cover behind a car, drawing your gun. Fuck, there goes my apartment. You returned fire in the general direction until the shots stopped. You stayed behind the car until you felt it was clear. Running to your car and speeding off, leaving your $1000 on the sidewalk. You weren't even scared, you just felt rage. These were innocent people he was killing instead of coming for you. Why not come to DC and take you out? Why cause a scene? Then you remembered how the now deceased boss, Mateo had a thing for the dramatics. Your burned phone rang, "Jones." Your voice is stern.

"It's me Y/L/N. I have an update for you." Your handler spoke on the other end of the phone. "What's up?" He sighed, which was never good with him. "Henry's son was the one who called in the bodies, he knew that many would get your team there. Henry wants your team. This is all a trap for you and them." You came to a hard stop, pulling a sharp U-turn booking it to the station. "Heard that." The anger in your voice is apparent. "Y/N, do not do something stupid. You need to get out of there." You scoffed, "And leave my team in this trap alone? This is ending now. He can come for me, but my team is over the line." You hung up, throwing your phone onto the passenger seat. Anger ran hot in your veins. You were going to kill him tonight.

Hotch was standing there with Emily just waiting for something to click. They knew who was in charge, but they had no idea where to even look for him. Emily was growing impatient, "I'm going to get some air." She slammed the file down, storming outside. The night air felt like the first air she'd ever breathed. There was no smell of burnt coffee, cop sweat, and old takeout. She sat on the steps of the station looking at the lights of the city. She knew you spent some time here, but had no idea it was for work. Let alone that you were calling the shots on who died and who didn't. It made her feel so horrible to know you have carried around that guilt for so long, in silence. She understood why you couldn't say anything but it didn't make it hurts any less. Across the street, she saw a food stand called Mateos. She wandered over there to get a snack and clear her head. She couldn't think straight. She was so worried about if you were safe and thoughts of Ian danced through her head. As she stepped up to order she caught a glimpse of someone who looked like you discarding their food and shuffling away silently. "Y/N? Is that you?" You ignored her, quickening your pace. You had to keep your distance or they would take her out. She started running at you, and you could hear her pace pick up so you ran at a fence, scaling it in under 2 seconds and disappearing behind it. Emily came to a stop at the fence, knowing you were long gone. "Y/n please come back. We can help. Please." A tear slipped from her eye. That was probably the last time she would see you and she knew it. As you turned the corner your breath was out of control. That was too close.

Bang.

You and Emily both drew your guns. You ducked behind a dumpster, but the bullets were coming from the other direction, a second shot rang out and hit you in your shoulder. "Fuck!" You screamed out, taking off on foot and down the street. Emily heard you yell and started running around looking for a way to you. She eventually climbed over the fence and found blood splattered on the side of the dumpster. Gun still drawn she called Derek, "Derek I just saw her, she's been shot. She took off again. She was right across the street." Derek called the others and ran out the door and to Emily. The team stood in that alley brainstorming for almost an hour.

Across town, you were stitching yourself up in a Chinese restaurant bathroom. The restaurant was closed, but you've picked many locks in your days. You winced as you wrapped a bandage you stole from CVS around your makeshift stitches. You knew they would probably reject but it wouldn’t be lone before you could get real medical attention. If you took out Henry the whole team would fall apart. After cleaning up after yourself you sat at a table in the dark restaurant using the street lamps outside to look at the files from when you completed the mission. He was somewhere in the city, and most importantly close to the station. You knew that he would want to be close to the team to taunt you. In the station the team had come to the same conclusion, Morgans phone rang. “Tell me something good babygirl.” Garcia piped off, “324 5th Street, there was an alert to a security guards phone about movement in the building. I pulled the footage, it was tampered with but our girl is there and so is Henry.” The team immediately went into gear. Emily streamlining to the cars, she was not going to let what happened to her, happen to you.

#emily prentiss fanfic #criminal minds #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau x reader #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #spencer reid #criminalmindsxreader

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em-prentiss · 2 months

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picture of your face in an invisible locket

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“You’ve got a team of master profilers,” Emily crosses her arms and leans against the counter. She shrugs casually, a smile on her lips, “It should be easy for them to figure it out, don’t you think?”

Aaron laughs. “Deceiving them on your first day?”

“It’s not deception,” she refutes. “I’m just…testing their skills.” She winks at him.

Or, Emily joins the BAU from Interpol. How long will it take for the team to realize she and Aaron are married?

Chapter 2

Word count: 6.2k

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1996

“You’re not supposed to smoke on the premises.”

Emily turns to find a security guard looking disapprovingly at her, his hands stiff at his sides and his brows drawn tight in annoyance.

She blows out her smoke in his face and smiles to herself when he continues glaring at her through it.

“Really?” She drawls as she takes another drag, her eyes sweeping over him. His hair is neatly parted, his dark suit just a little loose at the shoulders. Every button is perfectly done, every inch of fabric meticulously pressed and unwrinkled. It fills her with the urge to mess him up, run her fingers through his lightly gelled hair and see what he’ll do as it flops over his forehead. She feels a familiar tug in her gut when her eyes meet his.

“Who told you that, Agent?” She turns her head to blow out the smoke this time, feeling his gaze burn her skin as she does. She inhales the sticky summer air before she turns back to him lazily, her long hair spilling over one pale shoulder.

“The ambassador made it perfectly clear.” He says tightly. His voice is low and smooth, and for a delirious second Emily wonders how it would sound breathless and panting.

She really needs to get laid.

Emily smiles. “For employees, maybe.”

Aaron’s patience grows thin. He did a last sweep of the grounds out of courtesy before he leaves, but now he’s really fucking regretting it. He can hear his watch tick in the silence, time crawling closer to midnight.

“Can you put it out?” He scowls at the burning cigarette held between her fingers, the glowing tip traveling closer to her knuckles.

Emily idly taps it, sending ash fluttering to the floor. It lands next to his shiny shoes. “The ambassador has better things to worry about than people smoking on the grounds,” she muses as she puts it to her lips again.

Aaron bites back a sigh. By now he can tell she’s Emily, the ambassador’s daughter who wreaks havoc and chases away the security guards. He knows it’s not personal, she’s just rebelling against anything and everything, but he doesn’t want to deal with this right now. Or probably ever.

“I’m just trying to do my job.” He says tiredly.

“Your job doesn’t apply to me,” she says flippantly, waving him away.

It actually largely applies to her, but he’s not going to argue with her. Emily finally stubs the cigarette and tosses it into the grass, breathing out slowly, smoke coming out of her nostrils.

Aaron breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

Her resounding hum tells him she didn’t do it for him, but he doesn’t particularly care. He turns on his heel and promptly heads home, his tired shoulders slumping when he gets into his car.

And that’s how it begins. From that night she’s seemingly everywhere he goes, in the kitchen and the grounds and dangling from balconies, books and more cigarettes balanced between her fingers.

He feels the pull of intrigue one night when she teeters past him on her heels. She stumbles and he quickly grabs her elbow, rightening her before she falls.

Emily blinks at him. “Thanks,” she slurs. She’s steady now but his hand is still on her elbow, large and warm. She looks down at it and he pulls away.

“Sure,” Aaron clears his throat. He returns to his perch against the wall, his brows lifting in surprise when Emily follows him. Her back thuds against the wall as she leans against it.

“What was your name again?” She asks as she digs into her purse. Her dark hair falls in front of her face, obscuring her features from him. Aaron finds he can still imagine them perfectly beneath her hair, and when she finally finds what she’s looking for and tosses her hair back, coffee dark eyes stare into his.

“Aaron. Aaron Hotchner.”

Emily hums slowly. He hears a click and looks down at her hands, sighing in dismay when she starts lighting another cigarette.

“You can’t-”

“What do you know about the stars, Aaron?” She asks as she looks up at the sky.

He can’t speak for a moment, his stomach lurching at the way she said his name. Slow, lazy, like the smoke curling languidly around her fingers. She looks back at him and he shrugs as he clears his throat, fixing his eyes on the sky above them. “They’re balls of gas, I guess,” he says the first thing that comes to mind. “The sun is a star.”

Emily smiles as she looks up. The stars are scarce here, nowhere near as bright as they are in the Alps, but the ambassador’s estate is isolated enough that she sees a little more than she normally would at the heart of DC.

“D’you know any myths?”

Aaron stuffs his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t know where this conversation is going, but he’s nowhere near the end of his shift yet so he indulges her. “I only know one—Orion. The hunter,” he says, and Emily nods.

Her eyes snag on Orion’s Belt as she takes a small drag of the cigarette. “Do you see it right now?” She asks him.

Aaron nods. Emily points to the star directly under the belt. “You see that star in the corner? The one under the belt?”

He squints for a moment before following the direction of her finger, her bitten nail leading him to a bright star. “I see it,” he murmurs.

“That’s Rigel,” she tells him. “Keep lookin’ at it, don’t lose it. If you just look to the right,” she draws a vague shape with her finger, “you’ll find Eridanus.”

Aaron looks to the right. His eyes catch on a strange shape, the stars fainter in this one than in Orion. “I don’t really know what I’m looking at,” he confesses.

“It’s the river,” Emily says. She throws the cigarette on the floor and crushes it beneath her heel, grabbing Aaron’s arm by the sleeve and drawing the shape of the constellation. He’s frozen for a minute, unable to think of anything but the weight of her hand on his arm. Their skin doesn’t even touch, but his throat closes at the casualness of the gesture.

“See,” she murmurs as she moves his arm, absently feeling the strength of it beneath her fingers. The stars shine faintly, her practiced eyes catching the shape easily, but something’s different this time. “Huh,” Emily tilts her head as she looks at it, her hazy mind replacing the usual image of the river with something else.

“It looks like a worm,” she laughs suddenly, the sound gritty as it escapes the back of her throat. She drops Aaron’s hand as she doubles over, her back shaking with breathless giggles.

Aaron looks at her in bewilderment. He turns back to the constellation, vaguely able to see it now, and his lips quirk upward when his eyes trace the shape. It does kind of look like a worm.

Emily is still bent in half, clutching her stomach as her laughs break the silence of the night. She wobbles on her heels as she tries to straighten, wiping the tears from her eyes.

“Okay,” Aaron grabs her elbow again as she lurches forward, unsteady. Her cheeks are flushed pink, her eyes bright from the alcohol. Tiny giggles escape her as she looks up again, making his stomach twist. “Bedtime for you now,” he mutters under his breath.

“I promise you it’s not that funny,” Aaron says as he lightly tugs her inside the house. Emily stumbles forward and he places his other hand on her back, his fingers catching the soft tips of her hair.

“Is too,” she laughs, squinting when they walk into the bright foyer.

“You’ll think otherwise in the morning,” he says as he walks her to the stairs. “Get some sleep.”

“Y’re no fun, Agent,” she sticks her tongue out at him. “Agent Aaron,” she muses as she kicks off her heels, suddenly shrinking down. The top of her head is level with his chin and he looks down slightly, biting back a smile when she raises her head to look up at him.

“No, that’s not how these things work, is it? Agent—what was your last name? Hotchner.” She snaps her fingers in triumph before he can answer, looking awfully pleased with herself.

“Agent Hotchner,” Emily slurs as she points at him, “you’ve got a stick up your ass.”

Aaron snorts. Emily’s eyes light up when his dimples pop out, deep in his cheeks as he chuckles. “You’re not wrong about that, actually,” he murmurs, running a hand through his hair and looking down at his watch, surprised to see his shift ended ten minutes ago.

“Are you fine to go up on your own?” He asks, strangely wanting to prolong their contact.

Emily scowls at him. “Perfectly.” She declares, looking at him over her shoulder as she grips the railing with one hand, the other holding her heels. She’s so focused on him she almost trips again, but she catches herself just before she face plants on the stairs.

Aaron coughs to hide a laugh. “I heard that, Hotchner!” She yells, and he chuckles outright this time. Emily finally reaches the top of the stairs and flips him off before she stalks off to her room.

“Good night, Miss Prentiss,” Aaron calls out, smiling to himself when she doesn’t respond. He hears her bedroom door thud closed and turns to leave, still smiling as he climbs into his car.

It only takes two months before he finds himself pressed against her, his lips firm on hers to taste her laugh on his tongue. He still remembers the way she bit his lip and grabbed him by his tie to keep him close, how he knew in that moment he was so deeply fucked.

****

Emily never imagined getting married young. She barely even entertained the thought of marriage at all, certain she was doomed to eventually marry a politician several years older than her just to ease her mother’s endless prodding.

That’s not quite what happened.

She’d just come home from a shitty day, her shoulders tense as she hung up her coat, not even the comfort of the home she and Aaron had built together enough to make her tight muscles relax.

It was only after she walked into the living room that she noticed the lights were strangely dimmed, the warm scent of food and—roses?—thick in the air.

“Aaron?” She had called out, her lips lifting as she walked into the dining room. “What’s—oh my god.” She gasped.

The sight of him kneeling with a velvet box in his hand, rose petals and candles scattered on the dining table behind him, was enough to make her heart stutter.

Immediately the stress of her horrible day melted off her shoulders, the fact that he could turn her mood around effortlessly making her sob before he could even speak out the words. She had knelt in front of him, grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him firmly, her desperate yes lost between their lips.

2010

Emily runs to the door and opens it a little too forcefully, startling Aaron. Her eyes are rimmed red, the lines of her face tight with tension, and when she sees him propped up on the pillows, thick bandages on his arm and chest, she promptly bursts into tears.

“Hey, hey,” Aaron rasps as she leans over the handles of his bed and carefully takes his face in her hands. A choked sob escapes her as her fingers run over his temple, feeling the broken skin next to his hairline.

“I’m okay, Em.” He soothes. The pain in his whole body says otherwise, but her eyes are wild, frantic, and he finds himself lying without thinking just so she can calm down.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Aaron.” She gasps, desperately pulling his head into her chest and tangling her fingers firmly in his hair. Her head falls on top of his as she holds him, her tears soaking his hair. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers again as she closes her eyes, guilt and revulsion turning her stomach.

She wasn’t there. And this never would’ve happened if she was.

She barges into Clyde’s office the next day and demands she be pulled from undercover ops, ignoring his confused frown and his protests that she was one of their best. All she can think of is Aaron, how he had been all alone in their apartment when a psychopath attacked him. And she was miles away, deep undercover and unreachable. All for a profile.

Clyde sees the determined set to her jaw, knows there’s no arguing with her when she avoids each question he asks. So reassigns her to the local drugs unit where she works a desk job; 9 to 5, stopping shipments and shutting down labs, reports and files continually on her desk. The same cycle, the same profile.

Aaron can see how miserable she is, even though she doesn’t admit it; quite the opposite. She keeps on insisting she’s fine, she likes her job. He doesn’t have to be a profiler to know she’s lying—and badly at that, but each time he tries to talk to her about it she shuts him down. Emily can’t even bear the thought of going away anymore, being unreachable whenever he needs her. The guilt eats at her as he’s dismissed from the hospital, bubbling out of her in the form of smothering, which Aaron takes with no complaint for once.

One day he can’t hold it back anymore when he sees her glum face as she sets down her purse, her lips barely lifting into a smile even for him. He walks over to her and pulls her into a hug, “You know Clyde would still take you back.” He whispers.

Emily immediately shakes her head. “I don’t want to go back,” she refutes.

“But you loved your job,” Aaron protests, his chest aching with more than the pain of the scars. It’s the second time she’s given up something for him. He suddenly finds himself thinking of years back, when they had a huge fight over an undercover operation in Tuscany, the words indefinite amount of time making his stomach roil the moment she spoke them.

He’d held her back even then, despite her insistence that it was her own choice not to go. Aaron feels the familiar guilt climb up his throat, choking him.

“I love you more,” Emily shakes her head as if it’s no big deal, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world to throw away her whole job for him. “You were attacked,” her voice breaks, “in our home and I didn’t know about it until three days later.” She takes a shivering breath as tears spill down her cheeks. “All for what? For a profile? It’s not worth it, Aaron. This wouldn’t have happened if I was with you in the first place-”

“Hey.” He cups her cheek, feels his heart squeeze painfully when she desperately wraps her fingers around his wrist. “Stop it,” he whispers as his thumb slides across the wetness on her cheeks, gathering it on his skin.

“He would’ve attacked me whether you were here or not. And I’m really fucking glad you weren’t,” he breathes, his voice suddenly shaky as his mind entertains the thought. Aaron shakes his head as if to dislodge it from his brain.

“But-”

“You saved me, Emily.” He interrupts.

He always joked about how paranoid she was for stashing a spare gun in their living room, in the drawer where they kept their alcohol, no less. But he found himself reaching for it instinctively when he heard footsteps behind him, his shoulders tensing as he sensed a presence he knew wasn’t Emily’s.

He hadn’t been able to point it before Foyet knocked it from his hand and shoved him on his back, slamming him in the temple with his own gun. Aaron thought it was over as the knife glinted above him, tore through his body with little resistance.

“Where’s the missus, Aaron?” Foyet rasped. Aaron’s body tensed further at the mention of Emily, making him gasp when Foyet drove the knife into him again.

“Think she’ll like these new scars? They’ll be just like mine.” He mused, lifting his shirt to show him the shiny silver scars on his abdomen.

Aaron closed his eyes, trapping his sudden tears beneath his closed lids as panic raced through him. His fingers twitched and he dug them into the carpet to stop them from shaking. He gripped the fibers of the carpet desperately, trying to hold on when he felt the edge of the gun.

Foyet was still talking above him, Emily’s name on his lips as Aaron grappled for her weapon, weakly pawing at it until it slid into his hand. It almost fell from his grip, his hands shaking and his vision blurred from the pain, but he was somehow able to fire off a shot, somewhere in Foyet’s chest, then again in his neck until his body had slumped half on top of Aaron’s. He’d weakly kicked him off, finally blacking out to the sound of the neighbors pounding on his door.

Emily’s shaky breaths pull him out of the memory.

Aaron tries to wipe away her endless tears, his heart hurting at the wetness on both their skin. “I didn’t shoot him with my gun, I’d taken it off already. It was yours. The one in the drawer,” he tells her, his eyes pleading on hers, trying to convince her that she was the reason he was still breathing.

“You saved me, baby.” His voice cracks as he presses his lips to her forehead, his tears falling on her skin. Aaron leans forward so she can fit her face in his neck, the warm space between his shoulder and his jaw where she so often sought comfort. “You saved me,” he whispers, running his hands over her shaking back.

Emily only sniffles in return. She buries her face in his neck and presses her lips to his pulse, wrapping her arms around his waist and holding him as tightly as she dared.

****

She looks up at the sound of papers slapping on the counter. “What’s this?”

“Application form,” Aaron says and she picks it up with a frown. “We’re down an agent in the BAU.”

Emily’s eyes snap to his. The BAU. “I—” She shakes her head as her pulse gallops suddenly. Her soul perks up at the prospect, but she squashes her hope as quickly as it rises. “We’re married,” she crosses her arms. “Surely they won’t allow that.”

“Contrary to popular belief, fraternization isn’t forbidden in the FBI,” Aaron shrugs. “Just highly discouraged. There have been married couples on the same teams before.”

Emily chews on her lip as her eyes skim the form. It’s like a carrot being dangled in front of her and she wants so badly to take it, but something tells her it won’t be that easy. Anxiety churns in her stomach as she thumbs the form, her fingers tracing the words.

“Why are you hesitating?” Aaron asks.

“I don’t know,” she sighs and leans forward on her elbows, her hands reaching for his. He takes them immediately, rubs his thumbs over her soft skin. “I mean, you’d be my boss, for starters. How’s that gonna work? And you hardly have a stable schedule, how are we going to take care of our kids if we’re both gone? And your team, surely-”

“Hey, hey,” Aaron cuts off her rambling. “It’s just a suggestion,” he soothes, squeezing her hands. She looks at him with uncertain eyes as she worries at her lip, and he feels his heart twist.

“You’re miserable at your job, honey. Just think about this,” he says softly, watching as her tense shoulders slump at his words. She doesn’t even try to correct him this time, both of them aware it’s futile by now. “It’s an out if you need it. You obviously don’t need to make any decisions now, just think this over. We can figure out the problems later.”

Emily sighs as she looks down at the form again. “Okay,” she whispers, something in her loosening when Aaron leans across the counter and presses his lips to her forehead.

She quietly opens the door to his office a few days later, smiling at the sight of his overly concentrated face as he works on his laptop. The hinges creak and he looks up, his frown melting off his face when he sees her. “Hey,” he leans back in his chair and beckons her over.

Emily doesn’t hesitate to sit on his lap. She curls into him, her feet going through the handles of the chair and her arm pressing against his chest. Aaron rubs her back as she settles onto him properly. She finally gets comfortable and stops shifting, leaning her head in the space between his neck and his shoulder. She’s quiet for a while, placing a hand on his forearm and idly playing with the soft hair she finds there, stalling as she tries to find the words.

Aaron waits. He settles his other hand on her hip, securing her on him and rubbing warmth into her skin through her pajama pants. Emily takes in a slow breath.

“I don’t like my job.” She says quietly into his neck, her voice small.

He mentally breathes out a sigh of relief. “I know, baby,” Aaron squeezes her waist.

“I thought about the BAU,” she tells him as she draws mindless patterns on his shirt, “but I have some concerns.”

“Tell me,” he says.

And she does. They spend most of the night discussing it, Aaron smoothing over her concerns and patiently answering her questions. He lays out a plan for their future children and she hums slightly, still tentative.

“It’s late, sweetheart,” he says when his thighs have gone numb from the weight of her on top of him. The inky night presses against his office window, the only light in the room coming from the small lamp on his desk, his laptop long since dead. “Let’s sleep on it.”

They sleep on it and talk about it again—and sleep on it and talk about it again—until Emily is confident in her decision, Aaron’s solid reassurance that either one of them could switch to another department calming her down. She hands him the signed papers and he takes them with a kiss to her forehead, trying to press comfort into her skin.

Her CV is impressive, even to Strauss, who raises a manicured brow when Aaron admits she’s his wife. She twists her face in displeasure, well aware of the challenges a married couple could bring into her team. But Emily’s skills call out to her like a siren, and when she sighs heavily as her eyes skip over her files, Aaron suppresses a smile. They’re understaffed, overworked, and all of the previous potential hires were underwhelming, fresh-eyed straight from the academy or barely exceeding the qualifications.

Emily surpassed them easily.

He speaks up when she closes Emily’s file. “You asked me if I knew anyone. She’s the best agent I know.”

Strauss leans back in her chair, her brows arching slightly. “And you’re saying that because she’s your wife?”

Aaron almost laughs. “No. How many agents do you know are fluent in six languages and already have experience working as profilers?” None, he knows, because he’s gone through the candidates with her. He takes her silence as a reason to continue. “She’s intelligent and empathetic, she works well with others. Her skills in the field and in profiling will be a great asset to us.”

Strauss steeples her fingers together. “How do I know this isn’t just a whirl? You were attacked a few months ago-”

Aaron’s jaw tightens. He cuts her off, “This isn’t a whirl, Foyet has nothing to do with this.”

At least not in the way she’s thinking.

He feels defensiveness for Emily rush through him, hot and burning in his gut. The words spill out of his mouth before he can stop himself. “I’m not taking advantage of my position by recommending her to you. Agent Prentiss is a good fit for the team, and she just so happens to be my wife. I don’t think our relationship should be enough reason to dismiss her.” He says, more firmly than he means to.

He hears his watch tick in the silence as Strauss looks at him, her eyes narrowing slightly as she assesses him, the situation. She nods after a beat. “I’ll think it through.”

In her book, that’s a yes.

Relief washes over him like a wave, abruptly distinguishing the burning fire in his veins. Aaron bites the inside of his cheek to hide a smile. “Of course,” he nods and leaves her office.

Five days later, Emily is officially a member of the bureau.

2011

“I still need wedding pics,” Penelope says as she folds her napkin into a crane.

Emily pulls out her phone with a small eye roll; her newest friend is still not entirely convinced of their marriage, despite the matching rings on both their fingers.

“We didn’t really have a wedding,” she says, smiling anyway as she pulls up the pictures of her and Aaron at the courthouse. They were so young, she thinks as she looks at the pictures again, her brows plucked thin and Aaron’s face carefree, his posture relaxed, the responsibilities of Unit Chief not yet on his shoulders.

She turns the phone to her friends and smiles as JJ gushes over her billowing white sundress and Aaron’s messy hair, fluffed up by the wind that day. In her hand is a small bouquet of spring flowers; daffodils and tulips and magnolias, a daisy tucked into her hair and a matching one peeking out of Aaron’s breast pocket. Their hands are firmly around each other’s waists, new rings glinting proudly in the sun.

“You look like spring fairies,” Penelope whispers reverently and touches her fingers to the screen.

Emily laughs loudly, the sound spilling out of her as Aaron’s face twists at being called a spring fairy. He grimaces as Emily squeezes his hand, her eyes bright with humor.

“Not you, sir,” Penelope looks up hurriedly, her horrified eyes meeting Aaron’s. “I meant Emily. She looked like a spring fairy,” she clarifies. Her eyes widen minutely when she hears Dave and Derek snicker. “N-Not that you didn’t look absolutely dashing-”

Penelope cuts off, eyes bugging out of her head, when Aaron starts to laugh. It’s deep and rich, making Emily grin wider as his dimples dig into his cheeks. The table grows silent as they gape at him, Reid’s subtle eyebrow raise and Morgan’s stunned grin a little more discreet than Penelope’s wide open mouth and JJ’s tiny squeak of surprise.

“I appreciate that, Garcia,” he smiles at her warmly, making her briefly freeze in place.

She regains herself after a few moments and beams back at him brightly. “Only ever the truth, sir.”

Emily can tell they’re trying hard not to physically react when Aaron wraps an arm around her shoulders, his fingers playing idly with the ends of her hair as he listens to her talk. By the time they’re halfway through dinner they’ve finished telling their story, and for the most part the attention is off them. Penelope and Morgan take over storytelling, though Aaron couldn’t care less.

His other hand on her thigh is hidden beneath the table, his finger running distractingly over the seam of her jeans. Emily’s body heats at his touch, a flush crawling up her cheeks, and she tunes out Morgan’s voice and turns to him.

“Is it always all or nothing with you?” She whispers to him, slightly exasperated as she links their fingers together, firmly putting a stop to his wandering touches.

Aaron grins at her brightly, not noticing the way JJ swoons at the sight of his dimples. “I see no reason to hold back,” he murmurs, laughing lightly when Emily rolls her eyes. “You’re my wife, my pregnant wife, and they know that now,” he kisses her forehead. “You can’t expect me not to be all over you, you know that, honey.”

Emily melts at his words. She knows this outward affection won’t last long in front of the team, Aaron still drunk on her news and softened by the glass of wine he had with dinner. He grows a little more relaxed as the night goes on and they have dessert, his self control crumbling and his palm occasionally drifting to her stomach beneath the table.

Even without the added proof of the wedding photos Penelope would’ve believed it, the love between them palpable in their soft glances, their comfortable touches. He moves when she does, following her effortlessly and adjusting his arm on the back of her chair when she shifts, rests a knee on his under the table.

Some part of it still feels unreal as he hands her his spoon and shares his portion of dessert with her, meeting her sheepish smile with a soft one of his own and a little nudge of the plate toward her. She turns to Morgan, finding him already smiling at her as he mimes to zip his lips shut. Penelope nods vigorously, not wanting to scare them away with her excitement and let them clam up, aware even with her short time with Emily how private of a person she is.

Aaron mindlessly taps out a pattern on Emily’s thigh, tuning out the conversations around him, just thinking of when he’d go home already and cuddle with his wife like he’d been wanting to do all damn day—or rather, ever since she came into his office.

Emily turns to smile at him, her giddiness overflowing. Her nose nuzzles against his cheek with how close they are, but for once they’re both unconcerned about prying eyes, too wrapped up in their happiness to care. She presses a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Let’s go home, hm?” She murmurs. Aaron nods, feeling his chest grow warm with how well she knows him, “Sure.”

Dave watches through the restaurant window as they walk outside, Aaron’s arm around Emily’s shoulders as they walk, matching each other step for step. There’s an effortlessness to them that comes with years and years of knowing each other, existing around one another and becoming intimately familiar with the way their bodies move, separately and together. Her shoulder knocks into his, his into hers until the separate lines of their bodies blur together and he can’t even tell where Aaron ends and Emily begins.

He smiles as they stop beneath a lamppost, warm golden light shining down on them as they kiss, clearly unaware they’re still in sight. Dave turns his gaze back to the team and knocks his knuckles against the table when he finds them all looking out the window too.

“Okay you nosy people,” he says, willfully ignoring their protests, “let’s leave them alone.”

2012

Aaron walks out of the kitchenette with his coffee mug, his head snapping up when he hears Emily’s voice, the familiar sound of his daughter’s garbling.

He walks over to them on Emily’s old desk, still awaiting her replacement, and bends down to lightly kiss Emily’s forehead. “Hi, honey.”

“Hey,” she smiles up at him as he sits down next to her on the desk and leans over to kiss his baby’s hair.

“What are you doing here?” Aaron asks as Emily takes the coffee mug from his hands, smiling down at Olivia as she flails her fists excitedly at the sight of him.

“Hi princess,” he chuckles and takes a tiny fist in his hand, pressing a kiss to it as his daughter coos at him.

Emily smiles and sets the mug down. “Somebody missed you.” She strokes a gentle thumb over Olivia’s cheek.

“I’m guessing it’s you,” Aaron murmurs.

Emily laughs and shakes her head, “Nope, it’s this little one,” she presses a kiss to Olivia’s forehead. She turns to look at Aaron, her hands secure on her baby’s back as she narrows her eyes at him. “You’re awfully sure of yourself, Mr Hotchner.”

Aaron’s soft chuckle carries across the bullpen. His hand goes to the dip of her waist, his palm warm through her clothes as he squeezes lightly. “Considering we’ve been together over a decade, I think I’d have reason to be, Mrs Hotchner.”

Emily clears her throat and throws her head back haughtily, trying to distract him from the slight heat in her cheeks. “It’s Agent Prentiss to you when we’re on government property,” she arches her brow.

“If this is your way of flirting, I don’t wanna hear it.” Morgan’s voice reaches them, making Emily roll her eyes. He walks over to them and completely ignores Emily, bending down and focusing all his attention on the baby on her chest.

“I don’t know how you deal with it, princess,” he coos to Olivia, lightly pinching her cheeks and grinning when she giggles.

“Your mommy and daddy make me wanna throw up sometimes,” he twists his face dramatically to make Olivia laugh. Her sweet giggles echo through the bullpen, catching JJ’s attention as she walks down from her desk.

Olivia places her tiny palm on Morgan’s cheek, squealing as her hands run over the coarse hair of his goatee. He chuckles as she buries her fingers in it, not sensing the danger until Olivia closes her fist and pulls tightly.

“Mother-”

“Morgan.” Aaron barks.

“-fudger,” he ends lamely, smiling weakly at Olivia with watering eyes.

JJ and Emily burst into laughter as Emily untangles her baby’s fist from Morgan’s goatee. “You show him, baby,” she chuckles as Olivia finally lets go of his face. Her daughter gurgles happily at her as Morgan rubs his chin and straightens, shoving off JJ’s sympathetic palm on his shoulder.

“You’re such a good girl,” Emily coos as she smothers her face in kisses and blows raspberries on her cheeks, her lips turning up into a grin as her daughter squeals. Aaron smiles at the sound too, his dimples popping out.

“Give her to me,” he demands lightly, smiling when Olivia holds out her hands for him as Emily lifts her from the carrier on her chest.

“Hi baby,” he kisses her soft cheek, his heart melting when she cuddles into the space between his neck and shoulder, a spot both she and Emily have developed a liking for. She babbles into his neck, her tiny shoes digging into his ribs, but Aaron doesn’t care.

JJ pulls out a chair and sits down in front of Emily, both of them talking as Morgan goes back to annoy Reid and Aaron cuddles with his little girl, enjoying the brief, rare moment of quiet in the office. His coffee mug lay forgotten as Emily sips from it, halfway into it and in no way eager to give it back, but he doesn’t mind.

Olivia pulls on his tie and he looks down to find it in her mouth, one tiny hand fisted in his jacket and the other feeding more of the fabric into her mouth.

Aaron chuckles as he pulls it from her mouth. “Sweetheart, we talked about this,” he frowns at her playfully and unwraps her fingers from the tie. “I know daddy’s ties are delicious but you can’t keep eating them,” he chides softly as she grabs his finger in her fist. She looks up at him with her deep brown eyes—Emily’s eyes—and babbles something to him, her tone vaguely telling him she’s upset with him.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s mean,” he grins as he brings her hand to his lips, kissing it repeatedly until she giggles.

He hears the click of heels and looks up, abruptly pulled from his own universe with his daughter. Emily grins as she knocks her shoulders with his. “Brace yourself,” she warns him, looking down at Olivia and smiling at her, “you too, sweet girl.”

Penelope walks into the bullpen, heading towards Aaron with her arms outstretched, one goal on her mind. “My senses told me baby Hotchner was here,” she says as she stands in front of him, wiggling her fingers impatiently until Aaron sighs and relinquishes his baby to her.

Emily chuckles as she leans into him, her hand reaching for his. “It’s so hard, isn’t it?” She whispers to him teasingly, her eyes bright with humor at his downturned lips.

“Torture,” he grumbles, linking their fingers together and rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, her closeness somewhat making up for the distance between himself and his baby girl.

“You’ll get her back soon.” Emily soothes.

They both know that’s a lie.

#hotchniss #aaron hotchner #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #emily prentiss #criminal minds #aaron x emily

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meowzilla93 · 4 days

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Happy Birthday to the Silliest of Monochrome Men <3

@minthe-drawings thank you for hosting such a lovely event for him! i cannot wait to see the rest of the months submissions for him, mine included!

August wakes to the late morning sun, pouring through slightly parted curtains, and hitting her in the face. Blinking against the bright rays, she mumbled a curse, before pulling the quilt up close to her face, turning in the bed to look away from the windows. As she moved, a presence around her waist had tightened and she found herself being pulled, being pressed against a warm body.

Hands pressed against a chest, August tilts her head up to see the peaceful, at rest face of the man that holds her heart. The light she cursed out just earlier was now lighting up Baxter’s face, and as always, it took her breath away at how beautiful he was. Even more so when he was at his most relaxed, where his perfected persona wasn’t on show, and he was simply just ‘Baxter’.

He was still asleep, and was just as, if not more averse than August, about waking up in the mornings. They seemed to take turns in waking up to the other still asleep, a pattern she noticed in the few times they have been able to spend the nights together. Living on the other-side of the continent to each other made things hard to be able to see one another regularly, but the moments they managed to steal away for themselves were all the more sweeter for it.

It was August’s turn to visit Baxter, and this time she had managed to secure just over a week with him; Her work did allow August to be able to work remotely if the cards landed right, though this time was no end of trouble to try and organize it. Though, that wasn’t something she was going to tell him.

What made this trip all the more important, was that it would be the first birthday August would spend with Baxter, and she wanted to make sure he got to properly enjoy it. No stress, no work, no expectations. Surrounded by the people he loved, and those who loved him back; His own stitched together family.

As she gazed at her lover, who glowed in the radiance of the sun, she couldn’t help but caress his cheek, the smooth skin warm under her palm. At her gentle ministrations, Baxter started to stir, grip on her tightening as his dark amber eyes slowly blink open. Though this lasted for barely a moment before Baxter tucked his face into the hollow of Augusts neck, hiding from the rays of the sun.

Letting out a small chuckle, August wraps her arms around Baxter, holding him close as he nuzzled into his hiding spot, lips just barely brushing the soft of her exposed skin. After a moment, August felt a rumbling at her shoulder, but couldn’t make out what it was, before realizing that Baxter was talking.

Carding her fingers through his hair, she couldn’t help but be endeared by his hopelessness in the mornings.

“Love, my shoulder doesn’t have any ears.”

There was a momentary pause before she felt his lips kiss her neck, warming her, before pulling back, though still hiding from the sun,

“Hmm, I was asking why you are up so early…”

“You only think its early cause you are still asleep. I have a feeling its past the hours you shun.”

Baxter grumbles at that,

“Feel like I could spend the day here, I’ve been run- “a quick pause as Baxter yawned into his pillow before continuing like nothing happened, “-run ragged at work recently.”

The hand that was previously carding through his hair now slowly massaged the back of Baxter’s neck, eliciting a small moan from him as she found the tense muscles that didn’t release even after a night’s rest.

“Well, it is your birthday after all. I do have a few plans set up, but if you want to spend the whole day in bed, I’ll find a way to make it happen.”

At this, Baxter seemingly was able to finally wake, as he pulls back, though not releasing his hold from August, to be able to look down at her properly. He had a surprised look on his face, like he was questioning what he was hearing,

“My birthday?”

Cocking an eyebrow at him, August tried to figure out the reason for his bewilderment before coming up empty handed.

“Yeah, your birthday. 19th May, yeah? That would be today. The day after the 18th?”

Brows furrowing at her cheekiness, Baxter proposed another question,

“Yes but… I’m sorry. I think I’m questioning why you brought it up.”

“You think?”

August couldn’t help the incredulous look appear on her face as Baxter continued to look at her questioning, though there seemed to be a slight blush appearing on the tips of his ears and cheeks. His mouth opened and closed a few times, unable to find the words he wanted to say. Bopping his nose with a finger, August tries not to laugh at his inability to speak,

"Cat got your tongue? Baxter, its your birthday; The best excuse to celebrate you, and you can't get out if it. I don't make the rules."

Blinking at August, Baxter seemed a lost for words before a gentle smile brightens his face, eyes tender as he takes August in, before that seemed too much. Instead he found himself looking over her shoulder instead, fingers playing with a section of her hair.

“It seems like a fox got my tongue instead. I… did not expect you to remember, as silly as that sounds. I haven’t really celebrated my birthday these past few years and admittedly, it slipped my mind.”

August would be lying if she said she was surprised at that confession. For so long, Baxter hid himself away from everyone, not letting people in that, of course, the one day that should be about celebrating him would come and go without a thought. However, this was not something she would allow to continue, not for as long as she was around.

Leaning in to bop her nose against Baxter’s,

“Guess that won’t be happening anymore, love. All the big celebrations, and small ones. I won’t let them pass you by anymore. Officially starting today.”

Pressing a quick kiss to his lips, August pulls back, only to push Baxter onto his back, and straddle him. Looking down at him, August couldn’t help but be proud of the surprised blush that now covered Baxter’s face. It was always a novelty to put Baxter on the back foot and take control of the dance they step to.

“Baxter, you mean everything to me. That means that everything that allows me to celebrate you, or with you, become key dates in our lives to spend together; Being happy, content, and hopeful for a bright future that we are always making our way to. Hand in hand.”

She leans down closer to him, hand cupping his cheek again, giving him her most winning and mischievous smile. One she knows he adores,

“And if that means I get to spoil you every so often like today, you best believe I’m going to take advantage of that.”

Dark amber eyes search her mismatch green gold ones, the look of slight embarrassment of his earlier confession making way to hope and love. Hands that had settled on her thighs make their way to her waist, and slowly up August’s back, causing her to lean in further, being almost nose to nose with her sweet lover once again.

“What did I ever do to deserve you darling?”

Pressing a kiss to his nose August sweetly replies,

“You were yourself. My sweet, darling, monochrome man. You were simply, yourself.”

Wrapping his arms around her back, Baxter finally pulled August flush to him, relishing in the weight of her body pressed against his, and the warmth of her love flowing through him. Chuckling lightly, August adjusts herself to lie more comfortably on him, leaving little kisses on his jaw and cheeks, wherever she could reach at the time. Baxter simply hummed at her tenderness and enjoyed the spoilt treatment he was receiving before he spoke up again,

“Well then darling. I think I might just find a few ways I want to spend my birthday with you.”

“Oh, is that right? Do any of them involve this bed?”

Unable to suppress a snort at that comment, Baxter instead cleared his throat as it escaped him,

“Perhaps a few. Though I think first, I would very much like to start it by staying just like this for a few moments longer.”

“Whatever you want Baxter. This day is yours. All you have to do is let me spoil you. I do have a few plans, but you say the word and I'll cancel them all. I have a whole week to spoil you, those plans can happen later.”

Nuzzling into August’s shoulder, he softly replied,

“As long as I am with you darling. That’s all I truly ask of this day.”

“I am yours Baxter. Always, and forever. Happy Birthday”

#happy birthday baxter #the silliest of monochrome men #get loved on idiot #foxster #august black #baxter ward #olba #our life beginnings and always #our life #olba baxter #olba mc #our life baxter #baxter x mc #our life: beginnings & always #our life beginnings & always #baxtermcweek #mintheart #meow fic!

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hlizr50 · 1 year

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Better five days late than never, right?

First of all, sincerest apologies to @vulpes-fennec and @azrielshadowssing for being so late posting my part 3 for the ACOTAR Writing Circle. You can see all the fics and authors on the master list here! Thank you, @azrielshadowssing for organizing this, yet again!

Apologies, as well, to all the readers who have been waiting for the conclusion to Why Did It Have To Be Me!

Read the whole fic on AO3 here!

Read Part 3 here!

Or just continue below!

CW: This chapter is NSFW

TW: This chapter contains mild depictions of SA and attempted SA

“Cassian.”

It wasn’t a surprised squeak, though she had very much not expected to find the hulking, gorgeous man at her door. No, it was more of a… statement. An observation.

Cassian. He was there. In her doorway.

Nesta couldn’t allow herself to sound happy about it, not when she knew how easy it would be for her to fall for him. Not when she knew who she was. What she was. There was no way that she would be able to do anything more than break his gentle, loving heart. And, even though she was selfish and heartless, she wouldn’t do that. Not to him.

“Nesta.” His face was wholly serious, one eyebrow cocked in that arrogant, expectant way that was so sexy it infuriated her. When she didn’t respond he strode through the door – the door she hadn’t slammed in his face for some reason. And now he was staring down at her with those intense amber eyes.

“Close the door, Nes,” he whispered. And, goddamn it, she did, her body moving of its own accord. After the door snicked shut, a large, warm hand covered hers and pulled it away from the knob. The touch was like lightning, jolting her back into her own body. She blinked up at Cassian with a scowl.

“What do you want?” Nesta hissed. In a move that was far too smooth for such a behemoth of a man, he turned them and pressed her against the door, one hand cradling her nape as the other held her wrists above her. She could smell the shampoo from the soft strands of his loose ebony hair as he leaned in close enough for her to taste the spearmint on his breath.

“I told you, sweetheart,” he murmured, running the tip of his nose over her cheek until his mouth branded her ear with his searing declaration. “I owe you something.”

She didn’t fight back when his lips captured hers and his tongue speared into her mouth. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She didn’t stop the kiss, but the battle for dominance was obvious. Of course, Cassian won. His kisses made her drunk, made her brain fuzzy. And still his breathy words clattered around in her brain with startling clarity.

“Can I touch you, Nes?” Fuck, she could feel the rumble of his gruff, gravelly voice in her very marrow. And her mouth, that cursed thing, responded automatically between his kisses.

“Please.”

Nesta hated the desperation in that plea; loathed the way her lips betrayed her typically iron will and the way her body yearned for him. When his calloused fingertips scratched deliciously against her skin as they slid under her shirt, she tilted her head back on a gasp. Cassian’s mouth just slid down to her chin and continued licking and kissing down the line of her jaw.

And then his hand moved in the opposite direction, his palm sliding beneath the waistband of her sleep shorts, and Nesta burst into flames.

“No panties, sweetheart?” The behemoth of a man chuckled darkly against her throat, and she both loved and despised the way it made her stomach twist in anticipation. “Naughty girl.”

“Are you going to keep talking or are you actually going to do something?” she hissed as she flexed her hands in his grip. With a growl he released her and hiked her knee up with his free hand. Delving further, his touch found where she needed him, though she would never admit it.

He ran a finger up her center, sending tremors through her muscles. With a nip to her neck – and a startled yelp from her panting mouth – Cassian plunged a finger deep inside her.

“I like to take my time, Nes.”

Fuck, this man.

Fuck this man.

With his perfect hair and powerful body and goddamn magic fingers.

Nesta cursed herself as her body quaked at his expert touch. Of course, she'd planned on letting Cassian get her off, but she'd planned on making sure he had to work for it. At this rate, she'd be a quivering puddle at his feet in a matter of moments.

Her will was broken when he lifted his head and once again claimed her mouth with his lips and tongue, his finger thrusting in and out as his thumb circled her clit. As he coaxed her closer and closer to the edge, her hands – which had fallen to his chest – skated over the soft fabric of his tee and buried themselves in his luxurious ebony locks.

With a sigh against her lips, Cassian slipped a second thick finger into her molten core. She barked a curse, clutching him tighter against her and earning a smug hum as his lips found her jaw again.

Fuck, she was close.

"That's it, sweetheart," he urged as he pistoned his fingers. "I can feel you clenching. You gonna come on my fingers, Nes?"

Stubbornness kept her from giving an answer. But it didn't matter when, only a moment later, his fingers curled against that most sensitive spot and she was sent into her climax on a guttural moan. Nesta clung to him, fingernails scratching over his shoulders and back, as she rode out her orgasm. It was so good – so staggeringly, infuriatingly good.

Her mind-numbing bliss shattered into a million pieces against a cold stone wall.

This was a mistake.

Nesta unhooked her leg from Cassian’s hip and supported herself on wobbly legs, her hands falling away from those massive shoulders. Her gaze hooked on a snag in her living room carpet, unable to meet his eyes as she straightened her shirt and shorts after he pulled away from her.

“Nesta–”

The honey-haired woman felt the cold wash over her, let the mask fall back into place. Indifference. Haughtiness. Ire. Everything that she was, and everything that would ruin him if he got too close.

The kissing and the touching and the orgasms had been a mistake. But this… what she was about to do, this was the right thing.

Lifting her chin she looked Cassian dead in the eye and said, “Now we’re even. Is that all?”

God, she hated the way his expression fell from that smug confidence to disbelief and hurt, and then twisted into frustration. But she could work with that.

“As a matter of fact, it’s–”

“I’m sorry, I should have been more clear,” Nesta interrupted. “That is all. You can leave now.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Amber eyes flashed as the hulking man’s anger rose. “It’s obvious that I want you. And it’s pretty fucking obvious that you want me, too. So what the fuck are we doing here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she hissed, narrowing her eyes. “As for what we’re doing here, I’d say we’ve finally completed our little exchange and now the two of us can go on with our lives, moderately satisfied.”

Her thinly veiled insult seemed to miss its mark as Cassian stepped into her space again, forcing her back against the door.

“Look into my eyes, Nesta, and tell me that you don’t want me.”

Nesta stared back at him. His eyes were so beautiful and warm and swirling with such fire. And she felt her own light extinguish as she did exactly as he’d instructed.

“I don’t want you, Cassian. I never wanted you.” She could barely breathe as his eyes grew dark, but they didn’t cool into something dull and lifeless like hers would. No, there was something simmering there. Disdain? Disbelief?

Pity.

And, God, if that shadowed glare didn’t cut right through her.

“I know you think you have this frigid bitch thing down,” Cassian practically growled at her, and it grated against her very soul. “But it’s obvious you’re dealing with some shit. You can put on a show of telling me and whoever else that you want nothing to do with me. I might be some gym bro, but I’m not fucking stupid. I see it when I look at you and I feel it when we’re together.”

He stepped back, but Nesta still didn’t feel like she had enough room to breathe.

“But I’m not going to stand here and deal with your whole hot and cold routine if you’re going to continue to lie to yourself. If you’re going to continue using your words as weapons meant to wound.” Cassian’s voice grew quiet, and instead of curling in on herself, Nesta forced a scowl.

Because this was best. For both of them.

“I care about you, Nes. I really do. But I can’t prove that if you never allow me close enough to try.” And with that, he reached for the doorknob. Nesta stumbled out of the way to let him out. Then, without even looking at him again, she shut the door behind him. Pressing her ear against the wood, she listened to the heavy footsteps traveling further and further away. Until there was nothing more than suffocating silence.

It was only then that she allowed herself to slide down the door until she was a crumpled heap on the floor, bury her face in her hands, and allow all of her shame and self-loathing to consume her.

~~~

The spiral that followed was something intervention-worthy.

The look in Cassian’s typically smiling eyes, the exhaustion in his voice, the way his shoulders slumped – she saw all of it on a constant loop in her dreams, and woke up almost every morning with that shame souring her gut. She’d hurt him, had pushed him far enough that she was no longer worth fighting herself for.

But that had been the point, hadn’t it?

And so she soldiered on, thanks to the miracles of coffee and concealer for the daytime and the alcohol that sent her toppling into her bed at night. She’d started attending as many parties as she could find, desperate to escape the echoes of her mistakes in her mind and the yawning chasm of her soul. Nesta had made quite a name for herself on fraternity row, and between Elain’s and Emerie’s connections within the Greek community, it was a small wonder she hadn’t been on the receiving end of more than the one conversation with her friend.

“I’m not judging you. I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

What Emerie didn’t know was that safe was when her brain was too addled with booze to even remember that Cassian existed. When she was drunk she could be whatever she wanted; a bitch, a tease, a fucking queen if she saw fit.

She’d slept around more in the first few weeks, but nobody could even measure up to Cassian’s fucking hand. So she’d given up on trying to assuage her sexual frustration and had jumped straight to drinking enough to go blissfully blank.

Which was exactly what she was doing at Sig Eps on a Friday night, hand curled around a red plastic cup full of a punch that burned deliciously all the way down. That meant the night would probably end quickly, and that was good for two reasons:

Tomas Mandray seemed hellbent on getting into her pants

Cassian was there

Nesta sure hadn’t been nursing her drink long enough to deal with his presence, which was somehow even bigger and more overwhelming than his physical form. It was as if she could feel his stare on her skin like a caress, and no matter where she was in the house her gaze always seemed to snag on his intense amber eyes, that little half-up man-bun that shouldn’t be as devastatingly sexy as it was, and the way his long-sleeved tee stretched over his broad shoulders and chest, his huge biceps highlighted by the fact that he had his arms crossed like a disappointed parent.

She needed to get out of that house.

Cassian’s expression twisted into a scowl, and she nearly toppled back before a heavy arm landed across her shoulders.

“Not drinking tonight?” She didn’t need to look up to know it was Tomas. There was something about his voice that screamed rich and pretentious, with a unique, slightly-nasal quality that made him all-too-easy to identify. Nesta lifted her cup, along with her eyebrows, to show the idiot that she did, in fact, have a nearly-full beverage in her hand. To prove the point further, she downed a large gulp and savored the scorch of the alcohol. “That’s my girl.” He squeezed her into his side.

“I’m not your girl.” Nesta’s correction seemed to fall on deaf ears as the Sig Eps VP grinned like a moron. With a dramatic roll of her eyes she took another large sip, more ready than ever for the warmth of drink to take over.

But something was different. Her stomach roiled and her head suddenly felt too heavy, and she thought she might be sick. For a split second, she wanted to lift her head to find the man whose attention had followed her every minute she’d been in this house. She’d much rather Cassian comfort her while she vomited than Tomas. But she didn’t even have the strength to look.

“You okay, baby?” Tomas’s voice seemed far away… muffled. Blinking her eyes, her vision came into focus for a moment, finding his brown eyes focused on her face. Nesta couldn’t identify what she saw there, but also she was drunk and apparently getting sick.

“I think I’m just tired. But I also feel like I might get sick.” She felt the arm around her shoulders pull her closer, and her balance and vision were so off that she nearly fell into him. She’d never felt like this before, and something deep in the back of her mind screamed that it wasn’t right.

But Tomas just ran his palm up and down her bare arm and led her toward the stairs. “I’ll take you to the bathroom and then you can nap in my room.”

And, though Nesta wanted to protest, her tongue was thick and useless in her mouth. The frat boy practically dragged her up to the second floor, and it was only marginally better once they reached flat ground again. Her legs could barely hold her weight and she couldn’t seem to figure out how to place one foot in front of the other.

When she was pulled through an open door that was quickly shut behind her, all of her senses went on alert.

This wasn’t the bathroom.

“Wh-what?” her voice slurred, though she could barely hear it over the heartbeat pounding in her ears.

“Shhh just relax, baby.”

And then she was horizontal, splayed across something soft that had to be the twin bed with Tomas hoving above her, eyes hungry. When he reached for the hem of her shirt she made to smack his hand away.

But her arm felt like it weighed 100 pounds. It was sluggish and weak and did nothing as Tomas pushed it away.

With a furrowed brow she tried again, tried to get any limb to obey as grubby little hands crawled under her blouse and squeezed at her.

Dear God, this couldn’t be happening.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she somehow managed to push the word “no” past her lips. Over and over in a continuous, slurred string. But Tomas wasn’t listening, his gaze intent on his prize. His touch was violating and rough as he pinched and kneaded.

“God, I’ve been waiting so long to spend some time with these.”

Nesta could feel the burning twin trails of angry, helpless tears on either side of her face. “No. No no no.” Her shirt was pushed up over her chest to give him a better view, and she couldn’t see much because of it. But when she felt his hands fiddling with the button on her jeans, she used every last ounce of will and strength and bodily control to release what could only be described as something between a moan and a scream. And as her body shook, she resigned herself to the fact that nobody was coming to save her.

~~~

Cassian couldn’t have taken his eyes off her for more than a handful of seconds. Hell, he knew it because he hadn’t been able to look away all damn night. But, somehow, she had disappeared.

And maybe that was fine. If she wanted to avoid him so badly that she’d decide to hook up with Tomas fucking Mandray, then that was none of his business. But something didn’t feel right. Nesta hadn’t looked uncomfortable when Tomas had slung his arm across her shoulders, but she sure hadn’t looked thrilled, either.

And now they both were gone, and that knowledge settled like a dead weight in his gut. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, and Cassian was never one to ignore his instincts. That’s what had prompted him to try to get close with Nesta – he felt something when he was with her, deep in his soul. Something he wasn’t willing to ignore.

Something she was.

The towering man made a lap around the main floor of the house, finding no sign of the beautiful, icy-eyed woman who had tried to break his heart.

And so he headed up the stairs into the residential part of the fraternity, more quickly than was probably warranted. If Nesta wanted to sleep with other guys then that was her right and her prerogative. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that her disappearance wasn’t quite as straightforward.

And then he heard it: a cry that was so soft for all the devastation it carried.

Cassian knew it was her. He just knew.

In seconds he’d burst through a door with a snarl, finding Mandray straddling long, denim-clad legs. His fingers were still on the waistband of those perfect jeans. Time was frozen in that moment as Cassian took in the scene, horrified. Nesta’s beautiful eyes overflowing with tears, her top pulled up to reveal her chest. Her bra was still on, but Tomas had clearly been doing something. And then there he was, a dumb, piece of shit guy with a dumb, piece of shit look on his face.

“Take your hands off her.”

Tomas lifted his hands as if he’d just had a gun pointed at him. Hell, if Cassian only had one. “Hey, man. She said she felt sick. I was just helping her out. She’s the one that wanted to come to my room.” Cassian’s gaze flicked to Nesta’s tear-stained face and then back to Tomas.

“If you don’t get away from her right fucking now, I’ll fucking kill you.” He had half a mind to do it anyway, but his first and only priority was getting Nesta out of this situation. Tomas slowly moved to the edge of the mattress and set his feet on the floor, backing away with his hands still up.

Before Mandray could react, Cassian clocked him across the left side of his face, sending the trash human sprawling. He glowered down at the small man for a moment, then made his way back to the bed. With gentle hands he pulled her blouse back down, covering Nesta’s chest and stomach. Then he cupped her cheeks, wiping away the dampness with his thumbs.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Everything’s gonna be okay. I’m going to take you home, alright?” Nesta’s answer was less a nod and more just her chin falling forward.

“Itsssshard… to… move,” she whispered, and Cassian’s vision swam in shades of red. The fucking bastard had clearly slipped something in her drink, and the urge to kill Mandray returned with a vengeance. He gathered Nesta against his chest, helping her wind her arms around his neck, and started toward the door.

“If you even think about trying to come after me for punching you, I will destroy you,” Cassian seethed. Then he stalked forward with lethal purpose, his vision tunneled toward one singular goal: getting Nesta out. And he didn’t stop until he reached his Jeep and buckled her into the passenger’s seat.

In the oppressive quiet of his truck, Cassian was caught between cursing himself for living so far off campus and thanking the stars above that he had half an hour to rein himself in and deal with the furious storm of thoughts and emotions screaming through his head.

Thank God I made it in time.

Should I have killed the bastard?

What if I hadn’t been there?

I almost didn’t go after her…

Guilt washed over him in a cold wave. He’d known that she was struggling. All those weeks ago, when he’d left her dorm room he’d thought it was for the best. Cassian fancied himself good with people, good at pushing others to be better and great at making them smile. But it didn’t matter how much he cared for a person or believed in a person; he couldn’t make them believe in themselves.

Perhaps he’d been too arrogant, presuming he was enough of a catch for Nesta to want him enough to want to figure things out. But it had, apparently, backfired spectacularly. Instead of blooming, she’d spiraled. Cassian had watched, just out of sight and heart cracking, as she drowned her sorrows and self-loathing in cheap beer and jungle juice.

What Cassian hadn’t done was step in. The lovely ice queen had drawn a very clear line in the sand, and he’d done everything in his power to respect it. It had been pure coincidence that he’d ended up at the party that night. He’d begrudgingly accepted an invite from one of the counselors at camp, since he’d promised the guy over the summer to come hang with him and his brothers.

And thank fuck he’d said yes. If he hadn’t, Nesta would still be in that bed, trying to fight off that piece of shit Mandray and–

“I lied.”

Cassian nearly jumped out of his skin, even though Nesta had barely whispered the words. When he glanced over at her, she was hunched over and leaning her head against the window.

“What?”

“I lied. When I said I didn’t want you,” she mumbled, and the hulking student couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Oh, I know that, sweetheart.” The snort he received in response brought a small grin to his face.

“You’re such a pain in the ass.” Cassian waited for her to say more, but only silence followed.

For another minute or so.

“You’re too fucking perfect.”

Well that sent his brows straight into his hairline.

“Um… Thank you?” He dared another glance her way to try to get a read on exactly where the hell this was going, but she still faced the window, seemingly fascinated by the trees whizzing by. But she groaned.

“You don’t get it. That’s why I said I didn’t want you. You’re perfect and I’m… God, whatever the fuck this is. I had to scare you away so I wouldn’t crush your sweet, beautiful soul.” Nesta’s voice sounded so tired and sad. Didn’t she realize that it was that forlorn tone that crushed him? And not whatever she thought she would do to him?

“I dunno, Nes. I’ve always thought you were pretty damned great,” he started, but she wouldn’t let him finish.

“Oh, please. I don’t deserve you,” she slurred, a reminder that she was still under the influence of alcohol and whatever drug Tomas had fed her. “You said it, yourself. I’m a frigid bitch.”

Cassian winced.

“Don’t worry, you’re not the first to say that. I’m sure you won’t be the last. Just ask my sisters. Just ask… anyone. I don’t give a fuck about anyone except for myself,” she spat bitterly, and he knew he had to choose his words carefully.

“So… you told me you didn’t want me because you’re selfish and frigid and didn’t want to hurt me?”

“Clearly.”

“But,” Cassian answered, “wouldn’t you not wanting to hurt me imply that you maybe aren’t that selfish?”

Nesta groaned again, the eye-roll apparent. “Stop making sense. I’m too drunk for that.” That simple statement brought him back into reality real fucking quick, and the warmth that had been spreading through him dissipated.

“Yeah. You probably won’t remember any of this in the morning.” Cassian didn’t want to go back to that distance and loneliness and watching this beautiful, intelligent, incredible woman destroy herself.

“Maybe that’s for the best, considering…” Her voice trailed off, quiet and small as she undoubtedly fell into reminiscing about the events of the evening. “I’m glad you were there, Cass. I… you had no reason to come looking for me, but you did it anyway. And I–”

“Hey,” he interrupted, not wanting her to keep thinking about how close she was to things being drastically different. “I’ll always be close, reaching for you. My hand will be there when you need it. You just have to take it.”

When she didn’t answer, Cassian heaved a sigh and leaned further back into his seat. They were only a couple minutes away from the house, and he was relieved that he would be able to get Nesta into bed so she could rest. But then he felt cool fingers sliding into his palm, and when his gaze flicked over to the seat next to him he found her curling her arms around his much larger one, her cheek falling against his bicep. When her fingers wove between his, something sparked and flickered in his chest. Cassian gave her hand a gentle squeeze and set his sights down the road ahead.

~~~

Nesta’s head was pounding and her mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton balls. And the morning sun needed the calm the fuck down. With a groan she rolled over, pulling the comforter over her eyes and sucking in a deep, satisfied breath in the sweet, comfortable darkness. The scent that she pulled in was distinctly male, studded with amber and cedar and spice, and Nesta wanted to burrow into that warmth. But then her eyes flew open as the realization struck her.

She was not in her own bed.

In an instant she threw off the covers and sat up, back rigid and tense as her frantic gaze searched the room. Fuzzy glimpses of the night before returning to her mind in blurry snapshots.

"Hey, hey, hey, you're okay." The soft rumble of a deep, comforting voice instantly put her at ease. And the smell of the blankets suddenly made sense. Her vision focused on a hulking form that settled next to the bed, amber eyes shining with concern.

"Cassian?"

"How are you feeling?" Nesta's eyes wandered over his hoodie and sweats as he reached toward the nightstand. When his hand returned it held a water bottle toward her. She took it, and then he reached over again to grab a couple little pills. “Do you have a headache? You can take these, but either way you’ll want to drink the whole bottle.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded, as she took the medicine from him. Tossing them in her mouth, she started chugging on the water, realizing again how parched she really was. Finishing off the bottle was an easy feat, and Cassian smirked.

“I’ll go get you another one.”

When he returned he was holding another bottle of water out in front of him, and he placed yet another on the nightstand when he sat down beside the bed. Nesta downed about half of her new water before setting the bottle next to its full companion. Then she rubbed at her eyes, trying to soothe the throbbing in her head. The pain was twofold - the obvious hangover from the alcohol and whatever she’d been dosed with, and the frantic collision of thoughts and questions banging around in her brain.

“You brought me to your place?” Inwardly, she rolled her eyes at herself. Probably wasn’t the best lead-off question, and definitely not the most important part of the previous evening. But she didn’t really want to dwell on Tomas’s assault, and on what almost happened.

“You fell asleep in the car before we got here. And I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to get into the dorm if I took you back there,” he explained, running a hand through his shoulder-length hair. His expression grew sheepish. “I’m sorry if my bringing you here makes you uncomfortable. I.. wasn’t really thinking straight.”

Nesta couldn’t stifle her huff. “Yeah, you and me both.”

And then it was quiet. It wasn’t pleasant, or comfortable. It felt heavy and full of dread. Grim anticipation. And Nesta was afraid, as the seconds ticked by, that she would explode. And she wasn’t sure if it would come out as anger or terror or devastation.

But Cassian spared them both, at least for the moment.

“You.. uh… you said some interesting things on the ride back.”

Oh, fuck me.

“What did I say?” Regardless of whether or not she wanted to know – she hadn’t decided if she did – she needed to know what she’d said to him. And the snapshots that had invaded her mind were all of Tomas’s wandering hands and Cassian bursting in, face twisted with ire, an avenging angel. But even as she wondered, her drunken and drugged ramblings began coming back to her.

“You said you lied when you said you didn’t want me, and that you only said that because I was too perfect and you didn’t want to crush my sweet, beautiful soul,” he answered, the corner of his lips tilting up. “Those were your exact words, too: my sweet, beautiful soul.” With a groan Nesta buried her face in her hands, but a strong, warm grip circled her wrists and pulled her palms away from her face. Cassian was leaning in, his eyes serious even as that little smirk remained. “It was the most genuine conversation I’ve had with you.”

Immediately on the defensive, Nesta sputtered, “Well, I didn’t have a filter. You know what they say; drunk words and all that.” She pulled her wrists away, but Cassian’s broad hands found another home as they cupped her face. His eyes were blazing with passion and hope, and she couldn’t look away.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want me, Nes,” he breathed. His minty breath scorched her lips, just inches away from kissing him. And, God, she wanted to. She wanted to be done with the games and the ice and the cruelty, even though she didn’t know how.

“I can’t,” she whispered in return.

His mouth was ecstasy as it claimed her, somehow both rough and tender. The kiss was a brand upon her very soul. This was a line crossed, an admission given. Nesta had trusted him with her vulnerable truth, and he responded with acceptance and patience and need. She could feel him sigh against her lips as the kiss calmed and cooled, and then he pulled back, stroking his thumbs across her cheeks.

“You should rest some more, sweetheart.” As if on cue, the pounding in her head became almost dizzying, and she gave a reluctant nod. But she dared one more vulnerability, before she lost her nerve.

“Stay with me?”

Though Cassian didn’t give a verbal answer, his face beamed. He practically leapt into the bed, burrowed beneath the covers, and pulled her back into his chest. She even let out a little giggle, which only made him squeeze her tighter. And then she drifted away, warm and safe.

When Nesta’s eyes fluttered open again, they were met with soft amber, all the while gentle fingers stroked through her hair. She was struck, then, by how handsome he was. Rugged and purely male, but with a tenderness that made him so much more than just sex appeal and muscles. Not that he didn’t have those things in spades.

“What are you doing?” she mumbled. Cassian’s answering grin was mischievous as his caresses moved from her hair to her cheek.

“Ogling you.”

Nesta scowled playfully. “While I was sleeping?”

“Well,” he looked thoughtful for a moment, “now I’m ogling you while you’re awake.” Cassian dipped down and placed a chaste kiss to her lips. “I can’t help myself.” Before he could pull too far away, Nesta hooked her hand around his neck and brought him back down to her. This time it was she who claimed him. Another line crossed, the pursuit of freedom from all she believed she was and into what she could be.

“Nes–”

“I don’t know how to do this, Cass,” she admitted quietly. It took every ounce of strength she had to hold his stare. “I don’t know how to be good. I don’t know how to be loving and warm. I don’t know if I can become the woman you want.”

“You’re already the woman I want, Nesta. And you’re already good. There’s nothing not good about you,” he answered. And, God, the sincerity in his gaze threatened to leave her in tears. “Give me your ice and your fire. Spar with me with your sharp wit and sharper words. But don’t hide your smiles or your laughter or your tears. I want all of you: your good, your bad, your ugly. Your honesty and vulnerability and trust. You don’t need to worry about my sweet, beautiful soul, Nes, so long as you’re next to me at the end of the day.”

Nesta pulled him down again, and she was awash in flames. Every part of her craved him: her body, her mind, her heart, her soul. Cassian’s mammoth form was a welcome weight above her, a shield from the rest of the world, and she wanted nothing more to be joined with him until they were so tangled that there was no telling where one ended and the other began.

As their mouths battled and tongues warred, Nesta tugged up on his sweatshirt. He was quick on the uptake, lifting himself up to pull it over his head in one fluid motion. Fuck, he was built, with well defined shoulders, pecs, and abs. Everything about him was massive and masculine and sexy as hell. As much as she wanted to continue her… appreciation… for his form, Nesta took the opportunity to pull her own blouse over her head and unclasp her bra. After Tomas, she felt more in control if she did the removing, and she knew that Cass wouldn’t want to push or make her uncomfortable.

If baring her chest to him by her own free will wasn’t enough of a sign that she was in this, then she wasn’t sure what else she’d be able to do.

A bright, flashing neon sign.

“Fuck, Nes,” he groaned, coming back down on top of her. She could feel his hardness against her thigh as he kissed her again, and her stomach twisted with delight.

Message clearly received.

He breathed in her gasps as one of his enormous hands palmed her breast, kneading and squeezing. Another experience with those hands came to mind, when he’d used his fingers on her until she’d nearly drowned in pleasure. Those hands were rough, and yet somehow he knew just how to use them to wring every drop of ecstasy out of her.

Cassian teased and tweaked her nipples, pulling little moans and grunts from her throat as he played her body like a fucking violin. Nesta’s hands moved from where she’d buried them in his luscious mane to her pants, unbuttoning her jeans and pushing them down as far as she could. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

“More,” she breathed, gripping his wrist and guiding his touch down and down and down. “I need… more.”

Boy, was he intent on delivering.

His fingers drifted into her heat, lightly caressing her clit before he buried two inside her at the same time he sucked a nipple between his teeth. Nesta’s fingers found his hair, again, digging in as if she were holding on for dear life. She cried out in a hoarse voice as her blood sang, those magic fingers doing their blessed work, just like she remembered.

“You’re so wet for me, Nes,” Cassian rasped against her flesh. “God, so wet and hot and ready.” His words were like sin, sinking into her pores and anchoring deep in her belly. There was hardly a thing he could say that would turn her off, though, if she were being completely honest. He was breaking down her walls, word by word and stroke by stroke, and she wanted to be completely bare to him, even if that thought scared the shit out of her.

It only took a few more extra pumps and curls of his fingers for her to come undone, his name on her lips like a prayer. And then they were helping each other rid themselves of the remainder of their clothing.

Cassian’s cock was proportionate to the rest of him: huge. And she wanted to feel it inside of her, stretching her in all the best ways.

Nesta gave him one languid stroke, from base to tip. Then she hooked her arm around his neck and pulled him back down onto the bed.

“I want you, Cassian,” she whispered.

That was all he needed to hear.

When Cassian thrust into her, it was like nothing she’d ever felt. It was delicious and despicable and took her breath away.

“Oh, fuck.” Her head fell back as she gripped the bedsheets. This man filled her in ways that weren’t just physical, but good fucking God was the physical fullness a fucking revelation. He pulled out, until just the head remained inside, and then he thrust in again, forcing a groan from her lips.

“You feel so fucking perfect,” he hissed, leaning in to plunge his tongue between her teeth. Cassian consumed her, and she could only hold on as his tempo increased and his mouth became more demanding and filthy. He nibbled and licked up her jaw and suckled on that sensitive place right below her ear. “You take my cock so beautifully, Nesta. I can feel you squeezing me as I fuck you and its the sexiest thing I’ve ever fucking experienced.”

“Fuck, Cass!” was all she could manage to say. Her breath came out in stutters and gasps as he buried himself so deep inside her she thought she might split in two. And, still, she needed more. She needed everything, and so she locked her legs around his pistoning hips and dug her fingernails into the firm muscles of his back. “Please.”

Cassian snarled as his hips bucked, hammering into her harder and deeper, until she could no longer contain the cries of pleasure that he inspired. This was feral and raw and soul-deep, and that understanding sent her straight to the edge.

“Are you gonna come for me, sweetheart?” he crooned between panting breaths as sweat dotted his brow in little drops of glitter. Nesta squealed in answer, ratcheting higher and higher.

And somehow this towering man had snuck his hand between them, just to press his thumb against the swollen and needy bud at her apex. She shattered on a scream of overwhelming pleasure, her thighs trembling and she fought to regain her vision beyond the stars that had invaded. Keeping his thumb on her clit, pushing her orgasm to a height she never realized was possible, Cassian came with a roar. Then he fell, half on top of her, his broad shoulders heaving.

For a few moments the only things in the world were Nesta and Cassian, the sounds of their breathing, and the pounding of their hearts. Nesta carded her fingers lazily through his ebony waves, while his hand idly stroked up and down the outside of her thigh.

“How are you feeling?” Cassian’s deep voice was like a purr, vibrating through her entire being. She knew he was probably asking about how she felt after last night and this morning; if her headache was gone and if she was well-rested. Or maybe he was asking if the sex had been too much. On the contrary, she already had plans for more.

“Ready to do it again,” she replied, and his answering growl set her aflame once more. Cassian’s tongue traced the line of her jaw before his lips landed at her ear again.

“Put your hands on the headboard, sweetheart.”

Tag List: @headcanonheadcase @vikingmagic33 @damedechance @daevastanner @mystical-blaise @booknerd87 @foreverinelysian @shadowsxgwynriel @sunshinebingo @mercarimari

#acotar writing circle #acotarwritingcircle #acotar #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian au #nessian fanfic #nessian fanfiction #smut #nessian smut #nesta x cassian #cassian x nesta #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #sjm #sarah j maas #my first nessian fic ever

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honey-minded-hivemind · 8 months

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Thank y'all. Thank you. For enjoying my work, and keeping this area a safe place. That is very kind of you all. I won't talk to anyone here often, but... just this once... thank you. My work is all platonic, and has characters that I enjoy. I'm glad you all found some joy in them too. And as a thank you, here, may I present, the 🦈SirenSong AU imagine, part 2:

• For being a large place run by dangerous people, The Reef is rather... luxurious. It has a classical sort of beauty to it, with reflective gold and black tiles, warm lights of soft yellow aglow in each room, fresh seafood made to perfection, and an air of grandeur that makes it seem more regal than it already is... Of course... there are still the people who run it... and they can be a bit... frightening, to most...

• As of now, after arriving in the dusky twilight of evening, you just received your job for the night. An odder job than you're used to... but, the pay is good, and you'd rather not say no to the likes of your employers. So far you have no reason to say no to the task at hand (different as it may be), and you don't want to be the one who gets on their bad side. You're not about to ruin your chances at survival here...

• The task at hand tonight... help keep an eye on everything. Apparently one of the people who own this place realized you kept things organized when you had multiple things to find and deliver... and tonight, they needed someone to keep an eye on the smaller tasks, while they handle the bigger ones. Yep. You're a glorified assistant for the night. Not a bad job... not ideal, either. You'd rather not stay by any person or place for too long. If someone ever found out what you were... especially if a siren ever found out... it would end you.

• But at the moment, you don't have anything to worry about. Not yet. The night has been smooth sailing. Directing the staff to have the food brought in at a certain time, making sure the floors were clean and no spills happened, keeping everything in order and out of the way... Yet... most of the people you were working with... they acted... stiff. It was as though they were blank, only responding to orders and commands... It... scared you, to be honest. They were like, like... dolls, or puppets, or empty automatons... No complaints, no chatter, no spark... It gave you a creepy feeling.

• But you couldn't dwell on that. You couldn't ask questions, and you weren't about to bring attention to your fears. This place likely had dark secrets deep below the placid waters, and you weren't diving to take a look. As you did a final round to make sure everything was perfect, you heard something...

• A clatter... An uneasy feeling enters you... but... if something goes wrong tonight... you are likely to be blamed. And if checking on what caused the noise stops a problem from occurring... surely you need to investigate? With a drawn out sigh, you give final instructions, then leave to inspect what caused the strange noise.

• All seems quiet... you explore the halls, looking for any sign of disturbance, yet find nothing. It feels weird... Surely something made the noise... but where would that something be? Just as you round a corner, you hear another noise, but louder... You carefully move forward... and find... a person? What looks like a young adult human trying to sneak deeper into the hotel...

• The moment they see you, their eyes widen... and then they turn and run. With a short curse, you chase them. You sprint after them, making sure to keep them within sight at all times, not risking losing them within the giant building. Brilliant gold and shining black rush by you, paintings and murals and rooms with doors stretching from ceiling to floor... But you don't give up... The person soon runs into a dark room, lit up only with pale blue lights in odd places... And you continue your pursuit after them...

• You can barely see in the shadowy room, only the soft blue lights set around the room keep you from being blind... Carefully you tread deeper inside, listening quietly for any noise. The air is cool in there, slightly salty... And then you see your quarry bolt for the door, the light illuminating them, and with a shout, you go to follow... only to feel nothing under your feet, then water fill your lungs...

• A fearful trill escapes you, as you thrash and struggle to get out of the water, but it's already too late. You can feel your tail replacing your legs, long and fluffy and curling around you. Your eyes readjust to the darkness, and you feel your gills flutter nervously. The water around you is cold, a slightly sharp scent to it. As you readjust, you somehow heave yourself to the edge of the pool, lungs sucking in cool, sweet air.... And the human is gone...

• Anxious noises leave you as your thoughts race and crash into each other. You almost were discovered by a human. They weren't supposed to be here. You have no clue where your bosses are. The people here scare you. And you're currently trapped in your siren form at the mercy of whoever finds you. A scared chirp leaves your lips. What are you supposed to do? It would take forever to dry out in the cold room, and if your bosses see you like this, they'll likely kill you or worse... With all of these thoughts at the forefront of your mind, the best thing you can do is wait, and hope you can sneak out later...

• And so you wait... the hours pass, or maybe it's only minutes? You're curled at the bottom of the pool, in the darkest shadows you can find, praying no one enters and finds you like this. It's quiet... peaceful, even, if it weren't for the possible danger of being discovered... your mind drifts off a bit, lulled by the cool water and quiet darkness...

• And then, just barely, you hear something. A tremble goes through you. Loud footsteps can be heard, as well as a deep voice. You curl up tighter, hiding within your coils. Fur tickles your nose and face, but what would normally make you smile only makes you cry silently. Someone's up there... Someone's about to see you... And that someone might kill you...

• You can't make out the words... or who it is, yet... You don't dare move, except to fearfully look up from your tail to see if someone will see you... It scares you... but you'd rather know than not know... A few bubbles rise to the surface... Suddenly, bright lights flick on. You're momentarily blinded, until you shade your eyes a bit from the harsh glare... And then you wish you hadn't. Because soon, a figure stands at the edge of the pool you're in... and it's possibly the worst person to find you...

• It looks like who you're only told is called Mr. Creed. Someone tall, someone built as though fit to kill, and with sharp nails and sharper eyes... A strangled noise echoes through the water, as you look up from the bottom of the salty pool... You can't see much from where you are, but you hear a loud noise reverberate through the water in ripples... and suddenly there's something else in the pool, something bigger than you... twisting, serpentine coils, thick and furred, fill the pool... you can see through the bubbles sharp talons... and then, as the rippling waters settle... there's the biggest siren you've ever seen in there with you.

• For a moment, you two stare at each other... and then the hand with the glinting talons moves, and you bolt up to the surface. Clawing your way out of the pool, you drag yourself as far out of reach as you can. You can feel, rather than hear, the frightful chirps and trills coming from you, spilling out as you watch the water with wide, scared eyes. A deep, rumbling click comes comes from below the surface of the water, and you scooch back as much as you can. And then another person enters...

• It's someone you don't remember seeing before, possibly one of the guests The Reef was having business with tonight... their mouth is frozen open as they take in the sight of you, and the larger siren that chooses then to surface. Your heart feels like it's about to burst open as you try to weld yourself to the wall. You watch as the newcomer looks from you to Mr. Creed, or what was him oh cr*p he's a siren?!, as though trying to make sense of the sight before them... and then they try to approach you, and you back up even more. They freeze, then turn to look at the other siren.

• "What... what the h*ck happened here? Who are they? Did you do something? How did a pup end up here?" Their voice is concerned and befuddled, and their face is much the same. They look your way again, then produce a soft click, renewing their effort to approach you...

• "It ain't my fault... h*ck, didn't know the kid was one uv us... Skittish, though... actin' like we're gunna bite 'em..." he replies... And then the two devolve into a conversation, or what seems like one, consisting of hisses, clicking, and trills... You watch the two, and decide to try to scoot closer to the exit... As the talk seems to take a sharp turn, you wriggle towards the edge closest to the door... The conversation continues, as both seem too wrapped up, their voices sounding angrier and more passionate... You can feel that most of your fluff is still wet, but... you can try to force a change. You will yourself as much as you can, letting loose the feeling of danger, need, and urgency. The feeling of change soon latches on, and you feel as your tail slowly tries to shift back towards legs... And then the two seem to notice your trying to leave, and their attention is fully back on you.

• "Wait, wait! Don't run, okay? You're safe here. We're like you. We're sirens, too. Nothing to worry over. Can you please tell us your name?" asks the unknown person... You stiffen... Oh great oceans no... they're both sirens? A fearful trill pushes against your larynx, and you shake your head sharply. A look crosses both their faces... worry, then a knowing, angered look... "The... the humans hurt you, didn't they? They said we'd hurt you. Is that what they told you?" the newcomer questions. You stay silent. Yet they take that as an answer...

• "Burning glaciers... oh depths, I think I'm going to be sick... I thought... I thought we stopped these kinds of things from happening..." they mutter, looking nauseous. You watch the two carefully, observing how both seem to have rage flash across their faces, then determination. You decide to speak up for the first time after being found like this...

• "Um... l-look, it's no one's fault what happened... it... it just did... I won't be an issue... I promise I'll leave. Okay? Just- give me a minute," you say, nerves racking your voice into a quiet stutter. But it seems that was the wrong thing to say, because their eyes widen, and you see them position themselves to block the way to the door.

• "No, no. You don't need to leave. You're a pup, and you need help. We can help you. Our pods are here, and we can keep you safe. You don't have to go back out there alone, guppy," one of then says... You shiver slightly, but keep a firm resolve. You need to go. You can't stay here. You likely need to leave town, now.

• "It's nice that you want to help me, but I'll be fine. I've done this my whole life. I'll be gone before you know it, and y'all can go back to doing siren things," you answer. A nervous chuckle escapes you. "I'm almost twenty... just a few more years, and I'll be twenty-one... I'm not exactly a kid, you know..."

• A dark look flashes in their eyes, and one of them mulls over the age you gave them. Their eyes seem to take a new light to them, and both shift to be closer to the door, blocking your only way out... "Twenty...? Pup, guppy, that's- that's- you're not even two decades! Why are you on your own?! No. Look, pup. You aren't anywhere close to being an adult. You're not even supposed to be anywhere outside of a nest! We know this is hard, but we need to help you... I'm sorry about this... but you can't leave... just, stay calm, okay?" A soft noise escapes them, and then you hear something beautiful, a soothing noise in the cold, bright room... it sounds almost like a croon, soft and melodic, nudging at the back of your mind. You make a small trill, trying to answer the calm melody, and it leads you further towards it... And soon... water engulfs you, and you chirp in surprise. The voice only hums, smoothing away any worries or panic, beckoning you closer to it... Soon the bright, stabbing light flickers off, and a cool, quiet dark surrounds you... Your mind feels fuzzy, and soon something firm and warm wraps around you, curling against you and shifting to hold you. A soft chirp escapes you, and a reverberating one ripples through the water... And soon... you drift off, lulled asleep by the sweet noises...

• "That's it, get some rest, pup... we'll be here to help you, okay? You look like a friend of ours... maybe he used to know you? You're quite the sweet pup, aren't you? Don't worry about anything, okay? Your pod's got you..."

• And with that, the room goes quiet, save for the soft, soothing hum of a long-lost melody, barely heard except in the rippling waters that hold their bby...

#honeycomb thoughts #platonic yandere marvel #yandere platonic marvel #platonic yandere marvel x reader #platonic yandere xmen #yandere x-men #platonic yandere #platonic yandere x reader #platonic yandere wolverine #platonic yandere sabretooth #platonic yandere x-men #🦈SirenSong!AU

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foundtherightwords · 16 days

Text

The Hollow Heart - Chapter 2

Pairing: Hellcheer, Gothic AU

Summary: To escape her mother's control and the stifling society of Gilded Age New York, heiress Christabel Cunningham impulsively marries Henry Creel, a charming and seductive stranger, and accompanies him to his remote mansion on the West Coast. There, as Henry grows cold and cruel, Christabel must uncover her husband's sinister secret before it's too late. But can she trust Kas, her husband's enigmatic assistant, who seems to be her only ally in this strange place, or is Kas's loyalty to his master stronger than his attraction to Christabel?

Chapter warnings: animal death

Chapter word count: 4.9k

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 - Her Own Betrothed Knight

Christabel did have to endure a lecture about the danger of wandering off on her own, but thankfully, Mrs. Cunningham was so upset by Christabel's injury that the lecture didn't last very long. Never mind that the ankle wasn't badly sprained. It wasn't even swollen. Her mother still insisted that she stayed off it until the All Hallows' Eve ball. Christabel suspected that her mother did it not out of concern for her wellbeing, but because it made Jason more attentive toward her than ever—he even intended to cancel the picnic the next day because Christabel would not be able to join them. Christabel, already uncomfortable with him after her rejection, did not relish the idea of being stuck at the house with Jason hovering over her and being chaperoned by her mother. So she convinced him to continue with his party, while she curled up on a window seat with a book.

"Don't fret, darling," Mrs. Cunningham said, coming behind Christabel with one hand on her shoulder and the other smoothing her hair back, though she knew Christabel hated being stood over like that. "Trampling through the woods in the sun and the wind would only dry out your skin and your hair and get you nowhere at all. Better save yourself for the ball. I just had your costume taken in a little, you're going to look lovely in it—"

Christabel didn't reply. She wondered how her mother would've reacted if Christabel told her that all her scheming was for naught, that Jason had already proposed and been rejected. She wouldn't want to go to the picnic anyway—except it would be a chance for her to slip into the woods, in the hope of running into a certain someone again...

At that moment, as though summoned by her thought, there was a faint ring of the bell at the front door. She heard the soft voice of a maid answering it, and another, deeper, male's voice. Her heart started beating faster. She recognized that voice.

A maid came into the room presently. "There's a gentleman here to see you, miss," she said, bobbing a quick curtsey.

"What gentleman?" Mrs. Cunningham's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"He said his name is Henry Creel, ma'am."

"He is the one that brought me home yesterday, Mother," Christabel reminded her. She hadn't told her mother much about Mr. Creel, only saying that he was a guest from a neighboring cottage, but her mother, with her usual penchant for gossip, had discovered his identity anyway.

"Ah yes, a guest of that crackpot Brenner, is he? Some upstart from out West, Mrs. Carver told me. Have a care, Christabel. Now that he's found a way in, he's going to hang on to you like a dog to a bone until—"

"Yes, Mother, I shall bear that in mind," Christabel cut her off before she said something even more vulgar in front of the maid. For someone so concerned with decorum, Mrs. Cunningham could be shockingly nonchalant when it came to talking in front of the servants. It was as though she didn't consider them human beings with their own thoughts and feelings. Christabel nodded to the maid. "Please show him into the morning room, Mary. Thank you."

Creel was standing by the fireplace, one hand resting on the mantelpiece, looking down at the hearthrug, lost in thoughts. When Christabel came in, he lifted his eyes but didn't move from his position right away, and she was struck by a sense of déjà-vu. She had seen that pose somewhere—a painting, or a sculpture, with a person's face half-hidden by his arm, showing only his eyes. Was it a portrait of Lord Byron? No. But it was something romantic like that. Never mind. It would come to her eventually.

The sense of déjà-vu vanished as soon as Creel moved toward her with his arms outstretched. "Miss Cunningham," he said, clasping her hand in both of his. "I've come to inquire after you. How is your ankle?"

"Thank you, it's improved a great deal. But really, you needn't have bothered—"

He leaned toward her, smiling conspiratorially. "I did say you can count on seeing me again, didn't I?"

Christabel blushed. She seemed to be doing so a lot around Creel. "Yes, but I didn't expect it would be so soon." A discreet cough behind her reminded her of her mother's presence, and she reluctantly made the introduction. As Creel bowed over Mrs. Cunningham's hand, Christabel could see that her mother was not impervious to his physical charms, for all her attempts to remain aloof. Mrs. Cunningham was briefly interested to learn that Creel's family came from the nearby village of Ringwood, but when he said it was over two hundred years ago and that his father made his fortune out West, her interest quickly waned and her manners turned frosty. Her mother had always been a snob about family name and lineage, and Christabel doubted she would ever approve of Creel, not even if his forefathers had been on the Mayflower.

"And have you made any further discovery about your family's history?" Christabel asked, to fill in the awkward silence.

"Not yet, but Dr. Brenner have told me about the ruins of a settlement not far from Tuxedo Lake," Creel said. "If this nice weather continues, I intend to investigate it more closely. Perhaps you would care to join—"

Mrs. Cunningham made a disapproving noise in her throat, and Christabel gave Creel an apologetic look. He did not seem to notice anything amiss. He gently led Christabel to a chair by the window, keeping up a stream of easy chatter with both her and her mother, talking about San Francisco, about New York and how he wished he could visit it more often—polite, impersonal talk that meant nothing at all, but from the way those blue eyes fixed on her, she could tell there were things he'd like to say to her but was prevented by her mother's presence.

After fifteen minutes, the minimum amount one could entertain a guest without appearing rude, Mrs. Cunningham stood up, signifying the visit was over, and claiming Christabel needed her rest. Creel stood up as well, with regret plainly written over his handsome face. He thanked them for a lovely chat, wished Christabel a speedy recovery, and moved toward the front door.

"I hope we'll have the pleasure of seeing you again, Mr. Creel," Mrs. Cunningham said, in a voice that meant quite the opposite.

"Thank you, ma'am, so do I," he said.

"Will we, though?" Christabel asked, lowering her voice so her mother wouldn't hear.

"You can count upon it," he whispered, extending a hand to her.

They shook hands. The book Christabel had been reading, which she forgot she was still holding, slipped out of her hand and clattered to the ground. Before she could reach for it, Creel had bent down, picked it up, and pressed it into her hand. When she frowned at the feel of the book in her hand, he gave her a discreet wink, bowed to her mother, who was still hovering behind, then turned and left.

Only when she was back in the privacy of her room that Christabel felt safe enough to look at what she was holding—not one, but two books. Creel had slipped her another while picking up her first one. It was Tales, by Edgar Allan Poe. Christabel felt a surge of excitement mixed with gratitude for Creel's discretion and consideration. Her mother would never approve of such morbid reading material.

There was a name written on the flyleaf—"M. Brenner". Christabel grinned to herself. Creel must have scoured his host's bookshelf for this one. As she turned the pages, a note fluttered out. With quickening pulse, she picked it up. In a slanting, elegant hand, it said, "I believe a lady named after a Coleridge heroine would appreciate the romantic and macabre genius of Mr. Poe." And, a little lower, "If you wish to escape the castle, I shall be waiting. Same time, same place tomorrow. H."

***

The difficult part had been to convince her mother that her ankle would improve with some light exercise. When her mother suggested she took a turn around the Carvers' garden, Christabel had exploded—the reaction may have been exaggerated to frighten her mother, who hated public displays of emotions of any kind, but the frustration was very real. "Am I a dog, to be held on a leash?" she'd said. "Why don't I start wearing a veil in public too, while you're at it?"

It had worked. Her mother had agreed to let her take a walk around the lake but insisted that she took one of the Carvers' maids with her. After that, it had been the simple matter of bribing the girl with a few coins so she could slip away undetected.

As she walked, Christabel wondered what had prompted her to have a clandestine rendezvous with a man she'd met only the day before. He was attractive, to be sure, and very kind and gentlemanly, in a quiet, mild-mannered way that felt more natural and genuine than the excessive gallantry of her other suitors. But it was more than that. He came from another world. She knew little of the West, but a place where men could make their fortunes and become respectable regardless of their origins was bound to be different from the rigid, suffocating world she was living in. When he scooped her up into his arms, his movement so decisive and casual, she'd imagined she had been touched by that other world, and she longed to feel that touch again.

Creel was sitting under the oak when she arrived, cutting a dashing figure with his bare head and his body in recline. Again, Christabel felt that sense of déjà-vu. She must remember which painting it was that reminded her of him.

He looked up from the notebook in which he was writing or sketching and smiled at her. A flock of butterflies fluttered in her stomach.

"I was getting quite impatient," he said.

"I had to distract my mother."

"I didn't get you into trouble, did I?" Creel peered at her with concern. "I would've come to the house, but I have a feeling that she won't appreciate my visit."

Christabel sighed. "My apologies, Mr. Creel. My mother can be—"

He made a dismissive gesture with his pencil. "Never mind that. I'm glad you came."

She sat down on a clump of grass opposite him. The sunlight scattered through the leaves, throwing speckles of gold over his face, so one of his eyes shone while the other remained in shadow. The gleam in that eye threw the butterflies in her stomach into a frenzy, and she had to look down to hide her fluster.

"How did you know I wished to escape?" she asked, fingering a fold in her dress.

He smiled, as though it was the most obvious answer in the world. "How could you not?" he said. "Five minutes with that crowd and I would have run for the hills."

"Is the San Francisco society not like that?"

"I daresay it is, but I don't know for certain. I don't spend much time in society, to be honest. I'm too busy with my studies."

So perhaps it was not his world that was different, it was Creel himself. "What do you study?" Christabel asked.

"A little bit of everything. History. Science. Literature. Speaking of which, how do you like Mr. Poe?"

"Very much. I finished the book in one sitting." She neglected to say that she'd had to read it under the covers, for fear of being found out by her mother. She didn't want Creel to think she was still a schoolgirl. "Did Dr. Brenner mind losing it?"

An enigmatic smile appeared on Creel's lips. "What Brenner doesn't know can't hurt him."

"Of course, he's rather obsessed with death, isn't he? Mr. Poe I mean, not Dr. Brenner."

"Aren't we all?"

"Not just death in general either, but premature death and false death, specifically," Christabel said. The fates of Madeline Usher and Fortunato were still haunting her.

"Because those are the most horrible." Mr. Creel's eyes turned dark. "When you die before your time, or when others think you're dead and you're powerless to tell them. Can you imagine?"

Perhaps this was not the most romantic subject of conversation, but nobody had spoken to her with so much openness and honesty. Usually, when she tried to discuss books and music with another man, she could only nod and go along with whatever opinion he had, or she would be labeled a bluestocking and a bore and catch the eyes of no other man. At least that was what her mother had told her.

"Have you investigated the ruins that Dr. Brenner told you about?" she said after a moment, for Creel's eyes were still dark, and she wished to dispel that look.

"I have, but they're not the right one. Far too recent."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not." Creel turned his eyes upon her, the one eye that shone in the sun now sparkled with quite a different light. "In fact, I hope my search takes a long time."

"Why?"

"So I can keep seeing you."

Christabel turned crimson. Later, as they said goodbye, she didn't ask if she would see him again. She knew that she would.

***

They did see each other again, almost every day after that. They talked a great deal, or rather, Creel talked and Christabel listened. He told her about his house overlooking the San Francisco Bay and about his travels—he had traveled widely; it seemed there were few places left in America that he hadn't set foot on, and in Europe as well. "My dream, though, is to travel to the Far East," he said. "Japan and China. Especially China. There's a lot of Chinese people in San Francisco, you know, and their culture fascinates me. It's one of the oldest civilizations in the world. I think it would be something to see it with my own eyes."

"I always wish I could travel," Christabel replied, wishing she could say something more interesting or share some travel anecdotes of her own. Her stories of Newport and the Catskills must sound awfully provincial to him.

He also told her about his studies—his current interest was medicine from plants and animals. All the while, Christabel could only listen in fascination and admiration, wondering how he managed to do so much and learn so much and go to so many places at such a young age. And her yearning for that world he'd opened to her, a world of newness, excitement, and sophistication, grew and grew, only she no longer wished to be simply touched by that world. Now she wished to be a part of it, with him.

Then something happened that derailed their time together.

It was three days before the ball. There was no entertainment planned for that day, and Mrs. Carver wanted everybody out of the house so they could start decorating and preparing for the ball. Jason and the others were talking about going down to the lake for some boating and fishing, when Mr. Carver received a telephone call in his study. The Carvers had just had their telephone installed, and its shrill, unaccustomed ringing echoed in the hall ominously. A moment later, Mr. Carver emerged, looking strangely pale and shaken. Mrs. Carver fluttered into the study with a frightened look. The guests mingling outside heard some murmurings, and then Mrs. Carver's voice raised in irritation, saying, "Nonsense! It has nothing to do with us. Besides, we have been preparing for days." She came out of the study, looking quite put out, and could be heard muttering under her breath, "The old crackpot! Even in death he was a nuisance!" as she fluttered to the back to go through the menu with the French chef once more.

Finally, Jason managed to learn the truth from his father—Dr. Brenner had been found dead in his house the previous night.

He had been found in his library by his servant, with an unmarked bottle next to him. There was to be an inquest, though in all likelihood, it would be a formality only—the body showed every symptom of poison, the library was locked from the inside, and everyone knew Brenner's penchant for the occult. No doubt it was the result of some foolish experiment. Mr. Carver had considered canceling the ball out of respect, but fortunately, Mrs. Carver had convinced—or perhaps bullied—him to carry on as planned.

This didn't stop the guests from feeling excited about the prospect of a murderer in their midst and exchanging theories on how Brenner had really died.

"What about that mysterious guest of his, the one who brought you back that day, Christabel?" one of the girls said. "Might he have something to do with this?"

"I don't know," replied Christabel, though she was worrying about the same thing. She couldn't believe Creel had anything to do with Dr. Brenner's death, but she was worried that this death and the inquest may keep him from seeing her. And with her mother getting into one of her fits and forbidding Christabel from even setting foot outdoors—as though a murderer was lying in wait and ready to pounce on her—she didn't know if she could go to the woods again. She hadn't realized how much she had been looking forward to their daily meeting until it stopped.

That evening, she was wandering around the garden, feeling listless and despondent, when she heard a whisper nearby, "Miss Cunningham?"

Christabel bit back a startled cry. A shadow detached itself from the privet hedge and came to stand in front of her. It was a young man, as dark as Creel was fair. His skin was pale, and his eyes and hair appeared black in the moonlight. "Sorry, miss," he said. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm Mr. Creel's servant."

He was holding himself awkwardly, as though trying to make himself smaller, less noticeable. Somehow, this awkwardness made Christabel's initial fear vanish. "Is Mr. Creel all right?" she asked.

"Yes. He couldn't come himself because he's being questioned by the police." The young man pulled a note from his pocket and handed it to her. "He asked me to bring you a message."

Christabel went over to a gas lamp and opened the note. Her eyes fell on Creel's familiar slanting hand: "Meet me by the oak tomorrow, 10 AM. H." Emotions flooded her heart, mostly joy and relief.

She looked up to see the young man still standing there, as if waiting for something. "Thank you," she said. "Please tell him I'll be there."

He nodded but made no move to leave. Christabel remembered and searched her pockets for a coin for his tip, but came up empty. "I'm sorry, I don't have any money on me—"

"I don't want your money!" For a moment, his diffidence was gone, replaced by a brief look of rage. That, too, disappeared in a flash, though the man's hands remained balled into fists. "Begging your pardon, miss," he said, controlling his voice with difficulty. "But... if I were you, I wouldn't go."

With those enigmatic words, he vanished into the dark, leaving Christabel alone with the note.

***

The next morning, she managed to escape her mother and slip away. She went to the old oak tree and let out a sigh of relief when she saw Creel's familiar figure leaning against it. He still smiled at her, though his eyes were grim, and when she offered him her hand in greeting, he took it in a tight grip.

"What's happened?" she asked. "Is there going to be an inquest for Dr. Brenner's death? Will you have to make a statement?"

He shook his head. "The police seemed pretty confident that the poison was self-administered. They are going to rule it a suicide, or perhaps an accident." Christabel breathed more easily, but Creel's eyes remained dark. "I blame myself," he muttered.

"Surely you have nothing to do with it? You said so yourself, he took the poison of his own volition."

"I knew that Brenner was interested in alchemy and the elixir of life and things like that," Creel said. "But I didn't realize he would be so foolish as to attempt to brew one himself and drink it without testing it first. I should have warned him."

"No." Christabel laid a hand on his arm. "It was not your fault. You couldn't possibly know that."

He looked down at her hand, then up at her face, and something in his eyes set her pulse pounding.

"I'm returning to San Francisco soon," he said.

Her heart went cold. "Because of Dr. Brenner's death?"

"No. Because I've found what I was looking for."

"Your village?"

"Better. The remains of my family's cottage. Would you like to see?"

She nodded, and, still holding her hand, he led her through the trees, to the north end of the lake. Christabel followed him, trying to feel happy for him, but she couldn't stop the disappointment from rising within her, disappointment at the thought that he would go away, back to that free and easy world, while she would be stuck here, perhaps for the rest of her life.

They stopped at a clearing surrounded by elms and oaks, all glorious in their autumnal coats. There was something like a boulder or a cairn in the middle of the clearing, covered so completely with ivy that Christabel almost missed it. Creel knelt to spread the ivy apart, and Christabel saw that it was actually the remains of a stone fireplace.

"Look," he pointed to a smooth, flat stone at the back, where a large "C" had been carved.

"C for Creel?" Christabel asked, astonished.

"Yes."

"How long ago did your ancestors live here?"

"About two hundred years."

The thought of all that history now gone and buried in the ground under her feet made Christabel forget her heartache for a moment. "And did they move away, or—"

"No." Creel's face was somber. "The mother and the daughter died in mysterious circumstances, and the father was accused of killing them by witchcraft. He was hanged. Only the son survived."

Christabel's body grew cold with horror. Sometimes, caught in all the comfort and ease of modern life, she forgot how violent the history of their country was. She couldn't think of anything to say other than "Oh." Just then, the morning sun shone into the clearing, and her eyes caught something sparkling amongst the stones. "What's that?"

Creel dug into the daub, which had all but crumbled to dust, and pulled out something not bigger than the palm of her hand, covered in dirt. Red glints showed through here and there in the sunlight.

"My word!" he exclaimed. "I can't believe it!"

Pulling out his handkerchief, he wiped the dirt off of his discovery. It was a piece of stained glass, in the shape of a rose. "Do you know what you've found?" he said, awe in his voice. "It's our family crest. My ancestors brought it over from England and put it on the cottage's front door. I have something similar at my house in San Francisco. It's extraordinary that it was still here and intact after all this time." He beamed up at her. "I knew you would be valuable to me in some ways. I knew it the first moment I saw you."

The look in his eyes sent her heart into a somersault. Somehow she managed to open her mouth, and was about to say something back, something silly and girlish and inadequate, when she was interrupted by a scream that rent the air.

For a heart-stopping moment, she thought it was a woman or a child in distress, but when the scream continued, it became clear that it was an animal. Creel slipped the bit of stained glass into his pocket, jumped to his feet, and ran toward the elms. They soon discovered the source of the scream—a hare, caught in a steel trap. Blood pooled around the places where the cruel sharp teeth cut into its hind leg, but it was still alive, its eyes fixed on them with an imploring, almost human look.

"Oh please, please help him!" cried Christabel.

Creel stood looking down at the hare. "There's no helping it," he said. "But I can put it out of its misery."

"No!"

"Its leg is broken, Miss Cunningham." His voice was harsh. "Even if I free it, it would be lame and soon fall prey to a fox or an eagle. This is kinder." He took off his gloves. "Look away."

Christabel told herself she should just leave, she who always took care to never be present at the kill on a hunt, but some terrible force had gotten a hold of her, rooting her to the spot, making it impossible for her to tear her eyes away from the hare, from its chest still moving rapidly, from the twitching whiskers and the pink ears with red veins that stood out against the sunlight. Only when Creel snarled, "Look away, Miss Cunningham!" that she remembered herself and raised a trembling hand to cover her eyes.

There was a squeak, then silence. She lowered her hand. Creel was covering up the little body with dry leaves. "This trap was no doubt set by a poacher," he said, pulling his gloves on. "We should let someone know."

Somehow, the casual way with which he pulled on his gloves horrified her more than anything else. It finally shocked her out of her daze, and she turned and ran out of the clearing, chest heaving with sobs.

She didn't realize Creel had chased after her until she felt his strong grip on her shoulders, turning her around, and she found herself in his arms, hot tears staining his waistcoat, while he said, "Stop it, Miss Cunningham. I can't stand tears. If you don't stop crying, I'm going to have to do something quite drastic to stop you." Then his embrace turned into a caress, as his hands ran from her shoulders to her waist, and he pulled her to him and clasped his mouth to hers.

She was rooted to the spot again, not by some unknown force this time, but by the power of his arms and his body and most of all his mouth, a force that robbed her of her breath and her thoughts and her senses, leaving her with no choice but to submit to it.

A moment later, or a lifetime later, she felt the pressure of his mouth lift, but his arms remained around her. "I can't imagine leaving this place without you," he whispered in her ear. "Will you come with me, Christabel?" His kiss had left her so breathless that she couldn't answer right away. "Say yes," he said, a note of urgency in his voice. "Say yes now, or—"

"Yes," she said weakly, almost before she could think. It was as though he had put the word in her mouth and it had come out by itself, with no control from her. She opened her eyes and saw that the sun had gone behind the clouds, leaving the clearing gray and dreary. She couldn't help remembering, too, that they were standing on the ruins of a family home destroyed by tragedy, and that an animal lay dead at their feet. It was certainly not her ideal place for a proposal. But she didn't care. All she cared was that she was going to be free.

***

They agreed that Christabel would inform Mrs. Cunningham of their engagement the next morning, and if her mother approved, Christabel would send Henry a message and they would ask for her blessing together, after the ball. And if she didn't... well, they would deal with that together as well.

As she went to bed that night, Christabel wondered if she'd been too hasty. But, she reasoned with herself, others had gotten married after just one encounter, one look across a ballroom. And when she thought about how Henry made her feel—she thought of him as "Henry" now, with a certain relish—and the promise of freedom he brought, all her doubts were silenced.

There was one thing she couldn't get out of her head, though—it was the image of Henry standing over the hare, calmly putting his gloves back on. It disturbed her, though she did not know why. He'd been right, of course. It had been an act of mercy. Yet he had stood over that poor suffering hare not like an angel of mercy, but more like an avenging angel.

And with the thought of angels, it came to her in a flash, what she had been trying to remember since his first visit to the Carver mansion—what Henry's pose by the fireplace had reminded her of. It was The Fallen Angel, the painting by Alexandre Cabanel, whose reproduction she had seen in a book. Yes, he had looked exactly like it, with his tousled hair and that strange, intense look in his eyes, half of pain, half of rage. Exactly like Lucifer, after his fall from Heaven.

Chapter 3

A/N: Originally, Eddie/Kas wasn't supposed to show up until Chapter 3, but I got impatient so I had to give him an early appearance here :))

This is "The Fallen Angel" by Alexandre Cabanel, in case you're wondering.

#hellcheer #hellcheer fic #hellcheer au #eddissy #eddie x chrissy #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #henry creel #joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic #kas!eddie #vampire!eddie munson

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jazzerdoc · 1 year

Text

FIC REC “FRIDAY” - combo edition. I’ve been tagged (twice now) by @xthelastknownsurvivorx & once by @cha-melodius for this share. Thank you. I’m behind. My apologies. It’s finals week. It’s not Friday. I’m sorry. I’m traveling and I don’t know what day it is. Also that made me miss the Wordle & stop my winning streak at 128 and I’m kind of upset rn.

Tagging @welcometololaland for the master list.

So now it’s TWO THEMES - the fic that makes you laugh or smile whenever you think of it & the fic that lives in your mind rent free.

THEME ONE: funny/smile:

RWRB. This fic is outrageous in all the best ways: a college au, it’s hilarious, hot, memorable, 0-60. Henry is goaded into being filmed while trying to squash a watermelon between his THIGHS and Alex is out of his mind before/during/after. It’s FULL-CONTACT, written by one of my loves, @clottedcreamfudge All I can say, readers, is you’re welcome. 🍉

I would add here that @stutteringpeach ‘s WELL, WE’RE NOT HERE TO FUCK DUCKS aka fuck study (already tagged by @xthelastknownsurvivorx ) is also on my giggle-fest list. 🦆

THEME TWO: fics that live in my mind rent-free.

BUCKLE UP. This is really hard, because several do live in my mind ALL THE TIME. I’m going to add some favorites by my favorites, but I first have to say that @rmd-writes’ TO THE VICTOR THE SPOILS & its prequel, WHAT, LIKE IT’S HARD? are definitely on this list but @cha-melodius already tagged it. They are genius and I do love me a good lawyer au. Below are all RWRB but one, but it’s RWRB-infused, so.

@clottedcreamfudge I could say A SPORTING CHANCE, which you know I adore, but I’m going to say NEVER DID RUN SMOOTH, because I’m obsessed with how the love story plays out in this reality dating show romp & the title is a line from my favorite Shakespeare play, A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM. 🌴

YOUNG ROYALS (w/RWRB crossover) fic by my sweet love @the-amber-fox This prince/rock star/Sweden/US epic au is lovely and fun and just a great way to showcase Wilmon’s love story. PERFECT CRIMES OF THE HEART. 👑

My IG bestie @cinnamoncoffees has written YR & RWRB fics (some FOR me & others I’ve helped with), but this one is sooo good. I think it’s her best. It’s a vampire au and I don’t particularly like vampires necessarily but it is soooo good. Did I mention how good it is? 😋 A SLIGHTLY HYSTERICAL VAMPIRE FANTASY MOMENT. 🧛🏼‍♂️

RWRB fic: you may know my lovey @cheesecurdsgravyandfries as the writer of extremely hot, explicit RWRB & SCHITTS CREEK fics, but did you also know she is hilarious and sweet? I don’t completely know why, but I’ll never forget this adorable and clever stripper au told from Henry’s dog’s perspective. THE GOODEST BOY, HIS HENRY, AND THE OTHER GUY. 🥹 (Fun fact: this is the only G rated fic in my list.) 😏

RWRB+: I’ve got lots more RWRB favorites, but this list of fics-that-live-rent-free-in-my-mind would be incomplete without @everwitch-magiks’ HASHTAG SOULMATES. This beauty is a fan fic must-read. It combines the best of rwrb’s contemporary lgbtq fiction and all the romance tropes. Genius. 🪐

Tagging @cheesecurdsgravyandfries @the-amber-fox @cinnamoncoffees @clottedcreamfudge @everwitch-magiks @stutteringpeach @rmd-writes ONLY IF YOU WANT TO. And anyone else. This was fun but it took a while. Also, please tag @welcometololaland, who’s evidently keeping a list.

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex claremont diaz #young royals #rwrb fic #firstprince #fic rec Friday or whatever day it is #fanfic tag game #tag game #fic red Friday #fic recs

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thepenultimateword · 2 years

Text

A response to @some-messed-up-writing-for-you's prompt #921.

CW: Mention of gore and killing

"I think there's a glitch in my system." The robot explained, looking at the human sitting across from them.

"Why is that?" The other questioned, not lifting their eyes from the small gadget they were fiddling with.

Robot propped their elbows on the table, resting their head in their hands. "Because I want to kiss you, and you're the ugliest thing I've ever seen."

The human--their human they supposed, now that their certificate for ownership had been in the tinkerer's possession for nearly a year--stared at them, first with surprise then with quickly-morphed suspicion. They placed their screwdriver down on the table and steepled their fingers together.

"Expand."

Through the gaps in the robot's fingers, the human looked half-made up--half a face, one shoulder (on the left), and only one arm (on the right). A discomforting reminiscence of times long past.

Memories didn't come easily, not since their human had wiped their original programming, but when they tried, the robot could still picture bloody pavement and dismembered corpses, globs of flesh caught in the seams of bladed fingers. They dropped their hands, turning their human whole once again.

"No."

The human fixed them with a dry stare. "Seeing how you're old programming compelled you to see humans as a contagion, I need to address any comments that hint at leftover bugs."

"Fine," the robot said bitterly. In their experience, it was best to be completely explicit with humans. Though they habitually concealed feelings or said the opposite of what they meant, they did not others being secretive in return. "I don't have the urge to kill humans. I don't think them inferior, nor that their existence is problematic. But I still find them disgusting. You're soft, you leak, and your insides are wet. Name something more disgusting than organs; they're basically meat piled inside meat."

"As opposed to the neatly clipped wires and orderly rows of circuit boards inside of you," the human said.

Another human might have stated it as a fact, taking pleasure in their position of control to fill their bot's mouths with their own thoughts and opinions. However, their human's cadence was half a statement, half a question. A hypothesis they called it. It basically meant that their human concocted their own theory but then spoke with the robot to confirm it.

They liked that their human never assumed things. It made them feel almost... alive. Like they had the right to feel in the first place. Admittedly, their programming was one of the most advanced in the world, but they knew it wasn't special treatment. Even the kitchen bots who constantly hovered over the stove or whipped sugar into perfect pastry puffs were treated with "thank yous" and "this is deliciouses."

"Yes," the robot said. "I am beautiful."

They ran their fingers over the smooth, perfectly symmetrical contours of their face. In addition to granting them sensory abilities, the synthetic skin made them look almost human. In dim lighting or in a highly intoxicated state, they might even be mistaken for one. However, the textile of the skin was rigid, an almost flesh that pulled tight and perfect over their frame. When one pressed it, they didn't feel the soft give of flesh; they felt metal cured of its cold bite. Running their fingers over their face a second time, they took pleasure in that solidness.

"If something inside me breaks, one only needs to slide open a compartment. If my outer shell is damaged, it can be replaced. I can't imagine leaving my body to do its own halfway job."

They motioned disgustedly to the gnarled scar on the human's cheek, pale white and raised a couple centimeters too far off their face.

The human nodded thoughtfully. "I think I understand. Though, I wasn't aware you were capable of romantic feelings. Have you felt similar inclinations towards other bots?"

The robot suddenly felt a strange crawling sensation in their innards that could only be labeled as discomfort. This wasn't something the human would ask another human. Or at least, it wouldn't be socially acceptable for them to do so. A bite of defiance sparked within them.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Love is a chemical reaction. Dopamine, norepinephrine, etc. None of which I have provided you with."

"I feel other things you humans need chemicals for."

The human nodded consideringly. "Right, I installed you with a basic set of emotions. Perhaps love was caught up in the mix."

"Or maybe I figured it out on my own," the robot snapped. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. Books and movies showed that feelings should be expressed, so they'd expressed themself. Their human liked honesty, so they'd been honest. But the human was supposed to accept their feelings or reassure them they could be fixed. They weren't supposed to turn this into an analysis of their programming.

The human rose from their seat, abandoning their project completely, and moved around the table to sit in the chair directly beside the robot. The chair legs screeched as they scooted in closer, their knees barely touching. After a couple moments of silence, they nodded at the robot expectantly.

"Go on then."

The robot stared at them, the slight luminescence coming off their mechanical eyes glinting off their corneas. "What?"

"The kiss. It actually benefits both of us. You get to kiss me, thus requiring a better understanding of your 'glitch', and I get to test the bounds of your programming. It could be a good experience for you in regards to your self-evolution.”

The robot thought they'd rather slap them. Their brittle bones shattering beneath the force of their fist would be satisfying recompense for-- No. Dangerous thought. They didn't actually want their human seriously harmed. Just chastened.

The human rested their palms on the robot's legs and leaned in close enough that the sensory nodes on the underside of their skin picked up the warmth of their breath. That was one of the few things the robot didn't find disgusting about human life. Especially the soft, even way that their human did it.

The robot closed the space abruptly, letting their bitter feelings fuel the strength of their kiss. They knew humans were fragile enough to be hurt by accident, but this time they pressed hard on purpose, not enough to break the human's jaw, but with the hope that thy might bruise their lips.

Apparently, they succeeded because the human winced back sharply. The back of their chair creaked as they fell against it, and they rubbed their thumb gingerly over their lips, first the bottom then the top.

"Maybe try that again a little softer," they mumbled. "You'll find that kissing is nicer when both parties can enjoy it."

Hypocrite! They hadn't given them the chance to enjoy this either! This was just another test drive to them!

"You're not taking me seriously!" the robot exploded.

The human fixed them with a serious stare. "I am. I'm listening, I'm complying with what you want, I'm--"

"I'm telling you that despite you're disgusting soft flesh, wet insides, and ugly unsymmetrical face I love you! And you don't even care!"

Human froze with their mouth hanging open. The robot thought 'I want to kiss you' and a chat about romantic feelings had been plain enough to clue their human in, but their face had almost the same expression as when they'd electrocuted themself on one of the gardening bots' split wires.

"You...love me?"

"Yes!" Once again they were grateful for their leakproof body because if they were human they'd have been in tears. "Or at least I think I do! How am I supposed to know for sure? All I know is that I think about you all the time. I miss you when you leave, I’m excited when you’re back, I wonder if you’re well when you stay up too late, I feel proud of you when you’re on tv, I admire the way you are with bots, and even more the way you don’t give humans a pass just for being human. You’re fair, you’re smart, you treat me like I matter, and I’ve been thinking about kissing you for over a month!

“Even though it was scary to talk about, and even though I know I’m just your perfect pet project, I thought it might mean something to you.”

The human seized them by the shoulders, weak hands pressing as hard as they could into steel. “It does!”

“Only because it’s interesting,” the robot said, shrugging them off.

“No.”

“You don’t want to miss out on this amazing new phenomenon. Tell the world how smart and accomplished you are for giving a bot romantic feelings.”

“No.”

“I bet you can even reproduce it. Sell it. People won’t even have to date anymore they can just program someone to like them and everyone’s happy. Except the bots, but they’re just bots, right?”

The human burst out of their seat, fists clenched. “I would never do that!” they cried. “Why are you saying that?”

“Because I’m being irrational.” The robot slumped forward in their seat, already wishing they could take back that last part. “I’m ridiculously angry and I don’t know why.”

The human crouched down in front of them, raising their chin toward them. “Because I hurt you.”

The robot didn’t know how to respond to that because, yep, that sounded about right. But knowing it didn’t fix anything. They still hurt, the only type of hurt they could feel without any nerves.

“I’m not the best with cues…” their human luckily continued. “It’s why I do better sticking with bots than with people. I’ve always believed that the two are basically the same, but sometimes I get so caught up in the programming and the science that I overlook…” They sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, as if to clear away all the words they’d left trailing in the air. “I care about you…more than anything or anyone else in the whole world. What you call a pet project, I call a passion.”

Their fingers caressed warm across the robots smooth cheeks. Temperature never made much a difference to them before, but now they understood why people associated it with good feelings.

“Basically,” their human said, “no matter what direction we go…you’re it for me.”

The robot felt the processors in their head whir. Even though they were programmed for faster than human thought this moment felt like it moved in slow motion. They wished it would go even slower.

“Can I kiss you again?” they said quietly. “I promise I won’t try to hurt you this time.”

Their human raised their brows. “So that was on purpose.”

Half a statement, half a question. They loved it.

“Yes. But it was practically your fault.”

“I’ll grant you that,” the human said. “Alright, one more extremely gentle kiss it is.”

“Just one?”

The human mulled it over a moment. “Fine, you can have two.”

They got three.

Master Taglist:

@moss-tombstone @crazytwentythrees s @just-1-lonely-person @the-vagabond-nun @yulanlavender @willow-trees-are-beautiful @cocoasprite @insanedreamer7905 05 @appleejuice @psychiclibrariesquotestoad @valiantlytransparentwhispers @whovian378

#writing community #writing snippet #creative writing #human x monster #human x robot #fiction #writers of tumblr #writblr

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shirohige-pirates · 11 months

Text

Just Like Fire

CisFem Reader x Portgas D. Ace

CW: angst, language, erotic, violence, serial killer, stalking, poisoning, over-bearing controlling parents, attempted forced marriage, possible dub-con, Munchausen by proxy (aka Factitious Disorder), wildly cute and fluffy despite the warnings. 18+ only

Summary: You're Sabo's biological sister in this AU. After college you moved in with your dear brother and his two sworn brothers in order to avoid going back home. You and Sabo despise your family equally.

Chapter 3: Two Jobs

A week in the house turned into three weeks. The end of the third week was also the end of your first week of work. You got your foot in the door at a firm not too far from where Sabo worked, and your job was just some basic data analytics. The pay was decent, and the hours were stable, so you managed to get yourself set up as the de facto cook for the house.

You were the only one with a set start and end time, so it was easiest for you to plan meals and prep for everyone else. You’d bought a lot of bento boxes and thermoses so you could start organizing things, and even out some nutrition for the others. Sabo did the laundry, and Ace and Luffy kept the house clean.

So far it was working out well, and you all managed to get time off Friday evening and were currently celebrating.

All Blue was a jazzy bar and restaurant that was run by another of Luffy’s friends. You were fairly certain the young man was simply friends with the entire city at this point, and Ace and Sabo couldn’t disagree. Sanji was a phenomenal cook according to all three boys, and had decent taste in music as far as you were concerned. The vibe of the venue was also on point, as there were well organized and maintained aquariums built into the bar, walls, and ceiling in a few places.

Sanji came to the table to bring your meals.

“Ah, the mysterious sister!” He says, setting down plates with grace and skill. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Welcome to the All Blue!”

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” you say, just loud enough to be heard over the live jazz band. They weren’t playing too loud – it would probably harm the fish – but it was loud enough to make you raise your voice a little. “Your restaurant is beautiful, Mr. Sanji!”

“Not nearly as beautiful as some of my customers.” He replies with an easy smile. You feel the heat rise in your cheeks, but Sanji shifts his attention to the rest of the table. “Luffy said you were celebrating?”

“(Y/N) has survived a week at her job,” Luffy says, putting his hands up in victory.

“She’s also survived three weeks with us.” Ace adds before taking a drink.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful customer.” Sanji says with a wide smile. He bows with a little flourish. “May you enjoy your celebration, Miss. Please enjoy the food.”

“I’m sure I will, thank you.” You reply as he walks away. You turn toward Sabo. “The way you talked about him I expected him to be a lot more cringey and a lot less smooth.”

“Three years ago, he was awful.” Sabo assures you. “Then he finally settled down, and I guess he settled down in other ways too.”

“Oh, did he find his soul mate or something?” You ask.

Ace grabs your shoulder and guides your gaze toward the bar. “See the bartender?”

Your eyes go a little wide. “Yeah.” A young woman was behind the bar with long dark brown hair and a feisty countenance. She was maybe a little shorter than Luffy and had an easy smile. She was laughing with some patrons, when Sanji walked by and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before disappearing into the kitchen.

“That’s the fiancé.” Ace explains. “The one person in the New World who managed to settle Sanji.”

“Well.” You lean back and begin to dig into your main course. The appetizers had been delicious and had been brought out by someone who wasn’t the bartender or Sanji. “Did Sanji have this place before or after they got together?”

“After. It was part of their agreement.” Luffy answers.

“Agreement?”

“She made him woo her for a year, and in that time, they got everything for this place sorted.” Ace explains.

“Made him?” You quirk an eyebrow.

“Sanji wanted to get married the day they confessed to one another.” Sabo clarified, and you nearly choke on your food.

After a drink of water, you turn toward Sabo in disbelief. “That’s a tad fast, yes?”

“They’d known each other for a few years by that point.” He offers. You can tell from his smile that he agrees with you though. “I think he said something about being a fool for taking so long to notice. Lyn’s lovely, when they’re a little less busy we’ll introduce you.”

“He didn’t want to waste any more time.” Luffy says, and you notice he’s already cleared his plate. You’re not sure what to say about any of it, but before you can speak, Sanji’s already come over with another plate of what Luffy ordered. He sets it down in front of the young man with little more than a “here you go”, and then was back off toward the kitchen.

“… How many times is he going to do that?” You ask.

“At least two more times.” Ace answers. “Sanji’s the only person who can feed Luffy to full.”

“Luffy can be full?” You ask the question without thinking and the table breaks out into laughter – Luffy included.

The four of you continue to eat, and sure enough Sanji brings three more plates for Luffy by the end of it. He doesn’t hang around to talk, but the All Blue is packed to the gills, so you’re sure he’s very busy. It was probably more time than he had to spare to bring the dishes to your table in the first place.

By the end of your meal, Luffy was full, you and Ace were a little toasted after a small drinking contest, and Sabo was sober, but smiling. He wasn’t smiling that tight, concerned smile he gets when he’s irritated either, so you knew he was having fun.

“This was quite the celebration, thank you.” You say, leaning your head against Sabo’s shoulder for a moment. “I wish we could’ve done something more exciting.”

“What’s a proper lady like you consider exciting?” Ace teases. He’d been calling you a proper lady since before the drinking contest, and the wide smile on his face assured you he meant it kindly.

You right yourself, sitting up before you wiggle a little to the jazz music. “It would’ve been fun to go dancing, or camping maybe. Something new would’ve been nice.”

“You’ve… never been camping?” Ace and Luffy ask at the same time.

You shake your head. “Too risky, and I was taught how to dance, but I don’t do it often.” You can feel yourself sobering up, but you manage to keep your tone light. “I slept for 14 hours a day for three days after the move, if we went dancing tonight, I’d sleep my Saturday away, and unfortunately I have an obligation tomorrow.”

The word obligation dripped from your mouth like it was covered in poison and oil. You couldn’t help but nearly spit the frustrating phrase from your lips.

Sabo sighs and rolls his eyes. “Did she do it already?”

You sigh. “Yeah, mother set me up on a coffee date tomorrow.”

“You haven’t been graduated a month!” Sabo seems even angrier than you feel.

“She said I should be grateful she waited until I had graduated.” You say, mimicking your mother’s affect. “I wanted to tell you before the celebration, but we all kind of showed up here and I didn’t want to ruin the mood.”

“You don’t have to worry about that with us.” Ace says, giving you an easy smile, and yanking Luffy over with him. “We’ll always cheer you back up!”

Luffy smiles at you, that wide smile he has. “Yeah! You can say what you need to!” He asserts, putting his arms up as Sabo nudges you a little.

“Ah, you’re all too much.” You tighten your lips and do your best to smile. “I hadn’t imagined the best part of moving in with my brother would be support from his brothers.”

All three of them smile for a moment before Sabo’s face drops. “Hey – wait a minute!”

Your laugh rings out at your brother’s displeasure, and you’re trying to console him, but you keep breaking into giggles instead. You don’t see the expression on Ace’s face, but Sabo does.

. . . . . .

Saturday morning you woke up and went through your routine. Showered and dressed, you made your way downstairs and started making breakfast. The boys wouldn’t be up for another hour and that gave you plenty of time to prep all the ingredients and make some snack boxes in case anyone had to go into work today. It was easier to just assume they would have to, than to assume they’d be staying at home.

Sabo came down first. He was already dressed for work, so you knew he was going in.

“Mornin’ sister dear.” He greeted you with a lazy smile, brushing his still damp hair from his face. “I shouldn’t be in for too long today, I can pick you up from the café if you want?” He offers.

You shake your head. “I don’t want to risk offending mother just yet.” You say, plating him up some food as he sat at the breakfast bar. “If whoever this is complains about my dear brother interrupting us, she’ll be a headache and a half.”

“Mm, fair. Still, please do call if he’s out of line.” Sabo says, turning his small breakfast into a sandwich by piling it all between two slices of toast. “I’ll even leave the office to help.”

“Of course.” You say with a smile.

Sabo finishes his breakfast and heads out, giving you a small hug before he leaves. A few minutes later Ace and Luffy wander into the kitchen. Luffy is dressed, barely, but well enough, and Ace is in shorts. You’ve adjusted a bit to seeing the two barely clothed, but a topless Ace is a small treat first thing in the morning.

“Work for Luffy, but not for you?” You question, setting plates in front of both of them.

“Meeennng-hurgh.” Luffy makes a weird noise as he begins to eat his breakfast. “Long EMT shift today.” He says. He doesn’t seem to be whining about the shift, more that he’s up so early.

Ace begins to eat too. “On-call.” He says between bites, reaching over the bar and putting a few extra bits of food onto Luffy’s plate automatically. “When’s your second job start today?”

You tilt your head for a second before the light dawns. Keeping your mother happy was enough of an energy drain, calling it a second job was valid. “Coffee’s at 11am. I was going to have a light breakfast and grab a taxi around 10:30.”

“If you need someone to come get you-.” Ace starts, but you’re already smiling.

“Sabo offered earlier too.” You explain. “I’ll be fine. If someone comes to my rescue and he complains to mother it’ll be an issue. But if he’s truly rude, I’ll just make a scene in the café.” You say with a smile. “Then I’ll call my mom and head off anyone else trying to control the story.”

“Sounds like a headache.” Ace grumbles.

You stretch before replying. “It is.” You admit taking a couple bites of food before continuing. “Nobles, Royals, Celestials – it’s all a big pain in the ass. I’m almost glad Sabo and I are nobles, and not any higher up the line.”

You take a few more bites and frown. “It’d be best if we weren’t even nobles.”

“I’m glad you two are!” Luffy says brightly. He’s finished eating his first plate and is wide awake. You slide a second plate over, tilting your head a little. “Sabo found Ace and I because he was Sabo, and you’re here cause you’re you.” Luffy takes a few big bites as you start to realize his point. “If you weren’t who you were, you might not’ve ended up me an’ Ace’s nakama!”

You glance over at Ace with a smile, catching his gaze unintentionally, and look back over to Luffy before continuing. “A small price to pay, I guess. Thank you Luffy.”

Luffy nods as he cleans his plate. “If you don’t like being a noble so much, why not quit?”

“It’s not impossible.” You say, gathering three bento boxes and tying them together. “But it’s a long process. I have to prove personal independence first, or provide mitigating circumstances. One of the reasons Sabo decided to become a lawyer was to make sure we could both break off clean as soon as possible.

“The short version is that someone has to sign off on my declaration. I can’t just declare it.”

“… Why?” Luffy asks, tilting his head. “Can’t you just decide?”

You let out a sigh. “Luffy, she can’t just-.”

“Ah, it’s okay Ace.” You interrupt. You purse your lips together and look back to Luffy. You know what you’re going to say will upset him, but you’re trying to sort out how to soften the blow. “Noble blood is considered a commodity. There are few Celestials, a few more Royals than Celestials, and a lot more nobles than Celestials and Royals.”

You grimace a little and sigh again but continue. “The system is such that inbreeding can be avoided among the Celestials and Royals by utilizing the larger pool of nobles. We’re, effectively, acceptable commoners, in the grand scheme of it all. But because of that it’s difficult to renounce one’s title.

“Sterry, for an example, is the son of a couple of criminals. Not that that would ever become public knowledge, but his parents were nobles. Instead of losing out on the potential, they allowed him and his sister to be adopted. Separately, mind you. I don’t even know if Sterry knows.”

“Why separate them?” Ace questions.

You crinkle your nose a little, waving your hand a bit. “It… spreads the impact.”

“That’s gross.” Luffy says, his face crinkled in an emotion somewhere between distaste and anger.

“It is.” You agree. “So we have to cut ties correctly. Until then, we have to play the game, at least minimally. Which means I accept the dates my mother sets up for me.”

Luffy makes a face, and you can see the internal struggle cross his features. It makes you feel better, honestly, having such a kind person like him in your proverbial corner. Somewhere in the back of your mind you can clearly imagine Luffy and Ace setting the noble district ablaze to rescue you.

Perhaps they would do so if you simply asked them to.

Help me be free.

You keep your thoughts to yourself for now, and tense a little as Luffy gives you a hug suddenly. You return the gesture and he steps back, the gaze he levels at you is almost uncomfortable - it’s like he’s reading your very soul for a moment.

“Okay!” He nods, but you’re not sure what’s going through his mind. “I gotta go, have a good day!”

He gives you both a wave and dashes out of the house. You tilt your head and look over at Ace who only shrugs.

“He’s not going to, um, do anything rash, is he?”

Ace almost chokes on his food before laughing. “He might want to,” he admits. “But Luff won’t start a revolution unless you ask him, and Sabo lets him.”

“… the way you say that makes me nervous.” You sit back down across from Ace and continue eating your breakfast.

“How so?”

“Like… you’d join him, not stop him.” You say it with a smile, but when you see the look on his face your breath catches. “I-.” You stop, unsure of what to say. For some reason you almost want to apologize, or let him. Let him and Luffy just do it. Just level your parents’ home, rock the world, rage against it, set it on fire and force it to change.

It’s an absolutely insane train of thought, but some part of you is compelled to believe it would be possible.

Ace finishes eating. “Call me if he steps out of line.” He says, ruffling your hair a little as he walks back to his room.

#just like fire #portgas d ace #x reader #portgas d ace x reader #reader insert

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annesthaeticc · 2 years

Text

Sweet November | Dr Strange x Fem!Reader

Sweet November : Chapter Three-November 4

| Series Summary: "One month." Stephen said, his gaze intense. He raised his hand, offered it for you to shake. "One month." you agreed and shook his hand. The sign of a closed deal. Then he smiled at you, and from that instant, you realized, you just broke rule number one; no falling in love.

| Chapter Warning: first 'date' yay! just some banter and some fluff

| Word Count: 2685 words

| A/N: aaaand this is where i leave you for a while. hope you like this chapter, i had fun writing it! comments, hearts, and REBLOGS are greatly appreciated. ily all 💘

Three days later you found yourself standing in front of your floor length mirror. Your hands absently smoothing out your dress, touching the pristine material probably for the hundredth time. Sighing has become your number one reaction and a usual habit for you these days. You regarded your vision once more and thought how different you looked.

Long gone were the jeans and lace up boots, you were wearing a blue dress that accentuated your waist, and baby blue high heels that made your legs look long. Carefully, you took a step forward, still trying to break the heels in.

Stephen’s stylist friend, Kali, very French and gay, was too happy to assist you. You remember entering the boutique, nervous, after pacing outside the shop for ten minutes. “Ah yes! Stephen finally brought a girl for me to style!” Kali exclaimed when you introduced yourself as Stephen’s ‘girlfriend’. You spent an afternoon there, trying out dresses and shoes, and getting overwhelmed at how everything was so pretty, expensive, and sparkly. Your once messy cabinet was now organized, and garment bags crowded the small space.

When the clock struck seven thirty, you slipped on your coat, grabbed your clutch and keys. Locked the door, and treaded carefully down the hall to the elevators. Before the elevator doors could close, your neighbor Margo, an elderly woman, called out for you to hold the door open.

“Oh look at you! You look really pretty!” she gushed as you pressed the close button.

“Thank you,” you blushed. You almost never dressed up, hence you found yourself in a new territory. You honestly do not know if you wore the dress right, or did your makeup pretty well. You could only hope your ‘boyfriend’ thinks you look quite acceptable for the event.

“Who’s the lucky guy?” she pressed. You shyly smiled and said, “He’s a doctor.”

She continued to quiz you until the elevator halted at the ground floor, you helped her out and she wished you a good night. You stepped out of your apartment building, expecting Stephen would be out waiting. You imagined his face in a scowl, disappointed at you for being late on your very first night on the job, but alas, you found no sign of him.

Eventually, he arrived. But when he did, you were sitting on the steps of your apartment building, on the verge of falling asleep. The night hasn’t even started and your eyes are already drooping. Gingerly, you stood up, and he quickly walked towards you to help you up. You brushed off the dust from your dress and gave him a smile.

“Sleeping on the job?” he teased you, and you playfully punched his arm. “I wouldn’t be if you weren’t so late,” you retorted. He opened the passenger door for you and you climbed in, once again feeling the leather beneath your skin.

The low hum of the engine vibrated beneath you and that made you relax further into the seat. “This is such a nice car,” you absentmindedly said, running your nails against the upholstery. “Jaguar XE.” he replied and shot you a quick smile.

“So, this party…” you prompted and looked at him.

“Is pretty fancy. Just doctors dressed up and drinking expensive wine,”

“And what am I supposed to do while you guys drink fancy wine?”

“Your job is to keep the questions and the ladies, sometimes guys, at bay,” he smirked at you, and shifted gears.

“Guys?” you asked, eyes wide. But where’s the surprise? He chuckled at your reaction and shrugged.

“What if I failed to bat away the questions?” you asked, curious. “I really have no choice, Diana, I’m stuck with you.” he sighed dramatically and smiled at you.

“Let’s just try our best, don’t overdo it, just act like a normal couple, okay?” he said as he slowed down the car. You nodded and watched as the car pulled up in front of a hotel.

Stephen got out of the car and you did the same when the valet opened the door for you. He caught up next to you and offered his arm for you to hold on to. You snaked up your hand into the small space, gently gripping his arm.

“You ready to act like we’re in love, Di?” he asked you, a smirk starting to creep on his pretty lips. The way he called you by your nickname made you grin like an idiot.

“I really have no choice, Stephen.” you exhaled and looked up at him.

Any passerby would mistake you as a couple already, it was quite obvious by the way you two looked at each other.

Everything sparkled of silver and gold. The chandeliers. The champagne flutes. The trays. The plates. The silverware. When the two of you stepped into the room, your eyes quickly widened and took everything in. It was all so bright, so shiny.

And the words escaped your lips in a squeak, “Wow,” “Yeah,” you heard him say. Stephen spotted the first inquisitor and he figured, it’s going to be a long night ahead.

“Strange! Long time no see!” Stephen greeted his colleague with his usual smile, and shook his hand. “And who do we have here?”

“Dr. Collins, may I introduce you to my girlfriend, Diana Winston,” Stephen said and you smiled. You stuck out your hand to shake Dr. Collins' hand and you greeted him with a ‘hi’.

“‘Bout time you brought a girl with you, Strange!” Dr. Collins said and you chuckled, seeing Stephen’s grimace.

“He was waiting for me,” you boldly said, the words out of your lips before you could think about it.

“Bet the wait was very worth it, isn’t it Stephen?” he joked, lightly patting Stephen’s back. “It is,” he replied, his voice tight. You smiled on his behalf, hoping to sell the ‘we’re a couple’ look.

“Well, I’ll let you two lovebirds go, more people to meet and champers to drink. Nice to meet you Diana.” Dr. Collins said and you nodded, politely saying goodbye.

Stephen led you away, his hand lightly grasping yours. “God, I hate him,” he said under his breath and you laughed.

You were about to ask him why, but he stopped walking cause you were met with another curious doctor, ready to fire up the questions.

"I'm so glad you could come!" she said, Stephen quickly introduced you to Dr. Robbins.

"Hi, I'm Diana. Nice to meet you, Dr Robbins." you shook her hand and smiled. Your cheek muscles are already starting to hurt.

"Goodness! You're very pretty, lucky you, Stephen!" she said and you masked your wince with another smile.

Stephen, however, did not respond and you had to slightly jab him at the side to prompt him for an answer. He looked at you with an annoyed look and said, "Indeed I am."

"How did you two meet?" she asked, eyes shining with curious enthusiasm.

"Tinder—", "A mutual friend—" the two of you simultaneously said and you let out a nervous chuckle.

"We uh, we met through a mutual friend through Tinder," you said and Stephen cocked his head as if to say 'what?'

"How long have you been dating?" she asked. Oh she really is curious, you thought.

"A week—", "A month—" this time, you were the one who gave him a glare. Would anyone really believe that you two started dating just last week and now he's bringing you to public events?

"We've been going out for a month," Stephen said, flashing his signature charming smile.

Dr. Robbins once again gushed at how you two make a pretty couple and swiftly said “See you around,” because she spotted someone.

"A week? And I thought you are supposed to be the smart one in this relationship," you snickered.

"Technically, we are dating for at least a day or two, I just rounded it off. So yes, I am the smart one." he smirked at you and you rolled your eyes at him.

"That's not believable," you countered. "Fine," he said in defeat, you do have a point.

When you two arrived at the bar and had your drinks at hand, you started, "We need to get our stories straight,"

"Why are people so curious anyway? It's none of their business,"

"Apparently, it is because you finally 'brought a girl with you' to this stuff. The great Stephen Strange has finally brought a date," you mocked, deepening your voice.

"I really don't see the big deal. Why can't they just, I don't know, not ask and mind their own lives?"

"Oh, don't get so melodramatic! Wish you could say that to them though, I honestly don't like being asked about 'us',"

"But instead, I have to pretend I'm nice and I'm in love with my girlfriend. If I don't, I'll probably offend half of the party and that doesn't look good for my books. So, come on, what do you suggest?"

"Well, we could say we met through Tinder,"

"Absolutely not!" he said in horror and you laughed.

"What? Why? It's the truth, Stephen," you said through your giggles.

"We can't say that. They can't find out I have an account on that thing," he sternly said. He meant business.

"Okay fine, for the sake of your reputation we'll say we met through a mutual friend. Is that okay with you?" you asked and took a sip of your drink. He nodded in agreement.

A silence has passed between the two of you and for a moment you breathed out a sigh of relief. Bantering with Stephen does tend to get you on a high. But it was quickly broken when he groaned. “Oh god.”

“What? Why?”

“Quick! Put your hands on me.” he ordered through his teeth and you obliged, gently planting your hand on his forearm.

You looked up at him, puzzled at the suddenness of his command. His gaze trailed at the far side of the room, and you followed. A bottle bleached-blonde was waving at him, her breasts lightly bouncing everytime she waved her hand. You watched Stephen as he smiled, and gave her a short wave back. Your lips are struggling to hold in your laugh.

“Oh my god,” you giggled as he turned his head to look at you. He joined in, the rich tone of his baritone rumble ringing through your ears.

“That was Maddi, Dr. Conor’s assistant. She loves ambushing me at parties,” he explained.

“I thought this party was for doctors only?”

“Well, doctors can bring their dates, can they?” he smirked and you failed to mask your shock.

“Oh my god!” you gasped and it was his turn to laugh. “Chances are he’s fucking his own assistant. And cheating on his second wife,” he continued.

“You made that up,” you said and drew your hand away, creating a distance between you. He just winked at you and finished his drink.

The party started when the host tapped the mic and urged everyone to get comfortable. Stephen led you somewhere at the back, holding your hand the whole way through. The party went on, serving dinner and more drinks. It was going well as the two of you slowly moved through the floor after you had dinner. Stephen introduced you to new faces, names you will probably forget tomorrow.

You were talking to one of his colleagues, Dr. Nielsen and you thought he was a bit too flirty with you, even though it was quite obvious you were with Stephen. The doctor left the two of you alone sometime later, but you were surprised when Stephen suddenly pulled you close to him.

Too close.

One hand on his arm, one planted against his chest. You stilled, heart beating so fast. You will yourself to calm down, hoping, praying to God he doesn’t feel your racing heartbeat. You risked a glance up at him, given you were wearing heels, there was still a gap in your heights. He shyly smiled at you, apologizing through his clear blue eyes.

“Okay, she’s gone.” Stephen exhaled, and he slowly let you go. “Was that Maddi?” you asked as you stepped back, then he nodded.

“Oh, here comes another one,” he sighed and shook hands with the doctor.

You later learned that his name was Dr. Williams, and he’s got the hots for Stephen as he gave you a look of disdain. Quite amusing. When the doctor walked away, you giggled and Stephen gave you a look as if he’s in pain.

“He’s totally in love with you.” you teased. He rolled his eyes and said, “He needs to get in line, then.”

“Something tells me he’s already been in the line for a long time now,” you said. He faced you and replied, “That’s tough. I’m already taken.”

You looked away, hoping the bright golden lights would mask the blush that was starting to creep up on your cheeks. It was close to midnight when you two agreed to leave the party. He confessed he had to do the rounds tomorrow morning and you did the same, saying you had to be at work by three in the afternoon.

“What do you think?” he asked you as he eased the car out of the hotel’s laneway into the streets.

“It was fine,” you lied. He glanced at you and you sighed in defeat.

“Fine, it was boring, and a bit stuffy,” you said and he chuckled.

“And my cheek muscles and my jaw hurts from all the smiling,” you continued.

“Do you want to back out?” he asked.

“No.” you said, your voice clear as crystal, and tone full of conviction.

“You can, you know,”

“No. A deal is a deal,” you smoothly said and looked at him. He gave you a smile and turned his attention back on the road.

“Let’s just hope the next party will be more fun for you.” Stephen said and you hummed.

You leaned back into the seat and Stephen filled the comfortable silence with a Pink Floyd track. The citylights quickly flew past your window and you watched them, hypnotizing you, lulling you into sleep. Eyes closed, you gave into your body’s demand for sleep and you let your head softly thud against the Jaguar’s window.

Stephen parked the car in front of your apartment building. You were still asleep when the car stopped and he stared at you in hopes you would just wake up. He then realized, if he waited for you to wake up on your own, you’d be there all night. He had no choice but to wake you up. Lucky for him, just a pinch on the arm was enough for you to wake up.

“Ow!” you gasped and he chuckled. “What was that for?” you glared at him and rubbed the spot where he pinched you.

“You fell asleep. We’re here.” Stephen smiled and you hated how he smiled. He looked so sweet.

“No need for violence, you could’ve just called my name.” you said as you clicked the seatbelt off.

“Oh don’t be so melodramatic!” he mimicked your words earlier and continued, “And I’ll definitely note that.”

“Right, you better do. Guess I’ll see you next week then?”

“Yes, you’ll definitely be seeing my annoyingly charming face next week, Diana,” he chuckled.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Stephen. Goodnight.” you said with a smile and pushed the door open.

“Goodnight, Di.” he called out after you climbed out. When you slammed the door closed, you waved at him for good measure even though he probably didn’t see it behind the car’s tinted windows.

You watched him drive away, a smile playing on your lips. A smile that didn’t hurt your jaw, nor your cheeks. You climbed into bed that night and thought which way you liked the most. Was it the way he called you Diana with a stern, dark tone? Or was it the way he called you Di, endearingly and painfully sweet? You drifted off to sleep, not knowing the answer. Either way, you liked the way he said your name.

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