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fific7 · 3 years

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Into the Darkness / Part 4

The Darkling x Reader

A/N: The final chapter. This does not follow canon, it’s literally just lemon zest 🍋 ... I have a vision of Ben Barnes in his black Kefta and riding boots permanently stuck in my brain right now. Attempting to write it right out of there.

Warnings: 18+ please due to NSFW content. Some dom/sub interaction, being restrained, coercion, questionable consent (thankfully it takes place in a fantasy universe), sexual content including oral, loss of virginity, very rough unprotected* sex. I don’t mention her actual age, but Reader is not underage.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

[My GIF]

The Darkling looked at you with icy eyes. He took off his Kefta and threw it onto one of the chairs, and began unbuckling his trousers. “Take your clothes off, and get on the bed.”

He was furious. Jealous and furious. He fucked you for so long and so hard that you were weeping rivers of tears by the end of it. He’d stopped several times to pull you into a new position, before thrusting back into you and continuing his attack. Every time you gasped more loudly than usual, he smiled coldly at you.

He was fucking you from behind now. As he was about to come, he grabbed you by the hair and pulled your head back, hissing in your ear, “Remember who you belong to, little dove.” Tugging at your hair, he commanded, “Say it! Say who you belong to!” as he released his come into you.

“You... I belong to you, moi soverennyi!” you managed to say, breathing shakily from his prolonged physical assault on you. That’s what it felt like to you, an assault, a punishment. He’d never been so rough with you before, so relentless while he was fucking you. It was well over an hour since he’d pounced on you when you’d first lain naked on the bed, and he hadn’t let up once.

He rolled off you, got up and stalked into the screened-off bathing area, where you heard him taking a piss. You surveyed yourself while he was absent; bites, scratches and fingermarks - which would surely bruise - were apparent all over your body. Your breasts were sore from his incessant kneading of them, your nipples inflamed and painful from him constantly sucking and biting at them.

Your thighs were marked by his fingers and a pink rash from his beard was already showing between your legs. That same beard had also scratched and irritated your mouth and chin. He’d sucked love bites onto your neck, collarbone and breasts. You groaned and turned over to lie on your back, pulling the covers slowly over your abused body.

He walked back to the bed, pulling the covers back off and barking at you to get up and get on your knees. You sobbed, “Please, please...no, moi soverennyi....” He grabbed your arm and pulled you onto the floor. “Shut up and do it!” You wobbled up onto your knees, aware of his hard cock right in front of your face. “Open your mouth.” You did so, and he thrust into your mouth, pushing in so fast and so deep that despite all his recent schooling of you, you choked immediately.

He didn’t stop or back out, merely began roughly fucking into your mouth. Eventually you managed to draw in a breath, and tried to stop choking as he thrust in and out. You thanked the saints when you felt his warmth flooding your throat, and swallowed it as quickly as you could.

He allowed you to get back into bed, and you sank gratefully onto the mattress, pulling up the covers once more. He joined you, firmly grasping your jaw with one hand, “Never, ever, act like that with one of my men again.” He released you, lying down on his back. “You are mine,” you heard him say in a low voice, “mine!”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

It had taken you forever to fall asleep and when you awoke early the next morning, every single part of your body was aching. You were suddenly aware of a pair of grey eyes on you. His head was propped up on his hand, and he was just staring at you.

He rolled the sheet down until your breasts were exposed. Leaning over, he sucked on one of your nipples, grasping your other breast and groping it. You winced, they were so sensitive after all the manhandling they’d endured the night before. He saw your expression, but kept on doing what he was doing.

“I’m the only one who gets to do this,” he said, giving your breast an extra-firm squeeze, which made you gasp. “I’m the only one who gets to do this.” He kissed you, thrusting his tongue into your mouth. “And I’m the only one who gets to do this.” His head disappeared under the covers, and you felt him tonguing between your legs. “And this.” He parted your legs and you felt his cock there for a split second, before it sank into you. He moved fully onto you, pinning your hands on the pillows above your head and began to thrust.

Your eyes were watering as he ground into you, in pain but trying not to cry out. He reached his climax, and pulled out of you, releasing your hands. He lay on his back, staring at the material of the tent above him. “Your body has made me insane. You have made me insane.” You looked at him, “What do you mean?” “I’ve lost my mind over you, you’re constantly in my thoughts. I will .. not.. have you speaking with or being looked at by other men.”

You sighed, “So...what?....I have to remain locked away from everyone? How is that fair?”

He didn’t answer you, but got out of bed and started to get dressed. “Two of the serving women will come to you this afternoon,” he said, “do as they tell you.” He pulled on his boots, shrugged into his Kefta and left the tent.

You had no idea what that was all about. So you ran a warm bath, soaking in it and tried to soothe away all your aches and pains.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

The two serving women in their white and gold Keftas arrived after you’d eaten a light lunch. They’d brought an extravagant black silk Kefta with them, along with some ivory silk underwear, and said it was all for you to wear this afternoon. You were completely confused. Why? Wear to what? But you knew better than to ask them.

They cast odd looks at you, lingering on the love bites visible above your robe, and on the fingermarks on your wrists. You felt jealousy swirling in the air, but steadfastly ignored it. You were used to everyone’s wary, jealous and strange reactions to you these days.

However, you soon found yourself in yet another rose oil bath, this time insisting you didn’t need their help. You could only imagine the rumours that would fly if they saw your ravaged body. After your bath, you donned the silk underwear and put your linen robe back on.

Your hair was pinned up in a loose swirl by one of the serving women, you were dressed in the new finery and were then brought by them to the large meeting tent. They left you at the main entrance, so you lifted up the flap and stepped inside.

You could see him pacing beside the large campaign table. There was an unfamiliar man on the other side of it, dressed in the grey of the Oprichniki. The Darkling turned to you as you entered the tent. His eyes looked like a glacier, freezing you with their icy intensity.

“Welcome to your wedding ceremony,” he said.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You’d stumbled slightly as he’d said that. “What?” you shrieked. His eyes closed in irritation, “Be quiet!”

He walked over to you, taking your hand in his and lifting it up as if you were going to dance. “We are getting married,” he stated. “It’s the only way I can still my mind, rid it of this unease.”

“What unease?” you asked. “The feeling that if I don’t make this official, it will cease,” he answered. “That someone may try to take you from me.” You looked at him, amazed. Had this all been triggered by a short, innocent conversation with Ivan? “I was merely conversing with Ivan,” you mumbled.

He laughed, but it was not with amusement. “You’re oblivious, aren’t you? All the men look at you with lust in their eyes, and want to possess you. They are jealous of me because I have you. The women are all jealous of you because you’re with me.”

Your gaze dropped from his. “I never asked for this, it’s your doing.” He nodded, “Yes, I know. But if I marry you, it will still all the tongues from wagging. It will also prove that it’s a permanent arrangement. That you will not be replaced. That I will not release you to be with other men.”

He walked you forward to the table. The Oprichnik, meanwhile, went to the main entrance and brought two more people into the tent. One of them was Ivan, the other unknown to you but also dressed in grey. Ivan looked extremely uncomfortable but gave you a short nod. These were the witnesses, you guessed. The original Oprichnik was also an ordained priest, you were told.

You took a deep breath as the brief ceremony commenced. How were you feeling about this? No discussion, no betrothal, nothing - it was all his decision. Anger boiled up in your veins, before subsiding as you realised - and accepted - that it would provide a high level of protection and security for you and your family. And it seemed you didn’t have any say in the matter anyway.

After the Oprichnik finished intoning the marriage vows, you were both required to respond “I swear an eternal oath to you by these vows.” Neither of you would be able to break this contract.

You were surprised when at this point the Darkling produced two black wedding bands from a side pocket, both of them with his symbol engraved on them. Yours was slightly thinner than his, and he slid it onto your ring finger before kissing it, and your finger.

You placed his ring onto his finger, following suit by kissing it and his finger. And that was it. Ten minutes and you were bonded to each other for eternity in the eyes of the saints. He leant in and kissed you softly. It was in complete contrast to his earlier treatment of you, and you felt even more conflicted about this dark, mysterious and still dangerous man.

There were toasts with kvas, and then you both left to walk back to your tent. You noticed that Kirigan had taken a very long and circuitous route back through the Camp, and he had placed your left hand on his right arm. He’d then placed his left hand over yours, so that both rings were prominently on display. You realised that this was his very public wedding announcement to the Second Army. The whispers and wide-eyed looks you both received as you walked through the Camp were quite something to hear and see.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You were introduced - albeit it briefly - to an entirely different General Kirigan on your wedding night. One who took his time to remove your clothes, layer by layer. One who tenderly stroked your face as you lay next to him in bed, one who very gently entered you after kissing you until you’d run out of oxygen. One who gasped out, “My wife!” as he released his come into you. Who placed kisses on your breasts as you drifted off to sleep after sex. He didn’t disturb your sleep any further that night.

In the morning, he’d brought you tea and sweet bread to wake you with. You stretched, sitting up as he placed the tray onto the bed beside you. “Good morning, wife,” you heard, as you looked over at him. He was already dressed.

“Good morning, moi soverennyi,” you replied, but he shook his head. “You should address me as moi muzh,” he said, “...which is ‘husband’. Also lord, bedfellow, helpmate.” You nodded, “As you wish, moi muzh.” He smiled at you, gently moving a strand of your hair back from your face. “I will address you as moi zhena.... ‘wife’.”

His fingers strayed down to your breasts, cupping one of them and rubbing his thumb over your nipple. “I wish I could spend more time with you ... and these beautiful breasts....” his gaze dropped to where his thumb was, “...but I have an important strategy meeting I must attend. It shouldn’t take long.”

His eyes darkened to stormy grey, “And I’ll then expect my wife to be ready to pleasure her new husband.”

You nodded, “Of course, moi muzh.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You’d dozed back off, enjoying some alone time and recharging your inner batteries somewhat. Then you felt a hand on your shoulder, shaking you, and the bedclothes were pulled back. Your eyes opened and met his grey ones. He was already naked, moving onto the bed next to you, pulling your nightrobe up and off over your head, his eyes roaming greedily over your body.

His hands, unsurprisingly, went straight to your breasts and began massaging them. You sat up, moving your arms a bit so that he had better access to them. You’d accepted his obsession with them, and now acquiesced to every touch. Apart from anything else, he was now your husband, and you were under oath to obey him in everything.

His stiffened cock was already leaking pre-cum, and you readied yourself. Not a moment too soon, as he then straddled you, parting your legs and sinking into you. You gasped as he started moving on you, back to a fast pace and deep thrusts.

You’d been moaning softly at each thrust, when suddenly you were aware of another presence in the tent. Your eyes widened as you looked over his shoulder; no-one ever came in except by invitation. A sound of a throat clearing, and the Darkling’s head whipped round. It was Ivan, looking both incredibly embarrassed and in great fear.

“Forgive me, moi soverennyi,” he muttered, “you know I wouldn’t normally intrude but there’s been a report of...”

You’d been shielded from Ivan’s sight by The Darkling’s body, but now he also pulled up the bed covers over the two of you. “Get out,” he hissed at him, “I’ll see you outside when I’m finished.”

Ivan swiftly left, and you wondered if he’d also taken leave of his senses. He surely must’ve had a fair idea of what Kirigan would be occupied with when he returned to his tent after the meeting.

Kirigan turned back to you, he’d slid out of you when Ivan had come into the tent. “Where were we?” he smirked. He pulled you back towards him, giving his length a couple of strokes before pushing back inside you, continuing where he left off. Once he’d released into you, he got up and started re-dressing himself.

He left the tent, returning twenty minutes later looking angry. “That was a complete waste of time.” You were sitting up in bed and smiled at him, “Then what was his real reason for disturbing you, moi muzh?” He shrugged out of his Kefta, placing it on the chair, before turning and looking at you. “Why do you think? He wanted to see me fucking you so he can relive it in his dreams and pretend it’s him, moi zhena.”

You cast your eyes down, “He finds me so attractive?” He laughed, “Of course he does! Every time he looks at you, he wants to fuck you senseless.” You looked back up at him, “Are you going to punish him, moi muzh?” Again he laughed, “No! He is already being punished, every single moment of every single day, knowing that you’re mine and that he will never have you. Why do you think I made him one of the witnesses to our wedding?”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

A few days later, you awoke to a stiff cock hovering at your lips, so you obediently opened your mouth and lay there as Kirigan thrust far down to the back of your throat. You swirled your tongue around it and sucked on him as hard as you could, just as he’d instructed you. When you felt his warm release in your throat, you swallowed it down, coughing slightly when you weren’t quite fast enough.

He’d then followed his usual morning routine of fucking you a short time later, before dressing and going to his first meeting. Once again, an hour later, an Oprichnik came to your tent and said you were to attend at the meeting tent. Now familiar with what this would lead to, you followed him over there and waited in the side room. Kirigan marched in a few moments later, sitting in the chair and pulling you onto his lap as he unbuttoned his fly. His hard length was inside you in seconds, and you moved quickly on him to bring him to his climax so he could return to the meeting.

He pulled your face to his and kissed you hungrily. He drew back, looking intensely at you but saying nothing. You stood up, rearranging your clothing as you did so and preparing to leave. “Wait,” you heard, and you turned to him. He stood up, re-buttoning his fly, approaching you and placing his hand on your cheek. “You know that this is not just about sex, don’t you?”

You opened your mouth to speak but no words came out. He continued, “I married you because I wanted to fully claim you. But...” he hesitated then went on, “I also feel love for you.” You gasped, amazed at his confession. “You do?” “Yes, I do.”

You were silent. What did you feel for him? Attraction, fear (still), respect for his power, grateful for his protection, possessiveness.... but love? You looked up at him.

“I do have feelings for you, moi muzh. I think love is mixed in amongst them.”

He smiled down at you, “I’m glad to hear you say that. I hope that love will soon be dominant over the rest.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

The next morning after Kirigan had left you, you had to run to the bathing room to vomit into the bucket there. This happened again twice in the afternoon. When this began to happen on a daily basis, he called one of the medics to examine you. Your monthly cycle had been due two days before and it hadn’t put in an appearance yet.

After carrying out a thorough examination and asking several more questions of you, the medic declared that you were indeed pregnant. The Darkling smiled broadly and kissed you, pulling you close against him.

“Well done, little dove. You are carrying my child.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

He was even more attentive to you after that. And as the days and weeks passed, your belly swelled, your breasts became even fuller - much to his delight - and your mood swings were atrocious. Even the Darkling didn’t feel brave enough during those to challenge you, when you said you didn’t feel like sex.

He still got his fair share on a daily basis, of course; since you’d come into his life, the Darkling was no longer prepared to go without sex, so he was still on you at least twice a day but had toned down his dominant preferences due to your condition.

But eventually, one evening you and he were looking at the grey eyes and dark hair of a miniature Darkling, who was named Aleksander.

The Darkling looked at the two of you, a smile on his lips. You saw the love in his eyes for you and this child.

“My son,” said the Darkling, placing his hand on the baby’s head and laying his other hand on your face, “my wife. I love you.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

#the darkling x reader #the darkling #aleksander morozova #general kirigan #shadow and bone #ben barnes #aleksander morozova x reader #general kirigan x reader #the darkling imagine #the darkling fanfiction #the darkling into the darkness

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gojo-satoru-brainrot · 3 years

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I Don’t Want a World Without You. Eren Jaeger x Reader

Request from @shittypaperwork

A/N: This took me forever to write this. I wanted it to be perfect. I really hope it is. Also, my asks are open for AOT smut (Disclaimer I do prefer to write in Canon Au but not opposed to writing Modern AU if I like the idea.) , Jujustu Kaisen smut. But please enjoy!!!!!!

WARNINGS: SMUT!!!, slight breading kink ig, name calling, slight Dom!Eren. Unprotected sex, Canon AU,

WORD COUNT: 3.5k

Your friendship with Eren was unlike any relationship you had experienced before. You both joined the Scouts after the attack on Wall Maria. You both bonded over the losses you both endured that day. Eren sought out revenge on the Titans. His hatred and rage fueled his desire to become a better soldier. You wanted a better understanding of the outside world. Why all the memories came fooling back in the middle of a titan ambush you had no idea why. A giant hand came out from the shadows of the forest directly aiming for you. You didn't have much time to react before Eren swooped in and grabbed you.

"(Y/N) you need to pay more attention," Eren said right before the titan grabbed the wire to his ODM gear causing him to fall to the ground several hundred feet below.

"Eren," you screamed out. Your heart pounding in your chest as you locked eyes with the titan. Suddenly, a red hot burning sensation rushed through your chest and up your face. Tears started to form in your eyes as you maneuvered around the giant trees. Finally finding a vantage point, you zipped over the titan and your blades cutting deep into its nape. It fell to the ground dust and debris flying above its lifeless body. The feeling still stuck in your chest, but it was different something lingered beneath the surface. You located Eren, and you looked at him the feeling became stronger as you watched him lay there, blood dripping from his head on the ground under him.

You were irrevocably in love with him.

There was no time to confess to him your newfound feelings. He needed to get the infirmary. The more you realized your feelings for him, the more you realized it would never work. This world was unfair and unforgiving. There was no room in the world for love let alone a relationship, or that's what you told yourself. The pain you would feel if Eren didn't reciprocate your feelings would tear you apart inside.

Two weeks had passed since the ambush in the forest and your feelings had remained the same, in fact, they had gotten stronger. Your whole squad had made it back alive, which you were grateful for. Eren was rushed to the infirmary due to his extensive injuries. You didn't sleep most nights so you would sneak down to see Eren. You held his hand and changed out his bandages being very careful not to wake him.

"(y/n), you have to let him rest," quickly turning around you saw Armin standing in the doorway.

"It's my fault this happened," the tears started to swell up in your eyes. Armin grabs your hand leads you outside.

"B-but Eren," you stammer looking back at him.

"He's going to be fine while you're gone". You looked up at the night sky, gazing at the stars above you. It was late, you didn't realize until now. How long have you been sitting by Eren? An hour? Maybe five. A cool breeze hits your face as you sit down beside Armin on the bench just outside the infirmary.

"You're so concerned about Eren. If I didn't know any better I'd say you're acting like Mikasa," he laughs. You chuckle slightly. You had been so wrapped up in making sure that Eren was okay that you had forgotten what it feels like to relax. Memories of you and Eren flood your mind.

"Armin there's something I need to tell you. I can only trust you with this information," the blonde turns to look at you.

" I'm in love with Eren". Armin's face gets all red and he turns away.

"So why are you feeling me this? Shouldn't you be telling Eren?"

"Because it would never work out the way I want".

Eren was finally recovered enough to leave the infirmary, but he was strictly prohibited from any training, missions, and extraneous activities. You have been avoiding him for days, unable to come to terms with your feelings you thought it best to stay away.

"You're eventually going to have to tell him you can hide from your feelings forever," Armin said to you quietly.

"Shut up, Armin," you punched his shoulder just a little too rough. He winches in pain, and you touch his arm.

"Sorry." You start to blabber about how you're used to hitting Eren because he can take a hit. You didn't realize Armin was trying to tell you that Eren was right behind you. A slight punch suddenly hits the middle of your back causing you to fall forward into Armin's chest. You turn around quickly to see you hit you. Your eyes lock with Eren's, trying to speak, but nothing comes out of your mouth. His green eyes peer into yours. It feels like your entire being is melting into the palm of his hand.

"Shouldn't you be picking on someone your own size," Eren smirks at you.

"Uhhh," you fumble your words trying to form a comprehensible sentence but fail.

"I gotta go!" You said quickly as you darted off somewhere far away from Erin and Armin.

Finally catching your breath you stood in front of the shower house you are reminded of a prank you pulled on Eren just a few months ago.

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

It had been a long day of combat training and Eren was the first to use the shower, like always. Connie dared you to sneak into the men's showers and take Eren's clothes and hide them in a nearby bush.

"Easy! You should come up with a harder one next time," you smirked knowing this was going to be way simple. Quietly you snuck in being extremely careful not to slam any doors. You glanced around trying to find Eren's clothes, the steam from the showers making it hard to see. Stumbling into one of the benches close to the showers.

"Fuck that hurt."

"Hello? Who's there?" You heard Eren call out. Your heartbeat quickened as you heard the water turn off.

shit shit shit where are they?

Finally, you found the clothes tucked away under the bench. You guessed this isn't the first time this happened to him. You balled up his clothes and ran out. The steam made your hair stick to your forehead as you threw his clothes in a bush.

"Nice going (y/n)!" Connie gave you a high-five. Both of you waited for Eren to realize his clothes were missing, but to both of your surprises, Eren walked out of the showers butt-ass naked with only one of his hands covering his goods. Your jaw dropped at the sight of him the sunlight made his wet skin glisten. He shook out his hair causing water droplets to scatter around him. You followed the water as it dripped down his toned chest and pass his carefully carved abs. Your eyes followed the v line just below his abs.

"My eyes are up here! Now, where did you put my clothes, darling?" Eren steps closer to you feeling the heat radiate off him from his shower. Your mouth stayed agape and all you could do was point over to the bush. He made his way over not bothering to cover his ass.

"Well, that was fun," Eren chuckled as he pulled up his pants and let them sit on his hips unbuttoned.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Wetness started to pool in between your thighs, causing you to blush from the intrusive thoughts of Eren. You looked around to make sure no one would follow you. After stepping into the shower, you took your clothes off, and neatly folded them, and placed them on the bench. You pulled the curtain closed in hopes of having a sliver of privacy. The cold water rushed over your body and hair. Your nipples became hard as the cold water ran over them. Your mind began to imagine Eren behind you and what his hands would feel like as he rubbed your shoulders and softly caressing your breasts. Maybe he would snake one of his hands down your waist and tease your folds as the other would grip your neck pulling you back into his bare chest.

"Mmm. Eren," you moaned teasing yourself closer and closer to orgasm. Your finger moved faster in circles around your clit. A tightness started building up in your core and just about as you were going to come undone the door to showers swung open. FUCK! Disappointed in your attempt to relieve some stress you quickly got dressed.

"Hey (y/n)," Sasha greeted you, but you bolted past her "okay, bye!"

You didn't want to be rude to Sasha, but you had other things on your mind. All of them were Eren. Your body ached for his. You wondered want it would feel like on top of yours. Your mind kept racing all these thoughts about him and what he looked like under his clothes.

"(Y/N)! Instead of daydreaming why don't you help in the kitchen?" You were quickly drawn away from your thoughts as Levi approached you.

"Sorry Captain, I-" you tried to explain yourself before Levi shut you down.

"You're almost as bad as Eren." Eren? You clung to his name.

"What's wrong with Eren?" You ask.

"Well, since he's been released from the infirmary he's been zoning out. But enough chit-chat go help get dinner ready."

You made your way to the kitchen. Both Connie and Sasha were slacking off and having a baguette battle.

"Guys, let's do what needs to be done. I'm tired and want to go to sleep." You announce. It took about an hour to get prepped and cooked. By the time you were done cooking, you wanted to go to your room and finish what you couldn't in the showers.

After finally arriving at your room. You quickly shut your door. The rooms weren't big, but none the less you were grateful to have your own after spending a year in the barracks. The rooms were massive, but they were a decent size for one person. A desk with a wooden chair sat in the far corner and a closet just big enough to hold a few scout uniforms and a full-size bed. Still, a layer of dust covered everything although you didn't mind. It wasn't like you were going to be staying in your room all day.

You rubbed your eyes and sat at the edge of your bed, taking off your boots and jacket, neatly putting them away in the closet. You always hated taking off your harness there were so many buckles and straps, you got confused so easily. The only light to work with was an oil lamp fixed to the wall. You sighed heavily as you finished folding up your clothes and getting into your pajamas.

As you laid down in your bed thoughts of Eren came back to you. Softly you moaned as you pawed at your breast and teased your nipple. Woefully imagining it was Eren's instead of yours. You felt a wetness start to pool between your legs. Slipping your hands down your shorts your finger circled your clit. You were a virgin, but you still knew what happened you just never found anyone worthy enough. Expect for Eren.

You moaned as you came closer and closer to climax, but it was cut short again. "(Y/N)..." You had sworn you heard someone moan your name. Quickly you pulled your covers over your body as you listen to the room next to you and you heard it again. You were sure someone was moaning your name. In the room next to yours you heard the bed squeak as someone got up from it. Your heart beated faster as you heard footsteps approached your door. You closed your eyes and pretended to be asleep. The door to your room slowly creaked open. "(Y/N)... Are you awake?" It was Eren. You still didn't open your eyes as the door shut and Eren sat on the edge of your bed. He took your hand and held it and pressed it to his chest.

"I know you're asleep but I wanted to tell you, thank you for saving me, I know everyone told you to leave me but you didn't and I'm grateful. I don't know why you've been avoiding me, but I probably deserve it somehow." You heard his voice crack and you could tell he was about to cry.

"I just don't know how to tell you this but here does nothing, I love you (Y/N)." You opened your eyes and saw Eren crying.

"I love you too." You said sitting up in your bed. Your hands cupped his cheeks and pulled him in for a kiss. His lips were soft and perfectly fit in between yours. It was sweet and soft but your core ached for him. He pulled you onto his lap and brushed your hair behind your ear.

"I can't tell you how many nights I wished for this, to be here with you." Eren buried his face into your chest.

"You don't have to wish anymore," you told him as you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him again this time softly biting on his lower lips. He moaned into the kiss sending chills down your spine. He gripped your hips, his callused fingers dug into your sides almost as if he was scared you were fall through his hands if he didn't hold you tight enough.

Your hips ground into his causing a deep moan to escape from his lips. His erection grew quickly underneath you. Eren flipped you over on your back onto the mattress. He stood up and began removing his shirt. Your eyes followed the skin on his stomach as more of it was exposed. Moonlight peaked in through the window, shining on his torso. It was beautiful, hours and hours of training had paid off.

"My eyes are up here, darling" he chuckled as he climbed on top of you. You couldn't help but feel his chest and abs. His piercing green eyes looked into yours. His lips crashed into yours, it was sloppy and wet and hot. Your clothes limited his access to your perfect body. He slowly took off your shirt and kissed up your stomach and in between your breasts before he took one in each hand and massaged them. His thumb rubbing your nipples before he took it in his mouth and circled it with his tongue. Your fingers ran through his hair as you leaned your head back and moaned. He made his way up to your neck kissing and sucking on it. You knew for sure there was going to be a hickey tomorrow but you didn't care. You wanted everyone to know that you were Eren's and that he was yours too.

"Eren, I need you." You begged him to touch you. He leaned back on his calves and pulled your legs up to his chest, slowly removing your shorts.

"You're so wet for me already, have you been expecting me?" He chuckled and smirked as he pushed your legs apart. His hot breath hit your folds making you beg for him even more.

"Please please Eren!" Your cries for his touch were desperate. Him seeing how much you needed him turned him on. He was throbbing in his jeans. His finger slid up your folds and collected your wetness before he put it in his mouth and sucked on his finger.

"Open your mouth," he commanded and you did as he stuck his finger in your mouth. "Suck." His voice was deep and demanding making you want him even more. Your tongue danced around his finger you tasted yourself on his finger. His mouth attached itself to your clit and you threw your head back moaning. His tongue circling your clit making you bite down on your lip to keep from moaning too loud. Your hands found their way to his beautiful brawn locks, your fingers entangled themselves pulling slightly. Eren groaned and gripped your thighs tighter, maybe enough to leave bruises. The idea of having Eren's fingerprints lingering on your skin turned you on even more.

Eren's erection grew harder and slightly painful. He stood up from the bed and a whine came from your mouth in protest.

"Don't worry we aren't done yet. Do you know how much my hand hurts by now? I'm so glad you accepted my feelings so I can fuck you now."

"All you had to do was ask" you teased back at him "but you should know I'm a virgin." You weren't shy about it, it was just how you were.

"Well, I am too, if that makes you feel better." You sat up on your knees and began to undo Eren's pants. You could hear his moan that he held back. Your fingers slipped between his skin and underwear slowly teasing it down before releasing the waistband and having it snap back to his skin. A low hiss rolled out of his mouth as he smirked at you and his eye went darker with lust.

In a fit of lust Eren quickly removed his pants and pulled his cock out. Your eyes widen at the sight, you always thought Eren was big but never this big.

"Suck now." His tone cold and demanding. You took it in one hand and started to suck on the tip of his cock. You could taste the precum from the tip. His hand placed at the back of your head slowly pushing you further and further down. Your hands gripped his thighs as he drove his cock deeper into your face. You looked up at him, he looked so hot his eyes were rolled back and beautiful moans escaped his mouth.

"Ahhh fuck (Y/N) your so warm. I'm so close, will you be a good girl and swallow for me?" He looked down, locking his eyes with yours, you nod.

"Mmmm that's my girl." He continued to fuck your face, his hands cupping your checks. A warm salty liquid flowed into your mouth. You swallowed it and sucked the rest off his cock before opening your math to show him.

"Fuck... You're such a good slut for me." He crawled on top of you. "I'm gonna take such good care of you," he kissed your stomach right below your navel. He slowly slid two fingers inside of you making you arch your back and grip the sheets. He took his time moving his fingers in and out of you taking care to make sure you never felt any pain.

"More Eren, please..." you begged for him, bringing him closer for a kiss. He lined himself up at your entrance wetting his tip on your folds. He steadied himself by placing his hand next to your head. He looked into your eyes. "Ready, darling?" You nodded. He slowly pushed his tip in both of you letting out moans of each other's names. You momentarily adjusted to his size before he added another inch. You wrapped your legs around his hips allowing him to fully enter you.

"Oh fuck, you're so tight I could cum right now," Eren moaned into your chest. Your breath was heavy as you fully adjusted to his massive size. Eren pressed his forehead to yours as he thrust in and out of you at a good pace. You moaned and softly bit into his shoulder careful not to hurt him and activate his Titan.

His thrust because faster and faster. You moaned his name over and over again. Sweat started to drip from his forehead, you could tell he was holding back his orgasm. The tip of his cock hitting your cervix. Eren let out a chuckle.

"What's so funny?" You asked.

"I can it inside you. Look." You glanced at your stomach and saw the tip pressing the skin up. "Fuck I can't wait to fill you up with my seed." He pounded harder into you as your orgasm started to build.

"Eren I'm getting close," you mewled in his ear. His thrust becomes sloppy as his thumb played with clit and that sent you over the edge. Eren watched as your body twitched underneath him. It felt like your entire body was on ice and fire at the same time. Eren was not long after you as he slammed one last time into you and let out the most beautiful moan you ever heard.

"Ahhh fuckkkkk (Y/N). You were such a good girl for me." He pulled out and laid down next to you pulling you close to him.

"I love you. I always have. I don't care if this world is unfair and unforgiving. A world that doesn't have you isn't where I want to be." You pressed your face into his chest and slowly fell asleep.

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fourmarkdove · 3 years

Text

Fawn - Part 5

Title: Fawn - Part 5

Words: 2.1k

Summary: Plans to return to your ancestral home are halted by an accident that nearly costs your life. Angst. Hurt/comfort.

Pairing: Geralt x reader

Warnings: Suicidal ideation. If you’re triggered PLEASE skip ahead. Please check out the trigger warnings (tw:) in the tags!

A/N: I appreciate you sticking with me this far. Comments welcome. Thanks for reading as always!

The crack of thunder shook you awake from a dead sleep atop Roach. You gasped, lifting your head from the bicep you’d been using as a pillow for hours and bolted upright.

“You’re safe,” Geralt soothed in a tone so deep that you felt the sound rumble in his chest pressed against your back. He’d tucked you completely inside of his cloak with him while the rain patted rhythmically on the fabric all around you. Although it was completely dark, your cheeks were so warm and the scent of leather and him was so comforting. Closing your eyes again, you settled back and felt his thumb stroke your hip indicating that’s exactly what he wanted you to do. The gentle motion of the horse under you and how his hips rolled with yours… you wanted to think more about it but you nuzzled against his bicep and were gone again in seconds.

“What’s she doing?” Jaskier asked hours later when your head poked out of the cloak swallowing your frame. Everything was now covered in a thin layer of white as the rain turned to snow.

Geralt cocked his head to the side, amused by your attempts to catch snowflakes on your tongue.

“So thirsty,” you choked.

“Now how is that possible?” Jaskier complained, receiving a sharp side eye from the Witcher. “I’m just saying… she’s already had yours and mine.”

The Bard was right. But you’d also used up every last drop of fluid in your body to expel the inky poison just the day before. And the elevation change couldn’t help.

Inhaling deeply, he caught the scent of a nearby stream and tugged on the reins toward that direction.

The moment that Roach paused, you pushed aside the black cloak. You became completely enraptured by the tinkling sound of ice forming and breaking along the banks, the gentle rush of the water flowing over well worn rocks, and the sparkle of what little light reflected across the surface. This mesmerizing scene caused you to all but launch yourself at the ground and race towards it.

Geralt caught around your hips mid-leap and dragged you back over his thick thigh to his solid chest with a ‘thump’, nearly knocking the wind out of you.

“Let me go!” you squealed, your hands attempting to pry his solid forearm away from your ribs.

He grunted, tugging off his cloak and wrapped it around you. He didn’t say so out loud, but he was troubled by how long you slept, how quiet. You’d been draped over his forearm all day and barely woke a couple of times in a daze mewling for water before dropping again. Admittedly, he shifted his weight in the saddle more than once just to check and see if you’d wake and we’re still breathing.

Stepping down, the Witcher led his horse to drink and then lifted you down to sit at the edge as well.

It didn’t take but a moment for you to scramble onto your stomach and reach out to touch the water, bringing your fingertips back to taste.

Jaskier filled his water jug and frowned. “Mm… Geralt I think your friend here is still unwell.”

Clearing his throat, Geralt refocused the gaping bard.

“So what’s the plan then? Pause a moment here? Then move on to the next town? I don’t feel much like sleeping out here tonight.”

The Witcher huffed and shook his head. “Give her a moment; then we’ll see..”

As the two men talked, they didn’t see you lean forward and stretch your neck out to drink like Roach. The cool water tasted so good going down your parched throat, you just couldn’t get enough.

With a yelp and a splash, the powdery snow gave way and you slipped right into the frigid water, dragged under with his heavy cloak gripping your neck.

“Fuck.” Geralt growled, knowing immediately what had happened even before he turned heel to run downstream. Racing ahead of you, he planted his feet in the water that didn’t reach quite over his knees and leaned way over to collect the writhing mass of arms, legs, and fabric tumbling underwater toward him.

You came up coughing and it took him a moment to figure out which end was up. “Let go of me!” you cried out, hot tears welling up, threatening to spill down your cold cheeks.

“Hmm,” he grumped, stepping out of the cold water. Catching under your legs, he noticed the pleats of Jaskier’s borrowed pants were already beginning to freeze, stiffen, and stick to your skin.

Standing you on a clear spot he made with his boot, his cloak dropped in a heap around your legs. You trembled uncontrollably, from the shock of nearly drowning, the frightening cold seizing your body, and terror of the scowling Witcher tearing clothes from your body for the third time in as many days.

“Jaskier. Build a fire.”

“What? Why? We are headed to the next town, remember?”

His eyes narrowed and he growled, tugging the hem of Jaskier’s borrowed tunic right up over your head.

“She’s not going anywhere if she’s dead.”

“Alright, alright,” Jaskier sulked, turning away, beginning to collect firewood. He wasn’t too keen on staying out in the forest any longer - not when there was a warm bed and any number of supple breasts waiting for him in town.

The Witcher looked deadly serious though, his jaw set and gold eyes alight with focus. Feeling through his bags, he retrieved one of his own black tunics.

“Take it,” he rumbled, pressing the worn fabric into your shaking hands clutching your elbows. Left shuddering, you were slow to move. Every muscle in your body ached and the cold had sucked any reserve of energy you’d gained during your long sleep.

The Witcher busied himself tearing apart firewood with his bare hands and tossing them in a pile, making Jasker’s meager armful look like kindling. He could hear your heartbeat slowing the moment he dragged you from the icy water. Even from a distance now, he could make out the faintest sound of your muscles seizing up.

With a hefty sigh, he returned to you and plucked his shirt from your frozen grasp. You’d made no progress peeling off the remainder of the icy fabric, now stiff and sticking to your tender skin.

“Come here,” he husked, bending down from behind you. The rumble of his voice so close to your neck made you gasp.

“I can do it.”

“If you could do it, you’d have done it by now.”

His large hands wrapped around your waist, pulling the fabric down your body. It was a relief to be released from the frozen solid garment and you exhaled deeply in appreciation.

Next he reached around to your belly and tugged at the frozen solid knot of your bottoms. The knot gave way in his fist and they dropped from your hips. Suddenly feeling very exposed to more than just the cold, you folded your arms across your chest like an embarrassed bride.

His black shirt dropped down over you like a sail, skimming below your knees. It was soft and surprisingly warm. As soon as your arms unfolded and slipped into the too long sleeves, he scooped you up under your knees. All you wanted to do was rest your head on his shoulder and curl up against his chest while he stroked you all over but then you remembered the violet-eyed Yennefer. And how he kept the wedding a secret. Embittered by the betrayal, you pulled away when he settled you onto the saddle blanket near the fire just flickering to life and went to repack his saddle bags.

You watched him silently, letting the warmth of the fire gradually thaw your limbs.

“I’m going hunting,” Geralt announced, returning to the flickering fire.

Sitting across from you, Jaskier rubbed his belly. “Not particularly hungry at the moment.”

You shook your head indicating you were fine too.

He frowned sharply, disapproval furrowed his brow. Without saying a word, his attention snapped to his weapons and stalked into the woods alone.

“Did I say something wrong?”

Jaskier’s gaze followed his friend until he was out of sight. “Wha… no. He’s just worried about you and it’s made him extra grumpy.”

By the time he returned with several large rabbits in hand, the Witcher’s cloak was tented over a low hanging branch and Jaskier sat near the fire plucking.

Geralt nosed toward the tent before dropping heavily onto the log nearest the fire and set to work preparing the rabbits.

“She is resting,” Jaskier over-enunciated, still just shy of a whisper. “Are we done traveling for today because I sure would love the feel of a warm bed and soft thighs around my head.”

“Hmm,” he grunted. In truth, Geralt was only half listening, and more focused on turning an ear toward the makeshift tent. “When did you last look in on her?”

His tone was threatening and it made the bard incredulous, putting his hands up. “A while I suppose? All I did was help put some stones down so it wouldn’t blow away when the wind picked up.”

Geralt huffed, nodding slightly. Still, he always heard your racing heartbeat; something felt wrong. Pinning his knife in the log where he sat, he lifted heavily and crunched through the dusting of snow accumulating around the campsite.

“Jaskier!” he bellowed, tearing down his cloak, revealing only his saddle and empty blankets.

“Listen, Geralt, I swear I didn’t know,” he pleaded, following the seething silent witcher. “How can I help? What should I do?”

“Jaskier - you’ve done enough. Go into town like you planned.”

The Wolf followed your boot prints in the muddy snow until there were no more feet to follow. Fortunately, he recognized your scent trail wafting along the underbrush. Stalking in stealth behind you, it didn’t take long to catch up.

Wielding his silver knife overhead, an otherworldly shriek escaped your lips as you dived onto the Drowner, slicing into its sickly flesh.

He dashed forward into the fray as a second and third, escaping your notice, heaved themselves onto shore.

Once the fallen creature lay hissing, you leapt atop its writhing body, pinning it to the ground between your knees, and gripped the stolen blade you’d concealed in your boot.

Dispatching both deadly creatures quickly with his heavy sword, his hair spun like a riptide about his face as he looked for you in the near dark.

A gasping shriek from the nightmare fodder pinned under his fawn gave way to slick, gouging sounds as you mangled the putrid flesh over and over until you were breathless.

Catching your hand, he pried the blood slick blade from your grasp. Ripping your slippery hand from his yielding grip, you leaned over your gaping kill and released a soul wrenched, hate-filled scream.

Geralt gripped under your arms and dragged you away from the water's edge. Collapsing back against an oak tree with you barely contained in his constantly readjusting grasp, he exploded in anger.

“What the fuck are you doing out here?! That fucking thing could have killed you. Stop - Stop struggling and answer me!”

Letting out a howl more feral than alliterative, you squirmed and elbowed his ribs as hard as you could.

He easily overwhelmed your attempt to flee and flexed his arms around your body, dragging your back to the solid wall of his chest. Panting, nearly breathless yourself, he gripped you tight and stroked back the hair clinging to your sweaty brow; you relented more out of pure exhaustion than anything else, letting your head willfully dip back against his shoulder.

He frowned severely, glancing side eyed at you as you trembled with every breath and clung onto the forearm pressed across your breasts.

“What. Happened,” he rumbled, dropping his voice to a more intimate tone.

Your head rolled slightly on his shoulder, licking your dry lips. “I don’t know.”

“Why do you have my knife? You’ve told me how nervous they make you.”

Releasing the grip of the mud underfoot, you began to rest your weight back against him. Feeling your clammy forehead against his cheek, he sighed. And waited.

“I was going to end it, Geralt. Right here by the water. I want to be swept away.”

Jaw clenched, he fought the immediate eruption of rage threatening to explode deep in his belly.

“But those things appeared and ruined that moment in time when I was at peace with the idea. I got so angry because I was ready but they took it from me. Finally a decision all my own and it was taken.”

“Despair is an ugly look on you,” he seethed through clenched teeth.

Conceding to his blunt objectiveness, you wilted. “Unwanted daughter… Bride. Whore. What else do I have to hide my shame if not despair?”

#tw: sucidal thoughts #tw: suicidal ideation #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt angst #geralt hurt/comfort #the witcher fic #the witcher fanfiction #henry cavill fic #henry cavill fanfiction #fourmarkdovewrites

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weirdlittlecorner · 3 years

Text

Lin Kuei Hospitality: Cyrax

Notes: nsfw, 18+, comfort

Plot: A little slower, a little more sensual. Because Cyrax is a great character and deserves more attention and love

h/t = hair texture

Tags: @lilliannmac @onesillybeach @icy-spicy

—

The five men stood patiently as they awaited your decision. There was no doubt that any of them would show you a good time, which only made it harder to choose. You pursed your lips as you considered your options. Eventually, your attention shifted to the man in yellow. His dark skin and beautiful hair made him stand out as the most handsome of the men. But funnily enough, it wasn’t just his looks that drew your eyes to him. His demeanor was much different than the others. While he was standing at attention, as disciplined as the rest, there was a small crack in his stone exterior. As if he were in pain, though there was obviously nothing hurting him. That you could see, anyway.

It was almost as if he couldn’t stand being in the others’ vicinity. You wondered what could have happened to warrant such a reaction. This was the first time that you had ever seen any of the warriors up close, so you had nothing to go off of. It was most likely just some petty drama that was common amongst roommates- if they could even be considered as such. It would make the most sense. You, too, had your friends that you loved dearly, but you couldn’t imagine actually living with them every day. Either way, it wasn’t your place to pry.

The Grandmaster cleared his throat impatiently, motioning toward the line of men once more. Clearly wanting you to hasten and pick one so the rest could return to their business. Offering the dark-skinned man a warm smile, you nodded, “Come on, let’s get out of here,”

—

“Thank you for my new buzzsaw. I was able to try it out today; your work is very impressive,” The man, Cyrax, whispered as the two of you made your way through the long corridor to get back to your room. You smiled at the compliment, though that nagging confusion didn’t allow you to fully enjoy his words. His new buzzsaw. The one that had been amongst the new additions to the Grandmaster’s standard request.

What exactly did a clan like the Lin Kuei need all this new technology for? Again, it really wasn’t your business what your clients did with your products. But you couldn’t help but wonder... Whatever was going on, you just hoped that it was at least somewhat ethical.

The impending ‘improvements’ were a sensitive subject amongst the warriors. Cyrax had taken the most offense to the idea, as any normal person would, yet his fellow assassins thought that he was the crazy one. No, what was crazy was forcing one to give up their free will in exchange for the efficiency of automation. But he didn’t dare challenge the Grandmaster. Doing so would result in the most severe punishment; as if becoming a fusion of flesh and metal wasn’t already punishment enough.

“Hey, I noticed that you kind of… seem at odds with the others. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I just thought I’d ask if you wanted to talk about it,” You broke the silence, sinking down onto the bed and patting the space next to you. He claimed the empty space, sitting close enough so that your knees touched.

By the way his brows knitted together, you half-expected him to tell you. But he merely shook his head after a moment, “I am not at liberty to speak on the matter. But thank you for your concern,” His voice was even and had that same cold quality that was the standard, but you could tell that there was great sadness behind his words.

Instinctively, you opened your arms out to him, willing him to position himself in between them. You weren’t really sure what you had expected to happen, but soon enough, Cyrax was locked in your warm embrace. You gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. The two of you stayed like that for a few moments, basking in the silent comfort of each other’s embrace. But soon you felt his shoulders stiffen, along with a kiss being pressed to the base of your neck.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” While you had been excited for tonight’s proposed activities, now was obviously not a great time. You wouldn’t ask him to perform for you just because it was what the Grandmaster had ordered. He needed, deserved, a break. And while you would certainly enjoy the contact, you refused to degrade the man. But he clearly didn’t think the same way. Not when his face was still buried in the crook of your neck.

“I understand that. This is something I want to do,” His words made you shiver as renewed excitement tore through your abdomen. Well, in that case…

A rough hand quickly found its way into your h/t, h/c locks, effectively undoing the delicate hairstyle. A pleasured shiver wracked your body as he used your hair to bring you closer to him as you two shared your first kiss of the night. You hummed as the tip of your tongue darted out to drag itself across his bottom lip, granting you an elicit moan in return.

Without breaking the intense oral lock, Cyrax’ hands freed themselves from the mess of hair in favor of untying the knots in your overshirt. You moved your dominant hand to assist him in the process while your other hand remained cupping his face. Shrugging to remove the fabric from your shoulders, you reluctantly pulled away to unclasp your bra. Seeing that you had things under control, Cyrax removed himself to focus on shedding his own clothing. But not before giving a hard, playful tug on the hems of your pants, effectively pooling them around your ankles.

A giggle slipped past your parted lips as you bent down, yanking your pants, along with your panties, off the rest of the way and kicking off your boots. You repositioned yourself so that your knees pressed against the soft sheets as you returned the favor to your partner. Eager fingertips clawed at the form-fitting armor, as if that would make it disappear faster. Cyrax hummed in amusement at your eagerness before unbuttoning the clasps and untying the knots for you. Impatience turned into wonder as your hands brushed over his chest. His abs. His shoulders. All of which were hard bands of muscle, but also soft in a way. Even his body reflected the gentle demeanor that had separated him from the others. The two of you were content to sit just like this, fingers exploring each other’s bodies.

You embraced each other, much like how you had done previously. Though this time, the intention was very different. The warmth radiating off of the two of you was almost unbearable, but you ignored it as you took to kissing each one of his prominent muscles. He sighed softly, enjoying your impromptu muscle worship. This continued until the pooling heat in your respective pelvises won out and you just had to go further. Cyrax shifted so that his legs boxed in your hips. Pressing himself against you once more, he brought his lips down to your manubrium to plant soft kisses in the crevice of your breasts. Meanwhile, his right hand was making quick work of his pants and boxers, his hard length pressing against your inner thigh. Which, if you might add, was already slick with your dripping arousal.

There was obviously no need to pregame, as you were both more than ready. You didn’t think that you could tolerate more teasing, anyway. Impatient once again, you wrapped your hand around the head of his penis to guide him in. The man groaned as your walls began compressing his cock immediately. With a few more pushes, he was completely in, reveling in the feeling of being consumed by your flesh.

Sighing, your arms found their way around his broad shoulders as he began thrusting into your tight core. The sounds of your mutual pleasure were only slightly louder than the creaking sounds the bedposts made as they scratched the wall behind them. Your e/c eyes closed in bliss as you enjoyed the rocking sensation of intercourse. His lips found yours once more as his speed increased and his hands made their way to your s/c legs. In a fluid motion, your ankles were craned toward the headboard as he pushed himself deeper. The sensation of your cervix being stroked caused you to scream, and you were glad that no one could hear you. You hoped not, anyway. What were once your gentle fingertips rubbing your lover’s back turned into talons that began clawing at the tingling flesh.

If it had hurt, he didn’t complain. But despite your muddled concerns, the feeling of you scratching his back only enhanced the warrior’s experience. He grunted each time your hips met, feeling his climax approaching. And you were right there with him, your smaller body trembling as the familiar knot twisted in your stomach. It kept building, and building until the knot finally uncoiled itself with a burst of wet heat. It felt as if the sun had just imploded inside of you and that you should be a pile of ash. But you were whole, despite the thick dick that was still stretching your pussy relentlessly.

Your screaming had grown impossibly louder as the warrior continued to batter your walls in anticipation of his own orgasm. What seemed like endless abuse to your cervix abruptly ended when you felt a spray of liquid spattering against the muscle. Your lover grunted, his brown eyes screwed shut and his bottom lip bleeding from his teeth cutting through the skin, as he hosed your insides with his warm semen.

Despite having finished, Cyrax made no move to pull out. Rather, he chose to rest over top of you, his cock warm inside your trembling hole. You allowed it.

There were no words. Maybe when you could think clearly again, you would be able to find your voice. It might be a little hoarse, to accompany the ache that would surely be present when you tried to walk in the morning, but that sounded like just that: a morning problem.

#cyrax #mk cyrax #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat #cyrax x reader #lin kuei

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equestrianwritingsstuff · 3 years

Text

Promise Status, Broken

Warnings: fake death, blood, taking shirt off, drugging, hospital setting, needles,conditioned response, mention of torture

He plunged the knife into Hero's abdomen and pressed. He pressed until the hilt was hardly visible under the layer of blood that pooled around the open wound. He pressed until Hero's stuttering breaths stopped.

And he let the dead body fall to the ground with a thump. Villain put his boot onto Hero's dull face and kicked. She didn't deserve kindness, dead or alive. Villain pulled the knife out.

Suddenly, the dark shed that he committed the long overdue murder was infiltrated by an eerie white glow.

"Hero," came a breathless gasp. Then the shocked voice changed into a professional order, "Hands up where I can see them!" A gun clicked.

Villain slowly turned around. His smug attitude and cockiness was apparent as he held the bloody knife deftly between his fingers. The blood dripped to the ground with a splatter.

"Drop the weapon," a young police officer yelled. "Drop it."

Villain smirked. The police officer was so tiny. Villain was muscular and very agile. He could've just tossed the knife and mortally wound the officer if it wasn't for the sudden flash of white in the back of his head.

Villain collasped forward, falling onto his side. He blinked, trying to dispel the dizziness and stars. The dark room seemed even darker like a black abyss. The moonlight he saw earlier was all muddled into a blob.

Through his swimming vision, Villain saw the young police officer swoop down to pluck the prey off the ground. He cradled Villain's lolling head with a fake concerned look on his face. Villain blinked, squinted, did everything in his power to focus on the young face.

The officer must've realized Villain's effort because he said, "Do you know who I am?" Villain shook his head. To him, it was an effort, an effort that cost the room to tilt and Villain to sway. But in reality, it was the weakest thing.

"Recognize me now?" The officer said in a deeper voice. Villain's brain very slowly placed the voice with the face of Hero's sidekick.

"Sidekick," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Good boy," Sidekick rubbed the side of Villain's head. It sent a new flare of heated pain through his body, centering on his head. Villain tried to jerk himself away, managing to break free of Sidekick's grasp. The only thing it added up to, however, was two more arms catching him before he toppled to the ground.

"Dizzy?" Sidekick said in a babyish tone. Villain didn't answer. Everything burned and ached and it was getting harder and harder to stay conscious.

"You just murdered Hero, Villain, why?" Sidekick asked.

Villain's cognitive skills weren't one hundred percent, so his tongue spoke before his damaged mind had a chance to catch up.

"P-promise... m' status... broken," Villain whispered. He just wanted to fall backwards and die. Oh, would that be sweet. But the arms supporting him kept him up and awake as nails dug into his skin. It was a new sensation, one Villain never experienced before. Nails into the skin.

Sidekick's once serious face turned into one of pure childish curiosity. "Walk," he sneered. "We are walking to the car."

Villain felt himself being lifted onto his feet. Then, he felt all of his weight relying on those two support beams. He swayed, determined to stay upright.

Dizziness once again ran its course as Villain stepped forward- one teetering step at a time. He let out a groan, and a moan, and a whimper, and a- the list goes on.

Villain did not remember stepping into the car. The second his body touched the seat, he was out. Sidekick had to move his head so that he wouldn't break his neck going over a bump. He sighed and stared sadly at the poor Villain's head. It was necessary, very necessary, or Hero wouldn't have been able to escape.

"Thank you," came a pained voice. Sidekick spun around to see Hero limping forward. She had her hand protectively covering a bruise on her stomach. Sidekick sighed in relief and embraced her. The extra padding and fake blood worked well.

"I should be thanking you," Sidekick laughed. "If you didn't hit him, I would be dead."

Hero's happy face contorted into a much more serious expression.

"Why did you make Villain walk like that?" She asked. It was very rude, and practically unnecessary. She couldn't help but think that Sidekick wanted to offend Villain. She glanced at the sleeping, limp figure in the back of the car. Villain's blood from a nasty gash that Hero caused with a metal bar, pooled around him. She grimaced in guilt.

"Hero?" Sidekick asked.

"You never answered my question," Hero snapped. She ignored the painful bruise and glared at her sidekick.

"If we didn't have that protection on, you would be dead," Sidekick defended himself.

Hero scoffed and said, "Don't make excuses for your actions. We both know that it wasn't his fault that he turned out like this."

"He could've control his emotions, turned to goodness, not anger," Sidekick pointed out and pursed his lips. "He's not the innocent one."

Hero closed her eyes shut for a moment, replaying a memory that haunted her for a long time.

"I promise to always be there for you," Hero told Villain as she hugged him under the stars when they were nineteen, three years ago.

"Promise?" Villain's sweet voice cracked, absent of the usual sarcasm. Of course, he wasn't a villain then.

"I promise."

The next week, Villain was kidnapped by Supervillain.

"Don't look for him Hero, he's as good as dead anyways," her sidekick told her. Sidekick always saw the practical side of everything, so Hero assumed he was right.

The next year, Hero stumbled upon a broken body in an alleyway. Her heart lurched as she examimed the countless injuries. Broken ribs and nose, bruises littered the torso and his lungs struggled to take a breath. Hero tentatively pushed the skinny arm of his face and she gasped in horror. It was Villain.

Villain was alive, not dead.

Hero didn't hesitate to lift Villain's severely underweight body up and bring him to a hospital. She sat by his bed until he woke up a couple days later. She was beyond exhaustion at this point, and was so relieved to see Villain conscious that she nearly broke down in tears.

But a small, weak voice stopped her emotions from letting loose.

"Promise status," Villain murmured, his eyes already closing. Hero didn't register the words right away, she just tried to shake Villain awake. "Broken," he finished his sentence. Only then did Hero realize the meaning. She never looked for Villain. She just left him for dead, assuming the worse. After Villain's eyes slid closed, she noticed how conditioned the sentence was. It wasn't even a complete sentence. More like a robot repeating its task over and over, "Cycle One, Complete. Cycle Two, Begin. Cycle One..."

Hero, knowing she really shouldn't, laid her head on the bed, too tired to stay awake anymore. She hated the way Villain spoke to her, but was ecstatic to know he could wake up. So she slept.

Maybe two hours later, she woke to Villain scrambling up in fear. All the monitors started screaming. Without thinking, Hero pressed the HELP button, which only added to the piercing noise.

"Villain, hey, hey," Hero tried to soothe, which only resulted in Villain jerking back so hard that the IV ripped from his arm. Blood splattered everywhere, but that was the least of Hero's worries. Villain's hands went up to his mouth, yanking the oxygen mask off. In one split second, the previous rage settled into a slight panic. His chest heaved, unable to breathe properly.

Shortly after, the nurses rushed in with a syringe that contained a clear liquid.

"What is that?" Hero asked, instinctively stepping between the nurse and the terrified Villain.

The nurse hesitated before replying, "We need to calm him down before he hurts himself and others. It's just a sedative."

Hero shakily stepped out of the way. She felt useless watching the nurse inject Villain with the needle. She felt useless seeing his eyes widen in fear.

After a few minutes, the wildness in Villain's eyes were replaced with a tired look. His muscles loosened and relaxed as his breathing deepened. Another nurse rushed in with an oxygen mask.

Very soon, Villain's eyelids slipped completely shut. Hero and the nurse slowly lowered him into the bed.

The nurse laid their hand on Hero's shoulder and squeezed sympathetically. When she left, Hero sunk down into her chair and took Villain's hand in her's. She brought her finger to the bandage that covered his wrist and rubbed it. She thought of how she just left him to suffer under Supervillain's wrath. It wasn't fair.

A horrid thought struck her. What if Villain wouldn't trust her anymore? He already seemed to be terrified of her. However, that could also be due to the hospital setting.

"Hero!"

Sidekick's voice dragged Hero from her flashback and so did the repetitive snaps of his fingers.

"Oh sorry," Hero gave a half-smile and walked to where Villain was sleeping. She sat down next to him, crunching his legs so she could fit.

"Are you seriously sitting back there?" Sidekick asked, leaning against the open door.

"Yes," Hero said, bringing Villain's feet onto her lap. "Of course." When she saw the look on Sidekick's face, she added, "He can't do much at the moment."

Sidekick still gave her a doubtful look, but jogged over to the driver's side and hopped in. Hero shut the door.

They drove in silence until they reached Hero's base. It was a small buidling, but had a couple cells, medic lab, and many bedrooms. It was mainly known for the gorgeous decor, both outside and indoors.

Hero and Sidekick worked together to bring Villain into one of the medic rooms. When Sidekick rushed to find Doctor, Hero took the time to examine Villain's physical health other than the bloody wound on his head.

Hero gingerly lifted his shirt, but then put it back, too scared to actually see what was under there. When Villain was discharged from the hospital, the doctors told her that the psychological healing would take awhile, especially since he would be reminded everyday with the scars. She took a deep breath and looked.

The criss-crossed scars made her want to vomit. They lined his muscles, putting unnecessary dents into the perfectly lined abs. Trying to ignore the marks, she tried to find the positive things. He was much more physically in shape than she had ever seen. All the lost weight was returned to him.

Footsteps sounded so she put his shirt back, trying to dispel the image now engraved in her mind.

"You whacked him hard," Doctor commented, examining Villain's head. "But he should be able to recover with minimal damage, but we will see. I do want to take tests and do a scan when he wakes up." Doctor cocked his head and then asked, "Is he better?"

"What do you mean?"

"Has he recovered from Supervillain? The last time I saw him-"

"No," Sidekick interrupted. "He was trying to kill Hero."

Yeah cause we let him, Hero thought, but remained silent.

"Hmm," Doctor mumbled. "Expect confusion for a couple days." Then he left.

Sidekick and Hero hovered over Villain's bed, silently. Hero recognized that things seemed to be more quiet between them, but didn't dwell on it.

After a moment or two, Sidekick left, leaving Hero alone. Again.

She sat next to Villain and held his hand like she did a couple years ago. It was the same setting, just a different hospital.

Suddenly, Villain's hand jerked away from Hero's touch. She looked up at him, fear coursing through her body. He just tried to kill me, she told herself over and over.

"Promise status, broken," Villain said. "Promise status, broke. Promise status, broken! Promise, promise..." Villain voice trailed off as he looked around the room. "Promise status, broken," he whispered and closed his eyes. Hero gently shook him.

He looked at her, evil eyes meeting righteous eyes. Hero couldn't help but feel yet another twinge of guilt.

Villain, in his delirious state, could not recognize the figure in front of him. She was pretty, was all he could think, and the same words. "Promise status, broken," was the only thing his tongue allowed him to say. Nothing made sense, nothing at all.

But what didn't make sense the most was when the girl leaned forward and took Villain's head in her hands. He wanted to recoil backwards and escape the misery, but she was stronger and the blinding headache made little things impossible.

"Don't worry. I am gonna fix you up... I promise."

#conditioned whumpee #hero caretaker #injured villain #villain whumpee #hospital

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hotchnisslovechild · 3 years

Text

Yin and Yang

When things go wrong while chasing after two unsubs, Emily gets hurt, and Hotch helps ease her pain.

inspired by “sirens” by thegraytigress rating: M for language, adult themes/situations, and canon-typical violence. the violent content could potentially be triggering to some, so read at your own discretion. words: 9140 also posted on ao3

A loud crack echoed through her head as she turned the corner of the alleyway, pain shooting up her jaw as she stumbled to the ground. Hard boots kicked at her head and her sides, causing her lungs to spasm within her and stealing her breath. She prepared herself for the worst. Prepared herself for being left there to bleed out, silently suffering the pain of her injuries alone in that alleyway. That was until he rounded the corner, catching her eye and igniting a small but substantial spark of hope within her.

Never had Emily seen Hotch fight the way he did against these men. He’s not one for hand-to-hand combat, usually letting his Glock do the work for him in taking down most unsubs. But this felt personal. A matter that could be and needed to be dealt with without firing his gun. One of his own was being mercilessly beaten to the ground by two men twice her size.

He preaches about objectivity on the job. He always has. Not letting things get personal. Simply doing what needs to be done to carry out their job. But things changed with Emily. Her sense of humanity rubbed off on him, balancing out his principle of remaining objective. The reverse happened in the same way. Hotch taught her to be objective despite her fight to hold onto her sense of humanity and compassion. They keep each other balanced. She is the yin to his yang. Their opposing forces of objectivity and humanity coming together in wholeness. Interconnected. Interdependent. Complete.

The humanity in him overrode his objectivity at that moment. As Emily lie there on the cold, hard ground, dizzy and bleeding out, she looked up to see her boss take down her attackers with his bare hands. With a vigor and intensity that was unfamiliar to her. She closed her eyes then, the pain shooting from her torso to her jaw almost too much to bear.

When she opened her eyes again, the alleyway was quiet. The worn-out grunts, loud cracks of punches, and rumbling sounds of struggle had disappeared, and the only sound to be heard was Hotch’s rugged breathing. He stood there for a long moment, doubled over cradling his hands in his chest, trying to catch his breath and regain some sense of composure. The last time he lost himself like this was with Foyet. He relentlessly beat his worst enemy to death with his bare hands to protect his son, the one person in his life he loved above everyone else. Putting every ounce of his weight into each blow his fist made to Foyet’s face, rendering him almost unrecognizable.

The adrenaline that coursed through him at the sight of Emily being attacked by these men gave Hotch a near superhuman strength as he fought them off. He used every last bit of his power to protect his subordinate lying helplessly on the ground. And for a man not used to physical confrontation, Hotch did a number on Emily’s attackers.

That adrenaline wore off as he stood above the two unsubs he and Emily were chasing. Both men looked dead, unconscious on the ground covered in blood with broken noses and ribs. For a brief moment, Hotch questioned what it meant that he was willing to go to such an extreme to protect Emily. To inflict more pain on her perpetrators than necessary. But the thought left as quickly as it came, and he finally turned his attention to his subordinate lying motionless in the darkness of the alleyway.

Using whatever strength he still had, he scooped her up bridal style and carried to back to their SUV. His legs ached as he made his way along the streets of the small town. He needed to get her to the hospital, to get her checked out as quickly as possible. If the circumstances were different, he would have called an ambulance. But in this old town, it’s faster if he just takes her himself.

Emily’s eyes drifted shut again once she was in Hotch’s arms. She grasped the fabric of his shirt like her life depended on it. She could feel the ache of his arm muscles underneath her. They twitched every few seconds under the weight of her. She felt safe in his arms. Comfortable despite the sharp pains in her face and stomach. The aches subsided as sleep slowly took over her as she buried her head in Hotch’s neck.

She awoke less than an hour later, blinded by the harsh light over her. When she slowly opened her eyes again, trying to adjust to the bright lights, she looked down at herself. She was still wearing the clothes she wore to work that day, only now they were ripped in several places and covered in her own blood. She looked around the room with squinted eyes, noting it as cramped but clean. Panic started to rise within her as she questioned where she was and where Hotch was. She could feel her entire body ache as she moved her neck to look further around the room. Wincing at the pain, she moved back to her original position. She shut her eyes trying to will the pain away. That’s when she heard the faint sound of footsteps in the room and moved her head up to look at who entered the room. Once again, she flinched at the pain caused by her sudden movements.

“Prentiss, don’t try to move. Please.”

She sees him standing in the doorway in his battered up and bloody shirt, holding a cup of water. She stared at him for a long moment, completely enraptured by him. The way his white dress shirt fit tightly against his shoulders with the sleeves rolled up enough to see the veins of his forearms. Backlit from the even harsher light outside of the door, she couldn’t see his facial features very clearly, but she forced back a smile at his hair flopping over his forehead.

As he stepped out of the light towards her, the beautiful image of him vanished before her eyes. She could make out the features of his face, dark and weary but clean. He must have had time to wash the blood off of his face. He looked sad. Sad like he did just months ago after everything with Foyet. Blaming himself for the loss of so many innocent lives. Being separated from his ex-wife and son. Coping with the death of his ex-wife. She hated seeing him look so miserable—

“How are you feeling?” he said from beside her, interrupting her thoughts.

“Like I just got the shit kicked out of me,” she says matter-of-factly. His face sunk further, looking even more miserable and tired than before. “Am I in the hospital?” she asked weakly.

“Yes, I drove you here because an ambulance would have taken too long,” he said as he set the glass of water down on the table beside her. “The doctor should be here in a minute.”

“Where is everyone else?”

“I called them once we got to the SUV and told them where the unsubs were. They took care of everything and should be headed back to the hotel by now.”

She shifted higher on the bed so she could take a much-needed sip of water. As her mind became less and less foggy, her head throbbed more and more, and the bed became increasingly uncomfortable.

Hotch watched her carefully as she took a sip of water from the cup he brought her. Her arms were clearly weak, shaking as they brought the cup to her lips. He wanted so badly to reach out and hold the cup for her, to help her in any way he could. But he knew she would hate that. She doesn’t like to be coddled. Much like him, she doesn’t want to be dependent on someone else or feel like she’s a burden. That’s just one of the many things he saw in her that he felt mirrored himself.

When the doctor strode through the door, Hotch took the cup from Emily’s hands, setting it back down on the bedside table. Emily frowned as she lay back against the bed, wanting at least one more sip. She almost felt addicted to the way the water gave her some relief.

The doctor took a look at her, clearly in a rush for some reason or another. She asked Emily a series of questions, palpated her abdomen, and examined some of the cuts on her face and stomach. It took everything in Emily to remain calm as the doctor prodded at her stomach with her cold hands. She never did like hospitals. The atmosphere of pain, fear, and helplessness. The harsh smells and sounds. It made her feel cold and closed in. She wanted nothing more than a reassuring look from her boss, telling her it’ll all be okay. But Hotch, ever the gentleman, faced the other direction when the doctor lifted Emily’s shirt to examine her chest and stomach.

The doctor quickly concluded, telling them that Emily has a concussion and some bruised ribs. No bones were broken and none of the cuts on her needed stitches. She left the room in a hurry, and a nurse came in with some pain medication and a plastic bag with ointment, wipes, and bandages to treat and soothe Emily’s gashes and scrapes. The nurse also brought in a wheelchair to help Hotch take Emily back to the SUV.

“I don’t need a wheelchair,” Emily said trying to shoo the nurse out of the room.

“We will take the wheelchair. Thank you,” Hotch said giving the nurse an apologetic look. She passed him the wheelchair and left as fast as she could, clearly not wanting to have anything to do with these two adults griping at one another over a wheelchair.

“Hotch, I don’t—”

“Please, Prentiss, just let me help you into the wheelchair,” he said slowly and tiredly. She was too worn out to put up much of a fight. She also didn’t want to put Hotch out more than she already had by trying to argue with him.

He slid his arms underneath her legs and back and lifted her into the wheelchair. She reveled in the feeling of his toned and solid arms around her, supportive and protective. Emily had no idea how he still had enough strength in his arms to lift her up again. She was doing nothing to help him either, practically dead weight in his arms. She figured his arms would be dead tired after fighting off two grown men and then carrying her sleeping body to the SUV and into the hospital. He was always surprising her really. She was constantly in awe of his resilience and toughness. Wearing suits to work each day did nothing but hide the true robustness of his body and what it was capable of. She was grateful any time she got to see him in something other than a perfectly tailored suit. Nothing compared to the private excitement she felt seeing his bare forearms and biceps on days he wore polos to work in the field. Often finding herself staring for much longer than deemed appropriate, especially in a workplace setting, wondering what it felt like to be held in those arms. She never thought that when she would finally be held by him, it would be like this. Both of them feeling weak and exhausted, wanting nothing more than to just fall asleep.

Emily didn’t say a word as he wheeled her out of the hospital to the SUV. Too drained to even ask to give a penny for her thoughts, he let the comfortable silence remain amongst them all the way back to the hotel. Because it was nearing 2 A.M, the rest of the team was already asleep in their rooms by the time Emily and Hotch got back.

Hotch took her by surprise once again when he followed her to her hotel room. A strange feeling of anxiety rose within her, as she started to feel like an annoyance. She doesn’t like asking for help, much less needing help. But Hotch was being so patient, so attentive. While he looked tired, he gave no signs that would suggest him feeling like Emily was in any way a burden. So really, her anxiety was unnecessary. And she knows Hotch. She knows he takes care of people fiercely and persistently no matter what. He feels responsible for people, especially his teammates. Even so, Emily still felt guilty making him feel like he has to take care of her.

“You didn’t have to walk me in here, you know.”

“I know,” he said casually as he set her medication and the plastic bag down on the bedside table.

Emily was instantly reminded of this same exchange that happened several months ago in Hotch’s apartment.

“You didn’t have to walk me up here, you know.”

“I know.”

Only that time, the roles were reversed. It was Emily taking care of Hotch. Going out of her way to make sure he wasn’t alone when he was hurting. She told him he wasn’t alone, that he had her. Of course not outright. Hotch and Emily had developed a unique way of communicating with one another. A sort of secret language where they can communicate so much with so few words. Or have a conversation within another conversation, like they had that day in his apartment. Emily didn’t have to tell hotch she was helping him through one of the darkest, saddest, most traumatic times in his life. Instead, she was a gentle voice of support. A presence of healing for him. She didn’t need to explicitly tell him she’s there for him and will never leave his side because he already knew.

Within the walls of that small, dilapidated hotel room, the tables had been turned. Now, it was Hotch comforting Emily willingly and fearlessly when she needed it most. He’s subtle, not overbearing. Offing himself as a rock for her to help her ground herself and get better.

But Emily was hesitant to accept this offer. Because it meant letting someone in, breaking down her walls, being vulnerable, needing help. Hotch had been through enough trauma that year. She didn’t want to add to that. Because she knows he would take on a part of her trauma and pain as his. She couldn’t live with herself if she was ever part of the reason he was unhappy.

“Seriously, Hotch, I don’t want to put you out more than I already have tonight. Go to your room and sleep. You’re just as beaten up as I am,” she tried, wincing as she sat on the bed. Her legs were too wobbly for her to keep standing. It hit her then that Hotch never asked to get checked out by a doctor at the hospital despite having been in a brawl with two large men. It made her stomach lurch with guilt thinking that Hotch was ignoring his own injuries just so he could help her with hers.

“I’m fine,” He wasn’t. But that didn’t matter, not right now. “I’ll get you some water so you can take your pain meds,” he continued, walking towards her bathroom.

Done trying to override his stubbornness with her own, she sighed in submission. Flinching as she did so, a sharp pain shooting through her ribs to her chest. She had no clue how she’d made it so long without taking some of that pain medication. The doctors and nurses were in such a hurry to get the two of them out of there that they didn’t even administer her any medication. She felt a soreness in her chest every time she breathed, forcing her to only take shallow breaths.

Hotch returned with a full cup of water, handing it to Emily then retrieving two pills of her prescribed pain meds.

“Tilt your head ba—”

“I can take my own pills,” she snapped, snatching the two pills from the palm of his large hand. After quickly swallowing the two white pills, she was hit with a pang of guilt yet again. This time for snapping at Hotch. He didn’t deserve that. He was just trying to help.

“Hotch, I’m sorry I snapped I know you’re just trying to—”

“It’s fine,” he stopped her. The look on his face had softened. His eyes were patient, composed. “Really. Let’s get you cleaned up and take care of some of these gashes,” he continued, gesturing towards her face.

Emily hated herself for snapping at him. Suddenly she felt like more a burden than she did before. More like a pain in Hotch’s ass at this point. What was she doing bitching and moaning at him? He was being everything she needed at that moment, offering to be her rock, and she kept trying to shut him down. She wasn’t used to this, having someone attend to her so persistently and remain patient with her when she starts being difficult. She’s used to people leaving. Abandoning her when she becomes too much to handle, too much for someone else to bear. She’d grown to deal with it, learned to just take care of herself, not put her trust in anyone else but herself. But Hotch stayed. And he wanted to stay.

He reached for the bag on the bedside table with everything he needed to dress the cuts all over her. He knelt before her, wiping off his hands with one of the wipes from the bag. Taking a new, clean wipe he held it over the gash on her cheek. “This is probably going to hurt,” he warned. She nodded slowly, closing her eyes to brace herself. He wiped away the dried blood on and around the wound. Her eyes started to water. Not from the pain or soreness. But because of how gentle he was. He held her chin and cleaned her swollen face like she was the most precious thing in the world, like she could break at any moment, crumble underneath his fingers.

He watched as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, biting back tears. The thought of causing her pain made his heart ache inside his chest. He wanted nothing more than to soothe her pain, help her heal. He grabbed the tube of antiseptic and squeezed some onto the tip of his finger. “This is going to sting,” he said firmly, trying to hide how much it hurt him seeing her in pain and discomfort. She didn’t say anything, just squeezed her eyes shut a little tighter than before. He slowly dabbed a bit of the clear ointment on her cheek.

“Ow! Fuck,” Emily cried, pulling away from him.

“I need you to hold still—”

“Just forget it, Hotch. I don’t even need it,” she tried, still facing away from him. The gash on her cheekbone began to throb and sting. It felt like fire spreading across the entire left side of her face. She started to feel ridiculous. She’s suffered through pain more intolerable and agonizing than this. “You can just go. I can do this on my own.” She didn’t really want him to leave, to abandon her like everyone else always did. She found comfort in his presence, under his care.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said firmly, his tone still soft and reassuring despite his deep, baritone voice. If he was feeling annoyed or impatient, he certainly didn’t show it. “Now, please just try to hold still. I know it hurts.”

Pain pulsated through Emily’s chest as she took a deep breath trying to calm herself. She hated losing her temper, especially with Hotch, especially when he was trying to help her. This was now the third time she’s lost her cool at him tonight. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, turning her head to face him again. She blinked away her tears, trying to regroup. Only for the urge to cry to come rushing back when Hotch continued to smear the antiseptic over her wound, once again feeling overwhelmed by the tenderness with which he touched her face. She stared at him, mesmerized by his focus. He caught her staring, meeting her eyes as he pulled his hand away from her face. Neither of them looked away for what felt like forever. The intimacy of it all made Emily’s heart race, even though they found themselves in this situation often, completely absorbed in mutual eye contact, unable to look away, allowing themselves to feel the uncomfortable excitement and unease turn into a sense of peace and closeness.

The moment ended as Hotch turned away, feeling inexplicably shy under her intense gaze. He quickly busied himself with the gauze and tape to dress her wound. With the same attentiveness and focus as before, he held the gauze against her cheek and taped it in place.

Everything just became too much. Emily’s eyes quickly welled up with tears, a rush of emotions overwhelming her. She was sad, angry, hurting in every sense of the word.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, concern and worry apparent in his voice. “Am I hurting you?”

She shook her head as she broke down into a violent sob. Fear and panic immediately displayed across Hotch’s face. He wasn’t hurting her, and she didn’t want him to think he was. But it was all too much. Pain burned and ripped through her whole body. She felt so weak, so frail. The pain medication doing nothing to relieve her of the torment of aches that spread from her face down to her legs. She saw him get up from his position on the floor, moving to sit next to her on the edge of the bed. The feeling of his hand starting to rub her back only caused her flood gates to open further, her sobs growing even more violent. Even sitting up straight became too much, took a level of energy and effort she could not give. So she leaned into him, buried her swollen face into his shoulder. He automatically brought one of his hands to her head and kept the other on her back, holding her against him, careful with his touch as if he were handling a fragile baby bird.

Sobbed continued to rack through her whole body. She was shaking, trembling, gasping for air against Hotch’s shoulder. “Shhh,” he whispered, so quiet that she could barely hear it. His hands moved in slow, gentle circles across her back. “It’s going to be okay. You’re okay. You’re safe. I got you. I’m right here,” he soothed with a slight hitch, trying to hold back tears of his own. She doesn’t say anything, just cries and cries, not knowing if she will ever be able to stop. With each sob, Hotch’s heart broke, cracking into pieces. He rarely saw her break down like this. She was an expert at compartmentalizing her emotions, filing them away to be dealt with at a later time, alone. He could see how their job affected her. The way madness pervaded her mind, how turmoil infiltrated her heart. Yet, there was a stillness in her soul. A sense of hope and courage that radiated from her and could be felt by everyone in her wake. She put on a brave face, a strong and confident exterior. Her world could be falling apart at the seams and even those closest to her would hardly suspect anything was wrong.

The fear and panic in Hotch’s chest only grew as she sobbed into him. “Everything hurts, Hotch,” she said, almost incoherently.

He was taken back to Colorado. The sounds of Emily getting kicked and thrown around by Benjamin Cyrus replaying in this head. Images of a broken and battered Emily emerging from the compound. He remembered the bruising on the palm of his hands left from digging his fingers into them as he heard Emily get thrown against a wall, knowing he could do nothing to help her or save her without jeopardizing the lives of everyone inside the compound. To him, she was worth the risk. The only thing that kept him from risking everything to save her was her reassuring “I can take it.” He remembered the guilt he felt listening to Emily take each blow. If he hadn’t sent them undercover, she wouldn’t have been in that position in the first place. If he had been more careful about restricting media coverage of the hostage situation, her cover wouldn’t have been compromised. He blamed himself for everything that happened to Emily that day, and now, with her crying in his arms, history repeats itself. He felt responsible for her getting hurt again.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Hotch whispered into her hair. The comfort of his words and his touch made her breathing slow, her sobs grow quieter, her hands stop shaking. “This is all my fault,” he breathed. Her heart split in two the moment those words fell from his lips. Her sobs came to a halt as she slowly pulled away from him, noticing the huge wet spot on the shoulder of his shirt from her tears.

She couldn’t let him blame himself for this. He was the one who saved her for God’s sake. He had no reason to feel guilty. “It’s not your fault, Hotch,” she tried, searching his face and only finding guilt and shame across his features.

“If I hadn’t got caught up in the crowds on the side of the street I would have gotten to that alley first. It should’ve been me.”

“That wasn’t in your control, Hotch. This is no one’s fault but the men who attacked me,” she said, her voice quiet and weak.

“Even if I had just gotten to the alley sooner—”

“Hotch,” she interrupted, starting to get a little agitated, ��it really doesn’t matter. There was nothing you could have done. You can’t pin this on yourself.”

He locks eyes with her. “But it does matter” he hesitates, “because you got hurt.”

She couldn’t bring herself to say anything. She only looked down at her hands in her lap. Everything started to hurt all over again. Her head and heart ached from having to talk him down. She missed his touch, his warmth as he held her close to him. Her ribs and stomach still hurt with each breath she took. She was physically and emotionally drained. She just wanted to sleep the pain away.

It startled her when he suddenly stood up from the bed, causing it to creak loudly in the quiet room. She flinched at the sound, her concussion making her sensitive.

“Lay down,” he instructed gently. She complied willingly, trying to make up for being so damn difficult the past hour, hating that he felt guilty for her getting hurt, also wanting to just lay down finally. As she moved to lay down on the bed, though, she wavered, suddenly feeling incredibly dizzy. The whole room spun and moved around her. “Hey, hey, hey,” he whispered, gently holding her head between his hands to steady her. “Are you okay? Are you feeling dizzy?” he asked worriedly. She couldn’t answer, the blows she took to her head catching up to her. The bed felt like it was moving underneath her. She closed her eyes in an attempt to will away the vertigo. “Hey, hey, look at me,” Hotch said in the softest tone Emily had ever heard from a man. “Emily, please look at me.”

Emily.

Her eyes snapped open. That sure got her attention. And almost made her even more lightheaded. There was something so… intimate about Hotch calling her by her first name. Especially in this position with Hotch holding her face less than a foot away from his own, searching for her eyes, trying to make eye contact. He always called her Prentiss, always had. Even though he’s called her Emily on a few occasions, it still sounded a bit foreign to her coming from him. She’d never quite understood why he religiously called her by her last name. Her guess was that he was trying to distance himself from her. Didn’t want to get too close, too involved. Needed to set boundaries.

At least, that’s what she hoped the reason was.

Because that would mean he felt something between them the way she did. After Foyet, things changed between them. They spent more time together, blurred the line between being coworkers and being friends. She spent time at his apartment, helping him with household chores he couldn’t do without stretching the stitches in his chest and stomach. She took him to and from work much more than could be deemed necessary. They shared drinks after hours in his office, sometimes with the company of Dave as well. They were no longer just coworkers, speaking to one another only at work and about work. They grew into something more, and Emily wondered if Hotch felt that way about them too. She hoped he felt that way, hoped it explained why he still only called her Prentiss.

“Emily,” he repeated, eyes finally meeting hers. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” she manages, “I just got a little dizzy there for a sec.”

“Okay. Are you able to lie down now?”

“Yeah, I think so.” God, she felt so pathetic.

“Just take it slow, okay? Take your time,” he said moving his hand to the back of her head to guide it down slowly onto the pillow. If it could even be called a pillow. It was hard and lumpy, did nothing to make Emily feel comfortable in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar town. He watched as she tried to reposition her head on the pillow, wincing as she did so. “Feel better?” he asked.

She nodded, taking a shaky and painful deep breath. After laying down for a few seconds, the throbbing in her ribs and back faded into a weak soreness. She closed her eyes, savoring the relief she felt. She wanted to fall asleep right then and there, to take advantage of this brief moment of stillness.

Hotch observed the way her face relaxed. Her brow no longer creased; her jaw no longer clenched. She looked so peaceful lying there with her hands over her heart. He felt the corners of his lips curl up slightly. He didn’t want to disturb her, but he still needed to clean and dress some of the cuts and scrapes on her torso. His heart started to race when he thought about what that meant. He would have to undress her. His subordinate.

He would be lying if he said he never took notice of her looks before. She was a beautiful woman, radiantly so. She lit up every room she entered. It was impossible not to look at her, notice her. He would be ashamed to admit he’s caught himself looking at her in ways no boss should look at their subordinate. On days where she wore that one red tank top, he had to actively keep himself from staring at her chest, watching how it rose and fell with each breath she took. On nights off at a bar with the team, he found himself entranced by the way her hips would sway to the music, wearing a pair of tight, skinny jeans. He felt guilty looking at her like that. He doubts she would appreciate her boss checking her out. Even in the hospital room a few hours ago, he turned his back to her when the doctor lifted Emily’s shirt. He’d hate to make her feel awkward or uncomfortable. Now, he would have to be the one to lift her shirt and tend to her wounds.

He carefully placed a hand on her shoulder to get her attention, not wanting to startle her and add to the stress her body was already experiencing. “Hey,” he whispered, “I’m going to need to lift your shirt okay?” She slowly opened her eyes. “I need to clean and cover up some of the cuts and scrapes you have,” he said shyly, hoping he wasn’t coming off as awkward as he felt.

She nodded slowly, slightly amused by Hotch’s clear discomfort. He was cute when he was flustered and awkward.

He didn’t waste any more time, moving to lift the hem of her shirt up towards her chest. He was caught off guard by the look her torso, cut up and scraped with black and blue bruises starting to form around her ribs. Tears threatened to fall from his eyes. He hadn’t seen the extent of her injuries beyond her face. He wasn’t expecting it to be as bad as it was.

She noticed him staring at her with tears in his eyes, the pain from seeing such a horrified look on his face is almost worse than her injuries. “It’s not as bad as it looks, Hotch,” she tried. She remembered saying those exact words to Reid at the compound in Colorado, her face swollen and bruised from sacrificing her life for him. No matter what she said, Reid still blamed himself for what happened to her, much like Hotch does now. She lifted her head slightly to get a look for herself, quickly seeing how much darker her bruises had become since the doctor checked them out in the hospital. No wonder breathing and the mere thought of moving hurt so badly.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled, not able to tear his eyes away from the injuries across her entire torso. She lifted her hand, with whatever strength she had left, to stop him from apologizing any further. She just couldn’t bear it, couldn’t handle listening to him beat himself up for something that was not his fault.

Blinking away tears and snapping himself out of his daze, he composed himself enough to grab another wet wipe to clean her torso. “This is going to hurt,” he warned again, “Let me know if it’s too much.”

She nodded, once again closing her eyes to prepare herself for the inevitable pain that would come from any pressure applied to her stomach. He slowly wiped at the skin across her ribs. He was so unbelievably careful, but it was agonizing. A muffled groan escaped her lips before she could stop it. “Too much?” he asked. She shook her head, encouraging him to continue. She wanted to get this over with, and she was sure he did too. The sooner he got this done, the sooner she could go to sleep and forget about the pain for a while. He continued cleaning her skin and the cuts just under her bra. She bit back her moans as best she could, not wanting to alarm him. She’d done enough of that the past few hours.

“I need to lift your shirt further up. Is that okay?” he asked timidly. He’s so damn polite she thought to herself.

“Just take it off,” she said, not thinking much of it. That was, until she saw his look of confusion and uncertainly. “It’ll make it easier,” she suggested, trying to relieve him of his doubts, “and I want to change out of it anyway. It’s all torn up and bloody.” He nodded, still feeling hesitant. In any other context, this would be so wrong. Undressing his subordinate while alone in a hotel room. But he wasn’t going to deny her request. If it made her more comfortable, he would do it. He would do anything for her. Anything.

As she lifted her arms above her head, he stripped the shirt from her, leaving her in only her bra and slacks. It would be a total lie if she said she never fantasized about this moment. She frequently indulged in the thought of him, her boss, undressing her. Never did she think it would happen under these circumstances. There was nothing sexy about what happened to them, what brought them to this moment.

There was a bruise across the swell of one of her breasts and a small scrape on the other. With the same gentleness as before, he cleaned the dried blood from her chest. When he began to wipe the other side of her chest, Emily let out a hiss, the skin and tissue there particularly tender and sore to the touch.

“This is the worst part. I’m sorry in advance,” he said, referring to the ointment he would have to put on the cuts and scraped all over her torso.

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” she assured him. “Let’s just get this over with.”

As he did minutes before, he squeezed some of the clear gel onto his finger. Emily yelped the moment the cool gel made contact with her angry, swollen skin. “Here,” he said handing her the shirt he had just discarded from her moments ago, “Bite into this.” She closed her teeth around the fabric, clenching tightly as she waited for him to continue. A muffled cry coming from her mouth when he applied more of the gel to her inflamed cuts and scrapes. He worked as quickly as he could while keeping his touch soft and light. He hoped she couldn’t tell how much this was affecting him. Hearing her muffled cries, touching her broken and swollen skin, feeling her body tense under his care, it was almost unbearable.

He started bandaging up some of the deeper cuts on her torso, both of them relieved that the worst of it was over for now.

Emily’s usually not one to be shy, especially about her body, but she felt incredibly vulnerable and anxious lying there in only her bra and work pants, covered in ugly bruises and scrapes. She felt exposed, her wounds fresh, open, and throbbing, her flesh sore and tender. As much as she wanted to cover herself, the thought of moving was painful in and of itself. So she declined when he offered to help her into a new shirt from her go bag. “I really just want to sleep right now,” she said, exhausted from the pain and the pain medication making her drowsy. He nodded, taking her bloody shirt from her and putting all of the supplies back into the plastic bag they came in.

The world slowly dimmed as she nodded off to sleep, her hands returning to the position over her heart like before. The all-consuming pain from moments ago faded into nothing when sleep finally took over.

He watched her as she slept, once again transfixed by her peaceful expression. He couldn’t find it in him to sleep despite how much his body practically begged for it. He was devoted to watching over her. Like a kind of vigil, a reverent and purposeful wakefulness, making sure no more harm could be inflicted upon her.

Several months ago, the roles were reversed. Emily watched over Hotch as he slept, worried and waiting. Her face was the first thing he saw when he woke. Her presence a comforting light despite the panic that rose within him from waking up in a hospital room not remembering any of the events that brought him there. If he was being honest, there’s no other face he would have wanted to see at that moment.

When Emily woke a few hours later, she saw him, sitting in an armchair in the dark, watching her. Has he been here the whole fucking time? she thought to herself, somewhat pissed at him for not getting some rest himself. He needed it just as much as she did.

“What the hell, Hotch,” she groans into the silence of the room. “You didn’t have to stay here.”

“I wanted to. How are you feeling?”

“Still hurts to move. Or breathe,” she responded frankly. “How long was I out?”

“Only a few hours. The sun’s not even up yet.”

She sighed, her chest twitching in discomfort. Thankfully, the pain meds had yet to wear off, and the pain extending from her stomach to her head was reduced to dull aches.

She reached up to feel the bandage on her cheek, only to be reprimanded by Hotch, telling her not to touch it so it stays clean. “But it itches,” she grumbled, still feeling tired and agitated even after sleeping for a few hours. He stared at her, getting up from his seat in the armchair and walking towards her. He calmly pulled her hand away from her face and set it back onto her chest. The gesture caused her eyes to brim with tears, once again overwhelmed by the gentleness of him, of his hands. It amazed her that the same strong hands that took down evil in the world each day were the same gentle hands that touched her, cared for her.

He sat on the edge of the bed looking down at her, seeing the way her eyes got shiny with tears. “What’s wrong?”

She sniffled and tried blinking away her tears, feeling silly for crying over the gentleness of his hands. “Nothing. It’s all just,” she sniffled again, “it’s just a lot. And I’m still tired. Did you even sleep?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“How am I not supposed to worry? You brawled with two men twice my size, carried me in your arms for like a half-mile, and you still haven’t slept.”

“Emily,” he started.

“Don’t ‘Emily’ me,” she interrupted with a little too much bitterness in her voice. “I’m not going to sit by and watch you kill yourself just to help me. It’s not worth it.”

“But you are.”

Her eyes shot open. She stared at him in disbelief. Her whole body goes numb, and she can hardly breathe. There are no words that could express how she felt then. She’s terrified, stunned, and completely speechless. It’s just not possible. He can’t feel that way. He just can’t. She’s not worth that. She could never be worth that.

Sensing her shock, he placed his hand over hers on her chest, not sure if it would do anything to help, but it felt right. She shifted up on the bed, wincing slightly as she sat against the headboard, his hand still over hers in her lap. He mindlessly ran the pad of his thumb over the back of her hand.

“Hotch, you can’t say that,” she said, shaking her head, staring at their hands in her lap. “I’m not your burden to carry.”

“You’re not a burden. Sure, you can be a piece of work sometimes, but you’re worth the work. It’s work I’m willing to do. It’s work I want to do. You still deserve to be cared for. You deserve someone who is willing to do the work to care for you. It doesn’t make you a burden,” he squeezed her hand, silently telling her to look at him, “You are not a burden,” he repeated once she looked him in the eyes, tearing falling down her cheeks. He reached up to gently wipe away a heavy tear from her cheek.

The intimacy of the whole situation made Emily’s head spin. Excitement, nausea, fear, and anticipation bubbled up inside her. Before she could stop herself, she brought her lips to his in a tentative kiss. For a moment she panics, thinking that maybe she read him completely wrong, and she just ruined their entire friendship. But when she pulled away, his head followed hers, leaning in for more, craving more of her. Their lips met again, timid and hesitant at first, but the kiss quickly grew more intense, full of passion, need, and desire.

She had wanted this for so long, wanted him for so long, but he was always off-limits. He was her boss for Christ’s sake. It was explicitly against fraternization policies to be involved like this. It was wrong on so many levels, but no matter how foolish, crazy, and reckless this was, she didn’t care, and neither did he. This hungry and desperate kiss felt like an explosion of pent-up emotions, feelings they’ve had to stifle for months, years even. This kiss set them free.

He moved his hand behind her head with his lips still on her, guiding her head back down to the useless pillow beneath her. His heart pounded loudly in his ears. This was such a bad idea. This could ruin the friendship they’ve created and fostered in the past year. It could ruin any sense of professionalism between them at work. It was a risk, but it was a risk he wanted to take.

He climbed over her, covering her body with his, careful not to crush her fragile frame. He opened his mouth up to hers, letting her explore him, taste him. The feel of her tongue against his sent waves of electricity down his spine. He felt sparks between his hands and her skin with every touch. She was electrifying. He had never felt more alive than he did then, with her.

He broke the kiss to lean back and strip himself of his shirt, revealing his muscular, toned torso with a number of scars and some light bruises from the events of that night. Emily was transfixed, staring in wonderment at the beautiful man above her. She reached out to lightly run her hands down his chest, feeling his skin and muscles react under her touch. “Perfect,” she whispered so softly only she could hear it. He leaned back down to capture her lips again with his own. She ran her hands up his chest and shoulders, reveling in the firmness of him. She brought her hands to his back, feeling his muscles tense and relax as he moved his lips against hers. The feel of him was intoxicating. The taste of him was intoxicating. She never wanted this to end.

She let out a shaky breath as he kissed down the column of her neck. He sucked lightly on her vibrating pulse, tasting her skin, inhaling her scent. She gasped when he placed a feather-light kiss over the bruise on the swell of her breast. Waves of pleasure washing through her, drowning out the pain. He pulled away as he brought his arm around her back, looking at her for permission to remove her bra. She nodded breathlessly, missing the feel of his lips. He made quick work of unclasping her bra, discarding it onto the floor as he reunited his lips with her skin. He lightly licked at the skin between her breasts then moved his mouth to cover her nipple. She threw her head back with a moan and ran her fingers through his hair, holding him to her, anchoring herself to him.

He moved his attention to her other breast, licking and sucking at her nipple. Her skin was soft and warm under his tongue. He kissed every inch of her chest. “Perfect,” he whispered back to her against her skin, letting her know he heard her just moments before. She was just that. Perfect. He continued worshipping her skin, kissing every bruise, licking every curve.

She writhed beneath him, ribs too sore to arch into his touch, tape from her bandages tugging at her skin. She failed to bite back a cry, making him stop in his tracks, pulling away to look at her, to make sure she’s okay. Her eyes pleaded him to continue as she brought her hands to his belt, unbuckling and removing it swiftly despite her shaking hands. She grasped him through the fabric of his pants. His hips bucked into her hand, searching for friction to relieve him from the ache of his erection. She slid her hand into his boxers to grab the length of him. He was hot and heavy in her hand as she stroked him slowly, agonizingly so.

He leaned back down to plant slow, wet kisses across the sensitive skin of her neck. She had never been kissed with such affection and reverence before. It sent shockwaves of pleasure through her, desire rushing to her core, a throbbing ache between her legs. He slid his hand between them, unbuttoning and unzipping her slacks. He found her wet and ready for him when he slipped his hand beneath her legs. Her desire for him became frantic and frenzied. She slid her hand from his pants to hurriedly remove her own.

She wanted him, and she wanted him now.

She wiggled out of her pants as much as her aching body would allow. Hotch slid her pants and panties the rest of the way down her legs and threw them to the floor. He stepped off the bed to remove his own pants and boxers. She whined at the loss of his heat over her. It was almost torturous being separated from his body, from his touch.

He joined her back on the bed, crushing her lips with a deep, bruising kiss. The weight of him above her kept her grounded and secure, blanketing over her small and fragile form. She gripped him once more, impressed by the length and thickness of him. He groaned into her mouth, his cock painfully hard, throbbing and dripping in her hand.

His hand trailed across her chest to her stomach, finally reaching her folds. His touch sent shivers up her spine. She threw her head back against the pillow beneath her, letting out a breathy moan. His touch was as gentle as it had been all night, his soft strokes contrasting his rough, firm hands. He eased one finger into her, kissing her as he did so, stifling her moan. She clawed at the skin on his back as he fingered her with a precision and dexterity she had never experienced with another man. It was achingly intimate. He brushed his thumb against her clit with each gentle stroke. The sensation had her shuddering underneath him, writhing into his skillful hand.

“Please,” she whispered against his lips, aching for him to be inside her. She spread her legs wider and wrapped them around his waist, urging him closer to her. He slowly drew his finger from her, bringing his hand up to cradle her face, as his other rubbed up the back of her thigh. Reaching down she lined him up with her core.

She gasped when he entered her, the thickness of him almost too much to handle at first. He stilled, letting her adjust to his size. When she licked her lips and nodded, he pushed in further with a groan, sheathing himself completely inside her.

After months of silent longing and waiting, they were finally one, two souls fused together to make a whole.

She had never felt so full, so complete. The pleasure was all-consuming, a raging fire burning within her. When he began to thrust into her, she held onto him, grasping at his back as if holding on for dear life. With only a hair’s breadth between them, she basked in the heart of his form. The pressure of him on top of her, inside of her, it was a blissful pain. There was nothing like it, nothing that could compare to the pleasure of it.

Hotch shook above her, overwhelmed by the feeling of her beneath him and around him. His thrusts were deep, slow, and careful. It took all of his strength not to increase to the frantic pace he craved. He wanted this to last, but this slow rhythm didn’t match his frenzied, borderline feral, need for her.

He wrapped his hand around her ankle and moved it over his shoulder, changing the angle of his thrusts. Capturing her mouth with his own, he muffled her cry at the angle change. With each stroke, he brushed against the sweet spot inside her, making her tremble beneath him. When he felt her walls tighten around him, he sped up his pace, throwing caution to the wind. She felt so good around him, and it had been so long. He completely lost any and all semblance of control. Sensing her impending orgasm, he brought his hand between them to flick her clit.

She felt the familiar heat build in her stomach as he worked her higher and higher. She convulsed when he lowered his head to suck on her pulse point. Her orgasm ripped through her with a strength she didn’t know was possible. “Aaron,” she cried out. The name slipped from her lips so naturally it was as if she had been calling him that her whole life when really, this was the first time.

He loved the way his name sounded on her lips, the intimacy of it making his head spin.

He pulled away to watch in awe as her body shook at the force of her orgasm, slowing his pace, gently moving in and out of her as she rode out the waves of fire tearing through her.

Her moan echoed in the small room. Hotch brought his lips to hers once more to swallow each groan and cry, feeling her body begin to relax. He began to drive into her at a frantic pace, chasing his own release. He was so close, and she was so tight around him, the sensation was almost too much. He panted in her ear, on the edge, on the brink of falling over. “Let go,” she whispered in his ear, still breathless from her own climax.

“Emily,” he groaned as his body tensed, bowstring tight as he trembled at the intensity of his orgasm. The tension left his body as quickly as it came, and he fell limp beside her, still conscious of her injuries, careful not to crush her body with his own.

He pulled her into his embrace, kissing down her neck as the pleasure faded. She didn’t want it to end. She knew that once the pleasure left, the pain would return. So, she drifted off the sleep, the only thing she could do to hold off the pain that was sure to engulf her.

The room fell silent. He held her as she slept, listened to her breath become even and her heart rate slow within her chest. He wanted this feeling to last forever. What that feeling was? Comfort. Security. Happiness. Trust. Healing.

Love.

He loved her. She completed him. She made him feel one again, after all he had lost. He wanted to be with her forever. He wanted to live the rest of his life with her. The yin to his yang. Together embracing the dualities of each other and life. The ups and the downs. The beautiful and the ugly. The good times and the bad. The joys and the challenges. The light and the dark.

#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss fic #hurt/comfort #angst #eventual smut #oneshot #my first fic longer than 1k words #i hope it doesnt suck

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ladyfawkes · 3 years

Text

Eugene Appreciation Week | Day 6: Protect and Sacrifice

Desiderium by @Ladyfawkes and @trekkiehood

Current Chapter 10: Never Surrender

Current word count: 18868

Rated T for graphic descriptions of violence, physical torment, events during a POW setting

Chapter Summary: For the first time since being attacked and abducted, Eugene wakes up.

Chapter 10: Never Surrender

The first time Eugene awoke, he had been turned on his side. Someone had placed the tapered part of a large syringe in his mouth. He gagged on the warm stream of saltwater being actively injected and immediately began vomiting, which in turn yanked and pulled and twisted up all of the severed and injured muscles and tissues just below and to the right of his stomach. It felt as if his guts were on fire and actively trying to push themselves out of the wounds that cursed sword had given him. He tried to bring his arms down to fold them around his wound in front but he’d found his wrists were tightly bound with ropes instead.

“It huuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrts,” he howled mournfully, in earshot of whomever was near. Or at least he would’ve howled, had his cry not cut out halfway through. Only then did he realize how stupid he was to have used his voice. Instantly, he became so drained he started shaking. For he not only unwittingly revealed this weakness to his enemy, the action induced Eugene to use the most injured, raw parts of himself. His reaction, however, had at least been visceral, instinctive, and utterly involuntary; he had no control over it. However, if Eugene thought he’d felt nausea and pain before, that was almost nothing compared to how he’d felt in the here and now.

After Eugene had fallen unconscious, he’d clearly and repeatedly aspirated what little stomach contents he possessed into his lungs and sinuses. A pained groan escaped him regardless; His raw throat and sinuses pulsed with a dull throb in the back of his head every time he tried drawing a breath.

“Believe it or not, I am trying to help,” said a tiny voice beside him. “Sometimes, though, it’s gotta get worse before it can feel better,” continued the voice. Gradually, Eugene’s top half was raised at an angle. The old cloth beneath him soaked with blood and vomit was removed and replaced; the fresh one was folded over several times and placed underneath his nose, mouth, chin, and neck. He was still on his side but was given a bolster to put under his ear and top half of his head as further support at this new elevated angle. His shaking slowed slightly. However, in the back of his mind, Eugene still recalled how precarious was his position. Therefore he could not bring himself to trust this mystery medical person. The captain was still bound at the wrists and ankles, after all. He assumed his boots were long gone. There was no way they’d leave footwear accessible for a prisoner -- especially not one they’d have no intention of ever releasing.

Rather than finding any comfort in what had just been said or done by this funny-voiced person, Eugene stiffened as the syringe wielder injected even more saltwater into each nostril. Though Eugene still choked, coughed, and gagged very violently, the entry-and-exit wounds through his midsection were simultaneously given moderate compression from either side until he’d cleared out the last of the salt water. The compression action alone had diminished his pain, nausea, and the nasty sensation that his guts were spilling out by about 30%. And he didn’t throw up again either. For the time being.

“I would cut your bindings, as they’re so useless and even cumbersome,” mumbled the voice, “but Regis would have us both hanged immediately….” Though Eugene struggled valiantly and tried to become an active information-gatherer like his training demanded, nothing proved to him that he was too far out of his element more than the traumas of this particular interaction. Even his own weakness shocked him. Though the name “Regis” had instantaneously provoked distinct emotions from within.

The mystery person again mopped up Eugene’s face from the deluge of saltwater. “I know that was awful,” commiserated the individual, “but I’m betting your throat and sinuses are no longer killing you. That it’s much less painful to breathe, at least from your neck up?”

Eugene said nothing….and only scowled until he did gingerly test breathing…. and it was indeed far easier and less painful now that the aspirated stomach acid had been cleared away. Buuuuuut he had this permanent stitch now, this ache below his right lung….Eugene seriously wondered whether he would ever breathe deeply again.

“Well, that’s all right, playin’ possum,” said the voice. Can’t say as I blame you, nosiree, captain in the enemy camp and all….” and the person bustled about, chattering aloud to Eugene but mostly to himself. “Oh, and my name is Clarence, my designation here is ‘apothecary’, although my duties compass a great deal more.” Was it just Eugene, or did ‘Clarence’ sound a little bitter? Could this be a rift Eugene could press to his advantage? “This possum skill is good,” the Clarence person rejoined, “because the more ill and unconscious you are, the more put-off Regis will be…..I know since he already walked away once due to being so disgusted by the state of you. You were supposed to have been brought whole and unharmed….and Javeen, Regis’s 2nd, truly learned to regret his actions.”

Eugene’s shivering persisted and worsened although it was clearly a warm day outside. He had no earthly idea how much time had passed since he was first abducted nor how long it had been that he’d worn anything from the waist up due to being stripped down by...Javeen, was it? He guesstimated it had been at least two days since he’d eaten or drank anything...but it felt more like 6 or 7 days because of his injuries. As an orphan, Eugene knew well the ravages of starvation. He’d faced it many times as a child and youth and young adult. And this was….not like that. At all. It was infinitely worse.

Though this small apothecary minding Eugene clearly couldn’t match him in size, he removed and shared his tunic nonetheless. Or at least he attempted to share. “I’ve got on several layers,” mumbled the little man….

“Curse it,” the apothecary finished, as he realized Eugene couldn’t possibly be dressed in normal clothing while still bound at the wrists. And a few seconds later, very abruptly, Eugene’s wrists were blissfully cut free of the ropes that had bound him.

In another wholly involuntary action, Eugene automatically turned from his side to his back, his arms fully separating so his chest could expand and he could breathe in the air his oxygen-deprived body so desperately needed.

The apothecary seemed to have anticipated his needs and again gave Eugene compression so as to minimize the sensation his guts were falling out as he greedily sucked in more and more shuddering lungfuls of air. “Oh deary dear, no wonder that was so difficult for you,” the little apothecary fretted. “Broad chests and large arms do not do well for one’s lung capacity when they’re all mashed together. I can’t imagine Adonais himself could handle his wrists being bound in such a way….”

Breathing in as if it were going out of style was exquisitely painful but this pain was also infinitely worth it. Then Eugene coughed and….it was chunky style, i.e. some of the leftover goodies the syringe hadn’t been able to remove earlier. He turned his head to the side and spat it out. “Good!” said the apothecary. “That’s even better than you getting more air. We need you to cough up all of that junk. And breathe as deep as you can, at all times, even when it hurts.”

Unexpectedly Clarence seized Eugene’s hand and placed it around the cushion he’d been using. “Anytime you need to sneeze, cough, or what-have-you, press the cushion against your midsection. It will help a little. Regis’ll just have to hang me then, he can’t very well have me heal you if you’re gonna go off and die of aspiration pneumonia, nosiree…..”

Heal me in order to hurt me, ugh, thought Eugene. Talk about mixed signals. Now that he was laying on his back, Eugene’s head near the base of his skull started throbbing with the renewed pressure. In spite of himself, Eugene reached up with his left hand and felt the back of his scalp.

Clarence continued bustling about. It was registering through Eugene’s pain-haze that this is the same apothecary that had just given him full use of his hands. Even handed him a projectile. Maybe this guy isn’t what he seems? Eugene considered. Nope. NO. Don’t get lulled by a false sense of security. Considering his wounds and the fact his ankles were still bound, Eugene was basically still immobile anyway, even with full use of his hands and arms. Well, almost full use. If he moved his right arm in a certain way, it tugged all the way down to his worst wound and made him see twinkly pain stars in front of his vision. He determined to keep that arm closer toward him at all times to avoid triggering that horrible lightning twinge. And this meant he couldn’t reach down far enough to slip the ropes off his ankles even if he’d tried. Eugene realized the physician knew exactly what he was talking about by deeming the binds “useless”. His prisoner was going nowhere and this little man knew it.

The physician (Eugene had already substituted ‘apothecary’ in his mind) took note of Eugene’s movements. “Ah yes, I see you’ve discovered the other little 'present' Javeen and his men left for you: that nasty goose egg on the back of your head. I advise against making any more sudden movements? I’d hate to see you vomit again.” Fanfriggentastic. Here was yet another thing that explained to Eugene why he was in such rough shape….Javeen’s men had brained him earlier. Although he couldn’t recall when it happened along with why he’d felt so beat-up and bruised all over, everywhere….those things were still a mystery to him.

The physician did his best to dress Eugene in the too-small tunic of his. Again, he apologized -- APOLOGIZED!! -- for it having been all he’d had on-hand. Ill-fitting though it was, Eugene had finally stopped shivering. Once again, Eugene found second thoughts about this strange little man creeping into his consciousness. Next, the physician had grabbed what looked like a Coronian saddle blanket and draped it around Eugene’s shoulders, offering another layer of warmth. It finally caught up to him regarding what that meant; the physician had handily kept him from slipping fully into shock.

He’d also made dang sure that Eugene could breathe as well as could be expected…..by cutting his binds….and whatever that syringe debacle was…..although the process itself was nightmare-ish, it couldn't be denied that everything had worked as intended. Sometimes things have to get worse before they can feel better. Not to mention the man had gone out of his way to ease Eugene’s pain with that cushion compression trick. Already Clarence had engaged in at least two things that were probably directly against protocol by doing just a tiny bit more than the bare minimum.

Clarence steepled his hands and considered Eugene’s positioning. “I’m gonna need better access to that wound on your back,” he said. “Don’t use any of your own power to help me turn you; I’ll do all of the work. Is that clear?”

Eugene shrank a little at such intense scrutiny paired with the direct order….yet said nothing. It was the most demanding Clarence had been thus far. The apothecary sighed shortly, clearly not taking silence for an answer this time.

“I mean it, Mr. Tough Guy. This is one instance where you must be like a living ragdoll and let me do all the rest. Do you think you can handle that?” Clarence paused briefly, appearing to consider something. Eugene simply stared at him. “You can communicate by whispering. Actual whispering, not sotto voce style. It requires far less lung capacity and is unlikely to cause much pain. I say again, do you think you can trust me? Because if you try to ‘help’ even a little, you could cause those wounds to push outside what’s meant to remain inside.”

“Yes,” Eugene whispered without hesitation. He didn’t know exactly what it was about this interesting apothecary that elicited his trust. And then it occurred to him as Clarence very slowly turned his patient's legs to his left side, encouraging Eugene to breathe through the pain: Clarence cares.

Not to mention….Clarence was right; whispering barely hurt Eugene at all….in complete opposition to when he’d shouted earlier upon first waking.

When Clarence went to turn Eugene from right to left by grabbing his right arm, however, they ran into a semi-unexpected snag. This arm, it appeared, could not be pulled...lest it trigger that nasty stitch Eugene had experienced earlier. So the apothecary took the saddle blanket and refashioned it into a type of jacket-sling so Eugene’s right arm was held secure against his chest; now his patient didn’t have to worry about his right arm being at the mercy of whatever gravity felt like doing with it.

With his free arm, Eugene lightly held the cushion against his gut. Then Clarence managed to carefully and successfully roll Eugene’s upper half onto his left side without any additional complications. Eugene was allowed to rest after all the additional activity. His side without the wounds was naturally far more stable and for the first time since awakening, the mere act of breathing didn’t make him wanna pass out from too much pain. Although it was still comparably arduous and taxing by trying to breathe deeply as instructed. The last time Eugene could recall feeling this helpless was when he had a nasty case of typhus around age 5 or 6 that had nearly killed him.

“Right now, I’m preparing an anesthetic for that wound in your back,” murmured Clarence. The apothecary was using medical terms that until that point in time for which Eugene had had very little use. It made Eugene wish he’d read and paid more attention like Rapunzel.

And mentally conjuring his beloved sweetheart so easily within such a natural context suddenly sent unbidden shockwaves of loneliness, hopelessness, and despair crashing through him. Regis would never release him and Eugene knew it. He’d gone to far too much trouble convincing others that Eugene no longer existed amongst the living. Past the end of his needfulness for this prisoner, the mad king might eventually attempt to use Eugene as bait at a later date. But until then, Eugene was still being secretly held here, wherever ‘here’ was...which had to mean that it was becoming more likely with each passing hour that Javeen’s decoy ruse had worked. That whatever was left after the fire the enemy troops had started, and after Corona’s soldiers watched their own captain get struck down, it was practically a given that nobody from his kingdom was out searching for Eugene right now.

In spite of himself, the back of his still-raw sinuses welled up and started dripping with these instant pent up emotions. He sniffled softly at first but when Eugene pictured himself back in the nursery, rocking Kleisonne and singing their special song….considering that Rapunzel has to sing it now….it was more than he could take. It had already been over two months since the last time he had left them to take up arms at New Old Corona and even though he could see Corona Island from the top of the mountain pass, as captain, Eugene felt as if he might as well have been a million miles away. With so few fighting men, with so few soldiers who’d actually experienced prior sustained combat much less led through it, such inexperienced leadership, and only a rather ancient stockpile of weaponry….(Corona had been at peace for hundreds of years, after all...) Eugene simply could not leave his station under any circumstances….not even to see his family. The kingdom’s needs had been too great….still are too great. Had his father’s battalions arrived yet from the Dark Kingdom? Probably not. Eugene had a feeling he’d be hearing all about it from the apothecary, chatty as he was. But then….but then -- one shining light of realization cut through the pain haze and fear fog….piercing its way through his overwrought mind and body. Rapunzel was actually queen now and thus not at the mercy and whims of what others thought or felt anymore. Not really. And Eugene could sense with absolute certainty that Rapunzel would not rest until she had found identifiable remains by means of incontrovertible proof. And once they found the only clue Eugene had managed to leave behind, Rapunzel’s resolve in finding him would become dang near indestructible. He’d just have to try and find a way to escape -- or more practically, considering his woeful state of being, somehow get word out ASAP so that Corona would still be performing a rescue, not a recovery.

Eugene hissed rather loudly at the sudden harsh stinging sensation emanating from around the wound in his back. The sharp intake of breath had in turn disturbed everything else within Eugene’s predicament. “My apologies,” Clarence spoke out, “I’m usually accustomed to patients who are already unconscious by the time I get to them,” he explained with a hint of nervousness.

Aaaand he’s apologizing again. For unintentionally hurting me. Truly this guy was proving over and over he really wasn’t Regis’s mad scientist henchman. After Clarence was finished with the stinging stuff, he grabbed some type of salve that Eugene was sure he already knew pretty well. Tallow, the same stuff used as a base for candles, also made a great healing and moisturization agent. It sealed the wound away from everything else including dirt and further abrasions.

It was basically how Eugene had avoided having too many scars for so many years, and the one main reason why he appeared completely unscathed, despite all of the bar fights he had been swept up in, and the smaller now invisible wounds he’s had. Although he currently rolled his eyes at his own past vanity by trying to achieve physical perfection with flawless skin. Eugene was certainly gonna have some gnarly scars after this….provided he lived long enough to actually heal from his open wounds and captivity….Eugene inwardly admonished himself to stop thinking morbidly. And to instead be grateful for Clarence and his incomprehensible kindness in such a morbid setting. And if Eugene weren’t already laying down, he would’ve been bowled over by what the apothecary did next. Clarence not only carefully cleaned and applied tallow to every inch of the abrasions those ropes had caused, he covered the red welts on Eugene’s wrists with long knotted-off strips of floursack cloth. It was such an unexpectedly….kind thing to do, to tend to wounds caused by a prisoner’s restraints…..Eugene was momentarily taken aback….and currently lost in thought. And this is when Clarence figured he’d had as good a time as any to crank up the hallucination juice.

Somewhere behind Eugene, something that smelled vaguely of incense and oil started burning nearby and he started coughing. Clarence reminded him about the cushion trick and the coughing sensation eased off and Eugene began to feel oddly and unexpectedly relaxed. His cognitive body functions had largely gone dormant and he was floating in a soft white haze. He felt….groovy. Every once in awhile, lightning streaks of pain might interrupt his dreaming as Clarence, who was not only a good apothecary but a well trained surgeon, worked on sewing up Eugene’s wounds.

Clarence couldn’t have Eugene eat or drink anything prior to surgery so that effectively eliminated anything taken by mouth when it came to easing his patient’s pain at this time. So the apothecary took the one safest route left to him; the psychoactive one. The main problem was that psychoactives didn’t technically knock you out….at least not the ones of which he was in possession.

The surgeon was distinctly worried that even if Eugene had tried to ingest any medicine or even water, it very well would have triggered pain so agonizingly distressful that he wouldn’t be able to stop screaming once it got started. Based on the prior blood and reflux content he’d seen so far, (as well as how his patient had reacted during his first few seconds upon waking) Clarence strongly suspected part of Eugene’s problem was a nasty duodenal tear and that meant high-intensity stomach acid was busy slowly seeping itself out everywhere it wasn’t intended to be, both inside and outside of his patient. Unneutralized stomach acid pouring itself into one’s abdominal cavity was indeed Not Good at All, especially since that includes everything else that regularly accompanies stomach acid. Clarence's plan was to be as hands-off as possible. He'd witnessed far too many patients die of resulting infection directly caused by a surgeon's brash (and yes, stupid) tendency to just dig around in open wounds. Clarence still didn't know if his patient needed to be sewn up all the way or if drainage sites needed to be packed as he healed.

All things considered, this “enemy” captain shouldn’t even be conscious. Eugene had to be practically dying of thirst and yet he wasn’t complaining. Here he was, on this makeshift exam/surgery platform, high as a kite, tripping aloud about fluffy purple bunnies wearing watermelon hats. Or was it purple watermelons wearing pink bunny hats? Whatever that meant, thought Clarence, with some amusement.

Clarence seemed to have an internal immunity against the “incense oil” he was burning for his patient’s sake. He was both annoyed and grateful for said immunity. He also fervently hoped this patient would stay distracted long enough with pleasant hallucinations in order for Clarence to do what he needed. It wasn’t like him to operate on a patient without explaining everything thoroughly, but he was hoping against hope that by subtracting another layer of self-awareness, it might somehow help Eugene stay distracted even longer. Besides, you can’t rightly swallow much of anything when it’s just going to…..leak back out such a nasty hole in your vital organs. Above all else, the young captain needed that tear repaired as quickly as possible.

Real things about world history discovers/innovations: When 'syringe' is mentioned here, it's not like a hypodermic needle or even an oral medication syringe. The size of syringes in the 18th century were more the size range of a can of spray deodorant on up to a large can of hair spray.

“Okay, Captain Fitz-Humpty-Dumpty, let’s try and put you back together again, shall we?” murmured the surgeon to himself, as he took one last glance at his overstocked supply of incense oil.

@gleamful-lanterns @kingreywrites @autumn-ravenclaw

A/N: In order to keep this an element of realism in this historical setting, you can imagine the amount of research that went into building this single chapter. Medicine was taking some monumental strides starting in 16th century (1500s) onward.

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theartofimagining13 · 3 years

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CHAPTER 4: THE CHEATER CHEETAH DRESS.

WRITTEN BY: A.Wölf.

BASED ON: Imagine: After a big discussion with your fiancé Tom…

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS: 1 DISENGAGEMENT | 2 THE TALE OF THE OFFENSE | 3 THE WEDDING GUEST

TEASER | POSTER | CHAPTER POSTER | CHAPTER TEASER

NOTES: First and foremost, I would like to thank @clockgirl94 because if she hadn’t sent me that Javier gif, this chapter wouldn’t have been born. ❤︎

I was reluctant to write spanish dialogue translations but then I remembered that spanish is my first language and maybe not everyone else’s lol.

And also, there’s a subtle POV change.

Enjoy.

Funny how some humans’ defense mechanism works only in retrospect.

You get out of a messy situation, and it is only when you look back that things are crystal clear and you ask yourself why did I not see this before?

I was sitting on the floor, surrounded by boxes. After our honeymoon, Tom bought a bigger house in a quieter area of the city for us to move into. As I unpacked my clothes, I found a little summer dress that I hadn’t seen in months and I might as well have used as a noose because, as soon as I saw it, as soon as I touched it, I was out of breath and felt the biggest knot in my throat. There’s violence in the way some memories come back to us with an object or a smell; that seemingly insignificant piece of fabric unleashed in my mind a wild river of memories.

I chuckled at myself.

If I had truly wanted to forget, I would’ve burned the fucking dress but I had only managed to stash it at the bottom of a forgotten drawer, and now it was here. I got up and neatly placed it on the bed and stared at it. I suddenly felt a kiss on my left temple. Tom walked past me afterwards holding another heavy box and I saw the curious face he made once he left it on the floor and noticed the dress.

“You haven’t worn that in a long time.”

“I know…”

He stood behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist.

“You should.” He purred in my ear before planting kisses down my neck. “You drive me crazy in it.”

My heart raced when he held me tighter and spun me around. He caught my lips with his and I felt his hands going down my back. This was triggering for me, I had to stop him without being suspicious so I gently pulled away.

“Take me out on a date when we’re done here and I just might wear it.” I lied.

Tom let out a quiet pleasure groan in advance at the mental image perhaps.

“You got yourself a deal, baby.”

He gave me a quick peck on the lips and left to carry on with the move.

I sighed. See, the thing is, Tom wasn’t the only one who that dress drove crazy, and by now, I am pretty sure we’ve established that he and his former best friend, Pedro, liked the same things. As I stared at it again, I let myself go and revisited that particular memory in the forbidden recollections book.

Tom and I were hosting a summer cookout for a few friends and family in our old garden.

It was a beautiful, warm, sunny day in June, and I was wearing the now infamous cheetah print dress with combat boots. Tom had proposed a few days prior, and I hadn’t told Pedro. The thought alone made me nervous because how was I supposed to even form that sentence?

Hello, lover. I just got engaged.

Cringe. Of course not. Which is why I chose not to wear the ring for the occasion.

It didn’t get any easier when I saw Pedro as I walked out into the backyard. He was helping Tom with the grill and the charcoal, with a beer bottle in one hand but looked up at me and stared almost longer than politically correct. And the way he did it, slowly from head to toe and with slightly parted lips which made me feel things I shouldn’t have felt; but that ship had sailed. I kept my distance mingling with others at the party and he stayed there talking to Tom for a while.

I wish I had heard that conversation.

“I asked her to marry me.” Tom said with the biggest grin. “She said yes, mate.”

Pedro tensed up and stared at Tom, he swallowed and washed down a million sour words he could’ve said with the swig of beer he took.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Tom chuckled. “I was… terrified.”

“Well, who in their right mind would ever do that?” Pedro half joked.

“You say that now…” Tom said. “But you just wait. I mean, look at her. Can you blame me?”

Pedro tightened his jaw as he glanced at her one more time and spoke through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, I’ve told you a million times that you’re a lucky motherfucker.” He said causing Tom to laugh. “I gotta take a leak.” Pedro announced dryly. “Hey, you got anything stronger than this?” and immediately added, “We’re celebrating, aren’t we?”

“There’s whiskey inside.”

“I’ll get it.”

He started to walk away but stopped to look back at Tom, realizing that he had forgotten something.

“Congratulations, man.” He forced a smile.

When Pedro walked into the bathroom, he splashed his face with cold water and scowled at himself in the mirror.

I put a big pitcher of lemonade in the fridge before I went upstairs but I stopped midway when I heard the hallway bathroom door opening and closing, and instinctively looked over my shoulder only to find Pedro.

I couldn’t read his expression so I kept walking, hoping that he would follow me, and aching for a moment with just the two of us alone. I faced him when I reached mine and Tom’s bedroom door and leaned against it with my hands behind my back. He got closer and placed his right hand right next to my head, towering over me as he stared into my soul.

“You think you can just walk around in that little dress and get away with it?”

“You like it?” I teased.

He slowly looked down and up again, provokingly.

“It’s driving me crazy.” He confessed in almost a whisper.

I allowed my eyes to wander and make sure that we were completely alone before I leaned in to kiss him. The kiss was cold, empty, so unlike Pedro’s trademark passionate ones, and he was rarely in a bad mood which made it twice as scary when he actually was, but I had no idea if that was the case. I pulled away and furrowed my eyebrows with concern. He cleared his throat and sniffed loudly.

“Is there something you’d like to tell me?” He inquired with the most serious face and tone.

“What do you mean?”

But he just cocked his head with condescendence and, it took me a minute, but I figured out what he was talking about.

“He told you.” I sighed. “Pedro, I was going to tell you, I just-”

“When were you going to tell me?” He cut me off.

“I-I don’t know, I couldn’t find the right w-”

I ceased talking and flinched when he struck the door with the hand that had been resting next to my head.

“Fuck’s sake…” He cursed and roamed a little with his hands on his waist.

Back then, silly me thought he was jealous, hell, I even liked it a bit. But no. Pedro was worried.

“Now?” He asked with a much more collected tone. “He had to propose now?”

Looking back, this was the only moment Pedro felt a little remorse. He was worried because my engagement had just made things even more complicated. Ironically enough, our affair had only started when this happened; we had been meeting in secret for a few weeks. We could’ve stopped then while Tom hadn’t a clue, could’ve pretended that it never happened and move on. Pedro and Tom’s friendship would’ve remained intact.

Pedro was a hypocrite, we’ve also established that. Somehow, it was okay to fuck his best friend’s girlfriend but once I became his fiancée, Pedro looked like he had finally encountered a line he could not cross.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” He wondered out loud while looking over my shoulder as if he could see Tom in the backyard, through the door and walls.

Truthfully, I was very happy with my diamond ring, so, I also started pondering on my future with Pedro. The fact that our affair had just started had a pro and a con in common; Pro, We had only just begun which would make it easier to cut ties right then and there. Con, we had only just begun which would make it ten times harder to quit right then and there.

I sighed with frustration when I had that moment of honest clarity.

“I guess we could… stop?” I hesitantly asked and hated it to no end.

Pedro’s face fell and he studied me briefly but carefully.

“I mean,” I added. “People might get hurt.”

Pedro blinked several times and slowly began to nod.

“You’re right. We don’t… we don’t want that. We’ve been lucky.”

But I swallowed hard because I could easily tell that he loathed this as much as I did.

“We should just… be friends.”

Again, his brown eyes traveled up and down my body and he gulped.

“Friends.” He echoed.

My heart was racing in the middle of the staring contest we seemed to be having, and I felt as if he could hear it over the silence we shared. He inched closer.

“Is…is that what you want?” He inquired.

At that point, that was the only right thing left to do, and to sort of mend things or prevent them from getting worse. But Pedro understood my silence when I just glued my eyes to his.

“Open the door.” He ordered.

As soon as I did, he followed me inside, closing it behind him and kissed me on the lips in the most urgent way, and I thought my heart would leap out of my chest. I could feel his hands going down my back as he kissed my neck and chest, and I turned around and faced the bed because I knew what we both wanted and needed. He pressed me against his body and cupped my breasts. I could feel him getting hard and it weakened my knees. His hands went underneath my dress and he pulled down my underwear before pulling the skirt up.

The sound of Pedro unbuckling his belt in a rush reverberated in my core. I desperately needed him inside of me, I wanted and needed him to fuck me till we both came. He licked his fingers and touched me, letting out a silent and proud chuckle because I was more than ready for him. Our foreplay had started from the moment he decided to eye fuck me as soon as I showed up in the garden, and our little conversation was the sugar on the rim. He lowered his pants enough to pull out his cock and caressed my entrance with the tip, using his free hand to gently and slightly bend me over the bed.

And he tortured me like this for a few seconds that felt much longer to me, inserting just the tip, slowly going out and in again until I felt like I couldn’t take it anymore and he finally quickened the pace. I wanted more. I needed more. I needed him, all of him, and I moaned when he finally granted me my wish.

“Fuck…” He breathed out and just stayed inside of me while I adjusted to him.

Pedro grabbed me by the hips with a tight grip and started fucking me like I had been silently begging him to; Hard and fast and just making me his. His low grunts and his ragged breath were turning me on even more. One of his hands slid up my back until his fingers got lost in my hair and he grabbed a fistful as he kept pounding into me, but it moved down to my neck, prompting me to stand up straight as he wrapped his arms around my waist and one greedy hand cupped one of my breasts.

“Te gusta? (You like it?)”

I groaned. I loved it when he whispered things in Spanish in my ear, and adding the fact that we had to be as quiet as possible was driving me over the edge.

“Dime. (Tell me).”

“Yes.” I breathed out. “Pedro…”

He chuckled again, knowing what I was implying and begging for, and he nibbled my neck before whispering once more.

“Te quieres venir? (You want to cum?)” He asked even though he knew I was dying to cum. I could even hear his mischievous grin. “Vente, mi amor. (Cum, my love).”

The rhythm of his thrusts increased again and he held me tighter. My whole body tensed up, I could feel it, the tingling sensation slowly taking over until it possessed me whole, mind and soul. Pedro had to cover my mouth as I came undone in his arms, he held onto me for dear life and buried his face in the crook of my neck as he poured himself into me and let out a suffocated moan against my skin.

With relief washing over us, our heart rates began to settle, and our foreheads were covered with a thin layer of sweat.

As I freshened up and washed my face, I stared at myself in the mirror and wondered if that had been the last time for Pedro and I.

Perhaps we had said goodbye in the only way we knew how.

I entered the kitchen and poured myself a much needed glass of ice cold lemonade before I was joined by my fiancé.

“I think we should tell them.” Tom said while taking out a few more meat packages from the fridge.

“What?” I asked in a blissful yet lethargic daze.

“About our engagement.” He placed them on the counter.

He stood in front of me, waiting as if he was asking for permission and looked at my glass of lemonade which he ended up stealing to take a sip.

But when he looked down at my hand, he frowned.

“Where’s your ring?” He asked.

“Oh, I… I took it off when I washed my hands and must’ve left it in the bathroom.” I lied.

“Put it on.” He said.

It was all the same now, Pedro knew. So, I did as I was told for Tom to make the announcement in the garden. I heard the three C’s of celebration; clamoring, cheering, and clapping, but all I could see was Pedro sitting in the back, and when his brown eyes found mine, he just showed a cynical smile and raised his glass of whiskey, at me, the cheeky bastard who had just fucked the fiancée in the cheetah dress.

Or the cheater in the dress.

I was sure that Pedro was just as addicted to me as I was to him. Engagement or not, we just weren’t ready to stop. If anything, he craved me more fiercely than before, and that ring on my finger just turned him on even more.

We had only just begun.

I blinked several times as the arousing memory dissolved and I became aware of my surroundings.

I bit my lip and wondered if Pedro still thought of these encounters of ours. I asked myself if he missed me, if he thought about me, if he touched himself while doing so, if he envisioned me while fucking someone else. Or the possibility of an ugly truth where he had just moved on and I meant nothing, but then I remembered my wedding day and his drunken honesty.

Of course he fucking thought of me.

#IN HIS ARMS #Pedro Pascal #Tom Hiddleston #Fanfic #Fiction #Fanfiction

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actress4him · 3 years

Text

Overexposure - New Ideas

(Prompt #17 for Summer of Whump)

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Warnings: lady whumpee with male whumper, creepy/intimate whumper, captivity, referenced beating, noncon touching (non-sexual), forced stripping (non-sexual), restraints, stress position

It’s only a few days after the exhibit, a few days after the brutal beating Ellery received for trying to ask for help, when the door to her room flies open and he’s standing there with that smile on his face. The smile she hates more than anything. The smile that says she’s about to suffer even more.

“Good morning, Princess.” Lucas strolls into the room - the cell, really, just a tiny corner of the basement built expressly for the purpose of keeping her inside. “In the midst of the fallout from your misguided attempt the other night, I failed to mention how much of a success the exhibit was. Everyone adored you.”

Her skin crawls at the thought, but she knows better than to respond by now. Instead she pulls her knees up to her chest, hugging them to herself as if she can keep him away.

“I’m getting plenty of sales, too. So many people who want to have our beautiful artwork all for themselves.”

She knows better than to respond, but she can’t help it. The image of those photos hanging on someone’s walls, or being hidden away to look at secretly… “Guess they’re just as sick as you are.”

All of her muscles tense up as soon as she says it, expecting him to lash out. But he must be in an awfully good mood, because he simply ignores the outburst, pacing toward the tiny table with his hands clasped behind his back.

“I’ve been getting requests, too. Some from patrons at the last exhibit, others from people who have seen my previous work.” He turns, leaning up against the table, eyes roving over her body in the way he does when she knows he’s imagining ways to torture it. “Seems like there’s a whole collection of people out there who love...well, I keep hearing the word ‘whump’, but...basically, they draw all kinds of inspiration from what we’re doing. And now they’d like to see something...a little less refined, a little more...hm, how do I say it? A little more...raw. Primitive.”

The smile creeps back onto his face. “It’s something I’ve never done before, but I’m certainly up to the challenge. I’ve got ideas already. And I have a feeling once I get started I’ll be quite inspired to keep going.”

No wonder he’s in a good mood. He’s in his creative zone, which means a nightmare of a day for her. And it’s so soon, she’s still healing, her body isn’t ready.

He won’t care about any of that, though.

“Alright, come on, chop chop! Up to makeup we go.”

It’s one of the few instances when she’s allowed out of the basement, so she tries to enjoy it. If she cranes her neck as they come to the top of the stairs, she can catch a glimpse of green and sunlight through a sliver of window, and overall the rooms upstairs are much brighter. It’s a refreshing change.

Lucas’ assistant, whose name she’s never bothered to learn, is ready and waiting in the usual spot with her makeup and hair tools. It’s the one thing that he doesn’t do himself. Ellery expects the same treatment for the bruise around her eye - now turned a sickly yellow - as it got for the exhibit, but it’s ignored. Instead the assistant focuses on eyeliner, mascara, and a little bit of lip color. The basics, meant to make her features pop in the photos, nothing fancy. Maybe that’s what he meant by ‘raw and primitive’. She can certainly hope that it’s nothing worse, though hope has done her a fat lot of good so far.

“You want her hair pulled back at all?” the assistant asks.

Lucas, who has been lurking the whole time, watching the process, steps forward and runs thick fingers through her long black hair. She doesn’t bother to suppress a shudder and a look of disgust, but doesn’t try to pull away, either.

“Yeah. Go ahead and put it up, something simple, though. Simple and messy. I might take it down partway through, we’ll see.”

It’s brushed back into a ponytail with lots of strands hanging down around her face, and the top is fussed over until it’s perfectly, believably messy. The assistant looks up to Lucas for approval.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s good. I like it. Okay, moving on.”

This is the point where her starting wardrobe is usually chosen. She stands, waiting while he scrutinizes her current outfit of a baggy white t-shirt and black cotton shorts.

“Take that off, remind me what you have on under it.”

Ellery’s face flushes scarlet. She hates this, hates obeying and hates demeaning herself for him, but last time she refused to take off the clothes herself he just did it for her, and that was so much worse. And it’s not like he’s actually interested in her, not in that way. She was so incredibly afraid of that for a long time. But no, to him she’s not a person for him to want. She’s a piece of art, a canvas, a sculpture. A thing. All he’s thinking of is how he can best use her to create the ‘masterpiece’ he has in mind.

So she slips the t-shirt off over her head. Stands in just her sports bra and shorts with her cheeks burning and wishes that she could melt into the floor and cease to exist.

The expression that comes over his face is nothing short of delight. “Ooh, this is so much better than I was expecting.” He practically trots over to her, eyes on her bare stomach, and reaches out to brush his fingers along the tender, aching skin. She flinches, instinctively pulls back, but he only latches onto her waist, digging his fingers into a myriad of bruises. “This is fantastic. Just what we need for today. So glad I gave you these already.”

Gave her. Like the beating was a gift. She doesn’t need to look down to know that her torso is pretty much one giant bruise, she can feel it just fine.

“Yep. That’ll be perfect. Leave it just like that. No sense in covering up any of this beauty.” He strokes his fingers across her stomach one more time before stepping back to admire the whole thing. “Alright, thank you, Jordan. Let’s get back to the studio.”

The studio - aka the basement. Back down to the cold concrete walls and the artificial lights. She can’t help but slow, just a little, as they pass the room with the window, trying to get one more little peek of the outdoors. She pays for it with his hand coming to land on the back of her neck, squeezing tightly, promising much more pain if she doesn’t keep walking.

The area of the basement that Lucas uses to take her photos isn’t much to speak of, especially today when the white backdrop is rolled up at the ceiling. It’s just an expanse of grey, but it haunts her nightmares.

“Alright.” Lucas is practically giddy with excitement. “I’ve got so many ideas I don’t know where to start. No, scratch that. I do know where I want to start.” He turns to his shelf of props and rummages through a box, pulling out several pieces of metal with chains draping in between.

The dread that had been swirling in Ellery’s stomach all morning suddenly solidifies into something heavy, a stone that simultaneously pulls her down into the floor and threatens to make her sick. She can’t do this again. She can’t. The pain of being stretched into positions her body was never meant to be in, the humiliation of being photographed in the most vulnerable state possible...and now it’s even worse, because she’s already in pain from being beaten.

Lucas is at the far wall, tinkering with his contraption, using existing bolts and screws from previous sessions to attach things to both the wall and floor. “Come here,” he says after a few minutes, and it’s the last straw.

Something inside of her crumples.

“Please…” It comes out as no more than a trembling whisper, but it catches his attention anyway. “Please don’t, I can’t, I can’t, please…”

Sighing heavily, he walks toward her, boots clomping out her doom on the concrete floor. “I thought we were past this, Princess. You’d been doing so well.”

She opens her mouth, to say what, she doesn’t know, it’s all pointless anyway, but before a sound makes it past her lips his fist is connecting with her temple. Her world is reduced to black and pain and falling. When her vision returns, the room whirls around her, Lucas’ face up above hers dipping and bobbing in a way that makes her stomach churn, and her head throbs. She can tell she’s being dragged, though, by the ankle over to where he wanted her.

Rough hands grab her by the arms and heft her to her feet, and the room goes spinning again. Her back is pressed up against the wall, concrete blocks cold on her bare skin, and Lucas wraps an arm around her waist to lift her slightly. She gasps as he puts pressure on the ribs she’s pretty sure are broken.

A second later, something thin and cool falls across her throat, and after he fiddles with something just under her ear for a moment, Lucas steps back and leaves her to settle down onto her bare toes. They just barely touch the floor enough for her to rest her weight on, the metal across her neck digging slightly into her skin and threatening to cut off her air. She tries not to notice him watching her as she struggles to adjust her feet to push herself a little higher.

“Nice. I love it already. Actually, hang on, I’m also loving the disoriented look you’ve got going on right now. I need a shot of that.”

He grabs his camera and gets right up in her face. Ellery automatically squeezes her eyes shut, hating that lens, hating the thought of anyone else seeing her like this, but all she gets for it is his finger poking her in the ribs. Her eyes fly open as she cries out, and the camera clicks. Once, twice, three times.

“Ooh, I don’t know which one of these I like best.” He studies the screen with a grin, flipping back and forth through the shots. “The hazy, disoriented look I was going for, or the gasping in pain. And the restraint around the neck really sets it off. Fantastic. Okay, moving on.”

Bending down, he picks up the rest of the metal pieces, the ones with the chains attached. While she wasn’t paying attention it seems he had hooked one end of the chains to the floor, several feet out in front of her, and now he brings the other end to her. She only finds out what it is for sure when he yanks her hands away from the wall where she had been attempting to help support herself and clamps it around her wrists. The shackles pull her arms out in front of her, naturally making her body want to lean forward, too. But if she gives into the pull, or if her feet get tired and try to lower, she’ll choke.

Lucas stands back to admire his work. “Yes. Just as good as I had hoped. And you’re already starting to get that wild look in your eyes, too. I think if I leave you here for, oh -” he checks his phone -“around thirty or forty-five minutes, I’ll really get the desperation I’m looking for. Maybe an hour. We’ll see.”

With that, he turns and heads for the stairs. As the echo of his footsteps dies out, Ellery finally lets the tears start to pour down her cheeks. She can’t spare the focus to stop them anymore, anyway. All of her concentration until he decides she’s done is going to have to be on staying balanced so she doesn’t die.

Disclaimer: I don’t think people who like whump are “sick”. Obviously, I am one of them. Now, if there were actually people like Lucas out there who hurt real people for whump’s sake, then yeah. They would be considered “sick”. But of course, Lucas’ patrons don’t know what he’s really doing...or do they...?

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump17 #collared and shackled #overexposure #ellery the model #whump #whump writing #lady whump #lady whumpee #creepy/intimate whumper #captivity whump #nonconsensual touching tw #forced stripping tw #restraints tw #stress position tw #whump photography #original fiction

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bee-kathony · 3 years

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let go of your fears and your ghosts | Anthony & Kate

It's the morning of Anthony's 38th birthday, and he wakes with a cold sweat. He never planned on living to be the same age as his father. He reaches over to Kate, and counts his lucky stars that he doesn't have to face this day alone.

Anthony woke up in a cold sweat. His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest, and his head was throbbing. Dear God, was this it? Was this how he was to die? He had always dreaded this day.

His 38th birthday.

The age his father had been when he’d died so unexpectedly by a small bee sting.

With a glance over at his wife, he sighed with relief to see that she was still fast asleep. The last thing he needed was to wake Kate with his nightmares. Anthony had never planned to outlive his father, and for years he assumed that come his 38th year, he would fall fatally ill, or perhaps get into a carriage accident. Maybe he would meet his demise just like his father, stung by one of God’s smallest creatures.

This day would be a very long one indeed. Anthony’s hand rested on his chest as he took several deep breaths to calm himself. It had been years since he had truly thought of the day he would die. Every now and then, he would entertain a passing thought, but he could push them away. From the day that Kate entered his life, living became so much easier, and so much fuller.

She had persuaded him to live each day as if it were his last, and to enjoy the present. With his mind off of his bleak future, Anthony had created a life he loved, one that he didn’t wish to leave just yet.

Anthony hadn’t a clue as to the time, but there was a small sliver of moonlight creeping in through the heavy draperies. Once the sun came up, he would have to put on a smile and face the day. Every year on his birthday, Kate and the children ate breakfast on the bed with him, and then he would gather with whatever other Bridgertons were in London that day. He never wanted to make a big deal out of it, in fact, he would be happy to skip the event altogether. It was Kate that wanted to celebrate him. To remind him that growing older was not something to be feared.

Next to him, Kate sighed, before turning on her side to face him. She smiled in her sleep, something Anthony always loved to watch. Kate also talked in her sleep, but usually it was incoherent mumblings.

He stroked her cheek softly, watching her grin grow wider.

If there was one thing he was most proud of in his 38 years of living, it was that he had married Kate Sheffield. The mere thought of existing without her left a whole the size of England in his heart. For Anthony, there was no world without Kate. She had brought him love, and happiness, and best of all, three amazing children.

It was often that Anthony found himself wishing his father were still alive, if only to be there for his youngest siblings and mother. But it was one of his greatest regrets that Kate would never know his father. She would never know the great man he had been, or truly understand why Anthony thought he could never live up to him.

Edmund Bridgerton would have loved Kate. They would have conspired against him, he was sure of it. His mother was an excellent matchmaker, but he was sure that his father would have known Kate was the woman for him with just one look.

As Anthony lied in bed, his nightmare came back to him, the reason for his waking with such a start. It had also been his birthday in his dream, and he had been playing in the garden with the children. A moment later, he heard the worst sound imaginable… the buzzing of a bee. Anthony felt a sharp pain in his chest, and the next thing he knew, he was awake, panting in his bed.

He felt like such a fool to be afraid of a creature he could crush beneath his boot. But that very creature had taken the life of the greatest man he would ever know.

It would be difficult to think of anything else on a day like today. His inevitable demise.

Kate had told him to think of three good things if his mind ever lingered on these thoughts. As he lay next to one of his good things, he took a deep breath and said them out loud quietly.

“Kate,” he breathed in and out, letting his hand rest softly on her head.

“My children,” he took another breath.

“Newton,” Anthony laughed then as he thought of their dog. For the first several years of their marriage, Newton had slept in the bed with them, but once Edmund and Miles were old enough, Newton had grown accustomed to sleeping in the children’s room. Not that Anthony minded, as it gave him and Kate more room for other activities in bed.

“What are you laughing about?” Came a sleepy voice next to him.

“Oh nothing,” Anthony grinned and placed a kiss to her forehead. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Did I hear you call for Newton?” Kate asked, rubbing her hand over her eyes.

He nodded, “I was thinking of three good things.”

Kate sat up in bed, bringing her hand to his cheek. Her fingers rubbed agains the scruff of his beard. As he’d grown older, Anthony had preferred not to shave his face, and he found that Kate rather enjoyed the scratch of his stubble on her smooth skin.

“Oh,” she said softly, her brow creasing as she understood. “You should have woken me earlier, Anthony.”

He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her body close to his and laced their fingers together. “I haven’t been awake that long actually,” he sighed. “Just had a bad dream is all.”

“You have nothing to fear,” Kate squeezed his hand. “If you would like to pretend it’s not your birthday… then we can do that.”

“No,” Anthony shook his head, at that moment realizing that wasn’t what he wanted at all. “The children love any excuse to eat cake,” they both laughed. “I don’t want to ignore today, but it shall be a lot easier if I can hold your hand for the whole day.”

Kate brought his hand to her lips. “That can be arranged.”

Anthony gathered Kate closer, feeling his heart slow to a normal pace. The simple act of holding his wife in his arms was the best medicine. Kate calmed him in ways she could never know. Her presence alone had the power to banish his fears and ghosts. Kate was the soothing balm on his weary soul.

“One day,” Kate said softly against his chest, her fingers stroking his collarbone. “You will have grey hair all over that head of yours. You will wake up and find that you need spectacles to read the paper with,” she grinned. “And your joints will ache in the morning as you rise.”

“They already do ache,” Anthony kissed the top of her head. “But that is probably because of the activities that occurred the night before,” he laughed, letting his hand slide down to her waist.

Kate swatted at his chest playfully, squirming as he tickled her.

“One day you will find wrinkles on your face that weren’t there,” her hand moved to trace his nose, his lips, and his brow. “You will sit in a chair with your grandchild on your lap, telling them the story of how we met and fell in love.”

“What a long story that will be,” Anthony chuckled.

“You will be old and grey one day, Anthony Bridgerton,” Kate pressed her lips softly against his. “Then you will think back on your wonderful life and I hope you don’t have any regrets.”

He was silent, contemplating her words. It was hard to picture himself as an old man. Perhaps because he had never seen his father with greying hair of his own. Anthony was sure of one thing, however — he did not want to live without Kate. He knew this was selfish and cruel, but he hoped that when the time came, he would go first. Better yet, he would prefer to die in her arms, at exactly the same moment she left this earth as well. There was no life worth living in a world without Kate Bridgerton.

“You already have a few grey hairs, you old man,” Kate grinned and ran her fingers through his hair.

“I think I saw a new wrinkle on your forehead just the other day,” Anthony quipped.

“Anthony!”

“Just a small one right there,” Anthony kissed her forehead, where no wrinkles had yet formed. His hands slid over her waist, finding a certain spot that sent her into a fit of giggles. He flexed his fingers, tickling her stomach as she kicked her feet out and burst into laughter.

“Anthony, please stop!” Kate tucked into herself, trying to stop his hands from tickling her. He always knew just exactly where to get her.

Hearing Kate laugh was one of the best sounds in the world, but so was the small gasp that left her lips when he slid his hand across her belly and cupped her mound.

“Did you want me to stop now?” He asked, his breath hot in her ear.

Kate clutched his arm, keeping him right where he was.

“As long as you don’t tickle me again,” Kate sighed and moved her hand under the sheets, finding his stomach. Anthony let out a deep moan of his own. “It’s your birthday after all.”

Oh how he loved his wife.

Anthony rubbed his finger along her slit, feeling her part her legs further. She was wet already, and he pressed his face into her neck, inhaling her scent. Lilies and soap.

She arched her back, pressing against his fingers as he stroked her, finally moaning as he pushed one finger inside. Kate’s hand moved over his thigh, until she took his cock in her delicate hand.

“You get thirty-eight kisses today,” Kate kissed his cheek.

He pumped another finger inside of her, and groaned as she began to stroke his shaft. Her fingers were light on him, going from the base to the tip, and then she moved her thumb over the head.

“Kate,” he mumbled against her lips.

She kissed his mouth before sitting up, causing his fingers to slip out of her as she adjusted her position.

“Thirty-six kisses to go,” Kate said coyly. Anthony watched in astonishment as Kate climbed over his body, straddling him with her back facing his front.

His hands had just settled on her hips as her tongue flicked out over the tip of his cock.

“Oh God, Kate,” he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Thirty-five,” she kissed the head, before taking more of him in her mouth. Kate wiggled her bottom, stretching across him. Anthony pulled her closer, angling his head just so and settled in between her thighs.

Kate began to kiss every inch of his cock, then swirled her tongue around it. Her mouth took him in easily, and Anthony found it quite difficult to focus on anything else. But he could feel her heat, and he parted her legs and licked up her center. She arched her back, moaning and the vibrations he felt on his cock made him shiver.

“Twenty more to go,” she mumbled as she began to move her head up and down his length. Anthony wasn’t sure he could last through another twenty kisses, but he wanted to make her come first. He was a gentleman after all.

He doubled his efforts and used two fingers to open her to him, and licked like a cat lapping at milk.

Kate’s movements slowed and he could feel the tension in her body building. Her hand gripped him harder, and with another flick of his tongue, Kate cried out, and he sucked her down.

It was only moments later that Kate took him back into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the tip and uttering words Anthony had only dreamed of her saying.

“Two more,” she pumped his cock faster, and Anthony felt his muscles tighten.

A second later and he came hard, spilling himself into her mouth. Anthony leaned back against the headboard, his hands cradling his wife’s waist. Kate collapsed on him, and after several minutes, found her place at his side, tucked under his arms.

“One more kiss,” she whispered and placed a tender kiss to his cheek. “Happy birthday, my love.”

With his wife by his side, Anthony was sure that he could face this day, and he longed for the future she had imagined, with greying hair and grandchildren to spoil. In the silence of their bliss, Anthony found the courage to say goodbye to his fears and his ghosts.

#bridgerton fic #bridgerton fanfic #kathony #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #kate x anthony #my fic #let go of your fears and your ghosts #chase the bees away

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fific7 · 3 years

Text

Into the Darkness / Part 1

The Darkling x Reader

A/N: This does not follow canon, it’s literally just lemon zest 🍋 ... I have a vision of Ben Barnes in his black Kefta and riding boots permanently stuck in my brain right now. Attempting to write it right out of there.

Warnings: 18+ please due to NSFW content. Dom/sub interaction, being restrained, coercion, questionable consent (thankfully this is a fantasy universe), sexual content including oral, loss of virginity, rough unprotected* sex. I don’t mention her actual age, but Reader is not underage.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

[My GIF]

The ebony black doors swung open, then were quickly slammed shut again. You heard the lock click, and lifted your head from where you lay sprawled on the floor, chained to the wall by one ankle.

Early that morning, before sunup, you’d been dragged to The Little Palace from the prison where you’d been locked in a cell for several days. And chained to the wall in this opulent room, left alone for the rest of the morning.

After you’d been thrown onto the floor and shackled by the jailer, you’d tried to rearrange your linen slip and undergarments as best you could. They were ripped, dusty and stained from the earth floor of the cell you’d recently been in.

The blue Kefta you used to wear had been ripped off you, when the Oprichnik found you at your family’s small house near Ryevost.

As a Tidemaker, an Etherealki, a water summoner, you’d served in the Second Army but you’d deserted when word reached you that your younger brother had been badly injured in a hunting accident.

You’d fled the Army camp under cover of night and made your way home across country, on a stolen horse. But the elite guards had been sent after you, much to your dismay. What made you so important? Many deserted and were never hunted down.

Your mind went over & over this as you lay there, pressure points on your body beginning to ache from long contact with the hard parquet flooring. The shadows moved steadily across the walls as the day progressed.

And now, it seemed, you had a visitor.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

At first you couldn’t make out much, there were shadows swirling around the figure, but that in itself gave you the answer of exactly who was approaching you.

The Darkling, or General Kirigan as he also now styled himself. The Shadow Summoner. Leader of the Second Army, a powerful man. Your mind spun... what on earth could he want with you? You’d never even seen him before, except from a very long distance away. And you’d certainly never spoken to him.

The shadows cleared, revealing him in his black Kefta and full uniform. His riding boots clicked out another few steps towards you, until he came to a halt, towering over you. You craned your neck to gaze up at him.

You heard your full name being spoken by him, in a low but clear voice. He knew your name? You nodded, swallowing as you replied.

“Yes, moi soverennyi.”

He slowly turned the clawed ring on his last finger. “Why did you desert? I don’t take it kindly when one of my finest Tidemakers disappears without leave.”

“My... my brother,” you stuttered, “he was badly injured, I had to go.” You looked down, “I’m sorry, moi soverennyi, I had no choice.”

“Wrong!” he said, harshly, “there’s a procedure for leave, and you failed to follow it.”

“There was no time...” you said, desperate to put your case to this, the most senior man in the Grisha Army.

“Enough!”

You flinched back as he shouted at you.

He turned on his heel, going over to the large, partly shuttered window.

“I could have you shot.” His head turned slightly, as he looked at you over his shoulder. “Or worse.”

You hung your head, fear spreading into your very bones. If the money you sent every month to your mother stopped, what would she and your brother do? Your father and older brother were dead.

He turned and made his way back to you. Bending over, his hand roughly took hold of your jaw and he forced your head up, so that you were looking into each other’s eyes. His grey eyes looked like shattered ice.

“What would you do to keep yourself alive, hmm?”

“Anything... please... for my family, moi soverennyi. Without me, they won’t survive.”

He nodded, a slight smile gracing his lips. “I thought you might say that.” He straightened up, and stood looking down at you. “I find you attractive, your body is...” his eyes flickered over you like a cold breeze, “desirable.”

A short pause. “I have need of a... companion. To help me forget my daily struggles. You will be that companion. You will take care of all of my needs.”

You realised what he meant, and your eyes widened in shock.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

He’d left after that, without saying anything else. Two of the palace serving women had come in shortly afterwards and unchained you, taking you into an adjoining room which had a large free-standing tub in it. You were washed in a bath of fragrant rose oil, your hair washed and put up in a loose bun, and you were dressed in fresh linen robes.

Then they rechained you to the wall and left you alone.

You contemplated what you’d been forced into. He was handsome, very much so. If he didn’t intimidate you so much, and in different circumstances you’d have been attracted to him. Well, you were attracted to him you admitted to yourself, but you didn’t trust him in the least. And you also wondered what had happened to his little Sun Summoner... there had been rumours about those two. But she hadn’t been seen around the camp recently.

Several more hours passed before Kirigan returned. He strode into the room, locking the door behind him once more, tutting as he saw that you’d been chained up again. He released you, grabbing your arm and pulling you to your feet. He pulled you against him, inhaling your scent for a second before pushing you towards a door off to the right.

“Time to initiate our agreement,” he breathed into your ear, “come with me, little dove.”

Your stomach lurched. You’d never been with a man before, never experienced so much as a kiss. He felt your arm tensing in his hand, and he quickly opened the door, hustling you inside. He locked that door too.

You looked around you; it was a large room with a huge bed in the middle of it. Meanwhile, you were almost hyper-ventilating, and he looked curiously at you.

“Are you afraid?”

“I’ve never lain with a man before, moi soverennyi,” you admitted.

His eyes widened, a distinct gleam coming into them. “I will take your virginity?” He gave a small laugh, “This is even better than I anticipated! Do you know, you’ll be my first virgin? All the times I’ve...” he shook his head, chuckling, “and never a virgin amongst them.”

His eyes swung down to yours, “Until now.” The tip of his tongue swiped quickly over his lips, and you knew he was aroused.

You shuddered, feeling nauseous. You didn’t want to lose your innocence to this dark, manipulative man, but you had no choice and he knew it.

He beckoned to you, and you took faltering steps towards him. He stared into your eyes, while putting a finger under your chin. You felt like he was looking into your soul.

“We’ll start off slowly, little dove. I don’t want to scare you too much, in fact I want you to enjoy it so that you’ll always be ready and willing for me.”

He suddenly started unbuttoning the fly of his black uniform trousers, and you unconsciously drew back. He grabbed your wrist. “You’ll do exactly what I tell you to do, yes?” But it wasn’t really a question.

You failed to respond so he repeated, louder, “Yes?” You managed to nod. “Say it!” he ordered. “Yes, moi soverennyi.”

He reached down to his open fly, laying aside the fabric of his trousers and undershorts. Your eyes watched his hand in terrified fascination, you’d never seen what was hidden inside men’s trousers before. You caught sight of the smooth pale skin of his abdomen, dark hair marking a path down his lower belly to a thicker growth of hair.

He freed his erect length from the fabric, and your mouth dropped open. It was so much bigger than you’d expected. This is what you’d heard other girls giggling about, you supposed. It was almost laying right up against his stomach, and it looked like a dangerous weapon.

You heard your name, and looked up at him. He had an amused look on his handsome face. He placed his hand on your shoulder, and you felt a downward pressure. “You need to kneel,” he said.

You did so. “Put your hands on the back of my legs,” he ordered, and again you complied. One of his hands went to the back of your head, his fingers pulling your hair loose before entwining themselves in it. He pulled your face forward until it was against the dark trail of hair on his belly. You were instantly aware of his aroma, a spicy scent. “Kiss,” he ordered, and you began laying a path of kisses down it.

He nodded, “Well done. Now.... you will take this in your mouth.” He had his other hand around his cock and inclined his head towards it. You leaned back, gasping up at him. “Come on!” he said, impatiently, “you were doing so well. Open your mouth!” Voice getting louder. You hoped no-one could hear.

You reluctantly opened your mouth, and as you watched his ‘weapon’ approaching your face, you noticed there were small pearly beads of liquid leaking from it. He placed his tip right onto your tongue, and you tasted something both salty and musky. “Now you need to kiss and lick,” he instructed. You began licking the head, and you heard a stifled groan from him. You began to intersperse kisses with your licking, and he tried to contain more groans behind gritted teeth. His hand gripped further into your hair, pushing your head forward.

“Now suck!” he gasped out, “and do it all at the same time!” A voice at the back of your mind questioned how that was even possible, but you did your best. “Be warned, girl! I’m going in further,” he told you, “eventually it will be fully in your mouth and at the back of your throat. Don’t choke, and whatever you do, don’t bite!”

Without further warning, he pushed his length further and further into your mouth, eventually making you gag. He pulled back slightly, “Take a breath. And get ready, I’m not even fully in yet!” You gasped in some air, feeling your eyes beginning to water. He paused for only a few seconds, before restarting his relentless push forward. “Relax your throat!” he ordered, before sinking in almost to the base. Tears streamed from your eyes as you found yourself - despite his instructions - choking round him.

He held your head firmly against his groin and began thrusting, but not too deeply. Gradually you realised that unless you relaxed more, this was going to be extremely uncomfortable for you. He sensed your slight relaxation, and to your horror he immediately began to thrust deeper and faster.

By this time, you’d felt something else rubbing near your chin. Just as you were wondering what this could possibly be, he ripped one of your hands away from the back of his leg and shoved it between his legs. You felt two fleshy, spongey globes beneath your fingertips. “Rub, squeeze!” were your next instructions. You took them into the palm of your hand and did as you were told.

He gripped your hair again, pulling at it while forcing your head to stay as close to him as possible, his thrusts building to a crescendo. You heard a prolonged, agonised-sounding groan from above you, he gave three fast, jerky thrusts into your mouth and suddenly warmth flooded your throat. You weren’t sure what this was but you’d no choice other than to swallow it. It was saltier and thicker than the previous liquid. His large hand was on the back of your head, forcing you to stay in position, and you choked again slightly as you desperately swallowed.

You could feel him softening, and he quickly pulled out of your mouth and away from you. Pulling his Kefta closed, he unlocked the door and walked out into the main room. You weren’t sure what to do so remained where you were, sinking down onto the floor a bit, and trying to loosen up your rigid neck & shoulder muscles. Wondering what was going to happen to you next.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

He returned a moment later with a carafe of water and a glass. He placed them on the bedside table, then gestured for you to stand up. Producing a washcloth from one of his pockets, he gently wiped your lips and chin, where his juices had left a sheen on your skin. Then he poured a glass of water and handed it to you, telling you to sit on the bed.

“You did exceptionally well, for a first attempt,” he praised you, “in fact it seems you have a natural flair for it. Under my tutelage, you will soon give the best head in Ravka.” You looked confused, and he laughed, “The service you just provided for me... it’s called giving head, amongst other things.”

You looked up at him and asked boldly, “Will I be better than your Sun Summoner?”

He scowled, “Do not speak of her! She is gone.”

You nodded, “Hence why you needed a companion, moi soverennyi?”

He took two long strides over to you, grasping your jaw in his hand. “You may just’ve had your mouth around my cock but that doesn’t allow for insubordination, understand?!”

You nodded, afraid once more. “Yes, moi soverennyi.” And wondered why you’d felt like questioning him about her in the first place.

He was pacing the floor next to the bed. He stopped and glared at you. “Your night of discovery is not yet over, little dove,” he eventually muttered. “Finish your water and lie down on the bed.”

Your stomach clenched as now you knew what was going to happen next. You’d naively thought that perhaps he would allow you to sleep for the rest of the night. But judging by the predatory look on his face, that was not to be.

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#the darkling x reader #the darkling #aleksander morozova #general #general kirigan #shadow and bone #ben barnes #aleksander morozova x reader #general kirigan x reader #the darkling imagine #the darkling fanfiction #the darkling into the darkness

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deepperplexity · 3 years

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Prompt: 13. Snowed In

A/N: So I got inspired by @blog4snape as she tagged me in an ask about my Snape-writing (LINK) where this was also written: "I would LOVE to see more people write about snape's childhood and how it shaped his adulthood. I would love to see more people write about [...] him getting destroyed and building himself back up not as who he was, but who he wants to be. you can see from the way his persona is just a balance of careful, precise movements and high control battling with his turbulent and feral, uncontrollable nature."

I hope you'll enjoy this one; it's a long one!

Setting: A cottage in some snowy mountains

Pairing: Snape x Reader

Word count: 6924

Warnings: PTSD, Anxiety, Panic Attack, Abuse, Confinement, Sexual/Sensual Content (nothing explicit), SO MANY EMOTIONS

Masterlist page // Masterlist post // SNAPEMAS POST

Prologue: You had found Severus three years ago, he was standing on death's doorstep at the end of The Battle of Hogwarts. After months of hard work, he had been healed and was physically restored to his former glory. But you were in hiding, still. His fear of retribution for the actions he had done as a double agent haunted him and the fact that he was a celebrated hero after Harry Potters revelations about him did little to ease that fear. But you loved him, dearly. And so, you stayed with him in hiding. This was your third Christmas together and you had convinced him to holiday at a cabin up in the mountains. You had made sure that he knew no magic could find him there, neither for anyone to magically appear at the place was possible. It would just be you and him, safe and hidden from the world for his peace of mind.

You had been at the cabin for a few days and it was the day before Christmas. Everywhere hung decorations and by the little fireplace stood a small, gangly looking tree with a tiny little star at the top and some small ornaments that the brittle branches could handle; weight-wise. But you were happy, so darn happy you could burst.

Severus had been sweet and kind, relaxed even. He had tested the wards and tried many times to apparate, he even walked away from the cabin to see how close one could get by apparating. So he had been able to relax properly as you made sure he knew how grateful you were for the little holiday and that he was safely hidden.

"It's still snowing," you said as you looked out the window where snow fell lightly. It was pretty, but there was plenty of snow out there now. Well, that's what you get for being in the mountains I suppose, it's always been like this. Severus just hummed as he read a heavy book by the fireplace that kept the cabin toasty warm. You shrugged and headed off to the little kitchenette to prepare some tea and Christmas cookies.

You sipped your tea as you were sat in a little armchair with a thick blanket over your legs. You just stared at the fire and felt utterly content with life. "You're smiling," Severus murmured, his eyes still on the book in his hands. You giggled. "Well, I'm happy, Sev." He peered up at you with raised eyebrows. "Is that so?" You nodded hastily as he gave you a tight smile. It was a small smile but every smile he gave meant the world to you as it happened so rarely. "I'm glad to hear it," he said before his eyes were averted back to the book that seemed endless.

The wind howled and snow swirled outside the windows. It was so thick that you couldn't even make out anything of the outside world. You had both been lost in silent happiness with a book each and time had flown by. The fire was about to die out when you stretched your arms towards the ceiling. Should add some more- oh, we're out of firewood... You looked towards the window with a heavy sigh. Guess I have no choice, you thought as you removed the blanket and rose.

"Where are you going?" Severus asked as you were getting dressed in the thickest of winter clothes. "Oh, we're out of firewood," you said as you pulled the hat down low to protect your ears, "I'm just gonna go grab some." He peered up at you before he put away his own book. "It's storming outside, don't be silly." You tilted your head towards him. "Well, it will get damn cold in here if we don't get more wood." "I'll go," he simply said. "But I'm already dressed." "Then get undressed," he said in that thundering voice and you could not help the coy smile that spread across your lips as his cheeks seemed to take on a small blush.

"I did not mean-, that is not what I-" You chuckled at him as he struggled for words. "I know Sev, I know," you laughed out as you began to take off the jacket, hat, boots and scarf as he muttered and grumbled words you couldn't quite make out. You found him to be adorable. Yes, truly adorable. He usually never said things he didn't mean, he rarely spoke about feelings or such things. He rarely misspoke so when he did you found him so adorable with his blushing cheeks and grumbling that truly was a rare sight.

Severus got dressed and you hung a scarf around his scarred neck to protect it from the howling storm outside. He let you tie it and then gave your forehead a quick kiss. You stroked him on his arm and kissed his cheek with a soft smile on your lips. You did truly love the man and every time his body made contact with yours - in any way - your heart pounded and your legs felt a bit like jelly. "Be back in a moment," he hummed and his deep voice vibrated through you despite the low volume he spoke in. You simply nodded and turned to prepare some dinner in the meantime.

But you barely had time to take three steps before he spoke again. "What in the-" he murmured, "It, it won't-, it's blocked," you heard and you immediately recognised the change in his voice. The rise and the slight tremor. Anxiety, oh no... "What?" you asked as you turned towards him. "It's blocked, we, we can't get out!" he roared and you flinched for a second as he sounded utterly desperate and nearly angry. You had never heard him like that before.

"Calm down, Sev, we'll push together," you said as you walked over, in an attempt to keep your voice light you talked with a smile. He tugged and pushed at the door with rushed movements. "We're trapped, we're trapped, trapped-" he growled through gritted teeth and you could see his body shifting from a relaxed state to a tense one, a hunching one. It made your chest hurt as your heart ached for him.

"It's okay Sev, it's okay, we-" "WE'RE TRAPPED!" he roared as his face whipped around to yours. His eyes were feral, his expression was that of fear and panic. "Calm down, just breath-" "We're trapped, I'm trapped, I'm trapped-" he half roared and half shrieked as he turned towards the door again and tugged on it. You knew the door opened outwards so you quickly walked over and placed your hands on it. "Push," you said in an attempt to get him to focus on a physical movement as he seemed to get more and more anxious. You had never seen him in such a state. anxiety attacks sure, but the state he was in at that moment was something else.

You both pushed on the door as you did your best to stay calm for him. But he seemed to become more and more besides himself for every second that passed. His breaths came faster, turned more shallow and you could see that he was getting extremely pale, even for him. You placed a hand on his forearm - gently but firmly. His face whipped around to yours again. You held his stare for a moment.

But it was not enough, usually it helped to centre him through his anxiety. You had seen several of his anxiety attacks throughout the years. But this was different. His eyes were truly feral and closed off. As if he were far far away from you in that moment. You tried hushing and calming him with soft words; saying he would be okay and that he just needed to breathe. But you couldn't get through to him.

"I need to get out!" he screamed as he turned his gaze away from you and kept tugging and pushing on the door. His movements sporadic and his breathing as haggard as if he had run a hundred miles. "Sev, Sev-, Severus stop!" you shrieked as he started pounding on the door with brutal force. His behaviour frightened you to no end. You tried grabbing his arms, tried to stop him from harming himself as he pounded the door so hard you feared his hands would break - or the door would.

You grabbed at him, tried to get him to focus on you, focus on anything but the feeling of being trapped. You didn't know why it caused such distress for him, he had never seemed fearful of being stuck somewhere like this. But he kept screaming about being trapped and slithered his way out of your grip to attack the door over and over. As if he didn't even recognise you, as if you weren't even there.

Finally, as you yourself turned fearful - not for being trapped but for his safety - you went behind him and grabbed his coat. You pulled with all your strength to get him away from the door and as you did so in one swift tug you ended up pulling both of you down on the floor. He half-landed on top of you and the air left your lungs in a rush as his elbow rammed your ribs harshly.

"Severus, stop, calm- calm down!" you nearly shouted once you could breathe as he desperately tried to get away from you it seemed. "Don't-, no don't-!" His voice was different, his body acted differently and you could not recognise him in any way. The man that crawled on the floor towards the door in a desperate need of escaping the confinement he was in seemed like a different being. A different person.

What do I do? What do I do? Why is he-, oh what is going on?! You crawled after him, grabbed at his leg to halt him. "Severus, please sto-" Your cheek stung as the back of his hand had hit you, hard, and you instantly let go of his leg as your head was whipped to the side from the hard blow he had landed on you.

Tears stung your eyes and started to trickle down your cheeks. Fuck, was the only thing you could think as he truly had hit with what felt like all his strength. But you had no time to linger on the burning pain as he was yet again by the door, pounding and screaming. He was shouting at someone to release him. You shook your head, tried to focus and got up on your feet only to run towards him.

You clung to him, held on to him as he hit you over and over on your shoulder, back, arms. His movements were harsh and painful to bear but they were also mindless and erratic. He was not there, it was pure panic and nothing else. "Severus, Sev please, stop, stop, calm down-" you said over and over as you kept your own hurt and pain at bay by sheer willpower to help him, be there for him.

Something happened, everything stopped and he shook violently in your arms as he sunk to the floor with you still hanging around him. You tried to shift your position without releasing him. You cradled his head to your chest as he cried and sobbed. You could make out a few words through the sobbing, but only a few and they made no sense at all.

You held him, cradled him, stroked his hair and hushed as soothingly as you could while tears ran down your own cheeks and you tried to keep your own breathing even despite the fact that you were on the verge of fully crying yourself. "...trapped...he...pain...father...no..." you could barely hear what he was saying but the few words you could hear simply made no sense at all. So you focused on comforting him as he had started to cling to you. His hands fisted the fabric of your sweater as he tried to crush you against him.

It had been hours. Hours. Severus had been in such a deep panic attack that you had just been able to keep him from hurting himself to escape the cottage he felt utterly trapped in. It took all your strength to stay upright and hold him. Your legs were asleep, your back was screaming from the painful position and you were cold. But you did not let go; not for a single moment did you allow your own pain to take you away from him in his horrid state.

Your hand stroked his hair gently as he had finally stopped crying and screaming. Had finally calmed down enough to not nearly kill you by his need to have you close. His body was slowly relaxing and his weight became more noticeable for every minute that passed. He half laid across your folded legs with his head buried in your stomach as his arms were wrapped around your waist.

They slowly glided down, until you were released from his grip and his breathing evened out. You kept holding him, kept stroking him as he went into a deep slumber from the exhaustion of the panic that had coursed through him for so long. He looked as if he were still in distress despite his unconscious state. It hurt, so badly, for you to see him like that. Nothing like the man you knew, nothing like the controlled being he usually was.

You sobbed quietly as he laid there. He had sunk down and his face was resting on your thighs, one arm on each side of you spread out as if he had just collapsed. Basically, he had. He still cried though, his lashes were thick with the salty fluid that trickled down his cheeks and across the bridge of his hooked nose. You leaned forward and planted a soft kiss at his temple before you allowed yourself to release your own tears fully.

His pain was seared into your brain. The feral look, the distance in his eyes, the panic and fear. The pounding fists against the door, the shaking and screaming. You had never seen him in such a state from anything that had to do with the war. This was different; a deeper pain. What have you lived through sweetheart..?

At some point, you had collapsed as well. At some point, you had simply fallen down and not gotten up again. The cold woke you up. You were shivering, your teeth clattered together in a rattle. You groined as you sat up, stiff as a damn fridge. Severus still laid with his head in your lap, yet now there were no tears on his lashes or cheeks. The only light came from the gangly Christmas tree by the fireplace and you could no longer hear the wind howling outside.

Perhaps the storm has passed? You tried to look out the window but you couldn't see anything. It was too dark. So you focused on Severus. He was still sleeping, you tentatively reach out your cold hand to stroke his head. You were shivering badly as the cottage was getting ever colder with no fire and your wands laid in the closed bedroom. So you just focused on him as pain tore through you while the memories of his panic attack surged in your head.

Your cheek still hurt and you felt a swelling just beneath your eye that pounded a bit. Your arms ached as well as your shoulders and back. The areas he had hit you in a desperate need to get out of the cottage, the confinement he experienced to be pure terror apparently. You could not quite understand it, why had he felt such distress? You could only establish that it had something to do with his father and you knew very little of the man.

Severus never spoke about his past, his childhood. You had poked and prodded many times but not a word came from him about it. He only told you his father and mother were no longer part of his life and that was it. No more, no less. Despite your best efforts to get to know him these past three years, it was only recently, the last six months or so, that he had actually begun to open up to you a tiny bit. About the war, his part in it, the things he had seen and experienced. Some of the things he was forced to do.

The horrors of his past were, well, nearly unspeakable. Yet now you knew, there were much more - more darkness and horrors, more fear and pain. How much can one person be expected to go through? you looked down longingly on him. The inky black hair, the pale skin and hooked nose. He was beautiful. To you, he was perfect even through his horrors and dark past.

He stirred, grumbled ever so slightly and then sat up stiffly. He looked around, confused, before he found you with his eyes. They were unclear at first but the distance swiftly disappeared and his focus returned. That usual depth and the intensely examining look were there. Before it was replaced by horror as his eyes widened while he looked at you.

"It's okay," you instantly said as you reached for him, "you're safe, your with me, you're not trapped, you're safe," you said in a soft rush to ease him. But your words did nothing against that look in his eyes. "You're hurt," he said. His voice a dark rumble as he looked at you with that strange expression you were so unused to see. You averted your eyes for a moment only to look back at him again as you needed to see him, see his reactions to help him. "I'm okay, really, I'm fine," you said to comfort him. You had no idea what you looked like but it was truly nothing compared to the pain you had seen him in a few hours ago.

"Did-, I did that?" he growled; mostly at himself, it appeared. You inched closer as you reach for his cheek. He had turned his eyes away from you and you could not bear it. So you turned his head back with a soft push of your cold hand. "I'm good, Sev, really." He grabbed your hand and pressed it harder against his cheek. It looked like some sort of blame battle went through his head but you weren't quite sure. "You're cold." You nodded at the words. He was warm, still clad in the winter clothes he had put on to go out and get firewood.

"Severus, are you-" "Come, let's get you warm." He ignored your nearly completed question and was on his feet faster than you thought possible after having laid on the floor for such a long time. He grabbed your arms, you winched out a hiss at the contact and he instantly let go. His eyes yet again reflected horror as he apparently put two and two together. "I'm okay, I'm okay," you said softly as you stretched your hand towards him. His shoulders hunched and he grabbed your hand to help you up as sadness entered those deep eyes of his.

You were stiff, cold and it felt as though you could barely move. But you rose and allowed your eyes to get stuck in his. A small smile on your lips to soothe him. To ease the horror and sadness that was reflected in them. "Severus, are you-" "We'll take a bath," he stated quickly, apparently desperate to not let you finish asking him if he was okay. And that only meant one thing. He was absolutely not okay. So you nodded and allowed him to lead you towards the bathroom. You knew all too well that nothing could be forced out of him, he'd only speak if he wished to. He'd only let you in on his terms. He'd only give you answers if he were willing to. It had taken many months for you to figure that out as you had asked and asked and asked and pleaded and begged and then begged some more. So you did none of those things. You merely allowed him to lead you physically.

The door closed behind the both of you and you knew what he was doing. He was taking care of you to ease his own pain. He was focusing on you to escape his own horrors. He did that, often. Focused on others to ease himself out of a situation he found hard. Focused on others to forget himself and what he was going through. Focused on doing for others what he truly wished someone would do for him, or at least that was how you saw it.

The tub filled with steaming hot water and Severus added some oils that smelled of autumn and crispness. You just watched him as he moved about; got towels, checked the temperature of the water, moved lotions and creams about, lighted candles and seemingly avoided to look at you through the entire process. It hurt, but you knew it was not intended. It still hurt though.

"I'll get some clothes," he stated before he rushed out of the room without giving you even a glance. You merely sighed and rubbed at your temple as you had to find patience for the man. You wanted to shake him and force him to talk with you. He was obviously in pain and hurting yet he didn't allow you to help; to support him. At the same time, you knew that would not help. He had to do it in his own time. You knew that, but that did not mean it didn't make you angry and made you feel utterly useless for him.

The door creaked open and he placed a pile of clothes on the only chair in the bathroom before he turned off the faucet as the tub was filled. Then, he slowly turned towards you. Something wavered in his eyes as he seemed to ponder on something. "What is it Sev?" you asked softly and he blinked as his eyes met yours before he lowered his gaze. "May, may I bath with you?" he asked and that thunderous voice was as soft as a cloud. You nodded with a smile and he seemed to relax a bit.

"I'll go hang these clothes first," he murmured and headed out. As the door closed you started to undress. The clothes were left in a pile on the floor as you gazed upon yourself, stark naked, in the walled mirror next to the chair in the corner. You were bruised and battered, your skin in various shades of blue and purple across your arms and shoulders. Your left eye a bit swollen and your cheek had a blue tint to it.

You shivered from the cold air in the room as you stepped into the tub in the next moment. Just when you were about to lower yourself into the hot water the door opened and Severus gawked at you. His eyebrows were raised and he seemed frozen mid-step. Then something switched in him. His face contorted into a hateful sneer as he looked at you. Disgust and hate etched in his otherwise beautiful eyes.

Your heart nearly broke in that moment. You nearly shattered beneath his cold, yet burning gaze. The way he looked at you made you feel thoroughly awful. He had seen your naked body before, he had roamed it and kissed it. Stroked it and held it. Many, many times. Yet now, his eyes screamed at you. Made you feel disgusting and hurt. Deeply hurt. You knew it was not aimed at your body, you knew that but could do nothing about the pain he inflicted with such a look.

"I am so sorry," were the words that left his mouth and your tear-filled eyes blinked a few times. His voice was warm, soft, loving. Yet it was weak and painful to hear. "I am, truly, so sorry, (y/n)," he said and his eyes teared up as well. He seemed to deflate in the door frame and your legs could no longer hold you up. You sank into the water with a loud splash as it felt as if he was telling you something else with his words. It felt like a goodbye rather than an apology.

"Are, are you leaving me?" you asked on a low whisper. You could not bear to look at him. To see the galaxies in his eyes that held such depth, the softness of his thin lips, the distinct shape of his nose what's ridge you loved to drag your finger down gently. Your head hung low as the tears flowed freely. What about your Christmas gift..? Tomorrow, tomorrow is... Or today?

It was a silly thought in the chaos, a fleeting moment of no sense and no logic to the world. A stupid thought of jolly holidays and tight smiles as your world were shattering around you. As he was breaking you in every way possible with his silence, his words that meant something else, his eyes that made you drown and his cold skin that made you shiver in delight. All things he was stealing. All things were tainted with him. All things that were you, belonged to him. You had given him your all. It was everlasting; unchangeable.

His hands were on you in the next moment, he lifted your face with harsh fingers under your chin as he pressed his lips to yours with force and power. Confusion swept through you but his lips claimed your attention. "Never," he whispered against your lips before he kissed you again and again and again.

His thumb stroked away a stray tear as his eyes lingered on yours. "Ask me to leave and I will," he said in a hoarse voice, "Tell me to go and you shall never see me again," he continued in a promise. You blinked at him. Why? It wasn't our fault, you were in a panic attack, you had no control over this... "Tell me," he said again and you shook your head, "tell me to leave so I won't hurt you again." His voice was harsher, more of a growl yet you shook your head again. "I can't leave you, (y/n). I love you."

You gasped at his words, the words you had said to him so many times yet he had never uttered them back to you. Had never told you. Yet now he said them, now he told you and it made you warm to your very core. Emotions raved and rummaged through every corner of your body and soul. "I can't leave you, you need to tell me to leave," he repeated. "I love you, Severus." He stiffened when you looped your arms around his neck. "I love you, Sev. I will love you forever." You kissed him again and another change seemed to happen in him.

Your head was nearly spinning with all the things that happened in such a short period of time as barely anything had happened earlier. There had been short conversations, there had been plenty of lovemaking, there had been barriers and hurdles. But there had barely been any words of the past or emotions, despite the many anxiety attacks and the nightmares. Despite it all, he had barely opened up to you as he was guarded and in pain. Such deep pain that he carried alone. But now, something was different. Something fundamental had changed between him and you, or in him - even in you.

"Bath with me," you whispered and he hummed before he quickly got rid of his clothes and slipped into the tub behind you. seemingly desperate to get closer and hold you for as long as he would be allowed. You felt the rush in him. He cradled you and kissed the top of your head as he was careful not to touch the areas where your skin wore a different colour than the winter paleness. You leaned back and felt his chest hair tickle your back. It was lovely and you allowed yourself to soak it up for the time being. Discussions could be done later.

After a while, the water turned cold. You shivered slightly and he kissed the top of your head again; as he had done many times during the silent time you spent in the tub. "Let's dry off," he whispered and you nodded, exhaustion was creeping in as dawn was spreading its light outside the frosty windows. Your skin shimmered in its shine as goosebumps travelled all over your exposed body.

He wrapped you in a lush towel before he dried himself off and you started to do the same as your gaze drifted across his body. The scars, the marks, the pale skin and the broad chest covered in the softest black hair. Your fingers tingled, wanted to be dragged through it. But then your eyes lingered on the burns that dotted the same chest and something curled, slithered, clawed in your gut.

He rarely spoke about his past, and even less so about the marks that covered him. You loved him regardless of the markings that covered him in memories of past pain. Loved him deeply, completely. It had not been there at first. The attraction yes, but the love no. It grew during the months you had nursed him back to health. He slipped inside and then he took over your heart, soul and mind. Fully. There was no denying that there would never be another man for you. He was everything.

"You're staring," he muttered and you shook your head as you had zoned out but your eyes still lingered on him. "I zoned out, sorry," you said as you looked away and down. "I know you wonder, that you wish to know, more. But, I cannot..." His words were soft as velvet yet cut deep as a dagger. It stabbed at your self-esteem, gave worth to your thoughts of unworthiness. That you were not enough for him, not worth enough to trust. It hurt, deeply and truly but you simply smiled and nodded. "It's your past, Sev. Not mine," you said as you dried of your legs before you hung the towel and started to get dressed as he was doing the same. But it might be our future... You thought on a tiny sigh.

As you both were dressed you ventured out to the open space that was livingroom, entrance, dining area and kitchenette all in one. It was freezing inside and you shivered despite wearing several layers of clothes. Severus disappeared to the bedroom and you walked over to the window to look outside. It was a beautiful morning but the snow was all the way up to the window seal. You were truly snowed in.

Fear crept through you as Severus entered the room. How was he going to react this time? You had no clue and it made you fearful of telling him, fearful that he'd have another panic attack. He arched a brow at you as you bit your lip. "We're-, we're snowed in." Severus glanced towards the window and nodded. "Appears so," he simply said. You straightened as you looked a tad confused, had that not been why he freaked out yesterday?

With a flick of his wand, he lit a flame in the hearth to heat the cottage despite the lack of wood. With a swift wave of his wand through the room all the candles and lanterns lit up as well. The light was nothing compared to the golden shine that seeped through the windows though. The dust danced in it and you could not help but feel a bit sad as your eyes drifted towards Severus.

"Will you ever tell me? Speak to me?" you asked faintly. Severus stepped over towards you, he split the dancing dust and left it swirling behind him. You stood still, waited for him as he took you in his arms. "You truly scared me," you whispered into his chest as his more controlled, calculated persona seemed to emerge again. As if yesterday hadn't happened. As if it was at most a slip of his careful control. "I am sorry for, marking you..." He seemed unable to use any other word for the hurt he had inflicted physically.

You stepped back, looked up at him. "I don't mean that. I couldn't care less about that. I'm talking about your fear, your horror and I had no idea what to do because you never tell me anything about-" "I can't, (y/n), I truly can not tell you. It, it would break you." His words were rushed as you stared at him. "No, Severus, it would break you. That's what you're afraid of. That it would tear down this wall, all the barriers you've put up. Not me, you're not scared of breaking me, you're scared to break through yourself."

He stiffened at your words and you knew you had hit the spot. That your words rang true for him. "Will you forever keep a wall between you and the world? Will you always separate yourself from all things good, bad, neutral..? From love?" The last word made him stiffen even more as you sighed. "I love you and I need you to understand what that means." "Enlighten me then," he simply whispered. It sounded as if his voice could not be spoken any louder at that moment. You held him tighter for a second before you released the tension that lingered in your aching shoulders.

"I will always be by your side. I will do all things I can for you, for us. I will listen and comfort, I will cry with you, laugh with you. I will be there through the hardships and the pain. I will stand by you through darkness and light. No matter the problem I will solve it with you, no matter the error we will fix it together. No matter what I will trust you and care for you. Exist for you. That is my love for you. And it has no end." You looked up at him, your face set in soft earnest.

"My love has no end. You can't use it up. It does not end by the twenty-fourth scar, it does not end by the thirty-fifth memory or the seventh fight. It does simply not end. It's not a potion that will eventually run out, nor is it a cauldron to be filled and emptied. It's just there, everlasting..." At some point, tears had started to flow down your cheeks as your words were completely honest. As you yourself realised just what you would do, give and be for the man before you.

"That's my love for you." He sighed out a breath as you finished explaining what you felt for him. Silence fell for a little while as you both allowed the words to sink in. You just held each other until you felt as if you would start sobbing at any moment. That's when he spoke.

"I love you as well, fully. It's, I've felt it for quite some time now but I just had no words for it. Love feels, wrong. The word I mean. My mother told my father she loved him and vice versa. Yet he beat her, bashed her, screamed and hurt her feelings countless times," Severus said and you held on to the information he provided. It happened so rarely and to hear him speak of his past made you feel trusted.

"So, that word simply does not do it for me. It's wrong for what I feel for you." You hugged him tighter as he took a deep breath. You knew what he meant, but love had never been sullied for you in such a dark way. "So I find myself lost for words. A word for what I feel, something other than love that is tossed about so freely." "Well, what do you feel when you see me?" you asked with a small smile as your shivering had finally stopped now that the room felt warmer and you were buried in his embrace.

"Well, it sort of hurts in my chest when my heart hammers so fervently and sometimes I feel like I can't quite breathe if I'm not close to you. It's a warm feeling and it's all-consuming. It's like I can't live without you," he said and the words made your knees weak. You even felt a bit heated and dizzy by the power of the words said in his thunderous words. "I'm the air in your lungs?" you asked softly with a sheepish grin. "Truly," he whispered as he held you closely on a small chuckle that vibrated through you via the contact you had with his chest.

After a little while, you leaned back as he did the same. "Are you alright?" you asked with a sincere expression as you were drowning in the galaxies that were his onyx eyes. He gave you a smile, it wasn't tight or small, not narrow at all. It was a smile, a pure smile and your heart skipped a beat in your chest that felt too tight for all the emotions. "I am," he said as he kissed your forehead. "No fear of being trapped?" "No, not now, in the light and when I'm prepared. It's different now," he said and you felt the honesty in his words. Felt it as clearly as you felt his arms around you.

You were both sipping some tea as silence lingered around you. He had finally let you in, finally, he had talked to you. For well over an hour he explained what his father had done. The pain, the torture, the abuse - he had confided in you. He had let you in and you both had many thoughts and feelings to process after that. Hence the tea and silence.

But there was still one thing you could not quite understand; why being snowed in - trapped - had induced such a severe panic attack. Worse than any you had seen him in before. So you straightened a little and looked at him where he was sat next to you on the couch. He was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and the teacup gently held in his large hands.

"A question?" he asked as he obviously sensed your eyes on him. You sighed and placed the cup on the table. "I don't understand the fear of being trapped? Why you got such an extreme reaction yesterday." He looked at you in a sideways glance before his eyes returned to the steaming liquid in his cup. "That's, a long story..." "We have time." He chuckled at that. "Do we?" "Of course we do. We're snowed in, we can't leave for a while and really we can stay as long as we like." It's my cabin, so... Something you had failed to mention earlier to him. Among other things. He had his secrets and you had yours, your wealth was one of them. He never asked and you never told. But perhaps it's time...

"Well, we had a wardrobe, in the basement..." You listened carefully as he started to explain. "And, my father liked to use it as a punishment. Used to lock me up in there. For days. I'll spare you the details, but... He, had a tendency to forget, well, to feed me and my mother was forbidden to go down in the basement. It was his area and only his." You gasped at his words, despite the fact that you did your best to not show the horror you felt. He always seemed to hesitate whenever you did that.

"Sometimes it was just hours, sometimes a day or two, sometimes longer. That was part of it. I never knew how long I would be locked up and I, I do not do well being trapped since." He spun the cup between his hands, rolled it against his palms and you inched closer. "Severus, I am so sorry you had to live through that." He looked at you at those words. "I am sorry you had to know about it." "Sev, sweetheart, never feel sorry for things not in your control. And never feel sorry for telling me things. I want to know everything about you, everything you are willing to trust me with," you said softly as you curled up by his side after he had put down the cup next to yours on the little wooden table.

He placed his arm around you carefully and his thumb stroked up and down your arm gently. He smelled divine, as usual, and the fragrance of him soothed something deep inside of you. Your bruises ached but you could not have cared less in that instance. "Your the air in my lungs," you whispered. "Your the beating of my heart," he answered and you snuggled closer. A smile covered your lips despite the horrible images that flickered and flashed through your head. His memories.

You tilted your head and his lips found yours. Tenderly soft kisses were gifted between the both of you as something settled in you. Hope, for a future with him. Hope that he'd give you his trust and love. In his way. Perhaps, one day, we will know all there is to know about each other. The thought made you smile against his lips. "What?" "Happy," you said and he chuckled before he lifted you up in his lap to get closer.

You kissed his nose, his cheeks, his jaw and his exposed neck as his hands snaked around you. Held you steadily as you felt him grow beneath you. "My air," you whispered against his throat where you felt his pulse quicken. "My heartbeat," he murmured in a growl and then he pulled you against him in such a rush you nearly lost your breath. He cradled you and you felt him cry. Felt him shake and vibrate. But this was different than any other time. Now, it was in joy that he cried.

So you held him. He cried silently with only some whispered words of remorse and how he wished he was a better man for you. You let him say those things to get them out. You could talk about that some other time. "I am so happy to have you," he whispered into your neck. "And I you," you answered as you stroked his back gently. "I will talk more, so this never happens again. It is within my control not to harm you, to not be like him in any way," he said in a rumbling murmur and you burst out in tears.

You cried as the pain was realised from its confinement. You cried as he promised to do what he hated most for your safety. You cried as he was willing to open up to get past his own memories and make new ones with you by his side. You cried and then you both ended up fervently kissing through all the emotions.

Some sort of happy ending was not out of reach for the two of you and you would make damn sure he would feel loved and safe every day. You would love him through it all - the pain and the sorrow, through the joy and the comfort of love. You would love him as he loved you. "My air," he whispered against your swollen lips. "My heartbeat," you replied with ragged breathing as he gently laid you down on the couch and kissed you senseless...

Oh gosh, this is so long but I really needed to write this out properly <3

But, I do want to say one more thing! DO NOT RESTRICT A PERSON IN A PANIC ATTACK UNLESS IT WILL SAVE THEIR LIFE! Restriction may cause further panic and every person is different in this. Some need sound, some need a soothing hand on the knee, some need to be cradled and some need only supervision. Everyone is different and before you hold someone in a panic attack try other things that are less restrictive first, unless you know the person needs to be held. <3

Masterlist page // Masterlist post // SNAPEMAS POST

Tags: @lizlil @snapefiction @morphineisouthoney @setsuna-meiou31 @snapefiction

Want to be tagged? 💚 You can tag yourself HERE! Or tell me and I’ll gladly tag you! 😍

[Dec:2020]

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cakelanguage · 3 years

Text

This took much longer than I thought it would, but work has been absolutely exhausting lately. I'm honestly just excited that I get to share this with you all because I really wanted to participate in Hurt!Noct Week. This is a combination of day 1 prompts: buried alive and captured by Nifleheim (at least sort of?). This is just the 1st chapter, but I figured I’d share at least this bit for now. I hope you enjoy this!

You can also read this on AO3

He should’ve called Ignis. Or texted Gladio that he was going to be ten minutes late to their training session. Or Astrals, accepted Prompto’s offer to walk home with him even though his house was in the opposite direction.

But he hadn’t.

Instead, he’d strolled down the bustling streets, thinking about the planned King’s Knight session later that night. He scrolled idly through the mission details, trying to formulate a plan of attack. The last time Noctis had attempted this mission he’d been severely outclassed and had to abandon the mission lest he lose what little loot he’d been able to pilfer from the dungeon. With Gladio’s character acting as their tank, he could have Ignis on range attacks and healing. Prompto had the best stealth stats so they could have Prompto looting the place while the rest of them took care of the bigger monsters. Noctis fancied himself an all-around player so he could assist wherever needed the most help.

Caught up in his mini strategy session, he didn’t realize he was on a collision course with someone until he ran right into them. He stumbled, juggling his phone between his hands in an attempt to save it from meeting its demise on the pavement below.

“Watch where you’re going,” the man he ran into grumbled, brushing imaginary dirt off his jacket.

The man was dressed lavishly in a wide variety of patterns and textures. His coat looked sturdy and thick like it would keep out even the harshest of cold winds. The scarf around his neck was the brightest piece of clothing he wore—the reddish-orange silk oddly complementing the man's red-violet hair. Not a sliver of the man’s skin was visible besides the tip of the man’s fingers and his face under the shade of his fedora.

He had a right to be upset even if half of him wanted to insist that the man could have moved too. He shoved that thought down and instead nodded his head, tucking his phone back into his pocket. “Sorry about that,” Noctis apologized. “I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

“Yes, I figured as much.” The man squinted at him, his head cocking to the side. “Hold on a moment, don’t I know you?”

Not for the first time, he was thankful for his privacy. His father had done a remarkable job at keeping him much out of the public eye. People knew who he was, but because he wasn’t in any of the newspapers or rag magazines that most celebrities appeared in he could go through life like normal. He didn’t have to think about paparazzi waiting outside his school or people approaching him asking for something or other.

“Probably not,” Noctis said, “maybe you’ve seen me walking home before? I go to the high school three blocks away.”

Shaking his head, the man inspected his face more thoroughly. “No that’s not it. I’ve definitely seen you before.” He felt as if the man could count his pores, and Noctis shuffled backward away from the man’s heavy stare. “Have you got an uncle that works at the palace? I used to work there.”

The man gave Noctis a private quirk of his lips like he was privy to some hidden joke that only he knew.

“Oh that’s… nice?”

The man nodded absentmindedly gaze still heavy on Noctis. “Hm, you really do look familiar,” he commented. “Quite handsome too.”

“Thanks?” Noctis looked down at his uniform and his loosened tie and wondered if there was a polite way to excuse himself from the conversation. He didn’t want to be rude by walking away from the man but he really did need to get going or he was going to be later than he thought to Gladio’s training session. “Well, I’m sorry for walking into you like that, but I gotta get going.”

“Right, right, of course.” The man swept a hand through his hair sheepishly. “It’s not like I can keep the prince from his important tasks just to talk with me.”

Ice filled Noctis’ veins as his title was casually thrown out by the man who claimed he couldn’t place his face. He stared at the man, uncomprehendingly. This was starting to look like the beginning of one of Ignis’ crime drama shows. Why did the man lie? What was his angle? What was going on?

“Who are you?” Noctis asked, channeling his calm façade to the max.

“A man of no consequence, I assure you.” The man waved him off with a few shooing gestures. “Off you go, your highness.”

Noctis gave him a wary look and an awkward bob of his head. He needed to get out of here. Ready to put this whole interaction behind him, he stepped to the side of the man to continue his route. Except he didn’t get very far before a hand latched onto his wrist with surprising force.

A violent tug had him wrenching himself back around, his shoulder twinging at the sudden jerk. Face-to-face with the man once more, Noctis saw how the man’s expression was colder, harsh in the afternoon sun. His teeth were bared in a sneer—looking for all the world like a coeurl.

“Let go,” Noctis ordered, now glaring at the man who wouldn’t leave him alone. “Didn’t you just tell me to go?”

A taunting smile peaked through the man’s sneer. “Now why would I do that?” He asked.

Noctis clenched his fists and bit out another order. “Let go of me, now.” He grabbed his phone with his free hand and quickly dialed the palace’s emergency numbers. It would be mildly embarrassing if Gladio found out he’d called the Crownsguard on a regular citizen, but his SAS kidnap training was blaring in his ears. “I’m warning you, I can have you arrested.”

A soft tsk came from the man who shook his head at Noctis’ threat. “We can’t have that now, can we?”

He opened his mouth to demand his release again, but all that came out was a choked-off yelp as something heavy struck his head. His knees refused to hold up his body and he collapsed to the concrete. The skin of his palms was torn in his attempt to catch himself, but he couldn’t feel it; the sharp pain by his temple shadowed the pain in his palms.

He turned his gaze back to the blurry figure of the man, who had been joined by another figure. His brain felt sluggish, his thoughts thick in his mouth as he tried to string a sentence together. “W-what—“

“Shh,” The man shushed, ignoring Noctis’ flinch as he tenderly ran a hand through Noctis’ hair. “Good night, sweet prince.”

The last thing he saw was a fist coming at his face.

Then nothing.

He regained consciousness with a choked-off groan. He felt like he’d gone through one of Gladio’s marathon training sessions and lost miserably.

Laying still, he took stock of his body. His lip was swollen and tender as he wet his dry, split lips. The right side of his face throbbed in-tune with his heartbeat and Noctis could barely get that eye to open more than a crack. What was he supposed to do? He’d been trained on how to handle a kidnapping situation; Cor had made it abundantly clear the variations in which people would try to snatch him up. But this wasn’t just a ‘what if.’ He’d been kidnapped not even four blocks away from his school.

It was a matter of figuring out what he could do to get out of here. He still had his magic though admittedly his connection to the Crystal felt like he was trying to pull at the energy through a strainer. Like sifting through a pile of hay for the needle—all of his abilities being the needle and the presence of his magic being the hay.

But that didn’t mean he was helpless. He just needed to approach the situation the right way and he could escape. He tried to remain calm, limiting his breathing to shallow breaths to keep up his ruse. This became a fruitless act when he heard someone or something step up behind him.

A familiar voice came from behind him. “It appears our guest of honor is awake,” the man cooed. Some of the man’s nonchalance had vanished, replaced by cruel giddiness. “And how are you, your majesty?”

Like hell he was going to go along with this guy’s fake care. His pride wouldn’t let him bite out a pleasantry, instead choosing to press his steely gaze on the eccentric man. His stare didn’t deter the man’s delight in his situation which only served to make his blood simmer in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to punch the smug look off that face.

“I think you’ll find, Noctis,” the man loomed over him, nudging him lightly in the ribs with his boots, “that I have the upper hand.”

He didn’t. Noctis refused to believe it. He may not have had any weapons on him, but Noctis had dialed the emergency response number for the palace. By dialing the number he had ensured back-up would be on their way to his location in less than five minutes. Well, the location of where the call took place. He couldn’t feel the shape of his phone in his pockets, but the Crownsguard would be able to pick up on any trail his kidnapper had left behind.

All he needed to do was wait.

“What do you want?” Noctis asked, shifting his position on the floor to try and alleviate the pressure on his lower back. He could already feel the scar tissue there begin to burn and ache.

“Already wanting me to reveal my dastardly plan?” The man questioned. “How cliché.” Noctis’ face must’ve given away his annoyance because the guy clucked his tongue at his expression.

“I realize this isn’t one of your silver-spoon soirees, but it’ll serve as a good setting for the video.” He straightened and made his way over to the small set-up of… camera equipment? “We need you to put on your best performance, your highness.” He looked up with a cold smile that sent a shiver running down Noctis’ spine. “Though do save some for the main event.”

“So you’re gonna, what? Ransom me or something?” Noctis squirmed in his binds. “Is that your plan?”

Humming noncommittally, the man continued setting up his equipment. “Or something.”

“Not much of a talker huh?” He was banking on being able to get some info out of the guy so he could shout it over what was sure to be his ransom video.

The waiting was bizarre. Despite the discomfort, he didn’t feel like he was all there—though the main contributor to this was the head injury—the quiet sounds of rustling cables and footsteps gave him peace of mind amongst the simmering unrest and anxiety as the experience faded into less immediate danger. If only he could concentrate on his armiger and summon the knife he stored there—then he’d be able to warp out of his binds and escape.

A quiet huff of laughter broke through the silence; it took him a few moments to realize the laugh came from him . It wasn’t funny, not by a long-shot. He was being stupidly optimistic, especially since his vision still wavered between doubled and covered in black splotches. He probably had one hell of a shiner too.

He wished he’d called someone to get him.

The derelict state of his mind was brushed away as a triumphant cry echoed slightly around him. He squinted at the man who looked at him expectantly.

“What?” Noctis asked, tiredly. He had no desire to give the man the reactions he was hoping for. Actually, the other being put off by his apathy made him feel better. “Did you finally get your whole… set-up ready?”

The man had the audacity to pout at him. “Now you’re just no fun,” he complained. “Aren’t you curious as to why I’ve brought you here?”

Noctis shrugged. “Not really?” The motion caused his chains to rattle in the tight space. “Most of the guys I’ve been kidnapped by all want the same thing: revenge or money.”

“I can assure you that my reason is definitely not for any monetary reason.” The man took a step towards him. “I suppose you could call it revenge, though I admit you are simply unlucky—to be chosen by the gods.” He cupped Noctis’ cheek with surprising tenderness, brushing his thumb along his cheekbones. “You do bear a striking resemblance to him.”

A nail dug it the flesh underneath his eye and Noctis hissed, attempting to turn his face out of the man’s grip. “What a pity,” the man said, releasing his hold on Noctis. “Before we begin, I think it’s only fair that you finally be able to put a name to your captor.”

“Oh now you want to introduce yourself?” Noctis grumbled—because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut to save his life apparently.

Fortunately, the man seemed amused by his comment. “Do forgive me for my rudeness, your highness .” The mocking emphasis he placed on the title was not lost to Noctis, but he didn’t dignify him with an answer. “I’ve been reduced to the moniker ‘Adagium,’ by the royal line of Lucis.”

It sounded familiar, but Noctis couldn’t place where he’d heard it. Had the name come up in his studies? Was it a political thing?

Adagium sighed and shook his head. “I’m not surprised you don’t know of me. Your dear father is desperately trying to keep you in the dark.”

Noctis furrowed his brow. “What do you mean he’s keeping me in the dark?”

With a shake of his head, Adagium stepped back over to his equipment. “I’ve talked enough for now, it’s time we get the show started lest the party be stopped before it’s even begun.” Adagium grinned at him. “The stage is yours, prince Noctis.”

A red light blinked to life on the camera as Noctis stared into the lens. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do. Did Adagium want him to beg? To show whoever was watching the video that he was scared? He wasn’t. Scared that it is. Unnerved? Yes, how could he not be when he was kidnapped and tied up in some unknown location.

His captor sighed tilting his hat to cover his face and—

Adagium changed. No longer was he wearing the extravagant, pattern-clashing, textile collage of an outfit. He was in a set of armor, his face masked and hair tucked away under the rigid helmet. Noctis had only seen the armor in person once before on that fateful escape from Tenebrae as he reached desperately for Luna’s hand.

Magitek armor.

To see the man stripped of his individualism did more to bother Noctis than he expected. Something about the metal, placid expression staring at him had his stomach clenching nervously. How had Adagium done it? An illusion? But how? To his knowledge, illusion magic was typically only used by the messengers of the gods; he figured he’d already met all of them at this point with his connection to Luna.

With four jerky steps, Adagium stood beside him, a hand painfully clasping his shoulder. Noctis side-eyed the man as if he could glean some sort of direction for what he wanted Noctis to do.

Once again, Adadgium broke the silence. “Salutations, Your Majesty, Regis Lucis Caelum,” Adagium said, “113th monarch in the long line of Lucis.”

He’d somehow managed to project his voice to see like he was behind the camera again. Another impossibility Noctis didn’t know how to find an answer to.

“As you can see, I have an auspicious guest with me, one I know you’re well-acquainted with. Won’t you say hello to your dear father, Noct?” Adagium asked.

Gritting his teeth, Noctis glared at a spot on the wall. He wasn’t going to give the other what he wanted, not when he could still deny him of his game. If he could weaponize his silence, he would.

With an angry tut from Adagium, Noctis’ hair was yanked with a merciless tug, pulling his head backward and exposing his throat. He could feel the handful of hair desperately trying to cling to his scalp as he let out a small whimper at the rough treatment.

“What a difficult boy,” Adagium commented, “he must’ve been quite the child to raise. To think he’d forget his manners at a time like this.”

“Shut up,” Noctis growled.

“Oh he speaks! Splendid! Now while I’ve broken through that stony exterior, we can commence the show.”

Suddenly, a knife was pressed against Noctis’ neck. He flinched back into Adagium’s hold on his hair, but the knife followed, the edge of the blade making a small, shallow cut on the delicate skin of his neck. He was helpless, tied up, and at the mercy of his captor. And it didn’t seem like Adagium had any qualms against hurting him.

The blood that lazily oozed from the wound dripped down his neck and settled into his jugular notch like a morbid jewel. Noctis heard Adagium’s hum of approval and could feel the pressure of the knife increase slightly as if Adagium had lapsed in his awareness that he was the one holding the knife and thus in control of how far the blade entered Noctis’ flesh.

“Now, I understand why Lucis values black as a special color—it goes amazingly with blood red, wouldn’t you agree?”

He said it so off-handedly that Noctis wasn’t sure who he was talking to: Noctis, Regis, or himself. What was clear, was that Adagium had a deep-seated grudge against Lucis—the royal line in particular. But why? Was he from one of the outer nations that had been left behind when his father had to pull back the wall to just the city of Lucis?

Adagium broke out of his musings, finally pulling the knife back enough that it was just resting against the cut. “Never mind that,” he said. “I expect you’re waiting for some kind of demand from me. Money? Some impossible wish for power? Recognition?” Noctis could hear the smirk in his voice, that deceptively playful quirk of his lips. “No, I don’t want any of those, not explicitly at least.”

What do you want? Noctis didn’t voice no matter how much he wanted to. This little video of Adagium’s seemed to be going nowhere which could be good if this was a live broadcast, build the tension maybe.

“My reason for kidnapping Noct is very simple: because I could.”

He said it so matter-of-factly that Noctis’ brain stumbled to a halt. That’s it? Because he could? That didn’t make any sense, not when Adagium had brought up some kind of revenge. “What happened to your revenge?” Noctis asked. “You mentioned your reasons could be considered revenge and the gods.” He remembered the forlorn look in Adagium’s eyes before the rage had trickled back in. “You said I resembled someone, Adagium.”

He knew he was being bold, foolhardy more accurately, but his captor hadn’t revealed his name and Noctis was hoping if he brought up his aforementioned desire for revenge on film he’d reveal more of his reasoning. If the heroes in movies could get a villain to reveal their schemes, Noctis should be able to do it to Adagium.

Adagium’s grip on his hair tightened, Noctis crying out as several strands were tugged out of his scalp. “Oh Noct,” he purred, “I see you’ve decided to join the conversation.”

Noctis felt his skin crawl at the contemptuous pride in Adagium’s voice. He’d overstepped with his nosy questions.

“Yes, I did say that, didn’t I?” Adagium said. “You remember Adagium, do you not Your Majesty? The mythical monster locked away in the dark depths of Angelgard for ages, lost to time amongst the words of false kings and fraudulent nations.”

Who was Adagium? Noctis wondered, a stray tear slipping down the side of his face towards his hairline. “Why?” Noctis whispered, afraid of the answer he’d receive but unwilling to let his question lie.

The magitek disguise rippled ominously, a black miasma seeping through the gaps of armor. Quickly, the figure of Adagium was being overshadowed by the mist. The tiny glints of gold light within the consuming shadows was what gave away the nature of the mist: Starscourge.

Eyes wide, Noctis struggled in the man’s grip. He remembered when the Starscourge had infected him as a child when the Marilith had sliced his back open and nearly severed his spinal cord. The burning agony of the scourge ravaging his body, when not even his coma brought him relief from its infection. The hushed cries of similarly infected at the edges of his mind like a web of anguish, ever-growing with each infected. Get away getawaygetaway.

His struggling was for naught as the black mirage leaned closer to him. “Why?” Adagium asked the hand that held the knife lazily dragged to the center of his chest. “Because I was saving people. Because that first false king was jealous and power-hungry, over-eager to be the one to wear the crown. And the rest,” he spat the word, “never bothered to question any of their forebears, convinced that they had always done what was best for the kingdom of Lucis.”

Noctis shook his head as best he could. “But why would they—“

“Because the gods didn’t stop them.” The knife in his hand pressed harder against Noctis’ chest and hissed at the sting of the blade. “But the time of reckoning is steadily approaching!”

With a flourish of his hand, the knife was sent away. Noctis thought it was eerily similar to accessing the armiger. “While all the pieces aren’t in their proper place just yet, a bit of ‘divine retribution’ soothes the soul.”

“What do you mean by divine retribution?” Noctis asked, his voice far quieter than he expected.

The miasma cloud seemed to grin impossibly wide, though he couldn’t discern an actual face. “I thought it would be perfect for you to atone on behalf of your forebears, Noct. And to have your father helplessly watch as he struggles to find you.”

Adagium stood behind him once more and wrapped his arms loosely around Noctis’ shoulders. “Let’s have the chosen, King of Light spend some time in the dark,” he purred, black ichor dripping onto his shirt. Onto his head. Onto his face. It was everywhere and Noctis couldn’t focus on anything else.

And then there was nothing.

#HurtNoctWeek2021 #hurt/comfort #Noctis Lucis Caelum #ardyn izunia #ffxv #ffxv fic #fanfic #final fantasy xv #noctis I'm sorry baby but I like seeing my fav characters getting hurt?#ardyn being well himself #we can all just blame somnus tbh #that's what i like doing

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bluebirdsbluebells · 4 years

Text

love lost - part three

pairing: jj maybank x reader

words: 5.8k (i got carried away im sorry)

warnings: swearing, mentions of cheating, mentions of drugs, angst

a/n: i totally got carried away with this chapter. i was originally just going to keep writing and writing and writing it, but i decided to split it, so there will be a fourth and final chapter after this one. thank you guys so much for the love on this fic. also! the anons that sent in requests, just know that i am working on them! i’ve been a bit slow lately, but i’m trying my best to get them done!

series masterlist

_____

True to your word, you continued to stay away from JJ. Twice you saw him out and about, but you avoided him, keeping your head down and your gaze averted from his own. You could feel him watching you though, waiting to see if you would finally let him back in. That was just something that you knew you couldn’t do. One wrong move and you could be a broken mess on the floor yet again.

When JJ shattered you, you felt as if you lost faith in yourself as well. You could no longer believe anything that he had to say to you, but you felt as if you weren’t any kind of trustworthy either. You felt like you had betrayed yourself; fucked up along the way and created the mess without even realizing its eventual doom.

You tried to stay strong though. You didn’t want Harry to worry any more than he already was. You hadn’t told him about your encounter with JJ on the street, and you hadn’t told him about Rafe’s odd comments either. You thought that it was best to keep quiet and try to move on with your daily activities.

But you weren’t a superhero. Everyone had their breaking point. Maybe you were just unlucky, but it seemed that you had several.

He came up from behind you; swiftly; unnoticed by anyone else. There was a static between his skin and yours as he grazed his fingers along your shoulders, grabbing your attention. You spun around, nearly crashing into the isle of pasta behind you.

“Jesus,” you cursed, stepping away from him. He was too close; you could smell the weed on his breath and the strong odor of his cheap fabric softener. You swallowed tightly. “Can we talk now?” JJ asked, his eyes meeting yours with desperation. They were bloodshot and far from appearing dry, and although he may have been crying, you settled for the alternative. It was unlikely that he would’ve been shedding tears when he reeked of marajuana.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head as you side-stepped him, your breath catching in your throat.

Your mother had asked you to go out and get groceries for dinner that night. JJ was the last person you wanted to see, and you should’ve known that there were no safe places, not even the supermarket on a dreary Wednesday afternoon.

“Please Y/N?” JJ pleaded, stepping back in front of you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as he hovered over you, his hair falling into his reddening eyes. “You’re high,” you commented, your gaze dropping to the floor of the supermarket. There were a few cracks that ran along the tile, and you traced them with your eyes. JJ was wearing a pair of dirtied grey boots with black socks that poked above the tops.

“I came here to see you,” he said, rocking back on his heels. You tried to step around him again, but he moved to the side, blocking your path. In the back of your throat you felt a tickle, and you sucked in a breath, fighting with yourself to keep it together. “You followed me here, didn’t you,” you whispered, your head still staying turned to the ground, but you lifted your eyes to glance at him. “I told you that I would talk to you when I was ready.” “And you’re not ready?” JJ asked, his voice rising slightly. When you winced he licked his lips and lowered it, and you watched as his chest rose and fell with a heavy breath. “You’re not ready?” He repeated quietly.

You shook your head, turning your neck to the side. “Get out of the way,” you said, your grip tightening on the plastic handle of your shopping basket. From down the aisle a woman rolled her cart towards the spices, one squeaky wheel screeching against the tile.

“Y/N, I just want to talk to you. I know you don’t trust me, and that’s fine, but I just need to explain myself.” “There’s nothing to explain,” you muttered, pulling your lower lip through your teeth. “It’s perfectly clear.” “It’s not,” he corrected, holding up his hands as if he was trying to steady you, but you didn’t need comfort, you needed to get out of there. “If you would just let me-” “Excuse me,” you mumbled, then you turned on your heel, briskly walking away from him. Your eyes darted to the side as you hurried down the aisle, then quickly slipped into the one over, which was stocked with crackers and chips. You let out a shaky breath, then set down your basket, trying to collect yourself. He was following you. Following you. You had told him that you would give him a chance eventually, but he was too impatient to even respect that you wanted more time.

“Y/N.” He startled you, and you flinched back, nearly tripping over your shopping basket. JJ stood to your left, his arms hanging limply at his sides. He had a blank expression on his face, and if you had to pick one word for the look in his eyes you would’ve picked “defeated”.

“I told you that I would talk to you eventually,” you said, stooping down to pick the cart back up. “But that day isn’t today JJ.” “You won’t do it,” he said quietly. “You’ll just keep avoiding me and nothing will ever get said and you’ll slowly forget about me.” Your lips twitched; a sign that you were close to tears.

“You’re wrong,” you replied, shifting the basket between your sweaty palms. What you really wanted to say was ‘I won’t ever forget about you’, but you just couldn’t. “I told you I would listen and I will. Just-” “Now,” JJ said, shaking his head at you. “You’ll talk to me now. I can’t keep putting it off Y/N. I’ve tried to talk to JB but it’s not the same. I need you to hear it from me.” “Hear what from you?” You weren’t sure where the surge of frustration came from, but before you knew it your voice was cracking while you spat back at him. “Hear that you cheated on me with three girls while I was sick in bed on your birthday? It coming from you doesn’t make it any better JJ, because I had to find out from my best friend first. I don’t need to hear shit from you.” He stared at you, and inside of his chest you imagined his heart shrinking, his stomach falling. You wondered how bad his pain was compared to yours. Had he sobbed and shrieked and dry heaved all night until his ribs ached and his mind no longer functioned? You didn’t think so.

“Excuse me,” a quiet voice said from behind you, and you turned around to face an older man with his shopping cart. You felt your cheeks flush red as you stepped to the side. JJ did the same, and the man gave the both of you a small smile as he wheeled the trolley past, his eyes scanning over the items on the shelves. You waited until he had turned the corner before you exhaled a heavy breath, looking away from JJ and back down at the ground. “If you don’t drop what you’re doing and talk to me now, you’re never going to talk to me,” JJ said quietly. You didn’t answer, just swung the basket around your legs. It bumped into your thighs, and JJ watched as you did it over and over, refusing to reply. “Why does it matter if we speak now as opposed to months from today? Y/N it doesn’t.”

“Nothing you can say will ever justify what you did,” you answered, finally looking back up at him. “You know that, don’t know?” You watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, and then he ran a shaky hand through his hair. He seemed to take in your words, and then he took a slow step towards you, his head tilting as he spoke quietly. “I just want you to know what happened.” He was close to you. Three feet, maybe two. The smell of the weed wasn’t as strong as it had been when you first encountered him, but it would still be noticeable to any who passed him. You wouldn’t speak to him when he was high. You weren’t much of a smoker, but every once in a while you would hit a blunt or two with him and sit under the sky and talk. You would draw the line though. There were countless times when he would show up at your place completely shitfaced or crossed and you would take him in and look after him for the night, but when he fell asleep or left your place in the morning you were always panged with disappointment. You knew that it was his life and he could do whatever he wanted to do, but you found more often than not that he would smoke and drink to forget whatever he was going through. It was clear to you that he had done that then.

“If you want me to know so bad then tell me right here, right now,” you said. A pained expression crossed his face, and he shook his head. “I can’t.” “You can’t.” “I can’t do it in a fucking supermarket Y/N.” His voice rose, and you clenched your jaw, praying that you hadn’t attracted any unwanted attention. Your mother was probably at home wondering what was taking you so long. “Why not?” You whispered back, and your lip quivered as you spoke. “If it’s so important, then just fess up.” “You can’t just…” he trailed off, then let out an aggravated groan, causing the corners of your lips to turn down. “You need to hear everything. I- I haven’t been entirely honest with you Y/N.”

You blinked at him, disbelief on your face. “You think?” You snapped at him, and then you took a step back, shaking your head. You needed to control yourself. You couldn’t let your emotions get the best of you; a clear mind was what you had to have. Breathe in, breathe out. “I haven’t been honest about-” he swallowed “-other things either.”

To you, that was one of the most unbelievable sentences that you had ever heard in your life. JJ had left you broken and in despair after shattering your heart, and he was confessing that he had done not only that, but other things as well. You didn’t know what to say. You had no idea what to do. You wanted to burst into tears and fall into a heap in the middle of the store, but you also wanted to slap him straight across the face for telling you in the middle of a fucking grocery store that he had lied to you. Maybe it was what you deserved for not facing the problem head on.

You opened and closed your mouth at him, then slowly stepped away from him, shaking your head.

“You can’t do that to me,” you said hoarsely, and you watched as his face fell. He stepped towards you, holding out his hands, but you shook your head, pulling your basket away from him and picking up your pace. “Listen…” He started, but you held out your hand, urging him to stay back. You could see that he realized he had hurt you, and his shoulders sagged, but he stayed in place. You walked backwards all the way to the end of the aisle, and as soon as he was out of sight you beelined for the self-checkout. Tears brimmed your eyes as you aggressively slid all of your items across the small scanner, trying desperately to get it over with. You needed space, you needed air. You had to get out of that store. “Something wrong ma’am?” You heard a voice call from behind you, and you turned your head to see a middle aged man standing at your right, one hand gesturing to your items. They were scattered across the bagging shelf, and one slab of butter even sat on the ground. You hastily reached down to pick it up, trying to blink back your tears. “No,” you assured, giving him a short nod. “I’m just in a rush.” “Alright then,” he said, returning the nod. “Just be careful there. You may scan something twice.” He most likely was trying to get you to slow down so you didn’t miss scanning anything, but of course that was just his polite way of letting you know that he was watching. You took a deep breath, and then continued to swipe your items more carefully. You stuffed the things into your reusable bags, then hurriedly carried them outside. You didn’t worry about setting them carefully in the back, instead you just threw open the trunk and chucked the bags inside. There was a heavy weight on your chest, and you felt as if you were being threatened for air. As soon as your driver’s side door closed you let out a loud sob, one that wracked your shoulders. Your hands gripped to the steering wheel as you dropped your head, trying to heave in breath after breath. You weren’t sure if any tears actually fell from your eyes, but you still couldn’t see anything. Your vision was blurry and crowded, and suddenly you felt like if you were to try and stand, you would’ve crumpled to the ground, shrouded with betrayal.

There was a light tap on your passenger’s side window, but you didn’t lift your head. You had a pretty fucking good idea on who it was, and you weren’t pleased, but you didn’t have the energy to deny his presence for the millionth time. JJ opened the door slowly, then slipped inside, closing it quietly behind him. For a solid minute or two he didn’t say anything, and the only things that could be heard were the shaky rasps of your breathing and the sticky sound of you peeling your sweaty palms off of the leather of the steering wheel.

“Y/N,” JJ said quietly, and you pinched your eyes closed, your jaw clenching yet again. A pang shot through your chest. It felt like someone was taking Finochietto retractor and spreading your ribs right open.

“Were you lying to me the whole time?” You whispered, opening your eyes, but you kept your gaze at your shoes. Your hands still gripped the steering wheel, and your head still hung between your arms.

JJ was silent, and you darted your eyes over to him. He had a blunt in his hands, but it was unlit, and he only rolled it between his fingers, watching it. “Can we start at the beginning?” He asked quietly, and you dropped your gaze back to your shoes.

“The beginning meaning the beginning of our relationship or the beginning meaning when you started sleeping with other girls.” He sucked in a breath. “I didn’t sleep with anyone.” You rolled your tongue along your teeth, then sniffled before letting out a humourless laugh. “That’s what they all say.” “I’m telling the truth Y/N.” “Five minutes ago you confessed that you were a liar JJ,” you said, raising your head from between your arms. “I don’t know what to believe.” Another pained look crossed his face, and he sighed heavily. JJ tucked the blunt back in his pocket, then ran his fingers through his hair.

“That’s fair,” he said slowly. You could tell he was trying very carefully to pick out the right words. One wrong move and you would kick him out and drive away, and he would probably never speak to you again. “That’s fair Y/N. You have every right not to trust me. I know that you probably won’t believe what I have to say, but I need to tell you. I haven’t been fucking sleeping or eating… I’ve just been thinking about you too much; thinking about how much of a shitty person I am.” “You are a shitty person,” you said, barely hesitating. “You really hurt me, do you know that.” He nodded, his eyes falling to his boots. “I know.” You looked at him for the longest that you had looked at him since the breakup. You noticed the dark circles under his eyes and hollowed out sockets. He had always had a nice golden glow to his skin, but right then he looked pale and sickly, like he truly hadn’t eaten or slept in days. His face showed the look of someone who had been broken, but it was his posture that really sold it for him. His normally radiating confidence was absent. JJ’s shoulders sagged, and he hunched into himself as if he was terrified of the world around him. His fingers jittered and tapped in his lap, and you could practically feel the anxiety that he was feeling. In a way you mimicked each other perfectly. If someone would’ve walked by and seen the two of you, they would’ve never been able to guess who was the cheater and who had been cheated on. You were both at a loss, and that was why you didn’t immediately scream at him to get out. There was a tiny little part of you that almost felt for him, and urged you to hear what he had to say simply out of desperation. That tiny little part of you was the one that wanted to believe that he had never intentionally broken your trust so easily, and that little part of you won.

“Once I get started you have to promise to let me finish,” JJ said, and his eyes lifted from the ground to look over at you. You were hesitant, unsure about whether or not you would be able to let him stay. You were unsure if the news he was about to break to would’ve been worse than what you had already gone through. You were terrified of living those weeks all over again but doubled in pain.

“Y/N?” JJ asked hopefully. “Do you promise?” Gloomily, you nodded. There wasn’t any going back after that.

“I didn’t sleep with anybody. I haven’t slept with anyone since you, I swear to god. Whatever John B. thought that he saw, he didn’t see it.” “They were all over you,” you said flatly, raising your head further from the wheel. It hit your headrest, and you let out a long, slow breath. “JB said they were on your lap-” “They were,” JJ confirmed, and you swallowed tightly. “Let me explain. Just- just let me explain.” “Fine,” you breathed, and your whole body ached. He had just told you that there was a girl on his lap like he was telling you what the time was. He was too casual about it.

Little did you know it was because he was trying to brace himself; prepare for what he was about to say next. He was terrified to admit it to you, terrified that you were going to hate him more than you already did. He had never been so scared in his life. He had prepared speeches to give to you about everything that he had done, but every time that he saw you he always lost everything he thought he had memorized, and he felt like it was the day that the two of you broke up all over again. He was so helpless, but he needed you to know.

“I was having a really good night,” JJ started, and you closed your eyes again. You felt so tense, and you knew that if you didn’t breathe and try to calm down you were just going to take whatever he had to say even harder. “You guys really decorated that place up. It looked really really good Y/N.” You could feel as he looked over at you. “It was so much fun, but I kept wishing that you were there. I took a shot for you. I took five actually, but I kept needing more. I was just downing them like there was no tomorrow.” He chuckled, as if he was recalling the night. The sound of his laughter made your stomach churn, and you dropped your head to the left, opening your eyes slowly. The car beside you was pulling out of it’s stall, and the woman driving gave you a smile before she sped off. You didn’t return it.

“And then I got a text from Barry.”

“Barry?” You asked, your ears perking at the name. So Rafe had been onto something. “Like… Barry Barry?”

“Yes,” JJ answered shortly. “That Barry.” You closed your mouth, feeling another sob start to make it’s way up your throat. Your breath hitched. If the situation actually hadn’t been cheating then…

“Drugs,” you whispered, praying to god that it wasn’t true. You had always looked down on Rafe for doing coke, and you had never expected that your boyfriend -- well, ex -- would’ve been one to do the same. Maybe it wasn’t like that, but nothing seemed to be much of what you expected anymore anyways.

Either JJ hadn’t heard you or he ignored your comment, but he continued on his story, his voice noticeably shakier. “He told me he had a little birthday gift for me,” JJ said quietly. “He said he got someone that was going to drop it off, and to wait for them out the back door. I guess he knew that John B. was having the party or something -- I don’t know -- but he told me to go out back and wait for the guy, so I did.” He paused, and you heard him swallow, his breath catching in his throat. “It wasn’t a guy though. It was three chicks.” Fuck.

“Krissy,” you mumbled, and you felt a single tear escape from your eye. It slid down your cheek, and then plopped onto the grey fabric of your shirt. “I thought they were the gifts and I told them you know ‘no I have a girlfriend’ and shit like that, but they said they were just there to give me the stuff, and then they would leave.” Out of the corner of your eye you watched as he raked his fingers through his hair, then swipe his thumb over his lip. His knee bounced as well, and you chewed on your cheek, worry growing inside of you. “I said they could come in for a second so I could take a look at what they brought and so they came inside and we went in this room. I- I didn’t have any bad intentions at all Y/N, I swear. I didn’t want John B. or anyone to see the-” “What did they bring?” You asked impatiently. You tasted blood from where you had bit your cheek. “What?” “What did Barry give you?”

JJ hesitated. “Drugs.” You felt your stomach drop. Barry had sent three obviously beautiful girls to give your taken boyfriend drugs for his eighteenth birthday. There was something that wasn’t adding up to you, but maybe it was just because you didn’t want to hear it.

“And did you do them?” “Y/N-” “Did you do them at the party?” You pressured. “There? With the girls? With Krissy? Is that when you slept with them?” “I told you didn’t sleep with anybody,” JJ answered firmly, and you sighed, releasing your grip on the steering wheel only long enough to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “But I did do the... the drugs.” “And what was it?” He didn’t hesitate that time.

“LSD.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and then your hands slipped down from the wheel. He had told you that he would never do any hardcore drugs, and he said that he meant it. But he also said that he would never lie to you, and he had.

“They said that I had to do it there, and so I did.” “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” JJ admitted. “And Y/N… I don’t remember much from that night. Everything was a blur, but I wasn’t in there long enough to do anything with them, and they were high but they knew not to touch me.” “But they did.” “I know,” JJ whispered. “I know. I was confused Y/N. I was confused and I couldn’t figure out what was going on and- fuck! I couldn’t even find the fucking door so I just stayed there with them hoping that it would wear off soon enough so I could go back to normal and I could tell how grateful I was that you helped plan such a great party.”

The weight in your chest slipped from your sternum to the pit of your stomach. Even if you wanted to get up and leave him, you wouldn’t have been able to walk or even stand. It seemed like you had a thousand pound sack of bricks on your lap, and your legs were being mutilated. You felt trapped there with JJ in that car. “Why would Barry do that for you JJ?” You asked, turning your head to look at him. Your eyes filled up with tears once they met his, and his lip quivered. He licked it, then reached into his pocket and pulled out his blunt, absentmindedly playing with it. “Because…” he sucked in a breath, then exhaled it slowly. “Because I know him well.” You were scared of what he had to say. You were absolutely terrified to listen, and he was absolutely terrified to speak. There was an unbelievable tension between the two of you, and it threatened to break your bones in on you. “So where’s the lie JJ?” You whispered, your voice shaky. “Where’s the part where you haven’t been entirely honest?” He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth as he winced, looking away. Your expression matched his, and two more tears rolled out of your eyes and down your cheeks.

“I didn’t want to tell you,” he rasped, his tongue swiping over his top lip. “I never knew how.” “Tell me what, JJ?” “The drugs.” “The dru- oh.” You knew then. You knew it. Everything went through your head in a millisecond, and you knew exactly why he had behaved the way he had all those times. It was shattering news. It wasn’t as horrible as you thought it would be because it wasn’t the situation you thought it would be -- which was that he was going to confess he had been cheating throughout your whole relationship -- but maybe in a way it was worse. At least if he had cheated you could’ve expected it because you already had prepared yourself for that confrontation, but the actual truth was something that you hadn’t braced for, and it hurt like a motherfucker. If he had been honest with you from the start you could’ve probably gotten over it, but he had lied to you.

“What kinds of drugs?” You choked out. “All kinds,” JJ whispered back. He was ashamed to tell you. “Coke, tabs of all kinds of shit. Molly- I did molly sometimes.”

“Is that where you always went?” You croaked, your throat incredibly dry. “When you said you have to leave?” He hung his head. For a long time the two of you sat in silence, you with tears streaming down your face and him rigid, barely breathing. At some point he lit up his joint, and he dragged on it until it was nothing but a stump, and then he flicked it out the window. You just stared blankly at the steering wheel, your whole body numb. There was a saying that went something like “I’d rather be hurt by the truth than comforted by a lie”, and in that moment there was nothing that you believed in more. All those months that you doubted yourself led to insecurities; were you good enough for him? Was he losing interest? Did he find you boring to be around? You could’ve saved yourself so much worrying if he had just told you the truth. When you began to doubt yourself you began to ultimately doubt him too, and late at night you questioned his loyalty. In a way though it felt as if you had still been cheated on. Felt like you were being cheated by the full honesty of your relationship. He wasn’t out with another girl, but he was with something that he couldn’t part with, not even to stay an extra hour after dinner, or hit a beautiful night at the beach. But your heart broke for him. He felt the need to lie to you. You wanted to tell him that it was okay, that it was going to be okay, and that you were okay, but you just couldn’t. Your chest was being ripped apart slowly, and you struggled to breathe. You couldn’t walk, you couldn’t talk. You were helpless and torn and hurt more than over; a combined hurt though, both yours and his. “You shouldn’t have had to keep that a secret,” you finally said, drawing out your words slowly as if you were hearing yourself for the first time. You still felt a betrayal, and you turned to him, shaking your head slightly with disbelief. “You would’ve rather had me believe that you cheated on me than admit that you do drugs?”

JJ opened and closed his mouth, and then slowly the tears pooled in his eyes, and his nose twitched like he was trying to hold back a sneeze. But he wasn’t, he was trying to hold back the sob that was threatening to take over his body. His chest crumpled in on him, and your own was panged with guilt and sorrow. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered as he averted his eyes. “I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was so fucking ashamed to tell you and…” he trailed off and his voice broke as a cry took over his body. Seeing him in pain was a hundred thousand times more awful than just you being in pain. If you thought your heart had broken before, it was nothing compared to what you felt in that moment. You knew what he needed, and you gave it to him. You wrapped your arms around his torso, stretching yourself over the middle console as you pulled him into you.. He heaved heavy sobs into your chest, and you tugged him closer, your hands planting themselves firmly on his back. His body shook as he cried, repeating apologies over and over while your own tears fell into his hair and stained his shirt. “You don’t have to feel ashamed,” you whispered, your voice muffled by blonde locks. “You don’t ever have to feel like you need to hide anything.” “You hated that shit,” JJ sobbed, and you placed one hand on his head, right at the nape of his neck. “You hated it all, but with my dad and all the shit I had to deal with I just lost myself. I didn’t want you to think any less of me.” Your heart panged. Oh, how much you wished you could’ve taken his sadness from him. You wished that you could’ve stripped him from his pain and let him be swallowed by your arms and your embrace.

“Never,” you breathed, pinching your eyes shut. “Never. I would never.” “Molly Y/N. I did molly. I did hallucinogens,” he cried into your chest. You could feel the wetness of his tears seeping through your shirt, and if it was possible at all, you pulled him even closer, feeling the weight of his body against yours. It was uncomfortable over the middle console, but you didn’t care. He was in your arms after so many weeks of not being held, and you missed everything about him. You missed his scent and his laugh and his smile and his jokes and every little quirk that he had. But your pain still stood. “You really hurt me JJ,” you mumbled into his hair. “I expected the worst case scenario.” “Of course,” he whispered. “Of course.” You brought your hand up a little further on his head, then began to stroke your fingers through his hair. You could feel his body relax slightly into yours, and you let out a shaky breath. “Did you tell the others?” He shook his head into your neck. “Sort of. John B. I told almost everything, but he was still upset with me for lying.” You licked your lips, tasting the saltiness of your tears.

“Me too,” you said quietly. And the two of you stayed like that for a while longer. After you had stopped crying JJ still continued to sob, and his body didn’t stop shaking until he realized that you probably had somewhere to be. “I shouldn’t keep you,” he said, pulling away quickly and swiping at his eyes. “You bought that shit for a reason.” He gestured to the groceries. You slowly pulled away as well, wiping at your own cheeks and running a hand through your hair. There was no way that you could hide your breakdown from Harry. You probably had a million texts from your mother too; it was way past dinner.

“I should’ve listened to you sooner,” you admitted quietly, pulling at the hem of your shirt. You could see the tear droplet stains on the fabric, but you didn’t care. “I was just scared of what you were going to say.” “I should’ve told you sooner,” JJ replied, his voice soft and sad. He had never been good with his emotions, you both knew that, but you could tell that everything he said then had come from the heart. He meant every word that he spoke, and he was truly sorry. It was a comforting feeling, to believe him again, but you knew that it would take a long time to trust him again. “I’m sorry I avoided you and- and doubted you.” “Don’t ever be sorry,” JJ rasped, cracking a sad smile as he wiped his eyes again. “Maybe… maybe we can talk tomorrow?” You looked down at your lap, sucking in a long breath. It was a big step to meet with JJ again. Well, meet with him intentionally. But you knew that you had to speak to him more. You weren’t just about to leave him when he needed you most. You nodded. “I’m not going to abandon you JJ. I’m so sorry.”

@daygiowvibe @kaylinfayezink @imsad05 @vibin-n-thrivin

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