#if you don't mean it don't say you do like come on how hard is that to understand star wars | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

xxxdreamscapexxx · 3 days

Text

Obedience

Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1.7k (Oops? This started as a ficlet, but it sort of got away from me... Oh well)

Summary: Wanda has to teach you obedience and sometimes that means doing as Mommy tells you, even if you don't want to.

Warning: NSFW, 18+, lesbian relationship, obedience training, edging, ruined orgasm, praise, pussy spanking, use of vibrator, top!Wanda, Bottom!Reader, Mommy Kink;

Masterlist with all my works.

Cruel Mommy Wanda, who puts you through obedience training, because she wants her special girl to always listen to Mommy, no matter how hard, or unfair, or down right mean her commands are. “Take your panties off.” She’d say, almost off handedly, while the two of you are at the door, ready to go out. “But you said we’re leaving…” You’d protest and she’ll only give you a stern look. “Yes, and I want you with no panties on.” Wanda would explain, watching the hesitation flash across your face before you comply. She’d have to train you out of that, she thought to herself, opening the front door, while you were still holding your panties. “Give them to Mommy.” She’d offer you her outstretched hand, watching you try to hide what you have in your hand while you give the panties to her. Wanda only puts them in her purse and guides you to the car, opening the passenger door for you and helping you inside, before she takes her seat at the wheel.

She touches you teasingly and edges you all the way to the store as punishment for your hesitation, all the while she explains that Mommy always knows best and you should never question her. If she wanted you to do something, than you must trust that she knows what’s best. And if she wanted you to hand your panties over to her, you should simply do so, without any reservations. If someone was to see, then it was your Mommy’s wish and that was final. As you walked through the store, your bare pussy leaking juices that smeared across your thighs, you could only think of that lesson, desperate to go back home, so you can beg Wanda to take care of the ache between your legs. Or she’ll message you during class and order you to send her a picture of your pussy. It’s not a request, it’s an order, but you still hesitate. “Mommy, I’m in class.” You’ll send her a text back and from the quick “Now!” that you get, you know you made a mistake. You quickly make an excuse and leave, to do as you are told, and once she receives her picture, you think you’ll be done, but Wanda is adamant that you have to learn obedience. She makes you slap your own pussy, right there and then and she tells you that she wants another picture. “If that pussy isn’t red enough for my liking, little girl, Mommy will spank that pussy till it’s raw.” She sends quickly and you only stare at the message with wide eyes, but you know better than to disobey. You know her hand will be much crueller than yours can ever be. Over time you learn your lesson, each mistake, each hesitation was followed by cruel punishments, until you stopped thinking twice before you do as you’re told and Wanda couldn’t be prouder, but she still wants to test the limit of your obedience, so she makes you kneel on your shared bed, legs open and your hands behind your back, while she pulls out your favorite vibrator and lays it under you. She’s left you denied for a few days now, just to makes this all the more tempting and she watches your inner struggle while she switches the vibrator on.

“Go on, my love, lower yourself on it.” She tells you, her voice sweet and calm and so much kinder than her assessing eyes. You do as you are told, the vibrations so good against your needy clit. You want to grind on it, but you know better than to take more than is offered and Wanda practically beams with pride. “Look at you! You’ve come so far, my darling girl. Mommy trained you well.” She smiles, her gentle hand caressing your cheek. It makes you blush. “Thank you, Mommy.” You smile up at her making Wanda’s eyes sparkle, her heart swelling with love. She lets you stay that way, until you start to get close, offering you sweet kisses, her hands roaming your body and teasing your nipples. She marks your neck, sucks purple marks on your shoulders and collar bones, her steady hands groping your ass and squeezing the tender flesh. “Are you getting close, love?” She asks when your cute whimpers turn to moans of pleasure. You give her a nod, eyes pleading with her silently and Wanda smiles. Now the real test starts. “Get up.” She tells you calmly and she is impressed that you do as you are told instantly, even if it makes you whine at the loss of contact. “Was that mean, baby? Did you want to come?” She asks, her voice velvety. “Yes, Mommy. So mean. I want to come.” You admit shamelessly. “Hmmm…” She pretends to think. “Get back down on it, then.” She tells you, but she keeps her hands away now. She wants to see if you will obey her with no help from her at all. She wants to push your limits. And when you get close again, eyes closing in pleasure, chest starting to heave, her voice rings out again. “Up.” She demands and your body instantly follows even if you squirm restlessly. “Such a good listener, baby. Down.” She praises, letting you get back down on the vibrator.

You sigh in relief, a small sound instantly replaced by a moan as you feel that glorious feeling rise within you again. You’re so close and it makes you feel restless. You want to come so badly. You haven’t had a release in days and you’re desperate. Desperate to please her, to make her happy, to keep being her good girl. Desperate to earn your reward. “Get up.” Wanda commands when she feels you’re close, smiling when you once again do as you’re told. She’s so proud of you in this moment. Her perfect, obedient girl. “Please.” You let out a high-pitched whine, clenching your hands behind your back even tighter, resisting the urge to pull her close and beg while you leave sweet kisses on her face. Wanda loves that. Loves when you climb on top of her and start to kiss her all over, begging sweetly for whatever it is you need. Usually an orgasm. But today she doesn’t want you to beg. Not that she doesn’t like it. Quite the contrary actually, but it’s not the point. Today you just have to obey. “Do you want to come, darling?” She asks sweetly, almost cooing at how adorable you are. “Yes! Mommy, please? Please.” You beg again. “So you’re desperate?” Wanda questions, eyes narrowing to the spot between your legs, seeing your slick juices clinging to your folds. You’re soaked. Ready to be ravished and thoroughly ruined, just the way she likes you. “Yes, Mommy, please.” You nod at her, eyes wide and full of hope. “Lower yourself down then. Show me how badly you need to cum.” You do as you’re told, your body following her orders even before you’ve processed the words. Wanda can’t help but marvel at it. But she’s not satisfied just yet. She wants to see if you will do as told, even when you don’t like it. As your clit meets the vibrator again, you gasp. It feels so good. But before you know it, Wanda makes you remove yourself from the stimulation. She makes you edge yourself over and over again, each time letting you get a little closer, before she makes you pull away. “Up.” Wanda demands once more. You don’t know how many times you’ve done this now. This time you were a breath away from orgasming and she knows it, but you did as you were told. “Was that cruel, baby? Making you stop when you were so close?” She asks with a smile. “Yes.” You gasp, and she chuckles.

It doesn’t bother her that you admit to her cruelty. She can admit it too. She’s being mean to you right now, but then again, you like it. You like her little games, like it when she edges you, when she denies you sometimes, when she overstimulates you too. Honestly, you love everything she does to you, because at the end of the day, you love being hers. You were meant to be her submissive little girl and you will always stay that way. “One more time, baby. Put your clit on the vibrator.” Wanda instructs. Her eyes are so hungry now. You’ve done so well this far. You were magnificent. But she has one more test. The moan you let out when you feel the vibrator against your clit is mothing short of spectacular. So is the rising orgasm within you. You could feel it grow with each edge and now, you were ready to explode. The tidal wave of pleasure reaches its peak a few seconds later and you feel it start to tip over and you brace yourself for one of the most amazing orgasms of your life, when Wanda’s voice rings out again, loud and clear. “Up!” She commands sharply and you do so immediately, but it’s too late. The orgasm washes through you, ruined now, without the stimulation. You cry out in frustration, hips jerking pointlessly in the air, while your clit throbs without a single touch. “Did you cum, sweetheart?” Wanda asks, lifting your face up, so you would look at her. “Yes.” You nod sullenly. “Did you feel any pleasure?” She asks again, eyes inquisitive as she still holds your face. “No, Mommy.” You pout. You sound so whiny. “So there’s no way that you’re satisfied.” Wanda concludes and you shake your head. “Good.” She determines and she switches the vibrator off, pulling it from underneath you. “What do you say?” She asks expectantly. “Thank you, Mommy.” You say, still kneeling on the bed, arms pinned behind your back, just as she had ordered you when this started. “You did well, my love.” Wanda says more tenderly now. “You made me so proud.” She tells you as she strokes your hair gently. “You’re a good girl, baby.” She praises, watching as you start to calm. “My good girl deserves a treat for being so obedient for me” She continues, instantly bringing a smile to your face. “Lay down for me, love.” Wanda guides you. “Let Mommy take care of you. I’m sure an orgasm or two will make up for that ruin.” She purrs, descending your body with a smile. After all, obedient girls get rewarded.

#lesbian #writing #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff smut #bottom!reader #top!wanda #scarlet witch

551 notes · View notes

lymtw · 1 day

Text

Thinking about those soft, nonsexual, intimate moments where you and Toji are lying in bed, with you on top of him. You're straddling him and your arms are thrown over his shoulders, clinging onto him like a little koala. Your face is buried into his neck and your eyes are shut as you bask in the warmth of his body.

"What's wrong, babe?" He asks, letting his arms come up to rest on your back. Having Toji's arms around you was like leaving every bad thing you've ever experienced, behind. He radiated the warmth of a thousand suns, and it soothed you like nothing else.

You didn't respond to his question, instead your lips pressed to his neck, brushing against him with the gentleness of a light breeze. You're smart enough to know that if you kiss him too hard, it'll start a fire in a moment where one isn't necessary.

He's smiling, softly, at your sign of affection. His palms rub your back, comfortingly, with little to no pressure. Toji is all for having sex with you, all the time and anytime. He's well versed in this method of intimacy with you, but he's not an emotionless machine. He recognizes well enough when you need more than an orgasm. He understands that you have a heart, and sometimes it needs to be tended to, regardless of whether it's damaged or not. Sometimes you just want to feel loved, and when times like these are presented to him, who is he to ridicule you for needing him?

He chuckles, softly. "Just wanna love on me, don't you, baby?"

His hands lower to the hem of your shirt, sliding beneath it to get to the warmth of your bare skin. The tranquilizing motions on your back return.

"Just need you to be with me, right now," you mumble into his neck. "I know this probably seems weird, but I just wanna stay like this for a while."

"Shh... you're alright, my sweet girl. We can be quiet for a bit."

You go back to lazily kissing his neck. You can feel his heartbeat thrumming against your lips, a rhythm that makes your own heart start to pick up that same pace. You take a deep breath and slowly let it out, pausing your movements to appreciate the distinct smell of his cologne. It makes you want to squeeze him until he can't breathe, or at least attempt to squeeze him that hard.

"Toji," you say, quietly, like you're saying it to yourself.

"Hm?" He responds, stilling his hands.

"Nothing. Just wanted to say your name. I like saying your name."

Another laugh rumbles through his chest, the movement shaking you a little. "It's yours to say."

"Can I keep saying it? Until it doesn't sound like a name anymore?"

He smiles, pulling one hand out of your shirt to place it on the nape of your neck. "By all means. Don't need my permission."

You giggle, the sound so clear beneath Toji's ear. If he had the warmth of a thousand suns, you had the beauty of the night's guiding moon.

"Toji," you say, softly. After every repetition of his name, you ghost your lips all over his neck. Toji thinks he could stay like this for longer than a bit. He feels at ease, knowing you're there, acting as his most cherished blanket. He feels so light, like he's not even in his body anymore. You don't even know how happy he is. You can't see the soft smile on his face and how it's failing to disappear.

"Toji," you repeated one last time.

He had lost track of how many times you said his name, but not once did he get tired of hearing it. He wanted to answer your call, this time. "Yeah, baby?"

"Love you."

In all your gentleness and loving, you offered him serenity, and he enveloped himself in it. If your love could be bottled, he would live off of it. He would cook it into his every day meals. He would blend it into his protein shakes. He would bathe in it. He would mix it with his cologne. He would live off of it like it's the secret to a life spent with you loving him the way you do. So what if he's addicted? It seems like the perfect way to go.

Toji could hear your light breathing. You stopped kissing him, and your arms went limp on his shoulders. You fell asleep. It was a common occurrence whenever you shared moments like these with him. It was the security, and his embrace, and his warmth, and his scent... all things that made you feel safe enough to doze off.

He pressed multiple quick kisses to your temple. Both of his arms returned to your torso, wrapping around it with a slightly tighter hold than before. "Love you, too, mama," he muttered against your temple. He ended up falling asleep to the sound of your breathing.

354 notes · View notes

chvoswxtch · 2 days

Note

macchiato over ice for frankie 🥺 (the rest is up to you!) 🩵

you should know better than to unleash me & set me loose with my thots when it comes to frankie but you did it anyway & I love you for it

I just wanna talk about the fact that frank definitely talks you through it so let's discuss

as a reminder over ice means it's spicy! (minors dni)

headcannon below the cut

frank castle talks you through it

the first piece of evidence i'd like to submit to support this theory is how many times we hear him say "attagirl"

the rest of the evidence i'm submitting is just bc I fucking said so

maybe you know you have a praise kink, or maybe you figure it out the first time he whispers "attagirl" when you're about to come for him. maybe it's all just contingent on frank but he definitely does not miss the way you react to it, & he decides to experiment with just how much you like it

he starts testing the waters one night when he's got you pinned to the bed beneath him, fucking you slowly bc he's missed you & he wants to feel you wrapped around him as long as possible after weeks away

"feel so fuckin' good baby, so perfect for me."

the way your cunt clenches around his cock when he whispers that into your ear lets him know he's definitely onto something

the next time he tests his theory, he's got you on his lap with your back pressed against his chest, your legs spread wide open with your thighs draped over his, & his hand in your panties, kissing your neck sensually while rubbing your clit with his thumb & slowly fingering you with his index & middle finger

"love how wet you get for me, pretty girl. look at you, makin' such a mess on my fingers. that feel good, baby, hm?"

frank enjoys praising you just as much as you enjoy receiving it. any chance he gets to worship you & your body he's absolutely going to take advantage of

he wants you to know how pretty he thinks you are, how perfect he thinks you are for him, how good you make him feel, how much he loves every single inch of you inside & out, how lucky he feels to get to be the one that gets to come home to you

he's got his head buried between your thighs, his rough hands gripping them tightly to keep them over his shoulders, his cock rock hard in his jeans at the way you're rolling your hips against his face & chanting his name to the heavens

he pauses only for a moment, just to get a good look at you above him, his voice rough with pure desire when he speaks

"taste so fuckin' sweet, baby. you gonna be a good girl and come for me?"

the way you moan when he calls you a good girl for the first time & how your fingers tighten their grip on his dark hair makes his lips split in a huge grin of pride

"yeah you are. that's my good girl. c'mon baby, let me have it."

he doesn't even bother trying to hide that he's gotten you all figured out now, & you sure as hell don't mind either. you look forward to hearing his praise every time the two of you are intimate. it doesn't just get you aroused, it also makes you feel good about yourself. it makes you see yourself the way frank sees you, even if only for a little while

frank is in heaven when he watches you writhe on top of him, rolling your hips in a steady rhythm as you ride him. his hands are everywhere, not an inch of your skin left untouched. they're gliding up your soft thighs, gripping your hips tightly, grabbing your breasts & squeezing them, wrapping his hand around your throat in a way that makes your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head

all the while he's gazing up at you like you're the most beautiful fucking thing he's ever seen, bc you are, & all he wants to do is please you

"attagirl, just like that. god, you take me so well, sweetheart. look so fuckin' pretty ridin' my cock like this. want you to come for me, sweetheart. c'mon...you can do it, baby...I know ya can. you're such a good girl for me, yeah? c'mon pretty girl, come all over my cock for me."

when he feels your pussy start to clench around his cock, he knows he's about to witness the most magnificent sight of you getting overwhelmed with gratification. gripping onto your waist tightly, he starts to thrust upwards to match your pace, desperately wanting to watch you fall apart above him

"attagirl, there we go. that's it...that's fuckin' it, baby...just like that. c'mon pretty girl, ride me harder. you're so close, yeah? I know baby, I know...I can feel it. c'mon, be a good girl for me and come."

frank doesn't stop just because the two of you are finished and spent. when he's got you wrapped up in his arms, relaxing in the afterglow, he's still whispering soft & sweet praises into your ear

"you were so good, baby. always so good for me. my girl...my perfect, pretty girl. love you so goddamn much, ya know that, right?"

in conclusion I need to be put down like a rabid dog

#court's 4k followers celebration #court's 4k friends celebration #court's cafe #frank castle #frank castle x you #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle headcannon #frank castle request #frank castle smut #the punisher #the punisher headcannon #the punisher request #the punisher smut

202 notes · View notes

amourane · 18 hours

Text

kick in the right direction

pairing: football player!seungcheol x mascot!reader

genre: fluff, university au

w/c: 0.9k

summary: seungcheol is the star football player in your university but he becomes a bumbling mess in front of you.

warnings: none, you do get hit by a ball though

a/n: i have decided to start writing fics for seventeen too because i just love them way way too much <3

Seungcheol doesn’t know what to say. He usually has an explanation for his actions. There doesn’t seem to be anything coming to his mind when he sees you on the ground. The problem with being the star player on the football team was the amount of trust his coach put on him. As well as the thought that they needed to win every game, that wasn’t a problem though because Choi Seungcheol was a beast when he was in game mode. His aim was the best on the whole team, he’d never missed a goal.

Obviously today was an off day.

“You’re staring, Cheol.” Jeonghan gives him a hearty slap on the back. “You really like our school mascot don’t you?” All Seungcheol can do is nod, watching as Seungkwan helps you up.

He really wants to go over and say sorry for nearly knocking you out with his kick but he can’t. Not because he doesn’t want to but because he simply can’t. It’s stupid really. Choi Seungcheol, star player of the football team, can’t say two words when he’s faced with you. He’s tried speaking to you. Once after a game, not the best choice because he’d become so nervous he spilt his water bottle all over you. Even after you told him it was fine he was still stuttering his words. Another time he’d managed to catch you walking down the hallway. The moment you smiled and said ‘hi’ his mind blanked. No words could come out of his mouth and he stood there gaping like a goldfish.

Talking to girls was easy for Seungcheol. He could give them a smile and they’d be fawning all over him. You were different. There isn’t one time he’s had a full conversation with you with nothing embarrassing happening. He’d stumble over his words or nothing would come out of his mouth. The only thing that kept him from giving up was the fact you would grin every time he came up to you and he didn’t like giving up.

“Of course I like her!” Seungcheol runs a hand through his hair. “I just don't know what to do?”

“You could ask her out.”

“I can’t!”

His friend arches an eyebrow, clearly puzzled. "What do you mean you can't ask her out? Like you're scared, or you don't know how to, because those two are completely different things." Jeonghan's tone is gentle but probing, urging Seungcheol to confront the root of his hesitation.

“That’s not it. I’ve got everything planned out. I know what to say and I know where I want to bring her to. There’s a whole plan in my notebook, it’s coloured in and everything!”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Seungcheol fiddles with the hem of his shirt. “Whenever I go up to her to ask her out my throat closes and I can’t find the right words. Or when I try to even write my confession, my hand freezes and no letters can be written. It’s even worse because I manage to make a fool of myself whenever I’m in front of her!” He kicks the football away.

Jeonghan sighs, staring at Seungcheol as he aimed a perfect kick to the goal. The boy was completely enamoured by you. Practically the whole school knew about his crush on you. Everyone was just waiting for the day the both of you would come in hand in hand.

“Y/n, oh my god! Are you okay?” Seungkwan was shaking you by your shoulders. You rub your head. That football was really hard. Who knew air could hurt you? “How many fingers am I holding up?” He waves three fingers around and your eyes struggle to adjust to his trembling hand.

“Calm down. I just got hit in the head, I don’t have a concussion or anything.” You just know there’s going to be a huge bump on your forehead tomorrow. “It’s partly Stuart’s fault.” You pat the dragon costume you had on. The fuzzy green body was heavy and the long swishy tail at the back was quite annoying to lug around.

"Why are you blaming our mascot? Stuart did nothing wrong," Seungkwan interjects, shooting a pointed glare at Seungcheol. "Star player my ass." He mutters under his breath, clearly unimpressed.

“Hey, don’t blame him. I’m sure it was an accident.” You give Seungcheol a little smile and an ‘okay’ sign to tell him everything was fine.

“I can’t believe you like that dumbass, he can’t string two sentences together when he’s in front of you.” Seungkwan helps you up, handing you Stuart’s head. You dust off the dirt on your costume.

What was there not to like about Choi Seungcheol? He was popular, athletic, smart and talented in everything. Not to mention he was the literal definition of eye candy. There hadn’t been many occasions where you two had met. He’d always stutter helplessly or his cheeks would resemble a fire truck, which was very endearing. It was quite funny seeing him stumble over his words whenever he tried to ask you out.

“Why don’t you just ask him out? You already know he likes you, not that he makes it the most obvious thing in the world.”

“But isn't it just the cutest thing when he tries to ask me out but he’s a stuttering blushing mess?” You giggle when you catch sight of the pout Seungcheol has on his face. “I hope he asks me out soon though, I can’t wait to finally go on a date with him.”

The smile you shoot at Seungcheol has him tripping over his feet, face planting into the ground. Suppressing your laughter behind your hand, you watch as he hurriedly picks himself up, only to see his teammates rolling on the floor with amusement.

“How long are you even willing to wait?”

“As long as it takes.”

#choi seungcheol #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol fluff #scoups x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #choi seungcheol x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #svt imagines #svt fluff #seungcheol imagines #scoups fluff #scoups imagines #scoups x you #seventeen scoups #seventeen #seungcheol scenarios

163 notes · View notes

scara-writes · 2 days

Text

orange juice: enchanting night

Fem! Beta Reader x Yandere! Omega Male

CW: SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT, mature content,pp to v, fingering(male receiving), oral(male receiving), edging, mouth to pp, orgasm denial, séx, yandere, male sub, fem dom, mention of torture, dark themes

Remember, I do not know how omegaverss works BUT I will make my own version—(if you see something different in the original universe lol). So if you don't like it scroll away! This is purely a smut with a small plot! Not good with a smut soooo scroll away if you find it uninterested. English is not my first language so yeah im sorry.

Yandere Luke's POV

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

"Strip for me."

A sentence that made Luke's heart skip a beat.

Fuck that's hot.

He slowly unbutton his cardigan, pulling it off with his pink shirt. The gaze that never leaves him made him more nervous. The male unzip his pants before pulling down, shyly looking anywhere but the person in front of him.

He folded his clothes neatly and put it on bedside table before sitting down at the middle of the bed. He sighs nervously, this is the first time he will have an intercourse with a person. Especially to the person he loved. Luke tries to keep his face calm as much as possible, but he cannot help but to breathe a little—like having a difficulty of breathing—when the woman infront of him starts to crawl towards him. His cock is half hard and it was curving upward, getting hard by every seconds. One of her hands starts to pull his legs closer to her. The first touch made Luke close his eyes, savoring the her hold on his skin.

"Touch yourself baby~ come on.. show me how it's done." Those whispers made him gulped in anticipation. It making him arouse even more. His trembling hand went to wrap around his shaft before his hand motions went up and down. He bit his lower lip suppressing his cute moans. He breathe through his nose emitting a small noises from the back of his throat at the sensation he was feeling between his legs.

When his eyes flutter open to look at the person infront of him. The look on her face made him bite his lip more. The way those sultry looks makes him feel small and safe."Don't hold back your moans. Lemme hear it, yeah?"

The omega feel a shame and shyness the way those (e/c) orbs looked at his cock that is starting to ooze out of his pre-cum.

"Slow... I want to see how my pretty baby stroke his pretty cock..." the omega obeyed at her sweet command. Of course, he would slow everything for her. And gosh, she's calling him pretty? Is he pretty? She has him flustered and whimpering at the nickname. Being called baby is enough but pretty? Her praise alone can make him go undone real quick.

"That's right baby... you're doing good for me.." she praised.

He moaned, he can't hold back anymore. "(Y-y/n)..! Nghh!"

The beta infront of him lean closer to kiss his neck slowly, she was even smiling smugly.

"Don't cum until I say so, yeah?" She shows her canine biting his collarbone making him gasped, nodding at her instruction. Bite him more! More mark him? His body is only for her. The only person who sees him as a person. The fondling on his shaft were stuttering everytime she leave a bite or a kiss around his neck and torso. It was difficult not to cum immediately with those sweet teasing touches from her. Luke called her name softly. "I'm here baby." She mutters licking his earlobe before biting it softly. This made the male huffs out of short breaths. His eyes are half daze, his hand around his cock were getting sloppy. "You wanna cum?"

"Y-yes.."

"Not yet... Hold it in okay? You're doing well so far." She kissed his lips. Luke whined at her reply but he kissed her back. She pulled away and starts attacking his neck once again. Smelling his pheromones. The beta hummed in delight."You smell good, baby~ all for me yeah?"

The omega nod. "A-all for (Y-y/n)..hahhngh!"

"I love you." She whispered between kisses and bites on his chest. Luke pants,"I-I love (y/n) t-too."

He didn't mean to cum when he felt a teasing bite from his nipple. The cum dribble down to his shaft, down to his fingers. It was so fast, he didn't mean to came to fast.

"That's.. to fast..." She commented. Luke bit his lower lip. He felt ashamed.

"baby~" she chuckled. One of her thumb went to press into his nipples, pressing and circling it in motion. Luke whimpered. "I-I'm sorry, i didn't mean to cu—"

She grabbed his hand that was wrapped around his cock replacing it with hers before leaning again to his face, plantinh her lips on his, resulting for Luke to lay down the bed. One of the beta's hands went to hook the omega's right leg onto her hips.

Luke moaned, drowning at the woman's pheromones. Both of his hands went to unbutton her shirt pulling it away from her body and then unclasping her bra behind, throwing it somewhere in his bedroom. He gasped when his cock's slit is being rub in a little fast. Her tongue that's exploring his mouth went deeper after he opened his mouth from the surprised.

"Nghh..!hungh~!" He whine when she push her tongue deeper into him. She's too much for him! She's devouring him a little to fast.

When she pulled her kiss away wiping the saliva from her chin, she chuckled when she noticed his face. Luke may look pathetic under her gaze, that's fine by him as long as he can please her. He whimpered when the (h/c) laugh, one of her hand that wasn't stroking his cock went to wipe his drool from his chin. "You're so cute."

"(Y-y/n)..." He murmurmed before getting surprised when she goes down below him, between his legs.

The omega cried, feeling a teasing kisses on his tip and a painfully slow stroke on his shaft. Shallow breaths is huffing out from his mouth.

"Messy.." he heard her muttered, the way the sticky pre cum went to her hands before licking his tip and then swallowing him halfway.

Squelching sounds were echoing inside the bedroom. Luke's hair already disheveled, his bangs were sticky on to his face due to the sweat producing from his body. The male was covering his mouth, muffled moans and whimpers were coming into him. He is biting the back of his palm, getting teary from the ministration below his stomach.

"H-hahh....nnghh (y/n) p-please!"

He feels so good, the way her warmth from her mouth just added stimulation—her tongue twirling on his cock slit. She's too much! Too fucking much! If she keeps doing this he will cum sooner!

He grab a handful of hair trying to pull the beta away between his legs for feeling the overstimulation. The way his cock disappears in her mouth was so intoxicating to look at. Everything about her is just endearing, his desires for her has increased ten fold. Your moans vibrating around his haven. "(Y/n)... N-no s-stop—hukk! Hahh!" Feeling his high is about to reach but suddenly the said person stopped. Popping out her mouth from his cock.

"Ffuck..!" The pink haired male cursed. He looked down between his legs to see you kissing his tip, running her hands up and down at his shaft, teasing him. You look so beautiful.

So pretty,

So ethereal,

So gorgeous,

"(Y-y/n).." he whined arching his back slightly hoping she would go back to giving him an oral butthe female smirk at his frustrations. Luke stares at her with a teary eyes, she grab the hand that was gripping her hair before kissing the palm and then intertwining it with hers. The (h/c) haired woman lick her lips, stroking him for a bit and then she halts. "I thought you said to stop?" She teased. "(Y/n) P-please that's n-not what I—"

The woman below him went back swallowing him again, bobbing your head up and down faster than the last time. Luke never felt euphoric other than this. The way her eyes flutter, not breaking an eye contact with him is just too much for the omega. Everything about her is so sensual, so beautiful, so ethereal. The person who will cherish him.

The male feel flustered when her eyes landed to so many love bites and hickey she left from his neck all the way down to his thighs. Those captivating (e/c) orbs made his heart pounded even more. His cock is throbbing inside her mouth again but the omega whined when her hands stops, pulling her mouth away from him. "S-stop teasing please! L-let me have it!" He cried. Pushing his hips up to meet her mouth but she only gave him a smile."Baby.. you have to be patient~" she whispered. Tracing her nose from his stomach till she reach beside his right ear. "You have to be quiet too~ don't want your neighbors hear your sinful voice now, do you?" The woman got up and leaned down his face. The purple eyed male pulls her head with his other free hand kissing her deeply, licking every corner of her mouth as both of them groan in pleasure. His manhood stood up grinding himself to her belly. The pre-cum starts smear on her stomach.

(Y/n) other hand went to grab his hips stopping him from grinding, she let herself go from the kiss clicking her tongue in a teasing manner. "Ah-Ah-ah~.... Someone's getting eager.."

The beta woman kissed his forehead basking into his scent as Luke gazed at her with tears threatening to spill from his eyes."..don't tease me...!" He plead, ignoring the way his voice cracked. She only gave him a teasing smile.

Luke can't help but to find everything about her hot. Especially those smile.

The hands that was still entertwined was pulled to her lips. The (h/c) haired woman switch her hand that intertwined brush under his wrist to grab it, kissing every fingertips of Luke. He shudders the way her gaze never break eye contact with him, until she bite the side of his palm. Luke hissed watching as she kiss it as a way to apologize.

"Help me pull down this, pretty." She instructs referring to her box pants. Luke eagerly helped her, their other hand still intertwined. He pulls it down her until it reaches to her feet and she kicks it away as it landed on the floor. He brought back his leg that was once on her hips.

"Spread them f'me better, baby." She whispered, refferring to his lower body. Carressing his thigh with her available hand letting his wrist go. You pinch both of his inner thighs licking your lips, your eyes peering down between his legs. "Gosh you're so soak down here..." The beta chuckled, prodding one finger in his ass. The juice coming out from him kissed her fingers and brought it up to her face. The female is smirking giving him a teasing look."Oh my... Do you see this baby? How wet you are f'me?" The male bit his lower lip looking away in embarrassment." Awe, don't be shy now... You sounded like a slut earlier." She taunted letting go off her hand from his. Focusing on his pleasure once again.

"(Y-y/n)!" The omega yelped when he felt two finger inserted in his hole without a warning. He wasn't expecting her to insert it already. It felt like his inside is clenching on her fingers as she scissor it in motion before curling it and then inserting another finger. He moaned arching his back the way she added more stimulation as your other hand went stroking his shaft. "Say my name.. Luke, who's making you feel good right now? Who do you belong to?" Her lips swallowed his tip licking the slit between.

"N-no! Its too much! Ngh.. huhhhghh!" He gripped the sheets besides him. This is heaven.

A paradise for him.

The way she hit his right spot made him utterly in heaven.

She went faster and faster. The feeling of her power on his body is making him feel so many emotions, a triple desire, a new addiction.

"Ahh! Hahh!"

She slightly chokes when his own body push his hip to her mouth unexpectedly. "H-hahh..nnoo (Y/n) please! It's too good! T-too much!" He babbled.

But she stop, moving her mouth away from his cock. The female pulled out her wet fingers from him, stroking his shaft painfully slow. Luke whined. The high he was about to reach was snatched by the same person who gives him the access to experience it.

"W-why?! Why did you stop again?!" He cried."p-please! Just let me have m-my way... Please!"

"You didn't answer my question earlier, baby." she teased. She pull his leg to her shoulder even more having more access to his entrance as her prod his twitching hole with her fingers. "Who do you belong to?" Her voice was small. "Who could make you shudder like this? Make you feel good hmm? Tell me, baby~"

The beta insert one finger curling it around and then going in and out painfully slow. Luke bit his lip. Hearing how his entrance squelched in just one finger you inserted. It's so slutty and he can't believe he can get off on that. He whimpered before muttering your name.

She teased. "Hmm? I didn't hear you~what was that?"

"(Y-y/n)! I b-belong to (Y/n)!" He blurted. "Please!m-make me feel good! I'm yours!" One tear fell from his eyes.

The beta giggled kissing his cheeks before going back down between his legs. "See? It's not to hard to say it... That's my good boy." She praised.

She went back to her ministration, finally giving what Luke wanted. The omega's gaze were halfdaze throwing his head back as she give him what he wanted. Carressing her hair, he praises her.He came inside her throat, the male witness how the beta between his leg swallowing his spent. Coughing a little before sitting up straight, his leg on her shoulder stayed there as she guided it higher until its beside her neck. The woman straddle on the omega's hip except the side where his leg that is lifted on her shoulder. Luke looked at her entrance, he shudders seeing her own entrance is damp too. It so perfect for him.

"You ready, baby?" She ask gripping his leg on her shoulder, leaning down on him. Her entrance is hovering over his dick.

Luke gulped, his eyes full of lust, love and longing. He nod. "Always.. (y/n).. only for you."

She smiled kissing his jaw. Luke sighs dreamily, begging her. "(Y/n) put m-me in. Please, please!"

She chuckled at him being impatient as he is. "As my baby's wish~"

She slowly slip her entrance, warming his cock. The two groan in the sensation. The pink haired omega feel flustered watching as she sunk deeper into his cock. He groaned the way her gummy walls tighten around his cock as her slowly starts ride him.

"S-shit—! (Y/n). Feel so good! Oh hahh...!"The pink haired sob. "I-I will knot you!...nghh! I will knot you..oh so g-good! Please let me knot you!"

The moaning and groaning and slapping skin can be heard inside Luke's room. "Fuck, Luke..." She moaned, he quickly catching her by intertwining his hands with hers again as his other hand went to her hips guiding her, while finding her sweet spot. Her hips stuttered when he finally did. The couple can feel the climax. "Let it go, baby... Make me yours—hahh..."

"G-give me all... Fill m-me up..!" She moaned out.

Luke cursed, feeling the stars in his vision. The stimulation was too much to bare. He can't, the way she tighten around was too much—too good!

"(Y/n)—"

"Shit. Luke hold my hand tighter b-baby—!" You stutter feeling that you are about to reach the high. Luke tightened his hold on her hand intertwining her hands again. Kissing him deeply, riding him faster, his other hand guide her hips bouncing in the right position to make her and himself feel good. Just a few more and both of them will feel the climax.

Luke lapped her lips as she did the same, crashing your weight down on him. "I'm close!" He whimpered closing his eyes any second now he will knot her.

He can feel it, the way she tightened even more around him. Any second now he will shoot his love inside her womb, regardless how a pair between omegas and betas has a small percentage of having a child. Still Luke will do it again and again with her until she is knoted perfectly to have his children.

The woman lick his mouth asking for him to kiss her, Luke obeyed. Pulling his head up to reach her face, the couple busy by love making. A small tune of background is starting.

"Baby... I-I think something is ringing.." she groaned , the room starts to get filled by something unknown sounds. The omega didn't notice he was to busy at love making session. He heard a familiar sound. One that he usually hear whenever he wanted to re-watch his favorite show. And a tube that he set up for the alarm clock.

"KISS KISS FALL IN LOVE~"

Purple eyes went wide open, sitting up straight. His pyjamas is drenched with his own swea, his lower region on the other hand was the most soak part.

Wait ...

The pink haired male glared at the beat up alarm clock that sang a song he used to love. He grab it and threw it at the nearby wall. Making the object explode its contents another task he will have to do it later when he get home.

Fuck...

The omega male is angry, he can't believe that all of that was just a dream. A wet dream. He didn't even get to fucking reach the heaven! Frustration is an understantment mood for what he is feeling right now.

This isn't new to him, It's been a month since he's having a love making fantasies with her and everytime the two of them about to reach the peak on that session, he would wake up sweating, hard, his pheromone sticking throughout his room.

He grab a pillow and buried his head as he screams. The omega didn't care if his neighbors heard him.

Once he calms down, he glared at the wall across his room. Infront of it was a small calendar. His eyes lit up.

He realize that today is the day he get to meet (Y/n).

The sourness mood in the morning soon dissipated as soon as the thought of her meeting him this week! And that day is today!

The omega got up, getting a quick breakfast and eat it, then to the showers, finding his favorite perfume he can find, spraying it to the each side of his neck, the one where she told him that he smells good last time. He look at the fridge with her and him smiling at the polaroid. His eyes soften as he gaze at her goofy smile. He took his butterfly knife pocket it beneath his sweater. Incase, he could protect from any harm. The male went to double check his basement just incase the man, who tried to assault him, he tortured last night wasn't escaping before leaving the house. He hopes he will die in starvation and infection before he dump his rotten flesh from the bone grinder and use it to throw it away as a foul meat.

Once, he lock the door behind him. He sprinted out of his house to the nearby bus stop so he can quickly get on time with you.

It took him twelve minutes to get to his destination. He hop down from the bus and starts to run again, he had to stop by at the his favorite cafe to buy some fruit tea she likes so both of him and her can enjoy the day on the park.

He skips happily, exiting out of the cafe as he look at the time from his watch to see that he still early. As he passed two blocks, he saw a (h/c) haired nearby. He quickly gaze to see if that's actually his crush, and it's actually her.

"(Y/n)!" Luke waved his hands, happy that he got to finally meet her again. He was carrying a two drinks, a fruit tea.Excitement was filling him up when he finally got to hang out with her on the week end. It has been three months and the two became bestfriends—atleast for her that is how she view her relationship with him. For Luke, it was just a step to make her his.

As he reached towards her, his smile starts to died down, his hands that was waving at her direction starts to waver. He witnessed that she is talking to someone, it was more like she is arguing with it. He was taller her height only reach on his shoulders length, he was built, a muscular. He reek of something he loathed. An alpha.

Why the hell is he talking to her?

------------------------------------------------------------------------

want more of him? Tap here

168 notes · View notes

shoyudon · 2 days

Text

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐒 .ᐟ

starring. geto suguru x fem! reader

heads up. non-sorcerer! au, college! au (the first bit)

note. so it's canon that geto gets more girls than gojo, what if he doesn't know how to chase after girls bcs he's used to being the one to attract others?

"you're staring again, suguru." gojo could almost cry out of frustration — typically, they would be opposites when it comes to girls. especially their way of approach.

gojo prefers doing it straight on and well, geto prefers the other way around. admiring from afar. and sure it does put an effect on anyone but you, someone he's been attracted to for the longest time, or so gojo exclaims.

"so?" geto replied, averting his gaze away from your figure, sitting on a bench under a big sycamore tree.

"so? what do you mean so? just walk up to her and talk," geto sighed out in annoyance — all his life he has attracted, not chase. so you figure it out, he doesn't really get the systematics of all this falling in love, getting a girl's attention and all.

if you think gojo is more popular, you're dead wrong. honestly, it would be a miracle to see nobody come up to them — impossible, i tell you.

geto has never thought of love this much. but when you came into his life, he's just . . . well, pretty much head over heels.

"no, what if i said anything wrong and she thinks of me as a freak?" gojo blinked his eyes in disbelief at what his friend just spat out of his mouth, never did he ever hear words of insecurity out of geto up until now, "she's just— perfect, i don't even know what to say to her."

rolling his eyes, gojo chewed on his half-eaten bubblegum flavored popsicle, "you're a freak."

geto grumbled softly, "how?"

"you're overthinking," gojo wasn't technically wrong — not to mention, all three of you were in the same history class, yet none you and geto of you have ever talked to each other personally. maybe gojo did, every once in a while, "it's not like she'll laugh at your face or something."

geto looks at him, "she might."

"you're overthinking. again."

geto shrugged his shoulders in response, his eyes yet again traveling to find you — to paint your beautiful figure, but you were no longer there. the bench that was once lively of your presence was now cold and lonely.

"suguru!"

indulging back in his reality, geto looked to the side where you sat beside him, "you're daydreaming, again!"

he chuckles softly, "i know, baby. i was thinking of something," his slender fingers flicked your forehead gently before wrapping around your upper arm, pulling you closer to his side.

"about what?"

"you. and how much of a freak i was before i started talking to you," geto whispers, kissing the side of your head — taking in your appearance wholeheartedly, "you're beautiful."

you rolled your eyes, joking, "you're still a freak."

eight years later, here you both were, sitting on a couch inside the home sweet home you both worked hard for. in love. and geto is still head over heels for you.

"mhm, whatever you say, baby. i love you." he leaned his head onto your shoulder, an arm draped over your waist.

"i love you too," you whisper, tangling your fingers in his hair.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #fluff #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #geto #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen geto #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto x female reader #geto fluff #geto suguru fluff

206 notes · View notes

brainddeadd · 2 days

Text

Worshiping Him

smut - body worship, praise kink, slight overstimulation, kinda subby yoongi/dom reader

Yoongi is lying down when you come home. He's sleepy, wearing some shorts you bought him and nothing else.

"Hi baby," his smile is dopey, his body relaxed, and you smile when you see him. "How was your day?"

"Better now that I've seen you," your voice is teasing, but you mean it.

"What's that look on your face for?" He knows what you want, he can tell, but he wants to hear you say it. Instead of answering, you pull off your work clothes and sit next to him on the bed, huffing from the effort after a long day. He runs his palm up your back soothingly, he knows you'll answer him when you're ready.

"I want-" you flush bright red.

"Baby, it's me." He's gentle, encouraging. "Nothing you say will be embarrassing or shameful."

"I want to worship you."

He blinks slowly. That's not what he thought you'd say. Fucked dumb? Probably. For him to use your throat? Maybe. Cockwarming? Possibly. But to worship him? That never would have crossed his mind. He could have been given a million guesses, taken years, and he'd still never have guessed that.

"If you don't want me to that's fine-"

"Woship me?" He's confused, voice coming out strained. "Why?"

It's your turn to blink at him stupidly. Why? Why? WHY?

"Min Yoongi, have you seen yourself?"

He splutters, and you roll your eyes, climbing over his lap and settling yourself onto his lap.

"Your lips are so kissable and pouty, I adore them," you press a soft kiss to his lips, and he holds you to him with a hand on your cheek.

"Your cheeks get so round and soft when you're eating, it's so cute." You give them a little pinch, making him swat your hands away before you press a kiss to each of his now blushing cheeks.

"Your nose has this cute lil freckle on it and I really just wanna boop it all the time," so you do.

"I love your hair, even more now that it's growing longer. It suits you, and I can pull on it easier," he shifts his thighs under you, and you can feel his cock slowly growing harder under your weight.

"I love your jawline, it's so sharp and defined." You trace your finger across it. "I'd say it could cut me, but you wouldn't like that."

He nods, and shrugs- you know him well. He never wants you hurt. Even if it is from his own jaw.

"Your neck is so hot, I love the way it looks when you throw it back in pleasure and the sounds that come from deep in your throat - rapping or otherwise." He moves to push his hard cock into your clothed cunt, and you move away. "Nope, no pussy until I'm done worshiping you."

He whines and you shut him up with a kiss before continuing.

"I love your collarbones and the way you're so sensitive there." You kiss each of them before pushing him so he's lying down again. You trace your finger down his chest and ghost over his nipples, causing his hips to buck up into nothing.

You giggle slightly and press slightly onto his nipple, causing him to whine again.

"Fuck baby." He's about to beg, so you remove your hands entirely and let him relax onto the bed again.

When he's somewhat relaxed, you place your hands on his stomach, running your fingers over the hard planes of toned muscle and smooth skin.

You move, so your face is in line with his stomach, and you place kisses over his skin, tracing your tongue along the ridges of his muscles. He squirms, hands moving to your head, wanting to push you down to his hard, leaking cock that's leaking and making a mess on the inside of his shorts. His hips buck up, seeking friction that he fails to get.

You trail kisses down his stomach to the waistband of his shorts, letting him get his hopes up, before you place a kiss directly over the growing patch of precome and you stand up, hearing him whine and watching him shudder.

"Baby, please, need you." Yoongi is begging.

"Patience baby, I'm not done yet." You fake a pout. "You don't want to ruin my fun do you?"

Yoongi shakes his head, and you smile at him, "good boy."

To say Yoongi whines would be too kind. The noise is guttural and deep, and you can tell from the way his stomach is tensing and hips are bucking, that he's cumming, untouched. You decide to be nice, and press your hand to his cock, letting him rut up into it until his orgasm is over.

You let him catch his breath, keeping you hand pressed to his still hard cock, knowing he likes the warmth, and smile softly at him when he opens his eyes.

"M'sorry." He whispers, chest heaving.

"It's ok baby," you kiss the closest patch of skin, his knee. "But we're not done yet."

He sucks in a breath, and you move your hand from his cock.

You place a kiss on his left ankle, trailing your lips up his leg, occasionally bringing your tongue out to trail on his smooth skin. You repeat the process on the other side, kissing up his inner thighs and stopping just before you get to his cock.

Standing, you pull a noise of protest from him before you pull him up to a sitting position and slip into the space behind him. There, you kiss the space between his shoulder blades and each of the scars from his shoulder surgery before you pull him back to lean on your chest.

You reach around in front of him, kissing his cheek and ghosting over his nipples again, before you - finally - slide your hands beneath his shorts, your fingertips meeting the cum from his previous orgasm.

He leans his head back onto your shoulder, already breathing heavily, and you grip his cock, making his breath hitch in his throat.

Slowly, you start to move your hand along his cock, making sure to apply pressure to the veins on the underside and to run your finger along the slit in his tip - something you know drives him wild.

Soon enough, he's panting, his bucking and moans falling from his mouth. You kiss his cheek again before moving on of your hands to his balls, squeezing gently and tugging his cock, which makes him let out another guttural noise, his cum flowing over your hands and making more mess in his shorts.

"Good boy, so good for me." He whines again and bucks his hips one last time before his body goes slack, and he tries to grab your hand through the material of his shorts. You smile and bring your hand out, licking his cum off first, and taking his hand in yours.

"Thank you." His voice is quite, relaxed.

"I love you." You let him rest on you for a few moments before you nudge him gently. "We've got to clean you up, baby."

He groans but moves anyway, knowing you're right and helps you off the bed, his hands coming up to undo your bra and pull it off your body.

You moan as he moves to touch your nipple and pull his free hand up to yours, taking his fingers into your mouth and sucking like they're his cock.

"You're gonna be the death of me."

134 notes · View notes

heliiacus · 24 hours

Text

of misery and company

tags: armin x reader, reader is scared to sleep, reader has constant nightmares, reader is implied to have ptsd, hurt/comfort, armin comes to the rescue, comforting armin, pre-relationship but can be interpreted however you wish, hyper-independent reader, reliance avoidance, reader is afraid of sleeping in the dark, cuddling, making tea as a love language

warnings: none, but mind the tags

Amidst a growing struggle to sleep because of incessant nightmares, Armin takes up arms to help you, just for this one night, get some much needed sleep. Consequences come abundant - not disastrous, and not terrible, but consequences nonetheless. Or the one in which you learn that, perhaps, just this once, you can trust someone to help you.

word count: 3.7k

Though you do not notice, your hands shake as you hold the phone. It's a delicate shaking, more a tremble than anything else.

It didn't start out like this. At least, you don't think it did. Early morning, as you woke slowly from your sleep, you'd found your screen lit up with his name, and therein was an odd feeling within you as you picked up without a thought; of something tugging, harshly and painfully, at your heart. The two of you had just talked. School this, plans that. He had a question about your project. That was all it was.

And when you do finally notice, knuckles white as you try to keep your phone steady, you are glad Armin is not here to witness it. You are glad he doesn't know. This is private, after all. You don’t mean to burden him, after all.

But he does, you soon find. You do not know how, but he does.

"Are you okay, Y/N?" You hear him ask through the call, voice firm and unwavering, quiet in its warmth. He does that, though you think he does not notice; his voice grows smooth when he is worried, tone evening into a softer cadence, as if he were approaching some animal, spooked and scared.

You open your mouth. Of course, yes, you are. Of course you are. And those words sit still by the edge of your tongue. Just say it, you tell yourself. They’re just words.

But your hands shake. And you can't wrestle yourself out of this feeling: of dread, of a kneeling, horrible viper in your stomach; and beneath it, writhing quietly, a fear of a wretched sort.

"Not really," you admit then truthfully, and you are almost surprised when you hear just how tired, how defeated you sound. And once those two words are out, you feel it: the ache in your bones, the exhaustion, and the tiny, sad urge to reach outwards, to grasp onto something, anything, and then to keep it close. "I’m really tired," you admit then, clasping the phone in a hard grip. “I haven't been sleeping well this week."

"Nightmares?" Armin asks gently, and you have to close your eyes momentarily, holding back the hot tears that his tone threatens to bring out of you. You hum in response, unable to form words. "How bad?"

"Very," you manage, just barely, and you think you hear it now, in what Armin had heard your misery: not the trembling of your hands, but of your voice. "Sorry," you add quickly, and then, even more shaken: “I woke up recently, so I’m still a mess."

“I understand," he tells you immediately, "I’m sorry, Y/N. How long has it been going on?" And his voice turns gentler, somehow. Quieter. With your exhaustion, it could lull you to sleep – if you'd let it.

"Close to two weeks, I think," you tell him weakly, though it's felt like an eternity.

You hear him sigh, the sound light and sad and trembling in a way that makes your chest ache. “I didn't even notice," he says demurely, quietly, and you try to think of an answer, of words that would flatten the guilt out of his tone, but you lay there silently, unable to think of any. It is then that he speaks again, his words treading even more carefully: "Has anything helped?"

“I don't think so," you answer truthfully, and you wish you had the guts to just lie to him. "I've been, uh.. Well you know. Soothing videos, teas, and the like. I think even talking it out in therapy sort of made it worse." You sigh. “I don't know. I’m sure it will go away. I’m just tired, and, well, uh.." You trail off, feeling like you've said too much already. It makes you grow silent, wishing the words back, knowing he will ask now.

"What is it, honey?" And the words that leave him are so gentle, so careful, you have no choice but to tell him; clutching your phone so hard you are sure your knuckles have grown translucent.

"It's stupid,” you begin, “but I’m starting to get this feeling, like I’m afraid to go to sleep. Each night, I mean. I lie down and there's just this anxiety, and I.." You sigh. "I’m sure it will be fine, eventually."

Another silence passes between the two of you, this one shorter, more poignant; you could tell when Armin wordlessly demanded a moment to think. You are glad to grant it, despite the trembling that is slowly returning to you.

"Earlier, um," he begins, his voice so quiet it feels almost sheepish. Discomforted. Sad, you realise belatedly. "You told me that another person's presence calms down the nightmares. Do you think we should try that? Maybe I can help."

You are quiet, words mulling over and over in your head, and immediately you feel shame. How desperately you want to accept his help; how achingly soothing it is that he even offered. That he remembered.

“I don't want to overstep," he tells you hurriedly, taking your silence for discomfort, and you have to fight, ruefully, to hold your tears back again.

“I don't want to burden you," you admit to him, and then you open your mouth again, your words soon eclipsed by his own quick, helpless admission.

“I don't want to leave you by yourself like this," he tells you openly, worry seeping into each word now, unheld and unabashed. "You're always alone through this, it's not right," he continues, and you feel the edges of the phone dig into your palm. "Let me help you, Y/N. Please."

You don't think. You don't hesitate, or you don't allow yourself to. You just open your mouth, and, finally, you say: "Okay."

You don't miss the look he gives you, stepping over the threshold into your home. Like caught in the headlights, or watching roadkill; or both all at once. It is brief and painful, and then you are in his arms, the embrace so warm and soft it almost lulls you to sleep right then and there.

“I brought snacks," he says into your hair.

“I know."

“I truly don't mean to be a nuisance," you begin come evening, and by way of Armin's shoulders tightening into a thin line, you can tell he had anticipated it. You bar yourself from crying at this. You feel unsteady, weighed by a force you can't seem to shake off your frame, and even now you are unsure if you're saying the right thing. “I just, I feel bad. You.." You trail off, pointedly distracted by the look in his eyes as they rise to meet yours. There is an odd quality to them now, something almost sharp, almost desperate.

You regret having said a thing, and though the feeling is horrid, heavy, and true, it is short-lived; killed off by his hand brushing at your hair, then folding, ever so gently, a strand behind your ear. The strand relents, but only for a moment, falling right back into its place a moment after.

"That's enough, Y/N." he says finitely, a gentleness seeping through him to you. "You're tired. I’m just here to help. Okay?"

It is hard to agree, but you do, swallowing your words; nodding wordlessly. He does not seem convinced by it, but he says nothing; opting, instead, to stand and drag you to the kitchen.

He picks a pink mug for you. He knows where to find chamomile tea, grasping it blindly.

You stand, hips leaning into the counter, and watch as he makes the two of you tea. You wish you could calm yourself; or rid yourself of the need to apologise, at least.

"You're staring," he says, not looking your way as he pours the water.

"I’m fascinated," you quip half-heartedly. "Very poignant tea-making."

"Ha ha," he replies dryly, smiling your way. "Tell me, then. What's so fascinating?"

"You chose my favourite mug," you tell him, finding that the words leave you without your permission.

"Of course."

"And my favourite tea."

"Of course. The only tea you drink, you mean."

“I drink other teas!" You rebut, indignant, though he is, of course, correct.

"Oh yes, the green tea you drink once a year," he laughs, and you laugh with him, though yours is softer; wilted, almost. "Y/N," he begins then, turning to you, tea steaming at his side. “I can tell by your look. If you apologise again, I will whack you with this spoon."

You smile at him, the gesture sheepish. “I can't help it," you tell him earnestly, and laugh again when he raises the spoon.

"How is it," he asks then, putting the threatening spoon back in its place, "that you ask for help so easily when it's something practical? School work, writing, you've had me fix your laptop - hell, your washing machine." He looks at you. "But as soon as it's something like this, something to do with a drop of emotions, it's like you become a different person." He finishes quietly, and you are struck, momentarily, by how sad he sounds as he says it.

You can't help it. Your gaze falls, and your arms wrap around your frame protectively.

"You didn't even ask for help," he continues, quieter, gentler, as if trying not to spook you. “I asked you, no, I put it on you before you could even ask for anything. You didn't make me do anything." He steps closer to you, and you fight the urge to close your eyes just as much as you fight the need for him to close his arms around you. "There is nothing for you to feel so guilty over."

"I’m just scared," you admit to him, blurt it out, really, and then you meet his gaze; you grow speechless then, stunned at the depth of warmth in it. It pulls words out of you. "I’m scared of them. The nightmares. I’m scared of what caused them. I think it just, inadvertently, makes me scared of you, when I’m like this." You close your eyes momentarily, trying to steady your breathing. "This doesn't make sense. Sorry."

"It makes perfect sense," he says firmly, brows furrowed in worry. His gaze digs into you, urging you to continue.

“I just.. I don't know. I do grow into a different person. I get scared and guilty, when I need help. I try to do things my way. Power through. Rationalise. It's not normal for me, for someone to up and say 'I can tell you're suffering, let me come and help you'. It's just not."

Your voice shakes. You can't read the look on his face. In moments, he steps closer, his hand rising and curling around your cheek. His thumb swipes at the skin, wet and warm. How horrible, you think briefly; you didn't even notice you are crying.

"I'll stay and help. Okay?" He murmurs quietly, hand gentle at your cheek.

"Okay," you say, the word shaky and unstable in your throat.

"Can I hug you?" Armin asks you, delicately, almost warily, and you cry then; really, truly cry.

“Please," you say, and before the word is finished, you are burrowed in his chest, your head held tightly in his hand, and here, for just a brief moment, you can let go.

"Try to focus on this," he says quietly, leaning his shoulder into yours, the show blaring softly in the background.

He offered you to talk about your nightmares, just once; he'd tried to talk to you about the reason why. Neither of the conversations worked, and so he'd settled into distracting you. You tried, in turn, to comply, to entertain the distraction, but in the end it is him, and him alone, leaning into you, finding your hand and squeezing it once in every while, looking at you with that expression, that manages to soothe you, each time, without exception.

"How are you feeling?" He asks you, handing you another mug of tea and you soon find that he has managed to make it a perfect, lukewarm temperature.

"Tired," you admit, smiling at him weakly, and you watch as he sits down next to you, your eyes meeting at a level now.

"You could maybe take a nap?" He offers, taking your hand in his. “I know you don't like to nap, but you don't need to entertain me if you're tired. I want you to get some rest."

“I know," you tell him, squeezing his hand, and then you revel in the way he squeezes back.

"Oh, nap time?" He asks gently, smiling at you as you squint at him through your exhaustion, and on your third, heavy blink, you realize that you have nearly dozed off on his shoulder.

“Shut it,” you say, settling into his side, and his laughter lulls you to sleep.

And so it continues, from lunch to dark. He rubs your back occasionally. He chats you up with tiny knick-knacks of a conversation. He watches you almost hawkishly, tentatively offering help or kind little words. Here, in your state, it almost feels like he's cradling you, watching over you in ways no one's been allowed to before. But he is. Of course he is. And he knows it, too; so he takes the opportunity and helps you in every which way he knows how: holding you gently in his hands, ensuring you know you are safe and cared for now; soothing you, over and over, to try and take the horrors off your mind, and to finally tell you: "You will never be alone again."

You do not believe him, of course. Not fully. But there are parts of you that are too tired to fight it, too tired to lean back and reassess and tell yourself that you need to step the hell away. You are tired. Too tired. So instead, unlike you should, you lean into his hold, and you let him ease you, and you repeat those words of his to yourself, again, and again, and again.

By the time the sun has set, you have no more tension in your bones. You laugh; warily, but you do, open-mouthed and loud, and then you turn over and laugh harder as Armin continues with his story. It is all you have in you anymore, save for the buzzing in your muscles and the exhaustion in your chest.

And there's this look he gives you. Wary, and kind, and bright in a way that makes you feel loved. It is only when you sigh heavily, tiredly, that the wariness overtakes it, that he tells you that the two of you should likely head to bed soon.

"We should," you agree, nodding, feeling your hair curl around your temples.

He offers you more tea as you head to get ready, and while you decline, you do not stop yourself from teasing him about it.

"It's the least I can do," he tells you, sheepish and shrugging his shoulders, and he smiles when you laugh.

"Far from the least," you tell him, and you turn for the washroom.

You find your nightlight turned on when you come back into the bedroom, and though you know you shouldn't be, you still find yourself surprised at the sight. Armin would never forget it; you know he would not, even if it was just once, just this one long evening in which you had confided, briefly, that you are afraid of the dark. And yet still, he remembered, and you are happy that he did; you are humbled, perhaps, or touched in a way that makes you feel like bursting into tears right then and there.

"Ready?" He asks, and you feel incredulous, almost uncomfortable as you watch him fluff your pillow. You make an indignant sound at the sight, and he shakes his head at you, laughing and finishing the job. Perhaps it is the oddity of the gesture, or the culmination of all the coddling he's done to you throughout the day, but this, too, has you holding back tears; this, too, has your heart unwinding, falling apart at its seams.

"Thank you," you answer with a finality, standing stock still at the foot of the bed, and he looks at you, just briefly; his eyes flit away from you, but then he looks at you again - longer this time, lingering and watching you with that sad look in his eyes.

You know he means to say something, something long and winded and perhaps morose, but instead you watch as he swallows it, and then you watch as he smiles at you, patting his hand at your side of the bed. "Hop on in, Y/N. It's time to sleep," he tells you, and you do.

And you laugh ardently then, his own laughter following suit, as his hands tug expertly at your blanket to tuck you in; you'd expected it, by this point, but it still amuses you. And he just smiles at you.

When he is done, he stays there, close to you, inches away from you; in case you need him - you know that now.

"Are you comfortable?" He finally asks you, and it feels lighter than you think he intended it to be, and in turn you smile at him, weak and earnest, your hand curling next to his.

"Snug as a bug in a rug," you reply, and you feel a finger of his curl around a finger of yours.

"One hell of a rug," he replies, grin lopsided, and, watching it, you try not to think of the nightmares, of the fears, of the trauma; you take his hand in yours, and a moment after you let it go, pulling yourself closer to him. His arms encircle your frame in mere moments, the hold taut and careful, and then you can feel him breathe into your hair.

"Don't be afraid," he whispers to you, his hands at your back, pulling you closer still, and there is a brief moment in which you fervently wish you could bottle this feeling; if not for safekeeping if not for hoarding, then for it to stand guard upon your windowsill, keeping you safe from the nightmares forevermore. "I’m right here," he continues, and you feel just how warm he is against you. "Nothing will hurt you. You'll just sleep. It's okay."

You didn't have to ask him to soothe you; you didn't have to ask him for anything at all. Inexplicably, he knew, just like he knew all of you; just like you, perhaps, knew all of him. You find your hands in his shirt, and you can smell him again, this up-close; a sweet vanilla, so gentle it soothes you, so gentle it makes your last wall crumble.

"Tell me you'll keep me safe," you plead with him, words so quiet you'd be surprised he heard them at all. And he does. You know he does, even when your hands go slack, even when your mind goes blank; you know the words echo in your room, even if you do not hear them.

When you wake, it is quiet, and yet you know that Armin is awake. By his heart, you think; a delicate staccato that repeats over and over in your ear, so clear you can hear the echo of it, reverberating in his chest.

You find his hand in your hair, then, as your breathing deepens. He caresses it; gently. Slowly. "Sleep some more," he whispers to you, and you close your eyes, and then you do.

When you wake a second time, you almost expect to be alone, and yet you find yourself in his arms still; his heart the same, singing rhythm. A sound escapes you, a groan as you crawl from the depths of sleep, and you hear him chuckle in response.

"Morning," you say tiredly, rubbing your face into his shirt.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he tells you jovially, then, more quietly, more gently, he asks: "How did you sleep?"

"Good," you say with a longing sigh; then: "Great," you add, and then you look at him, your sight hazy, and even then you can see his expression soften, brighten. You smile at him, and he smiles back. "No nightmares. No dreams."

"Told you," he grins again, and you grin back.

The third time you wake, you find yourself disoriented, clutching tightly at your teddy bear. Armin's hand is on your shoulder, careful and gentle, and you can hear his voice.

You groan again, trying to shake off the sleepiness, and then you feel the weight of the bed shift, and Armin's sat next to you.

“I fell asleep again," you say, yawning. You wake quicker now, looking at Armin, and there is this easy, endearing smile on him, one so warm it makes your heart skip a beat. "Sorry. I was still so tired," you admit to him, and you close your eyes briefly, just briefly, when you feel his hand curl into your hair.

"It's alright," he tells you softly, caressing your hair so gently that it almost hurts. "Rest as much as you need, Y/N."

You try to find the words, but instead you simply hum in response; and him you find quiet, sitting by your side. Still he strokes your hair, so softly that it soothes you, all of you, from bone to sinew. And it is so warm. So incredibly intimate. You think you should be discomforted by it, but you are so tired, you are so sore from the pain your mind has wrought upon you, that you simply allow it. You let it soothe you, you let it keep you calm and warm and loved, if only just for this exact, precise moment.

“I can stay tonight, too. If you'll need me," you hear him say quietly, his voice warm in your chest, his hand careful in your hair, and then it strikes you: how close he is to you. Not just here, right now, sat at your side, but in ways that you have never considered before, never allowed before, save for the long, harrowing, and failed first attempts at this exact thing, so many years ago.

You would have said no. You would have said he's done enough. But things have shifted now, have they not? Uncontrollably so. And there is not much to do about it now, and were you in different hands, you would have, perhaps, been afraid. But you're not.

And so you wordlessly pull your bear towards you, flush and tight against your chest. You nod, ever so slightly, into his hand. And you tell him: "Okay."

dividers by saradika and benkeibear

tag list: @arlerts-angel @levistealeaf @sukunascrustyfinger

@chiinni @nilaaaas @ryoiii

@dilfkentolover @arminarlertssword @bel-https

@layla240 @katestrophes @rrsltt

@siiyoko @lemontrees-things @arminarlertspersonalnurse

@strscollide @girlybelle @blvewave

@inbry @jojosbizzarewife @drinklavalamps

@minminlert

reblogs are dearly appreciated, darlings 💗

a/n: this one was among the older fics i'd roughly edited here and there, so please forgive the rougher style of writing ! likewise, a sister fic to this will be released, eventually, in which reader takes care of armin instead (and tea stays as a love language)

98 notes · View notes

buckyseternal · 2 days

Note

Number... 127

Bucky Barnes

I almost said 17, but I trust your playlist enough to know that no matter what, the music is going to be good <3

first time in a while I've written angst, first time I think I've ever posted it hehe. enjoy.

shame on me - catch your breath

this was it.

four years. four years of memories, four years of laughs and smiles, four years of love down the drain.

"you can't just leave," you breathed out, teeth gritted, not sure if you were more angry or heartbroken at the situation you were in. "you can't just fucking leave at the slightest inconvenience!"

"when are you going to understand, it's not the slightest inconvenience? it's the same thing over and over again - it's like you don't want to be loved."

a single tear dropped, rolling down your cheek as your face grew hotter. "me? I don't want to be loved? I've done everything for you, I've put my life on the line for you countless times and-"

"I never asked you to!" it was silent. bucky was seething in front of you, a stare-down happening between the two of you. "I never asked you to do all of those things!"

"you didn't have to, that's what people in relationships do! they fucking compromise!"

this had been the biggest blow-up yet from the two of you. you almost felt bad for your neighbors, probably waking them up with your screams in the middle of the night. you had both just come back from a mission, and it was silent the entire flight back. it was silent in the tower after the debrief. it was silent on the ride back. the silence broke as soon as he slammed the door shut to your shared apartment.

the mission had gone fine - if you could say risking your life for your fiancé on the field was fine. if you could say him coddling you was fine. you were never someone who needed to be coddled, always the independent one who could stand on their own two feet just fine. you failed to see though, that you didn't have to anymore. you failed to see how your self-destructive ways were killing him slowly.

"I've- I've never fucking met someone who wasn't grateful for someone saving their life, I mean that's just ridiculous!" you ran your hand through your hair, laughing at the incredulous nature of what he was mad over.

"you know, it's fucking hard being with you. it's always been fucking hard to be with you."

at that, your heart shattered. the wind was knocked out of you. how long had he resented you and never brought it up? how long had he wanted to leave, and this was just the perfect moment? you closed your eyes. you could see the home he had built inside your mind, and let it come to life through all the flashbacks. the dates, the kisses, the teamwork. the day he proposed to you. your eyes opened at the sound of metal hitting the desk next to the door.

"I'll have the rest of my things out by tomorrow. we're done."

the door shut and all you were left with was an empty apartment and his ring on the table.

part 2

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #angst #request #mcu #mcu masterlist #summer sleepover 2024

104 notes · View notes

lis-likes-fics · 23 hours

Text

Love Letters

Pairings: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Word Count: 8.1k words Warnings: Murder, torture, depictions of mental illness, typical Criminal Minds content... A/N: Collabed with a couple friends about the serial killer. Guys, this was hard. Spent sooo much time building this character and then didn't even end up using all of the stuff we came up with. But it was fun and I enjoyed this and I hope you do too! Special thanks to the ones who helped me plan, @the-nerdy-goddess and @thecreature-bug and my beta reader @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen!

A knock on your classroom door has you turning your head, and you smile at the sight of the math teacher one door down.

You know why she's here, sneaking a “meeting” before all the kids get here for homeroom. You roll your eyes, scooting back in your rolling chair and crossing your arms.

“So how was the date Saturday?” Esther asks, raising a teasing brow as she walks further into the room, taking a seat right on the side of your desk. “You get lucky?”

You scoff. “I wish. The guy was boring. It was a total snooze fest.” You pick up a paper from your grading stack, marking another consecutive one hundred on little Amelia's test. “I told him I was a teacher and he told me how he had a crush on his teacher from the eighth grade.”

“Blergh,” she groans, making a face. “Was he a gentleman, at least?”

“I wish, part two. He didn't pull a chair, he didn't open a door.”

She shakes her head in disappointment and pats your back. “Your gentleman is coming to you soon. You deserve it.” She reaches over, picking up your necklace and running her thumb over the F before dropping it back down. “And I like that necklace.”

You laugh sarcastically at her, jutting your chin out toward the mirroring E around her own neck. All the fifth grade teachers wear one, a gift from Sarah’s—the science teacher’s—birthday party. “I like yours.”

She brushes the golden charm on her dark chest with a smile. She scoots off your desk. “Hey, if you're looking for another date, I might have a guy.” She winks at you, and you almost throw a pencil at her.

“Don't you have a class to teach?”

“Eventually,” she shrugs. “Small accident a few blocks away, traffic’s backed up. Buses are late–”

“–and most of your class rides the bus.” You nod, “Yeah.”

She walks to the door, patting the frame twice. “But I'll leave you be. I have copies to print.”

You shoo her away. “Goodbye.”

She winks at you again, clicking her tongue. “See you.”

The elevator doors close as David steps in next to Aaron. After a quick once-over, he smiles. “You look tired. Jack?”

Aaron shakes his head as he glances at his shoes, “No. Jack's fine.”

“Oh,” Dave raises his brows. “Did Aaron Hotchner have a date?”

He chuckles, amused by the assumption. “Me?”

He shrugs. “Good to have a little hope.”

Another rare chuckle passes his lips as he shakes his head again. His voice is low and soft with his amusement. “Yeah, I had a date. With a wrench and a kitchen sink.”

He hums, tilting his head from side to side as if weighing the options. “A date is a date. At least you can fix the sink.”

“Alright,” he mumbles lightheartedly.

Dave pushes the doors open as they enter the round table room, watching as the rest of the team slowly makes their way. When everyone is present and accounted for, he begins.

“What have we got, Garcia?”

Penelope sets her coffee cup down, making a face. “Oh, my little ducklings, nothing good.” The screen turns on and presents a round of crime scene photos, multiple women covered in uniform cuts all matching the other perfectly, besides the differences in the letters adorning their chests. It's graphic and strange.

Garcia avoids looking with everything she has. “Some hikers at the New River Gorge Bridge in West Virginia were going about their business when they found five perfectly marked graves lined up in a row.” The presses a button and said graves are shown before and after they were dug up. When Garcia says perfect, she means perfect. The graves are perfect rectangles, all the same size and depth and almost as though someone used a ruler to make sure the lines were straight.

“The bodies found were Madeline Johnsons, Beatrice Cabrera, Clara Warner, Dakota Platt,” one more press reveals a woman with dark skin now pale with death, “and our latest victim, Esther Cooke.”

The team flips through the files they were given, analyzing the information as it comes. “All were found covered in multiple incisions all over the body, and letters carved on their chests.” She makes a face. “I don't know how much you guys gate papercuts, but I know that if I got as many as our victims here, I'd be forever emotionally ruined.”

Reid's analytical eyes take in the sight of the bodies. “It's almost reminiscent of Lingchi, translated to ‘slow slicing’ or ‘death by a thousand cuts’. It was a form of torture and execution used in China around the 10th century until the early 20th century.” He talks a mile a minute, squinting his eyes at the photos as he does.

Prentiss shrugs, “Well, one papercut is bad enough, I could never do a thousand.”

JJ brings her drink to her lips. “I couldn't do ten.” They chuckle to each other.

Morgan juts his neck toward his files. “How did they die? The wounds are made for bloodletting.”

Garcia groans lightly. “So not glad you asked. Their throats were slashed, two incisions made at each side of the neck to cut the jugulars.” She adjusts her glasses, glancing at her tablet. “Autopsy reports say very slowly and with a very sharp knife. Like the unsub was trying very hard to keep steady. They also found traces of chemicals used in disinfectant in the wounds.”

Prentiss' brows knit together. “Why not just cut it clean across?”

“Well, look, there are 26 cuts in total on all the bodies, including the one at the neck,” Reid points out. “The incisions were very specific.”

“‘Course it was, look at that pattern,” Morgan says.

Each limb has a total of six equal cuts along the top of them, with the last two finishing off at the neck. It's too specific.

“All of the letters on their chests match the beginning of their names, except for Madeline. She has an A,” Garcia explains. “Madeline's family said she went by Addy.”

“Then the letters carved into them match the first letter of their names,” JJ says. “Maybe he's trying to go through the alphabet.”

“Matches the cuts,” Rossi shrugs. “There are 26 cuts, 26 letters of the alphabet.”

“Who died first and who was last?” Hotch asks, not looking up from his screen.

“They were killed and buried in alphabetical order, sir.”

A few members of the team nod, their theory supported. Reid clasps his hands. “Paired with the perfection of the graves, the specificity of the incisions, the disinfectant, we could be dealing with someone struggling with high level obsessive compulsive disorder.”

They agree.

“But how is he targeting his victims, other than by their names?” Prentiss wonders, “I mean, how does he figure out what their names are in the first place?”

Rossi sighs, “I guess that's what we have to find out.”

Hotch looks up at his team, his stern gaze glancing among them. “Based on the timeline of these kills, we hopefully have about a week before he strikes again. Let's not give him time. Wheels up in thirty.”

You look up at the gentle knock on your door interrupting your silent lunch break. You clear your throat, dropping your hand from your necklace as you lay eyes on Principal Luis.

“Hey,” she greets softly. “You doing okay?”

You nod, offering a half-hearted grin. You've had to smile at your kids all day today, despite the grief, and you were really depending on your break to wind down from it. “Considering.”

“You think you could talk? There are some FBI agents here with a few questions about Esther.”

You sniff, furrowing your brows. “FBI?” For you? You supposed that makes sense. You were close enough…

Two agents walk into the room, their professional blacks offset by the colorful parade that is your classroom. It looks strange, almost silly. You stand to greet them.

The woman offers a smile, a kind face to ease any worries you may have. The man is a little more stern, but there's a gentleness you admire hidden beneath.

“Hello, Ms. Hughes,” he greets. “I'm Agent Aaron Hotchner, this is Agent Jennifer Jareau. We're with the FBI.”

“You can call me JJ,” she says as she reaches a hand out toward you. You take it. “We're here with a few questions about Esther Cooke.”

You try not to look too miserable.

Agent Hotchner’s voice is soft as he speaks to you. “The principal said you and Ms. Cooke were close?”

You nod, crossing your arms. The classrooms are always cold. It's felt a little colder lately.

“She worked right next door,” you try not to stutter. “We were the closest in our department. I'm holding conferences tomorrow with parents about taking some of her kids into my homeroom until we find a…a replacement.”

Noticing your disquiet, JJ speaks up. “Was there anything going on in Ms. Cooke’s life? Anything out of the ordinary?”

Thinking, you shake your head. “Not really.” You shrug, “It was school, home, and not much else. The occasional night out with me, we are–” you clear your throat, “we were both single.”

Agent Hotchner adds in, “We're there any strange absences or even a trip she was going on?”

Again, you think. But nothing really comes up until– “She mentioned that she went on this tour thing with her parents last weekend, local. Some sort of…hiking thing? It's usually for tourists but they won free tickets.” Then you back track, “Is that the kind of thing you're looking for?”

JJ glances at Agent Hotchner. You're not sure what that means. “It could be.”

“When was the last time you saw her?” he asks.

You shrug. “Monday…before she went home. She didn't show up Tuesday or Wednesday, I figured she just got sick or something…forgot to tell me.” You rub your cheek with your sleeve. “I thought it was weird ‘cause she didn't call in or anything. I had to request a sub for her.”

Agent Hotchner nods. “Thank you for your help.”

“Of course. Anything.”

He dug in the inside pocket of his suit. “Call us if you have anything else. Here's my card.”

You reach out to take it, your fingers brushing. It was a comforting feeling. “Thank you.” The words are gentle as they leave you. You shake out of your slight daze, “Uh, here's mine if you have any other questions for me.”

You go behind your desk, grabbing a sticky note shaped like a koala and the first pen you see (which ends up being the brightest green marker you own)... The kids love the colors.

When Agent Hotchner takes it, he almost grins. You recognize the hidden amusement in some of the kids you teach. The ones that are harder to get to open up, even at this age. It's a little sad. Those kids happen to be some of the sweetest you know.

The sight of him in a sophisticated suit with all his professionalism, holding a cutesy koala sticky note is almost comical. He nods his thanks, and then turns to JJ.

They both begin to make their exit when you stop them. “Hey.” They turn. “Did anyone find her necklace?”

“Necklace?” JJ furrows her brow.

You nod. “All the fifth grade teachers have necklaces with our letters on them. Just like this.” You pick up the little charm around your neck for them to examine. “Except she had an E.” You let it drop, scratch the back of your neck as you hum. “Her parents said they never found it when they…”

The thought of saying “dug her up” out loud was haunting, and you already felt that shrinking feeling in your gut.

JJ redirects. “Would she normally take it off?”

You shake your head quickly. “Not Esther. She loves–” you sigh, annoyed now that you keep making the mistake of present tense. As an English teacher, it hurts more somehow. “She loved that necklace. We all do. We wear it nearly every day. Especially now.”

Agent Hotchner nods again, a really gentle movement that you honestly appreciate. “We'll keep an eye out,” he says. “Thank you for your time.”

You nod back at him, offering what smile you can. “Thanks.”

They leave and you check the time. You'd have to get your kids from lunch soon.

“Did she have anything?” Morgan wonders as Hotch and JJ return.

JJ’s teasing brows bounce. “Other than Hotch’s number? A bit.”

Rossi smirks, leaning across the table. “Did you find something special with our Ms. Hughes?” He puts emphasis on the title so Hotch is fully aware of her marital status.

“Let's focus, please.”

Hotch doesn't seem particularly annoyed, but there is a case at hand and he wants it solved as fast as possible.

Besides, it would be unprofessional to call her like this…asking her on a date after questioning her about her recently deceased.

The team giggles quietly amongst themselves. Children. But they do focus in as Morgan's phone rings as a signal to their resident oracle.

“Talk to me, babygirl.”

“I ran those credit card records like Hotch asked,” she starts. “All of which come up with very different results with no special link but one: three of the five all purchased hiking tickets for a guided trail a few days before they went missing. But they're very popular trails, tourists and families go all the time.”

“Hiking trail?”

“Is that significant?”

JJ looks around at the group. “Ms. Hughes said Esther Cooke’s parents won free tickets. They just went last weekend.”

“That would explain why it doesn't show up on the credit card records,” she says. The clack of her keyboard fills the space before she's speaking again. “Oh, yes, I see. The reservation is written in her mother's name.”

Reid looks up from the board where he worked on his geographical profile. “Clara loved out of state,” he says, “she was visiting. That could be how he found out about her.”

Rossi agrees. “So he's choosing most of his victims at the trail. Maybe he's a guide?”

JJ shrugs, “But how is he picking his victims?” She walks over to the pictures of all the victims hung up, their differences glaring as she shakes her head. “He's compulsive, he can't do it at random.”

“I don't think it is,” Hotch says. Eyes fall on him, urging clarification. “Ms. Hughes said something that stuck out to me. Esther Cooke always wore a necklace with the first letter of her name on it, but it was missing from the crime scene.”

The wheels turn in Reid’s head as he breaks away from his map. He picks up the crime scene photos, sorting through them to compare them to the headshots of the victims lining another board. “We might have something,” he mumbles. He picks up the first victim’s pictures. “Here, you can see Madeline wore a necklace with her nickname, Addy, on it. But at the burial site, it's missing.”

Prentiss catches on, picking another. A quick examination has her nodding along. “And look here. Clara had one, too. Hers is just a C.”

Rossi’s heavy brows furrow. “So you think he's targeting these women based on their necklaces?”

Reid words fly from his mouth as he speaks. “If he's killing them, burying them, and carving their letters all in alphabetical order, that could be his trigger—seeing the letters already in place and feeling the need to make it permanent, perfect.”

Morgan picks up Esther's picture, nodding. “We ready to give the profile?”

“I think so. Garcia,” her attention is lightning quick at the sound of her name, just like her wit, “get me a list of everyone who went on those trails and every guide who has led the ones our victims participated in.”

“That list is going to be longer than the Nile, but like Neith, I shall be victorious,” she declares.

Prentiss adds in. “Go ahead and narrow that down to white males who live in the area.”

“That helps.”

“Thank you, babygirl.”

“Happy to help, my salacious little snack.” She smacks the “ck”. He can hear the smirk in her voice. “I'll have that list in a jiffy.” Morgan chuckles as the call ends.

You plaster a grin on your face as you welcome in the next pair. It's been a long day already. The children have been a little fussy, others just sad, about the changes going on during class. The parents you've seen already have been awkward, annoyed, or (on the better occasion) nice, and you're ready to go home.

Just a few more meetings, then you can go home.

“Hello,” you greet. “Thank you for coming in.”

Ms. Tucker smiles gently, doing her best to be kind. She's one of the more patient parents. Her husband on the other hand… You've never been able to describe him as patient.

“Could we make this quick?” Mr. Tucker asks, checking his watch. He blinks harshly once, twice, three times, before looking back up at you. “I've got an appointment in an hour and…thirteen minutes.”

“Don't be rude, Larry,” his ex-wife insists, rolling her eyes as they take a seat in the chairs set in front of your desk. You sit as well, mentally bracing yourself for his meeting.

“Well, she's bringing us in here to tell us our kid isn't doing well in school. How do you want me to behave?” Another tight blink follows as he whispers under his breath, “Behave, behave.”

Ideally, these meetings should take no more than maybe five minutes. But parents make that difficult sometimes.

“Maybe if you spent more time with Peter, he wouldn't be having trouble,” she insists.

The animosity coming off the two of them is creating an environment that makes you want to kick them out of your room and do what you want. But you can't.

He scoffs. “Spend more ti–”

“Actually…”

They turn back to you then, remembering you're there as they close their mouths and listen. “We're not here to talk about his behavior. Peter has been wonderful in class.”

You grab Peter's file. It's just a stack of papers with Esther's old notes for him and his grades. You clear your throat quietly. “As you may know, the teacher next door to me just passed, and we are rearranging her classes until we can find a suitable replacement because we are short staffed.”

You hate saying “replacement”. These meetings have been hard enough simply because she's gone, but being the one of the people already working to replace her has been mentally taxing.

You pull your necklace from inside your shirt, sighing as you look up at them, toying with the charm.

You don't catch it. The movement is so slight and the whisper is so gentle that the moment goes completely over your head as Mr. Tucker's eyes lock on your charm. Under his breath falls a small, “F…F, F.”

“This conference was just to ask about whether or not it would be alright to transfer Peter into my class,” you continue, grasping the top pages out of the file. “Otherwise, his behavior has been fine. He's a smart boy with good grades. Ms. Cooke’s notes do say that he has a bit of trouble mixing with classes though, and he can be a little distracted. Another reason he would switch, he needs the extra social help.”

Ms. Tucker leans in slightly. “You said he has trouble mixing in?”

You nod, tilting your head as you remember Peter's behavior during your classes. “He's a little lonely.”

Mr. Tucker murmurs under his breath, holding onto the words. “Lonely.” His brows twitch. “Lonely…lonely.” You know they're tics, so you try not to make it obvious that you've caught it.

“He got along well with the teachers, but he's closed off to the other students. She saw that a couple of other kids picked on him, but they were little things that we were able to solve fairly quickly.” You sigh, thinking for a moment. You have to choose the right words, or this will end in an argument. “I would recommend trying to get him into things outside of school. A sport or a club, just something to get him to interact with more kids.”

Ms. Tucker is all ears as you speak, taking in what she can as she contemplates a solution. Her ex-husband seems a little out of focus, however. He watches you, his eyes taking you in, in a way that makes you uncomfortable.

“It also helps when the parents are on the same page,” you push through, ignoring the crawling in your skin and focusing on this child and his needs. “I realize you went through a divorce recently, which can be tough on your son. I know it's not my business to manage your relationship, but for the sake of your son, it's important not to be hostile in front of him. It could force him into thinking he has to choose a side, which can lead to negative effects on his mental health.”

She nods, soaking it in. “We can talk about it. You have our permission to take him in.”

“Yes.” Mr. Tucker nods. You watch his head dip three times. “Yes, yes.”

You sigh internally, glad the meeting is coming to a close. “Thank you,” you smile. “Did you have any questions for me?”

He replies, smiling as well. “No. Thank you.”

“Alright,” you close Peter's file, “then we should be good.”

“Thank you,” Ms. Tucker says. She reaches a hand out to shake your hand, and you take it. Her ex-husband does the same, though he lingers a little longer than you appreciate.

“Of course.”

They leave. You take a moment to breathe before you welcome in the next parents. And two meetings later, you've wrapped everything up. After clearing your desk, you snatch your things and head straight for the door.

You're happy to know it's not too late when you step out of the building. The sun is still up, but the moon is beginning to show with the coming evening. As you make your way to your car in the relatively lonely parking lot, it blinks when you unlock the doors.

You open the back door to throw your things inside, slamming it shut and opening the front in one movement.

You don't hear the footsteps behind you over the sound of your relief about the end of your day. So when something comes down hard at the back of your head, your pain and surprise is interrupted by the sudden darkness that overcomes you.

“You're on speaker.”

Garcia’s voice arises from Morgan's voice like the oracle she is. “Then I shall speak my prophecy for all to hear. I narrowed that list down significantly to the tour guides that lead the trails all of the victims went on—except the one who didn't. Speaking of, it turns out that our odd one out, Dakota Platt, put in an application to work as a guide but was denied. Anyway, I came up with three matches.”

Rossi hums. “Narrow the list to anyone recently going through a major change. A divorce, potential job loss, something like that.”

The sound of Garcia’s keyboard is heard over the phone, her voice coming a second later. “That takes one out. There's Perry Williams, he's just suffered a loss in the family—his mother died of lung cancer four months ago, around when the killings started. Then there's one other, Laurence Tucker, who just went through a divorce around a year ago. He's fighting a custody battle with his wife, started a couple weeks before the estimated time of the first murder.”

“Can you take a look at their medical histories?” Prentiss requests.

“Tucker has diagnosed OCD. He stopped taking his meds at the same time as the divorce.”

JJ is already on her feet as she slips her phone in her pocket. “That's our guy.” The rest of the team follow suit.

“I've just sent his home address to your phones.”

Hotch is packing his things as he speaks. “Garcia, go through his history. There may be something to suggest where he may be taking his victims to torture them. He can't be taking them home.”

Morgan raises the phone to his mouth. “Thanks, hot stuff.”

“Anything for you. Garcia out.”

“Clear.”

At the sound of the last check, Hotch lowers his gun as he sighs. “Hotch.” He looks over to see Reid peeking his head out of a room down the hall. He follows him, walking inside and following his gaze down to Reid’s hand, where he's holding a necklace he's pulled from a dark box on the dresser.

There are four necklaces neatly arranged within it, the fifth in Reid’s hand. An E for Esther.

His phone rings. “Yes, Garcia?”

She speaks quickly. “Our guy grew up in the area and attended a schoolhouse when he was little that was shut down years ago for unusual practices with the students. Reports found that the teachers there used to discipline ‘bad kids’—and by bad, I'm not talking just behavior, these are kids with diagnosed Autism, ADHD, OCD, the whole alphabet. Oh…maybe that wasn't the best word.”

“How were they disciplined?” Reid asks, pulling her back on track.

“Oh, right! The teachers used to slap hands with rulers and spank these children, sometimes with paddles. Sometimes kids would come home with big red letters drawn on their chests or clothes when they received failing grades as a way to shame them into passing.” She hums, “I'm guessing that's where the signature comes from.”

Reid sets the necklace down, “Is the building still up?”

“Like I said, it was shut down years ago. It was marked for demolition, but they never got around to it. The building still very much exists, and it's covered in wooden boards and caution tape.”

Hotch nods. “Send us the address. This could be where he's killing them.”

“Already done,” she says. “Also, fun fact. I learned that Tucker's son attends the school Esther Cooke taught at. Apparently, he was one of her students.”

A chill ran down Hotch’s spine as he thought about that. Scrambling in his jacket, he pulls out the koala sticky note in the inside pocket. “Garcia, I need you to give me another address.”

Reid’s brow furrows at his sudden haste. “What's wrong?”

“Ms. Hughes held conferences today for the parents of children Esther Cooke taught.”

Reid walks after him as Garcia retrieves the address. “So?”

“She wears an F.”

Your bleary eyes are so dazed and heavy. Mixed with the pain, it was hard to keep your head up and your eyes open. The letters lining the top of the walls, the alphabet which wraps around the room, fly around your head. It mixes with the chairs and desks, arranged so neatly around the room, lining the walls like the letters do. There's chalk and pencils and paper, all old and run down but set so neatly. The chaos and the tidiness is maddening.

It really hurts. Your arms and legs are covered in cuts, slow and methodical and painful. Your limbs shake with exhaustion, sweat sticks to your forehead and you feel heavy and sick. He'd removed your necklace. It's sitting on the desk where he keeps the rest of his supplies. You want it back.

His disorder is evident, and it bleeds over you with a glaring taunt. Every time he cuts you, he measures it with a ruler, and then you're thrown through the added torture of him disinfecting the wound each time. He counts it each time. He chants under his breath every time he cuts you, every time you talk, every time he blinks.

You just want to go home.

“Mr. Tucker, please,” you beg for the hundredth time, your plea falling on deaf ears.

He shakes his head, his ruler in the middle of your thigh. You want to move it. If he can't make a precise cut, he won't cut. But you don't have the strength. It's taking a lot to keep your head up.

“Hush,” he urges absentmindedly. “Hush, hush.” He adjusts the glasses on the bridge of his nose, careful not to use his hands.

“Why are you doing this?”

His attention is razor sharp as he measures. “I have to.”

It’s the most answer he's given you so far. Maybe if you just keep him talking, you'll be able to talk him out of it. You keep your voice gentle, trying not to sound as pained as you are. “Why?” you ask, though your voice wavers. “What did I do? What did Esther do?”

The name seems to spark something as he nods three times. “E, E, E.”

Your brow furrows. “Is this because of our necklaces?”

He shakes his head this time. Three times. “You won't understand.”

You sigh heavily. “Then help me understand.”

“You won't, you won't.” He picks up the knife, and you flinch away from him. “You won't.”

You keep trying. “You just have to talk to me,” you give him the best smile you can. “You can talk to me, Larry.” If you say his name, maybe you'll appeal to him. You can make it personal. You have to try something.

He mutters under his breath, as though he's thinking. “Talk, talk…talk.”

You nod, speaking slowly. “Yes. Just put the knife down, and we can talk.”

A scream tears through your throat as he drags the sharp blade across your thigh. It burns and it sears and tears stream down your cheeks at the feeling.

“19, 19, 19.”

You don't know what number he's going to, but you're scared for what he'll do when he finishes counting.

You struggle around the lump in your throat to speak, forcing out a breath to try and level yourself. “Is this about your OCD?” He glances up at you, but he doesn't give it too much thought. “I recognize it. Peter has early signs.”

“Peter,” he mumbles, finally taking pause to think. He hums and blinks.

“Yes, Peter,” you urge. “Your son. If you keep going, you could hurt him.” It's hard to see past your tears, but you keep going anyway. “When you get caught, and you will get caught, Peter will be taken away from you forever. He'd never forgive you.”

“Forgive me,” he huffs, shaking his head and rubbing his face. He grips his ruler in one hand. “Forgive me, forgive me.” He presses the ruler to the other leg, “Stop talking.”

You try to squirm, “Larry– Ah!” You purse your lips to stifle your shout, squeezing your eyes shut and clenching your fists.

“20, 20, 20.”

A round of sobs rack through you. You can't hide the pain anymore. It's so evident, and it's so intense. You can't breathe. You hiss as the disinfectant stings.

“Please,” you cry. “Please, just tell me why.”

He shakes his head. He's upset now, you can see it in the crease of his brow, in the excessive head shakes, in the way he rubs his face so roughly. “They said I have to.”

“Who?”

“My teachers.” He looks around the room, and his eyes fall on the alphabet lining the walls.

You follow his gaze. The schoolhouse actually makes sense now. You thought he'd chosen it because it was abandoned…

“I can't do the alphabet. I have to do the alphabet, alphabet.” He says it like he's reciting something, like he's punishing himself.

Your breath is heavy, you blink rapidly, trying to see past your tear-filled eyes. “Your teachers made you do this?”

God, sometimes you hate teachers.

He rubs at his eyes, sighing heavily. “A, A, A,” he begins, speaking quickly and almost like he's struggling to speak. It reminds you of memorization methods. Sometimes you suggest it to students who have trouble remembering vocab—write it down over and over until you remember. Maybe that's why he's doing it? “B, B, B. C, C, C. D, D, D. E, E, E. F.”

He opens his eyes and points his knife at you. “F. F.”

The fear flares within you again. You try not to turn to a blubbering mess. You can't communicate with him if you can't speak properly. “Is that what you're doing?”

He moves to your arm. You try to pull at the duct tape he's got wrapped securely around your hands. You've been trapped here so long, your hands are numb, your wrists are bruising.

“Have to get to Z, Z, Z.”

You almost shout it when he presses the ruler to your arm. “Listen, listen, listen!” you say it in a rush, so, so scared. He actually stops. “Okay, they said to say it three times, right? You have to write it three times?”

The number triggers his tic. “Three, Three, three.” It's honestly becoming annoying. It's insistent and repetitive and it feels almost invasive. But you have to be patient or he'll just kill you faster.

“You don't have to do this.” Your face is itchy from the tears drying and re-wetting, but you can't scratch. “You're gonna be okay.”

He's not listening anymore. “Behave,” he warns, holding the knife to your face. “Behave.” He shakes his head. “Behave.”

He's stopped listening. Despite your screams, he measures and cuts and cleans and measures and cuts and cleans, repeating each number as he comes to it with calculated method.

You clench your fists as the knife digs into your thigh again. You're surprised you can get your broken cries out as you struggle to breathe.

He stands up, taking large steps back to look at his work. You suppose he's almost done, and that terrifies you.

You think about your students, the little kids in your classroom who have already lost one teacher and are now going to lose a second. All those good kids are going through so much already. They all loved Esther. You know they all loved you. You have a wall of art, holiday cards, and plenty of hugged legs to show for it.

You don't want to lose them. You don't want them to lose you.

In a last ditch effort to dissuade him from his pursuits, you shake your head and sigh heavily. “Please.”

He comes closer to you, squinting his eyes to try to ease you. “Shh, shh, shh,” he says. “Just close your eyes. It'll be over soon, soon, soon.”

He presses the ruler to your neck, and you don't have the strength to fight it. It inspires more tears as you shake your head weakly. “Please, please, please.” You chant it, closing your eyes shut. You brace for the end…

Both of you jump when the loudest crash resonates within the room. Wood splinters and heavy boots stomp against the floor. Startled, he staggers back. You open your eyes, lights flashing as the room crowds with armoured people.

“Laurence Tucker, drop the knife.”

You know that voice. You recognize it. It's hard to see past the lights and the tears in your eyes. You know him.

“Can't! Can't. Can't, I have to finish. I have to finish. I have to finish.”

He's panicking. Too many things happening at once, everything out of order, everything out of control. He grips the knife tighter, looking between you and the cops in the room.

Someone else, their voice louder and less patient, shouts. “Drop the knife now!”

“Behave, behave. Behave!”

Someone else's voice, softer and somehow understanding, speaks. Though the voices are beginning to blur. “We know what your teachers did to you,” he bids. “We know how they hurt you.”

They hurt him.

He shakes his alphabet, losing it over the chaos. His frustration is palpable. Every time they speak, he gets more and more angry. “Can't do the alphabet. I have to do the alphabet. I'm supposed to do the alphabet!”

“Larry,” you speak, your voice hoarse from overuse. You catch your breath, keeping your voice level. Like you're talking to one of your students. He's scared, he's angry. He needs patience. “Larry, look at me.”

You can practically feel the concern of the agents rolling off of them. They don't want you misspeaking and making him more upset than he already is.

But he looks at you, and he seems to respond to the softness because his furrowed brows shift very slightly, his anger turns to some semblance of fear.

Although it hurts, you try to smile. It's taking so much to lift your head, even more to get the words out without the heaviness of your rising fear and exhaustion.

“They were bad teachers.” He rubs his face, but you press on, speaking slowly. “They weren't supposed to hurt you. Teachers are supposed to help. They were wrong.”

He closes his eyes. “They were wrong,” he whispers, like he's trying to convince himself. “They were wrong, wrong.”

The desperation seeps in. “Let me help you,” you whisper. “Let them help you.”

“Help me,” he mutters, his voice as quiet as yours. “Help me, help me.”

The first voice, the one you know, he speaks again, patient but still an order. “Drop the knife, and we can help you.”

“Help me,” he whispers. Slowly, he moves as he contemplates the words. “Help me.” They raise their guns in alarm, but he keeps crouching until he's finally kneeling on the floor. He grips the knife. “Help me.”

“Just breathe, Larry,” you huff. The spark of adrenaline you'd gotten from your rescue is wearing off again. You feel like you might pass out. “It'll be okay,” you mutter. “It's going to be okay, it'll be okay.”

He stares at the floor, thinking. “Okay…okay,” he drops the knife, and it clatters to the floor. “Okay.”

They make quick work of cuffing him, forcing his hands behind his back as the metal clinks against itself.

An agent immediately rushes to you, and you immediately recognize him, just as you had his voice. Agent Hotchner kneels before you, carefully removing the duct tape around your wrists and ankles. “Are you alright?” His voice is so soft and gentle. You lean into it as your eyelids become heavier and heavier.

“I think I'm gonna pass out.”

Your voice is scratchy when you speak. He looks you over, and his hand comes to press against your cheek. It's oddly intimate, though you know it's for comfort. You lean into the warmth. It's helping.

“No, you won't,” he says as he removes the tape wrapped around your middle. “I've got you.” He glances behind him, throwing his demand over his shoulder. “Get me a medic.”

He turns back to you. “Can you stand?”

You want to say yes, but you genuinely don't think so. You shake your head, “I don't know.”

“Do you want me to help you stand?”

You nod, the movement choppy. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” he says. He wraps his arm under yours, lifting you slowly, carefully, like you're fragile and precious. “Can you tell me your name?”

Your words are sticky and slow. You genuinely think you're going to pass out. “You know my name.”

“Yes, I do.” He nods, and when you glance up at him, he's giving you the gentlest smile, and you feel like everything is going to be okay. “Can you make sure I have it right?”

You hum. “Fawn Hughes.”

You're so discombobulated that you don't even give him your birth name, instead the one granted to you since you were little.

“Fawn,” he mutters. “Is that your nickname?”

You nod, slowly, and hum.

“It's nice.”

The both of you make your way as he helps you hobble out of the schoolhouse and into the evening air, past golden hour where pinks and purples coat the sky. It goes a little faster when the medic finally arrives. They help you onto a stretcher, and Agent Hotchner apologizes every time you whine at the pain.

When you're settled, he gives you a gentle nod. You grab his hand before he can turn to leave, hoping he doesn't notice the way you wince and knowing he does. “Thank you,” you mutter.

He sighs gently. “Don't thank me.”

“Thank you,” you say again, a little more insistent this time. You swallow thickly, the falling adrenaline increasing the solemnity as your exhaustion begins to crash down on you in waves. You're surprised when you feel a tear slip down the side of your face, disappearing into your hairline. You'd cried so much already, you weren't aware you still could. “He was going to kill me. If you hadn't come through, I'd be dead. So thank you.”

He looks down at you, nodding gently, the movement almost imperceptible. “You're welcome.” He glances at the medic, and then toward the ambulance waiting for you. “They'll take care of you.”

You didn't want to ask, but the need is too strong. You're so scared, and he's the only one here you truly trust. Besides the fact that he'd come to your rescue, you don't necessarily know why.

“Can you please stay?”

He thinks for a moment. Really, he should be here helping the rest of the team. But as he looks over, locking eyes with Rossi talking with Prentiss, he looks between the two of you and sends him a nod.

Agent Hotchner turns back to you and nods. “Yes.”

You want to thank him again, but you know he'll just tell you not to. As they load you into the ambulance, he holds your hand, and you lay back and answer the medics questions.

“Mom, I'm fine.”

You sigh, as your mother's worried voice rises from the other end of your phone. “You were kidnapped and tor—Shit!—tortured by a deranged serial killer. I have a right to be worried.”

“Well, you don't have to be. I'm okay. See?” You show her the bandages wrapped around your arms. “Patched up and healthy. Doctors say I should be out of here tomorrow morning.”

“We'll be there by then.”

“You don't have to come down.”

“Hush. We're coming down, and you can't stop us. I love you, and we'll see you in the morning.”

She hangs up before you can respond. You shake your head and sigh, setting your phone down. At least you know she was worried about you.

You glance up when you hear a knock at your door. “Come in.”

The door opens as Hotch steps inside. His face is gentle, though without a smile. You miss it in a way as you offer your own.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, his voice just as soft.

You take in a breath. “Okay,” you say. “Considering.” You motion to your phone on the bedside table. “Got off the phone with my mom, she's…already on her way from out of state.”

He closes the door gently behind him, sitting on the chair beside your bed. “She's worried about you.”

You nod. “Yeah, I know.” You sigh, glancing over at him. His eyes are on you. Your lip twitches, fighting a bigger smile. You clear your throat. “Doctor said I'll scar, but…the knife was so sharp and steady enough that they should scar fine… They're discharging me in the morning.”

“That's good.”

“Yeah.”

Honestly, the quiet is nice. You look at him, at the features of his face, the softness mixed with his professionalism looks good on him.

“We retrieved this from the schoolhouse,” he says, reaching into the inside pocket of his suit. He hands you a necklace, your necklace. You smile gently, reaching out for it as he places it in your palm.

You're going to have trouble wearing it for a while, but it's nice to have it back. You look up at him thankfully.

“We also found this at Tucker's house.”

He hands you a second necklace. It's identical to your own, except this one has an E…for Esther.

You swallow the rising lump in your throat. Your smile aches as you breathe through the tears threatening to well in your eyes. You look up at him, your smile trembling as you hold back tears you've already shed. “Thank you.” He nods, smiling very briefly. “I'll, uh…I'll get it back to her family.”

“I'm glad I could help.”

Another comfortable silence falls over you. You tilt your head as you look up at him, wrapping the necklace around your fingers as you think. Something's on his mind.

“What is it?” you mutter.

He contemplates for a moment before he speaks. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

“How did you manage to talk him down so well? You seemed so…calm.”

You look down at Esther's necklace, thinking for a moment as you shrug. You speak slowly, clearing your throat as you rub the thumb of your free hand along the white bandage on your forearm.

“He told me his teachers made him do it.” You close your eyes and take a steadying breath, the events of the night before too fresh to ignore. “That agent…said his teachers hurt him, so I treated it like an abusive parent situation. He just needed someone to be on his side.”

You hate that it had to be you, but at least you understand why he did what he did. You almost hate that you understand. “He was hurt as a kid. That kid needs to know he's not alone.”

Hotch thinks about that, nodding gently. “You're a wonderful teacher.”

His words are genuine. It warms you and puts you back at ease. “Thanks.” You smile at him, his little one reflecting back at you. “I guess I'll just have to figure out what to do with myself until they let me go back to my kids.”

A tiny chuckle escapes him. It's a good sound for him. “I think the children will be fine.” You chuckle as well, the sound of his laugh a contagious thing that you can't help.

He glances over his shoulder, out of the open blinds of your room to see Rossi standing in the hall. Hotch’s smile simmers down as they make eye contact. He nods, standing to his feet with a sigh.

“I have to go,” he says, almost regretfully. “Get well soon.”

You turn your palm up as it rests in your lap, wanting to reach for him but not wanting to seem desperate. “Thank you.”

“You don't have to thank me, Ms. Hughes.”

After a moment, Hotch turns toward the door, placing his hand on the handle. “Agent Hotchner?” you call timidly, your heart thumping in your chest and your palms clammy. He pauses on his way to the door, turning back to you with a gentle look.

You clear your throat, dipping your head and trying not to seem as nervous as you feel. You almost died. If that didn't tell you how short life is, you don't know what will. Asking wouldn't hurt.

“I know you're probably busy and all, but…” you lick your bottom lip, summoning the courage to look him in the eyes as you smile nervously. “Would you like to go to dinner with me sometime?” You think for a moment, “I'll stop thanking you so much if you do.”

Since meeting this man, the smile he gives you is the largest you've seen on him. It summons your own beaming grin as he looks at you with cheeks you swear are tinted pink. He chuckles gently, taking a couple slow steps to you as he nods. “I would love to.” All the weight of your worries lift from your shoulders with a sigh. “Please, call me Aaron.”

Your cheeks warm at his gentle affection. You have to clear your throat to speak. “Okay, Aaron,” you say. “But only if you call me Fawn.”

Another tiny chuckle comes out of him. “Where did Fawn come from?”

It’s a genuine question, an innocent curiosity you're happy to sate. “I used to be obsessed with deer as a kid. The nickname stuck,” you say with a shrug. “Some people think it's stupid, though. You can call me by my–”

His interruption isn't rude. In fact, you have to fight the urge to hide your face away as he says next, “I'm looking forward to that dinner, Fawn.”

You smile. “I'll hold you to that.”

Aaron gives you one last smile, saying a soft goodbye as he leaves the room to join Rossi, who gives him the biggest smirk he's ever witnessed.

As David opens his mouth to say something, Aaron stops him immediately with a raised hand and an annoyed grin on his face. “Don't.”

David raises his hands in defense, walking silently next to Aaron to join the team.

Criminal Minds taglist: @queermaxwooo @mdanon027 @lilianhallee @hpstuff244444 @thegr8estpuff @niktwazny303 @bubbles2300

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #reader insert #female reader #fanfic #fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner whump #whump fic

96 notes · View notes

youresodarkbabe · 2 days

Text

i'm listening, ready to learn (prof!a. turner x reader)

smut.

warnings: prof!al x reader (yes this is influenced by the recents), age gap, piv, dom-ish al, oral (f!receiving)

word count: 2.6k

liv n lola the realest ones for helping me through writing this mess and just this shitstorm of a month lmao

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽��☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"it's definitely not the worst i've seen."

those four words were like a knife to the heart. you put everything you had into those pictures, worked on them for weeks, refining, editing, reshoots, and that still didn't please him. you gave him everything you had to offer, and it still wasn't enough. you could cry on the spot, but his voice pulled you out of your mind's abyss.

"do you want a second chance? i mean, i think you could do much better than this, not to be too harsh."

you had to stop yourself from showing your sheer happiness, you couldn't believe this. you try your hardest to compose yourself before speaking.

"yes, please," you mutter quietly, your voice coming out almost like a squeak. he found it endearing.

he sets your portfolio on his desk and stands up, sliding it over to you with a smile before taking a sip of his coffee.

"tell me if this crosses a line, but would you like to do the shoots at my studio? i have everything you need and more there, i think it'd be very useful."

reality hits you hard. you and your professor at his studio, all alone. if you weren't already trying to conceal your emotions, you were definitely doing it now. ignoring the heat pooling between your legs, you nod, not trusting yourself to speak, afraid of what would come out of your mouth.

"alright," alex grabs a pen from his shirt pocket and jots down his phone number and studio's address on a post it note and sticks it on the top of your portfolio, "how's this friday? is 7 good for you?"

you nod again, eyes fixed on his. "'s perfect, sir."

the sun was shining perfectly, his eyes illuminating like gold. he was so, so beautiful and it took everything you had to break that eye contact and walk out of the class.

come friday, and you're already panicking. you can't find any of the things you need, your reference pictures are shit in hindsight and your roommate had accidentally broken the lens you needed for your camera. regardless, you show up to the studio twenty minutes too early with all you could carry, hoping he wouldn't hate you for your lack of equipment.

he opens the door in a red shirt, a few buttons undone. you couldn't help but picture what he'd look like with the shirt off.

"you're early, doll," he lets you into the studio and shows you where to keep your stuff. "i would've rushed a bit more when cleaning if i knew you'd be so early."

your cheeks heat up as you take in his words.

"i can always come back later?" you say, almost immediately packing your stuff back up, only for alex to stop you with a hand holding your wrist firmly in place.

"it's fine, promise. just a tad unexpected."

he gives you that classic smile and all the worry in your heart seems to melt away. he asks if you'd like some space to set up, and as much as you want to spend time with him, you know it'd be best if you focused, so you say yes. alex darts off to the other side of the room where you see him fiddling with the portfolio from your previous meeting. you tear away your focus from him and set up your camera and all you'd need for the shoot.

he shuts it abruptly, the sound making you jump, his voice instantly soothing your mind.

"did you bring any references?"

shit, you think to yourself. you hated the references you originally had, you left them at home. you had absolutely nothing.

alex tuts, setting the portfolio back down and walking to you, tapping your chin so you'd look up at him, which you do.

"i can see you gettin' in your head. you don't have to worry, we can figure this out, okay?"

"okay."

you and alex stand there for a moment, faces so close, almost close enough for you to close the gap— to kiss him, but you choose against it. alex again seems to be the one to snap out of the haze first, taking a few steps away, clearing his throat. "i, uh, have some pictures you could use as a reference."

right. the photoshoot. that's why you're here.

"you wanna go get 'em for me?" alex asks as he sits down on the chair in front of your camera. you say yes, waiting on him to tell you where to go.

"just that shelf there, the gray one."

you hold the hefty photo album in your hand and hand it to him, standing behind him, leaning in to look at the pictures.

calling them gorgeous would be an understatement. you had been passionate for photography for as long as you could remember and you had never seen pictures that had captured the human essence that beautifully.

alex points at a specific picture and looks up at you, beaming.

the photograph looked simple enough, but there was something to it, something that made it transcend normalcy, the model looked ethereal. it was in black and white, and the standout feature was the bright red lipstick mark on the model's neck, you could immediately picture alex like that, he'd look so perfect.

you try ignoring how wet just the thought of him like that makes you and as if on cue, he says your name, you look away from the picture and back at him.

"i can see the ideas in your eyes, i think we'd best get started, hm?"

you let out a shaky breath and are about to go to your camera, before you pause and turn to him.

"am i.. do i have to take the pictures of you?"

and for the first time, you see a blush grace your professor's perfect face.

"that was the plan, yeah. we can always find a different picture to replicate if you want, it's fine, i don't mind—"

"no! i mean, it's fine. i'm alright with taking the pictures of you, sir."

alex runs a hand through his hair and licks his lips, "alright, okay,". he smiles at you again, making your heart melt and you feel yourself getting soaked. "think i should change this shirt, though. what do you think, sweetheart?"

based on the look on his face, you can tell he didn't mean to let the nickname slip. you'd be lying if you said you didn't love the way how naturally it rolled off his tongue, though. his accent made the word go straight to your core.

"you can change if you'd like."

he mumbles a quiet 'yeah', and goes off into the corner of the room, unbuttoning his shirt as he walks, unaware of how your eyes are fixed onto him. he slips the shirt off and turns to you, holding two shirts in either of his hands.

"black or white?"

you eye him up and down, replying despite being completely distracted.

"white."

he puts the shirt on as he walks back to the seat, you avoid eye contact because who knows what he'd say if you kept staring.

he sits down and you look back down at the reference picture, one question filling your mind.

"sir?"

he hums in response, fixing the camera slightly.

"the lipstick mark. do i have to—"

"if you want. it's not needed, you don't have to."

the second you hear alex say you can kiss him, you grab your red lipstick and apply it, not noticing how enamored alex is. he watches on as you swipe the lipstick along your bottom lip, wanting nothing more than to feel them against his, but at the same time, terrified that you don't see him the same way.

you stand in between alex's legs, one of his hands on your waist as you lean in and press your lips to the side of his neck, under his jaw. you hear his breath hitch as you pull away, the grip on your waist getting firmer.

"it doesn't look good, can i redo it?" you ask, just so you could kiss him again. alex nods and hands you his old shirt to wipe the lipstick off with. you kiss his neck again, this time with your lips parted, your teeth lightly grazing his pulse point.

alex's eyes fall shut and his mouth hangs open, a quiet groan gracing your ears. with his eyes still shut, he moves his other hand to your waist, pulling you closer to him. "that one good enough for you?", he asks, his hands moving to your back, wrapping around you.

"no, i think i need to kiss you again." you mutter, dipping your head even closer to his. alex doesn't hold back, this time. he leans in and kisses you, standing up and pulling away to kiss your cheek, laughing at the slight red tint he leaves.

"'m i right in assumin' my lips are red too, now?"

you nod as you tangle your hands in his hair, kissing him again, deeply, tongue and teeth clashing with no regard for anything but each other.

alex's hands slip down to your thighs, tapping on them and instinctively you jump into his grasp, letting him carry you with his hands planted firmly under your ass. he pulls away again, dipping his head to your neck, sucking, biting, licking— anything that makes you feel good. you feel how hard he is through your jeans, and you grind against him, making him moan along your collarbone.

"d'you wanna go to my room, baby?", he asks in between kisses. your mind is too overwhelmed with him to respond, so you just tug on his hair, hoping he'd take the message, which he does.

you can barely focus on where he's taking you, working on unbuttoning his shirt, not realising what alex takes with him into his room.

he lays you down on his bed, it dipping when he settles on his knees by your side, letting you unbutton his shirt. he shrugs it off, smiling at how you look at him, completely obsessed with you. he slides his hands under your shirt, waiting for you to let him know it was okay to take it off, which you do with a moan. you're grinding against his thigh now, letting him take your shirt off. while he's there, he also takes your bra off, swearing under his breath at the sight of your tits. he cups them, twisting your nipples between his fingers, watching as they harden, taking one into his mouth.

he sucks on it before pulling off with a pop, kissing all over your chest until he reaches the waistband of your jeans. he undoes the button and pulls them off slowly, along with your soaking wet panties, both joining the growing pile of clothes on his floor.

alex runs a finger through your folds and pops it into his mouth, humming as he tastes you.

your hips roll into his as you whine, "sir, i need you, please," you begged, and alex simply couldn't say no to you.

alex strips down fully in front of you, and just the sight of his cock makes you squirm. he was bigger than you'd imagined him being. trying to convince yourself that you could take him, you watch as he slides back in between your legs and places his arms on either side of your head. you can't help yourself from reaching out for his cock, stroking it and playing with the tip. his arms almost give in as he groans straight into your ear.

he moves one of his hands to pry yours away from his cock, "if you pull somethin' like that again, i'll make sure to leave you here, just like this. got it?"

the harshness in his voice makes you clench around nothing, you nod rapidly, biting your lip to keep quiet.

"good girl," alex mutters as he aligns himself with your aching hole, pushing in as slowly as possible, both of you moaning as he bottoms out. his hand goes to your clit, rubbing it in figure eights as slowly as possible as he pulls out almost completely, only to slam back in.

your hands go to his back, nails digging into his skin as he thrusts. he had a plan— he was going to take it slow, be as gentle as possible— but it all went to shit the second he saw the way your tits moved with every thrust.

he speeds up, going faster with every thrust, eyes flitting between your face and your tits. his fingers work your clit like magic and your back arches into him, tits pressing against his chest as he hits the perfect spot. you moan his name loudly, biting into his shoulder to muffle your noise. he strokes your hair softly, slowing down just a bit to kiss your cheek.

"feel good, princess?" he asks, his voice sweeter than sugar.

"so, so, so good, fuck—" you feel yourself getting closer and closer and alex can feel it too. you clench around him before you see white, the pleasure of it all taking over as you cum hard. alex fucks you through it, getting closer and closer to his peak.

just as he's about to cum, he pulls out, slightly too late. his cum spurts all over your thighs, stomach and cunt, but you're too fucked out to care.

"that was so good, love, you did so, so well for me."

he kisses your collarbone again, moving lower and lower, eventually settling with his face in between your thighs. he pushes the cum off of your stomach and thighs and into your cunt with his fingers, twisting them inside you. surprised, you tug on his hair, pulling him to look at you.

"i got you, good girl, don't worry, okay?"

you nod as alex pulls his fingers out and slides them into your mouth, making you suck them clean— which you do.

he kisses your inner thigh before finally licking a stripe up your worn pussy, making direct eye contact as he does so. his lips attach to your clit, teeth grazing against it as he flicks it with his tongue, eventually moving his thumb to do that job for him. he slides his tongue into you, tasting you as best as he can, moaning into your cunt. the vibrations drive you crazy, hips bucking into his mouth as he licks into you relentlessly.

his nose nudges your clit as you feel your peak getting closer once more, legs wrapping around his head as you cum again, letting him clean you up with his gentle kitten licks. alex looks up at you through his messy hair, laughing as you pry him away from your overstimulated cunt. he eventually gives in, moving away and kissing his way back up to your face.

the two of you sit there in silence for a while, the only sounds you hear is alex's quiet breathing as you run your hands through his hair.

"'m sorry," he mumbles against your lips. "you're my student, this isn't right, i shouldn't have—"

you press your lips against his once more, softer this time, less starved, less desperate. you kiss him as if you can see more of these kisses coming your way in the future.

"i can see you getting in your head, alex." he chuckles at the callback to what he had told you earlier, hiding his head in the crook of your neck. "i want this to work. i think if we tried, and if we're careful, it will."

alex takes a deep breath in, sitting up next to you, gently stroking your stomach as he presses another kiss to your neck.

"it better work, doll."

you feel yourself starting to drift asleep, only waking up to the feeling of alex's body leaving yours.

"what are you doing?" you ask quietly, voice too hoarse speak normally.

alex grabs what he took with him earlier, that object you couldn't quite make out, and waves it in front of your eyes. that fucking camera.

"just stay still, love," he says as he snaps a few pictures of you, smiling at the stills.

"so.. are those getting me my A?"

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

anyways.. liv n lola on top, my fav losers fr!!

#alex turner smut #alex turner fanfic #alex turner fic #alex turner x fem!reader #smut #cookie cooks #alex turner x reader #alex turner x you #youresodarkbabe #prof al smut

107 notes · View notes

mysteryshoptls · 1 day

Text

SSR Epel Felmier - Platinum Jacket Vignette

"Happy 100th Anniversary"

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Epel: I'd been hearin' this place was just some fancy museum, 'cept it's way huger 'n I thought.

Epel: We ain't got a museum back home, so… Seein' all these paintin's hangin' 'bout's just crazy!

???: Look at that apple, it's so red and shiny! Totally looks photo-worthy ♪

Epel: Ah, Cater-san! Yeah, it's a really beautiful apple, huh. Although, it's pretty hard to get them this red even with a ton of effort.

Cater: Eh, really? Epel-chan, you sure know your apples ♪

Epel: Ehehe, that's because I'm from a family of apple farmers. I don't think anyone knows more than me when it comes to apples!

Cater: I see～

Cater: Y'know, the queen here looks like she's talking with the crow as she offers it the apple. What do you think she's saying?

Cater: Since even someone well-versed in the world of apples like you thought it's a great looking one, thinking she's saying something like, "Doesn't it look delicious?"

Epel: Nah. I think she's saying, "It's not for you!"

Cater: Eh! So mean!

Epel: Well, yeah!! Like, back home, we'd always have crows trying to nab our apples…

Epel: They'd damage them, poke holes in them, drop them half-eaten on the ground…

Epel: I can't stand them for treating our delicious apples like that!!

Epel: It'd be bad if we couldn't ship out our apples, so the village would band together every year to try to keep them crows out.

Cater: THE WHOLE VILLAGE!? Must be a pretty touch sitch. What kinda stuff do you do to get rid of them?

Epel: We'd put up nets, or make noises that the crows wouldn't like… And a bunch of other stuff.

Epel: But those guys are pretty smart, so we can only get rid of them for a short time… They always come back once they realize they're not in danger.

Epel: That's why whenever them crows came back, I'd jump on my broom and hoot 'n holler while chasing after them!

Cater: You'd hoot and holler while chasing after them!? Based on how petite you look, I couldn't imagine you doing something like that…

Epel: If I don't give them a good scare, they'll just keep coming back.

Epel: A few of the crows were more persistent, so I'd get worried that I'd run out of magic while trying to chase them.

Epel: But, thanks to all that, in the end, whenever I was in the orchard, the crows wouldn't come anywhere near it!

Cater: Pretty amazing of you to scare away all those annoying crows that had the whole village in a bind ♪

Epel: Eheheh, thank you.

Cater: If we're talking about when you were back home, that means this all happened before you came here, right? So basically, would you say you're a pretty good flier, Epel-chan?

Epel: Yep! The guys in the Magical Shift club'll praise me up and down for being able to chase down erratic discs.

Cater: Niiice, all your experiences with those crows are probably coming in handy, then.

Epel: Oh, when you put it that way, I guess so…!

Epel: I thought they were just a pain in my side, but… Those crows were useful in their own way too, I guess?

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Cater: This painting… It's a scene from the tales of the kind-hearted princess. Ahh, a nighttime date on a magical flying carpet is so romantic ♪

Epel: Is that what this is? Oh, the magic carpet is holding something. Is this… a flower?

Epel: It's really drawn so lifelike. It looks like it was just freshly picked…

Cater: Ahaha. So I take it you're more interested in fresh flowers than a romantic date, Epel-chan?

Epel: I-I mean, when weeds are pulled out, they shrivel up pretty fast…

Epel: And even cut flowers need to be put into a vase as soon as possible, or it loses its vibrancy.

Cater: Really? Looks like you're just as in the know about plants as you are with apples.

Epel: Ehehe. I'm studying really hard right now so that I can be more useful to my village whenever I head back home.

Epel: I've been working on potions that'll keep plants from withering, or help them grow…

Epel: Recently, I've been growing my own plants so I can test my potions on them.

Epel: I panicked a bit when one of the pots broke when I was in the middle of testing out a new potion…

Cater: Eh!? You saying that it grew crazy fast, or something!?

Epel: Oh, no, no! I can't make potions that great yet, or with any effect, really…

Epel: Basically, it just fell because one of my roommates bumped their hand into it while they were getting ready for class.

Cater: Did you get hurt at all? It'd be bad if our cute little Epel-chan got injured!

Epel: Cute…!? …Urgh, yes, I was fine.

Epel: I had to clean up the broken pot and scattered dirt, so I was more worried about being late to class.

Epel: I planned on hitting up the school store afterwards to get another pot, since I didn't have any spares…

Epel: But Jack-kun, my classmate, shared one of his spare pots! I was able to move my plant into that one right away.

Cater: Hm? Why did Jack-kun…? Oh, right. He raises cacti, right?

Epel: Yeah! How did you know?

Cater: I remembered him posting a picture of a cactus on Magicam once. There wasn't any description, so I didn't really get what the picture was supposed to be of at first…

Epel: That must have been the cactus that Jack-kun's been growing, yeah.

Epel: He really tries to take good care of it, and had spare pots laying around.

Epel: So, when I said I broke my own plant's pot, he gave one to me, saying it was in return for some apples I gave him once.

Epel: Cater-san, are there are plants that you take care of?

Cater: Hmmm, I mean, there's a ton of plants in my dorm. But I don't think I'd ever really get around to raising some myself.

Epel: Yeah, it really takes time and effort to raise plants.

Epel: That's why it feels double awesome whenever the plant's flowers bloom or fruit grow!

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Epel: Oh hey, it's a painting of the Queen of Hearts! Both she and the animals on her shoulder look pretty proud of themselves.

Cater: It says that this is a painting depicting the scene where the Queen of Hearts had just secured her victory in a croquet match.

Cater: According to legend, the Queen of Hearts was able to hit shots that just curved right into the hoops.

Epel: Shots that curved right into the hoops!? I can't even do that when I aim for them… She's awesome!

Cater: Oh, so you've played croquet before?

Epel: Yes! Last weekend, Ace and Deuce asked me to help them practice.

Epel: Grim-kun and [Yuu]-san also joined us. It was supposed to just be practice, but we kinda ended up playing an actual match…

Epel: Hehe, we really got into it then.

Epel: By the time we finished the game, we were all so hungry. So we all just went to Foothill Town to eat.

Cater: Niiice～ Ah, so young and carefree. And let me guess, you guys went to a hamburger joint?

Epel: Eh, how did you know!?

Cater: When it comes to a joint in town that's affordable even for students, I can't really think of anything much other than that chain restaurant～

Epel: Oh yeah, Ace-kun said something like that too. But it's not like I knew of the restaurant before I came to Sage's Island.

Cater: Are you more the type to avoid fast food hamburger joints?

Epel: I wouldn't say I avoid them… It's a bit of a car ride to get to their closest chain back home, so I haven't had much opportunity to go, is all.

Cater: Oh wow. I totally thought they had a place set up pretty much everywhere, since it's even on this remote island.

Epel: Yeah… When I told Ace-kun and Deuce-kun, they were pretty surprised as well.

Epel: Until those two told me, I didn't even know that they did free refills at this restaurant...

Cater: Hm? I mean, I don't think it's just that one joint that does that, but the whole chain.

Epel: Eh, you mean that's not something only here at Sage's Island!?

Epel: Then that means I could have had free refills in the restaurant I went to back home… I didn't know at all.

Epel: What a waste, I'd only ever get one drink whenever I'd go. I'll have to let my family know next time I head back home.

Cater: Yeah, yeah. Whenever there's free refills, it's so easy to just lounge there forever, too～

Epel: Yeah! And that day, we got really caught up in conversation that it started to get dark… We had to hurry back to campus.

Cater: Oh, I see, I see. Well, thanks for getting along with my little freshie brethren.

Epel: What, you don't need to thank me! I had a ton of fun hanging with them.

Epel: Ah, wait, I'm sorry, I've kept you here a while now!

Cater: Don't worry about it, I was happy to chat with you ♪ I think I'll head off to the museum's café now.

Cater: I heard their menu is themed after the various exhibits here, so. See ya around, Epel-chan.

Epel: Right, see ya. …Well, Vil-san told me to learn a thing or two about beauty while I'm here, so I guess I'll go look around for a painting of the Fairest Queen.

Epel: Oh hey, there's another painting with an apple on it! This one looks really tasty, too.

Epel: Oh yeah, I remember when I was a kid, I heard the story of how the Fairest Queen cast her magic on apples, and would try to pretend to do the same.

Epel: And I'd chant… "Now, turn red. Tempt anyone and everyone to make them hunger for a bite…"

Requested by Anonymous.

#twisted wonderland #twst #epel felmier #cater diamond #twst epel #twst cater #twst translation #twst birthday #mention: jack #mention: ace #mention: deuce #mention: grim #mention: yuu #mention: vil

112 notes · View notes