#and i have read some interviews and who was hired for what and... it explains a few things to me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shun-ie · 5 months ago

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₍⁠₍⁠ ⁠◝ the past, the present, and the future (rhys larsen)

content : longest fanfic yet, rhys larsen, differentpath!au, amab!reader, slowburn, sexual awakening?, strangers to acquaintances to friends to lovers, mentions of trauma/ptsd, healing the inner child, ooc-ish rhys, unprotected sex, slight mention of fingering, bttm!malereader, ceo!reader, mentions of kinks, lmk if i missed anything :))

shun-note : rhys larsen is not my oc. he belongs to ana huang, the author of twisted games. i also noticed that there weren't a lot of twisted series fics (or there's none at all), so i made one. missing some details, but i wanted to post this already so it doesn't rot in my drafts lol

[not proofread]

m.list !

cold hearted. that's what rhys larsen first thought of y/n l/n, the ceo of l/n conglomerate. after being the bodyguard for bridget von ascheberg, the crown princess of eldorra, he took up another commission to drown away the ache that was left when he parted from the woman he spent his two years protecting.

y/n l/n was vastly different from any of those rhys had guarded in the past.

y/n put his work first. sleep? he'd sign and read through papers until he collapsed and died. eat? he'd starve just to entertain the board of his company. he did however, keep a strict hygiene and exercise routine. in those two months with y/n, he never once saw the frown leave his lips. it was like it was permanently scarred on his face. the total opposite of bridget.

rhys was offered the job just after he freshly resigned from his post. he was reluctant to accept the commission, but accepted once he found out it was a man he would be guarding this time. he did all the background checks, read y/n's information, did security protocols, just like any other clients he had previously.

and as he trailed behind the ceo, who parted the crowd of paparazzi and 'fans' like the red sea, he was brought back to the moment when he first met the indifferent man in front of him.

"this is sir y/n l/n. lately, he's being harassed by paparazzi. he has been followed home seven times in the past month . . . ambush interviews . . . and he can't eat in restaurants anymore," the secretary listed as she spoke to rhys via request of y/n's father who took care of affairs in china. "he normally does things alone without bodyguards, but this time people have gone too far," she further explains, pushing an open folder with photos taken by the paparazzi.

they consisted of y/n sitting in a booth at a restaurant, entering sister company buildings, walking through the park, and even leaving his car as he approached his house. it was never this bad with bridget.

as he examined the photos, alongside the blueprints of y/n's house and the company headquarters he requested beforehand, the secretary says something that catches his attention.

"sir l/n doesn't talk much. so don't feel hurt if he gives you the cold shoulder when you guys meet," hurt? hilarious. i don't even know him well enough to be hurt. "-he most likely will ignore you." arrogant? stuck up?

it was then when he met y/n l/n that there was something else. from the way the ceo's eyebrows furrowed, stress shadowing his tense but elegant form, as he scanned the papers in his hand, a cup of something in his other.

"miss clarke, i have another meeting with missus barett on wednesday at seven pm. add that to my schedule. and move my call with mister harris around nine pm after the meeting." he then stopped in his tracks, taking notice of the other presence in the room. he blinks, eyeing the large man sitting in front of his secretary. long hair, broad muscular frame, gunmetal eyes, and a scar slashing through his left eyebrow. he wore all black. "you must be the bodyguard my father hired. rhys larsen, correct me if i am wrong."

y/n's voice was full on business, leaving no trace of any other emotions other than serious and commanding. words rolled out of his mouth like smooth silk and his earlier strides could rival fairies that pranced around gracefully as they took flight.

"yes and if i may, i'll be looking around the building for any security measures," rhys got straight to the point. there was no point dancing around the issue. no point in introductions, they knew each other well enough. it was obvious. his indifference masked the slight curiosity that sparked as he watched y/n disappear into his office, where he caught a glimpse of neatly stacked paperwork and the large window that overlooked the city from above.

even as he drove away from the airport, he knew nothing about the man he's protecting. unlike bridget who he had arguments and decent conversations with, y/n only gave him one or two word responses before silence loomed over them like a cloud everyday for the two months they were together. the basic information about the ceo was nothing compared to the behavior, habits, likes, and dislikes of the crown princess.

he took casual glances from his rear view mirror, observing as y/n scrolled through his hundreds of emails, noting down important information on his pocket journal.

rhys has never seen y/n stop working.

"you're ruining yourself." it was just a thought, he never intended for it to slip. he curses in his mind.

y/n hums, never looking up from what he was doing. "why is that?" he knew exactly why, but he chose to ignore it. he wore himself down most of the time, all the time. he never intended to stop, but the words rang clearly in his mind. you're ruining yourself.

"it just looks like you're burning both ends of a candle, trying to manage yourself and work," rhys focused on the road, "but you can't."

y/n has never disobeyed his instructions which he was thankful for as it made everything easier. he never really did go out as much as bridget did. even then, scheduled events and meetings were always smooth as rhys had planned it to be.

y/n wasn't as hard headed, outgoing, and filled with fire. not like bridget. rhys didn't even know why he was comparing two polar opposites. but being with him, he thought of the crown princess in eldorra who offered him extension of his contract, which he refused. and now he's here.

"i work . . . because it distracts me from my reality."

y/n has never talked about why he does what he does. it felt right in the moment. rhys has never pried answers out of him, partially because he didn't converse with him, however his eyes told him so. those stormy grey eyes that showed nothing but genuine curiosity even though he tried to hide it.

rhys didn't know what to think as they reached the end of the highway. two months and y/n finally spoke a full sentence. rapport was a card he had set to the side because of their circumstances, now he might as well consider putting it back on the table. he saw y/n put his work down, temporarily ceasing his work which were probably with a month or two deadline, and relax against the seat.

"i hate thinking of other things, other people," y/n lets out an empty chuckle, finding rhys' eyes through the rear view mirror, "isn't that why you took the commission to bodyguard me? to forget about the previous client you protected? we're a bit alike, you and i. we do things that would take our minds off things."

it felt like a bucket of ice cold water washed over rhys as he heard those words. we do things that would take our minds off things. his grip tightened on the steering wheel, gazing away from those sad e/c eyes that ingrained themselves in his memory. he never thought his longest interaction with his client would be so depressing, yet eye opening. he knew of three things.

one. he is trying to take his mind off of someone.

two. y/n works to take his mind off of something or someone.

and three. y/n wasn't cold hearted. only seemed like it.

rhys stood at the sidelines, alert and ready. his eyes wandered around the event, as if looking for any threats that would suddenly appear out of nowhere. he then dragged his gaze towards his client, who was in the middle of a group of other businessmen and women. he shared a tight and practiced smile, trying to act polite and respectful as the night dragged on.

y/n wore a tailored suit, it was simple yet elegant. his hair was slicked back, lips full and glossy from constantly licking it as he swirled the wine in his glass. he was total perfection. a face that would leave anyone in ruins. but rhys caught the slight tremble of his hand and his eyes flashing to different places, as he squeezed out of the group that huddled around him. it looked as if he was panicking, though he regained himself when he knocked back the wine. rhys almost left his spot if it weren't for the pointed and reassuring look y/n shot his direction.

it was four months after that conversation. their relationship was less tense and less quiet. y/n now regularly held conversation with rhys, getting his opinions on philosophical and theoretical things. sometimes they spoke about the geographical locations where the company could build a new branch of resort. it never trespassed the gates of personal life.

when rhys asked about something he did for himself, y/n blanked him and changed the topic.

"since you're working because of something or someone, what do you do for yourself?" it was a question that he came up with as they got deeper into the conversation about places that could potentially become a tourist spot. rhys didn't always like talking because it included emotions, but with y/n it felt natural. it was during these one on ones that he caught glimpses and pieces of the person behind the cold ceo exterior.

y/n blinked, turning away and opening another topic about attractions. "what about a butterfly house . . ." rhys sighed through his nose quietly. during the first day he said that he doesn't become included in his clients' lives and that he wasn't there to be a friend, confidant, or anything else. but looking at how y/n tensed when he even hears the words family and yourself . . .

rhys knew y/n at least needed a someone. we're a bit alike, you and i.

it didn't take long for him to notice the signs of ptsd. the way y/n only spoke about his father, excluding his mother in conversations. avoiding places that had closets that contained cleaning supplies or were used for storage of documents. there were also times rhys heard shuffling in the kitchen way past midnight even when they got home around ten or eleven in the evening.

as much as rhys tried to ignore the sense of care, not wanting things to repeat, he couldn't help but feel a bit of fear that y/n wouldn't come out of hi bedroom. would he fail to protect him because of how he lived outside and inside work? terror flashed through him as he thought about it. he's working too much, he'll kill himself before he could even reach forty.

and as of that moment, his heart thrummed against his rib cage. he screamed profanities in his mind as he lost sight of the client he was supposed to protect. he bulldozed through the people, ignoring their glares and mumbles as his eyes darted around for y/n.

there was another thing he feared. repetition of the past.

being with bridget for over two years changed a lot of things for him. never has he breached the contract rules until her. he's hasn't felt anything like it until her. he prayed to the gods that she would be the last. hopefully.

as he rounded a corner, he caught sight of a silhouette through a slightly ajar door. he pushed it open and found y/n sitting on the middle of the floor of the empty ballroom. intricate designs decorated the walls and ceiling, pieces of furniture finishing off the classic look.

"i know that you think of your previous client when you guard me."

it made rhys tense at the door. in all the years of his life, he was the one to read the other, not the other way around. something about y/n challenged him. they were simply a mystery to each other. unlike bridget who knew about his past and him knowing hers, y/n and him knew nothing about each other aside from the basics.

"when i look at you . . . it looks like it pains you to be guarding me. you think you're good at hiding it, but you're really not," y/n droned out, looking at the night sky through the windows. "during the first two weeks, i noticed some habits you retained from your commission before this one. it seems to me there was more to this certain client, that's why you took on the job of protecting me. something must have happened."

rhys stiffened ever so slightly, feeling a spike of both irritation and astonishment. he didn't like this. but at the same time, he also felt a bit of relief that someone knew. he couldn't lie about anything. something did happen with bridget, but he had hardened his heart, ignoring the twisting ache when he left. he left her when he was claiming her in his mind.

"you should think of resigning as my bodyguard," y/n gets up from the floor, patting down his suit and fixing his collar and cuffs, "i think you should go back to your previous client. i can find another bodyguard."

rhys immediately closed their distance in five strides. he's six inches taller and towers over y/n easily with his broad and muscular figure. his eyes doesn't shy away from the heated connection of misunderstandings and mystery that brewed between them in a steady pace for the past six months and threatened to explode like a nuke. "i wanted to be your bodyguard. a client from before doesn't change anything. it shouldn't. protecting you is number one priority." his words were like knives slicing into the tense atmosphere. he didn't want his client doubting him.

silence hung heavy over them, both of them not once backing away from the fiery eye contact. rhys was right, despite his relationship with bridget, that doesn't deter him from doing his job. his job is solely focused on his current client. to protect y/n l/n.

"mister rhys, you truly do surprise me." y/n turns away from his bodyguard and brushes past him, feeling a tug at his heart. he places a hand on his chest, he clenches it and lets it drop back to his side. "i'm exhausted. let me just bid my farewells, then we can leave this godforsaken event."

rhys stared at the back of y/n as they headed back to the garden. the faux personality that he reserved for the attendees returned, treating the man he just spoke to in the ballroom as nothing but another him. no, he didn't have a personality disorder, that's for sure. he just likes hiding behind masks. he definitely fits the role of a ceo.

a year passed. rhys continued his job as the ceo's bodyguard. he really fit the role. during the first week, he memorized y/n's schedule, plans, and the blueprints of the headquarters and estate. the following months, less paparazzi flocked y/n and there were occasional attempted assaults (which was new). he was completely amazing.

y/n watched the man he had been with for one year and a half. since that night during the garden event, a lot of things have shifted. their once debatable and business talks transformed a bit more personal varying from favorites and elaborated opinions on preferences. there were times they strayed away from one topic to another as he signed papers and went over some of them. it took away the ache of loneliness he felt over the years he took his place as ceo.

where his company would be the words he read and the calls he took and the coffee curbed his exhaustion he can never get rid off, he felt lighter than he did before rhys became his bodyguard.

rhys sat on the couch flushed against the trimmed walls of the office, furnished with bookshelves, a glass coffee table, and small trinkets here and there. he could feel y/n's eye drilling holes into the side of his head. he gave him a glance only to see the man turn to his papers, pretending to digest the words printed on them.

y/n had him sit on the couch, getting a slight headache from seeing and hearing him standing at the door and occasionally walking around. rhys found it amusing how the cold hearted ceo felt emotions such as frustration and glints of sadness when the world saw him as someone who used people for his gain and didn't feel a drop of guilt.

throughout the year, he got to know a lot of things about y/n. he loved reading, not his paperwork but novels. he spotted some books laying around but didn't question them and instead, skimmed through the pages. he specifically liked crime and fantasy. he also liked jazz. there was a shelf of cassettes and vinyl records near the fireplace.

"what happened between you and your previous client?" the question brought rhys' attention to y/n again. this one was very personal. were they close enough to even talk about it? he did say that what happened in costa rica stayed in costa rica.

rhys sat back, pondering before concluding. "if i were to answer that, you have to give me something of equal value," the idea of exchanged caught y/n by surprise. interest flickers through his eyes as amusement showed on his face.

"are you bargaining?"

rhys laughs lightly, the sound squeezing at the ceo's heart. "it's business."

y/n reached for his chest as he gulped. he brushed the feeling off and nods, "i like that. let's talk business then." a devilish and heart stopping smirk lifted the corners of rhys' mouth.

"i noticed on the blueprints that you don't have any room that's as small as a pantry. even your walk in closet is as big as your bedroom. why is that?" rhys had an inkling, an assumption, but he wanted it to come out of y/n's lips. he saw his client huff a breath, a thought crossing his mind, before slumping, regal self gone.

"i have ptsd. it was from my mother. when i was younger, she had this twisted sense of duty. she packed my schedule with a lot of lessons. mostly languages and subjects related to business. if i have a low score, she'd lock me in my room for a few hours. if i failed, she'd lock me in a closet. to distract myself, i indulged in hobbies and other things. she found out and locked me in for i don't know long. all i know is i was hungry and thirsty. it didn't take long for my father to find me, he had just come home from a business trip. the house was a mess after that," his voice wavered slightly, but regained its steadiness as he thought about his father. no amount of therapy sessions cured his fear of enclosed spaces.

when he tried to overcome it once, his lungs constricted, he felt nausea and sweaty, he couldn't think at all. he felt so helpless.

y/n was silent for a while before shaking his head, trying to rid of himself of the resurfaced memories. one he tried to forget but couldn't. not when they lingered in the back of his mind. if he couldn't get over his fears, then he couldn't get over his past. so he'd ignore it as long as possible.

"we're alike, you and i." rhys reused the words y/n had told him a year ago, this time removing the words a bit. and true to the bargain, he told him all about bridget von ascheberg. as soon as he mentioned her name, recognition flooded through y/n's eyes. he listened attentively, nodding and humming here and there. (read twisted games for better understanding) understanding settled in the air. comfortable silence followed soon after, both returning to what they were doing before their heart to heart.

rhys gazed at the man sitting at the desk. in a timespan shorter than his time with bridget, he and y/n knew each other in a deeper level. maybe it's because they were both men? or was it because the silence and waiting for the starting few months pushed everything into place? maybe it's because y/n took his time being comfortable first before conversing? he didn't know, there were a lot of possibilities.

he was certain of one thing. there was more to y/n's story.

three months passed. aside from the company parties, meetings, and alumni event, everything was smooth sailing for y/n. he did receive death threats once or twice, but it was all sorted out by rhys who stuck to him like glue. he either trailed behind him like a scary dog or stood beside him when having idle chats with other people.

they started eating at the table together, as y/n's father demanded one day during one of his visits and berated his son for not asking rhys any sooner. the latter has become less alert when they were in a room alone together, not like before where he would pace at times. now he sat reading or sketching, occasionally focusing as if listening or looking for something.

it was the first time rhys saw y/n in casual wear. jeans, shirt, and a jacket. his father had told him to go have fun for one day, then he could go back to working until the day he dies. so there they were, at an amusement park.

a sparkle of childish curiosity passed through y/n's mind as his eyes went from one ride to another. its been a decade since the last time he had fun. the thought twisted at his heart. where everyone enjoyed normality, he couldn't. fun time was a luxury for him when he was around ten to fifteen. he had to work hard for it, but it was only brief. how he wished to experience it all.

"is it your first time in an amusement park?" rhys stood beside him, still in all black, though his outfit was a bit more laidback. he stood tall, oozing with a sense of responsibility. he received a mute nod.

the longer y/n looked around, the more he felt overwhelmed. his lips quivered as he swallowed hard. sadness embraced him. the heaviness of the situation weighed on him. all those stolen childhood days could've been spent being reckless and facing the consequences later, having fun, making friends, and exploring life. "i never thought i'd see a rollercoaster in real life."

rhys followed y/n around. those books that laid around the house held utmost significance. they were worlds that he could imagine himself in, leaving the reality that was set in stone by his mother. universes where he could be the main character of the story, even if it's just for a little while. he felt the sliver of happiness his mother depraved him of.

they walked around the park buying souvenirs and trying out food. they went on the dropper and dropper. y/n looked at the cars of the ferris wheel and refused to get on even when rhys mentioned that the view was nice at the very top. for their last stop, they decided on the haunted mansion. it was the main attraction.

as they entered the mansion, they were covered in darkness. there were dim lights that led the way. there were many twists and at one of the turns, rhys and y/n got separated. the latter looked around in wonder, a burst of excitement guiding him through the maze of halls. the cold hearted man was hidden away in the suit of the ceo, in casual clothes he was just y/n.

just as he was about to run off somewhere, he was shoved against the wall and locked in someplace dark. he furrowed his eyebrows and took a step only to realize there was limited space. his eyes widened as he tried to move, feeling around only to find to familiar structure of two closet doors trapping him.

"hello!?" he tried to open the door only to find out it's been wedged closed by an overturned chair. he slams his palms against the wood, sweat rolling down his forehead, suddenly feeling hot. "let me out!"

his hands slid against the frame, pressing himself against the wall of the closet as if trying to make more space. he hears his pulse in his ears, eyes darting around frantically trying to find some sort of light in the blinding darkness. he feels oxygen leave his lips in pants, he's light headed. "please . . ."

he slides down the wall as the tears of the past come rushing to the present. tears slide down his cheeks as he becomes the helpless child he once was. "please . . . i'm sorry" he wheezes out, his mind flashing back to the old closet in their old estate.

cool air brushed against his sweaty forehead and he's pulled out of the closet and into a set of arms. "l/n? l/n, stay with me." rhys pats y/n's cheek, trying to wake him up from his episode. tears kept pouring as he muttered nonsense. his heart was racing too fast. "why the fuck did you lock him in a closet!?" he barked at the actors, who flinched back from the scalding tone.

"it's part of the experience. it was supposed to be for two minutes," the manager calmly de-escalated the situation.

rhys scowled, supporting y/n who was out of it. "take it out of the fucking experience." he hears the disoriented man mumble something before taking him someplace else where they could have a bit of privacy.

"thank you . . ." y/n stared blankly at the people walking by. he was sitting on a bench. he didn't know what to say. the last time he had an episode was when he tried to overcome his ptsd six years back. it didn't work, instead he had a similar experience but a tad worse.

rhys stood before him, blocking him from the nosy people who tried to peer. his arms were crossed, flexing as the irritation from earlier slowly faded. they were separated by two actors. he was forced into a pit of fake bones and when he was out he was faced with a serious situation. y/n's ptsd episode.

"it's my job."

y/n sighed, shoulders slumping. even on the one day where everything should be normal, it still turned out to be another traumatic day. the child that hid in the mansion of his mind always found his way out, replacing his current with the past. he hated how he couldn't even overcome being in a closet for five fucking minutes.

"no it's not. your job is to protect me from physical harm. but as of this moment, you eased my emotional harm. for that, i thank you," he raised his head and gave him a small smile. it felt foreign, but it felt right in the moment.

rhys' breath hitched. that damned smile that y/n gave. it was unexpected from someone who was frowning everyday. he felt that familiar tug on his heart. one he didn't want to feel, but couldn't kill. y/n looked gorgeous being showered in the golden sunset.

that smile . . . it looked good on him.

another year had gone by. a lot had changed since that day at the amusement park. almost three years, a lot of things changed.

y/n was a bit more expressive with emotions, only with rhys and his father however. he slowly started easing off his work and had rest days. despite having said days, he still could only get in, two at maximum, hours of sleep. he was eating more. rhys was there through everything. another constant in his life.

"i was thinking of a beach resort in areas where resorts aren't that popular," the chief marketing officer proposed, standing confidently in front of the board officers. y/n sat at the head of the long table reading through the hard copy of the presentation. rhys stood to his side like a hawk. since that day in the amusement park, he didn't want another shove incident, even though there weren't any closets nearby.

y/n flipped through the papers once again and sighed, "our company shouldn't only be resorts. i need a proposition that steers away from the word resort. we can't market that forever." he moved his head from side to side and sighed as he felt that satisfying pop. he's been sitting listening to propositions for an hour and a half. his ass felt numb. "everyone, let's take ten."

as people filed out the room, y/n flipped through the rest of the propositions with a groan. it was so deep and stressed, it was attractive. rhys felt his cock stir with interest as he eyed the serious ceo.

he's been having urges. that tousled hair of y/n, he just wants to run his fingers through them and tug them back. those tense shoulders, he could fuck the stress out of him by bending him over the table.

rhys shook his head and cleared his mind. during the past year, he has been curious about sexuality. normally he didn't care, however now that he's feeling something for the same sex, he's been doing some research. it started off small, from bits of information and opinions of other people in the community until he got too deep and even discovered pornographic videos.

it would be a lie if he denied watching some videos, but it was for research purposes. all his life, he had always been interested in women, but since he met y/n, he has been questioning a lot of things in life. he wants it to stop. he had to remind himself that things from the past should never repeat.

as rhys had an inner conflict, y/n had his own as well. he tried to distract himself from the masculine presence behind him, acting as if he was going through the papers. it was half true, he was trying to ignore the glimpses of moments that flashed through his mind of these past two months where he relieved himself at the thought of his own bodyguard. he felt a bit shameful, but it felt so wrong and right at the same time. rhys had been uncovering a past he tried to keep buried. however, it resurfaced every time he saw him.

"you know . . . the reason my . . . mother locked me in the closet . . ." it was a random blurt out, but it was on his mind. rhys showed a sign he was listening. "i danced as a hobby. she didn't like it. she claims its girly. i'm also . . ." y/n trailed off with a thoughtful hum. "i've never really said this to anyone but my mother. i'm also into men." no matter how long its been.

rhys felt his stomach flip. he stared ahead of him, feeling a bit of relief. "good to know."

those three words made y/n's heart flutter. he hid the heat appearing on his cheeks, thankful that his back is turned to the bodyguard that tested and pushed him. but he had to ask, even though deep down he knew the answer, "what does that mean?"

"you have work to do."

three months passed, which makes three years. in those months, y/n came out to his father, who responded with an i suspected that. being the ceo, he was expected to negotiate. he did, though during those meetings, he couldn't avoid proposals like arranged marriage or marriage to merge companies. before he could answer, rhys was already there making his presence known, a frown on his face, scaring away other ceos. it got to the point where y/n only made phone calls for such meet-ups.

to rhys, its been hectic. to resist y/n's bold advances such as sliding a hand against his bicep, sometimes his chest. looking up at him through those lashes with big innocent eyes, even though they're far from it. that cute smile from the amusement park that seemed to be only reserved for him alone. and those sounds he lets out when he's stressed or working.

y/n was driving him insane. forget the contract, they can make a new one where he'd fuck the ceo into submission anytime and anywhere he wanted as long as he stayed his.

rhys knew y/n wanted him. he could tell from his actions and his words with underlying meanings. it was killing him to keep his hands to himself. if he could only reach out, wrap a hand around y/n's neck and kiss him like there's no tomorrow . . .

it was one in the morning, they had just gotten home. in the car, y/n proposed to play a game. two truths and one dare, in which they took turns. as they stepped into the warmth of the mansion, y/n came up with a question for rhys' chosen truth. in all honestly, he just wanted to entertain his client (hopefully to tire him out) so he could turn in for the night before he took him right there on the front door.

"what are your kinks?"

as the game progressed in the car, the questions got more inappropriate, definitely borderline breaching their contract.

"hair pulling . . . bondage you could say . . ." he listed off other kinks, fixing his shoes beside y/n's before entering after him. he could feel himself harden the more the other spoke to him about something sexual, as if interviewing him before having him fuck him senseless.

until that question made his heart stop. "would you kiss me?"

rhys slowly turns to y/n, who was looking at him with mild interest with a mix of arousal. he could feel it from the three feet distance between them. the way y/n's eyes traced his lips, dipping below his chin, and stopping at the bulge straining against the black pants.

y/n was sporting the same in his pants. after he admitted to liking men, it was never the same since then. it would never be the same. not when his heart tugs and flutters because of the man standing in front of him. not when his heart fell hard when he found him in the closet in that haunted house. not when they'd had all these one on one talks. through all he stayed.

"yes. would you like me to kiss you?" rhys returned the question as they neared each other, one foot apart. maybe his feelings started growing the moment the silence turned into small and slow conversations. or that time y/n acknowledged what he truly felt when he left bridget. maybe because they shared some similarities. or is it because y/n relied on him to take away the pain of loneliness of only thinking of the future, not allowing himself to heal from the past and appreciate the present.

"yes."

(⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧ rhys' pov

with that, i dove down and molded my lips against his. i guided his head, tilting my heard, pushing against him. his pants echoed in my ears, trapping him against the nearest wall, taking his breath away. when he tried to pull away, i chased his lips, claiming them once more.

when i pulled away, he looked awestruck. i kiss him hard. i press our clothes cocks together and i feel him hump against me, my hands caress down his body and kneads on his cheeks. grunts pour into my mouth as our tongues fight for dominance.

his legs hook around my hips and i carry him upstairs into the bedroom i claimed. i drop him onto the bed. "clothes off." i turn to grab lube and condoms in the drawers. when i turn around, my breath is almost caught in my throat.

the curves and groves of his body, the fullness of his skin, and the way it's begging for attention, makes me want to drop everything and just fuck him raw. i am well aware this is my second breach of contract. i had no reason to do this. this would be another hook-up and-

"breach of contract or not. resigning or not. once you fuck me and i like you, i'm yours and you're mine. i swear to fucking god, we're not arguing about it. we'll fuck it out too."

that was enough for me to push him against the mattress. i'm not asking him how he knew what i was thinking because most of the time it's like he could read my mind. but he did say, i wear my thoughts on my face. maybe it was something only he could do.

my thoughts never once wavered even as i scissored my fingers into y/n's hold, my eyes watching every contort of his face, every redness of his skin. the noise that fell like waterfalls from his swollen lips as i pressed against the bundle of nerves while he desperately pushes against my hand. i groan under my breath. it took a lot of self control to not just fuck him stupid and take away his walking ability.

everything in my mind felt silent as i admired the man under me, taking me inch by inch after throwing the condom on the other side of the room claiming to want to feel me fully and be filled with cum. that almost made me lose grip.

as i bottomed out, i almost immediately rutted my hips. it was so hot and i'm being squeezed tight but just right. i almost exploded right then and there. i felt him tighten his legs around my hips, uttering for me to go.

slowly i pulled out and pushed back in with a low groan. it felt good. so good. i started to pick up pace, slamming balls deep eliciting beautiful moans and whimpers that tickled my ears like a melody.

my hand found its place around his neck, pushing him back into the soft cushions. i apply light pressure and he cries out in pleasure.

"you're ge- hah~ getting b-bigger~ hng!~"

i felt his hands rub up and down against the scars on my back before they wounded around my neck, pulling me close. my nose traced his carotid as i planted kisses and nipped at his skin, my thrusts growing harsher and erratic.

i bit hard on his shoulder with a grunt as i felt him clamp around me, making me cum, shooting thick ropes of cum inside him. i felt spurts of warmth between us as y/n flinches and convulses from his high. he breathes heavily, a dopey smile on his face. i press a brief kiss on his lips and pull out. he groans and drapes an arm over his eyes.

"i mean what i said, whether you're my bodyguard or not. i like you and you're mine and i'm yours."

hearing that made my heart feel good. if there was a god out there, thank you lord for giving me a second chance. i laid beside him on my back. we both stare at the ceiling. under all that cold hard shell, he was very different. he warm warm and mellow. i was cold and barren. yet he thawed all that.

"can you i be your boyfriend?" y/n asked, interlacing our fingers together. it's been a long while since i've last been in a relationship. people say it's too late to try at my age. but it doesn't hurt to want and need. i crack a rare smile.

"whatever you want buttercup."

#shun-ie #male reader #fanfic #amab reader #male reader smut #twisted series #twisted games #rhys larsen #mlm #bottom male reader

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somuchforahobby · 5 months ago

Text

invisible string

Summary: Jessica is out of town and Hotch hires a new nanny for Jack Word count: 8k Warnings: Hotchner is afraid of women Tags: Tooth rotting fluff GIFS belong to @kiwriteswords Read on AO3

Time, curious time

It had been quite a while since you got a job interview. You had been recommended by your friend Jessica to her brother in law to take care of her nephew for a few weeks until she comes back from a work-related trip. But first you had to be interviewed by him and Jessica warned you it was not gonna be a walk in the park.

You didn’t know if you had to look like governess or a Nanny Fine, so you went somewhere in the middle, with an oversized blazer, straight jeans, a crop top and loafers. You wanted to look professional and mature but not boring and old.

When you arrived at the Cafe, your eyes quickly searched for a man alone, who seemed like a dad, but you could not find any. Only one that was much closer to a Calvin Klein catalog than what you expected to be Jessica’s in law. He raised his hand and for a second you thought of politely saying no with your head, because you were here for a job interview not a flirt, but then realized.

“Mr. Hotchner?” You asked, once you have walked to his table.

“Yes, nice to meet you, please have a seat.” He stood up from his chair and extended a hand to you. You shared a professional hand shake and sat in front of him.

“Thank you for agreeing to this in such a short notice, I appreciate your time.” He said, raising an eyebrow, forming a crease in his forehead. “Do you have your resume?”

You handed it to him, his eyebrows remained creased as he readed it. While he did it, you ordered a latte to the waitress, his eyes quickly examined you while doing so.

“Why did you study pedagogy and education?” He asked once your coffee had arrived.

“I think the best way to eliminate violence is education, I want to contribute. Also, I like to study human behavior, in a way, and the way we educate children has a lot to do with how they grow up to be. So I’m passionate about that.” You calmly explained, his sigh was still stern. “And I also really like the outfits we get to wear as educators” you decided to throw in a small joke to get a smile but it flopped magistrally.

“According to this” he gestures to your resume, “you’ve had experience helping children to cope with trauma, can you talk me through the process?” He finished his question and took a sip of his coffee.

“Yes, sure, it’s mostly through art. We either paint, draw or sculpt feelings and we explain them, that way we can talk about ourselves while being grounded by some self made craft.”

“You bring the materials?”

“Yes, sir. In case there is anything extraordinary I’d be letting you know about extra costs, and of course it’s all based on the child’s preferences and allergies.”

“I would not want Jack to be off school, get home and feel like he still has work or school to do, how would you manage that?”

‘What a fucking jerk’ you thought, the superiority in his tone made you cringe.

“Well, yes, sir. I have a masters in Primary Education, I think I can realize when a child is bored or exhausted and change the activities for something that makes them have fun and relax. So, yeah, I am indeed trained to manage that.” You were certain that answer alone was gonna get you off the job because of the moody tone it came out with. Oddly, you saw the corners of his lips curl upwards just a little.

***

“He hated me” You stated the moment you picked up the phone call from your friend Jessica.

“He loved you!” She overspoke through the line.

“What?” You both said.

“You first” she requested

“He hated me, he was polite but his tone, OH MY GOD!, his tone was implying I was an idiot question after question.” You explained as you walked down the street to your apartment.

“He just called me to ask me when it’s appropriate to tell you you’ve got the job!” Your friend was laughing over the line.

“So, when is he gonna call me?”

“I said I’d tell you myself.”

You laughed through the line and yelled a little in excitement for finally getting a job.

“Let’s have dinner tonight to talk about Jack and his father.” Your friend made plans and you thought they were perfect.

***

“So, you’re a child’s profiler?” The tall skinny guy you had been talking to since you arrived was very interested in your work.

“Not really, no. I treat kids with trauma to avoid them growing into it.”

“But can you realize when there’s a psychopathy in them?”

“Yeah but I don’t treat them, I refer them to a psychiatrist and I advise the parents to take therapy as well.”

“That is so interesting, how do you treat them then?”

“Well, I usually work with kids than have blocked their trauma, so I can give them exercises and activities to learn it, live it, understand it and manage it—“ A voice calling your full name interrupted you. You turned and saw Mr. Hotchner on the threshold. You nodded to the young man who you were talking to and headed to your employer’s office.

“Please, come in, how can I help you?”

“Thank you. Well it’s just procedure, a few questions I have to ask before I start treating a child—“

“You are not treating my child.” He scolded you.

“Yes, I am.” You gave him his tone back. “But if you will be ashamed of it then your son will be too and this is not going to work.”

“Go on.” He took a deep breath.

***

Gave no compasses, gave me no signs

You and Jack had spent the day playing in the snow, then coloring and finally, you requested his help to cook dinner in order to teach him to be independent. Truth is, you two were really getting along.

Dinner was ready when Mr. Hotchner arrived.

He called your name as soon as he opened the door, and the corner of his eyes wrinkled when he saw little Jack with an apron in the kitchen.

“Daddy, I made you dinner!” The little guy raised his hand holding a spoon, wearing a big smile.

“That is amazing, buddy. Then let’s have dinner.” Mr. Hotchner hugged Jack. “How was your day?” He turned his gaze to you, still holding Jack.

“It was great, maybe Jack should tell you what his favorite part was.” You asked him as you laid out the plates for dinner.

“The snowman!” He said with a big smile and you did as well.

“Thank you very much, that would be all for today.” Your boss gave you a handshake with the stern face he always has on. “Jack, say goodnight to your nanny.” He put the boy on the ground.

“Can’t she stay for dinner?” He asked his father. Mr. Hotchner raised his gaze at you in a questioning manner. You scrunched down to meet Jack’s eyes.

“No, sweetie. This is quality time you have to spend with your daddy, besides we only cook for two.”

“Are you also having dinner with your daddy?” He tilted his head to the side in confusion and you couldn’t help but laugh. With the corner of your eyes you saw Mr. Hotchner laughed as well.

“Yeah, I should, right? See you tomorrow little buddy.” You gave him a hug.

You walked to the couch to get your backpack and headed out of the house.

“Goodnight, Mr. Hotncher, Jack.” You gave them a smile before opening the door and walking out.

***

“Hotchner”

“Hey, Mr. Hotchner, sweetie get in the car–”

“what’s going on?”

“Sir, I can’t work from your apartment today” a car door closed in the back

“what’s wrong?”

“There’s a–god–I don’t–I think there’s something inside” You were trailing off, he could hear you starting a car.

He said your name trying to get you to focus.

“I won’t go in there, sir, we will be in my apartment, you can pick up Jack when–”

“Where are you? I’m sending an officer”

“That’s not necessary”

“Come to my office, now” that sounded like an order

“Sir, let me just” you took a deep breath, trying to calm down

“Stay on the line, I will locate your phone”

“Sir, there’s a rat!” You screamed. Jack’s laugh resonated through the line.

“A rat? This is because of a rat?” He was ridiculing you.

“Yes, I opened the door and saw a rat running through the living room. So I can’t go in there.”

“Daddy, she’s afraid of rats!” Jack screamed through the phone, laughing at you.

“Don’t you ever do this again” And he hung up.

“I think he is afraid too” You told little Jack as you drove home.

***

“Daddy! You’re early! Can my daddy make one too?” Jack jumped to hug his father the second he walked through the door, showing him the paste of play-doh he was holding.

“Yes, of course!” You answered, clearing another seat at the table for him. “Maybe, I should explain the activity again for your father to join in, would you like that Jack?”

“Yes, yes!”

Mr. Hotchner had no other choice but to drop his briefcase and blazer on the couch and join both of you at the table.

“Today’s activity, Mr. Hotchner is to think of one emotion we have been feeling a whole lot this week and try to represent it in the play-doh. Jack and I had already started so you gotta catch up. Once we finish our sculptures we will share them with the rest, okay?” You looked at him with an apologetic look and he nodded in response.

“I made two,” Jack started to explain. “One is sadness and the other one is happiness.” He pointed at each of the sculptures, one blue and one pink. “The blue is the sadness and the pink is happiness.”

“Why did you choose those colors, Jack?”

“Because blue is a sad color, I think. And also when my daddy is sad he plays music he calls blues.”

“And why have you been feeling sad, Jack?”

“I don’t want to say it in front of my daddy, he says I have to be strong.” The little boy covered his face with his hands, in shame. You turned to look at his father in concern and he was just as ashamed as his son.

“Sweetie, if you want you can tell me in secret but you can also share it with your father because above all people, you should trust him to know how you feel.” Your tone was soft and tender, your focus only on the blond child sitting in front of you. “Or you can talk about happiness while you think about how you want to share the sadness.” You finally see a smile form in the little guy’s face.

“Yes!” He yelled. “I am happy because you’re my new friend and we paint, and play a lot.”

“Oh, thank you sweetie, I am very happy to be your friend too. And why is happiness pink?”

“Because your backpack is pink! When I see it after school I know it’s going to be a fun day!” He was glowing, making your heart fill with joy. “You go!”

“Okay, I made surprise, because this whole week I have been surprised with you Jack, because you are so smart, funny and amazing!” Your little friend blushed but quickly turned to his father to hear what his emotion was.

“I did love, because that’s the feeling that floods me when I am with you, and this moment is the most important I’ve had in my week.”

“Not catching the bad guys?” Jack asked, excited.

His father moved his head from side to side with a smile, giving him an answer.

“Now, would you like to share why you have been feeling sad, buddy?”

“I miss my mommy” The little boy dropped his head to the table and you could swear your heart had been smashed. You looked at his father to handle it, but by the look of his face he wasn’t anywhere near to do so.

“Thank you very much for sharing this with us, Jack, is there anything we can do to make you feel better?” You ask. Jack said yes with his head and raised his arms in a hug. His father was quick to raise him in his arms in a tight hug. A tear rolled down your boss’ cheek when he mouthed ´thank you´ to you in complete silence.

“Thank you, that would be all for today” He dismissed you as he took off his jacket, but before you could turn away little Jack took his hand, guiding him a few steps from you.

***

“Daddy, I need to tell you a secwet ”

Mr. Hotchner gestured for you to wait while he talked to his son, he hunched down to reach his height and the 5 year old leaned to whisper in his father’s ear. Your boss’ face turned from amused to intrigued in seconds while the child eyed you up and down.

“Thank you for sayin that, buddy. Wanna watch some TV while I talk to her?” The little blond kid nodded and walked to the living room. Mr. Hotchner guided you to the kitchen to talk, but you already knew what this was about the second he leaned against the door frame, locking you inside. “Jack says you cried today” folding his arms on his chest.

“I can explain.”

“I certainly hope so.”

“Well, uh, today when I went to pick Jack from school the teacher said his grandfather had already picked him up.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” Even though his voice was lower, he was speaking louder to you, rougher. His shoulders seemed to grow wider and his height taller.

“Sir.” You warned him, “I decided to check first and panic later, which was not necessary because Jack was actually with his grandfather.” You gave him his scolding tone back and saw how his shoulders went back to its original size.

“You should have called me.” He stretched his neck sideways, trying to relieve stress.

“Well I didn’t” you crossed your arms and turned away from him, tears pricking your eyes again. You heard him sigh.

“And then what?”

“Well I drove to his house.” Your voice was shaking. “And he said a lot of things.”

Mr. Hotchner said your name in a slow whisper, giving you the courage to look back at him.

“He said horrible things, sir.” Tears were already scrolling down your face and any signs of anger on him disappeared. “It’s not even worth saying them again.”

He strode closed, “I’d like to know, please.” He raised his palms to your elbows but never actually touched you. He just stood there, in front of you, with his arms stretched to hug you but without the courage to do so.

“He said” you finally met his gaze, “that you… killed her?” A sob left your mouth at the sole repetition. “Is that…?” You couldn’t finish the question. He never had told you exactly what happened to Jack’s mom, he said she had been murdered while Jack was in the house, only that.

“No.” He turned away, “Of course I didn’t do it.” He kept moving his head sideways, almost obsessively, as if he was trying to convince himself as well. “It was a serial killer. He offered me a deal, not to go after him and he would not kill while I lived, but I declined it. I thought myself better, smarter, and I wasn’t responsible enough to take the necessary security measures.” He took a deep breath and you continued crying.

”is he in jail?”

”no.”

You gasped, “so he is still out there?”

“No.” One of his hand raised to massage his eyes in circular motions, “I killed him.”

Your entire body froze at the confession, alarms were flashing inside your head, warning you all the possible trauma that Jack might be suffering because of this. This was much more problematic that “his mother was murdered” as Mr. Hotchner said in your interview.

“Sir, that’s-“

“I know.” He returned to his initial position against the door. “What else did Jack’s grandfather say?”

“Well he insisted that I wasn’t a pedagogue, that I was with you” you turned down again, embarrassed, “so that I would be next.”

“Did Jack hear any of this?”

“No.”

“Good. The first part, he,” he took a deep breath, “believes it is my fault, he thinks my mistakes are what pulled the trigger.” He was looking away, avoiding eye contact. “For the second, I apologize.”

“Sir, don’t” now you wanted to comfort him, “why haven’t you put him to a stop?”

“Maybe because I think he is right.” He looked down and that was all you needed to round his chest with your arms, pulling him into a hug, his head falling to your shoulder.

“He is not” you repeated slowly while your fingers ran through his hair.

***

Were the clues I didn’t see?

Your boss had let you know he’d be coming home later than usual and requested you to stay home with Jack. Since this had turned out to be an usual request, you always had an extra change of clothes, pajamas and all the basic beauty products in your car.

So after you had dinner with Jack, left some for his father and got him to bed, you headed to the bathroom to get yourself ready to sleep.

You turned the tv on and chose a documentary in the Discovery Channel to lull yourself, after a few minutes you were fast asleep.

The keys didn’t wake you up, neither did the door opening nor the man walking in. Not even him turning off the tv. What woke you up was his judging stare or at least that’s what you woke up to.

“Jeez, Mr. Hotchner, you scared me. What time is it?” You said, sitting in one movement, with your eyes still sleepy.

“It’s 2:30 am. What if I was a murderer?” He asked, and maybe it’s because you were sleepy but you think he was teasing.

“I’m sorry, I was so tired, I couldn’t stay awake for long after putting Jack to bed.” You kept apologizing for… sleeping? At night? Like a human being?

“No need to apologize, go back to it. I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“No, sir, I should get home.” You stood up fast to get out of his scrutinous eyes but you were still sleepy so you ended up stumbling on your boss’ chest. His hands secured you by your shoulders. Your eyes automatically raised to his and for a few seconds you allowed yourself to admire him. Gosh, he was so handsome. He raised an eyebrow and that was your cue to stop staring.

“Careful, you can’t drive like this.” You’d swear his voice had dropped an octave. “Sit for a few minutes”

“Yes, sir.” You sat back down, your cheeks felt hot with embarrassment. He walked out of the living room.

“Do you always stay on the couch?” He asked from the kitchen. You didn’t have the courage to look back yet.

“Yes.”

“Even when I leave for several days?”

“Yes.”

“You shouldn’t. Sleep in my bed next time, please.” You finally turned your head to see him, shook by what he had asked you.

“Sir, I don’t think that’s appropriate.” You quickly answered.

“Why not? There’s nobody else there. I don’t see why you would neglect a perfectly comfortable bed when nobody else is using it. I need you to rest so you can take care of my child.” His tone was scolding, he sounded like he was talking about something serious, not asking you to sleep on his bed.

“Understood.” You limited to answer and stood up from the couch without losing eye contact with your boss. Or at least enough to see him scan your whole body in seconds and you felt nothing but shame.

There he was, with his pristine suit, tailored head to toe while you wore pink booty short pajamas. You started to fold the covers on the couch to distract yourself from him. Although you couldn’t, you wish you had stayed seated to avoid him seeing you like this. He must think you're a simple, immature woman. He must be the type to like lingerie for pajamas, not the Walmart 2x1 100% cotton promos.

You were lost in your own thoughts of how must be the woman he likes, how well he must treat women, fantasizing of your boss like a man, for once, when his voice interrupted your train of thought.

“Aren’t you cold?”

“Mm?” You railed out.

“Aren’t you cold? It has been snowing lately.”

“No, not really. The heating system is enough. I'll change so I can go home for the night, excuse me.” And so you walked through the room to the bathroom.

“I’mma go home, Mr. Hotchner, have a good night.” He was still in the kitchen when you were leaving, you got your backpack without looking back and headed to the door.

“Good night”

You opened the door but he called your name before you could be out.

“Yeah?” You turned back to see him.

“Text when you’re home so I know you’re safe.”

“Sure, Mr. Hotchner, good night.”

***

“Is this yours?” Mr. Hotchner asked you, holding a hoodie in between his fingers. Jack was already asleep and you were gathering your stuff to leave for the day after one of your boss’ three day work trips.

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry.” You quickly grabbed it, blushing. You had forgotten it in the bathroom after your morning shower.

“Did you go to Georgetown?” He pointed at the hoodie. Casual conversation wasn’t usual with him, so his question took you out of your concentration.

“Oh, no.” You scoffed, “I was a barista in Georgetown. Getting discounted coffee to the guys in the souvenir store got me some stuff.” He smiled. “You didn’t know? I thought the FBI knew even my high school hobbies.” You teased as you finished folding your clothes in your backpack at the end of the couch.

“Yeah, right, cheerleading and making out with the quarterback?” He teased back with a side smirk that melted your insides, walking to you. You laughed.

“What gave me up? The reading club or the academic scholarship?” You asked, giggling. He smiled, coming to sit next to your backpack, looking up to you.

“I never actually searched you in the FBI database.”

“What a hustle!” You fake mocked, “what if I was a murderer?” You repeated his question from days before. He smiled again.

“I would’ve known,” he nodded with a confident smirk.

“How?” You put your backpack on the floor and sat next to him.

“I’m very good at my job.” He scanned your face thoroughly, his smile nowhere to be found.

“Oh, really?” You asked, your gaze lost on his lips and how his tongue came out and licked them.

“Yeah” he swallowed, nervous.

“What am I thinking, then?” Your voice was merely a whisper, the tension in the air had gotten the best of you, the logical side of your brain nowhere to be found. His eyes had never been that dark, traveling between your own and your lips.

“That is very late,” he took a deep breath, “and I should” his eyes closed and you bit your lower lip in anticipation as he leaned closer to you when his phone rang. He jumped off his seat in a second.

“Hotchner.”

You stood up to grab your backpack and head for the door when he lifted a hand motioning you to hold.

“I’m on my way” He said, closing the flip phone. “I have to go back, do you mind staying? I can call a co-worker if you need to leave, he can stay with her husband.” He asked you, taking off his jacket.

“No, it’s ok.”

“Thanks. I’ll take a shower and go, please feel free to go to sleep.” And with that he disappeared in the bathroom.

***

“Hotch” his voice resonated through the line, manly and powerful. Made your mouth water, honestly.

“Hey, Mr. Hotchner, I’m sorry to bother you-“

“It’s not a bother,” he interrupted you, “you can call me anytime. Is everything ok?”

“It is, but Jack had a bit of a breakdown today and I think we should talk about it.”

“How is he now? Do you need me to be there?” He was concerned.

“No, no, he is good. I calmed him down and lulled him to a nap. I’ll text you recommendations on how to behave tonight according to how I see him when he wakes up.”

“Thank you. Let’s have brunch tomorrow while he is at school, 1 o'clock is ok?”

“Perfect.”

“He misses his mom, of course.” You started to explain once you both got your coffees and had exchanged the usual courtesies. He didn’t seem surprised at all by your discovery. “But he says some boy at school told him he can have a new mommy.” You repeated the exact words Jack had said the day before. Mr. Hotchner seemed to be confused.

“How?”

“His daddy needs to pick him a new mommy. And Jack is upset that his daddy hasn’t done it because he doesn’t have time.” You finished explaining but the gears in his head were still working.

“A step mother?” He finally asked with his usual eyebrow up.

“I think—yeah.” You took a sip of coffee to let the idea sink in.

“I… okay.” He finally said something. His whole face was a puzzle, he was evaluating the options. For once he had more questions than answers. “Should I… get him one?” It was absurd to even ask.

“Look, I definitely cannot tell you what to do, and your dating life is none of my business but as your son’s nanny I would strongly advise you not to introduce anybody to him until you’re very certain of the relationship.” You gather the courage to say.

“So I shouldn’t hurry to find someone?”

“No, Mr. Hotchner. Jack needs to know that he won’t have another mom, that he already has one. But he has to understand and grieve the death of his mother. As painful and horrendous as it is.” You saw his eyes fill with water at your words. He only nodded in response.

“He will be okay, he is a smart kid and has a loving father helping him in the way.” You gave him a smile and he mimicked one.

“I wish I was around more often.” He took a sip of coffee. “You’re real wise for your age, uh” He sounded amused and scolded at the same time.

“I’m not as young as I’d like to, though”

“Do you mind me asking?”

“Not at all, I’ll be 32 this year, I’m getting old.”

“Oh, I wish I was 32 again. So young, full of hope.” He was glowing, a half smile formed on his lips.

“Well, if I’mma age like you, I shouldn’t be worried.” Oh, shit, you said it. A blush creeped your face the moment you realized and apparently his too. “Oh, my god, I’m so sorry, Mr. Hotch—.”

“Please don’t be.” He cut you off. “Flattery isn’t common in my line of business, I appreciate it.”

“Well, in mine is overly common.” You exaggerated the phrase to lessen the tension.

“Oh, really?” He leaned both of his elbows on the table, amused, “how so?”

“You do know I do therapies in a clinic, right?” He nodded in response. “Well, there was this one time, I was treating a 10 year old girl for sexual harassment, one day, her father comes to pick her up from the therapy and, in front of her, he just straight out asked me if I was interested in a threesome with his wife!” You blushed at the memory and he laughed. He actually laughed.

“What did you do?”

“Well I explained to him why his behavior was inappropriate, even more in front of his daughter, and transferred the girl to another therapist. A forty something year old partner, so even if they dare to propose to her, I doubt she’ll have the libido for it.”

“Hey, be careful there.” He actually commanded you and damn it was hot. His phone rang once. You showed him your hands in surrender.

“Hotchner.” You looked at your watch, you had to pick up Jack in 20 minutes. “I’m on my way.” And he closed his phone. “I’m sorry I have to go.”

“It’s ok, so do I.”

After paying the bill, he walked you to your car like the gentleman he is. He even opened your door once you turned off the alarm.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Hotchner.” You said to him from inside your car.

“Nothing to thank me for, and please call me Aaron.” He stated before closing the door and sending you a wink.

***

Isn’t it just so pretty to think

It was a Saturday night, you were getting drinks with your friends when you got a phone call, you answered to your full name being called on the line.

“Hello, sir.” You said with a smile.

“Is that the hot guy?” Your friend asked next to you. You shushed her.

“It’s my employer.”

“Good to know” you heard him chuckle through the words.

“I’m sorry, I have very nosy friends, Mr. Hotchner. How can I help you? Is everything alright?”

“Yes, I’m sorry to interrupt but I have an emergency call and I need you to come stay the night. If you’re busy or… intoxicated, I can call someone else.”

“No, there’s no need. I’m the designated driver. I can be there in 30 minutes, is that ok?”

Your friends booed you until you agreed to pay for the next two rounds.

When you arrived it was nearly 3 am and he was already in his usual perfect suit.

“Nice outfit” he said the minute you got inside, eyeing up and down your mini black dress and heels.

“Thanks. Likewise.” You made a mock reverence with a smirk, earning a soft smile on his lips.

“Do you have a change of clothes?” He asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I always carry some essentials,” you pointed at your backpack, “just in case.”

“Well if there’s anything you can use from either mine or Jack’s closet, please take it.” He said as he walked to the door.

“Thanks, sir. If I’m ever in need of a Gucci tie and a spiderman shirt I won’t hesitate.” Your tease didn’t go unnoticed since the edges of his lips curved upwards.

“It was a gift” he quickly justified, smiling.

“Of course” you kept your smug face.

“From a friend.” He was clearly amused by the exchange.

“I need one of those.” You closed your arms on your chest.

“I can introduce him to you.”

“Is he single?”

“Not to you.”

You gasped in mock surprise, “what does that mean?”

“Sweet dreams.” And with a smile he closed the door.

***

You and Jack were having dinner in your pajamas, you’ve made Mac and Cheese, Jack’s favorite. It was your last night special before his father came back from a trip and would have to go back to regular, healthy dinners.

“Oh, sweetie you’re so sleepy already!” He hadn’t finished his food and he was already falling asleep on the table.

“Can I have some juice?” He asked you, blinking.

“Of course sweetie.” You stood up to grab the bottle of juice from the counter but you didn’t realize Jack was running just behind you, so when you turned back to fill his glass, he crashed against you, throwing juice all over your pajamas.

“I’m sorry!” He screamed.

“Oh, don’t worry, dear. I’ll get cleaned up in a minute.”

You sent him to bed after he drank his juice, cleaned the kitchen and headed to the master bedroom to take a shower.

Every time you showered in your boss’ bathroom you took your time to satisfy your curiosity smelling his body wash, lotion, shampoo, everything. And this time wasn’t the exception.

Since this was the last night of his trip you had no clean clothes left. So you searched through his drawers for something that could be used as pajamas.

You found an old FBI t-shirt that fitted almost like a dress, in the morning you’d put it in the washing machine as well as the sheets you’d been sleeping in. You’d only washed them on your way out, so you could smell a bit of him every night when you went to bed. Sick? Yeah, you had made your peace with it. That night you slept better than ever, the smell of his clothes relaxed you way past any expectations.

In the morning you got up at 6:30 as usual, to get Jack’s breakfast ready, so you walked to the bathroom to wash your face. When you walked back to the room still half asleep, a voice took your out of your thoughts.

“Nice shirt”

You raised your head to find your boss dropped on the still unmade bed, with half lidded eyes, scanning you, taking extra time on your exposed legs and his t-shirt.

“Good Morning, Mr. Hotchner, last night Jack spilled juice all over my pajamas and I had to borrow—“ He stood up from the bed. “I was gonna wash it along with the sheets—“ He started walking towards you, you were begging your legs to run back to bathroom but your body was numb. “I swear this won’t ever happen again nor it has happened before—“ you were stuttering, covering your mouth in shame. He finally reached you, cornering you to the wall.

“Aaron.” He finally said. “Call me Aaron.”

His eyes were filled with determination and lust, his hands landed on the wall behind you, just two inches separating your bodies. He was towering, looking down on you like you were the most precious thing he had ever seen.

You scanned him as well, your insides were starting to liquify at his smell. He was still in his suit pants and shirt, he had lost the blazer and tie, the first three buttons were undone, giving him a domestic look and your mouth watered at the sight.

“Understood?” He kept you trapped.

“Understood.” You said with a knot on your throat. You swallowed, your breathing was strong and agitated, maybe he could even hear your heartbeat.

He tilted his head down to you, his eyes closed like he was focused. Although his expression was of a man in pain. When he was just a few centimeters from you, he took a deep breath and pushed himself away.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what I was thinking. That was inappropriate, please forgive me.” He walked out of the room before he could finish talking.

Once you gathered enough courage, you walked out straight to the washing machine to put the sheets and tshirt.

“Good morning, boss.” You limited to say when you saw him cooking breakfast with the corner of your eyes.

“Don’t boss me, I think of me as an employer rather than a boss, wouldn’t you agree?” His tone was as serious as always. Back to normal.

“What’s the difference?”

“First off, I don’t pay your taxes. And second, I am not a real authority to you.” He was measuring your body language with the corner of his eyes.

“I think you’re authority enough.” You set the machine and turned your body fully to him to show authority as well.

“I wash them every sunday” He said while cutting ham and cheese.

“I don’t wash them because I think they are dirty.”

“Then why?” He was honestly confused.

“Because I don’t think you should sleep in sheets that somebody else has slept on.”

“Do you wash them when you arrive?” He asked.

“No.”

“Why? Somebody has slept on them.” He kept preparing an omelet.

“Because I don’t care”

“Neither do I”

“Sir, I don’t think it’s appropriate to sleep in the same sheets as your kid’s nanny.” You used the m tone you use to explain things to children.

“But is it appropriate for my nanny to sleep on my sheets?” Well you weren’t ready for that knock out.

“You’re right, sir. I will bring my own from tomorrow on.”

“I didn’t mean that.” he quickly tried to fix it. “You can use mine, I don’t mind. I just don’t want to be doubling the work.” He tilted his head, explaining.

“Don’t worry, I’ll bring my own and leave your bed ready for you when you get back.” You didn’t even turn to look at him.

“Hey, about this morning, I’m sorry. I was out of the line, I don’t want to make excuses but I am really tired, and—“ this time you interrupted him.

“Don’t worry, sir.—“

“Aaron” he corrected you.

“I understand. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.” You sent a subtle tease.

A devilish grin played on his face.

“How do you want your omelet?” He asked, blushed.

“Don’t bother, I’ll have breakfast at home.” You grabbed your backpack and left.

***

It was around 10:00 pm, you were working on some other kids files when the door opened. Your legs were extended on the couch, your back leaning on the armrest and you were wearing glasses. This was not a position where you wanted to be found by your boss, even less now. In the last few days you have been avoiding him as much as possible, despite whatever your feelings were, you knew he was vulnerable and probably misinterpreting your presence.

At the end, he was still a parent for a kid you were treating and any complaint of him could take out of business really fast.

“Hello, Mr. Hotchner.”

“Hey” He left his briefcase on the couch and headed to his son’s bedroom, as always. From the hallway he called you “Please wait, I need a word.” After he gave Jack his goodnight kiss, he came back to the couch and sat on the other end.

“How is he doing?” He took off his jacket, threw it away and started to loosen his tie. What a sight for sore eyes.

“Better, I believe. He talks about his feelings way more, that’s good.”

“Jessica comes back next week.” He completely took off his tie and now was unbuttoning the neck of his shirt.

“About that, would you like me to still treat Jack after that?”

He raised his shoulders in answer, unbuttoning the cuffs.

“Do you think he needs to?” He asked you while he folded up the cuffs.

“It’s your son, Mr. Hotchner. This is a choice you should take, with him, of course.”

He let himself relax on the couch, dropping his body completely.

“I have no idea.” He breathed out. He was exhausted. “How do you see him?”

“I think his trauma is far from healing, he is barely getting close to it, but he is starting to talk about it.” A light snore came from Jack’s bedroom interrupting you.

“Come closer” Your boss gestured with a hand to the space between you. You scrunch your legs to a butterfly position, causing you to be seated next to him. “Go on.” He rested his head on the pillow, closed his eyes and fully extended his legs from the couch to the rug beneath it. Knowing he wasn’t looking, you took your chance to stare at his face, how different he looked relaxed in opposition to what he usually looks. Just as handsome.

“I don’t want this to sound like I want to keep him forever, although I would like to” a smile escaped the corner of his lips, “but I think it’s important that he talks to a professional. It can be me, or it can be a therapist, whoever you want, but please, please, don’t let this golden heart child become a traumatized, hurt, misunderstood adult.” Your tone reflected all the love and care you felt for this kid, and he realized. He turned his head to you with eyes opened. Took your hand and led it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles.

“You’re an angel.”

***

“Hello?” You answered the phone to hear your full name on the other line in the voice of your employer. “Hey, Mr. Hotchner.” He was on a work trip and would be returning this afternoon, or at least that’s what he said yesterday.

“Are you still going to the wedding?” He asked. Earlier this week you explained to him you had a very important wedding to attend and kindly asked him to be home Friday night so you’d be able to go, request that he only answered by questioning if the said wedding was your own otherwise he could not promise anything.

“Umm, I guess that’s really up to you, sir.” You heard him clear his throat through the line.

“Do you have a date?” You panicked, absolutely panicked. Your cheeks flushed and were thankful to be over the phone and not face to face. He said your name in a questioning manner to get an answer.

“Uh, no, I mean—“ you swallowed, “I do have an extra ticket but no, no date.”

“I think I can fix that, if you let me” he was teasing. Your whole body was melting over this man’s voice and Jack’s eyes looked at you with concern. “There’s someone who I think would like to go with you, if that’s okay with you…”

“But, um, who’s gonna—“ take care of Jack? You wanted to say, but your mouth was dry and your throat was closed.

“He’s a nice looking fella, I’d say, for his age.” You could practically hear his smile. ‘You don’t have to compensate yourself, you are a work of art!’ Your mind was shouting while your heart pounded inside your chest in anticipation. “So, what do you say?”

“I would love to” you managed to say.

“Thank you.” He sighed. “Due to bad weather that’s the only way I think you’ll make it to the wedding, we are flying in the morning. I think there’s a tuxedo somewhere in his closet—“ He kept baffling and you were having trouble understanding.

“Jack?” You asked, looking over your little friend. And it all made sense now.

“Yes” You could hear a small laugh, “who else would it be?”

“Of course, I’ll get this guy handsome and ready. Thank you, sir.” You tried to brush off the disappointment, but also your expectations.

“It’s Aaron.”

“Have a safe flight.” And you closed your phone feeling like an idiot.

***

That all along there was some invisible string

“Daddy, can I have a girlfriend?” Jack asked as you and him finished making dinner. The early arrival of your boss that night had taken you by surprise and had no other option but to ask him to ‘help’ but he only leaned against the counter, rolling up his sleeves while you two cooked.

“Mmm” Aaron looked at the kid analyzing him, “why do you want to have a girlfriend?”

Jack shrugged.

“He asked me that earlier today and I said that was something he should ask his father.” You explained.

“I think you should have a girlfriend whenever you meet a girl who you want her to be your girlfriend. Or a boy, doesn’t matter.”

Jack seemed to think about his father’s answer for a minute, then he looked up to you.

“I want you to be my girlfriend!” He smiled and you could not help but laugh. You lifted him, sitting him on the counter next to his dad.

“I can’t be your girlfriend, I’m too old for you.”

“Buddy, rule number one, you gotta ask her if she already has a boyfriend.” Aaron leaned to say near Jack’s ear, smiling at you.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Jack asked you.

“Or girlfriend.” His father instructed.

“Or girlfriend?”

You laughed, “no.”

“Then you can be my daddy’s girlfriend!” His smile grew wider while his father blushed.

“Jack” He tried to stop him, laughing.

“He thinks you’re pretty.”

“You little traitor!” He lifted the kid and threw him on his shoulder, Jack’s laugh filled the house as his father faked-wrestled him, taking him to the couch. A few minutes later, Aaron returned, flushed and with a thin layer of sweat on his face, “these kids uh? Say the craziest of things.”

You bit your lower lip to hide your smile.

***

The final day came.

You said your goodbyes to Jack after a whole month of being his best friend. He cried, of course, so did you. You promised to visit his aunt Jessica once a week to play together, you promised him to be friends forever. You hugged him till he fell asleep in your arms, while his dad observed in silence.

You left him on his bed, kissed his forehead and walked out holding your own tears.

“Thank you” He said while he walked you to your car.

“Anytime, and really, if you ever need any help with that little guy, please call me. I adore him.”

“I know. And it’s mutual, I see.” He smiled.

“Yeah, I guess we were kinda meant to meet.” You joked. “Did you think about whether or not I will keep on treating him?” You asked, leaning on your car’s capo to make some time. He took a deep breath, so you knew it was bad news. You were already nodding before he said a thing.

“I think therapy would be better, he just loves you too much.”

“No, I agree.” You looked down to hide your disappointment. “Well, thank you, Mr. Hotchner–”

“Wait.” He turned the alarm of his car off, opened the passenger door and took out a gift bag that then handed to you. “I got you something, for, well, all the help.”

“Oh” you smiled, “you really didn’t have to buy me anything.” You grabbed it shyly.

“Actually, I didn’t” A half smile adorned his face.

You opened the bag to find the FBI shirt you had worn as pajamas that one time. A full smile formed on your lips.

“Thank you, I love it.” When you raised your sight to him, he was beaming.

“Looks better on you, anyway.” You blushed at the comment.

“Thank you.”

He opened the door of your car and you walked towards it.

“If you’re not treating my kid anymore, can I ask you out sometime?” He asked while still holding the door for you. You blushed and smiled at the question.

“Sir, I–”

“Aaron.” He corrected you yet again.

“Would love to, Aaron .” You said his name, like an experiment on your mouth.

“Will you add me to your list of perverts?” He teased.

“That is completely up to you” You teased back.

“I take the challenge.”

You got inside the car and he closed the door sending you a cheeky wink.

Tying you to me

#aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x female reader

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uzurimisery · 10 months ago

Text

the space between two bodies. / satosugu x reader / part 1

Warnings: MDNI, happy ending, angst, cheating (not really this is explained in part 2), unhealthy relationships/coping mechanisms, suicidal ideation, depression, smut, no sorcery au, unedited

A/N: I started thinking about Gojo with anxiety and nihilist Geto and then what that looks like in a poly relationship with someone as flawed as they are

part two

“We’re sorry but we’ve decided to go with another candidate now. We will retain your information on file should a more suitable role open up.”

The email stared back at you, the words on your phone screen blurring as droplets of rain hit it as you read it over for the hundredth time. Today was just another shitty fucked up day in the endless string of shitty fucked up days that had become your life. The third consecutive month of unemployment in a row. At least previously you could get temp jobs but now each day that passed just ate away at you with how useless you felt.

Pocketing your phone, you pull out a 100 yen coin and put it in the vending machine.

You didn’t even like your old job but Jesus it was like no one was actually hiring. And when you did get an interview, you’d get ghosted afterward. On the rare occasion they didn’t ghost you, you’d receive a rejection letter like this one. It was preferable, you supposed, that your existence and effort were at least acknowledged, no matter how much it stung. Still hurt like a bitch to be told you weren’t good enough.

Anything would be better than this, fuck you’d take being overworked and underpaid if it felt like you were doing something. This endless cycle of gnawing uncertainty and applications, interviews, followed by rejections. Worse than that you were out of deodorant and trying to find some in Japan was a Herculean effort.

Yeah, it’s been a shit go and you’re fucking exhausted.

Maybe you’d go be an English teacher like everyone else who moves to Japan. You wouldn’t need a co-teacher so the pay would be better if you were just starting out. Not that you wanted to teach again dear god that was less than ideal. Thank god you had settled status. The thought of having to deal with visa issues at the same time made you feel sick.

Maybe you could work at a host club. You turned, staring at your reflection in the glass. Your boobs weren’t half bad as you pushed them up from the underside like a push-up bra would. Or sell feet pictures. The market was probably oversaturated at this point but maybe there would be some interest.

Wait Jesus had your hair looked like that all day? Fuck. No wonder that girl kept staring at you on the train she thought you were a lunatic.

Sighing you press the button for 4H. It wasn’t like you’d always been this way, sort of drifting in a sea of uncertainty abroad your boat of doubt with no wind to guide your sails. There was a period of time, maybe a five-year stretch after you had graduated from university where your life was on track. An entry-level job in your degree field, a long-term boyfriend turned fiance, wedding planning, and a great group of friends. Shit, you had it all.

The fiance was the first to go.

As it turns out, finding your fiance in bed with the girl he swore you didn’t have to worry about, his tongue halfway down her throat like he’s trying to do an endoscopy, is a terrible way to find out you’re being cheated on. When he noticed you standing in the doorway he had the gall to sputter some bullshit about how it was your fault it happened. You were too focused on your work, you didn’t give him attention, blah, blah, blah. It was you who broke the relationship up by working so much and being married to your job. And as he paid for the overpriced four-bedroom apartment in an area of Tokyo that you didn’t even like, you lost the apartment in the breakup.

You couldn’t slum dog millionaire your life away on Shoko and Utahime’s couch forever eating tubs of ice cream and binging TV after that, so everyone told you, or rather forced you, to move in with Suguru and Satoru. Bouncing around from couple to couple. It did give you some stability and just as things go up so must they come down.

The company you were working for was liquidated after an investigation by the federal government found years of tax fraud. Luckily they got bought out, and you thought maybe if you put in work you could still climb the ladder. But all those late nights in the office, conbini dinners, and unpaid overtime, you were just another name on a severance list.

It felt like waves were crashing over you, each one larger than the rest. Almost like you were tied to a dock during a hurricane, a tsunami, or some fucking natural disaster that threatened to drown you if you didn’t hold onto something but there wasn’t much to hold on to. You could hold onto the minuscule amount of friendships that you had at least. It was far too awkward and messy to keep up with anyone else other than your main four since the rest were so tied to your ex-fiance and his life. Stupid fucking lawyer.

The four of you were close-ish. Less close since Shoko had gone on rotation at a university on the other side of Tokyo. It meant she and Utahime had moved nearer to it since Utahime was willing to commute. But Suguru and Satoru were still close with you and still dating. Biting as that felt at times.

You met Geto first in a shared philosophy lecture. One of those run-of-the-mill ones, but the content that really got the two of you talking was nihilism. It was the seminar groups after class you shared where he really saw you. Stripped away of pretenses and your nerves laid bare. Not just another face in a lecture hall but something more, something human. The deep indents of nails in your palms and the rubbing of your hands together under the table. He had seen right through you, recognized the darker parts of himself in you- it made you feel understood.

The machine made a mechanical noise and the lights flickered. Sighing you kick the machine lightly to see if anything happens, if life could give you this one thing today that you so desperately needed. Just like everything else, nothing goes your way and your stupid drink stays logged on the shelf. So like every reasonable person you kick the machine again.

“Stupid fucking piece of shit machine,” you murmur a growing string of profanities under your breath as you repeatedly kick the machine

All you wanted was one of those ¥100 coffee drinks that were loaded with caffeine to keep going through your slog of a day was that so hard? Maybe it would be best if you just packed it up and called it quits. Move back home with your parents and be berated daily. Why aren’t you married? Why did you and Kosuke break up? When are they going to get some grandchildren? They aren’t getting any younger you know. Face the cutting shame of fucking up another opportunity, another chance.

What was the point in trying anymore when you couldn’t even get a stupid drink that you don't honestly even want at this point out of a vending machine so you can go home and masturbate to audio porn before you cry yourself to fucking sleep?

Suguru’s voice cut through the spiral of thoughts, your name on his lips.

“What are you doing here? I thought you had an interview and you’d be home late?”

Of course, he’d catch you like this.

“Hey Sugs,” it came out as a groan as you kicked the machine again, a loud clang following as your drink hit the bottom of the dispenser. Bending down, you grab the can before turning and facing him. “I did.”

“How’d it go?”

“Like shit.” Maybe you should work on your delivery. This flat effect is really making you should like a bitch. Are you a bitch?

Geto’s eyes raked over you, infuriatingly calm and measured. He was always so carefully disheveled, the type of person to look effortlessly put together no matter the occasion. Stupid name-brand black sweater over a white button-down half tucked into chinos with a chain on the belt. His hair, shiny and perfect, was neatly tucked into his signature half-up-hald-down look to keep the strand out of his eyes, minus the one for style. Notably, he was wearing his glasses for once, sleek frames perks on a tall nose. Oh, he smelt nice too, his sandalwood and bergamot cologne hitting you as he stepped closer, extending his umbrella to cover the two of you. Fuck he was so handsome it wasn’t fair.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Geto replied softly.

You shrugged, trying to brush it off. “ It is what it is.”

But the reality of it clung to you and drug you down, down, down into the depths of your psyche. That small, scared feeling you tried so hard to suppress started bubbling up again, twisting your insides into knots. It made you feel sick, so much like a lost little child in a world that had grown far too big and complex. Here it was, rearing its ugly head, in front of one of the top ten people you never wanted to see in such a shit state.

But that's all Gojo and Geto do at this point. They pick up the broken, crumbling pieces of yourself that slip between your fingers. You feel like a cracked vase leaking water all over the place no matter how desperately they try and patch up the ceramic. Each day the gap between you and them grows more apparent. They were both soaring and you were falling to the ground and rolling around in the mud.

Geto had just done a four-page spread in Architects Digest, even though he was a pretentious motherfucker who hated the magazine. And Gojo… God, he’d just opened for Prada at Paris Fashion Week. They went viral on every social media platform a while back for how hot and gay they were. You’d been caught in the crossfire of your accounts being tagged and gained a social media boost, but that also meant a bunch of people DMing you telling you to take pictures of them.

The most fucked up thing about it all was the gnawing feeling that chewing on your bones that you were being dragged around like an accessory to remind them how good they had it. A permanent third wheel they’ve been stuck with since university. Two talented lovers on the brink of permanent importance and their weird little friend who follows them along like a lost puppy. It wasn’t even true and that's why it hurt so much. You knew they believed in you, thought that you could be a successful artist, and supported you in it even, but the jealousy rotted inside you like a festering wound. You weren’t even jealous of their success, only just partial, but it was like you weren’t good enough to be around them.

Maybe you were better off as wall decor in the life they were building together. Something quiet and serene that didn’t demand anything from them. Better that than the bitter, jealous mess you were every time you saw them succeed.

He starts, the same spiel he goes to when you get like this. “You can always-”

“No.” your voice comes out sharper than you intended, but you don’t care.

“I don’t know why you act like it’s such a bad off,” Suguru presses, his calm demeanor only pissing you off more.

“I don’t want to work for you.”

“Why not.”

You snap. “Because I don’t want to, Suguru! Is that so hard to understand?”

Fuck, you wanted to storm off, go back to the house, and slam the door behind you as you went. But it didn’t matter if you stormed off, you lived in one of his guest bedrooms. Both of you were just headed to the same place. Sad little rescue that you were.

Suguru assessed, his eyes softened, breaking you down. He picked out every one of your insecurities as he stared at you. Microscopic inspection, each of your cells was being assessed for your state of being. Have you eaten? Was it enough? Had you slept? Are you even capable of taking care of yourself in this state?

The weight of his gaze made your chest tighten, and before you could control it, try and reel it back in, tears welled up in your eyes. Blinking them back, you swallowed hard, the lump in your throat bobbing as you did. You hated this. Hated the way his care, his pity, felt like a knife twisting in the last remaining shred of pride you clung to.

Pity was the killy of pride and you should accept that your pride was already decomposing in the septic tank in the backyard.

Fuck up, fuck up, fuck up. All you ever were, all you’d ever be. Every loose thread of your shirt feels like it's cutting against your skin. The hem of your trousers drowns your feet like you're wearing your parents' clothes. Shabby. Uncouth. Inept.

Wordlessly, you turned on your heel and fled, rushing out of the side street as the tears spilled past your lash line. You couldn’t do this anymore--no more questions, no more pity. No matter how hard you tried, how hard you struggled, clawed your way through the fucking dirt, you could never be like them. Never be good like theme, never right like them, never fit like them. They had these perfect little lives that they could boast to everyone about. When they spoke, people listened. People cared what they had to say. The world parted for them, it was the Red Sea and they were Moses, making space. There’d always be room for them to shine.

But you were screaming into a void, your throat raw, bloody, and you were aching from the endless effort to be seen, to be heard. You wanted to be looked at like your own person, your own successes. Hard to be noticed for something that rarely happened. No matter how loud you screamed, how much you begged, your voice was just lost in the noise.

You knew Suguru would follow. He always did. Even if you didn’t live in the same house, he’d have followed you. His voice was muffled by the pressure in your ears but you could hear him trying to talk to you. He let you get all the way home and inside the gate of the house before he grabbed your wrist and yanked you backward.

Trying to pull away, your shoulder wrenched painfully as you trashed in his grip.

“Calm down,” Suguru spoke firmly, pulling you into his chest. His sweater was soft, and your face smushed against the fabric as sobs wrecked your body, trembling like the earth in an earthquake.

It was hard to speak through the tears, so all you could do was try and slip out of his hold as you sobbed. You didn’t want this comfort. You wanted to run from your failure. From how suffocating life felt and that no matter what you'd never be enough. Worse than that, the sweet sickly feeling that trickled down your throat that when he held your life this, it made the world feel just a little bit more bearable. As if somewhere you could survive another day if he kept touching you. It wasn’t yours to feel and he wasn’t yours to hold.

Suguru lets you wiggle around. You hit his torso a few times, your strength fading as you cry. When your sobs turned to hiccups and gasps for breaths, he gently cupped your face, thumbs brushing away the tears that still spilled from your eyes.

“Talk to me,” he said softly, barely above a whisper. The songs of a city nearly eclipsing it.

What could you say? How could you explain this feeling? This horrible guilt, pain, and jealousy ate away at you every single day. The tears came harder now, speeding up as if to help drown you in your misery and take you out of it for good. Hiccuping you drew breath, sharp and quick, hoping to speak but nothing comes out. Words claw at your throat, digging it with sharpened points. It hurts the way they hang onto you.

“Is it all too much again?” His voice is so soft, warm like fleece pajamas fresh out of the dryer as he holds you so delicately.

This wasn’t the first time that one of the three of you had been so consumed by dread, suffocated by the weight of life itself. Suguru knew it all too well himself, from high school to know he held it tightly in his hands. It never went away from him, he just learned to live with it, let it fade into the background, and let a constant hum of despair serve as the baseline for the day-to-day.

His thumbs brush over the apex of your cheekbones again and the tenderness shatters you, another wave of sobs tearing through you. They pull you under, out into the open ocean, and through their rip current.

“I just..” you start, it scratches your throat, thick with phlegm. “ I can’t do this anymore.”

His voice remained steady. “Do what?”

“Any of it. I can’t do it.”

“You’re capable of it. You can do it.”

Jarring, rough, whipping across your skin as the rubber band pulls too tight and snaps. You lash out, and it stings where it hits. The anger cuts through your skin like your fingernails leave crescent moons in your palms.

“No, I fucking can’t!” It's ripped out of you as you stalk away like a wounded animal. “I can’t okay. I can’t do shit. I can’t keep a relationship without being cheated on. I can’t manage to get my own place. I can’t get a fucking job. I can’t sit here and pretend like I’m not fucking wasting away in my own misery watching you and Gojo and Shoko all succeed and be the only one of us still shooting for the stars and coming crashing down to earth every single fucking time. You and Gojo with your perfect little lives look at me like a charity case to be fixed.”

“We have never looked at you like a charity case.” His tone was firm.

“Really? Then what the fuck do you look at me like, huh?” You press the question circling back around. “Is it pity? Did the two of you see some poor stray that you wanted to take in and keep like a pet when we met at university? Is that it?”

His eyes were hard, unreadable.

“It is that. You pity me.”

“Jesus, no! We don’t pity you- I don’t pity you! Is it so hard to believe that I care about you?”

“Yes, it is! There’s no reason for you to care,”

“What the hell wouldn’t I care?” Suguru’s voice raised to a shout, frustration cracking his facade.

“Because I’m just like everyone you hate!” Your chest heaves as you let out a flood of emotions. “ No ambitions, contributing nothing to society, just leeching off others.”

“You’re not like them.”

“I am. On paper, I’m exactly like them. The only reason that you’d keep me around is because it makes you feel good to watch me suffer or you pity me.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t pity you?” His voice cracked with emotion, but you didn’t stop.

“Then tell me why you care!” It comes out so desperately. You're begging him for understanding, to know why he stays. To know why he lets you in.

For once he looked uncertain. His mask slipped, revealing the cracks in his facade. It’s been so long since you’ve seen underneath it you’d almost forgotten how he looked when he wasn’t pretending to be happy.

“Or is it that you don’t care?”

Something flashed in his eyes, flickerings of things you only saw when he looked at Gojo. He opens his mouth to speak and then closes it. There's a fear in his eyes, like if he acts in this moment something may crack and crumble like the foundation of a house that leaves him crumpled in a pile of wood. He doesn’t, or won’t, give you an answer.

So you turn on your heel, the conversation over in your mind, and head to the front door. You’ll go up and pack a bag before heading across town and crashing on Shoko and Utahime’s couch before calling your parents and groveling to them.

But as you reach the door, Suguru reaches you. His arm wraps around your waist and he spins you around and pushes your back against it. He’s got you pinned.

“It’s because I love you.” It’s the faintest breeze that passes from his lips, like a car driving past on a hot day, sweat making your shirt stick to you. “I care because I love you.”

Everything is frozen in a still frame. Neither one of you moves, neither one of you breathes. A still moment that holds you tight, threatens to squeeze you so tightly your heart bursts.

“What do you mean by that?” You swallow as you speak, like pebbles in your throat.

Suguru blinks back tears, looking up and then back at you. “That I love you. Fuck! I’m in love with you.”

Disbelief makes your voice shake. “No, you’re not not. You’re with Satoru.”

“And? I can’t love both of you?”

“No, you can’t,” Hypocrisy tastes acrid on your tongue. You know damn well you could never pick between the two of them, that this blighted jealousy you feel towards them is more the fact they have the other rather than their success. It’s something you don’t admit but it’s there. “Besides, you’re lying to me.”

“No.” His response was firm and immediate. The whole time you’d known them, their worlds had revolved around each other. They’d been the only thing for each other for so long. It was an unspoken truth that they were made for each other in a way that could only be sewn by the fabric of the universe itself. Something so profoundly and divinely created it had been written in the fabric of life at the moment of the Big Bang.

“I’ve seen you watching.” Suguru’s tone is low, cutting, it vibrates through you as he has you pinned.

A sick, icy dread wraps around your spine. It starts in your toes and crawls up your body. Your muscles lock in place as it climbs up until it's all the way in your head. Paralyzing fear grips you.

“I don't…” The lie is transparent before it comes to fruition. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It’s brittle, cracking on your teeth as it passes through them.

“Don’t play innocent.” Suguru’s voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. The tension between you tightens and winds up to pitch, but there's a current that punctuates it. One that feels heady and warm. One that excites you in the same way it embarrasses you. “I’ve seen you watching. I’ve seen you for years. The first time, maybe it was a mistake. But last week? Three weeks before that?”

Your mouth went dry, choking on the excuse that tried to bubble up. Like finely ground chalk powder coasted every surface of it. “I—”

He cuts you off before you can even try to defend yourself. “I know you get off on it too. Leave your curtains open while you touch yourself. Saying his name, my name.”

Horror twists inside you like a knife, your heart dropping to the pit of your stomach. You’d always been so careful, never acting when you thought they were home. Never want to risk exactly this happening. Your face burned like you drank half a liter of vodka in a go. Maybe you’d wake up and realize this was a nightmare. The humiliation was unbearable.

“Imagine my surprise,” Suguru continues in a low chuckle, left hand slotting perfectly against your waist, “when I came home early one day and saw that.”

The tears that had stopped in your flash of anger spill hot and fast down your cheeks. The raw, hot shame and embarrassment muddle you. It makes you want a sinkhole to open up beneath you and swallow you whole. You can’t meet his gaze, your vision blurry.

“I’m sorry. I’ll move out.” you stammer out, the words falling in a chopping spiccato, desperate to create space between the two of you. You’d never be able to face him again.

“Who said anything about moving out?” Suguru comes, pulling you closer to him till you're flush against his chest. He bends down, breath tickling your ear. You feel the sharp pressure of his teeth grazing the shell of it, a jolt going through your body. “You don’t get to leave now.” Pulling back, he meets your eyes in a half-lidded gaze.

Both of you are playing the game again. Looking for something unspoken, some cryptic clue you need to decipher. He was searching for discomfort, disgust, anything to make him draw back and stop. You searched for understanding, dissecting how it got to this point. Every moment, every glance, every touch from him that you had ever overlooked.

He always held a soft glint in his eyes when he looked at you. Something subtle, normally reserved for Satoru. It warmed the edge of his voice when he spoke and crinkled the corners of his eyes when he smiled. There was that softness for Shoko, but it was different. The one he had for you was a more reserved, pulled-back, and dialled-down version of what gripped him when he looked at Satoru. He had always viewed you this way.

The times you sat sandwiched between him and Gojo, your legs brushing against him, his arm slung around your shoulders to reach Satoru. Pulling you against him on the train, in clubs, at parties, the bump of your hips against his own. Compliments when you wore flattering, his pushing Satoru to dress you up. He liked it best when you were in shorter dresses and skirts with tights.

Suguru had always wanted you, but you had failed to notice.

Instinct took over before reason could temper it. You pushed off the door, your hands flying to the loose part of his hair at the nape of his neck. The strands feelt just as silky an shiny as they look between your fingers. Without hesitation, the space between you two diminishes. You aren’t sure who closes the distance first, but your lips lock hungry. Teeth knocking against each other as you both desperately cling to the other. It's rough and aggressive, both of you starved animals feasting on flesh. The taste of copper spreading in your mouth as he bit down on your lip making you whine. His breathing becomes your own, heady mix of desire and dark, primal urge..

His tongue pushes against yours, taking advantage of your now open mouth, wet and warm brushing against the back of your teeth, laying claim to your mouth. Geto was dominating in all aspects of his life so it was unsurprising that he set the pace and led you to where he wanted to be. He moved your legs up, patting your ass to jump, to then wrap around his waist as he pressed you against the door. You grind your hips against his growing erection as he holds you there, and you can feel the heat of him even through his pants.

Suguru pulls away panting. His eyes are half closed, lips blushed a beautiful red and damp with saliva. He moves in again, this time to your neck, where he bites down hard. You squirm as he sucks a dark and angry mark, his mark, on your skin. The bite of his teeth against your skin feels right. It eats away at the jealous monster inside you every second he’s latched onto you.

Fed up with the door, Suguru opens it and carries you through the threshold. He moves the two of you through the genkan, toeing off his shoes while you kick your own off, and into the living room where he drops you on the couch. There’s an air about him, so intense it’s nearly oppressive, as his fingers inch up underneath your sweater, sliding it off of you. It’s a predator circling their prey, the success of a hunt now that he’s got you on your back against the soft fabric of the couch. He’d been waiting for this far longer than you thought and it spurs you on.

Suguru moves in tandem with you, tugging off his sweater and button-up shirt, exposing his happy trail. The dark dusting of hair makes your mouth water. Once his shirt is off, his hands cover your chest through your bra, palming your tits like stress balls. It's unpadded and lacey, and it lets him feel as if your nipples get hard. He pushes the cups down, leaving them to rest under your breasts, and pushes them up slightly, accentuated by your being on your back.

His fingertips close around your nipples as he pinches and pulls at them. You knew how much of a sadist he could be. One night you watched him edge Satoru for an hour straight. Seen how hot he looked with Gojo in his mouth as he writhed around. A sweet moan escaped you as he played with your nipples and rolled his hips against yours. It makes your head feel fuzzy, thoughts focusing purely on him. His weight presses down on you, so heavy and right it makes you ache.

You lunge forward, propping yourself up on your elbows to kiss him again. It’s just as messy and hungry as before, years of built-up desire between the two of you saturating your every pore. It settles in your bones that pulses in time with your heart.

Suguru doesn’t separate from you, but he slides your trousers and underwear off in one go as you kick your socks off. He tugs his own off hastily, boxer briefs following in turn. His public hair is trimmed, a close crop like you’ve seen it before. Like every other aspect of him, it’s neatly maintained, put into its place, and kept there.

His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips as he pulls your hips up by his head. Your back is half off the sofa as he places your legs over his shoulders and parts your core with his fingers. He blows cold air onto your clit that makes you squirm before he licks your clit. Moaning, you try to grind yourself against his face but his hands tighten on your hips, holding them firm. You’d get what he wanted to give you. Fight against it and get nothing, or accept it.

He was slow to start. His tongue lazily explores you, getting familiar with your taste. It pushed against your clit, wide and flat, before swirling his tongue around it. The ball of his tongue piercing rubbed against the most sensitive part of you. Your hips jerk forward and he looks up, a warning in his eyes, but he doesn’t stop. Suguru curls his tongue again, this time moving it side to side, letting his piercing catch on your clit purposefully. Every action he takes is measured as he picks up speed while latching his lips around it to add delicious suction. Two of his fingers slide inside you, reaching far deeper than your own ever could. He pumps them in and out of you, driving you closer to the edge.

You felt your pussy drooling, liquid gushing out and covering his chin. The muscles in your abdomen tightened with each passing second until you swore they'd cramp. It was all too much as you came, jerking and contracting in on yourself. Black spots dot your vision as your world shakes on this axis.

Sugru watched as you came, pulling back from your pussy to stare at your face. His eyes never left yours as he rubbed soothing circles into your skin with his thumbs. He could cover nearly all of you with how big his hands were, warm and calloused. Minus a cold spot on his left hand.

His engagement ring.

The silver felt like it burned your skin as he smiled at you and planted a kiss on your inner thigh. It glimmers in the low light, bouncing light off like a homing beacon. Bubbling sickness, bile rising in your throat, disgust palming at your skin. What had you just done? You’ve just violated a boundary so gigantic with Suguru. Let your own selfish need for intimacy lead you to this. He was engaged to your best friend. They were getting married next year.

You rushed to grab your clothes, panic surging through you. The world spins around you.

“What’s wrong?”

“We shouldn’t have done that,” you buttoned up your trousers, throwing your sweater on. Your hair is a mess and your skin feels clammy and flushed. The need to vomit is overwhelming. “This was a mistake.”

Suguru’s rising from the couch, trying to grab you, stopping you from moving but you dodge his hand. “A mistake?”

Your left hand meets your mouth as you bite the nail of your thumb. It clicks against your front teeth.

“Satoru won’t mind-”

“A mistake Suguru,” You shake your head, bending down and grabbing the rest of your stuff. “Please. Just forget this.” Without waiting for his reply, you run up the stairs and slam the door behind you.

You really are a bitch.

©️ uzuzrimisery

#uzuri writes #jjk fanfic #jjk imagines #satosugu x reader #jjk imagine #satosugu imagine #gojo satoru imagine #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru imagine #gojo x reader #geto x reader #i swear this gets resolved and everyones happy

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the-glorious-evolution-fanart · 6 months ago

Note

what’s your take on this whole “viktor is czech” controversy im seeing so many posts about how we can’t say viktor is russian or any other Slav anymore because of harry lloyd saying he did a czech accent

(I'm answering immediately since this is kind of an active topic that will probably quickly die. Please first read my entire post.)

I am of the opinion that everyone is allowed to headcanon a character however they want, and that it's not nice to insist everyone else adopt one's own interpretation especially if it's not canon. Even if things are canon, people can always choose to purposefully ignore canon in favour of what they prefer. This says nothing about quality - that can go either way. Sometimes the original writing is bad, other times it's good and fandom interpretations are of low creativity/low understanding/quality.

This accent discussion is not a controversy, it's just a tug of war between some fans. Lower the bullying and arguments everyone! It's okay. There's not much point fighting between fans, when companies hold all the power.

The reality is more complex than "what canon actually says".

Previous League version

Originally, Viktor the Machine Herald was designed to on the surface quickly read like an Eastern-European mad scientist engineer, with "vibes" from the Red Scare (and things like Red Alert). It has roots in ideas about scary effective heavy machinery. He was made to have a stereotypical Hollywood Slavic accent. If people read into it as Russian, it wouldn't be incorrect, thought the company. That doesn't mean he's hard-coded as Russian. There's the opinion of the lead writer Praeco being shared online in which he says:

He makes the fast mental jump (just like many viewers/players) and lands on the surface-level stereotype, which he thinks is all there is to it. This is false. Viktor's original, release lore from 2011. has no cultural hints towards Russia nor those stereotypes. It is a great basis for developing a more detailed story, which people would certainly love if it was done in an animated medium.

What the lore does have, are similarities with Nikola Tesla, a Serbian engineer and inventor who was conned by Edison, had his work stolen and often been viewed as crazy. Viktor's in-game abilities are inspired by some of Nikola Tesla's hypothetical inventions. His staff has a Tesla coil on it.

I personally write Viktor as being Serbian-inspired due to this, and it's also easier for me as I'm Serbian, so I can make up a headcanon about old lore old Zaunites speaking this language thus explaining the accent when they speak Common; and not stress over messing up a translation. There's also the fact that we are very underrepresented in pop-culture, and even when we are, it's most often as unintelligent criminals.

That doesn't mean that people headcanoning League Viktor as being Russian-inspired are automatically incorrect.

2. Arcane Viktor

Here's the interview with the voice actor. There's a couple of things here to be noted. He says a "frail Eastern-European scientist"... meanwhile Czechs are Western Slavs, not Eastern. This tells me the Americans leading the show didn't pay much attention to ethnicities, as those things don't matter to them.

Then Nikola Tesla is brought up again - proving the original core archetype. But Nikola Tesla was Serbian, who are South Slavs, not Eastern nor Western.

To Americans, we are all interchangeable. They really don't care. They hired a British voice actor, despite there being countless Slavic voice actors they could have contacted. I can even reach a bunch of them.

The voice actor they hired had only practiced a Czech accent in one of his previous works, and it was "close enough". And what I can say is that he doesn't sound neither Russian, nor Serbian to my ear. Our accent is way more heavy and explosive (actually pretty similar to original in-game Viktor! Just less dramatic) while Russian would be way more softer. I've seen some Czechs say he does indeed sound Czech, and I think that's completely valid! But Arcane Viktor is Czech not by design, but out of necessity.

Czechs (Česi!!!!!) are also very little represented in pop-culture. Basically non-existent. They have also historically been behind the Iron Curtain, so you must understand their position. I think people have the right to headcanon Arcane Viktor as being Czech-inspired, despite what all the inconsistencies and frankly bad mixups have been said by the production crew behind-the-scenes. And they absolutely should not be bullied and forced into headcanoning Arcane Viktor as Russian or any other ethnicity! What's in the work itself sounds Czech, not Serbian. That said, I also think people have the right to personally headcanon Arcane Viktor as any ethnicity-inspired as they wish. Just know the state of things like I shared here, say what your personal headcanon is and don't vaguepost or bully other people. Those throwing rocks first should stop.

3. In the end, I personally view Arcane Viktor as Czech-inspired, League Viktor as Serbian-inspired, but it's not even wrong to consider him generally Slavic-inspired, as these nationalities really don't exist in Runeterra. Political situation aside.

#political situation aside means there's an additional layer of irl one culture trying to appropriate others for personal gain etc etc but th #that's a whole other can of worms #this here what I wrote is just a default state #arcane Viktor #viktor the machine herald #viktor league of legends #2011. viktor the machine herald

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fordpinesthemanyouare · 10 months ago

Text

Ford x Fem!Reader

Math Assistant Pt.1

Summary: Ford needs himself an assistant, Stanley makes an online post for him and BOOM there you are, coming to meet him for an interview at the diner.

Warnings: Erm... this is a nothing sandwich I THINK. Please let me know if I should add something

A/N: My brothers in christ please this is my first fic that I wrote on a whim, I had an idea and I started writing. I have never written fan ficiton in my life so pls be nice... also who up wit dey werm to Stanford Pines HOOBA HOOBA!!!!! Okay also I want to write SMUT for this so imagine this is like the really really really long winded plot to the porno. K thanks bye read if u want or dont i dont control you.

——————

Ford shook his head at Stanley who was seated in front of a new computer now placed in the living room, “I’m still confused on why we should be posting the ad listing “online” rather than the local paper, or putting up flyers around town.” Ford used air quotes for emphasis, he still found the whole idea strange, he liked the computer for being a tool he could use to further research. He didn't like it so much as a vessel for finding candidates for a job he was offering, the thought that he had no idea who was communicating with him unsettled him a bit. Especially knowing the kind of work he was going to be having this future assistant… well assist with.

“Because yer never going to find someone with the qualifications yer asking for in this town” Stan looked over his shoulder at a crossed arm Ford. “Hiring someone for a summer job who has a PhD in Application Math, whatever that means-“

“Applied Mathematics, Stanley” Ford interrupted.

“Whatever it is you're not going to find that here, you and fiddleford are probably the only people in this town to actually have a college degree” he said with a chuckle, turning back to the computer. He was clicking around on some website that Ford had never heard of, let alone just recently finding out what the internet was. “I'm setting up a job listing on some of the local college websites, ya know for people that are studying or just done studying”. The clicking of the mouse and the typing of keys continued as Ford ran the motion through his head, overthinking perhaps every outcome of Stanley posting that job listing. Ultimately though Ford knew he was right in that, no one with at least a degree in Applied Mathematics was going to be residing nearby.

“Just please be careful about the information you include in this job posting, try to keep it minimal as possible. If they ask more questions about specifics you can let them know that I can explain in person.”

Stan looked over his shoulder, his eyebrows slightly downturned with a smirk rising on his face, “I didn’t realize you had hired me to be your assistant, you're going to have to cough up if you want me to do this for you”. Ford groaned in annoyance of his brother, “Stanley you know I don’t know how to use any of that”.

“Exactly why you're going to want to have me help you out with this”, Stanley moved his arm to drape across the back of the chair he was in, looking more directly at him. “That’ll be twenty dollars”, he held out his hand expectantly at his twin. A beat of silence passed between the two as they had a small staring contest, both men’s brows furrowed at the other.

Ford finally reached for his back pocket after he felt he had glared at his brother enough, he slipped a twenty dollar bill from the leather wallet and practically slammed it in his hand before walking in the opposite direction without a word. While Stan on the other hand, was more than beaming when he saw Ford’s hand fall to his back pocket, Stan half shouted as Ford strode out of the room.

“You’ll thank me later when I find the perfect candidate!” He laughed as he said it and returned to more clicking and typing around the website.

Ford returned to the lab to finish up some things before the kids were scheduled to get there later in the month. When they returned from the long months at the ocean, Ford wanted nothing more than to work on something in his lab again. He loved feeling the anticipation of a project becoming something, but of course he knew he could easily get carried away. After Dipper and Mabel left last summer, before Stanley and him were going to head out, he had made a major discovery while working in the lab. He had discovered an atom that was capable of recreating a direct clone of itself and in as many atoms he could count. He continued to work on the project until Stanley was practically dragging him from the house to leave to sail around the world.

While sailing towards one of their final destinations at the end of the trip, Ford finally opened up to Stanley about his worries of falling into the same pits as before. He was worried that he would become too involved, as he already felt himself doing as they were leaving for their trip. He also desperately needed some alone time from Stanley, but he didn’t mention that to him while they were on the boat.

“What if you hired someone to help you with the project?” Stan had offered a possible solution, while he had sat in the boat looking at Ford who was deep in thought over his dilemma. “I mean obviously the last time that happened, it wasn’t great either…” He trailed off after the look on Ford’s face became apparent, regretting the thought of his old college friend.

“I know the last time wasn’t great” Stanley pushed forward, “but maybe if you have someone hired to help with the smaller stuff. Things like using the calculator or something, whatever the small stuff even is to you” he said the last part under a fake cough which earned him a glare from his brother. However, the idea wasn't… terrible, Ford thought. He pondered over the possibilities of having someone helping him out, along with having the two kids upstairs to bother him. If he were to have someone who he didn't have to know that well take on most of the minor details, the equations and such, he would be able to prioritize the best parts of the project while also having time for his family. At least, that’s what he had hoped for when Stanley initially offered the idea.

“That could be a good idea…” Ford said after taking several moments to ponder the possibilities. “I would need someone who could do advanced mathematical equations, with room for equations that could possibly extend what they know…”. Stanley just looked at him deep in thought, wondering how there could be that many things to think about, the answer seemed clear to him.

Back in the lab, Ford could hear Stanley groaning loudly about some ‘unknown error message’. He continued to monitor and take note of the atoms under his advanced microscope for a while, waiting until Stanley had further news of any postings. He wondered what his new assistant would be like, if they could have the same passion for knowledge and understanding as he does.

———

A few days had passed, Ford falling into old habits quickly, holing himself up in the lab for hours upon hours. The only time he was seen over the last 48 hours was to grab more coffee from the kitchen, he caught naps in between work, falling asleep over his piles of scrap paper filled with numbers and letters. Ford had not anticipated how much mathematical reasoning was going to follow the atom cloning discovery, he was falling behind on moving forward with more discoveries on the atoms, but over hundreds of miniscule details that needed solving kept him at the desk. Stan walked down on the 49th hour of Ford’s lock down in the basement, opening the door noisily and making as much noise as possible on the way down to let him know he was on the way. Ford was scribbling away on the nth page of scrap work, crossing out failed attempts of solving equations as Stan broached the lab floor.

Stan awkwardly cleared his throat at Ford when he didn’t turn around, even though Stanley was sure to have made enough noise on the way down. Ford turned his head over his shoulder, his body seeming to not want to move from the space it had cramped into. He raised his eyebrows in a questioning manner, as if asking ‘What? Im busy’. Stan gave a huff of annoyance before starting,

“I have about 3 applications that I thought were worth looking over, most of the idiots who applied didn’t even have math degrees. All they see in the listing is free housing and they flock like birds trying to claw their way in” he said with a slight chuckle. He strided over to Ford’s desk, as Ford leaned back finally interested in what Stan was saying. He took the papers from Stanley and began to look over them. He began thumbing through the few resumes, looking over each one carefully noting that all three people had at least some qualifications in mathematics. He looked up to Stan and gave him a tight smile.

“I appreciate you getting these for me, I’ll reach out to the ones I feel are qualified.” A beat passed between them, Ford paused for a second wondering if he should just return to work at this point or if Stanley had something else since he hasn't made any move to leave.

“I think the one on the bottom will be the best fit.” Stan said with a certain look in his face that Ford couldn’t place, as he turned to leave. Ford looked at him as he walked towards the stairs with a questioning look on his face, wondering what could have led his brother to place a preference on one of these resumes even though he didn't know what applied mathematics was. As Stan trudged up the stairs Ford called to his brother,

“I'll be sure to look at that one, thank you Stanley.” Which made Stanley pause and turn to look at Ford, a distant smile on his face as he nodded and continued up the stairs. Ford turned back to his desk and pulled the resume on the bottom up to the top, the header in nice bold letters a fine print used, he noted.

Y/N YL/N

He also took note that this was the only two-page resume offered to him, with the education list taking up most of the room. Several universities/schools were listed and his eyes read over the names and degrees that followed. He read all the way to the bottom where it listed your highschool with graduation dated in 1999. He noted this person was in their early 30’s with several bachelors degrees in several sciences, two master’s degrees in statistics and biology, and of course a Ph.D in applied mathematics. The latest graduation listed was University of Oregon masters program in statistics for April, which he noted it was now early May noting it would be fresh on the mind. He moved your resume to the back of the small stack, looking over the first two he skipped over, and honestly he wished he saved yours for last. The first two were jokes compared to the advanced knowledge you listed, he set the first aside after noting that the education list was no longer than a paragraph, and the second resume didn’t take long to set aside either as his eyes raked in the many spelling errors.

He read over your resume again looking for a way to contact you to set up the interview. He noted the phone number and email in the corner of the first page, and made to move upstairs to the kitchen phone. As he stood up however, his muscles almost molded into place from sitting at the desk, stopped him from moving further. He groaned as he began to stretch himself out, thinking about how he couldnt wait to stop looking at math problems for hours on end.

Heading back upstairs he reached the phone and quickly gazed at the microwave clock, 3:49 pm. He was glad it wasn’t later than five, as he picked up the corded receiver and began to punch in the numbers. The phone rang a few times before your voice fluttered over the phone, “Hello?”. Ford cleared his throat awkwardly, “Hello! Yes, is this Y/N YL/N? Oh it is, great, this is Stanford Pines calling about a job posting for the assistant position. I was hoping to set up an interview to discuss further details of the position.”

“I was just wondering if I would hear back from this offer,” the light voice on the other end laughed a pleasant laugh a little before continuing, “I’d love to join you for an interview regarding the position, I’m free anytime, anywhere this coming week and the next.”.

Ford offered a time for tomorrow at the local diner, which he provided the address to. The voice on the phone wished Ford a great rest of his night and that they would see him tomorrow. Ford wished them the normal pleasantries he hated to conduct while making mundane phone calls such as these. He was slightly relieved to find you weren’t completely strange, at least right off the bat. When he hung the phone back on the hanger, Stan suddenly spoke, causing Ford to jump from the lack of warning.

“So did you end up going with the one I said?” Stan looked smug as Ford met his gaze, knowing damn well he scared Ford on purpose. Ford rolled his eyes after he settled after the slight scare,

“Unsurprisingly, as you could probably assume. You shouldn’t have even bothered with the other two. One only had a few community college classes under their belt.” Ford turned to make more coffee, he figured he would stretch his legs now as he was planning on working on some more equations before the meeting tomorrow. Stan gave a hearty laugh, “She’s also quite the looker, surprised me when I was pulling resumes”. Ford gave his brother a look as he asked, “Can’t you make your picture anything you want online?”. He remembers when they got the computer last time the kids were here, Dipper had shown him how he had his profile for online DD&MD. He absolutely didn’t understand it, but Dipper assured him this summer he would teach him. Which would benefit him from not having to pay Stanley anytime he needed something done the modern way (this was not often).

“Yeah but this was on a college website, everyone has their picture I think. It looks all like student ID’s… Oh don’t look at me like that! I looked at all of their profile pictures. She just happened to have the best looking picture.” Stan finished with a shrug and a laugh. Ford had looked at him like he was crazy for looking through all the people who applied profile pictures before feeling the need to ask, “You did give me recommendations on experience, not looks correct?”.

Stan shook his head, “I know you would kill me if I passed on a math nerd over an actual good looking girl” he laughed, turning “I'm going to head out gotta meet some people, don’t wait up for me.” Stan said as he was walking out the door, grabbing the keys as he slammed the door. Ford shook his head and decided to take his brother's word for it, his mind replaying what his twin mentioned, “quite the looker” as if that could have any effect on anything. Ford thought he didn't care much at all for how a person appeared as long as they could solve these problems that's all that mattered, and maybe that they were decently pleasant to work with. He couldnt help but reflect back to the phone call, your light and airy voice filling his ear with pleasant sound, at least you didnt have a horrible voice and he could probably get used to hearing that voice more often, he thought. Ford filled his cup with coffee and headed back downstairs not giving the interview tomorrow much more thought than your voice on the phone.

—————

A/N: Yay I did it!!! yeah so what if its a nothing sandwich?? Didnt i literally say that before hand.. hope you enjoyed if ya read! <3

#gravity falls #ford pines x reader #stanford x reader #stanford pines x reader #ford x reader #ford pines #stanford pines #gravity falls x reader #stanford pines x you #gravity falls fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #series #grunkle ford #hunkle ford #nothing sandwich #i wrote this listening to BRAT #gravity falls writing

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staytinyville · 2 years ago

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Stay Alive (1)

BTS ot7 x Reader

Magical Creatures AU

Series Masterlist

Warnings: None

A/N I am very excited for this story! It has a good amount of world building that I enjoy doing so much! I took inspiration from Stay Alive by Jungkook/Suga in case you guys didn’t know! The beginnings are of course slow but that’s how most stories are to build up the tension. I hopeful for this story and I hope you all like it! Please feel free to ask if you want to be added to the taglist!

People walk among the same earth constantly. However the thing that sets us apart is the path we all take. Sometimes it's the same, other times it's the opposite. Some of us are meant for higher things while some are meant to suffer until things start to look up for us all.

In a lifetime sometimes we won’t ever get the chance to see ourselves reach the peak we want. There are struggles we all face that will cause setbacks in the path we are taking. Only the ones who are strong enough to see the road to the end make it out alive.

There will always be those out there who will achieve their goals in life some way or another. Those are the ones who don’t allow those setbacks to dictate their entire life. And maybe along the way someone will come along to help you grow stronger. Whether it’s one person or a whole group. You will see to the end of your path one way or another.

“Most often than not you will be working on filing. If we are understaffed on a day, like today, we might send you in to write reports on the medicine we have already administered.” Suho, the lady who was placed as your preceptor, explained to you.

You had a grateful smile on your face, happy to finally get to start working. While it wasn’t the place you had been hoping for, you knew the pay was well for the kind of student debts you had. The pharmaceutical lab was meant to administer different kinds of medicines to the people who would sign up for a trial. They did the test on patients before they were given out to people.

While you were being placed on the front desk for the most part, you knew you would need to work your way up to the spot you wanted and you were more than happy to reach for it.

“What kind of medicine do you guys make?” You asked, trying to think about all that you had read on the company's website.

It didn’t really give much about what they focus on so you found it really odd that they were so wide when it came to the things they were trying to cure.

“You applied here and don't even know?” Suho frowned, looking at you appalled.

“I tried asking at the interview but they just gave me vague answers.” You explained. “The website doesn't tell you anything either.”

“We are very on top of the things we do here at HYBE.” She began to tell you. “There aren’t many people we trust to be hired onto the team so consider yourself lucky to be apart of it.”

“We make sure that our patients here are taken care of because we are a company that is trying hard to reach their goals. Because of that we are detail oriented when it comes to the patients we accept. Not just anyone can be a patient here.”

While she did a bit more about the kind of company you were working at, it still didn’t really tell you about what it was you were working for. You didn’t choose to question it, knowing that the paycheck they gave you was a luxury for a lot of people.

“Here are some of your patients for the day. They have already been given the medicine, it's up to you to check up on them for daily research.” You took the six files the lady handed you, nodding your head.

You placed them onto the small desk area they had given you before going through them to check on the appointment times and ordering them correctly. The first one on your list should be waiting in the lobby by now so you were quick to take the papers and move along to the waiting room.

“Mrs. Han?” You called, a smile on your face.

An older woman with a younger one came to a stand, slowly shuffling over to where you waited for them at the door.

“Hello, Mrs. Han. How are you today?” You asked politely, leading the two women towards the scale.

“I'm doing great! I'm so excited to share some news about the medicine you gave me.” The older woman exclaimed, a bright smile on her face.

You hummed, keeping the friendly look as you wrote down her weight on the paper. You told them to follow you to a patient room to speak to her privately.

“I see it was something for your dementia.” You spoke, moving the laptop in the room closer so you could take down everything the lady would tell you. “Is everything going okay?”

“It's wonderful!” The other lady exclaimed for her mother. At least you assumed it was her daughter from the notes that people already had written for you. Her daughter was the one who was in charge of all Mrs. Han’s things.

“You would not believe it but it's almost as though she's regressed in her illness! Mother was in a terrible state when she was offered this trial medicine. She took it and suddenly it was almost like she went back to before it grew to be terrible.”

You tried to write down what the woman was saying, but you knew there were more questions to ask before concluding the entire meeting.

“Maybe she can get back to normal if she takes more.” The daughter spoke in a hopeful tone.

“One step at a time, Mrs. Byun.” You kept the smile on your face so as to not let them think they weren’t going to find the help they needed. “We have to see how long this medicine will last first before giving her more doses.” You explained.

“Also, memory loss is nothing to be overly worried about if it's on occasion. Even I forget something's as well.” You told them.

If there was one thing you studied, it was medicine. You knew the consequences of taking too much or too little. This company was in the slow movement of developing them so they had to be careful about how they administered their projects. People probably came in thinking they could get more if they worked perfectly the first time. However these kinds of things were tests, not the real deal.

“Of course.” Mrs. Byun nodded in understanding.

The rest of the visit went by smoothly as you took down all the older woman’s rants and aches about the whole thing. With these kinds of surveys it was really about asking how each patient felt even if it was the smallest of things. You wouldn’t be able to tell if it had to do with the medicine or with something else.

As you told Mrs. Han and her daughter goodbye, scheduling the next appointment, the rest of you patient trickled in one-by-one.

There was a man who had come in for a bad liver–he was an avid drinker–so the medicine was for corrosion to that organ. While you really tried not to say something about it, you felt annoyed that the man had explained that he still had a drink every once in a while. He was like Mrs. Han, the medicine was doing wonders.

There was a child who had chickenpox, who’s mother explained that the rash that had taken over her son’s body was slowly dwindling down. Another lady who had come in for amnesia which only said that her memory was returning to before she had gotten into an accident. The others had external injuries like scrapes of their knees or a deep cut that needed stitches. From what you could see they were just given some sort of pain medication. They had expressed that their wounds didn’t hurt and it was actually healing at a fast rate.

“They really work with a lot of medicine.” You spoke to yourself as you looked over the last file you had. You frowned your eyebrows when you saw the patient was in another level of the building. It was the lower levels, which meant in the basement of sorts. From what you knew that was where the labs were.

“That's odd.” You tilted your head in confusion but made your way over to the elevators anyway. With your ID card, you pressed onto one of the underground levels, leaning back against the metal wall. When the doors opened, you were met with a lobby that had a couple of different doctors moving about.

Following the signs, you found the door that led to some of the rooms patients were stationed in. You showed the security guard your ID explaining you were in that level of the building to check up on a patient. He took a look at the file you had in your hand, humming as he opened a door to the back for you.

Overlooking the file once more to make sure you had the right number, you quietly counted the doors. As you passed by one, you felt a shiver go down your back causing you to halt in your tracks. The number three stared back at you as a weird feeling flowed over your shoulders. It felt like something was brushing up against them, pushing at your form.

You quickly turned back around making your way to the room next to it. You checked over the file one more time. It didn’t really give you much about the medicine the patient had been given. All it said was that they were someone who was meant to be staying in the building for better observation. There were a couple of papers that you seemed to be missing, you noticed.

Before opening the door, you knocked politely. “Hello?” You softly called as you stuck your head in.

The only light on was the bedside lamp which illuminated the dark room. You frowned at the aspect of there being no windows that would allow light from outside to come in. As you walked in closer, you let go of the door to have it shut by itself. “Mr. Jeon?”

“Who are you?” You gasped, nearly tripping on your feet from the hard flinch you felt take over.

You took in the man who was standing behind you, trying to regulate your breathing. He only looked at you with a raised brow, his expression passive. You took up his large form, noticing the blue scrubs he wore were almost tight around his physic. He didn’t wear any shoes–was even foregoing to wear socks.

“Oh,” You said as your breath returned to your lungs. “My name is (Y/N). Today is my first day so I guess I'll be your new nurse.” You explained to him.

“What are you doing here?” As he took a step closer to you, you subconsciously took one back. “You don't deserve to be here.” His voice went quiet as his eyes turned soft.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you took in his worried expression, smiling awkwardly as you patted your hands to wipe the sweat forming on them.

“I needed a job. Got school debt to pay off.” You tried to joke with him. He looked too serious, which made you anxious to touch him for his vitals. “I'm here to do a check up. Would you mind?” You asked, trying to build up the courage to get close to him.

He didn’t say anything, just poked his cheek with his tongue, moving to the bed. You smiled in thanks, looking around the room to find the equipment needed. You purse your lips when you realize you would need to check his heart rate manually. Finding the padding needed to place around his arm, you made your way over to the man.

He flinched back as your hands moved to touch his arm, causing you to stop. “I’m going to check your heart rate.” You explained, remembering that you were the kind of person to make sure people knew what it was you were going to do.

As he kept his dark eyes on you, he allowed you to softly touch his scrub sleeve as you moved the fabric up to place the padding in the right area of the arm. You moved your stethoscope from around your neck. “It’s going to be a bit cold.” You whispered.

As you moved on with the check up, you watched the numbers on the dial move carefully counting to yourself. When you finished getting what you needed, you quickly let go of the air and moved the padding off his arm. As you did that, your eyes seemed to blur over the ink the man had.

Your fingers gently squeezed his bicep, softly moving down the length of his arm. Your gaze drifted over each color and picture the man had, trying to figure out where one picture ended and the next started. As your fingers glided over his pulse on his wrists, the man involuntarily shivered at the touch.

“Sorry.” You quickly pulled back, looking back up at him. “Your tattoos are really nice. I've never seen so many.” You bashfully smiled at him.

He only looked at you curiously, his big eyes taking in your facial expressions. It made you feel flustered as he looked at you so deeply, causing you to lick your lips and look away.

“You have a very strong heart. Very good blood flow.” You told him, turning away to write down his vitals. He slowly got off the bed and moved closer to you.

“It doesn't say which medicine you've been taking which is really weird.” You frowned, looking over all the papers that you were given. There were some things missing but you assumed the high ups were looking over it.

“You're different.” You jumped at the voice that spoke directly behind you. Turning around you tilted your head up at the man.

“How so?” You asked.

“You're nice.” The boy squinted his eyes at you, like he was trying to figure you out.

“Are the others not?” You frowned.

“Not the ones who come down here.” He told you.

You tried to quickly cover up your upset expression, looking up at the doe-eyed man with a smile. “Well I hope I'm able to come down here again.” You took up the paper you had written on. There wasn’t much explanation on what you had to ask him so you chose to go back up and see if you could figure out what else to do.

“Have a good day, Mr. Jeon.” You smiled brightly, waving from the door.

Jungkook tilted his head to the side as a warmth spread through his chest from your words. Not a day had gone by that he wasn't thinking about the dreaded place as though it was a sentence in hell. He had never met someone like you; someone who spoke to him as though he too was a person.

It made him light headed to think about the way your words affected him. He couldn't think of the last time someone had ever uttered those kinds of words to him. It had been so long-alone thinking this was what life was going to be like for the rest of his life. But suddenly things changed in the blink of an eye.

“Maybe.”

Series Masterlist

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genericpuff · 9 months ago

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I've watched both (this is a hazbin hotel ask btw) but tend to keep my eyes closed to merch sales (and such forth) unless it can pierce my five degrees of separation

also gotta admit that I've been not keeping up with HB since... honestly the since the season end. yeah I'm behind.

What do you mean they're waiting for what's functionally pamphlets? It's taking MONTHS for a pamphlet?

That's funny in the bad way 😭

yeah so from MY UNDERSTANDING (i.e. correct me if I'm wrong) the playbill was part of some exclusive package deal where buyers would receive some keychains, trading cards, and a playbill which was supposedly going to be filled with exclusive interviews/quotes/background information/etc. about the show's production. That playbill was exclusive to the pre-orders, meaning if you didn't pre-order this merch package, presumably you could still purchase the merch package on its own (or possibly its parts separately on the merch site like the keychains n junk) but the playbill would ONLY be sent to those who pre-ordered.

The pre-orders started around a year or so ago, but then roughly 9 months ago when the bundles started to show up, people reported that the playbill - literally the centerpiece of the marketing - was missing.

Since then, the playbills still haven't arrived, but customers have gotten TWO separate emails written from the "characters" of Hazbin Hotel updating them on the situation. Yes, you read that right, the emails meant to update people on the part of their pre-order package that was still missing - a package that cost them $76 and again, the playbill was exclusive to - were written in-character like a roleplay post in a message board forum.

And for some reason, the A24 staff decided that Husk would be the best character to deliver the bad news, a character who is, like many characters in Hazbin, just an asshole.

It's wild that this even got approved as an official email from the A24 team because let's face it - if you had spent $76 with the good faith expectation that you were gonna get everything you were promised in return for that $76 is this really the response you'd want to get? I'm not exactly sure when this email was sent out but according to some of the people reporting on it via Twitter, it was around the end of January (so the end of the month that folks were expecting it to roll in). Not a great way to tell people that the product they're waiting on - and didn't expect to be missing in the first place - was delayed.

Months later, a second email rolled out, and A24 sort of learned their lesson, not by actually addressing their customers as human beings, but this time as Charlie, who is at least not a complete dickhead.

It still doesn't really answer any questions though because it's putting the responsibility on fictional characters to explain what's going on. So of course everything is masked behind the "teehee, Alastor did a naughty and Niffty got stuck in the printing press machine!" roleplaying talk which literally does not actually tell anyone what's really going on, just gives them a vague impression based on what they chose to make a fictional character say.

youtube

Sure, it's nicer than Husk, but it's still disingenuous and frankly just cringe esp when this is concerning the interests of paying customers.

I don't know if this is Vivzie's doing or someone else on the A24 team, but it really feels like they're trying to operate the same way HH would have operated back when it was just a Youtube series... but it's not a small-time Youtube production anymore, it's a full on Amazon show with hired employees and a customer base that expects the thing they paid for to actually show up. So at best this is just really immature mishandling of a situation that should be taken at least relatively seriously.

And really, out of all the things to delay... the playbills? Really? For anyone who's not familiar with what a playbill is, it's literally just a booklet. Professional, "Playbill" branded playbills that you see in legitimate theatre productions are (if I recall correctly) anywhere from 30-60 pages, but a lot of those pages are often dedicated to ad space of other productions and companies, with maybe only 10-15 pages dedicated to the actual production. People love collecting them though because you typically only receive them when you go to see a play itself, so it can be a great souvenir from limited run productions.

It's kinda like comic collecting for theatre-goers, they can serve as memorabilia or as "proof" that you were there to attend a specific show. Though playbills don't tend to accrue as much value as much as comics can, they can still have a lot of sentimental value.

Hazbin Hotel isn't a play though. It's a streaming show available on Amazon Prime that anyone can watch anywhere in the world. It doesn't exactly have the need for something like a playbill, because the exclusivity is simply tied to how much extra money you're willing to give them for the pre-order, not to any sort of unique in-person experience of going to the theatre and watching the show live with your own eyes.

Granted, Hazbin Hotel does obviously take heavy inspiration from theatre culture as it is itself a musical, so I can understand the novelty and appeal of creating a unique playbill for it. I just don't really understand why that's the item that got delayed when a booklet containing exclusive info should be one of the easiest things to make, especially when it comes to production costs (printing a bunch of playbills shouldn't be anywhere near as expensive as producing keychains and trading cards).

But there was an update on reddit about this a couple weeks ago and it seemingly contradicts what A24 - sorry, 'Charlie', sigh - said months ago that they were working hard on specifically printing and packaging the playbill orders-

FINALLY the HH fandom gets a real human being from A24 responding, but they're saying that the designs are still being worked on??? So this means they haven't even started printing the things yet?? So that's an entirely DIFFERENT issue that hasn't been addressed up until this point.

So yeah, again, I don't have any stakes in this and it's definitely not something that I'm like, putting a lot of emotional investment into, but it has still been fascinating to check in on every now and then. Big condolences to the HH fans who paid $76+ for this package and are still waiting for the MAIN CENTERPIECE to show up - if you're one of those fans and are now reading this, you're probably gonna be waiting a little while longer because apparently they haven't even designed them yet 💀😆

#ask me anything #ama #anon ama #anon ask me anything

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classicrocknlove · 3 months ago

Text

~Jimmy Page Fanfiction~

Spread Your Wings

“I’m just looking for an angel with a broken wing…. But somehow, they always seem to fly, fly away…”

Chapter One

July 25th, 1973. New York.

Cynthia’s P.O.V.

“Cynthia! Come de-brief!” Paul. Paul had been my boss for around six months now- has been driving me crazy for five. I started writing for the local Manhattan magazine “Foxy” over two years ago. The magazine covers popular bands that roam around America, and I have been the sole one in charge of traveling to and from bands, whether it be when they would play gigs in New York, or even across the country in Los Angeles. I enjoyed the traveling, even though I really wanted to write for a political or medical publisher. This magazine was my way into the journalist industry, really the only magazine that would take on an inexperienced writer such as myself, but music, especially rock music had never been my “forté”. But, the traveling, late night concerts and interviews kept my mind off of my rather dull, righteous, lackluster life.

I had been working for a publisher by the name of Eric Erickson for my first year and a half as a journalist for the magazine. He was a shy, quiet man of sorts but incessantly adored music- rock, the blues, really any music that spoke to him. He climbed to the top of the magazine a few years ago, but decided it was time to move on to other ventures. He hired Paul, now my boss, whom holds a particular liking of teasing me, busying me with unnecessary tasks, and always babysitting my stories. He’s a British know-it-all, insisting on making my life miserable.

Paul came from Rolling Stone, a seemingly “shit” magazine, as many rockers would classify it. Known for its dismissive comments of many American and English bands, unless, of course, you are The Beatles. Paul had written for Rolling Stone for five years before moving to our smaller magazine to have more of an ““intimate” writing experience” for himself. I would love to call his bluff, ask him if he had really just been fired or passed over for a promotion, but I cannot step out of line with a man like Paul. He’d throw me to the curb any chance he’d get. I had to stay cool, calm, and collected. Though sometimes, I wanted to give him a good right to the jaw.

“So, what are we working on now?” Paul turned in his swivel leather chair, facing me as I took a seat in a much smaller, lumpy chair that sat across from his desk. His big wooden desk the only being separating us as I laid my prepared notes and story-in-progress down onto it. Before I could retort, Paul had snatched the papers from in front of me and began scanning them over. Here comes the snide remarks and…

“This looks good. Little pretentious for a band like Black Sabbath, but it’s okay so far.” He interrupted my thoughts with his, somehow, up-to-scratch review on my writing.

“Well, yes, it’s not done yet. I have some tweaking to do, but I really wanted to put all of the information I received from the members, as well my own research I completed about them.” I explained, hoping he’ll understand my thought process. I try to approach every band with a blank slate. I never try to focus on too much of what I hear before actually meeting them myself.

“Yes, anyway,” he dismissed, I had to control my eyes that dared to roll at his shameless rudeness, “there is a band coming to town that I need you to interview. I’ve set up a meeting with their manager.” His face was blank and his stare bore into my eyes, requiring a fast reply from me- like always.

“Okay. Who-“ I started but Paul, as usual, interrupted my inquiry with his loud, sharp voice that always demanded immediate understanding.

“Led Zeppelin for Christ Sakes. Don’t you read the papers?” Paul shook his head as he fiddled with his pen to write something down on a loose scrap of paper among papers flailed across his desk.

“Well, I know they are finishing their tour, but I wasn’t exactly sure if they were visiting New York or not.” I tried to reason but Paul couldn’t have cared less about my justification. He continued on with his instructions, ignoring me.

“Here. This is the address where they will be waiting for you. Time and place. Apparently, they don’t allow separate transportation of interviewers, film editors, nobody other than the band and crew. You will be transported to where the band is staying before the concert.” Paul hands me the crumpled, slovenly piece of paper that looked as if he spilled his morning breakfast burrito grease on it.

“Okay… so I am attending the concert dates?” I inquire, though am again met with Paul’s distaste for my lack of mind reading.

“Bloody hell. If you don’t get the damn information that you need tomorrow, attend the concert. All three if needs must. Do what you need to do. This is our big one. Just don’t fuck the band, eh?” He tells me as he looks at me with complete disdain. A sexist, misogynistic lunatic who only cares about his own success.

I get up from the raggedy chair, picking my notes up from Paul’s desk, in mixed order (which was not how he found them) and began to stroll out of his office.

“You wear a skirt like that tomorrow, you’ll have those boys in a right fiddle. They’ll be putty in your hands..” Paul’s rigid smile appears, teeth crooked and yellowed. I ignore his remark and fast-walk the rest of the way out of his office.

I tug at my skirt as I sit back down in my chair at my much smaller desk compared to Paul’s, to continue my journey of writing about Black Sabbath.

—

July 26th, 1973.

I woke up in the morning feeling refreshed, but nervous. Led Zeppelin had become huge, especially in the states. They were known for their antics at hotels, with girls, groupies, and substances. As I’ve always said, approach the bands with a blank state, but it was hard to ignore the band’s reputation.

I dressed myself in some of my best, feeling comfortable. I wore a high-neck pink, short-sleeved babydoll dress with white heeled babydoll shoes to match. The back of the dress tied at the top and middle, and I tied both of the knots carefully. The dress produced a higher neckline, reaching just to the top of my chest where my chest and neck meet, but boasted the open back, where the ties happened to be. I tied them a bit loosely, allowing the back of the dress to fall open slightly.

As I took my book, writing utensils and a refreshment out of my small apartment door, the boy across the hall, Roger, was coming out of his apartment as well. The brown-eyed brunette with a hint of a tan stepped out of his door and looked directly at me, flashing me a smile.

“Hello, Cynthia. You look great. Heading to work?” He asked. He was always so kind and has asked me on several dates. I declined but still insisted on being friends with him because of his unapologetic sweetness. He was gentle and non-abashing, and I liked him. But I didn’t see him in a romantic way. He was more like a friend or brother. He was younger than me and quite innocent like myself.

“Yes! Another day, another band. You know.”

He smiled again as we walked down the three flights of stairs I dreaded every tired morning. But, with Roger’s beaming smile, he made this morning a little less groggy and weary. My nervousness drifted away as Roger and I hopped on the subway just down the street from our complex.

We frequently rode the subway together. Our work schedules varied, but our routine was pretty similar. I always had to get off the subway before him because I worked closer to the apartment complex, but today it appears that I’d be stopping and getting off the bus at his regular stop.

“I’m going to this address. Familar with it by chance?” I ask Roger and he studies Paul’s sloppy handwriting before nodding assuringly.

“Yes, that’s right down the street from the printing plant. I can walk you there if you’d like.” He offered his usual smile and warm-heartedness. I nodded back to him with a small smile, agreeing to the kind gesture. The subway took its time, as it usually did. Stop after stop. Face after face. Wipes of eyes and yawns from individuals heading to their jobs.

It wasn’t too early. About 9:30am once we got off the subway. ‘Perfect timing’ as Roger stated. He starts his shift at 10. So did I, but I usually appeared at my job a little earlier to get a head start on things.

We walked up from the dark aisles of the subway and up to the main land. The streets of Manhattan bustling and loud and smelling of auto fumes and roasted nuts, the dampness of the cool summer morning welcoming us in our stride.

I held the paper in my hand and read the addresses of the buildings. We were getting closer to my destination as the numbers of the addresses grew similar to Paul’s sloppy printing on the wrinkled piece of paper.

Soon enough, we were in front of a brick, two story building that had four large windows on the front of it. Two up top, two on the bottom. And a glass door in the middle of the picture windows framing the bottom story.

“This is me!” I stated to Roger and he nodded and shuffled his feet on the cement beneath him, shyly.

“Would like me to walk you in? You know, these rockstars can be a handful.” He laughed lightly.

“Oh yes, but I think I’ll be okay.” I returned a chuckle and looked back towards the building. A couple of men with long locks stood upon the small balcony on the second floor, looking down at Roger and I. I gave them a second look and they looked away, as if making sure I didn’t think they were eavesdropping, their cigarette smoke wafting around them.

I gave Roger a brief hug and a goodbye and I started toward the door of the building. Roger stood and watched and gave me a quick “thumbs up” as I smiled and nodded.

I used a hand to push open the glass door that had hand smudges along the glass panes. I walk into a small lobby area with burgundy carpeting and mahogany furniture littering the area. I turn towards an older woman working at a small makeshift desk next to one of the two picture windows.

“Hello. May I help you?” She asks with a polite, soft voice and I nod fastly.

“I am Cynthia. Im looking for a manager of the band. A….” I struggle getting the crumpled note out of my book to state the name of the band’s manager that I had seemingly forgotten. Stupid, stupid.

“A Peter Grant?” I inquired, but a loud, deep voice coming from the black staircase in the middle of the lobby bounded upon me, stopping me in my train of thought.

“That would be me. And you, Miss Cynthia, it is?” The man, Peter I presume, stands at the bottom of the staircase, tall and large and curious about my appearance.

“Yes, I am here to get to know the band.” I always try to not include the word “interview” in any of my meetings with bands. Much too formal. But Peter didn’t take this lightly and made sure to correct my speech.

“Get to know? We haven’t that much time. This isn’t a groupie session. You are here to interview the band, yeah? Let’s get on with it.” He starts back up the stairs, his large body taking slow but big steps on the rickety, wood staircase. I give the kind receptionist one last worried glance before heading up the stairs behind Peter, trying to keep up with his headstart.

As we walk upon the round staircase, I hear voices booming from one of the rooms upstairs. Laughing, yelling, and chatting boisterous voices come from the large room located to the left of the staircase. I become curious of who could be making such noise so early in the morning.

We reach the top of the stairs and Peter leads me to a large wood door, the mahogany wood stripping off of it.

As Peter twists the door knob I shuffle my feet nervously, not really knowing what to expect. The door opens, Peter’s large body fitting through the doorway just so. I take a deep breath and follow behind, being met with many different pairs of eyes and glances.

Nobody stopped their conversations, just continued to glance in my direction and stare me down. I already felt small and no one’s even spoke to me yet.

I was always so damn worried about what others thought about me. I even looked like I didn’t belong here. Everyone was dressed in jeans, wild prints, and silk and velvet. Here I am dressed as one of my dolls my mother gifted to me years ago.

My anxiety and lack of rebellion in my childhood and teen years has made me a “priss” or a “prude” as my ex-boyfriend would call me. Jack. He told me I didn’t know how to enjoy life. He left several months ago and took my confidence with him.

My useless thoughts of Jack are interrupted by Peter’s loud tone. He was kind of a scary fellow.

“Boys and girls. Take a moment to greet the new help. This is Cynthia, she’ll be along for the next few days to, how’d you say Cynthia? To… get to know the band?” Peter raises his eyebrows at me as he teases my wording of how I was approaching my interview with the band. This makes the individuals in the room chuckle, other than one man who sat quietly in the corner with a couple of girls.

His hair a dark shock on his head, curls falling to his shoulders, slightly peeled away from his forehead and eyes. The morning sunshine shone into the pane of the window and shined right onto him, almost casting a ray across his entire body. He looked angelic and it took me a moment to realize he was staring at me too. His face told me nothing, no sense of emotion, but his eyes of an emerald green burned into mine. He looked me up and down. Suddenly, my insecurities rose.

I looked away quickly, realizing he probably is thinking of how much of a dork I am, staring at him while he’s clearly pre-occupied and uninterested in what Peter had just announced. He is the only who did not come up to approach me. He continued being sat on the floral print couch he was sitting on, both of the beautiful women on his right and left side keeping him more than enough company.

“Hello, love. Robert’s the name. Where are you from?” A man with gorgeous blonde locks approaches with his hand curling around my small forearm. I look up at him through my bangs and return a smile to him.

“Oh, I’m from here. New York. Manhattan. I live a few miles from here, actually.” I offer way too much information to him and he seems confused but gives a laugh and shakes his head.

“No love, I mean from what magazine do you come from?” He corrects himself, or rather corrected me, and I blush a deep scarlet red before offering another response.

“Oh! Foxy. It has the purple outlined cover, yellow writing.” Why am I being so weird? What am I saying all this for?

“Ah, yes! That magazine has spoken nicely of us, has it not Pagey?” The man that I had been having a staring competition with just moments earlier arose from his perched position on the flowery loveseat. The two ladies surrounding him protested, but he continued to come toward Robert and I.

“If they had, it wasn’t noteworthy. Haven’t really heard of the magazine. Is it new?” Oh. He asks his question, looking directly at Robert, instead of me, the person who fucking works for the damn magazine. I couldn’t remember his name from our past issues of them for the life of me, but would love to solve the mystery.

“No, it is not new. It has been publishing stories for around five years now. And yes, we have covered your band before. But not since I have been working there. And you are?” I half asked, looking between both of them. My voice made him turn his head toward me and I finally was able to get an up-close-and-personal look at him. My God, he was beautiful. His touseled curly hair shining in the sun that was still unapologetically beaming in the windows. His shirt was a shade of beige, psychedelic patterned fabric clinging to his lean upper body. He was wearing blue jeans on his mile-long legs and black patent leather boots. He was tall and really magnificent looking. But not so friendly, I presume.

Robert chuckled. “Jimmy.” The man stated with a monotone, but soft voice. His accent was swift and light. He lifted his hand up and I shook it. When our hands met, we shocked each other. We pulled away fastly and I looked up at him one last time, slightly open-mouthed from the shock and he opened his mouth to say something else, but Robert interrupted.

“When did you start? New writer, yes?” Robert asked as he walked backwards, motioning me to come have a seat on a loveseat, similar to the one ‘Pagey’ had been sitting on.

I gave the curly, ebony-haired man one last look and he looked down at me and I noticed his gorgeous dark green eyes once again. They were entrancing, but the man seemed as if he couldn’t give me the time of day. I left the half circle we formed and sat down next to Robert.

“I’m not new. I studied Journalism in college, got my degree, and started writing for Foxy a couple of years ago.” I tell him and he nods while blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth, politely not into my face.

I notice out of the corner of my eye that Jimmy has sat back down on the loveseat across the room, but the girls had wandered off somewhere else. Probably to their next band member. He was plucking at his fingernails and looking at Robert and I, as if we should have included him in our continued conversation.

We continued to talk until Peter interrupted us to meet the rest of the band. John and John, but the more bulky man preferred to be called “Bonzo”, and were both friendly and warm. Bonzo was a laughing machine, Robert secretly whispering about his breakfast of champions- three screwdrivers and a shot of whiskey.

Rockstars and their lifestyles fascinated me, but never really appealed to me. I lived a quiet life full of pure and undiluted actions. I stayed in school, tried to keep a steady boyfriend, talk to my parents every day, and focus on myself and my career. But I always wondered what it would be like to live on the wild side like these guys. How do they do it? Drinking at ten in the morning? Smoking a pack of cigarettes before nightfall? They were truly creatures of another planet, the lot of them, and I was enthralled. Ready to take it all in.

We were leaving shortly to go to rehearsal at Madison Square Garden and I was ecstatic. I had never been to the Garden before and it was one of biggest concert arenas in America. I was supposed to get my interviews starting today at this- recording studio- I found out from one of the roadies gathering musical equipment up and down the stairs. But, Peter said to let the boys and everyone relax a bit and interview them during rehearsal.

I floated through the room mingling and decided to distance myself a bit to look out onto the streets of Manhattan. The building wasn’t very high off the ground from the second story, but there was a still a great view and the sun was blasting in the windows like fire. I welcomed its heat.

Suddenly, I felt a hand brush my open back that my dress revealed and looked behind me to see Jimmy maneuvering his way to the side of me, his hand falling back to his side. I looked away nervously and continued looking out at the people and cars moving below.

I could feel his presence next to me.

“Do you really enjoy this?” He asked me suddenly, taking a swig of his orange juice. It sort of shocked me that everyone was drinking and here he was drinking a fruity beverage instead of a glass of whiskey or cocktail like everyone else.

“Enjoy what? Looking outside?” I pondered. He laughs. Stupid, stupid Cynthia.

“No, this. Speaking with bands and such. You fancy it, really?” He asks, genuinely. His eyes bore into mine and it suddenly became really hard to not get lost in them.

I shake myself. “I do, yeah. It’s fun to get to know different people in the industry, including the ones making the music like yourself.”

“Hm.” He nodded and took another sip of his juice. I looked away awkwardly, not knowing if I should say something else.

“You just don’t look the part is all.” He added quickly and my head whipped toward him. Excuse me?

“What?” I replied, already winding my right fist up inside of my head, picturing myself giving him a good sock to his handsome face.

“Not the usual look your crowd has. You are dressed like you are expected home by mummy at five for dinner and tea. Maybe even a play date.” He chuckles to himself as he looks me up and down, stopping at my babydoll heels and back up my stocking-clad legs, to my clothed chest, and to my eyes, his eyes dancing around my face. I silently curse myself for wearing such a “cutesy” outfit today. I should’ve just gone with jeans and a t-shirt. God, at least I put a bit of effort into my hair and makeup today. Or he’d probably make fun of that too.

I narrowed my eyes at him. Just as I opened my mouth to retort, his mouth shoots off once again.

“Does your boyfriend request of you to dress this way?” He asks quizzically.

“Boyfriend?” I ask him. Why does he think I have a boyfriend?

“The fellow you said goodbye to downstairs on the pavement.” I now realize Jimmy is one of the men who was peering down at Roger and I from one of the balconies.

“He’s a good friend.” I stare back at Jimmy as he is doing to me, as if he is studying me.

He nods and smirks. “Only a friend? Not the way he was gaping at you. All in his ‘Sunday’s Best’ outfit.” He laughs again at his own rude remark and I snarl back at him.

“‘Sunday’s Best?’ What is that supposed to mean?” I reply.

He chuckles and explains. “You know, he had the carefully knitted sweater and dainty little office shoes on. Both of you look as if you were on your way to attend a Sunday sermon.” His eyes are squinty as he giggles at his own joke. The thing that pisses me off the most is that he is adorable. But, his insults are uncalled for and I am tempted to just walk away without replying to him. I turn on my heels to storm away but he grabs my wrist and pulls me back around. Before I can move, he snaps back again, this time coming closer to me, his face getting dangerously close to mine.

He whispers into my ear, “really, the only thing saving this outfit choice of yours is your beautiful little back on display for me. I can’t seem to stop admiring it.”

He pulls back, his scent intoxicating me, his words making me weak at the knees. What the hell is wrong with me? Wait, what the hell is wrong with him? I just met him and all he does is insult me and then gives me a backhanded compliment? Did he say “for me”? Oh my…

I guess the rumors I’ve heard about Jimmy Page are true.

My thoughts are interrupted by Jimmy abruptly walking away from me to go and greet a couple more people who arrived.

I am left in front of the window to stare down at the movement below.

What is happening?

My thoughts busy me as I think about Jimmy’s cool, orangey-mint breath in my ear and how his words seemed to melt me. How could someone be so rude but so attractive at the same time?

“Cynthia, are you okay with interviewing each member one by one and then as a group? We just don’t have time today for a full interview session. So can you interview the band as they are available today and across the next few days?” Richard, the band’s tour manager- whom I just met moments before- talks fast and breaks me of my train of thought and my glum stare out of the large picture window.

“Yes, that is fine. Should I catch the subway now to the arena?” I ask him. He laughs and shakes his head.

“No, darling. You can ride with us. The cars are out back. I’ll lead you to them.”

As I walk out of the room, I notice only a few people are left standing around. Peter, a couple of the roadies, a couple ladies whom I never got their names, and Robert, John, Bonzo, and of course, Jimmy.

“You are heading there with us, yes Cynny?” Robert asks loudly, his British accent echoing through the almost empty room. I’m not sure if I like this new nickname he had come up with for me an hour before, but I allow it. It seems that Robert has a nickname for everybody.

I nod and smile at him. “See you there.” I say back. He nods and continues his conversation with Bonzo and John. I give everyone a glance, trying to avoid Jimmy’s constant gaze and continue to follow the entourage of people heading down the stairs and to the back door.

There were four big, shiny Cadillacs outside. Their engines were all warming up, the smell littering the air.

Richard advised to me which car to get in and I follow his instruction. I pull my dress down over my knees and neatly place my book and writing needs on top of my lap, saving room for any of the crew that may have to ride with me.

I am alone in the car for what feels like forever, but only a couple of minutes. Suddenly the left back door swings open and to my dismay, Jimmy climbs in next to me. I was hoping there’d be another individual behind him, preferably Robert or someone with a better disposition than Jimmy, to save me from his wrath. But my hopes were to no avail. The door closes behind Jimmy and he gives me a smug grin showing off his pearly-whites before grabbing for a bottle of booze thrown lackadaisically on the car floor. Richard soon gets behind the wheel and takes off like a bat out of hell. I am left gripping the inside of the car door with a gasp and with Jimmy’s stare burning a hole in the side of my head.

He stares at me in amusement at my dislike for Richard’s speed and swerving.

“You don’t get out much, do you Miss Cynthia?” Jimmy pesters me and I ignore him.

“Care for a drink?” He speaks again not but two seconds after his first insult of the car ride, pushing the bottle towards me, and I simply shake my head.

“My God Richard, what have you done. The girl’s gone mute!” Jimmy exclaims with a dramatic hand to his chest, dramatizing his British accent and laughs.

Richard shakes his head staring at Jimmy through the rear view mirror.

“Lay off, Page. She has a job to do.” He states to Jimmy firmly and I silently thank him with my eyes. Jimmy puts his hands up in surrender and takes another swig of the Jack Daniel’s bottle he’s holding loosely in his right hand.

The car ride is silent with Jimmy glancing over at me now and again, my cheeks becoming permanently scarlet red, and Richard driving crazily through the busy roads.

Soon, we stop for gas because, according to Richard, the big “ape” of a man Peter is, did not fill up the Cadillac he is driving. Richard gets out of the car with a huff at the gas pump and heads inside to pay.

I am left alone with Jimmy and my cheeks are even redder than before, half because of anticipation of Jimmy’s remarks, and half because, God, I don’t know. My body temperature is rising by the second and I feel Jimmy come closer to me from across the large backseat of the luxury vehicle.

“Cynthia?” He ponders. I ignore him.

“Cynthia…” He continues. Again, I ignore him. What insult will he throw this time? His hand creeps across the remaining room between us and he slips it lightly onto my thigh. I did not notice that my dress had ridden up during the roughest car ride of my life. I shake his hand off of me and abruptly pull my dress hem down.

“Cynthia, why ignore me? You know you want to talk to me.” He states confidently and I scoff. Enough is enough.

“Want to talk to you? Oh, please!” I exclaim. “You haven’t had one nice thing to say since I have arrived. Didn’t your mother ever teach you to say nothing if you have nothing NICE to say? I am not your personal entertainment, so just knock it off! We’ll do an interview, and then I will stay out of your way and you can stay out of mine!” I growl at him. He seems taken aback but quickly recovers.

“Who said you are my entertainment? I have plenty of that without your being here.” He retorts and I snort a laugh.

“Yes, those two girls on your lap looked like loads of fun.” I say back, feeling confident, and instantly regret it.

Jimmy comes back with the worst insult of the day. “Oh, they can be. Trust it. They also don’t come around boasting a clipboard with silly little questions on it like one of the birds present for today’s activities.” He snaps at me and my eyes burn with a tinge of embarrassment and hurt. Don’t cry, Cynthia. Don’t cry.

Richard’s door finally opens and he mumbles a bunch of expletives about the gas station staff’s incompetence. He pops back outside to get the pump into the car to start fueling.

Jimmy glances over at me, at Richard outside, and back at me again. I am not ready for another one of his jibes, but I don’t have the energy to fight with him any longer. I brace myself for whatever remark he will spit at me next. He is obviously another angry, tired rocker and I have experience with those. Not really with any that have attacked my appearance like he has, but I have dealt with rockstars who have bad dispositions, overly aggressive personalities, and just overtired musicians who are overworked and don’t get to see their families as much as they would like to or should.

I remember that my job is on the line. “This is our big one….” Paul’s voice echoes in my ear.

Silence and Jimmy’s picking of his nails and shirt buttons fill the air and soon we are on the road again.

We arrive to the venue shortly after, without anymore of Jimmy’s nasty remarks or Richard’s complaints of drivers on the road. Richard parks and instructs us to follow him and I am more than happy to finally get out of the car and away from Jimmy. I hope he will be the last I interview.

“I am sorry.” Jimmy suddenly blurts out before my two feet hit the pavement outside of the car and it rips me out of my train of thought.

I whip my head toward him, but he is already hurrying out of his side of the car. I watch him fast walk to the boys and I sigh. I haven’t even known him a few hours and he is already exhausting me. I hope the rest of the band is decent enough to just give me what I need so I can be on my way.

Only a few more days, Cynthia.

—

A/N

Well, there is chapter one! Chapter two will be posted soon! Please show your support and comment! I’d love to know all of your thoughts! ❤️

Link to Chapter Two: https://www.tumblr.com/classicrocknlove/780452521909026816/spread-your-wings

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