#another day of working on my thesis sigh | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bvidzsoo · 5 months ago

Text

Love Me Like A Rockstar (9)

ー☆ Chapter 9: You (Show Me Where My Days Went)

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: Song Mingi x female reader

ー☆ Warning: cursing ー☆ Word count: 9.8k ー☆ Genre: university!au, enemies to lovers!au, rockstar!au ー☆ Rating: sfw ー☆ Summary: Love. You wanted none of it. You had already been heartbroken very badly once, you didn't wish to go through that ever again. But the Universe works in intricate ways and, somehow, you found yourself webbed up in a local rockstar's life, Song Mingi. He was everything you expected him to be, yet nothing like you imagined him he would be. What happens when you find mutual understanding and have heartful conversations? Will he be able to break down your walls? Will you be able to chase away his darkness?

A/N: Hi, lovelies!! LMLAR is BACK!! I am sooo happy I could finally update and just write, y'all have no idea! I am so sorry for making you wait so long for this update, but finishing my thesis was super important! I still have to study and such this month, but I promise next update won't take as long as this one did! (I'm writing other stories too while writing this one, so that kinda backfires sometimes lol) I am forever grateful that you are patient and stick around for the new chapters, this story is so dear to me you wouldn't even believe it. I am also super grateful and happy whenever you leave feedback, so please, keep on doing just that!<3 This chapter only exists because I was randomly inspired, and I'd like to apologize if it's a little rusty, I always have to get in "character" when I write this story lol. I am soo excited for next chapter, I think it's going to surprise you hehe. PLS PLS imagine that airport look from Mingi when reading this chapter, the pics from the moodboard, you'll see during which part! I also have a very small surprise at the end of this chapter hehe. I hope the time jumps aren't too confusing:(( Please, listen to the song called You before or while reading! Enough yapping, I hope you enjoy and leave feedback! (Taglist is always open for those interested! ^^)

Taglist: @orshii @or5i @lovely-red2 @scarfac3 @juicy-red @sunaswifes-blog @voicesinmyhead-rc @teez-the-time @maru-matt @kyeos4ng @deathbyyeekies @chicksmoothie @mjlbn01 @xhexy @tmtxtf @hwashiningstar @thatfavouritesong @ateez-atiny380

⟨Series M.list ↭ Previous Chapter⟩

♫Playlist♫

Later that day

I hate him: hey…just checking in that I got home safely what are u up to?

I blinked, fingers tightening around my phone before I locked it, leaving the message on unread. My mother’s shuffling outside my door caught my attention, bringing a smile onto my lips as I watched her struggle while bringing all the dirty laundry to the bathroom. Then, I got off my bed to go help her.

Friday (11:30 am)

I hate him: i see u still haven’t checked my message… nothing too worrisome u certainly know how to make a man yearn for you lol that was a joke…dont freak out on me pls (lowkey true tho)

Friday (12:50 pm)

I hate him: lol, wooyoung has been bitching about seulgi’s professor for half an hour now mr. kwon u know him? i mean…i suppose he also teaches u i should take a sneaky video for u…wooyoung looks like a clown hanging upside down my bed and pouting like a damn child too (dont say im also one, thanks)

Friday (15:26 pm)

I hate him: well…ik my messages are going through so uh… why tf are u ignoring me???! *cries and dies in loneliness* entertain me dollll!!! im so bored pls oh…u said u had an important assignment…i bet u’re busy with that sorry for spamming u (text back tho when u’re done, im dying here…wooyoung is with seulgi and so is seonghwa with hongjoong…the single life sucks, bestie…lets be single and depressed together<3)

My jaw clenched as I heaved a long sigh, falling back on my bed as the sun shone brightly through my open window, the light breeze making me shiver as I only wore a t-shirt and sweats. Autumn was slowly turning into winter; the weather wasn’t so warm anymore. I threw another look at my phone, unlocked it, and stared at the received messages from Mingi for a second before finally deciding to delete them from my notification center, rolling over in bed to muffle a frustrated scream into my soft, and purple, pillow.

Saturday (9:09 am)

I hate him: i had the weirdest dream and im not even sure i want to tell u about it LOL but uh…a grisly was chasing me??? and then u appeared on a fucking white horse like a prince LOL and threatened to like…slay it if it didnt leave me alone??? honestly…what a slay, bestie good morning, btw, doll hope u had a better night’s sleep than me (and dreamed of me ehehehe)

Saturday (17:40 pm)

I hate him: i cant believe i allowed myself to be fooled like this back in highschool yuyu and i used to play baseball for shits and giggles and hongjoong (that rich prick) rented a whole ass baseball field for us for the afternoon and let us play with some of his (rich af) friends and uh… i think i wont be able to walk straight for another week with how much running i did… hongjoong kept scoring homeruns…i wish yuyu was here to kick his loser ass (dont tell hwa or hong i said that PLS) yo doll…everything’s alright with u? uh u…really havent answered me since… yk…i stayed over and waited for the rain to stop… have i done something wrong?

I sighed and put my phone on ‘do not disturb’, suddenly having lost all of my appetite as I forced the rest of the lettuce down my throat. My mother was sipping her kiwi and apple smoothie, eyes narrowed as she muttered to herself while trying to memorize the recipe of a dessert for later. Desserts were never her forte, unfortunately.

“Is it Seulgi?” She asked absentmindedly as I took a large gulp of my own smoothie, staring down at my salad, steak pushed to the side in my plate.

“Huh?” I asked distracted, eyes still glued to the dark screen of my phone.

“Texting you, your phone keeps buzzing, my starlight.” I rolled my eyes at the nickname, but didn’t bother to comment on it. I took a peek at my mother and her eyes were narrowed at me already, video on YouTube paused. Fuck, I had to answer her now or else she’d pester me all day long. And that would be a nightmare.

“Yeah, it’s Seulgi.” I lied, trying to make my voice sound convincing.

“Well, answer her then, don’t be rude.” My mother chastised me, pressing play on her video again, pursing her lips as she shook her head at whatever the man baking was saying.

“Later.” I whispered, biting my lower lip as my eyes remained glued to my phone, stomach clenching and heart dropping.

But I couldn’t.

Sunday (1:01 am)

I hate him: …you’re ignoring me, arent u? im sorry, y/n, i dont know what i did wrong, but we can talk about it we’re friends, after all…right?

『When you came along, I knew what was wrong

If you want to know exactly what I've missed』

Monday (present time)

It truly would have been a missed opportunity if Seulgi and I wouldn’t have grabbed coffee and went to sit in our usual spot in the back garden. The campus of our University was huge and that was perfect, because it meant people migrated and didn’t stay in one spot for long—at least long enough to irritate me to no end. Last week deemed to be rather rough, and I still didn’t feel like completely myself. To be honest, I thought about staying home today—and for the rest of the week—but I couldn’t afford missing any of my classes as exam period was slowly nearing, and so, I had to force my ass out of the house this morning before my mother could come and nag me about my weirdly unusual broody mood that has been going on for the past few days.

I hummed as I took a sip of my sweet coffee, enjoying the taste of warm caramel as Seulgi sighed loudly next to me, both hands cupped around her own coffee cup. The scent of cinnamon wafted from her cup and I scrunched up my nose, not too fond of the ingredient’s smell. Our classes started early in the morning today and we’d be here for at least four more hours, caffeine seemed like our only hope to stay awake and aware at this point. Given the fact that my baffling thoughts kept me up all night yesterday, I felt grateful that I was still on my feet at two o’clock at noon. As Seulgi fidgeted again, I chuckled and finally turned my head to look at her. She had a sheepish look on her face, and I tried not to laugh as I knew she was bursting to tell me all about her date with Wooyoung on Saturday.

“Well,” I started as I took a sip of my coffee, prolonging the suspense for her, “how did your date go?”

“It was amazing!” I had barely finished asking as Seulgi exclaimed, her cheeks turning rosy—and it wasn’t due to the cold air, “Wooyoung is—everything I thought he would be. He’s sweet and up for anything, he makes me laugh until I feel like passing out, and there’s just never a dull moment with him, you know?”

“One would expect that from him.” I muttered against my cup, laughing as Seulgi nudged my side, not looking too happy with my comment, “Oh, come on, it would be hard for Wooyoung to be different than the way he mostly presents himself; don’t you think?”

Seulgi grumbled something against her cup as she lightly bit into the carton, shooting me a pointed stare, “Well, yes, but…he makes me happy. Treats me well and all that, you know, he’s the perfect embodiment of what a boyfriend should be like.”

“Boyfriend, huh?” I teased with a smirk, wriggling my eyebrows at my best friend as her cheeks flushed an even darker color as she bit her lower lip, trying to mask the huge grin expanding on her lips. But as soon as I started giggling, Seulgi also broke out in a fit of giggles, hiding herself behind her wavy hair, pressing her cup of coffee against her face.

“God, I’m so down bad for him, Y/N, I don’t think you’d understand.” She mused, voice airy as she threw her head back, leaning back against the back of the bench. I chuckled and took another sip of my drink.

“Maybe I’d do.” I muttered, memories of my relationship with Yunho resurfacing. Thankfully, however, I managed to repress them as quickly as they came. They didn’t feel so gut-wrenching anymore, and to my surprise, didn’t leave a bitter taste in its wake either. What has changed? Certainly—certainly getting closer to his best friend didn’t influence the way I feel about Yunho, right? Right.

“So,” I glanced at Seulgi from the corner of my eyes as she swung her legs, looking down at her feet in the process, “how are you?”

“Fine, why?” I asked confused, angling my body to face Seulgi better.

“You’ve been…distant the whole weekend. I could barely reach you.” Seulgi’s voice sounded small and I gulped, feeling bad for making her worry about me, “You know…the last time you pulled away and disappeared, it was bad.”

“I promise you I am doing completely fine, Seulgi, you’d be the first person to know if I was in a bad headspace again, alright?” I reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. Seulgi sighed and then raised her head to look at me, lips pulled into a thin line.

“Promise?”

“Of course, I promise.” I smiled at her warmly and she hummed in contentment, squeezing my hand back as she took a sip of her coffee. I followed suit before removing my hand from hers to fiddle with my half empty cup, “I’m just dealing with some things right now. I think I’m confused.”

“About what?” Seulgi asked curiously, leaning closer as I continued to avoid eye contact with her.

“I’ll tell you once I have my thoughts sorted about it.” I chuckled, making Seulgi roll her eyes in displeasure.

“You know, I tell you absolutely everything about myself and how I fell, and you always shut me out and tell me how you felt about a situation when it’s been over for years.” Seulgi pouted, narrowing her eyes at me, “How’s that fair, Y/N?”

“Hey, we work differently, don’t try to guilt trip me now.” I chuckled and took a sip of my coffee, making Seulgi roll her eyes, “Anyways, what did you do on your date with Wooyoung?”

“We went to the cinema,” Seulgi’s face lit up once again, grinning from ear to ear, “He bought me roses, a big bouquet. And after the movie we went for a walk and ended up stargazing in his cabriolet. It was really romantic.”

I smiled, feeling happy for my friend, she deserved someone like Wooyoung, “That actually sounds really amazing…and romantic.”

“Oh, my God, are you really Y/N? Where is my friend that hates anything that has to do with romance, cute stuff, and love?!” Seulgi’s shocked face was mocking and I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms in front of my chest as I leaned back against the back of the bench.

“I don’t hate it, I’m just not a huge fan of all of those things, okay?!” I shrugged, letting my arms fall from my chest as I pushed them inside my coat’s pockets.

“Who’s the culprit?” When I raised my eyebrows at Seulgi, a sign that I didn’t understand her question, she chuckled and leaned closer, “Who’s the man that’s changing your views on life, huh?”

“Man?” I asked with a scoff, giving Seulgi a deadpanned expression, “Does it always have to be about a man? Can’t it be just the fact that I had a change of mind?”

“Sure, because of someone.” Seulgi had a smug look on her face, acting as if she won the argument. But there was no argument here and she had no idea what she was talking about.

“Whatever—” But I got cut off as her phone dinged loudly. Seulgi, very comically, scrambled to reach for her phone and as she opened it up, a wide grin stretched onto her lips. It didn’t take two braincells to realize who had texted her, and thus, I chuckled and turned my head. I sipped my coffee, taking in my environment while Seulgi answered her boyfriend, giggling quietly every now and then.

The campus was finally silent and not as busy as it usually was in the early morning hours. The cold weather also helped in keeping the garden a little quieter as most people preferred to stay inside the warm corridors and classrooms. But the chilly air was good, it soothed my nerves and erased thoughts that weren’t productive. Similar to that, were the emotions that I didn’t want to deal with again, like the guilt that’s never left me ever since Mingi walked out of my house wearing Yunho’s old clothes. It felt wrong letting him take them without knowing the truth about them, but I didn’t feel ready to tell him yet about the truth. I was scared, surprisingly, of what he’d think of me once he found out about Yunho and I. I was scared that—he’d walk away, like Yunho had once done. And that was a very frightening thought. But when had I become so attached to Mingi? When has Mingi managed to infiltrate himself so thoroughly in my life, that the thought of completely losing him became scary? And why was I taking the past few days so badly? It’s not like we were as close as Seulgi and I, or him and Seonghwa and Wooyoung, yet, ignoring him felt like the wrong move to do. However, the reasoning I always circled back to was the fact that I needed space. I had to clear my mind, to find the purpose of this whole friendship that’s been blooming between us, and to make sense of everything. I had to figure out first why Yunho barely scraped my thoughts now, and why was it was Mingi who I found myself thinking of so often. In case you were wondering, no, I still haven’t found the reason, and it was becoming frustrating quite quickly. That near kiss was a—mistake. Yet, it could have been so much worse—it could have been a real kiss. And a real kiss would have ruined everything. I didn’t want to open up to anyone just yet, not when the memories of Yunho still haunted me in my dreams and drawings. Drawings that now more often than not consisted of Song Mingi.

And to my horror, the flipping of paper sheets is what alerted me back to my surroundings as I had been lost in my thoughts, oblivious to Seulgi putting her phone down and grabbing my sketchbook that lay between the two of us on the bench. As I turned my head, my eyes widened as Seulgi’s expression held surprise but amusement as well. She chuckled as she looked up, making eye contact with me. I lunged forward in an instant, trying to take my sketchbook out of her hands, but she leaned back and away, putting it behind herself.

“Bitch, I’m not the only one who’s down bad for a man.” She said with a laugh, making me groan as I gave up trying to snatch my sketchbook back from her.

“I’m not down bad for a man, Seulgi, stop this non-sense.” I hissed, cheeks burning in embarrassment as she kept flipping through my drawings.

“Please,” She scoffed, turning my sketchbook around and making me grimace as I came face to face with an exact replica of Mingi, sitting in his chair, at his studio that one time he invited me inside, “Who the fuck draws so many drawings of one single person if they aren’t in love with them—”

“I’m not in love with Mingi, stop it!” I exclaimed, heart beating fast as Seulgi raised her eyebrows at me, looking unimpressed, “Don’t ever again say that, Seulgi.”

“Okay, calm down, whatever. You’re not in love with Mingi.” She chuckled, closing my sketchbook but she didn’t hand it back yet, “But let’s face it, Y/N, you have a thing for Mingi. It’s super freaking obvious even without the drawings.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I hissed and finally snatched the sketchbook out of her hands, clutching it to my chest. I knew bringing this along today would turn out to be a mistake, and here I was, facing the repercussions of my actions.

“There’s this glint in your eyes whenever you look at him—”

“Yeah, it’s called dislike.” I scoffed, rolling my eyes.

“And I see how you struggle to refrain yourself from smiling when you’re around him—”

“Bitch, be for real, Mingi and I aren’t even often together around you for you to notice that.” I scoffed, completely appealed by whatever absurd claims my best friend was making.

“So you’re not denying it—would it really be so bad if you liked Mingi?” But Seulgi ignored all my interruption as she raised her eyebrows at me, smiling softly, “He’s a nice guy. Very well-mannered and with a big, and good heart. Wooyoung loves him a lot and is always worrying about him. He says Mingi hasn’t been the same ever since his best friend moved away for college—”

“Mingi is Yunho’s best friend!” I blurted out before I could stop myself, finally feeling like a stone was taken off my chest as I bit my lower lip, averting my eyes from Seulgi’s shocked expression, “Mingi is the best friend Yunho had always talked so much about while we were together. I—do you understand why it would be so bad if I ended up liking Mingi?”

“Y/N,” Seulgi whispered, eyebrows furrowed, “for how long have you know?”

“Long enough.” I muttered before clearing my throat, “So please understand that I’m not ready for whatever the hell me drawing all those sketches of Mingi could mean. A month ago I was close to bursting out crying even at the thought of Yunho, and now I fail to remember his existence on my best days.”

When I dared take a peek at Seulgi, she was smiling softly, almost proudly, “Fine, I’ll pester you about this later on, when you’ve figured things out, but until then—you can’t deny Mingi isn’t hot—”

“Can we stop talking about Min—”

“Hi, girls!” I jumped in fright at the overly excited and shrill greeting as both Seulgi and I turned our heads to be met with…Wooyoung and Mingi. Speak of the devil. Suddenly, there was a lump in my throat, and my heart started beating just a little bit faster as my eyes fell on Mingi’s tall form. It didn’t help that underneath his coat he was wearing Yunho’s sweater—the one I had given him.

“Hi.” Seulgi giggled as Wooyoung leaned down to press a kiss against her cheek, the two looking sickly in love. It was actually endearing, but I’d never admit it out loud for my own sake as I knew I’d get teased about it by Seulgi. I averted my eyes from Wooyoung and Seulgi as they were muttering things to each other, and so, had no choice but to look up at Mingi, who looked—expressionless. Something in my stomach dropped at his cold demeanor, and it was worse that I wanted to assume it was my fault that he looked like that. But just as I was about to look away, he cracked the tiniest smile ever, and I exhaled, licking my lips.

“Hi.” My voice was small as I gulped, eyes trans-fixated on the tall man as his smile became just a little wider. I don’t think I had the power to ignore him anymore, not when he was standing right in front of me, looking like he wished to be anywhere but here.

“Hi, Y/N.” Having not heard his voice in days, it sounded even deeper and raspier than usually, making butterflies erupt in my stomach as my grip tightened around my sketchbook. I felt a little awkward, perhaps even tense, as Mingi didn’t say anything else, just continued gazing down at me with his sharp dark brown eyes boring into my own. I had so many things that I could’ve said to him, but I felt tongue tied. I didn’t know what would be the right way to approach him after I ignored him for so many days. Would he understand? Is he mad at me now? Does he hate me now? Will he forgive me—

“Okay,” Wooyoung chuckled, syllable drawn out and sounding amused, “I feel like I’m interrupting something here, yet they are basically just staring at each other.”

“You’re right.” Seulgi giggled, and I finally looked away from Mingi, throwing a glare at my best friend as she had leaned into Wooyoung’s side, who stood next to the bench and her.

“Shush, you two.” Mingi beat me to telling the two love-birds off, and I couldn’t help but smile, “Don’t poke your nose where it doesn’t belong to.”

“Look who’s lecturing me about poking my nose where it doesn’t belong to—”

“Wooyoung.” Mingi’s tone held a warning, and it made Wooyoung giggle as he leaned down and pressed a fat kiss against Seulgi’s cheek—again—making her push him away playfully.

“We’re headed to class, are you coming over later?” Wooyoung smiled down at his girlfriend, playing with a strand of her hair.

“Maybe, if I get to finish my project.” Seulgi said with a pout and Wooyoung hummed, leaning down to press a kiss against her lips this time around. I averted my eyes, not a fan of seeing couples kiss, only to catch Mingi already looking at me. He was expressionless once again, but he was fidgeting with his fingers, looking almost nervous. And as Wooyoung stood up straight and ruffled Seulgi’s hair affectionately, Mingi took a deep breath.

“Will you come to Outlaw this Friday?” He asked in a rush, sounding almost reluctant as his eyebrows furrowed slightly and he chewed on his lower lip. To my horror, I found my eyes fixated on his plush mouth and I gulped before I quickly averted my eyes, praying that nobody caught it.

“Yes.” I answered before Seulgi could, and nodded, smiling a little bit, “I won’t miss it.”

A beautiful smile spread on Mingi’s lips and he nodded once, looking too happy for something so little. I don’t think I’ll understand anytime soon why he gets so excited and happy when I listen to his songs or watch him perform. I’m no expert when it comes to music, my feedback is merely amateur and I’m not even a fan of his band yet.

“Cool, see you then.” And Mingi didn’t wait for Wooyoung as he turned around and walked away, steps hurried. I didn’t miss the confused glance Wooyoung and Seulgi shared before Wooyoung was off, chasing after his best friend. And maybe I would be soon able to make sense of my thoughts and feelings around Mingi, figure out what they meant and why they felt so real at times.

Monday (16:58 pm)

I hate him: hi Me: hi I hate him: would it be a lot if i asked to meet u tomorrow? Me: no, im free in the afternoon I hate him: cool, me too so uh…we can hang out in my studio? Me: or we can go to that new café with pottery I hate him: really? Me: u did say u wanted us to go… I hate him: i certainly said so i’ll pick u up around 4 Me: u don’t have to i’ll meet you there I hate him: come on, y/n…let me drive u Me: u’ve driven me around too many times by now i’ll meet u there and that’s final. I hate him: okay, boss, see ya there Me: :))

Getting here before four o’clock and having to wait in front of the cute café had no business being this nerve-wrecking. Yeah, Mingi hasn’t shown up yet—but perhaps that’s because there were still ten minutes until it’d be four—and I knew I had no reason to think he’d bail on me, but we hadn’t spoken since yesterday, when he had asked me if we could hang out. And so, waiting for him shouldn’t have had me breaking out in a sweat despite the cold weather, making me bite my lower lip harshly as I tried to smooth down the wool, green, brown, and beige patterned coat I was wearing. First of all, why the hell would I be so nervous about meeting up with Mingi alone at this cute café? He probably wanted to talk about that near kiss, and once we had that cleared, things would go back to normal—right?!

And maybe that was the reason which made me want to vomit on the sidewalk, the thought that I knew Mingi would demand answers—answers that I wasn’t yet ready to hand out. Why did I even agree to this? Because I missed him? I should have just stayed at home and done the project I’ve been procrastinating on—again. But when I heard the rumble of Mingi’s old Honda’s engine, I knew there was no turning back, catching the bus and running home to hide underneath my blanket.

As Mingi took his time to parallel park, I took a deep breath and gripped onto the strap of my tote bag harder, looking down at myself. My apricot orange sneakers matched the color of my blouse, the top two buttons out of five undone, but not showing too much skin. My blouse was tucked inside my washed out high waisted mom jeans, the black belt matching the color of my tote bag—I know black isn’t a color, I’m an arts major after all. My hair was pulled in a low ponytail just to prevent the wind from blowing it in my face, and I was thankful that I chose my wool coat as it kept me warm enough. I have opted to wear quite a few rings today, and because my neck felt too exposed, I decorated it with three necklaces of different length. I gulped hard one last time as Mingi got out of his car and took a few seconds until he managed to lock it. However, those few seconds were exactly what I needed to prepare myself to not pass out at the full sight of him.

Mingi, in true fashion to him, wore all black, except for his jeans that were a very dark shade of blue, almost black too. His turtleneck was tucked inside his jeans, a black coat with a hood keeping him warm from the cold late autumn weather. It almost made me smile upon seeing his own tote bag, black, and funnily matching mine. Except that his was plain, while mine had Claude Monet’s Water-Lily Pond painting painted on it, done by none other than yours truly, me. Mingi’s eyes were concealed by black sunglasses, and I snorted as he almost splashed himself up by stepping a little too enthusiastically into a big puddle. Two necklaces hung around his neck, reaching down his chest. A very obvious and sturdy silver cross necklace, and another longer chain that had pearls scarcely strung on it. And in true Song Mingi fashion, his rings weren’t missing, only two of his nails painted black on each hand, almost as if he didn’t have time to finish doing them. My heart racing in my chest so fast just at the mere sight of him, certainly wasn’t healthy, right?

“Hi!” I squeaked out and wished to burry myself instantly as Mingi chuckled, a very charming smile spreading onto his lips. It was a little annoying that I couldn’t see his eyes, forced to stare at his plush lips instead—let’s be real, nobody forced me, I did it because I couldn’t help myself, “The sun is quite blinding today, isn’t it?”

And of course, in good old fashion, my mouth worked before my brain would agree to saying something out loud, and my cheeks were burning as I knew Mingi saw me look at his lips. I had to divert the attention somehow, and teasing him was my best method, actually. It always worked.

“I’m trying to make a fashion statement,” Mingi grinned as he gripped the sunglasses and took them off in a very unnaturally hot way, “but hello to you too.”

“No need for a fashion statement when it’s just the two of us,” I narrowed my eyes, finding Mingi’s hair very soft and fluffy looking, almost as if he had recently washed it, and it wasn’t completely dry, “I’m not one of your fans.”

“Pity,” Mingi hummed, stepping slightly closer to me, “I thought I might just finally wove you.”

I scoffed, and as I was about to tell him off, he grabbed my tote bag and pulled me after himself, headed for the entrance of the café, “Did you have to wait long for me? Traffic was busier today, I had to take a few detours to get here in time.”

“Don’t worry,” I smiled as he opened the door for me and let me walk inside first, “I only waited half an hour for you to arrive, runway princess.”

“Runway princess?!” Mingi’s eyes bulged for a second before he started laughing loudly, making a few customers glance our way as we made it inside the café. I elbowed him in the stomach gently, not too keen of having people glare at us as he disturbed their peace.

“Don’t like the nickname?” I asked with a raised brow as we neared the front desk. The cashier had a friendly smile on her face while she greeted us as Mingi and I looked up at the menu, trying to decide what we’d like to have.

“Never said that,” Mingi answered with a chuckle as he threw me a quick glance, “it’s just surprising coming from you.”

“Why, can’t I call you a princess?” I chuckled, turning to face the cashier as I have made up my mind about what I’d like to have.

“Up until now you seemed to prefer the term ‘bro’, but I’m fine with whatever you decide on calling me, doll.” The look the cashier gave us made my cheeks flame up and I cleared my throat loudly, shooting Mingi a look that told him to shut up.

“Sorry about that,” I muttered embarrassed, smiling at the cashier, “can I get a strawberry cheesecake?”

“Sure, right away, and you, sir?” Her attention was on Mingi now, cheeks flushing the longer she looked at him. Okay, I could totally understand why. Mingi looked quite good right now, it was hard not to ogle him.

“A mint-chocolate cheesecake and a cappuccino?” Mingi hummed, eyebrows furrowed in thought as he looked down at the cashier.

“Plain cappuccino or with vanilla?” The cashier typed in our orders as she asked Mingi, averting her eyes shyly once he looked at her, pursing his lips.

“Plain,” He decided at last, turning to look at me, “are you not getting anything to drink?”

“An orange fresh will be alright.” I said as I reached inside my bag to fish around for my wallet.

“And would you also like to paint some pottery?” The cashier asked, pointing behind herself at all the displayed options. Mingi and I shared a look and I smiled as I nodded at him, making him grin from ear to ear.

“Yeah, we’ll paint some pottery too. Can I have a cup?” He asked, pointing at one on the higher shelf. It was a smaller cup, specifically made for drinking coffee. The cashier nodded and then looked at me expectantly.

“Uh, a mug will do for me.” I said and thanked her once she handed us the pottery and the paint that was used for painting these. Then, she tapped a few more on her tablet and told us the total. I opened my wallet to pay for my purchase, but Mingi had a card in his hands, the cashier already typing in the total sum for him to pay.

“Mingi,” I hissed quietly, looking at him with a frown, “what are you doing?”

“It was my idea to come here—”

“No, it wasn’t.” I cut him off, fingers curling into the scratchy fabric of his coat as I reached out to hold it, “I suggested we come here instead of going to your studio.”

Mingi sighed and pocketed his card, already having paid, then turned his body to face mine. I didn’t let go of his coat just yet, “Yeah, but when I drove you home during that downpour I asked you if you’d come here with me. So technically, it was my idea. Initially, anyways, it really was.”

“Mingi—” I started, but soon swallowed my words as he stepped closer, invading my personal space. My fingers tightened more into his coat and I gulped, suddenly feeling nervous due to our proximity. He faintly smelled of vanilla, it was a fragrance I didn’t except to smell on him.

“Can you not fight me on this one, please?” Mingi’s eyebrows slightly furrowed and his eyes softened up and I—struggled to breathe for a second as I stared up in his pleading eyes, mouth going dry. He looked—adorable like this, and I did not like the way I felt myself getting lost in his soft gaze.

“Let’s find a table.” I muttered, forcing myself out of the trance he placed on me, and grabbed my mug and the painting supplies. Mingi followed suit as he took his own cup and followed after me closely. We walked further inside the café and found a smaller table in the next room, closer towards the window. The walls were painted a faint orange and were decorated by white stripes that created abstract shapes. The chandeliers were white and hung low, the place well-lit for those who wished to paint pottery.

I placed the things in my hands on the table carefully, and then discarded my coat on the back of my chair and my tote bag by the leg of the table, pulling my chair out for myself. Mingi followed suit, however, he managed to almost send his cup tumbling to the floor when he took his seat. His eyes were wide as he just barely caught the cup, and I giggled as I watched him while opening the box that held all the paint. Thankfully, the table was spacious enough to harbor both our pottery and paints as the cashier brought out our delicacies. She threw Mingi a lasting look before she hurried back to the front desk, glancing our way at times.

“This is going to be a tough one.” Mingi said before scooping up a bit of his cheesecake with his little spoon.

“Why?” I asked with a chuckle, choosing a thin brush to start painting some flowers on my mug. My cheesecake could wait.

“Because I’m literally sat at a table with an arts major, having to decorate some cup by painting.” Mingi sounded stressed and I chuckled as I looked up at him, amused by his expression. His hair fell in his eyes a bit, and I found myself absentmindedly reaching over the table to brush it to the side. Almost as if realizing at the same time what I had done, we both froze. It felt like time stilled around us as I watched Mingi with a gaping mouth, slowly but surely, my cheeks becoming the color of a fire hydrant. But Mingi wasn’t better off as he bit his bottom lip, averting his eyes shyly as his cheeks turned the faint color of pink. Clearing my throat and accidentally choking as I hastily pulled my hand back, I averted my eyes and fought for my life to not choke. Thank God the orange juice was right there, I quickly took three large gulps.

“Th—thanks.” Mingi stuttered, staring at the table as he licked his lips, “Uh, it’s gotten long, my hair, I mean, I have to cut it when I get the time.”

“Yeah.” I nodded, grabbing my mug and chewing on my bottom lip in embarrassment—God, could the Earth swallow me up right now? Why the hell did I do that?! “Yeah.”

“Do you think I should change it up a little?” I paused as I had dipped my brush in red paint, and slowly looked up at Mingi, “Do something fun with it—like going blonde?”

“I hate blonde hair.” I blurted out before I could stop myself. Nice one, idiot. Yunho was blonde while we were together, and thus, yeah, I’ve hated blondes ever since. And to be fair—and this is not me shitting on my ex—but that hair color did not suit Yunho at all.

“Oh, noted.” Mingi whispered, pouting a little. I sighed and looked up at the ceiling, hating myself for the weird atmosphere I have created.

“Mingi, you can do whatever you want with your hair.” I spoke up, leaning down to try and look him in the eyes as he was busy staring at the table, “My opinion shouldn’t matter. It’s your hair. Go crazy with it, have fun, try out something new. Really.”

“But do you think it would suit me?” Mingi was still pouting as he finally looked up at me, looking quite crestfallen. My eyebrows furrowed and I tried to imagine him with blonde hair. He was quite blessed with his skin complex as most colors looked good on him, but perhaps I preferred Mingi with dark hair—black hair, more specifically. Like he had it right now. He looked—good. Handsome, even. Completely gorgeous. Fuck.

“I think it would suit you.” I settled on saying that. He didn’t have to know my train of thought, like at all. Mingi hummed in appreciation, and I watched as he reached inside his tote bag, pulling out a case that held his glasses. He took it out of the case and put it on, pushing it up on the bridge of his nose. He grinned when he looked at me and I chuckled, shaking my head as I looked down at my mug, finally starting to decorate it.

“There goes the cool, mysterious, hot celebrity act.” I teased under my breath, not expecting Mingi to hear me. But he did, and he started laughing, giving me a cheeky grin.

“Not quite a celebrity yet, but at least you admit I am hot.” Of course he was smirking as I gave him a deadpanned look, about to argue him on his statement, but he didn’t let me as he continued talking, “By the way, let’s exchange our cups when we are done. The mug will be mine and the cup will be yours.”

I tried to fight the smile off my lips, “So that you get the artwork of a talented artist for free to sell for an outrageous price later on when I’m famous?”

“I fear you have misjudged my character, doll.” Mingi’s eyes narrowed playfully, but there was truth to his words. I might just have misjudged his character.

“I still think you’re arrogant and selfish.”

“Of course you do, didn’t except anything less from you.” Mingi winked and then looked down, his cheesecake forgotten as he started decorating his cup, tongue just barely sticking out as he concentrated hard on whatever he had in mind to paint onto the cup. I chuckled and shook my head before focusing on my own mug, the silence that’s settle around us comfortable, as always.

Mingi and I were the quietest table in the café as we worked in silence diligently in, painting our own pottery. Mingi, at times, would hum along quietly to the songs that were played on the radio. Despite his cup being smaller and easier to paint, I finished painting mine before him, and so, I took the time to savor my cheesecake even if it had gotten warm and a little too soft. Mingi was hunched over in his seat, glasses low on the bridge of his long nose, with his full lips either pursed or with the bottom one bitten as his eyebrows would furrow every time he almost made a mistake. It was a funny sight, and I grabbed my phone without thinking much, and snapped a few pictures of him, leaning lower and even closer to his face to get the funny angles, all while Mingi remained oblivious to it. I chuckled as I looked at the pictures I had taken of him, looking at him when I felt eyes on me.

“What’s so funny?” He asked curiously, eyeing my phone for a second.

“You.” I chuckled and stuck my tongue out as Mingi rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair as he heaved a long sigh.

“I’m finally done.” He grinned and I looked down at his cup, taking in the yellow chicks he had painted quite—clumsily. Well, not all of us had the skills of a painter—not that it was an issue or anything—it’s just that it’s been long since I had seen someone have the skills of a—kindergartner, “It’s pretty sick, huh?”

I bit my lower lip to stop myself from giggling and nodded with my eyebrows furrowed, “I’d give it a seventy out of a hundred mark.”

“Hey! That’s too low!” Mingi said, looking offended. I chuckled before shrugging.

“You’ll have to work on your skills for a higher mark.”

“Fine, next time you come to the studio, I’ll make you sing.” Mingi raised his eyebrows, making me narrow my eyes at him playfully.

“Oh, I didn’t know we are in a competition.”

“We weren’t, until now.” He winked and then stood, grabbing my mug and his own cup carefully as he took it to the front desk for drying. I gathered the items we had used to paint the pottery with to place them back in the box, and couldn’t help it but sneak a glance at Mingi. He was leaned up against the front counter, grinning widely at the cashier as she spoke to him, using her hands for big gestures as she was probably explaining something. My eyes narrowed as Mingi leaned slightly closer to her, only to detach himself from the front desk and walk back towards our table. I looked away and busied myself with my glass of orange juice.

“So, we’ll get them delivered to our houses once they are dry and all.” He said with a smile, sitting down, “I hope you don’t mind I gave her your address too.”

“I don’t.” I muttered, chewing on the straw for a second, “I didn’t think you’d know my address.”

“Well,” Mingi flattened his hands on the surface of the table, “I’ve been to your house twice now. I think it’s only right I remember your address, doll.”

“Right,” I muttered, “you’ve been to my house.”

Mingi’s eyebrows furrowed, and I figured he didn’t like the tone of my voice. But before I could correct myself and explain that I had nothing against that, he spoke up, “Y/N, I—I didn’t mean to scare you or—I don’t know—make you think that I want anything from you. I mean—we are friends, and I respect you as a woman and as a friend, and I know we almost—kissed. But I—I don’t want you to think that I’m playing some sort of game with you to get—to get in your pants. I’m your friend. And even if I wasn’t, I still wouldn’t do that to you.”

Hearing him say all that felt wrong. I didn’t deserve any explanation from him. I was the one that’s overreacted that day, and Mingi was the one that deserved an explanation and apology from me for the way I have acted. I knew I couldn’t completely open up to him right now, that some parts of the truth had to be omitted today, but he also deserved to know why I had pulled back. And I wanted him to understand that it wasn’t his fault for the way I reacted to everything.

“Mingi,” I offered him a small smile and gripped my empty glass for some support, “If you think you are the reason why I ignored you, please, stop thinking that. It’s—we both leaned in, okay? We were both about to kiss each other, it’s not like you initiated it or forced me to do something I didn’t want to. And nothing even happened, for God’s sake. I reacted that way because I—”

When I paused, Mingi’s eyebrows furrowed, and he leaned over the table, gently poking my hand with his ring clad fore-finger, “You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not comfortable sharing it, Y/N.”

“But I want you to know this, Mingi.” I averted my eyes and took a deep breath, embracing myself for what I was about to tell him, “I had a boyfriend back in high-school who completely broke my heart, shattered it into pieces. And I know that happened a long time ago, and yes, I am over him, but I—I am scared people will treat me like he had treated me. I’m scared that if I let you close, you’ll just—leave. Like he did. And I know ignoring you for days was very shitty of me and I shouldn’t have done that—because quite frankly, Mingi, you deserve better—I just didn’t know what to do. I needed a few days to myself, to figure things out. It’s a bad excuse, but it’s the truth, and I think you deserve to know it. Since we are friends.”

Mingi’s face conveyed no emotion for a few seconds and I gulped, feeling nervous all of a sudden. Did he figure it out now? That I was talking about Yunho? That maybe I have started feeling something for him too, for Mingi? Would he stand up and leave? But to my surprise, a wide smile stretched onto his lips and he hummed, adjusting his glasses on his nose.

“Thank you for trusting me, it means a lot that you told me all that.” I bit my bottom lip, looking down at the table abashedly, “And I was never mad at you for ignoring me. I completely understand you, Y/N, and for the record, I have zero intentions of leaving you. And your ex is a fucking asshole for breaking your heart like that, tell me who he is and I’ll beat him up when I cross paths with him.”

There was nothing funny about what Mingi had said, especially since he was talking about his best friend, but the comically tough look on his face made me snort loudly as I shielded my mouth with my hand, trying to stop myself from laughing too loudly. Mingi started grinning like an idiot, his giggles deep, and making something coil in my stomach. When has Song Mingi become adorable instead of annoying?

“I doubt you’d want to kick his ass once you find out who he is…” I grimaced once that was out of my mouth, regretting it instantly. What was it about today that I couldn’t keep my thoughts and mouth in check? It was turning really frustrating.

“So, you plan on telling me one day?” Mingi wriggled his eyebrows, making me snort, “Like real besties gossiping and shit.”

“You never fail to make me cringe when you call us besties, Mingi.” I shook my head, taking a glance at my wrist watch. Oh, the time had flown away, it was well past five now, and the sun was going down. I’d probably have to head home soon to have dinner with my mother. I was becoming hungry too.

“Well, that’s what we are so…” He cleared his throat before slowly standing up, making me look up at him, “Did you know today we’re celebrating the Festival of Light?”

“Nope, I had no idea.” I shook my head, standing up too as Mingi wore his coat, “I don’t follow the events our city organizes.”

“Pity, it’s really pretty.” Mingi pouted, waiting for me as I grabbed my tote bag and pocketed my phone, “Should we check it out?”

“I mean…maybe?” I shrugged and Mingi beckoned me over as he crossed his arm with mine, making me chuckle as I looked up at him. He wasn’t much taller than me, but his sneakers had a thick sole and they made him even taller, “Where is this festival held at?”

“Just down the street, at the Citadel.” Mingi smiled as he led the way out of the café, waving at the barista as she blushed again, making me chuckle as I subconsciously nuzzled up against Mingi’s side, the air chilly as the sun had set by now.

“That barista totally has a crush on you.” I found myself saying as we walked down the sidewalk, trying to avoid crashing into the people that came towards us. Yeah, there certainly was an event on-going in the city, otherwise you wouldn’t see so many people out and about around this time. Everyone preferred staying inside after the sun had set, not keen of the cold nights.

“You think so?” Mingi mused, bottom lip jutting out as he narrowly avoided a child that was running around, “I didn’t notice.”

“You must be really dense then.” I snorted, eyebrows furrowing as I looked up at him, “She was constantly blushing, and she was totally looking at you with hearts in her eyes.”

“How do you know when someone is looking at you with heart eyes?” Mingi’s question threw me off, and I detached myself from his side, clearing my throat as I looked ahead, pushing my hands in my pockets. He was warm, it made me realize as the cold bit at my skin now that I wasn’t nuzzled up by his side anymore.

“Well, they have this look in their eyes, you know? It’s warm, and soft, and it lasts.” I explained, feelings my cheeks heat up, “And their eyes always linger on you when you aren’t watching them. It’s like…puppy eyes, I suppose? I wouldn’t actually know, Mingi, nobody’s ever looked at me like that.”

When there was no response, I looked back to find Mingi looking at me intensely. My eyebrows furrowed as we have arrived to the Citadel, the gates open for the visitors of the festival. The place was packed, this wouldn’t be so fun anymore. I would’ve turned around and walked back home if I didn’t see how excited Mingi was when I agreed to come check it out.

“There’s lots of people here.” Mingi muttered, and then walked closer to me as I led the way inside, a little baffled by his reaction to my answer. I just merely gave an answer based on my beliefs. It was him that was acting weird now. But as I looked at him, I could see it in his eyes that he didn’t want to talk about this topic anymore, that he wanted us to drop the subject. His last comment was a way to veer the conversation in a different direction. What was it about us today making everything weird? I sighed and just walked further inside, trying to avoid the big crowd which seemed almost impossible as it stretched on and on. The Citadel, however, was beautiful as it was coated in darkness, only the little paper lamps and fairy lights illuminating the place. It had a certain aura to it, almost romantic, and I soon found myself smiling as we walked down the cobblestone path, still trying to avoid people and stick close to each other’s sides. The air was chilly but the walls of the Citadel did a great job at keeping the breeze out, and the crowd certainly kept the place warmer than it was outside the stone walls.

I found myself admiring the décor in wonder, my mouth hanging open as I took in all the little lamps placed down on the ground, following the cobblestone paths, illuminating our way. It was truly beautiful, it almost felt like the scene was taken out of a fairytale. I found myself filled with excitement and happiness as I turned to grin at Mingi.

“This is so beautiful!” I giggled, absentmindedly grabbing the sleeve of his coat and dragging him away from the path and into the dying grass as there was a panel covered with paper, and people were writing on it. Mingi remained silent, but as I searched around for a pen or pencil, I felt him watching me, “What, do you not want to write something?”

“If you manage to find a marker or pen, I will, sure.” He said with a shrug, adjusting the strap of his tote bag before he pushed his hands deep in his pockets. I chuckled and looked around for a marker, but it was hard to see it in the darkness whether they were laying around in the grass or not. To my surprise, a little girl standing next to me looked up at me with a small smile on her lips, and offered me her purple-coloured marker, saying she was done with her drawing. I thanked her with a chuckle and turned to face Mingi with a grin.

“I found one!” Mingi chuckled and took the marker from my hands, being able to reach high up where the paper was still empty, due to his height. The panel was illuminated from the inside so you could actually see what was written on the paper. I watched him as he wrote on the paper, hesitating for a second, before he stepped back and handed me the marker. I raised up on my tip toes curiously, and craned my neck to see what he’s written. ‘The moon is beautiful tonight.’

I felt a smile spread onto my lips as I looked back at Mingi, who’s expression was serious and almost sad-looking as he adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his tall nose. I craned my neck back once more to gaze at the dark sky, at the moon, and indeed, there she was, beautiful and shining brightly. It was a new moon. Taking a swift glance at Mingi, I raised back on my tip toes and stood close to the panel, reaching up, just underneath Mingi’s writing. Thankfully, I could reach just bellow it, and I grinned as I quickly drew a new moon, adding a little shading to it and dents as well, creating the illusion of a real moon. Mingi remained silent as I took a step back, admiring our work. I handed the marker to another child as I fished my phone out of my pocket and snapped a picture quickly of our artwork.

“The moon turned out beautifully.” Mingi commented once we had stepped away from the panel to let others draw too, headed back onto the cobblestone path.

“Still, it’s not as beautiful as the real one, but I tried my best.” I chuckled as I crossed my arms in front of my chest for a second, avoiding a man as he wasn’t looking in front of himself as he raced down the path. Mingi threw him a displeased look before looking down at me.

“Your drawings and paintings are always beautiful, Y/N.” Mingi said and I found myself blushing, thankful that it was so dark he wouldn’t be able to see it. I uncrossed my arms and turned my body a little to face him. There was music coming from one path, the one which led to the southern part of the Citadel.

“Are you nervous about Friday?” I found myself asking him as Mingi veered us towards where the music was coming from. He looked at me for a second, and then shook his head.

“I’m rarely nervous when we have to perform.” He said nonchalantly, the back of his hand brushing lightly against mine. My heart did a somersault against my ribcage, but I ignored it.

“Oh, you’re such a cool guy.” I teased him with narrowed eyes, making Mingi chuckle.

“I rarely get nervous, to be honest, even less when it comes to performing.” He hummed, looking up at the dark sky for a second, “I trust myself and my bandmates that everything will go well, so, there’s no actual reason to feel nervous.”

“But I’ll be there on Friday, that still doesn’t make you feel nervous?” My question was meant to be teasing, part of our playful banter, but the way Mingi gulped and quickly averted his eyes told me that perhaps I hit the nail spot-on. Well, now I have turned things awkward again. I sighed loudly, chewing on my bottom lip as Mingi remained silent, the two of us walking down the narrow path as the music became louder as we were nearing the stage. Jazz music was playing, the lady who was singing had a powerful and smooth voice that carried over the crowd neatly. There were a few people dancing in the crowd.

“Perhaps having you there will make me nervous.” Mingi’s voice was barely above a whisper and I tensed when I felt his pinkie brush against my own, making me clench my hand into a fist. But a very quiet voice inside my head demanded me to accept Mingi’s subtle request, and willing my heart to stop hammering so hard in my chest, I relaxed my hand and slowly slipped it into Mingi’s. If he stopped walking for a milli-second, I didn’t say anything about it, and he also ignored it. His grip turned firm as he intertwined our fingers together, gently pulling me closer into his side as he smiled at a mother who apologised for his son almost running into us.

I gulped and kept my eyes ahead of me, too nervous to look at Mingi. Holding his hand like this meant nothing in particular, but it was a nice feeling. It made my cheeks warms and heart race. And I didn’t have to look at Mingi to know he was smiling like crazy, his cheeks just as red as mine as we came to a stop behind the dancing people.

Have I started falling for Song Mingi?

『It's you, ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh

I'm just saying it's you, ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh

You, ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh

You're what I've been chasing

Show me where my days went』

❱❱ Next chapter

↳Perm. taglist: @orshii @jjoongstar @tinyelfperson @thestarskiller @zuuhaa

@aaa-sia @gong-fourz @a-tinycarat @sooberryworld @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad

@anastasiamin860 @yunhogrippers @vcutparis @tunaasan @blvckarabixnvoid

@yusalterego @arigakittyo @slowee00 @jaerisdiction @hey-syia

@vnessalau @oddracha

❀ complete the forms if you're interested! ^^

so...the festival of light scene was totally inspired by me and my bestie attending it in our city lol; it was sooo beautiful and the pictures in the moodboard were actually taken by us; also, her and I kept laughing about the romantic vibes we were getting, all in all, we had a nice time...and OFC we make everything about Ateez so :))

I wrote that LOL I'm like Mingi, tall enough to reach the top where people haven't scribbled onto yet lol

also, this is what y/n's outfit looks like for anyone wondering, except for the colors as they are the way I have described them in the scene ^^

178 notes · View notes

ssa-dado · 2 months ago

Text

3 - A Philosopher and a Lawyer walk into a Cafè

Aaron Hotchner's x bau!fem!reader

Genre: fluff, sapiosexual fluff

Summary: You and Hotch's playful rivalry deepens as you bring him a coffee, sparking witty banter and an unspoken connection. You work together on a complex case involving philosophical murders, impressing each other with your insights. Amid teasing about a fictional romance between Rossi and Gideon, you and Hotch’s bond strengthens, both appreciating the natural rhythm of working together while unknowingly being quietly supported by your mentors. Warnings: Usual graphic CM kind of case, Reader being a Prehistoric Reid, Gissi being so strong they even named a town for them.

Word Count: 4.8k words

Dado's Corner: Thesis, Antithesis, Synthesis. Mark my words, they could be helpful in the long run. We might get close to the second stage sooner than you think.

previous part: Early birds ; masterlist

It was another early morning at the BAU, and you found yourself in the local coffee shop just around the corner from the office. The morning chill clung to your coat as you stepped inside, the familiar hum of the espresso machine and the comforting aroma of fresh coffee filling the air.

You you were eager to finally being able to order your usual - a double espresso - as you found yourself already savouring the taste and smell of it, especially after all those days of being forced to drink the burnt coffee they provided at work. On a whim, decided to grab something for Hotch as well.

He had been beating you to the office every day, and despite your friendly rivalry, you knew the coffee at work was terrible. You imagined Hotch downing that bitter, overbrewed mess every morning, and the thought made you grimace.

"One black coffee, no sugar," you told the barista, after all, Hotch seemed like the kind of man who appreciated perfectly crafted simplicity.

Arriving at the office, you made your way to the bullpen, feeling a small thrill of satisfaction at the thought of catching Hotch off guard. As expected, there he was, already at his desk, his navy suit perfectly pressed, tie in place, and eyes glued to his case file. You couldn't help but roll your eyes, both annoyed and impressed by his consistency.

Hotch glanced up as you approached, a faint look of surprise crossing his features when he noticed the second coffee cup in your hand.

“Morning,” you said casually, setting the coffee on his desk. “Thought you might appreciate something better than the sludge they serve here.”

Hotch looked down at the cup, a hint of gratitude flickering in his eyes before he masked it with his usual composed expression. “Thank you. I’ve been meaning to bring my own, but, well, you know how it is.” He picked up the cup, taking a sip and letting out a satisfied sigh.

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze meeting yours with a wry smile. “So, what’s the excuse this time? You figured you’d never make it here before me, so you’re hedging your bets by blaming your tardiness on stopping for coffee?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Actually, I thought you might need a little recognition for all your hard work. I didn’t think you’d still be going along with this whole rivalry.” You gave him a teasing look, knowing full well that he thrived on the unspoken challenge between you.

Hotch’s smirk softened, his eyes briefly betraying how much he appreciated the gesture. “Well, it’s not every day someone bothers to get me a decent cup of coffee, but you don’t have to go out of your way. Even if I’m not complaining.” He took another sip, savoring the taste that was far superior to the bitter brew he usually endured.

You shrugged, leaning against the edge of his desk. “Consider it my one good deed for the day. But don’t think this means I’m letting you win without a fight.”

Hotch nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching up in amusement. “I appreciate the coffee, but now I owe you. I’ll have to get you a properly made coffee sometime, just to keep us even.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning closer as if conspiring. “Hotch, you owe me more than just one coffee for the stress you’ve caused me with this little game.”

He met your gaze with a mock-serious expression. “Oh, I’m not causing you stress. You’re the one driving yourself crazy trying to keep up.”

You scoffed playfully, unable to deny that he had a point. But Hotch’s eyes softened slightly, and he added, “But you’re right. I do owe you. In fact, I’ll make you a deal: I’ll buy you one coffee for every day I beat you here, until the day you finally arrive earlier than me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his offer, shaking your head at the sheer audacity. “You’re such a lawyer, you know that? You’re making a deal that actually only benefits you. What’s stopping me from showing up later on purpose just to drain your wallet?”

Hotch’s smirk widened, and he gave a nonchalant shrug. “Maybe that’s the idea. Give you a bigger distraction, make you think about something other than beating me. It works out well for me in the long run.”

You couldn’t help but admire the cleverness of his plan, realizing that if you fell for it, you’d be distracted by the rewards rather than the competition itself. “Wow. I’ve got to hand it to you, Hotch. In the long run, I’d end up showing up later and later, making it even easier for you. Impressive.”

Hotch raised his cup in mock toast, clearly pleased that you saw right through his scheme. “I’m surprised you caught on. I was hoping to pull one over on you for a while longer.”

You leaned back, crossing your arms with a triumphant smile. “You have no idea how good I am at outsmarting lawyers who think they can outsmart me first.”

Hotch chuckled, shaking his head in genuine amusement. “Touché.”

“Deal’s still on, though,” you said, holding out your hand as if to seal it formally. “But don’t think for a second I’m going to change my routine just because you’re bribing me with coffee.”

Hotch took your hand, his grip firm and warm. “Of course not.”

But today, something else was on Hotch’s mind. As you settled in, you noticed Hotch was already deeply absorbed in a case file, the intensity of his focus suggesting he was waiting for something, or someone.

Hotch flipped open the file in front of him, his eyes scanning the pages with a keen intensity. As he read through the details, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. This case was unlike most he’d worked on recently: it was layered with philosophical references, obscure quotes, and an unsub whose modus operandi seemed to be influenced by complex philosophical ideologies. He knew exactly who would be perfect to consult on this, but rather than asking for help directly, he had something else in mind.

With a subtle shift, Hotch angled the file just enough to leave the corner of a page visible from your desk. It was a deliberate move, calculated to catch your attention. If he knew you - and by now, he did - you wouldn’t be able to resist taking a peek.

He didn’t have to wait long. You settled into your chair and immediately noticed the stray page peeking out from Hotch’s desk. The faint, familiar names and terms you could make out - “Nietzsche,” “existential morality,” “nihilism” - caught your eye. You tried to concentrate on your own files, but curiosity got the better of you. Your gaze kept drifting back to that page.

Simulating a casual stretch, you leaned forward, pretending to adjust something on your desk while sneaking a better look at Hotch’s case. The notes detailed a series of murders where the unsub left behind cryptic quotes from philosophers, each one linked to the specific way the victims were killed. It was more than just a pattern; it was a philosophical puzzle, woven into every aspect of the crime scenes.

You couldn’t suppress the gasp that escaped your lips as the pieces clicked in your mind. “Oh my God,” you muttered, momentarily forgetting where you were.

Hotch glanced up, hiding his satisfaction at your reaction. He had set the bait perfectly, and you had walked right into it. The moment was even more rewarding for him, especially considering your previous bragging about being great at "outsmarting lawyers who think they can outsmart me first", only to now prove that you were, in fact, a little more ordinary than you'd let on. “Something on your mind, Y/N?”

You blinked, realizing you’d been caught. “I- uh, sorry. I couldn’t help but notice... are those quotes from Nietzsche? And Kierkegaard?” You pointed vaguely in the direction of his file, trying not to sound too eager.

Hotch leaned back in his chair, pretending to consider your question. “It seems that way. The unsub is leaving these quotes at the scenes, but the exact reasoning behind his selections is still unclear.”

You moved closer, unable to resist the lure of the philosophical elements woven into the case. “He’s not just picking these at random,” you said, your mind already racing with theories. “Look at this, Nietzsche’s ‘Beyond Good and Evil’ is quoted here, right next to how the victim was killed. He’s making a statement about morality, or the lack of it, in a deeply personal way.”

Hotch nodded, observing the way you immersed yourself in the details. “Go on,” he prompted, genuinely intrigued by your insights.

You flipped through the pages, your fingers tracing the notes. “Nietzsche challenges conventional morality, especially the binary of good and evil. The unsub seems to be echoing that: he’s positioning himself as someone who operates outside the realm of typical moral standards. Each murder isn’t just a killing; it’s a message that he’s transcended normal ethical constraints.”

Hotch watched you intently, his brow furrowing as he processed your explanation. “So he’s justifying his actions through philosophy? Twisting these ideas to fit his narrative?”

You nodded, flipping to another page with a different quote: “He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster.” You pointed at the crime scene photo beside it. “This victim was restrained, but not in the usual way. It’s almost as if he’s trying to make a point about the nature of becoming what we despise. He’s projecting his internal struggle onto his victims.”

Hotch’s eyes darkened as he absorbed your analysis. “He sees himself as above society’s rules, above good and evil.”

“Exactly,” you replied. “This isn’t just about murder. It’s about the philosophical struggle of defining oneself beyond societal constraints. The unsub doesn’t see himself as evil; he sees himself as someone exploring the limits of human morality.”

Hotch leaned back, clearly impressed. “And what about this one?” He pointed to another crime scene photo. A quote from Kierkegaard was scrawled near the body: “Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom.”

You stared at the quote, considering the implications. “Kierkegaard speaks about existential dread and the overwhelming responsibility of true freedom. By leaving this quote, the unsub is hinting at his own struggle with the concept of freedom, how it can be paralyzing, even deadly. His victims aren’t just casualties; they’re expressions of his own inner turmoil about freedom and choice.”

Hotch glanced at you, his expression thoughtful. “So he’s not just a killer, he’s using these murders to explore and express his own philosophical beliefs.”

“Right,” you said, feeling the thrill of the chase. “He’s trying to elevate his crimes to a form of existential art. Each murder is his way of grappling with these big ideas, like a twisted performance meant to provoke thought.”

Hotch studied you, clearly impressed. He’d expected insights, but your depth of understanding went beyond his expectations. “This angle is exactly what we need to get inside his head,” he said quietly.

You smiled, feeling both flattered and invigorated. “I can help. I mean, if you want me to. I’ve studied these philosophies for years: existentialism, nihilism, all of it. I think I can figure out what he’s trying to communicate and why he’s doing it this way.”

Hotch allowed himself another rare smile. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “So this was your idea all along? You knew I’d snoop.”

Hotch shrugged, looking far too pleased with himself. “I had a hunch. And I thought you might enjoy this one.”

The two of you spent the rest of the morning poring over the crime scene photos and quotes, dissecting the unsub’s motivations in a way that felt less like work and more like an intense intellectual duel. At one point, Hotch leaned in, pointing at a particular quote scrawled in blood at one of the scenes: “One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star.”

“He’s obsessed with the idea of chaos and creation,” Hotch said thoughtfully. “He’s not just killing, he’s trying to create something.”

You nodded, your mind racing. “Nietzsche believed that from chaos comes creation: an artist’s need to disrupt the ordinary to bring something extraordinary into existence. The unsub sees himself as a kind of artist, but his canvas is human life. He’s trying to provoke a reaction, make a statement that only he believes in.”

Hotch’s gaze was sharp, but you could see the respect in his eyes. “He’s creating his own twisted masterpiece.”

“Exactly,” you said. “He’s redefining morality in his own terms, using his victims to express his philosophical journey.”

The hours flew by as you and Hotch continued to unravel the unsub’s mindset, bouncing theories off each other with a rhythm that felt natural. You had found a way to speak the same language, not just of profiling but of the deeper, darker corners of human thought.

As the day wore on, the bullpen filled with the sounds of the rest of the team returning from their work. Rossi passed by your desks, noticing the two of you deeply engaged in discussion.

“Looks like you’ve finally found your match, Hotch,” Rossi said with a smirk. “She’s giving you a run for your money.”

Hotch didn’t look up from the file, but you could see the faintest hint of a smile on his face. “She’s good,” he said simply, but the pride in his voice was unmistakable.

Rossi raised an eyebrow at you, clearly impressed. “Well, don’t let him work you too hard. And Hotch, try not to steal all her ideas.”

You both laughed, knowing that this case had brought you closer as partners, not just colleagues. The connection between you and Hotch had deepened; it wasn’t just about early mornings or the rivalry anymore. It was about understanding each other on a level that few could reach.

“Thanks, Hotch. For letting me dive into this.” You smiled at him as you packed up for the day.

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer than usual. “I didn’t just let you help. I needed you on this one.”

As you left the office together, the day’s work behind you, you felt the connection you’d built still very much alive. You were learning, growing, and with Hotch by your side, you felt like you could take on anything. And as you drove home that night, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Hotch felt the same way.

The next morning, you walked into the office with a heavy sigh. The thrill of unofficially working with Hotch on a complex case filled with philosophical nuances had left you buzzing with excitement the night before, but today was a completely different story.

You knew what awaited you: a mountain of paperwork that had absolutely nothing to do with profiling or unraveling the twisted minds of criminals. Instead, it was the mundane side of the job: filing reports, cross-referencing witness statements, and all the bureaucratic tedium that no one warned you about when you signed up to chase unsubs.

As you approached your desk, your mood dipped even further. Sitting squarely in the center was a towering stack of files, the sight of which nearly made you sick. You let out a groan, dropping your bag on the floor and staring at the pile as if you could will it away with sheer force of will.

“Really?” you muttered to yourself, mentally preparing for a long and grueling morning. But as you reached for the first file, something odd caught your eye. The top sheet had been filled out, every line neatly completed in precise handwriting. You frowned, flipping through the next few files only to find the same, each one meticulously filled out, every detail recorded with the same practiced precision. It didn’t take long for you to recognize the writing: slanted slightly to the left, with the occasional sharp flourish, the unmistakable penmanship of a left-handed person.

It was Hotch’s.

Your heart skipped a beat as you rifled through the entire stack, realizing that all the paperwork had been completed. At the bottom of the pile, nestled beneath the last file, was a small note. You picked it up, already smiling as you recognized Hotch’s handwriting.

“Your philosophy degree helped me. Let my prosecutor years be helpful to you.”

You couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled up, a mix of relief and gratitude washing over you. He hadn’t just helped you out, he’d done it in a way that perfectly mirrored your new dynamic, a balance of give and take that was starting to feel natural.

You glanced up across your desk, Hotch was of course, engrossed in yet another case file, but you could tell by the way his shoulders were set that he knew exactly what he’d done and was just waiting for you to notice. You grabbed the note, determined to thank him but also to give him a hard time for beating you to the punch once again.

“Hey,” you said. Hotch looked up, and for a moment, the faintest hint of a smile touched his lips. You held up the note, shaking it lightly. “So, when did you decide to moonlight as my personal assistant?”

Hotch leaned back in his chair, his expression carefully neutral, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You looked like you had enough on your plate after yesterday,” he said simply. “Figured I could put my old skills to use.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Hotch, this would’ve taken hours. You really didn’t have to do all of this.”

“I know,” he replied, his tone casual but sincere. “But after all the philosophical guidance you gave me yesterday, I thought I’d return the favor. Call it a mutual exchange of expertise.”

You smiled, feeling warmth spread through you. “Well, thank you. Seriously. This is way above and beyond.”

Hotch nodded, but there was a playful edge to his voice when he spoke next. “Hopefully now you don’t hate lawyers as much.”

“Touché,” you said, grinning. “I guess you’ve proven that some lawyers can be... tolerable.”

Hotch gave a mock look of offense. “Tolerable? I’ll take it.” He paused, then added more seriously, “It’s not about winning, you know. At least, not in this line of work. It’s about finding the truth, even if it means doing the boring parts.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to see that” you admitted, still holding the note between your fingers. “Thanks for reminding me.”

You looked over the stack of completed reports, still impressed by how thorough Hotch had been. “Some of this paperwork was from cases I wrapped up a week ago. How did you know all the details? Did you just magically know what to write?”

Hotch leaned back in his chair, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. “What, you think you’re the only one entitled to snoop around your coworkers’ files?!”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “So you’ve been snooping on me? I thought that was my job.”

Hotch’s smirk widened, and he shrugged casually. “I learned from the best. You think I haven’t noticed you trying to catch a glimpse of my cases all this time?”

You couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled up. “I guess that makes us even.”

“Not quite,” he quipped, his tone teasing but his expression still composed. “I’m just better at not getting caught.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the edge of his desk. “Guess I’ll have to up my game then.”

Hotch chuckled, a rare and genuine sound that caught you by surprise. “Good luck with that. But seriously, I figured I’d save you some time. I know how much you the paperwork side of this job isn’t the most entertaining one.”

You nodded, appreciating the gesture more than you could express. “Well, I have to admit, you did a pretty good job... for a snooper.”

“Better than tolerable?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, clearly amused by your earlier choice of words.

“Don’t push it,” you shot back with a grin. “But I’ll give you this: you’re pretty good at reading between the lines, even when it’s not a case file.”

Hotch nodded, his expression softening. “It’s all part of the job. And hey, if you ever need help with the paperwork again, just let me know. I don’t mind putting those old lawyer skills to use, once in a while.”

“Deal,” you said, pushing off his desk and heading back to your own. “But don’t think I’m going to let you get away with this kind of espionage forever.”

Hotch’s eyes sparkled with restrained laughter. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

He was already back to work, his usual intensity in place, but he looked up just long enough to catch your eye and give you a brief, almost imperceptible nod.

You nodded back, smiling. “Jokes apart, thank you, Hotch, really.”

“You’re welcome,” he said finally, his voice softer. “And if you ever feel like helping me out with another case like yesterday’s, just let me know.”

You gave him a playful salute. “Deal. But don’t think I won’t call you out when I catch you snooping through my files next time.”

Hotch’s eyes twinkled with restrained laughter. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Meanwhile Gideon leaned against the doorframe of Rossi’s office, watching his old friend sift through a case file with the kind of focused intensity that had made him a legend in the Bureau. But today, Gideon wasn’t there to discuss a case. He had noticed something recently, an unexpected but welcome development among the team, one that involved you and Hotch.

“Got a minute, Dave?” Gideon asked, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

Rossi looked up, raising an eyebrow at the unusually cheerful tone. “For you, always. What’s going on?”

Gideon stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He glanced briefly through the blinds, catching sight of you and Hotch at your desks, deep in your usual quiet exchanges. “I’ve been watching Y/N and Hotch,” he began, leaning casually against the desk. “I have to say, I’m impressed. She’s only been here a few weeks, but they’ve already got something… special going on.”

Rossi smirked, setting his file down. “You mean the way she’s got him smiling at eight in the morning? Yeah, I’ve noticed. It’s like watching a miracle unfold.”

Gideon chuckled quietly. “I knew she was something special when I first saw her at the academy, but I didn’t expect her to click with Hotch so fast. They’re both pretty guarded, but when they’re working together... it’s like they’re speaking their own language.”

Rossi nodded thoughtfully, following Gideon’s gaze through the blinds. “They’re a good match. She challenges him in ways the rest of us don’t, and he’s bringing out something in her, too. You know, you were right to pair them up on that first case. You planned this, didn’t you?”

Gideon shrugged, a faint smile playing at his lips. “I had a feeling. Hotch needed someone who could challenge his perspective, shake up his routine a little. And she… well, I knew she’d benefit from his discipline, his way of grounding things when they get too abstract. Plus, I figured if they didn’t kill each other, they’d probably make a great team.”

Rossi leaned back, crossing his arms with a knowing grin. “I guess we both had our little plans, didn’t we? You remember that guy who used to sit at the desk in front of Hotch?”

Gideon raised an eyebrow, surprised by the turn of the conversation. “The one who suddenly had that one-in-a-lifetime opportunity to lead an undercover operation? That was you?”

Rossi’s grin widened. “Oh, yeah. He was a really good agent, an excellent one actually, but he was never really a fit for teamwork. I saw an opening and might’ve... nudged him in that direction. You kept going on about Y/N back then, about how her expertise in philosophy would be an asset to the BAU. You even gave me this whole rundown of her personality: sharp, quick-witted, not afraid to push back. I knew right then she’d be perfect for Hotch.”

Gideon laughed, shaking his head. “You sneaky son of a... You were setting this up long before she even started.”

Rossi nodded, a twinkle in his eyes. “You convinced me she’d bring something new, but I could see it wasn’t just about adding a fresh perspective. I saw the potential for something more, a partnership that would push both of them. So yeah, I cleared the way a little. Let’s just say the seating arrangements weren’t accidental.”

Gideon pointed a finger at Rossi, his face alight with amusement. “And you call me sly? You practically orchestrated the whole thing.”

Rossi chuckled. “I just gave them the stage. The rest? That’s all them.”

Meanwhile, outside Rossi’s office, you spotted the two veteran profilers deep in conversation. You couldn’t help but smirk, seeing the perfect chance to tease Hotch about his painfully awkward first attempt to break the ice with you during your first field case together. An interaction so miserable that neither of you ever brought it up again, especially the bizarre conspiracy theory he tried to use as common ground. But you just couldn’t resist bringing back your old inside joke: the running gag that Rossi and Gideon were secretly an item.

You turned to Hotch, who was diligently working on another file, and without saying a word, you nodded your head in the direction of Rossi’s office. He glanced up, following your line of sight, and immediately caught on. With a slight raise of his eyebrow and a smirk playing on his lips, he leaned back in his chair, pretending to stretch but really angling himself to get a better view through the blinds.

“Can’t believe they’re still trying to keep it under wraps,” you whispered, your tone dripping with mock seriousness. “It’s like they think we’re not onto them.”

Hotch chuckled softly, surprised that you were bringing up that old joke again. He kept his voice low so as not to be overheard. “Clearly discussing anniversary plans. I bet Rossi forgot to book the romantic getaway Gideon’s been hinting at for weeks.”

You bit your lip to stifle a laugh, nodding along. “You’d think after all these years, Rossi would know better. Gideon’s a stickler for anniversaries.”

Hotch’s expression was one of pure mischief. “I swear, if Rossi starts another argument about their anniversary dinner being interrupted by Bureau business, I’m not sure even Gideon can save them this time.”

You shook your head, enjoying the playful back-and-forth. “Maybe that’s why Gideon looks so serious. He’s probably rethinking the whole relationship. Can’t be easy dealing with a partner who’s constantly prioritizing work.”

Hotch’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he added, “Gideon’s probably thinking about counseling, he’d better hope Rossi can handle it. You know how he gets about any ‘psychological mumbo jumbo.’”

Inside Rossi’s office, Gideon continued, unaware of the playful scrutiny from outside. “So, we’re agreed then? We let them work together more often?”

Rossi nodded, smiling at the thought. “Definitely. They’ll keep each other sharp. Besides, it’s fun watching Hotch get flustered.”

Gideon laughed softly. “It’s not just fun, it’s necessary. I think we’re seeing something good here, Dave. They’ve got the makings of a great partnership.”

Back outside, you and Hotch continued your banter as you watched Rossi and Gideon converse through the glass. You turned to Hotch with a mock serious look. “You know, at this point, I’m half expecting them to make a grand announcement at the next briefing.”

Hotch nodded sagely, playing along. “It’ll be the talk of the office. I’m just waiting for the inevitable joint vacation request.”

You both laughed quietly, and for a moment, it was just you two, lost in the absurdity of your ongoing joke. It was moments like these that made the long hours and high stakes of the job more bearable, and as you glanced over at Hotch, you realized just how much you appreciated these little breaks from reality.

Hotch turned back to his work, but not before giving you one last, knowing smile. “You know, if this keeps up, we might have to start planning their wedding.”

You pretended to think about it, grinning. “Oh, I’ve already got the venue in mind. I’m thinking a quaint little spot in the woods, somewhere private, just the two of them.”

Hotch chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re too good at this.”

“And you’re just as bad,” you shot back playfully.

As you both returned to your respective tasks, the bond between you and Hotch felt stronger than ever.

Little did you know, the very pairing that had sparked your inside joke was also the one that had recognized your potential as a duo, quietly cheering you on.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #hotch x reader #hotch #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds

135 notes · View notes

wileys-russo · 1 year ago

Note

Thinking about golden retriever girlfriend lessi and how she would forever attack your neck from behind when you’re trying to study because she’s bored and needy and can’t sit still

book worm II a.russo

you exhaled heavily as your fingers mashed furiously against your keyboard, eyes trained with laser focus to the laptop screen in front of you, though struggling to stay open as your unfinished thesis glared back mockingly at you.

"baby, are you nearly done?" your gaze flickered upwards to the blonde looking down at you, toned arms folded over her chest and a slight pout on her lips as she stood in front of you with a frown, the sleeves of her training top rolled up having had to train in a harsh summer heat.

you forced your eyes away, knowing if you focused too much on her exposed muscles she would catch on and you'd shortly pay for it.

"no less i'm not, i told you this already...when you asked me five minutes ago." you couldn't help but roll your eyes at your girlfriends impatience, not having gotten more than ten minutes of uninterrupted silence since she'd returned from afternoon training, blowing off her team mates plans and making a beeline straight for your room.

you'd tried your best to convince the taller girl to return to her own dorm for even a few hours so you could concentrate, but with a false promise that she would use the time to work on her own papers, and a very convincing argument that you'd hardly know she was here, here she was....doing the complete opposite.

you loved her very very dearly, but she had the attention span of a fly and sometimes you felt more like her babysitter than her girlfriend, forever dragged away from whatever you were doing with requests that she needed you to entertain her.

which most of the time simply meant making out for hours on end, which was probably the only activity she could do for so long without growing restless and needing to move onto something else, her hands always occupied and roaming every inch of your skin she could pinch or bite at.

"but i'm bored!" the striker whined, collapsing backwards onto your bed with a dramatic groan. "then go hang out with your friends! i told you i needed to study, i have until the end of the week to finish this thesis." you sighed, not missing how the blonde perked up at your words, quick to sit up and give you a grin.

"alessia, no." you warned firmly, unsure what she would do next but knowing the cheeky twinkle in her eyes well enough to know it would not be to leave you alone in peace to do your work.

"so really then since you have another....four days. you don't have to do your work right now?" your girlfriend smiled teasingly, standing up from the bed and slowly making her way over to where you sat at your desk.

"no, that is not what i meant!" you huffed defensively, attempting to shake her off as her arms wrapped around you from behind. "but...it's true, no?" her hand darted around to shut the screen of your laptop as your head thumped down onto the desk with a long sigh.

"lessi-" you started, ready to practically beg for her to just leave you alone for an hour so your stress could ease. "mm?" the striker hummed, her lips pressing feather light kisses to your neck as your eyes fluttered close.

though as you felt her quickly bite at her favorite spot of your tanned skin, running her tongue over the red mark before placing a gentle kiss over the fast forming hickey, hands wandering a little lower, your brain began to go foggy.

"no! less you always do this." you snapped out of it, pushing your chair back slightly as the blonde stumbled away.

"do what exactly?" alessia accused with a frown as you spun around in your chair to face her properly. "kiss my neck and get all handsy when i'm trying to study and you want attention, it's not fair because you know i have a sensative neck." you glared at her as an amused smirk tugged at her lips.

"you're insufferable russo!" you groaned, spinning back around and thumping your head down against the desk again with a deep sigh.

"excuse me moody, your loving adoring girlfriend is trying to kiss you here if you don't mind?" alessia sung out in your ear, body pressed against your back and poking and prodding at your sides as you shoved her away and stood up quickly from your chair.

"and where are you going?" alessia crossed her arms and puffed out her chest, standing toe to toe with you as you stared her down.

"to the library, where i can study in peace!" "may i ask you a question before you leave?" "fine." "do you just not love me?"

"oh not this again!" you groaned loudly, throwing your head back. "because if you loved me, you wouldn't leave me right now when i'm simply bored and wanting to spend time with my girlfriend. just trying to be a good partner and make her feel good, just simply doing my best to love her as she deserves!" alessia threw her hands up with an overdramatic sigh, and you struggled not to break out into a smile at her antics.

"has anyone ever told you that you're a child?" "just this super attractive but really mean girl i'm seeing." "you should listen to her, she sounds smart." "she tries, really she's just a massive teachers pet with a big mouth."

the blonde grinned at the obvious offence on your face, quick to grab you by the hips and tackle you down onto your bed, crawling on top of you.

"now shut up and kiss me, book worm."

#woso #woso x reader #woso fanfics #alessia russo #alessia russo x reader #woso blurbs #woso imagine #engwnt

458 notes · View notes

starlightkun · 9 months ago

Text

➠ word count: 4.5k ➠ warnings: cursing, suggestive (no smut but they’re in love and horny lol) ➠ genre: fluff, established relationship, former hockey captain sungchan, chronically ill reader (chronic migraines), shortfic in the buzzer beater series (comes after saltwater smiles), some minor angst again but it’s about like growing up and being a human and finding your place and purpose as an adult, not between our couple or anything ➠ extra info: the reader in this has chronic migraines, which i have. when the reader’s migraines, experiences as a chronically ill person, and thoughts about being chronically ill are described, that is me writing directly from my own life. i am not generalizing the lives of all people with chronic migraines/chronic illnesses, but i am sending all my love to any readers out there living with a chronic illness, and here’s a reminder to go take your meds! ➠ series masterlist

“It feels like I can’t ever move on from this. From being Sungchan the hockey captain. I know you were just joking when you said it but—I don’t want to actually be that guy that peaked in college.”

“Yo, tell them about the championships against the Sharks, Sungchan!” Your colleague, Seunghan, insisted, pushing on your fiancé’s shoulder with his hand that held a drink.

Sungchan looked down at his feet for a moment, and you caught a quick flash of hesitation on his features before he looked back up at the group of enthralled people and gave a lighthearted chuckle and charismatic smile. “I’ve already told that story tonight, I’m sure everyone here doesn’t want to hear it again. Besides, don’t you all want to hear about Y/N’s paper?”

You two were at a rather ritzy gathering being thrown by your department celebrating that one of your articles had been chosen for publication in a huge literary theory journal.

“Anton wasn’t here when you told it earlier!” Seunghan shook a grad student instructor in your department. “And we’ve all read her paper like a hundred times before it got published.”

You reached up to squeeze Sungchan’s arm through his suit jacket. “It’s okay, Channie. I want to hear about it. That was championships your junior year, right? I wasn’t there, remember?”

He focused his gaze down on you for another second as if making extra sure, and you nodded and gave him a smile for good measure. He sighed, wrapped his arm around your shoulders, and began the story, much to all your colleagues’ delight.

A little later in the night found you by the drinks table with Ten. When you had moved back to your old college town to accept a position with the Literature department, you hadn’t expected to walk in on your first day and see a familiar face. Sure, you knew you’d be seeing Dr. Son, who was the department head now and had conducted your interview, and several of your old professors, but you’d been keeping up with most of your old schoolmates and as far as you knew, Ten had moved away after you two finished your two-year master’s program and remained there.

Ten swirled his cocktail around his glass before taking a sip, his eyes trained on your fiancé, who was still surrounded. “Why do I never get that treatment?”

“Maybe you should’ve been captain,” you snickered, taking another sip of your soda.

“Too much work.” Your friend wrinkled his nose. “So what is your man doing these days anyway? He get that PhD in molecular biology about fish or whatever?”

“Yep, he’s a whole doctor,” you told your coworker, looking over at your guy with pride. “Defended his thesis last spring, we did a short stint abroad for about a year for him to study some rare fish in the tropics to cure a rare blood disease. I enjoyed all the food and the sun, really. He probably got skin cancer. And now we’re back here. He’s actually doing his post-doc research here, too.”

“He’s curing blood diseases in tropical fish?”

“No, sorry, in people,” you covered your mouth as you laughed. “Somehow, the fish could help cure a human blood disease, I’m not sure about anything past that.”

“And you’ve got a fat rock on your finger,” he teased, grabbing your hand to inspect your engagement ring. “What a power couple.”

You giggled, letting him look over the ring. “Yeah, something like that. He proposed when we were abroad. God, it was the most gorgeous sunset. Just us, nice and quiet.”

“I’m invited to the wedding, right?”

“Duh. We just haven’t sent invites yet, bitch.” You pushed him with your foot, rolling your eyes. “It’s going to be a certified frat party, I’m afraid.”

“Kegger?” Ten grinned.

“I’m enlisting Taeyong and Kun to keep all you menaces in check for me.”

“Well yeah, you can’t trust your Chenle-of-Honor to do that, he’ll be the first up to do a kegstand.”

You laughed heartily at that. “A few years ago, probably. But I’m happy to report my man-shaped best friend has grown into a real adult.”

“Really? What’s the little monster doing?”

“Middle management in advertising at a designer company. He’s got his eye on a promotion soon, though. Oh, and he’s got the cutest little dog.”

“Speaking of little monsters…” Ten trailed off, eyeing your drink, then your abdomen. “No alcohol?”

“I can’t drink on my medication, remember?” You shook the ice around in your glass smugly.

“Damn!”

As you rode home with Sungchan, your hands entwined over the console, you looked out the passenger window with contentment in your chest.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he sighed, stroking a thumb over the backs of your fingers.

“For what?” You turned to look at him curiously.

His features were pensive and regretful as he focused on the road in front of him, one hand on the steering wheel. “For being a distraction all night. Everybody was asking me about hockey the whole time when all the focus should’ve been on you and your awesome article. I’m sorry, I'll completely understand if you just leave me at home next time.”

“Channie, why the hell would I do that?” You asked through incredulous chuckles, turning to hold his hand with two hands. “Celebrating my accomplishments would mean nothing if I didn’t have you there with me.”

“But I just—”

“Admittedly, I didn’t expect there to be so many puckheads in the Lang department,” you shrugged. “But I know where we work, and you are a bit of a hometown celebrity around here, baby.”

“That sounds like something you’d call somebody who peaked in high school.”

“Right, my bad. You peaked in college.”

“Rude.” He knocked your elbow with his, making you laugh.

“I’m kidding, handsome. But I am proud of you. I snagged a good guy, and I am not going to hide you away when I go to these events just because people are going to ask about your hockey career.”

“It’s not fair to you.”

“I appreciate you trying to put the focus back on me tonight, I really do.” You squeezed his hand. “But when Seunghan said everybody in the department had read my article hundreds of times, he meant it. They all helped proof and revise it dozens of times each. I was tired of reading it by the time it was accepted if I’m being honest with you. Hearing about your hockey game was a welcome reprieve from thinking about the body as a critical site for sex, gender, and political ideology in M. Butterfly.”

“Do you mean that or are you trying to make me feel less like a dick?”

“I mean it, baby boy.” You pinched his cheek.

He squirmed in his seat as he slowed to a stop at a red light. “You never call me that anymore…”

“Seems like you needed it.”

“Hey,” he said softly, turning his head to look at you. “I love you.”

“I know.” You cupped his cheek, stroking his cheekbone fondly. “I never doubted that for a second, baby.”

Sungchan leaned across the console to press his lips to yours, cradling the back of your head. You hummed delightedly into the kiss, moving your mouth against his sweetly.

When you felt the car suddenly roll forward, you jerked back, gripping his arm with a yelp. “Channie!”

He was already grabbing the steering wheel with two hands and slamming on the brakes again. “Fuck! Sorry!”

The car had moved forward less than half a meter and you were the only car at the intersection, but it was enough to get your heart racing.

“Are you okay, baby?” Sungchan checked on you with wide eyes, keeping one hand on the wheel as he reached his other hand over to grab your knee.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” You put your hand over his to reassure both of you. The light turned green then. “Let’s just uh, get home in one piece, hm?”

“Sounds like a plan.” He patted your thigh, leaving his hand there as he slowly started the car forward again.

“Channie?” You called out into the house, shrugging off your coat. You’d stayed a bit late to grade papers, and while Sungchan would’ve usually stayed to walk home with you, he had wanted to get a head start on cooking dinner.

“Pantry!” He yelled back, voice distant as he was presumably deep in the walk-in pantry.

You continued shuffling through the mail you’d grabbed on your way in as you walked further into your house, tossing the junk mail in the trash as you fished out the one packet that had caught your attention. Stopping at the doorway to the pantry, you tore open the thick packet. Skimming the letter and investigating the two lanyards inside, you informed your fiancé, “Donghyuck’s team is having a preseason scrimmage at the university, and he sent us VIP passes.”

Sungchan stuck his head back out of the pantry. “So that’s why he asked for our address the other day.”

“When did you talk to Hyuck?” You asked as he gently took the letter and lanyards from your hands.

“He called me out of the blue a couple weeks ago. I was at the gym before work and completely forgot by the time I got home, sorry, baby.” He flipped over the passes hanging from the lanyards, bright green and dark black, the colors of the professional hockey team that Donghyuck had gone on to play for after college. “I thought he was going to crash on our couch or something, not this.”

“He’s a pro hockey player making like millions a year and you thought he was going to ask to couch surf?”

“You think he wouldn’t?”

“Good point,” you chuckled. “So how was he? Sound like he was doing well?”

“You said it yourself, he’s a pro hockey player making millions a year. I’m sure he’s doing great.”

You frowned up at him. “You didn’t ask?”

“It was a quick conversation, he’s busy,” Sungchan shrugged and handed everything back to you, disappearing into the pantry again. “We barely had time to say hello.”

“We should go,” you declared, setting the lanyards down in a spot so you two wouldn’t lose them.

“Baby, it’s a Friday. That’s our date night.”

“We can miss one date night for this, Channie,” you scoffed. “Besides, I’ve never heard of Jung Sungchan not wanting to go see a hockey game. Are you sure you’re my Sungchannie? Were you replaced by an alien or something?”

Sungchan kept his back to you as he started chopping vegetables. “Never mind, you’re right. We should go.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, but didn’t push the issue further. “Alright...”

Sat back down in familiar bleachers, you hugged Sungchan’s arm tightly, buzzing with excitement. As much as you had loved watching Sungchan play hockey when you were younger, there was something special about watching it with him, having him explain plays, tell you if a player made the right call, or how he would have done it if he had been captain. Being able to see the sparkle in his eye up close as he watched one of his favorite things. You’d seen it plenty of times in the years that you stayed local while he got his PhD. Which is how you knew that something was wrong now, even as he tried to flash a smile at you every so often, ones that never reached his eyes. He didn’t join in the cheers very enthusiastically, and never engaged when the other guys around him tried to debate calls that the refs made.

You found out that the whole team from your senior year had been invited as well, though some of them couldn’t make it. So it was you, Sungchan, Mark, Ten, Jeno, and Chenle in the VIP section. Yangyang was staying abroad with his parents, while Sicheng was at a seminar for work. Chenle was of course invited as an honorary member of the team, fresh off a plane from Paris with that promotion in his pocket.

Donghyuck was Good. He had been great when he was on the Raptors, obviously, which was how he had gotten scouted to go pro, but now he was great. And this was just a preseason scrimmage, just him messing around. You were sure he was scary good when he was actually trying at their real games. He’d kept his old number from college, 66, and seemed to have his own legion of fans with posters and signs.

When the game was finally over—and Donghyuck’s team won—a representative from the team corralled everyone with the VIP lanyards and directed you towards a different area while the rest of the stands filtered out. You kept your hold on Sungchan’s hand as you waited in what you were pretty sure was the women’s locker room for your old friend.

Finally, Donghyuck ran in, and everyone immediately swarmed him, hooting and hollering, slapping him on the back, ruffling his hair, and making teasing remarks about being a big shot now.

“Mark!” Donghyuck threw his arms around his old Big’s neck, nearly knocking his friend over.

“Christ, dude,” Mark wheezed, stumbling back a couple steps. “Are you still wearing your gear or something?”

“Did you not keep up with our lifting regiment?” Donghyuck shamelessly felt up Mark’s arms, then gasped dramatically. “Am I the Big now?”

Mark swatted his hands away. “If you want to pay for all my beer and drive me around in your Lamborghini or whatever, sure.”

“Deal!” The pro player grinned, then turned to the next person, who happened to be you. “Y/N!”

“Hyuck!” You beamed, opening your arms wide for him to throw himself at you as well, only staying up since Sungchan was right behind you to catch you. “Hey, there! God, I can’t believe it! You killed it out there!”

“Thanks!” He let go of you with one arm to wrap it around Sungchan’s neck, pulling him into the hug with both of you. “Oh, it makes me so happy that you two are still together! Are you engaged? Married? Kids? I didn’t have time to ask Sungchan when I called the other week, I was heading into an interview.”

You leaned back as much as he would let you, just enough to show off your ring. “He proposed last year. We’re— eugh!”

You were cut off by Donghyuck tugging you two against him into a tight embrace again. You gave him a pat on the back as you continued, slightly choked with your throat pressed against his shoulder. “We’re looking at a spring wedding…”

“I love you guys so much…” Donghyuck sighed. “All of you. I hope you know that hasn’t changed.”

“We know that, Hyuck.” You coughed, rubbing his back. “Make sure we have your address so we can send you an invite, okay?”

“What did I tell you, Y/N? In undergrad?”

“You told me a lot.” You laughed as he finally let you and Sungchan go. “Some stuff you probably don’t want me to repeat right now.”

“I said you guys were soulmates. I knew you were gonna get married. I knew it.”

“Oh yeah, you did.” You squeezed his hand that he still had a grip on. “Hey, when you retire from pro hockey, you can be a fortune teller.”

“Don’t joke about that, I’m the star player, haven’t you heard?” Donghyuck was practically puffing out his chest. “I’m years off from retirement!”

Sungchan grabbed him by the scruff then, teasingly mussing up his hair. “What did we always tell you about bragging?”

Ten, Jeno, and Mark eagerly joined in on giving him a killer noogie, the four of them managing to keep him in place despite Hyuck being the only one who had remained a professional athlete.

“Ack!” Donghyuck complained as he was surrounded. “Y/N! Chenle! Somebody, help!”

“Promise you’ll buy us dinner with your star player money,” Chenle crossed his arms over his chest as he watched on, “and maybe Y/N and I will convince them to leave you alone.”

“Yeah!” Jeno agreed. “Dinner and drinks and we’ll consider!”

“This is extortion!” Donghyuck yelped.

“Glad to see some things don’t change…” You sighed, shaking your head. “You guys still pick on him.”

“He needs an ego check,” Jeno snorted, his arm now around Donghyuck’s neck.

“I was going to take you all out to dinner anyway!” Donghyuck pleaded. “Didn’t you people read the letters?”

“It was in the letter, guys,” you confirmed loudly.

The guys all looked at each other, slowly releasing their holds on the youngest. With sweet, proud smiles, they fixed his hair and straightened his branded hoodie back up, smacking his shoulder and patting his cheek between compliments of how well he played and specific moves he did, giving feedback on certain things he could improve on still. Donghyuck rolled his eyes at the constructive criticism, but you could see him struggling to suppress the fond curl of his lip at being surrounded by his old teammates again.

When you finally got home that night, you felt about ready to collapse into bed. You had a tired, happy smile on your face from seeing all your old friends again, and haphazardly tossed your go bag to the side before stepping out of your shoes. Sungchan didn’t follow you into the bedroom, as you had expected. You heard him detour to the kitchen, and your ears perked up with interest as you changed into your pajamas.

Sungchan didn’t just get a glass of water, though. You heard him rooting around in the snacks, and that’s when you got concerned. You had just eaten dinner and had drinks, and he had plenty of bar snacks as you all hung around and caught up after finishing dinner. He shouldn’t be scrounging for a midnight snack already.

After tossing your dirty clothes in the hamper, you ventured out to the kitchen determinedly. Sungchan hadn’t yet found something to eat, a frustrated pout on his face as he pulled out box after box, but didn’t open any.

“Hungry?” You asked curiously, leaning against the fridge.

“No,” he sighed, setting the container of crackers down loudly then rubbing his face harshly.

You held your hand out towards him, and he took it immediately. You led him back through your house by the hand, into your bathroom and let go there. Walking back out through the house, you grabbed his desk chair from your joint home office, and pulled it into the bathroom. He was standing exactly where you left him, and let you wordlessly push him down by the shoulders to sit in the chair. Washing and drying your hands, you then readjusted the chair, making sure he was exactly where you needed him. Then you climbed onto his lap facing him, the two of you perpendicular to your bathroom vanity. You grabbed a fuzzy character headband from one of your drawers and put it on him, pushing his hair back from his face.

“I—”

“Shh.” You stopped him as soon as he opened his mouth, putting your own headband on.

Next, you grabbed your cleanser.

“What—”

“Shh,” you repeated with more emphasis, holding his eye contact firmly, until he gave up and closed his mouth, letting his head fall back against the head rest.

You meticulously went through your whole extended skincare routine, doing each step first on Sungchan, then on yourself. He finally gave up on trying to talk, then finally relaxed, then really relaxed, his eyes fluttering shut and a pleased hum rising in the back of his throat.

“All done, handsome,” you announced at the end, giving his cheeks a final squish between your hands, then pulling off his headband and fluffing up his hair.

Sungchan slowly opened his eyes, reaching up to take your headband off as well.

You smiled down at him. “How are you feeling, Channie?”

“Better, thank you, baby,” he replied quietly.

“You want to talk about it?”

He couldn’t look you in the eye. “About what?”

“Whatever’s been getting you bummed lately. You weren’t all there tonight, I could tell. And the day we got the passes, you didn’t even want to come in the first place. That’s not like you.” You put both your headbands aside on the counter, then stood up off him. “You get changed into your pajamas, I’ll tidy up in here. We’ll talk in a few minutes, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” He nodded, getting up and grabbing the chair to drag back with him.

You wiped down the bathroom counter and tidied up all your bottles and containers, listening to the sounds of Sungchan getting ready in the next room over. When you walked back into your bedroom, you were thrown for a loop as you couldn’t see your fiancé for a moment. You found him in your living room, sitting on your couch and holding a picture frame that usually lived on one of the end tables.

Sitting down beside him, you looked at the picture with him. It was of you two at his last collegiate hockey game, him still in his uniform as he picked you up and spun you around, bright smiles on both your faces. His face now was brooding, jaw clenched and eyes hard as he continued staring at it.

“You got me that for our first anniversary,” you commented softly. “I love that picture.”

“I do too,” he sighed, though his tone was much more bitter than his words.

“Talk to me, Channie,” you murmured. “What’s going on?”

“It feels like I can’t ever move on from this.” He shook the frame. “From being Sungchan the hockey captain. I know you were just joking when you said it but—I don’t want to actually be that guy that peaked in college.”

“Oh, Channie...” you breathed out, draping an arm across his back and leaning your cheek against his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize...”

“It’s not you, baby,” he assured you, squeezing your knee. “It’s everything else. Like I try to do anything else, be anything else, but I’m just dragged back into that stupid jock box again.”

“Well, what do you want to be?” You asked as you sat back up, rubbing up and down the center of his chest soothingly. “Not what you think other people want you to be, or what you think you should be. What do you actually like? What do you want to do? Do you still like hockey? Outside of everybody’s opinions about you liking hockey? It’s okay either way, for you to still like it or not. It was the biggest thing in your life for like twenty years, baby. It’d be ridiculous to expect you to just suddenly not like it as soon as you graduated.”

“Do you really want a husband that just talks about sports all the time while you’re talking about smart stuff?” He sighed, letting his eyes close as he leaned all of his weight against you, his hands dropping to rest the frame in his lap.

“I want a husband that’s you. That’s why I accepted your proposal and not like, Dr. Yoon’s or something.”

“I’m going to assume you’re being hyperbolic to make a point and that my research head didn’t actually propose to you. Because if not, then I’m going to stop pouting and write my letter of resignation right now.”

“I’m trying to make a point here.”

“Which is?”

“You’re really underselling yourself, Channie.” You encouraged him to lay his head in the crook of your neck, not letting up your movements on his sternum. “You’re plenty smart. We’ve been together for almost seven years and I still couldn’t keep track of a hockey game if a gun was to my head. Meanwhile you were a whole captain. You had to make decisions on your feet—or, your skates. Not to mention, hm, oh yeah, you have a PhD in molecular biology. Did you forget about that? Doctor Jung?”

“Oh yeah,” he mumbled into your collarbone.

“Oh yeah,” you mimicked him lovingly. “I nearly flunked my bio for non-majors course my freshman year, you know.”

“What?” He squinted up at you. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“You knew I was a Bio major, you should’ve asked me for help.”

“I kick myself every day for it,” you replied melodramatically, and finally saw a smile tug at the corner of his lips. “So? Do you think you still like hockey or not?”

He let out a deep sigh. “Yeah, I do. I really do.”

“Good. I’m glad.” You kissed the top of his head. “I want you to do stuff that makes you happy.”

“Coach came and found me at the lab last week... the day we got the VIP passes from Donghyuck. He’s looking for a part-time assistant coach, said I was his first pick,” Sungchan admitted quietly.

“That’s why you were so... off that day, huh?”

“Yeah. It felt like I was handed a pamphlet for a retirement home.”

You chuckled as he reached forward to set the picture down on the coffee table, then grabbed your hand that was on his chest. He looked up at you with heartachingly familiar, big, round doe eyes, ones that hadn’t changed in the ten years since you’d first met.

“I told him no but... I’m thinking maybe I should ask if he’s found someone else yet?”

“I think that’s a great idea, baby.” You pecked his forehead. “Coach Jung… I think I like the sound of that.”

“Yeah?” He grinned, a much different look in his eye as he sat up to his full height, towering over you.

“I don’t know, let me try it again.”

“Go ahead.”

“Coach Jung.” You reached for the back of his neck as he laid you down on your couch, hovering over you. “Yeah, it’s got a nice ring to it, huh? Powerful, sexy. I love a man with a whistle.”

“You’re so dorky,” he snickered, letting you pull his lips down to yours. “I love you so much.”

“I love you more, my Sungchannie.” You cradled his face with both of your hands.

“Lies.” He kissed your lips. “Impossible.” He kissed your neck.

“Says who?”

“Who has the whistle here?”

“You don’t have one yet,” you teased, holding your arms up for him to pull your shirt off. “Assistant Coach Jung.”

Sungchan kissed a trail down your front, stopping above your waistband. “You’re forgetting something, baby.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m a scientist, with a degree and everything, and I say it’s scientifically impossible for anybody to love anybody more than I love my girl.”

You made grabby hands at him, and he rose up from where he had settled between your legs, entirely blocking out the lights above you. You connected your mouths together again, wrapping your arms and legs around him so tightly he had no choice but to lay his entire weight on top of you.

“No fair,” you complained into his mouth. “I just told you I almost flunked Gen Ed bio.”

“You should’ve let me be your sexy tutor, then.” He didn’t sound sympathetic at all.

“Yeah, freshman you all sweaty and nervous in your hockey team hoodie.” You broke apart to giggle. “Real hot stuff, Channie. Literally.”

“You’re lucky you’re the love of my life, or I’d be really hurt at some of the stuff you say to me, you know.”

“You’re right.” You gave him a peck. “I am lucky that I’m the love of your life.”

➠ next | series masterlist | blog masterlist

147 notes · View notes

shanastoryteller · 2 years ago

Note

Happy Valentine’s Day grandma! There’re too many amazing options, so dealer’s choice?

Spock has an older brother.

He’s a teenager when Spock is born and by the time he’s taking his first cautious steps, he no longer lives at home. Sybok graduates the head of his class and flies through the Science Academy with similar ease and for almost as long as Spock has had memories, Sybok has been talking about his thesis.

It’s topic changes often enough that Spock’s stopped keeping track.

When he’s younger, it would be inaccurate to say that Sybok is around often, but he is around. His brother visits home to pilfer texts from the family library and to have short, tense conversations with their father but he will ask Spock about his studies and always inclines his head to Spock’s mother, something that many Vulcans will not do, so he thinks that means that Sybok loves them.

After he gets into a fight at school, Sybok doesn’t visit anymore.

Spock accepts it as something else that his emotional outburst has cost him and refuses to let the tears fall no matter the pressure building behind his eyes.

Books still disappear and reappear from the library, so he knows that Sybok is still coming over, it’s only when Spock isn’t home. Eventually he starts appearing again, and he still has those horrible tense conversations with their father and nods at his mother, but he no longer lingers to ask Spock about his studies.

The fact that it hurts so much is just a sign that he needs to focus on his control.

When Spock is fifteen, Sybok leaves Vulcan.

He tells himself he doesn’t see his brother often enough for it to matter. It s the truth and yet it feels like a lie.

Spock doesn’t mean to overhear a conversation that isn’t meant for him. But it his mother speaking, and Sybok, and he’s never observed them to exchange anything but greetings and farewells.

“-don’t have to do this. I know you want distance, but-”

“I’ve already tried the other side of the planet,” he says dryly, speaking with an oddly Terran cadence to his words. “The problem is he can still comm me and send his friends to look at me disapprovingly.”

“He’s concerned,” she says.

Sybok laughs. Spock startles, nearly giving himself away, but forces stillness and silence.

“I don’t want to overstep,” his mother says softly, “I know it’s not my place-”

“Amanda, please,” he scoffs. “This is your home, you’re my father’s wife, and you’re my brother’s mother. How can you overstep? You can’t speak freely anywhere else on this planet, of course you can speak freely with me.”

There’s a long silence. Spock wants so badly to peek around the corner, but if he does then they’ll know he’s there.

“He wants you to be happy,” his mother says. “I do too.”

Sybok sighs, but it sounds a lot nicer than his laugh had. “He wants me quiet. It’s bad enough that he’d decided I’m a bad influence on Spock, at this rate he’s doing to decided I’m a bad influence for all of Vulcan and kick me off the planet myself. I’m just speeding up the process.”

Father thinks that Sybok is a bad influence? Why would he –

“That incident was not your fault,” his mother says sharply.

Oh.

“Father was probably right, actually,” he admits. “If I’d been allowed to talk to Spock after, I would have told him it was a job well done. There’s fire in our blood, Amanda. Rage is the most Vulcan emotion there is.”

Spock blinks. That’s nothing he’s heard before.

“It’s things like this that make your father worried,” she sighs.

He laughs again, gentler this time. “It’s fine. I’m going to go to a nice remote planet with all my books and work on my thesis and this one is far enough that even Father won’t be able to bother me.”

“But Tarsus IV?” she asks. “It’s barely colonized, and it has terrible ion storms, and their agriculture is still developing! It’ll be difficult for you to keep to a Vulcan diet!”

There’s another silence, then Sybok says, “My mother never worried over me. She did not find it logical to waste the energy and mental capabilities on events she could not control.” Another pause. “It’s nice that you do, Amanda.”

“Oh, Sybok.” His mother sniffs. “You’re my husband’s son and my son’s brother. You’re my family too. Please be careful and let me know if you need anything at all. We’ll be waiting for you to come home.”

“I believe you will, at least,” he says, and then before his mother can respond, continues, “Live long and prosper, Amanda.”

She sighs again. “Live long and prosper, Sybok.”

Spock forces his racing heart calm. He hopes his brother returns home soon.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #anon #star trek #ok i know this seems angsty but it's actually the opening to the sybok jim buddy fic that no one asked for #sybok isn't crazy here he's just a graduate student

985 notes · View notes

beautifulpersonpeach · 6 months ago

Note

Peach..

I miss him so so much.

Can you gush about Jimin ?

Love how you wrote about him.

Thank you so so much in advance.

Whenever you are free. No pressure.

***

Hi @misslauwie

When your ask came in weeks ago, something in my chest squeezed a little. Because god yes I miss him too. Sometimes it feels like the whole world is kinda 'off', like everything is 'wrong', like we're all stuck in a holding pattern of sorts... And for anyone who thinks that's too dramatic, no it's not. Look around you. The world is kinda fucked, and the reason is because Jimin isn't on stage right now seducing the crowd performing like rent is past due, dancing his heart out, and singing like the fallen angel he is.

It's hard for me to talk about him these days though... I mean, there's always so much to say when it comes to Jimin, but the words don't form quite right for me these days.

Is it alright for me to simply post some pictures I come back to when I miss him and jikook?

Assuming I have your permission, that's what this post is going to be about.

(they cuddle)

There's this one from his last live before enlisting. Bare-faced, in an all black hoodie and beanie outfit looking hot as hell. It's the way he's giving 'Korean skaterboy who moonlights as a hacker', but at the same time he comes across as responsible, capable, and real. Cute too.

But lol, maybe that's just what I see when I'm biased.

Who else gets stuck looking at his eyes?

There's always so much to say about Jimin because literally everything about him could yield its own thesis. From the range and depth in his stage personas; to how pretty his body features are, before they morph into something more... deviant; to his voice that polarizes and entraps every audience. There's so much to talk about when it comes to Jimin, but I keep coming back to his eyes...

(This gave you whiplash didn't it :))

He's always known exactly what to do and how to do it.

Jimin is giving 70s cult leader in this shot and it's a fave. He's too modest to ever ask, but we all know we'd join a commune for him if he pulled that zipper down a little lower.

Anyway. Does anybody know why he likes this pair of shoes so much? I've always found them a bit ugly, but somehow, he makes it work. And it's clear he likes them a lot since he wears them all the time. But like... why?

Another picture I stare at on days when I miss jikook jikooking, is this one.

It's the moon in the shot that does it. The lines and symmetry, the afterglow of the sunset, Jimin's wide curved back, Jungkook focused on him, Jimin focused on him too, the fact someone else saw them like this and took this picture. They could've been chatting about what they'd like to eat for dinner or some other mundane thing, but it's the care and focus they show for each other that comes through so clearly for me in this shot.

This one has a place in my gallery because it's peak jikook.

As is this one:

Anyway.

Down bad for Baby G.

Imagine if PJM2 has a track like Set Me Free Pt 2 + Tony Montana... imagine the cataclysm it will cause in k-pop, imagine the havoc this cutie patootie pie will cause.

Sigh.

One day, when I find the words, I'll try to write about all the ways he charms. I owe a kind person from Tumblr (KPFT) a post about him.

In 2025, he'll be a 30 year old man desperate to get back on stage. And lord, I just hope everyone is ready.

This is the last one.

I come back to this picture sometimes because back then, they really did just have eyeliner and a dream. He gave his all right from the start and has created life-changing art. It's endearing to know he's both a bit of a workaholic and can be lazy too... and to know he still sleeps the exact way - like this:

...and this:

..and this:

@misslauwie I miss him too. Also miss Jungkook and the rest of the tannies. For Jimin, it makes me very happy that at least, Jungkook is with him.

He'll be back soon. 💜

#jimin #jungkook #jikook #bts

108 notes · View notes

trblsvt · 2 years ago

Note

Hi, idk if you're taking requests (feel free to ignore me if you aren't) but I was thinking about something today

I'm working on a thesis paper for my degree, and I've really been struggling the past couple days. How do you think the members of svt would help when you are struggling to focus on an assignment?

Who would be keeping you stocked on snacks and making sure you stay hydrated? Who would be helping you find research to support your paper? Would someone suggest you take breaks when struggling? Is there anyone who would just try to stay out of the way to avoid being an additional distraction?

thank you for sending this in, this is actually so cute!

pairing | ot13 x fem!reader genre | fluff; college!au warnings | mentions of just studying a lot (if that's even a warning) summary | short scenarios of seventeen members taking care of their s/o when it's peak studying time min | lowercase intended. i actually think i can come up with ideas for all thirteen members

choi seungcheol

you were just so stubborn. "she couldn't possibly study the whole day away," seungcheol grumbled to himself, but he knew you indeed could. lucky for you, he wasn't going to let you do that. he would make you go out for a bit.

he frowned when he saw you hunched over one of your textbooks. "hey," he mumbled approaching you slowly. he stood behind you, hands on your shoulders, and he peered at your computer screen. some sort of coding language he wouldn't even try to engage with. "want to take a break?" he whispered into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

"i can't," he practically heard the frown in your voice, not to mention the exhaustion.

"you can," he said, fingers tracing shapes on your arms. "come on, come lie down with me. just for a little bit. i promise you can go back to your work after you come here." you looked at your screen and back to where he stood behind you. you glanced at your screen one last time and got up. "fine, just for a little bit," you grumbled.

"that's my girl," he smiled, pulling you down onto the bed and wrapping you up into his arms. maybe it wasn't going outside or anything like that, but nothing beat having you in his arms. soon enough, you dozed off and your school work had to wait a bit longer.

yoon jeonghan

jeonghan was the distraction you didn't know you needed. "___, come take a look at my new lego set," he called from the living room. you sighed and rubbed your eyes. "i can't, han. i've got to finish this presentation today," you said. he frowned. you were working too hard for the past few hours. he looked at his completed lego set and determined it was small enough for him to pick and up and bring it to you. he shuffled his way to your bedroom where you were working and held out his construction. "look, it's so cute, right?" he smiled. you looked up, and you couldn't help but melt a little. he looked so proud of his little set. "yes, it is very cute, jeonghan. nice job," you smiled.

"well, i have another one i have to build, and i need you to help me," he grinned and grabbed your hand. when you went out into the living room, there were about three other sets ready to be constructed. "now, which one do you want to do?" he asked, squeezing your hand.

"i want to do the flower one," you pointed.

"i was thinking the same thing." maybe a lego break would do you some good.

hong joshua

he would always ask you if you wanted to go out and do something. constantly. every hour. "___, want to go out to the art festival today?" he asked. "they have a bunch of global artists there to show case their art. i'll buy you something you like it."

"josh, i would love to, but these slides aren't get studied by themselves.

"i saw some of the artists on instagram, and they have some really great jewelry. it would look so beautiful on you."

damn him. he knew you were a sucker for handmade jewelry. he came up behind you and draped himself over your shoulders. his cheek brushing yours, and you could feel the cool metal of his earrings against your head. "come on, just for an hour or two," he pleaded. "don't i get to treat my girl once and a while?" you couldn't disagree with that. "then come on, let me treat you. plus, you're already so smart, no need to read these slides again." you sighed, relaxing in his hold.

"there was this gorgeous necklace i saw, would look so good on you," he continued, and he would until he got to clasp that necklace around your neck.

wen junhui

"eat," he said, shoving a bowl of noodles under your face. you stared at him. "i just ate," you shrugged.

"lies. eat."

"you're calling me a liar, wen junhui?"

"yes."

the two of you exchanged stares until you picked up the bowl and ate a bite. he looked satisfied, but he still didn't leave. he actually pulled a chair next to you and crossed his arms, still watching you intently. "what are you doing?" you asked.

"i'm not leaving until you finish eating that entire bowl," he shrugged. you gaped at him. no way. he seriously wasn't going to sit there and watch you eat, was he? jun was like this about food. he always made sure you were eating, no matter what. you couldn't exactly say no when his cooking was so good either. but this, was crazy. "no," you shook your head.

"yes," he nodded. "now tell me about that classmate who has been bugging you."

kwon soonyoung

he was a touchy person. he knew that. you knew that. so when he couldn't be close to you, he got antsy. he got especially antsy when he could easily be with you, but also couldn't because you were preoccupied with something else. today was an instance of that. you were watching some lecture and taking notes. you were clearly busy and preoccupied, but all he wanted was to be close to you. "___," he whined from his place on the couch. "soonyoung," you responded.

"___." he didn't know what to say. he wanted to be close to you. he wanted you in his arms, but that wouldn't be practical with you taking notes. "come here, soonyoung," you called. you knew what was wrong. he was being all clingy again, so you had to indulge him even if you were busy.

he happily popped up off the couch and made his way over to the table. he took his seat next to you. "are you done?" he asked. you shook your head. oh, well then why did you want him over here if you weren't done? "give me your hand," you said, extending your unoccupied hand to him. he did without asking, and he felt better when your fingers clasped against his. "better?" you asked. he nodded. "good, now once i finish, you'll get all the attention you want," you promised.

jeon wonwoo

wonwoo didn't like to disturb you when you were studying. he knew how distracting it could be, so if you were studying he would just come over read a book until you were done. today was different though. he saw how in the past twenty minutes you hadn't even flipped the page. he stared, debating about whether he should ask you about it. your head was in your hands, obviously staring at the page in front of you. "___?" he called out quietly. "are you okay?" he heard you huff, but you didn't say anything. after a couple seconds he saw you shake your head. "aw, baby, come here," he cooed, bookmarking his book.

you sighed and grabbed the text book you were supposed to be reading. "i don't know, i'm reading the words, but nothing's processing and i have to read these pages by thursday," you complained. wonwoo took the book from your hands and let you curl up next to him. "would you like to sleep some? maybe that'll help you later," he suggested.

"i have to read these pages now, wonwoo," you sighed.

"here, i'll read the pages to you then. it'll be like a podcast." you told him the pages, and he pulled up a blanket to cover the both of you. he began reading out loud, and soon enough he noticed you had been lulled into sleep. (you would never admit it to his face, but his voice was just so calming, how could you not fall asleep listening to it?)

lee jihoon

"when's the last time you had water?" he frowned. you looked around your desk. you wanted to say you had something to drink recently, but that would be such a lie. you had no clue the last time you drank anything. time seemingly slipped away. "i don't know, recently. i must've left my glass out there last time i was out," you shrugged. he shook his head. you were just like him in this way. you would always nag him about his hydration and he would blow you off. you would question why he was looking out for you so much and he would do the same. "if that's true, then that means that was about three hours ago," he crossed his arms.

"keeping close tabs on me i see," you said scrolling through the pdf on your computer.

"get up, you're getting water. you need to stretch your legs too."

"are you ordering me around?"

"yes, it's for your own good. you're withering away like a dehydrated plant," he said simply squeezing your shoulder. he was right. the longer he talked about water, the parched feeling in your throat grew. fine. he was right. you needed to get some water.

lee seokmin

"just take a nap! it'll be good for you!" he nagged. you practically hissed at him. "see! this is what i'm saying. don't be so stubborn, come on," he begged.

"seokmin, i can't! i have an exam tomorrow!" you exclaimed. you desperately needed a break, but this exam was life or death for your grade. "come on, you're not going to learn anything new at this point! you'll do great!" he insisted. he was probably right, there wasn't much you could do at this point. you knew what you knew. you hated admitting he was right in these situations. somehow he had learned your study habits better than yourself. "what will you give me if i take a nap?" you shot back suddenly. his eyebrows scrunched up, confused. "give you?" he repeated. "i don't know, a kiss." you pouted. a kiss didn't sound half bad right now. "come on, just sleep a little. have some faith in yourself," he begged.

"get me ice cream and we can talk about this nap thing," you countered.

"anything! i'll do anything for you to rest! just please, rest."

kim mingyu

"this is really boring," mingyu complained.

"i agree," you groaned.

"then let's go do something!"

"mingyu, please, just sit down for a little bit longer." mingyu had this thing if he sat too long watching you do something, that excluded him, he would get antsy. he wanted to do everything with you, but because he had zero knowledge about your studies, it was hard to keep up. you could sense his movement behind you. you needed to find a way to distract him from distracting you, just for another hour or so. "gyu," you called.

"yes," he perked up.

"did you go through those pictures i picked up yesterday?"

"no..."

"how about you go through those, and i promise once you're done i will be done too. just sort through them. they're super cute, it'll totally take up a lot of time." he huffed. he knew what you were doing. you were distracting him. but he did want to see the photos. you insisted the two of you use a disposable camera for your recent vacation, and he agreed. he wanted to see how the aesthetic turned out. "you promise you'll be done?" he asked, getting up.

"yes."

"okay, i'll look through them." when he left, he realized you were right about a couple things. one, the pictures looked gorgeous. two, flipping through the photos took up a lot of his time, and soon enough you were done.

xu minghao

minghao didn't really want to disturb you, so he didn't. he knew you were capable, so he didn't feel the need to nag you so much about breaks or food. of course he would cut an extra serving of fruit for you and leave it at the edge of your desk.

today was no different. you were at your desk typing away and he stopped by and left a plate of fruit on a pile of books. "hao?" you called out before he could leave. he hummed, acknowledging you. "can i ask you a huge favor?" you hesitated. he knew you never asked him for much, so he wondered what this could be about? "could you possibly copy down the vocab for this set of notes?" you asked. when he didn't respond immediately, you got worried. it was a crazy request, why would you drag your amazing boyfriend down with organic chemistry vocabulary? "actually, don't mind me. that's a stupid thing for me to ask. don't worry about it, i'll get to it later," you rushed, waving your hand at him.

"are you saying if i copy down these terms, you'll be done faster and we can watch that movie we've been planning on watching?" he asked, smirking.

"yes, hypothetically."

"hand over the note cards, i've been dying to watch to watch that movie."

boo seungkwan

"you have enough food, right?" he asked, peaking his head through the door.

"yes," you responded.

he nodded and went back out to the living room.

"water? you're hydrated, right?" he asked, not even two minutes later.

"yes," you sighed. "seungkwan, babe, i'm fed and hydrated. i just need to focus on this for one second. i'm okay, i promise." he looked at you and looked at your half empty water glass. "okay, i'll just fill this up real quick! then i can sit in here!"

seungkwan was a bit of a worrier. he always had been. from the first date, he asked you about ten different times if you were cold within the first five minutes. he constantly made sure you were eating enough food and drinking enough water. "you know, i think you should get a snack. i know it hasn't been long since lunch, but all this thinking is burning up all your energy," he said, as he entered the room again with a full glass of water. you learned to accept seungkwan's caring actions, it was the way he said "i love you." and as much as you wanted your alone time to study, you could never say no to him. plus, at this point you think he's your lucky charm.

choi vernon

"this is what i found," vernon said, tossing some books and papers onto your bed. you turned around in your chair and stared at the hardcover books an a couple packets of notes on your bed. "what is this?" you asked, rubbing your eyes.

"this is analysis of journalism throughout the 1960s, right?" he asked.

"yes, i don't understand how that's relevant."

"well, these books are written biographies about promient figures of the 60s, these are research papers about media bias from 1900 to 2000, and these-" he rambled, shuffling through the papers.

only then you realized that vernon had taken it upon himself to find you extra material to include in your analysis. you got up from your place at your desk and wrapped your arms around vernon, who was still talking about the material he gathered for you. "woah, okay, hi," he laughed, wrapping his arms around your waist. you pushed him down on the bed and there you were, together. "what's this for?" he whispered. "did i get the wrong information?"

"no, you got it just right," you murmured. how could someone be as perfect as him?

lee chan

he was so proud of you. you were such a hard worker, but he couldn't physically bring himself to sit in the room and watch you type away on your computer for another minute. plus, he felt a bit awkward too, just sitting there watching your eyes dart across your screen. so usually when you studied, he left the house for a while or just stayed away from wherever you were studying.

if he went out he made sure to pick up some food to celebrate after you finished studying for the night. he remembered the first time he did it. "i got you food, so we can celebrate!" he exclaimed. you stared at him like he was crazy. "i haven't even finished studying yet," you had crossed your arms.

"yeah, i know! but progress is progress! you worked hard. we need to celebrate," he shrugged waving you over. the tradition continued.

he came home with two bags of takeout with all your favorite things. he started to unpack all the food onto the table when you shuffled out of your room. "mmm that smells amazing, thank you so much, chan," you hummed, kissing chan on the cheek.

"anything for my hard worker, let's eat," he smiled.

min | haha this so cute, thank you anon for sending this in :) of course feedback is appreciated! also not proofread at the moment! tagging: @a-wandering-stay

message or send in an ask if you want to be added to my taglist :)

#seventeen #seventeen reactions #seventeen headcanons #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #dino x reader #joshua hong x reader #wonwoo x reader #mingyu x reader #svt x reader #vernon x reader #dokyeom x reader #hoshi x reader

600 notes · View notes

twainxavier · 2 months ago

Note

You know I have to ask for Dark Academia 😸

@embroiderling

Of course! 😊🫂💜

Okay, so, this is one I've been working on for a while and have recently been struggling to continue for some reason.

So this is a Catwin AU, basic premise is that Edwin and Thomas (the Cat King) both take the same course in University and somehow no matter how hard Edwin studies Thomas always seems to be top of the class 🤣👌 Thing is, it does get a little dark soon into the story thanks to Edwin's roommate Simon and his friends 👀

So yeah, several trigger warnings on this one for graphic descriptions of violence, homophobia, homophobic slurs and a lot more horrible things for Thomas to help Edwin through later on 🫂

As for the snippet, I'll go for something more tame, before the Simon incident 😅👌 So here is Edwin and Thomas meeting by chance in the library...

For the next few weeks, Edwin spent most of his free time in a dark corner of the University's expansive library—his usual spot—studying as hard as he possibly could. There was a fortress of books stacked up around him, so high he would have to stand to see the rest of the library. Edwin was certain that each and every one would be useful in some way, he just had to keep searching. Every now and then someone would breach his safe corner to find a book of their own, and Edwin would feel himself tense up every single time. There was a reason he chose to sit in the corner, corners were safer, more secure, protected. It was harder for someone to sneak up on you if you were in a corner already. But then that just made it all the more anxiety inducing whenever anyone wandered into his safe corner. Edwin would have gone back to his room to study, but the library would never allow him to take out this many books at once. He had to settle for his corner, and the many interruptions that came with it. Just as he was getting back into the swing of things, yet another student invaded his corner to hunt for a book. Edwin couldn't help but sigh slightly. He did his best to pretend he was still working and that was the reason for the sigh, but for some reason this particular student still seemed to be hanging around. Edwin was about to ask if they needed help, purely to get them out of his hair, but they managed to speak first, and Edwin froze entirely. “That's a lot of books you got there, already researching your thesis?” Thomas King. Of course it had to be him who came to invade Edwin's peace. He didn't want to grant him an answer, but he learned long ago that silence was somehow worse than talking back most of the time. “I am working on the next assignment, if you must know.” Edwin kept his response curt and short in the hope that Thomas would decide he was rude and leave him alone. “With this many books? Half your essay is gonna be references, surely?” Thomas asked with a slight chuckle, looming over Edwin's table and shoulder in such a way it almost made him flinch. “I know what I am doing, thank you very much. Wider reading is always useful. Now if you do not require a specific book I would appreciate it if you would leave me to my studies,” Edwin commented, still not daring to even look at the other man leaning over him. Thomas just chuckled again, but thankfully stopped leering over him. “Well, I would ask to borrow one of the books from your book towers, but I can see you're busy with it. I'll grab it another day.” Edwin was so absolutely shocked by Thomas’ nonchalant attitude in spite of him hoarding what he had to admit was a small library's worth of books, that he actually looked up and met his eyes. Thomas was smiling at him, a genuine sort of smile, wholly unlike his usual smirks across lecture halls. “Well good luck with the research, see you next class, Edwin,” Thomas said, as casually as anything. Then he grinned down at Edwin, and winked. Actually winked. The infuriating American simply sauntered off, as Edwin tried to recover from the encounter. He was beyond confused by the other man's behaviour towards him at this point, with the smirking and the glances and the winking now. All of it just angered Edwin further. He was so flippant and unserious and yet he had clearly decided to learn the name of the one boy in class who refused to laugh at his jokes. Edwin could feel himself tensing up again for a whole new reason, fists clenching where they rested by his forgotten work.

Hope you enjoyed this little hint! Hopefully the words will be returned to me as soon as possible so I can continue this fic and finally start posting it 👀🫂💜

#wip ask game #dead boy detectives #edwin payne #the cat king #dbda #dead boy detective agency #catwin #cat king #catwin fanfic wips

32 notes · View notes

luvvyouforever · 9 months ago

Text

rhys and john keats - modern au!rhysand x college student!reader ❥

↳ reader can barely handle the weight of college but rhysand is there to pick her up and help the pain.

↳ so self indulgent it hurts. set in a modern age where reader is a college student but rhysand is still high lord? idk honestly. mentions of stress, self doubt, comfort, crying. my day-to-day life essentially.

↳ requests are open! check characters in pinned post and link for requests is in my bio :)

the living room of your shared apartment with rhysand is a sight to behold. papers, printed copies of poems, books, pens, highlighters, and three energy drinks enclose you in a circular shape. it's horrifying and the sight is not eased by your messy hair, dark circles, and tear-stained cheeks. the semester was getting to you, clearly.

three papers were due for one class in the next two weeks. six quizzes were on the agenda and you had easily ten multiple page texts to read before class at 9am the following monday.

it had never been this stressful before but your time in college was coming to an end and that only ramped up the amount of work you had to complete. your final few semesters were certain to end you and you'd never get to walk across that stage to receive a blank page of paper which would eventually be replaced with your actual diploma. that's how it felt, at least.

minutes full of agony passed until you heard the familiar flapping of strong wings on the balcony. you didn't move from your sitting position as rhysand sauntered into the room, smile so wide it reached his violet eyes.

"my dear y/n," he whispered. his voice was so sweet that another tear forced its way out of your eye and down your cheek again. he must have sensed it, the stress pouring down your bond, or maybe he could somehow smell the salt of the tear as it dripped onto the page in your lap. he knelt down to meet your face and he pouted. "what's going on, darling?"

for the first time that night, you tore your gaze away from your work and met his eyes. "there's too much," you mumbled with a watery voice. "i can't do this."

he made a click with his tongue while examining the piles of work on the floor. his fingers lifted the assignment prompts and poems and syllabus requirements. more tears fell and you silently cursed each and every one of them.

"why can't you do it? what's challenging you?" he asked gently. it was not meant to condescend but he was trying to figure out how to help you in the best way possible.

"i feel like the analyses i'm coming up with are dumb, i don't understand the lines, the rhyme scheme is stupid, and i don't know what my thesis is for a moronic paper on keats should be. it's stupid and dumb and i'm stupid and dumb."

rhysand moved his hands to your cheeks before you could even react and pulled your face to meet his strong eye contact. his purple eyes bore into yours and he poured liters of reassurance down the bond. that mental claw in his head brushed against your mind in a calming manner. "do not say words like that, my love. you are so intelligent. and you're fully capable of managing everything on your plate."

you sniffed, feeling pathetic in his strong gaze. "i don't feel that way, though. i don't know how to deal with this stress, rhys. it's impossible. it's like this huge tower looming before me and i'm being asked to climb every single step in the best possible way or else i'll be pushed off of the top."

rhysand breathed out a sigh and his hand found your own. "i'm gonna help you climb that tower, okay?" he grabbed a brightly annotated copy of a keats poem and read over it.

"have you even read keats? or dickinson? do you know what a thesis statement is?" you asked. there was a bite to your words but it didn't faze rhysand in the slightest.

"of course i do, love. what do you think i do in my spare time when i'm not being an expert ruler? there's a small section i had put in the library, down on one of the lower floors, and it's full of human books. there's anthologies of authors, textbooks on writing, math theory, whatever you want, it's there. and i've perused it all. this poem-" he held up the printed keats "-is one of my favorites.

"so, the way i interpret this poem is that in order to withstand and stay strong in the face of suffering, we should indulge in poetry, beauty, and art. don't you think so?" he began to recite some lines which resembled this theme and suddenly, it all made sense.

he did that two more times with the other texts you had to write about. everything connected when he taught it and read it. you now had three outlines completed with well-developed thesis statements, annotated stories and poems for discussion, and three out of six quizzes were completed.

"thank you," you said, pouring as much love through your bond as you could. "really, thank you. this means so much to me."

"of course, my dear. shall i put on a sweater vest and glasses and replace your professor from here on out?"

you giggled and finally stood from the floor. the two of you walked into the kitchen to begin making a nutritious, filling dinner with your favorite velaris-sourced wine. "i would absolutely take you up on that offer if it didn't mean everyone in the class would be vying for your attention."

rhysand's arms wrapped around your midsection while you prepared food for dinner. his head leaned forward so that his mouth was by your ear. "i only have eyes for the smartest person in class."

can you tell i'm an english major? this is all very self-insert, i read the keats poem i talked about like two weeks ago :p

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar series #rhysand x reader #rhys acotar #rhysand acotar #rhysand #rhysand fluff #acotar x reader #acotar fanfic

85 notes · View notes

dawn-moths · 2 years ago

Text

“Ivory for Ebony, Rust for Gold”

Undertaker x Female Reader

*this is a prologue to my “Cause to Start a Vendetta” series.

word count: 15,400+

(Struggling to pay this month’s rent and fighting about who among you and your roommates needs to pick up some extra hours at work, one of them makes a harsh comment that you should just get a sugar daddy to deal with your financial troubles since that’s all you’re probably good for. To her it was just a hurtful, sarcastic remark. But to you, it's an idea, an opportunity for revenge in its own twisted way. Because if you were going to let someone tell you what to do, they could at least be willing to treat you to some nice clothes and expensive dates. So when you match with the mysterious and dark yet beautiful and wealthy “Undertaker” on a dating app and he actually extends the invitation to take you out, how could you possibly deny?)

content warning/disclaimer: 18+ content! minors dni! most of this is fluff with smut at the end, dating apps, daddy kink, sub/dom dynamics, size kink, loss of virginity.

*ao3 mirror*

***

Your alarm went off at eight AM.

You could say “bright and early” if not for the fact that the sky that blanketed London was a pale, gloomy grey more often than not.

You jabbed at the screen of your phone to silence the irritating shrill of the alarm, heaving out a deep sigh as you rolled over and sat on the edge of your bed, running your fingers through your tousled hair to try and untangle some of the knots that had formed during sleep.

Another day… You thought to yourself, despondent as you stared in a daze out the window, black cabs dotting the streets as they mixed in with the traffic of people on their way to work or school.

You and a college friend of yours had tossed around the idea of moving in together in London for a few semesters before you’d both finally pulled your meager funds into one pot and committed to it. You’d had to find a third member to join the flat if you wanted to be able to afford it, and your friend had known someone who seemed like she’d be a good match.

And it had been fun, at first— a new and exciting experience that had led to so many late nights out hopping from clubs to pubs and somehow stumbling your way back to the apartment with only half the night’s memories intact.

You’d met so many interesting people, made a few new friends, had gotten used to weekend get-togethers and house parties that you’d thought would last forever.

But again, that was in the beginning.

Y’know, when you’d still had some extra money in your bank account to play with— to burn.

Now, nearly two years later, all three of you were struggling.

Because the days of bar hopping in the tightest minidresses you owned and having handsome strangers buy you round after round of whatever you were in the mood for that night had seemingly come and gone. There hadn’t been an invite to a weekend hangout or a house party in what felt like forever. At least, not one that you had time to attend.

Because all your lives now only consisted of two things— school and work.

And you were getting tired of both.

The sound of your roommates chatting quietly out in the kitchen beyond your bedroom door pulled you from your daze momentarily as you tried to hone in on what they were saying. They spoke with a hushed kind of urgency— the perfect tone to use when discussing secrets.

You snuck up to the door and pressed your ear to the crack, listening in.

“Well I don’t have time to pick up any extra hours with my schedule!” the girl who was the friend of your friend insisted, the words whispered with the intention to be taken as a very quiet shout. “Not to mention I have a ton of stuff to do before grad school!”

“Yeah, and I’m about to start my senior thesis which is gonna eat up all my free time so I can’t get another job either…” your actual friend countered, sounding more conflicted than riled up.

You then heard your name being thrown around, something about how you were the one who seemed most likely to be able to pick up some of the slack.

You didn’t like where this conversation was going yet you couldn’t stop listening. Couldn’t make yourself known to be eavesdropping yet either.

“She doesn’t even care about school!” Your third roommate continued, clearly upset with the situation but willing to throw you into the fire if it meant sparing herself. You’d found out after a couple months of living with her that she was the top of her class, teacher’s pet type. The days she didn’t brag about the prestigious grad school she’d gotten into were few and far between. “We all know she’s a C’s get degrees kind of girl anyway. She should be the one who has to go out and get another job, not one of us who actually have a career waiting after graduation.”

That particular dig cut you especially deep.

Sure, you might not’ve been the most studious member among your flatmates, but you had your own set of strengths.

Like, for instance, you could sweet talk your way out of getting written up for being late for class almost every single time. It didn’t matter which professor was chewing you out for skipping a lecture or not turning an assignment in on time, you’d mastered how to get off with a warning with each and every one of them.

And you were great at fashion advice. If it wasn’t for your knack for perfectly balanced color combinations and precisely pieced together aesthetics when it came to jewelry and clothing then your roommates would’ve never gotten past any of the bouncers that guarded the entrances to the popular nightclubs you all used to frequent. You could turn even the most timid and awkward girl into a drop dead gorgeous ten with the right hairstyle and shade of lipstick.

And— and this part was what made the comment that had just been said about you particularly hard to swallow— you were always there for your friends. You’d been their shoulder to cry on so many times, had taken them out for milkshakes and a movie after a breakup or saved them from having a one night stand with some fuck boy that you knew was just going to hump ‘em and dump ‘em because you practically made it your job to stay up to date on all the latest rumors and juiciest gossip.

But, despite the harshness of their opinion on your academic skills, you knew that, with the full context, they were right.

Because rent was almost due again and you’d all just barely scraped by for the past couple of months.

That was the price you paid for living in the heart of the city— the city that you barely even went into anymore since, despite what they thought you did with your free time, you were trying to study a little more, maybe earn yourself a B instead of skating by with C’s…

When they’d asked you if you wanted to renew the lease for another year, you’d just said yes, not wanting to have to scramble to find new people to live with or move back into campus living where you couldn’t even have your own space.

But now things were getting desperate.

Tensions were rising among all of you over this and you didn’t want to have to be the one to give in when you felt like you were just getting motivated to try and raise your GPA.

But you knew you would, in the end. Because you always gave in, let them bully you into submission as they talked you in circles and convinced you that it would just be for a little bit, that you’d only have to take a couple extra shifts until you guys were all caught up.

“Alright, well, just let me talk to her about it…” your friend suggested, sounding sort of sympathetic, though she still wasn’t willing to take on the extra responsibility so long as there was someone else available to carry the weight. “I don’t think she’s gonna be happy about it though—”

Both of their heads turned to stare at you as your bedroom door swung open.

“Who won’t be happy about what?” you asked then, trying to act innocent but still letting a little edge of irritation slip into your tone.

The stiffened posture of your startled roommates softened a bit as they sighed.

“It’s the rent…” your friend went to say. “We’re not gonna be able to pay it this month unless—”

“You need to pick up some more hours at work,” the pushier of the two cut in, crossing her arms and giving you a stern look which only flared the crackling embers of your annoyance.

But the longer she glared at you, just like always, you could feel yourself beginning to back down. You wanted to be able to hold your ground, to tell her that she had no right to make such demands of you, but instead you just averted your gaze and let her keep trying to tell you what to do. “It won’t be forever, just until we can catch up on the bills. I’m too busy with all of my already existing school and work obligations and she—” She gestured to your friend who was looking at you apologetically. “She’s got her senior thesis to work on.”

Your little hands were nervously fidgeting with themselves— a habit you’d long been attempting to break since it was a dead giveaway for your anxiety— but you forced yourself to look back up at your rudely assuming roommate as you protested, a slight scowl twitching timidly on your brow, “Well… I’m still in school too. And I have a big test coming up. I don’t think I—”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed, shooting you a condescending smirk. Her words only became even more patronizing as her tone liltingly insulted, “We all know that the only reason you’re even still going to class is because Mommy and Daddy are paying your tuition and you feel bad about letting them down.” You flinched at the sheer audacity of her assumption— even if the part about your parents paying for your education was correct— and felt tears threaten to well in your vision, the back of your nose pickling with the unpleasant emotion.

“That’s not—” you tried to say, but she interrupted again, clearly in the mood to get out all the horrible things she’d ever thought about you in that particular moment.

“And your little cutesy, innocent act doesn’t really work. Not on me, at least.” Your actual friend then shot your roommate a warning glare as she hissed her name. Still, she continued, stepping closer to you as you stood in the doorway and fought to hold back your frustrated tears. “You think I don’t hear you through the wall when you’re on the phone with whoever talking about how—” she then went to imitate your voice in a dumb, high pitched, mocking tone, “you just like, really wish you could drop out already because you don’t even like what you’re studying and this is totally a waste of your time.”

“That’s enough!” your friend raised her voice over the unnecessarily cruel argument. But your roommate wasn’t done showing her true colors just yet. She was going to paint over you with all her harsh, petty shades until even your tears couldn’t wash away the bleak pigment.

“I mean, really. I don’t get how you even got accepted into this school to begin with.” She was standing over you now, glaring down at you as her condescending comments finally pulled the tears from your eyes to streak shimmering lines down your cheeks in pairs. “You’d do better for all of us if you just quit now and worked full time. Then at least you’d be serving a purpose other than desperately trying to hook up with one of the sport’s team captains or offering favors to your professors in exchange for a barely passing grade.”

“I never—!”

“Don’t try and act like that’s not the truth! You just—”

“I said that’s fucking enough!” Both you and your bitch of a roommate turned to look at your friend, who wore an expression of genuine anger now. Her eyes were wide and her shoulders shaking as she nudged her way past the bully who’d just berated you to stand by your side, putting her arms around you as you tried to silence the sobs that were hitching in your chest and scowling hard at the girl who was responsible for breaking you.

“Don’t talk to her like that!” she went on, now shouting and causing your roommate to back down a bit. “Just because she doesn’t feel the same way about school as you do doesn’t mean she doesn’t have the same right to an education! Maybe if you got down from your high horse once in a while you’d realize that you’re not the only one who’s stressed out right now!”

You were glad that your friend was actually defending you so openly. In the past, when your roommate had made little remarks about you to your face or behind your back, your friend hadn’t had it in her to tell her off. She’d just come to you when you were sulking in your room and offer to console you privately.

Still though, after what had just been said, you doubted you could stand to live under the same roof as her for much longer.

The worst part was that you couldn’t just up and leave. Then you’d be abandoning your friend, aside from breaking a lease, and you couldn’t do that to her right now. Not when it was still a struggle to pay the rent with all three of you.

“I’m sorry, but it didn’t sound like you were very willing to go out and get another job!” your confrontational roommate continued. “And I don’t know how many times I have to repeat the fact that I can’t do it because I—”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it!” your friend shot back, still embracing you in solidarity. “You’re smarter and more important than everyone! Would you just get a grip?”

“Oh so now you’re just gonna act like you weren’t agreeing with me two seconds ago?!”

“Y’know what, you’re such a—!”

“Please stop!” you bellowed over the bitter arguing. Your face was a mess, all tear-streaked and red from embarrassment and anger. “Just stop it! Please…”

You began to wipe away your tears, sniffling and trying to catch your breath so you could get a clear sentence out while you had both of their attention.

“I’ll do it, alright…” you caved, shooting the instigator a scathing glare. “I’ll get some extra fucking hours. Just stop talking to me like I’m stupid!” You’d looked your horrible, hurtful roommate in the eyes as you’d spit the word, hoping it sounded like a warning to back off more than a pitiful plea to leave you alone.

She rolled her eyes and scoffed at your sensitivity, turning to grab her bag and head out the door as she added on one final jab at your character, “If you don’t wanna work, why don’t you just make this easier on all of us and find yourself a sugar daddy to pay for your share of the rent? Shouldn’t be hard, given your track record.”

Your friend called after her to come back and apologize as the door to the flat slammed and she disappeared from your sight. You never wanted to see her again, hoped she got hit by a cab or a bus on her way home. When you realized how evil that sounded, you hoped she failed her next test or assignment instead. That would kill her in its own way. And, god, you were just so angry. Because you’d given in again, and to someone who’d said such awful, unforgivable things about you no less.

“I’m so sorry that she said all of that…” your friend attempted to comfort you again as you retreated into your room to change into some clean clothes and aggressively shove your books into your bag. “I’m gonna talk to her. Get her to apologize. And, look, you don’t have to pick up extra hours at work. I know you hate that job. We’ll figure something out, ok…”

You were just about to sadly assure your friend that she didn’t have to go that far. That you’d just take some additional shifts but that the moment you could get out of the lease, you would.

But then your roommates insults came back to you, echoing around in your head until the sarcastic slander turned into a mischievous motivation.

Why don’t you just make this easier on all of us and find yourself a sugar daddy to pay for your share of the rent?

There were apps for that, ones that you could specifically swipe through profiles of wealthy men looking for young, cute girls like yourself until you matched with one. You knew other girls who’d done it, who’d gotten a pair of diamond earrings or a five star dinner date out of it at the very least, if not a casual relationship.

If they could do it, then why couldn’t you?

Shouldn’t be hard, given your track record.

What she’d said about the hookups and the favors weren’t true. You just had a natural talent for getting what you wanted from men, young or old. You knew how to look up at them through your long lashes and give those cute little giggles when they said something that wasn’t even really that funny. You knew which skirts or dresses to wear that drew them to you, made them lose their train of thought as they ogled your appearance, wishing— dreaming— that you’d let them close enough to see what was underneath.

But you always knew when to pull back, when to leave them wanting more.

You were a bit of a tease, sure, you couldn’t deny that. But you weren’t a slut like your roommate seemed to think you were, letting anyone with a dick just stick it in without any effort.

Because, despite the fact that you lived in a shared flat and not a palace, you were a princess, too perfect and pretty for just anyone to have.

You needed someone who would cherish you. Someone who knew how to treat you right in all the ways you deserved.

And while a random man from a sugar daddy dating app wasn’t necessarily in it for the long haul, you did have a feeling someone drawn to that sort of relationship might like to show off— whether it be by his wealth or the pretty girl under his arm— and maybe play the part of a gentleman when taking you out on dates.

So yeah. Later that day during a break in between classes you’d downloaded the app, set up your own profile, and started swiping.

Your roommate could just go fuck herself.

With the way she only had time for her textbook, you figured it was the only way she was ever getting any.

But you’d find someone, even if it was just out of spite, and not only would he help you pay your rent for the remainder of the lease, but he’d do something that showed your roommate that girls like you were smarter than they looked.

Because you could make a man’s bank account bend to your will, so long as your body was willing to bend to his. And that wasn’t a skill you could learn in any classroom.

***

Once you’d returned home to the flat, you’d gone straight to your room, completely ignoring your roommate the same as she was ignoring you, the tension between the two of you thick enough to be cut with a knife.

Your gaze was glued to your phone while hers was glued to her required reading, and while she was probably thinking that you were slacking off again, you were actually hard at work.

Because you’d already gotten five matches an hour after you’d begun swiping through photos. Now you were studying, trying to figure out which option was going to be your best bet.

This was actually a little harder than you’d thought it’d be, if you were being honest. When it came to looks in your final five, you were spoiled for choice. However, it was the messaging aspect of the equation where things got a little… complicated.

There was one man— a Viscount, as his profile very clearly stated— who had long, silky blonde hair and was shamelessly flaunting his abundant status and wealth, each of his pictures displaying himself surrounded with exotic scenery from a vacation or posing wearing luxurious designer brand clothing with a foreign fashion week in the background.

But his propositions to you through your texts weren’t as elegant as his image implied.

Right away he wanted to know if you could meet for sex. He’d asked if you were a virgin— which you didn’t disclose to him and instead talked around with playful replies and winking emojis— and had given you his hotel suite number as he was currently staying in The Langham in London.

He was rather insistent that you pay him a visit and you were starting to get a bad feeling about him, like if you agreed to meet with him and actually went through with it you might not return to your flat after all was said and done.

And not in a he’s swept me off my feet and we’re flying to Mykonos way.

More like a he’s going to kidnap me and lock me in some weird sex dungeon kind of way.

You decided to unmatch with him, crossing him off your mental list of potential men, and moved onto the next one.

The second suitor was also on the younger end of the spectrum, like the Viscount, though still older than you. His name was Charles Grey, and you found him rather striking with his silver-blue eyes and sleek white hair. He looked like trouble right off the bat with that sly smirk and side glance that he hosted in most of his photos, but he appeared to keep himself on a little tighter leash than your first match.

In his messages to you, however, he seemed pretty uninterested despite the fact that he’d obviously found you attractive enough to swipe right. He seemed like he wanted you to show the most effort and you really weren’t into that. You were old school in the way that you wanted the guy to pursue you, not the other way around. He didn’t seem to drop many hints about wanting to meet either. Perhaps he was just toying with you, wanting you to beg for his company so he could decide how far he was going to string you along before finally giving in and making it appear as if he was doing you a favor.

Either way, there was no chemistry there and even less luck in having him pay your bills, so again you moved on and started from square one.

Your next two potentials were what you’d actually expected upon first downloading the app— being that they were older than you. Much older. Old enough to actually be your father, but you weren’t opposed to the idea so long as they treated you right.

One was named Chris Heathfield. He worked for the government— a high ranking position, he’d been quick to let you know— and resided in an ostentatious manor bordering the countryside. But even in his profile photos he was flaunting how many women he liked to have around at all times, so many it was practically a harem. The man was clearly a womanizer, and perhaps you were naive to think that any of your potential choices were any different, but you didn’t exactly want to have to compete with other girls right out of the gate.

Chlaus— he’d given no last name— seemed to be far more genuine and gentlemanly than Heathfield. He had a kind yet enthusiastic smile, like he could enjoy even the most mundane of activities if he was in the right mood.

He traveled a lot and actually wasn’t even currently in the country, as he’d politely informed you in the messages you’d exchanged. He’d even apologized if he’d wasted your time though admitted that, when he did return to London sometime in the future, he’d still like to meet with you if you were still interested. He’d complimented you, told you that he liked your smile in the photos you’d posted, and you’d actually been sort of disappointed that he wasn’t currently available.

Either way, you thanked him for his cordial decency and then was forced to migrate towards your fifth and final match of the day.

Unlike the others, this one had yet to message you. All you had to go by was his profile photos, all of which added a new element to his sinister yet alluring beauty.

He had long, silver hair and piercing green eyes, alabaster skin with a scar cutting a diagonal across his otherwise handsome face. You’d noticed him instantly among the others, so unusual and curious yet still the most enticing.

Perhaps it was the danger of the unknown that drew you to him. Perhaps it was that he was one of the few you’d encountered during the initial phase of swiping that, while still about a decade older than you, wasn’t actually old like Heathfield and Chlaus. And his name had caught your attention too, or at least the alias he’d given himself while using the app.

Undertaker.

That’s all it said.

Not a first or last or really any name at all other than that morbid moniker.

The closer the clock hands approached midnight, the more you were starting to think he’d changed his mind about you— reconsidering whatever it was that had caused him to match with you to begin with— and you were just about to start over with a new batch of wealthy strangers when all of a sudden…

You were notified that you’d received a new message and quickly went to check it, pausing when you saw the preview of the text lighting up besides the arcane name.

Hello, Undertaker’s first message bubble read, plain and simple.

Hi, you typed back in return, adding your favorite smiling emoji afterward.

How are you doing this evening?, he asked next. You told him that you were fine, just sort of bored. Are you in London currently?, he further inquired.

Yeah, you responded, feeling kind of good about the conversation so far, though you tried not to get too far ahead of yourself. You told him you attended a university in the area and then feared that maybe you shouldn’t have said that, remembering stories about girls being stalked by people they’d met over dating apps.

But, much to your relief, Undertaker merely asked what you were studying, seeming to keep things professional for now, if that was a word you could use in this context. You answered and then there was a short lull in the conversation.

You were starting to think that maybe you’d lost him on account of pointless small talk until he came back with another message.

I’d very much like to take you out some time, he said. Is there any specific day or time that you’d be free this upcoming week?

You couldn’t contain your beaming smile.

You felt like you were in high school again, growing giddy over a new crush.

How about this weekend? You suggested. We could meet at the British Museum around noon, if you want?

You watched eagerly as the three dots of the speech bubble that showed he was typing pulsed lightly on the screen. He replied, I’d like that very much, before going on to fix the more specific details.

He asked if he could drive you around after that, bring you to dinner that evening, and to this, while in your head you were thinking nothing but different variations of the word absolutely, you responded with a slightly teasing, Well, we’ll just have to see how things go at the museum, won’t we?, followed by a playful winking emoji.

Back in the study of Undertaker’s ornate gothic mansion, he chuckled to himself while lounging in one of velvety armchairs. He also couldn’t shake the devious grin that had found its way onto his pale face.

Like you, it had been a while since he’d allowed himself to be with someone in any form of intimacy. He was used to filling his schedule with all work and no play and he’d been wanting to change that. What better way than to do it with a cute girl he could pamper?

I’ll see you then, Undertaker typed back, adding a smirking emoji, and you felt your stomach flutter with excitement. With half your face buried in your pillow as you lay sprawled out on your bed texting with the mysterious, monochrome stranger, you tried and failed to hold in a giggle.

See ya~!, you concluded, clicking your screen off and then flipping onto your back to stare at the ceiling as all sorts of scenarios of what this weekend could hold began to play in your mind.

And the more you fantasized, the more your cute, girlish little giggles morphed into something darker, something borderline evil as you thought about how your bitch of a roommate might’ve just shot herself in the foot with the comment she’d made before walking out the door that morning.

I win, you prematurely proclaimed to yourself, a crooked smirk devilishly pulling up one corner of your glossy lips.

I always win.

***

Waiting for the weekend had felt like forever, despite it only having been a few days away, but now that it was here, the mixture of nerves and excitement was steadily filling you to the brim.

You hadn’t told either of your roommates where you were going or what you were doing today. When your friend had told you how nice you looked in your cardigan and cute pastel purple dress and white platform sneakers, you’d simply thanked her, giving no hint of the occasion or who you were meeting with.

You hoped he liked it, at least noticed the effort that curling your hair into perfect ringlets with half pulled up into a ponytail and tied with a silky, cream-colored bow took.

But the longer you stood outside the museum, despite arriving a little early, the more you wondered if you were going to end up getting ghosted and be forced to stroll through the exhibits alone while trying to hide your disappointment that, in the end, you really hadn’t been good enough.

If that happened, you’d have to admit defeat and take those extra shifts at work after all.

You were leaning against one of the pillars, pulling your cardigan tighter over your shoulders as a chilly breeze blew by and staring down at your shoes, gaze tracing the way your laces zig-zagged over each other and dreading what was seeming more and more likely to be you having gone out of your way for nothing with each passing minute until—

You heard a rich, low voice speak your name, causing you to look up with innocent confusion for a second until your stare landed on the tall, silver-haired man standing before you.

He was dressed simply but nicely, in all black with a blazer and turtleneck and shiny oxford shoes, pale hands resting inside his pockets as his steady emerald eyes studied you with slight concern.

You felt yourself start to blush when you realized he’d left you speechless, cracking a small smile as you straightened your posture from the pillar and shuffled a few steps closer to him.

“Y-yes, that’s me,” you replied cheerily, hoping that your voice wasn’t shaking too much. “You made it!”

He drifted a little closer, his shadow looming over you, and you felt your heart drumming against your ribcage, his aura so powerful and unsettling yet his smile appearing calm and kind, trying to put you at ease.

“Of course,” he nodded slowly. “Now…” He gestured his hand towards the front doors. “Shall we?”

You followed after him and pretty soon found your hand in his, praying that your palms didn’t start to sweat from how nervous you were, though his hands were actually pretty cold, so you thought maybe that would help.

Undertaker’s hands were big, yet slender— long, pale fingers brushing gently against your skin as your little grip was swallowed up in his loose fist.

And his face— god…

You’d thought he was attractive in the photos, but in person it was on a whole other level.

You’d never seen someone as gorgeous as him before. Not in real life, at least.

He was like a prince of darkness, somber and eerie qualities colliding with something charming and lovely. Like a rose bush— so many thorns and winding vines to keep others at bay, yet blooming with striking flowers, vibrant petals opening under the light of a full moon only for those he deemed worthy enough to be let into his garden.

It was hard not to blatantly stare at him.

You didn’t want to be weird, didn’t want him to think maybe he should revoke his invitation to drive you around and take you out to dinner after this, but you couldn’t help it, sneaking private glances whenever you could. It appeared you weren’t the only one, what with the eyes of nearly every person you passed as you two strolled through the museum catching on him as well.

But it wasn’t just him who they were staring at, Undertaker realized with a hint of pride. He knew the crowds were just as captivated by the pretty girl by his side, the contrast between his ghostly appearance and your sweet, honey-suckle softness a rare sight to behold.

Undertaker also found it hard not to stare at you long and hard like one of the famous paintings, scanning the curves and lines of your profile and figure when your attention was turned to a particularly unique exhibit.

He traced the form of your silhouette from the top of your head, down the dip under your chin towards your neck and collar bones, over your breasts and stomach to your hips, your exposed thighs, all the way down to your shoes and back up again.

He knew instantly that he was going to have a hard time keeping his hands off you. Undertaker was an intense man— dangerous in ways that you had yet to know about— and the last thing he wanted to do was scare you away.

Not when you were exactly what he’d been looking for for so long.

Not when you were so perfect with that adorable little lilt in your giggle and the way those doe-eyes of yours looked upon things with an indescribable wonder.

Because Undertaker wanted something to protect that wasn’t just all his abundant wealth and status and one of a kind mansion decor. He wanted something— someone— who would be waiting for him at the end of a long day or a particularly harrowing business meeting. Someone he could wrap his arms around and feel their beating heart, feel the way their chest rose and fell with the steady breaths of life.

And you were so warm, so fragile.

He wondered if you had anyone to protect you or if somehow you’d managed to navigate this cruel world all on your own thus far.

And you’d opened up to him a little bit as the two of you got talking during your leisurely stroll through the museum. You’d told him that, while you didn’t have a terrible relationship with your parents, things had been rocky here or there. You’d told him that all they’d ever wanted for you was to attend university, that they’d pay for your tuition and even let you pick which one you would go to so long as you passed your classes and graduated on time.

But you’d never felt like they listened to you, like you could truthfully talk to them and share your troubles. Hence why you left home at the very first opportunity that presented itself. You’d thought getting away and meeting new people would help you find someone you felt you could really be honest with and rely on. Though, so far, it hadn’t been exactly what you’d expected…

“Well, I consider myself a very good listener,” Undertaker promised with a gentle smirk as his grip around your hand squeezed a little, drawing your gaze up to meet his once more. “I’m quite good at keeping secrets as well.”

You didn’t know what to say, could only gape at him in that doe-eyed way of yours that he was quickly becoming addicted to. He would turn it into a game, seeing how many times he could get you to look at him like that, like he was the only thing in your entire world.

Forget money and power.

What Undertaker wanted was you wanting him, needing him.

But soon enough you snapped out of it, shaking your head a bit as if to clear your daze. Then, as you neared the final exhibit, you finally gained enough courage to inquire, “So… Undertaker, huh? I’m guessing that’s not your real name…?” trying to tread carefully, not wanting to pry too much, but unable to hold in this curiosity any longer.

The mysterious man sighed out a breathy chuckle. “In my line of work,” he began, “it can be rather dangerous for one to expose their true name. So I keep mine hidden.” He paused then, as if expecting you to ask more questions or make a comment. When you just seemed to be willing to listen, he went on. “Does that bother you?” he asked with a small lift of an eyebrow.

You shook your head, glancing back up at him as you stopped before the final exhibit on your loop through the museum. “No. I mean, I won’t lie. I did find it strange at first. But you seem like you have your reasons, so…”

Your sentence trailed off as you became occupied with the art piece in front of you, lips slightly parted as you stared ahead, giving Undertaker yet another opportunity to study your face.

But this time he was staring at you with a little more than admiration for your appearance. This time he looked upon you like you were the first person he’d met who seemed to understand him in some way, to accept him as he was.

Because even his closest confidants had wondered why he couldn’t just tell them his real name, why he refused to tell anyone no matter what.

And you’d just dropped it after that, respecting his wishes to go by the moniker and moving on like it wasn’t odd even in the slightest.

He felt himself migrating closer to you, lowering his lips in hopes of meeting yours, but then stopped himself when he thought perhaps it was still too soon for that. He’d wait until the moment was right, whether that was today or tonight or days, weeks, months from now.

Because he didn’t want to mess this up. Not with you. Not when he’d finally managed to find someone who, despite his appearance or his name or the fact that he always seemed to be alluding to something darker and much more dangerous than he let on, didn’t seem to hold it against him.

And he wasn’t going to let you go. He’d do anything to make you stay, to keep you all for himself.

If it was money you were after, he’d give it to you. If it was him taking you on vacations then so be it. If it was someone who could take care of you and provide, that would be easy.

Whatever you wanted or needed, all you had to do was say the word and he’d make sure you had it.

In the beginning, he’d give it to you for free. Though, there would reach a point when he’d want something in return, though he knew he couldn’t force that on you. At least, not the first time.

“That was fun!” you smiled as the two of you exited the museum, your fingers now interlocked in a more romantic and intimate gesture. It only lasted a mere minute before your touch broke and the two of you were standing across from each other on the sidewalk, but it was long enough to send that warm feeling fluttering in your belly again. “Thanks for taking me.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” Undertaker replied. He hoped that you weren’t just being polite and wished to go home now. He still really did want to spend more time with you. Whether that was over dinner or not was irrelevant now. He’d sit on a park bench and attempt to get to know you better if that’s all you’d give him.

When you sort of just seemed to stand there and look up at him with a smile, no sign of searching the curb for where you’d parked a car or gotten off at a bus stop present in your expression, he hesitantly asked, “Did you… walk here or…?”

“Oh!” you snapped out of your daze, hypnotized by his brilliant emerald stare and that scar etched across his face yet again. Through a nervous chuckle you said, “Yeah, actually, I did… I live sort of in the area and I don’t have a car so…”

“I’m parked nearby,” he began, already taking a step in the direction where he could see his vintage vehicle from down the street. “I can drive you home if you’d like to return or we could continue on to another location?”

You considered this, though you already knew that you didn’t want to go home. When you smiled and nodded and told him that you’d like to continue enjoying his company, he put an arm around you and guided you towards his car— a 1953 Rolls Royce Dawn Drophead— and you expressed your marvel at the spotless obsidian automobile.

“Allow me,” Undertaker offered as he grabbed the door for you, letting you slide into the passenger's seat before closing it and coming around to take his place behind the wheel. The roof was down and you felt a new wave of excitement wash over you, never having ridden in a convertible before.

You didn’t know where you were going, but you honestly didn’t even care. As Undertaker skillfully wove in and out of traffic and the wind blew through your hair, your exhilarated laughter sounding off beside him as music blasted from the radio, you felt alive.

And so did he, for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

It had been so long that he’d almost forgotten what that felt like.

And you, well, you were actually starting to thank your roommate for giving you this idea in the first place.

***

The luxury department store was one that you’d seen in passing since moving to the city but never had the nerve to step inside of.

Not until today, that is.

Among some of the signs that decorated the storefronts of the extravagant shopping mall were names like Gucci and Versace, Dolce & Gabbana, Louis Vuitton, Prada, Tiffany and Chanel.

You couldn’t believe what you were seeing— all the beautiful designer clothes and handcrafted jewelry— the handbags and the belts and the shoes that were perfectly placed on display lining the windows and walls of each store.

“Do you enjoy fashion?” Undertaker asked you as you ooed and awed at all the options, his hand finding your shoulder as he gently rubbed a thumb over some of your soft, exposed skin, your cardigan having been courteously taken by the greeter at the entrance of the store for safekeeping while you tried on clothes.

He already knew that you did. Had found you on social media soon after matching with you and done some digging.

You were a wannabe fashion influencer, and given the fact that you didn’t have access to exclusive items just yet, your style and taste spoke for itself, even if it was on a budget. Not to mention, for a girl who was sharing a cramped flat in London and struggling to pay her rent, ten thousand wasn’t a number to laugh at when it came to followers.

“I do!” you replied enthusiastically, looking up at him with another one of those cute little smiles and a giggle that captivated Undertaker every time. Then, as his arm fell to cradle your waist and hold you a little closer, you shyly admitted, “I’ve never worn anything as nice as this before though…”

The ebony clad man chuckled. “Well then,” he prompted playfully, “we’ll have to change that, won’t we?”

Your eyes widened once you realized what he was getting at.

Your first instinct was to turn down such a pricey offer. If this were anyone else, you would’ve. But then you were reminded of the circumstances under which you’d met and that perhaps it would be rude not to let him spend some of his abundant wealth on you.

So you did what you were best at. You looked cute and acted on your best behavior as the two of you traveled from designer to designer, trying on all sorts of outfits and showing yourself off to him as you did so. He seemed pleased, with both you and what the mall had in stock that day, and had even purchased some items for himself along the way.

“How about this one?” he asked as he lightly ran his long fingers over the satiny fabric of a dark blue babydoll dress, one with a low back and cute puffed sleeves and a bow tied around the waist to hug your form.

Your wardrobe mainly consisted of pastels and light neutrals, a few darker colors thrown in but not many that you wore that often. Even so, if this was what he liked, the least you could do was try it on for him.

When you came out of the dressing room, holding out the flared skirt a little bit as you twirled, something in Undertaker’s chartreuse gaze changed. He’d liked all the others, sure. They’d suited you just fine. But this one…

This one made you look like Undertaker’s perfect little doll, one that he’d designed and dressed personally.

“You look beautiful,” he commended, just like with the other dresses you’d modeled for him, but then added through an awestruck sigh, “Absolutely gorgeous…” that made you stop for a moment and stare at him, blinking those innocent doe-eyes of yours, suddenly aware of just how intensely he was looking at you.

If you weren’t mistaken, you might’ve read it for pure adoration.

But you two had barely just met, so it couldn’t really be that, could it?

“D-do you really like this one?” you asked through a timid grin, turning halfway to look yourself over in one of the mirrors again, little fingers adjusting the way the bow looked in the back.

“I think it’s marvelous,” Undertaker replied coolly, stuck in a dream-like daze as his eyes slowly scanned up and down your figure once more. “But do you like it?”

You considered yourself, making sure that the garment lay right over your body, wondering if the shade looked too dark on you, but slowly, surprisingly, it was winning you over.

You nodded and began to smile again. As you turned back to face him you said, “I do like it.”

“Shall I buy it for you then, as one last treat?” he asked next. He’d already treated you to quite the expensive spree, so you fumbled for the price tag to find out just how much more you’d be depleting his bank account, but before your view could land upon the number, Undertaker was at your side, his hand wrapped around yours as he quietly reminded you, “Don’t worry about that. It’s on me, remember?”

“But…” you stalled, looking up at his looming form.

“No buts, princess,” he lightly chided, turning you around to face the mirror again as his chest pressed against your back, taking your other hand in his and holding your arms up and out a little bit as you surrendered to his grasp, like a pretty butterfly splayed out beneath the glass of a display case. It was the first time you were really noticing just how small you were compared to him. It sent another wave of that sweet, dangerous fluttering roll through your stomach, the thought of what he’d look like while on top of you flashing through your mind as you fought the urge to squirm. “You look stunning. Worth all the money in the world. So what do you say? Would you like to wear this to dinner tonight?”

Dinner. That’s right. He’d invited you to dinner.

You had no idea what kind of restaurant it would be, but with the kind of money he seemed to be so keen to spend on you, it was bound to be one with a dress code.

“O… ok…” you muttered shakily as you watched him moving his hand about you through the mirror, chilled palms gliding down towards your elbows then back up to your shoulders, sending a shiver down your spine when they found your waist and savored the trip down to your hips, resting there as his long fingers lightly pressed into your soft skin.

And it was taking every ounce of patience Undertaker had not to pull you into one of the big dressing rooms, shut the door, and have his way with you against one of the plush couches there. He’d watch your reflection writhe and arch as he hiked the expensive dress up and ran his touch down to the most tender parts of you. He wanted to know what your underwear looked like, if they’d be as cute and delicate as you were, if your bra and panties would match.

He was willing to bet they would, even if it was just for this special occasion. And even as he discarded them to the floor, exposing you to him fully, your face hot and red from embarrassment and anticipation, you’d still be his adorable little doll, his good girl, his perfect, pretty princess as he sunk into you and felt you pulse and squeeze around him in the most delectable way.

He wanted to know what sounds you’d make— what sounds he could force you to make against your will as he thrust deeper into your tight, wet warmth. Were you the kind to beg? The kind to cry? Did you want him talking dirty to you or would the skillful path of his touch across your skin be enough to make you wet for him?

God, he wanted to know. And he was determined to find out. But not here. Not now. It still wasn’t the right time for that. Besides, you’d only just put on the dress. He wanted to admire you in it for a little longer.

So the two of you moved up to the check out desk, you still wearing the dress after Undertaker had told— not asked, told— the saleswoman who’d been assisting you that you’d be walking out with it on. When she’d announced the amount of money that was due, you’d nearly flinched at the number. Meanwhile, Undertaker had simply handed her a shiny black credit card without batting an eye. He’d paid and she’d snipped the tag, which you only then noticed didn’t even have a price on it, but instead merely held a scancode that was meant to alert the anti-theft alarm if anyone tried to exit the store without paying.

“Th-thank you,” you stammered nervously as you exited the store with him, the lilac dress and cardigan you’d started the day in folded neatly and placed inside a bag that swung from Undertaker’s hand. “I-I’ve never worn something this nice. I promise to take good care of it.”

That dark, almost ominous chuckle escaped Undertaker’s lips again, his free hand finding you once more and lightly tugging you closer to him, as if he was afraid you’d stray too far and wander off. “There will be plenty more where that came from,” he promised, and you felt your face begin to blush, though you couldn’t exactly place why. “Now, shall we find you a pair of shoes and some jewelry to go with it?”

***

You now wore an entirely different outfit than before, your white platform sneakers and delicate gold heart necklace safe inside their own bags from when they’d been replaced by shiny, chunky-heeled, black mary janes and a diamond choker, dangling, teardrop earrings to match.

Every reflective surface you passed, whether it was a shop window or the glossy black surface of Undertaker’s vintage car, you couldn’t help but stare at yourself.

You almost couldn’t recognize yourself all wrapped up in this new aesthetic, not accustomed to such dark colors adorning your figure, but there was something about it that did suit you, to your surprise. Undertaker made sure to remind you of it as he’d caught you examining your glittering jewelry in the front mirror of the passenger side as you two pulled into reserved parking at the fancy restaurant, causing one more shy smile to spread across your lips before he came around to open the door for you and tossed his keys to the young valet.

This was an establishment that Undertaker frequented, as he hadn’t hesitated to request his “usual table”, the hostess giving a charming, “but of course, right this way,” before guiding the two of you through the candle lit dining hall, your date lightly tugging you along by the hand as you craned your neck to gaze up at all the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, a live piano player performing soft jazz from a slightly elevated platform at the center of the room.

After taking your seat and being informed that your waiter would be over shortly, you found yourself feeling out of place once again. Because, sure, you looked like you belonged here, but as you tried to read over the menu— most of which was in French— and didn’t recognize a single thing, the insecurities that you were an imposter began to creep back in.

“Why don’t you let me take care of that?” Undertaker suggested, taking the menu from your fidgeting grip and folding it back up, placing it on the edge of the table. Normally you’d hate it if a date ordered for you, oftentimes becoming cocky and picking something you didn’t even like. But now, you were sort of relieved. Besides, it seemed like Undertaker had a much better idea of what you’d like based on impression alone than any of your previous admirers.

After a quick survey asking what kinds of foods and flavors you preferred and if there were any particular textures or other aspects that would ruin the night’s culinary experience, Undertaker began nodding to himself, iridescent eyes scanning one of the pages until he landed on something he thought you might enjoy.

“So…” he began, swirling the vintage red in his glass as he gazed over the rim at you and your fizzy fruit drink. “Tell me about yourself…”

You had to stifle a laugh. It seemed so cliche, yet held an air of authenticity that you couldn’t help but find endearing. You’d shared a few things about your personal life and interests as you’d been walking through the museum— like the music you liked and a really good movie you’d watched recently and a little bit about what you’d been studying in school— but when posed with the question now, your mind suddenly went blank.

“Why don’t you tell me about you?” you playfully suggested, idly twirling a strand of your hair as you sipped the magenta dragon fruit drink up the glass straw teased between your teeth. “I mean…” You recrossed your legs as you leaned in a little closer, raising one skeptical eyebrow. “I feel like you already know plenty about me.”

Flashing a coy smirk, Undertaker traded you an amused grin. You hummed out a mischievous, lilting note as you awaited his response, tempted to brush the toe of your shoe against his ankle to see what would happen if you flirted more openly.

Because— aside from the obvious fact that he had plenty of money and had already spoiled you beyond your wildest imagination— you did like him. You liked the way he looked at you, soft and caring rather than hungry and expectant like most blind dates tended to go. You liked that he paid attention to little details like grabbing the door for you and offering you his jacket when he’d noticed you pulling your cardigan tighter around your shoulders on the walk from the museum to the car. You liked that he was sophisticated but not arrogant and also that he carried this sense of protection over you.

That last notion made you once again wonder what he did for a living. Someone as mysterious and secretive— so secretive that his own colleagues didn’t know his real name, as he’d casually mentioned while skirting around the question about his job earlier— as him could be involved in all kinds of nefarious activities.

Maybe he was a hitman, or a smuggler of rare, foreign gems.

He could be a conman or a cult leader or a curiously eccentric artist.

He was a book with thick binding, yet every page you flipped to was blank.

But you wanted to know him— wanted to get to know him— if he gave you the chance.

“I told you earlier that I’m good at keeping secrets,” Undertaker said, his voice dropping an octave lower. “But the real question is… are you?”

You took a moment to think about that. You thought you were. Because, as good and eager as you were at collecting gossip, you had never been one to spread it.

Not unless absolutely necessary, that is, and even then it was only to your closest friends when it concerned them directly.

“I can keep a secret,” you promised, both of you searching each other’s eyes for a minute before your food arrived and the tense, exhilarating moment was temporarily put on hold while you smiled and thanked the waiter.

Between the first bites of your dinner, Undertaker strategically spoke of his work, dropping hints that it was classified and dangerous and underground. You listened intently, nodding along as if you were slowly but surely decoding the hidden messages woven throughout his cryptic words.

Then, after he seemed done divulging all the details he could without giving it all away, you looked at him with a slightly cocked head, eyes squinted cynically as you smirked and said, “So… You work for the FBI or something, right? Or— no—!” you excitedly changed your guess, “The CIA?”

Truthfully, you didn’t really know the difference, but based on what he’d told you, it seemed like some kind of secretive, high-profile government intelligence.

“No, not quite,” Undertaker chuckled, unable to fully contain just how absolutely adorable he found you. “Though, I may have crossed paths with some people in that profession before.”

You let out another giggle, thinking he was merely toying with you just for amusement’s sake, but, despite his lighthearted tone, Undertaker was being deathly serious. If only you knew how many times he’d been investigated by all kinds of intelligence agencies, both domestic and foreign. How he’d evaded each and every one of them and their prying questions, killed the ones who got a little too close. Because his security and control over his organization was air tight, locked with a key long thrown away, buried six feet deep somewhere along with the life he’d left behind in pursuit of something bigger and better and far more brilliant than he could’ve ever imagined at the start.

He’d have to protect you from their scheming, sinister ways soon too, if you allowed yourself to be kept by him. Only then would he have to disclose more of the truth to you, make sure you really understood the gravity of it all.

But, for now, that could wait.

For now, he could continue to let you believe you lived in the perfect fantasy among glittering crystal and sparkling champagne— a fairy tale of his own dark and twisted design.

After dinner had concluded and Undertaker had left a generous tip to the kind waiter, you two had returned to his shiny black car that was already waiting for you upon exiting the restaurant. Climbing back inside as he closed the door behind you, you once again caught your reflection in the side-view mirror, having forgotten the drastic change of appearance from when you’d first walked out your front door this morning.

Undertaker’s earlier compliment returned to you. “Absolutely gorgeous” he’d called you. At the time, you’d just thought he was being kind, simply repeating a line he probably used on all the pretty girls he’d taken out.

But now you saw it too.

You were gorgeous. Exquisite. Divine.

And it made you wonder…

How long had it been since you last thought that about yourself? Since you’d last believed it?

“Now…” Undertaker began the moment he was back behind the wheel, looking over at you with one hand resting on the gear shift. “I can either drop you back off at your flat or—” He reached over and gently brushed a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, caressing your cheek with the back of his hand, tender. “We can return to my estate to continue enjoying each other’s company.” He put the car in drive and began to slowly roll away from the curb. “It’s up to you.”

You had to fight back the urge to immediately blurt out a damn near desperate sounding “yes!”, your cheeks heating as you gave a cute little smile and nod and responded with a much more reserved, “I’d like that very much.”

Undertaker smiled too— one of those soft, charming, doting grins that made you feel like you were special, as naive as it might’ve been.

“Well then, in that case,” he said, merging back in with traffic and zipping skillfully through the city’s narrow streets, “Why don’t you play some of that music you were telling me about earlier. It’s a bit of a long drive.”

***

You’d texted your friend, let her know you wouldn’t be back tonight, that you’d met someone and wanted to keep things going.

She’d asked you if you were ok, reminding you to be safe, and when you’d assured her things were going great, she sent you back a cute winking emoji and a playfully supportive, “go get some, girl!”.

Your phone was almost dead at that point, so you decided to slip it into your purse and focus on the scenery passing by out the car window as your favorite album continued playing. The lights of the city gave way to the quiet, serene darkness of the countryside beyond London’s looming architecture, the little pond of your usual stomping grounds expanding into a vast ocean of tall trees and vacant roads.

The closer you approached to Undertaker’s residence, the more you began to see mansions and manors sporadically spotting the fields, each one protected by its own unique, intricate gate or wall of manicured hedges.

Each one you passed was grander than the last, and you started to become a little nervous about what you were blindly stepping into.

Your mind went to a few darker places as well, like, if he wanted to hurt you, out here, no one would hear your screams. And, even if you did manage to escape, you could never hope to make it back to the city on foot before he caught you, acres of open land and who knows what else lurking in the shadows ready to trap you out in this valley of silent luxury.

“It’s just up ahead,” Undertaker informed you, pulling you from your anxious spiral. When you turned your attention back out the windshield, you saw the distant lights that dotted the driveway, a cage of winding, iron wrought bars curling around the perimeter of the magnificent gothic mansion.

You weren’t sure how long your mouth had been hanging open before you realized and closed it, but as the gilded gates parted and Undertaker pulled around the horseshoe driveway to the opulent, double front doors, your jaw dropped once more.

“This is…” you sighed out in awe, your face practically pressed to the passenger-side window to get a better look.

“It’s not to everyone’s taste,” Undertaker shrugged, suddenly modest. “But it’s home.”

You turned to face him, looking completely incredulous with your brows knit together and your slightly parted lips turned down into a gentle frown, as if you were offended on his behalf.

“No, it’s—” Your hand reached forward to rest atop his on the gearshift. You were unaware you’d even done it, but for Undertaker, the soft, reassuring touch was driving him insane. Because you were just so sweet, so genuine. Far more than anyone like him had ever experienced or deserved. Every second that passed with your skin on his, the more addicted he became.

All the while, you continued with a bout of stumbling compliments. “It’s amazing! I mean— It’s just so beautiful. I—” What remained of your sentence tapered off into sounds of sputtering nonsense, unable to articulate what you really meant, how impressed you were with every single thing he’d shown you so far, but luckily, Undertaker got the gist.

“I appreciate the praise,” he chuckled weakly, taking your little hand in his cool, comforting grasp. Slowly, you watched as he raised your hand to his lips, placed a chaste kiss to the back of it, then gave you another one of those loving smiles, the scar peeking out from his curtain of silver hair shining in the moonlight. “Would you like to come inside?”

***

The high ceilings and wide halls echoed eerily with every tap your heeled shoes made across the black and white checkered marble flooring. The house had been dark before Undertaker used his phone to activate the lights throughout the lower floor, priceless antiques and imported, one of a kind art pieces illuminated by crystal chandeliers and golden sconces.

However, for all the ornate wealth that glittered and shined throughout every new space of the open floor plan you passed through, you noticed something strange…

For a house of this size, this status, there didn’t appear to be a single housestaff member in sight. Not a maid or a cook or a butler.

“Ah…” Undertaker contemplated when you asked him if you two were alone here, the question coming out a little more nervously than you’d intended. “Well, I suppose I can’t be too careful these days…” He explained that he could only trust a small, select group of people, though, when it came to his home, he preferred to manage it himself. “I find help to be a bit redundant,” He said, flashing you an almost apologetic grin. “Besides, I enjoy doing things like cooking and gardening. It’s a nice retreat from the usual chaos of my life, so I don’t believe in giving that up to anyone else, even if they are deemed a professional.”

You could respect that, actually.

Plus, it made you curious to try his cooking, especially after experiencing how refined his taste was.

Anyway, after going through the first floor, the two of you headed upstairs to conclude the tour, finishing at the master bedroom.

“Your house is very nice,” you complimented, trying hard not to eye the bed too obviously, all those fluffy, goosedown comforters and egyptian cotton tempting you. “It…” You searched his eyes, loving the way they shimmered like emeralds in the dim light, then smiled as you said, “It suits you.”

Undertaker thanked you for your kind words, running one of his palms from your shoulder down to your hand before intertwining your fingers with his again, this time with nothing to interrupt the intimate gesture.

“You look good surrounded by all of it, darling…” Kissing your hand again, he used his thumb to gently smooth over the knuckles of your delicate little fingers, dwarfed in his grasp. “You make the place feel more like home.”

***

He moved slowly, cautiously, as if approaching too quickly would spook you and send you skittering like a startled alley cat. And you were nervous— not scared, but definitely nervous— as your heart hammered in your chest and your hands began to tremble.

He leaned down to give you a kiss, soft at first, testing to see how far you’d let him go. When you seemed to reciprocate, he came back for another, this one a little more daring as he rested his hands on your waist and held you there, his tongue slipping into the heat of your mouth. But again, you didn’t pull away.

His grip on you became tighter, causing you to suck in a short gasp as he kissed you deeper. You could feel a devious smirk spreading across his lips as a hum of a chuckle vibrated in his throat.

“Are you alright?” he asked in a low, seductive tone, brilliant gaze scanning you while his hands kept purchase on your hips.

You couldn’t look him in the eyes now, were too embarrassed by how red your face had probably gone, how hot your body felt just from something as simple as kissing, unable to deny the chemistry that was swimming between you two.

But when he lightly took your chin in his hand and guided your face upward, you let him, that piercing, chartreuse, half-lidded stare sending a shiver through your entire body. You felt tears threaten to well in your eyes and at first you didn’t quite know why.

Was it because you were just so nervous, so embarrassed?

Was it because you really were scared, unsure of whether you wanted to trust this man that you’d just met or not?

Or was it because you hadn’t told him that you were a virgin and knew where this night was likely headed?

If you did tell him, would he stop? Would he decide this interaction was over and call someone to take you home?

You didn’t particularly want to end things here. You were willing to go further, you thought, but perhaps it would be to your benefit to mention it to him.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Undertaker cooed as he stroked his thumb along your jaw, his soft grin never fading. “Come on… You can tell me.”

“I-I…” you began, feeling more and more like you were going to cry.

“Yes…?” he urged you, silver brows lifting with slight intrigue.

“I, um… Well…” You averted your gaze off to the side. “I’ve actually never…”

You couldn’t say it.

Even if you wanted to, the words wouldn’t leave you.

“Never what?” Undertaker pressed, tone still silky smooth and looking at you in that sinisterly seductive way of his. Despite the fact that he’d already caught on though— call it his craving for control, or just the fact that he thought you were cute— he needed to hear you say it.

“I-I’m sorry…” you stuttered, feeling as if you were already proving to be a disappointment. Tears welled to the brim of your lashline now, sparkling in the low light of the bedroom. But you had to say it. You had to admit to him the one secret that no one else would probably believe about you. “It’s just… I’m actually… I’m actually a virgin and I—”

Your tears spilled over, racing each other over your cheeks until Undertaker lifted one of his hands from your waist and gently wiped them away, his smirk gone now as he cast a gaze of genuine concern upon your adorably pathetic face.

You were shaking even harder now, both from fear of rejection and frustration at yourself for not being able to contain your emotions. But still, that didn’t seem to bother the man in front of you.

“Oh, sweetheart…” he soothed in a calming whisper, bringing you in closer for a comforting embrace, lightly combing through your hair with his pale, slender fingers. “It’s alright. There’s no need to be upset…” You buried your face further into the expensive fabrics of his coat, feeling safer the closer you were to him. “I’m going to take good care of you…” he then whispered in your ear. “I just need you to trust me.”

The only response you gave was a weak nod as you nuzzled further into him, little hands gripping his shoulders as he lifted you into his arms and rocked you gently until your nervous quivering subsided. When you finally found it in yourself to look back up at him, big doe-eyes so innocent, so adorable, Undertaker’s adoring smile returned.

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you?” he asked you then, voice still feather soft and strangely attentive, as if he was willing to do anything to keep you like this. Keep you all for himself.

But to his question, you just nodded, swallowing down some more of your worries as you tried to stay calm. He was lovingly stroking the soft skin of your cheek with the back of his knuckles, taking in as much of you like this while he still could before he had you panting shallow breaths and clutching the sheets for dear life as you trembled and writhed beneath him.

He’d like you just as much in that state, but it had been so long that he’d found a sweet little princess who truly was as her image implied. Because for so many others, it was merely performative, a trap set to ensnare wealthy men like him who had a type they could imitate.

No, with you he knew it was real. And that’s why he fell in love with you after just a few hours of each other’s company.

Undertaker strolled over to the bed then, sitting down on the edge with you still in his arms.

You hadn’t said a word.

What could you say?

You knew what to expect, in the simplest sense, but still, someone like him could be into all kinds of things that you didn’t even know about. The size of him compared to you alone was intimidating, how he towered over you and how your delicate little hand could disappear inside his massive grip. But part of you also liked that— liked that he was so much more powerful than you, stronger than you could ever have a chance of fighting against.

Because even if your mind had concerns, your body was already reacting positively to the idea.

Undertaker began to position you differently and you followed his lead, moving along with him to where he wanted you to straddle his lap, his hands back on your hips now as yours rested on his shoulders.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked you then, hands leisurely running up and down your sides, tracing along your waist.

You nodded again, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. “I-I’m sure…” you replied, hoping the crack in your voice went unnoticed.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he assured you once more, pulling you a little closer and repositioning you slightly. “You can trust me.” He pressed his lips to your neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses along your pulse. You leaned your head back instinctively, giving him easier access as he began to suck little bruises into your skin, a new wave of shivers surging through your body at the sensation.

A few soft moans and whines escaped your throat and Undertaker’s smirk widened. He brought his lips right next to your ear and whispered, “Do you trust me, baby?”

You hadn’t even really heard what he said over the racing of your heart and the lust that was clouding your mind, pooling warm and heavy in your lower belly, but you didn’t really care. You just nodded and let the tension melt away with his kisses, which soon found your mouth again, these ones much deeper and more passionate than the first round, slow and savoring.

You soon felt something hard pressing into you where you straddled his lap, the thin lace of your panties the only thing to protect you as more heat coiled in the pit of your stomach, and you hesitantly grinded down a little on him.

His grip on your hips flexed as he pulled you down to rub even harder against his growing erection, you becoming wetter with every roll of your hips, a cute, breathy moan sneaking past your lips every time he helped you press on just the right spot for you both.

You didn’t want to stop. Couldn’t stop. It felt too good, just by doing this, and it scared you a little how much better it might feel if you really went all the way with him. But that really wasn’t up to you anymore. Because Undertaker had you wrapped around his finger like one of his sterling silver rings now.

For the remainder of the night, at least, you’d do anything he wanted, anything he asked.

Because, for whatever odd reason— ignoring the fact that you’d only known each other for a day and you barely knew the first thing about him— didn’t even know his real name— you did trust him. And what was even more, he trusted you.

He trusted you not to leave him when this was done, and that was also a rare occurrence when it came to his previous companions.

A loud, high-pitched moan forced its way out of you as he pressed you down even harder, feeling your clit throbbing through the lace and wanting to keep you under his control for as long as possible, dangling you from the edge until he decided to let you go.

It was something Undertaker was good at— controlling his partner’s orgasms— and what you didn’t realize yet was that he could use it as a punishment if he wanted to, could use it to get you begging for mercy if ever you did something bad.

But not yet.

No, Undertaker was just getting started with you.

“Take them off,” he ordered. You stilled for a moment, looking at him with uncertainty. “Your panties,” he clarified. “Take them off.”

And, because you were a good girl, you listened. You were going to step down from the bed and discard them, but you gave a startled gasp as Undertaker decided he wanted to be the one to do it instead, quickly flipping you onto your back and leaning over you while your legs were still spread. He paused, staring into your wide eyes with his unshakable confidence before puffing out a small breath of amusement from his nose and hooking his thumbs under the waistband of the lace, slowly pulling the thin fabric down and exposing your soaked slit to the cold air of the room.

Once they were completely removed from your person, he balled your panties up in his fist and shoved them into his back pocket. You didn’t think you’d be getting them back, but you didn’t care. It would just be an excuse for him to buy you new ones anyway.

You tried to pull your legs together, face red hot with embarrassment again, but he didn’t give you enough time, effortlessly pulling you back up with him to sit just as you had before, no delicate lace to protect you anymore. But now you were nervous for a different reason. Because you were so wet, and Undertaker knew that, but you weren’t sure if he actually wanted you to ruin his expensive trousers.

“Go on,” he chuckled upon your hesitation. “It’s ok.”

“But…” you barely protested before he settled you back over his still hard cock, you wincing as the rough texture of the trouser’s fabric pressed against your clit.

“No buts,” Undertaker playfully warned, slowly rolling his hips up into you to tempt you to find your rhythm again. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you? So do as Daddy says.”

At that, you felt even more arousal leaking from you, going back to grinding on him, the sensation different but better.

As you did this, Undertaker moved his hands up to where your dress hung off your shoulders a bit, pulling down the neckline until the matching lace of your bra was exposed to him, cupping both your breasts in his hands and kissing your cleavage, earning himself another one of those cute sounds he was slowly becoming addicted to.

When he reached behind you to unhook your bra, you stilled again, breathing stuttering a bit as you found yourself even more exposed, the undergarment tossed to the floor and your nipples already furled tight from the chill that permeated the entire mansion.

“U-Undertaker!” you gasped as another one of his kisses found your nipple.

Calling him that out loud still felt strange, and you almost wanted to try and ask him again what his real name was, despite him seeming so protective over it the first time you’d inquired.

Maybe you’d get used to it.

But when another whimper of “Daddy…” trailed off your lips as his tongue teased the sensitive bud of your breast, the mysterious, monochrome man seemed to like that, so you figured perhaps that ought to be the name you addressed him by.

Undertaker chuckled darkly then, slowly laying you down on your back and pulling your dress down over your hips and tossing it to the floor to join your bra, leaving you completely bare and vulnerable under him now.

Normally, he would get completely undressed before stripping away the last of your remaining fabrics, always liking to savor the moment when the most tender parts of a body were exposed to him, but tonight he’d gotten too caught up with having a new toy to follow the usual protocol.

Because you were a gift. Truly, you were.

You were a sweet girl, a good girl, an adorable, darling little doll for him to dress and undress as he pleased.

And even as you lay in anticipation for the crescendo of the moaning chorus the two of you would compose together— face blushed and body trembling, ready to arch and sway to his touch— he knew you were different from the others who’d been under him like this before.

And after tonight, after he’d had you, he’d only want you more.

Just like a prized possession or a favorite pet, he couldn’t let anyone else get their hands on you. And he’d do anything to ensure that you stayed.

“D-Daddy…?” you whimpered hesitantly as Undertaker was almost completely freed of his clothing, so many layers to get through before all of his pale white skin and deep silvery scars were on deadly display.

The slash running across his face had been a bit jarring at first, though had added to his appeal, the extra element of implied danger attracting you to him.

But there were so many more, his entire body littered with them, and you couldn’t help but wonder just what— or who— had done something like this to him. What was even capable of inflicting such lasting damage.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he asked, positioning himself over you again and holding your wrists above your head in one large hand, his palm cold against the warmth of blood coursing fast under your skin.

What happened to you?

Who did this?

Are you ok?

All questions that you wanted to ask, but didn’t.

Instead, what came out was, “P-please be careful with me…”

Undertaker clicked his tongue through a smile, cooing at you almost condescendingly as he reassured, “I’ll be gentle, baby. Don’t you worry.”

With his free hand, he reached down to run his middle fingers over your drenched cunt, massaging your clit and making you jolt when he found just the right spot.

And god, he liked to tease you, applying pressure on your most sensitive area and making you squirm and writhe and beg before letting another sinister chuckle rumble through his chest and moving his fingers lower to enter your tight, needy little hole.

You sucked in a shuddering gasp when one finger slipped in, then two, rhythmically pumping in and out while beginning to scissor inside and stretch you, making you whine and wince every so often.

“You’re beautiful, sweetheart,” he muttered in a low, velvety baritone, making that sensation in your stomach wind tighter and tighter. “You’re doing so good…”

Once he felt like he’d stretched you enough— though you were still so tight— he slightly repositioned himself over you, using his knees to spread your legs a little further apart as your body tried to pull them back together against your will.

You tried not to tense up too much, tried to stay calm and relaxed as you felt him lining himself up with your pulsing entrance and then slowly press the tip of his cock inside. You winced when he first entered you, the feeling foreign but not entirely as uncomfortable as you’d thought it’d be.

And Undertaker was keeping his promise, being as gentle as he could, aside from that fact that when you whimpered or whined or tensed he didn’t stop, just slowed down until he felt like you could take a faster pace. Your sensitive skin tore around the thickness of him, feeling like you were being split in two as your teeth clenched and your toes curled in an attempt to outlast the pain.

Once he was fully inserted, you both stilled for a moment, him helping you adjust yourself over his cock and catch your breath for a second before he began with smooth, rhythmic rolls of his hips into yours.

Once he pulled another one of those irresistible little sounds of pleasure from you, he couldn’t help but pick up speed, the rolling morphing into thrusting, trying as hard as he could to work you up to his preferred pace lest he frighten you with the intensity of which you’d get used to, eventually.

“That’s it… baby girl…” he spoke in between grunts as your cunt constricted even tighter around his cock, your eyes already beginning to roll back as you felt your limit approaching.

But Undertaker didn’t want to let you come yet.

He liked looking at the fucked-out daze that splayed across your face, even that expression appearing adorable when you were the one wearing it.

“D-Daddy…” you begged through your next breathy moan. “P-please…!”

Undertaker was getting close too, picking up the pace and feeling you tense even more under and around him, the pain threatening to outperform the pleasure if he didn’t time things just right.

But neither of you could speak now. Not even your pathetic, mewling pleas or Undertaker’s growling, whispered praises could be uttered. With every snap of his hips digging into your tender inner thighs, Undertaker conducted a symphony using your high-pitched whines and delectable moans, your sweet little voice echoing through the high ceilings and empty upper halls of the ornate, gothic mansion.

And then, finally, Undertaker let you come, your entire body tensing and shuddering as your insides squeezed harder than they ever had before around what was inside you. Then you fell limp, panting breaths hitching in your chest as you lay there like a rag-doll, head buzzing and pleasure surging.

Undertaker only made it a few more thrusts into you before he finished too, filling you up with his hot, sticky cum and moaning out as his head fell to nuzzle into the crook of your neck, his labored breaths felt on your skin as the two of you lay there in a mess of trembling limbs and heavy breathing.

Your hole kept fluttering around him, the intensity fading down after a few minutes, and then Undertaker slowly pulled out of you, falling on the bed beside you and tugging you close to him, pressing you to his chest as his long, lithe arms wrapped around your shivering form.

“It’s ok, baby girl…” he whispered to you as he stroked your tousled hair, sweat sticking it to your temples, your body still trembling slightly under his touch. “You’re ok… Daddy’s got you… You’re ok…”

And you didn’t really know what to do now, didn’t know what to expect.

Would he just send you off now that he’d gotten what he wanted?

Would he even contact you again once the two of you parted ways?

After tonight, you sure hoped so, though you knew many men would just move onto the next with zero regard for the last.

But after laying there in his arms for a while, him combing his fingers through your hair and softly humming a melancholy lullaby, you had a feeling maybe he did care for you more than a one night stand.

Maybe you were being naive to entertain that idea, but you couldn’t help it. You’d been so desperate for affection for so long and now that you were finally being shown it you’d gotten attached. Lucky for the two of you, you were both attached, however silently through the night that your need for each other grew.

Before you’d even made the decision to do such a thing, you’d fallen asleep, exhausted from the day’s— and night’s— activities, but Undertaker still had work to do.

He carefully unraveled himself from around you to head into the bathroom and get something to clean you up with, back to being careful and tender as he wiped away as much of the mess the two of you had made that remained between your legs as he could without waking you.

Tomorrow morning he could give you a bath, join you in the warm water and put his hands all over you again. He could make you breakfast and watch you sit at the long dining room table while wrapped up in one of his fluffy black bathrobes, the sleeves too long for you and the oversized garment making you appear even smaller compared to him than you already were.

He wouldn’t want you to leave, but he’d have no choice, because you didn’t live here and your friends might get worried if you didn’t come back. Not to mention, he was bound to be called back to headquarters sooner or later to attend to more matters concerning the Aurora Society.

But after he’d kissed you goodbye and you’d stepped out of the jet-black Rolls Royce, he’d be planning how and when he could see you again.

You’d both be thinking about each other while you were away, always eager to be in each other’s arms again.

Before you knew it, the lease to your apartment would be up for renewal but you’d have to break it to your friends that they’d have to find a replacement for you since you were moving into a luxurious mansion on the outskirts of London. They’d be hesitant of your decision at first, warn you not to rush into things too quickly, but you’d assure them that you were in good hands, promising to stay in touch and visit them again soon.

But it became so easy to lose track of time when you were with Undertaker. Days turning into weeks turning into months before you even realized it, seasons changing, holidays and birthdays and special occasions spent on extravagant vacations filling up your schedule with the man you loved. You’d meet his closest confidants and learn more about what it really was that he did for a living. Or at least, as much as he was willing to let you in on.

You became close with Grell quickly, both of you bonding over your similar taste in music and fashion and favorite movies. You tried to be on your best behavior around William, in the beginning, quickly realizing that the serious and stoic man didn’t have a knack for entertaining his boss’s girl like his outgoing, red-headed colleague did. And then there was Ron who, though he always seemed outwardly cheerful and always ready for a good time, you couldn’t get a sure read on.

But this would become your life, your normal routine. What used to be scraping by for the month’s rent and picking up convenience store food on your way to the part time job you hated was soon replaced by shamelessly expensive shopping sprees and five star Michelin restaurants and skipping around the spacious mansion in a brand new dress while you waited for Undertaker to finish up a meeting at headquarters.

And you loved your life. You loved him.

Because things were perfect.

And, as long as you were with him, they always would be.

I mean, wouldn’t they?

***

(Hello and thank you for reading! Whether you’re coming to this fic already having read my “Cause to Start a Vendetta” series or this is your introduction to it, I hope you enjoyed :)

I’d actually written the first draft of this fic about a year ago, not long after I’d started posting chapters of the main series. I wanted to give a little more backstory on the reader’s life before meeting Undertaker.

But yeah, this wraps up the series. Like I said in the afterword on the final chapter, I might write little bonus one-shots for this series in the future, but now I’m honestly looking forward to starting the new Undertaker fic I’ve had in my head for a while.

Thanks again for reading! See you soon~! <3)

#undertaker #Undertaker Kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji undertaker #undertaker black butler #black butler undertaker #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji smut #black butler #black butler fanfiction #black butler smut #undertaker x reader #undertaker x you #undertaker x y/n #black butler x reader #black butler x you #black butler x y/n #kuroshitsuji x reader #kuroshitsuji x y/n #kuroshitsuji x you

421 notes · View notes

oh-koenig-my-koenig · 9 months ago

Text

Hey peeps. I'm really sorry but I actually have bad news and not a Valentine's Day chapter for today. I got diagnosed with tendonitis and I need to rest my hand and not write too much. I'm currently also working on my Master's thesis and that has priority, for obvious reasons I think, and I'm having a really hard time not being able to write some more König stuff, because really that's all I want to do.

I mean, I have found some speech to text programs that work pretty well (I'm actually using it right now to type this out), but it still takes a lot more time and then I still need to proofread manually, so it will take until the weekend or next week to post some more.

I have some chapters already written out that I finished some time ago that might not fit the plot exactly, but will work as random scenes. So I might fall back on some of those for the time being.

I hope you understand and thanks for your patience!

I actually wrote a little scene about it when my wrist first started hurting, so I'm just going to post this today (I also read through it again and the big guy is still my comfort character), maybe some of you can also use a little fluff with König today <3

kissing it better <3

(domestic fluff, hinted-at smut, mdni)

Monday at 8, I go to work after drinking my morning coffee with him and I return to his house again in the late afternoon, finding him and Mimi cuddling on the couch, the little ball of fur snuggling into his broad chest. Seeing them like that, squeezes my heart a little bit.

I hop onto his lap, Mimi meowing because now she isn’t the only one occupying this space anymore. We laugh and I can finally give him a kiss. He kisses me back, his arms wrapping around my waist and thighs.

Next to him on the end table, there are three new bottles of black nail polish. “They didn’t have the brand you normally use, so I just bought a few.”, he explains, smiling at me apologetically.

And this small gesture makes me melt a little. I picture him, the ridiculously tall, scary looking metalhead standing in the boutique in front of the shelf with all the tiny bottles of nailpolish – and then picking out three of the same colour because he didn’t know which one I would like.

“Thanks, even though that wasn’t necessary.”, I say, pressing a little ‘thank you’ kiss onto his nose. I reach for one of the bottles but pull back when a pang of pain shoots through my wrist.

His eyes widen, just a bit, his look fixed on the spot where I hold it against my chest, slowly massaging it. “What happened?”, he asks.

I shrug. “I don’t know, my wrist just hurts.” I sigh. “It started today at work and it just doesn’t go away.”

He catches my hand, pulling my wrist from my hold, and inspects the joint, softly moving it. He stretches it down gently, my small palm between his huge, tattooed fingers. “Does that hurt?”, he wants to know. I shake my head and he pulls it into the other direction. I hiss slightly, as the light sting of pain spreads, and he lets go immediately.

“I think, you may have overworked it a little bit.”, he mumbles, softly massaging the muscles and tendons around the wrist. Pushing his thumbs into the sensitive skin, until I sigh and relax a bit.

König pulls my wrist closer, up to his lips, pressing them onto the joint. Placing soft kisses where it hurts. Kissing it better. I can feel his warm breath coasting over my skin as he slowly makes his way to the inside of my wrist, still rubbing the spots that hurt lightly with his big strong fingers. His eyes snap up to mine, holding my gaze that is already on him.

His tongue darts out, licking over the pulse point, like he can’t help himself. The soft wet touch sends a pleasurable shiver down my spine. My mouth drops open just a little bit as he puts his over the sensitive spot and sucks, gently. A little moan escapes my lips, and I can see the heat in his eyes intensifying.

He pulls back, pressing another kiss to my wrist, lingering a little longer than he needs to. Still holding my gaze. “A little better?”, he asks, with a soft smile. His little kisses seem to be the best medicine, even though they are pure placebo.

“Yes, thank you.”, I say as I lean forward and give him a proper kiss on the lips.

“Just let it rest the next few days and it’ll get better, okay?”, he suggests then.

I nod, but I can’t help myself, as I add-on: “So, no handjobs?”, biting back a grin.

He shoots me a look that tells me to stop being such a brat, but the corners of his mouth turn up. “Exactly, that was my point, Fräulein.”, he answers sarcastically, patting my ass.

His demeanor changes again before he asks: “Are you hungry? I cooked some pasta.” He already kinda knows the answer to that (I can always eat, especially carbs) as he’s getting up, just lifting me up in one swift motion, only to set me down on the floor next to him.

“Starving actually, I didn’t really have lunch today.”, I sigh. “More exhausting clients instead.”

“We’ll get you something to eat and then you can tell me all about it. How does that sound, hm?”, he suggests. His arm snakes around my waist while he presses a little kiss on the top of my head.

“That sounds great.”, I tell him, a small smile on my face, as I take his hand – with the wrist that doesn’t hurt – and follow him to the kitchen.

Mimi gets up as well and tipples after us, her tail flicking up in the air, as she meows again like she wants to say ‘I’m hungry too!’.

~ more stuff in the Masterlist~

#metalhead!könig #könig #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig #konig cod #konig mw2 #könig fanfiction #cod mw2 smut #könig smut #konig smut #cod smut #könig x reader #tw: age gap

100 notes · View notes

riversofmars · 2 months ago

Text

Welcome to another Liv/Helen AU :D Will be updated once a week, 27 chapters, let's gooo!

Summary: Classics student Helen Sinclair has resigned herself to study love as the academic, in books and poetry, but never for herself. It had always seemed like a far-fetched concept as she kept her head down, worked hard to be worthy of her place at Oxford University and not just rely on her family influence to carry her through. Her studies - and life - take an unexpected turn one sunny spring morning, when a chance of something exciting and new falls into her lap - quite literally. (Rating up to Explicit but starts off General cause the slow burn is real)

Chapter 1: Post Hoc Ergo Propter Hoc

Helen Sinclair had made a mistake. While the sun shone brightly on one of the first truly nice days of spring, the grass of the luscious lawns of Trinity College remained deceptively damp. Blowing a wisp of blonde hair from her eyes, she released a small huff of annoyance.

She should have brought a blanket. Or at least a coat.

Between carrying her reading materials, notebook and a packed lunch, she had decided a blanket would break the camel’s back, or in this case, her own. Casting a glance back in the direction where she knew her student rooms to be, she weighed her options. Alongside the sun plenty of her fellow students had emerged from their halls, study rooms and the libraries of Oxford University, keen to take advantage of the nice weather. The lawns and gardens were teaming with life, and she knew a prime spot like the one she had picked - backing against one of the garden walls and overlooked by a gorgeous magnolia tree - would be snapped up in a heart-beat if she didn’t hold on to it.

Taking a pragmatic approach, and judging the weather nice enough, she dropped her satchel full of books into the grass and shrugged off her cardigan. Its warm brown colour would be less susceptible to the elements than her cream skirt and would have to be her willing sacrifice. Tugging the sleeves of her blouse down, she simply got on with it and settled on her cardigan, setting herself up in the way she had become accustomed to in her nearly three years of study: her reading materials to her left, a notebook to the right, a sandwich to hand should she want it, and a pencil behind her ear. Leaning back against the garden wall, she relaxed her shoulders and picked up the first book with a contented sigh.

Winter had been long and dark this year, or so it had felt with endless exams and long hours after dusk. Now, as Trinity term was underway and Helen looked towards her thesis, it was as though a shadow was slowly lifting. A smile drew to her lips as she immersed herself in Ovid, the smell of magnolia adding to the oddly timeless words of the poet, and as sunlight fell through the fronds and onto her pages, it occurred to her that life - though predictable - could be far worse than it was in that moment.

And then, in the blink of an eye and with the turn of a page, her life turned upside down.

Helen’s head snapped up to the distinct sound of footsteps pounding into the ground close by, a scampering sound, boots against stone and someone gasping in effort. Suddenly, pink and white petals fell onto her pages, the branches of the tree shook precariously and she looked up just in time to spot a shape above her - a person! - losing their footing on the wall they had scaled. Trying to hold on to the tree but failing. Tumbling. Falling. And a cry of surprise burst from the blonde’s lips as they landed right on top of her.

“Oh my-” she gasped, relieved and surprised to have evaded the worst, as a mop of brown hair fanned across her lap and the body it belonged to rested on the ground beside her. She was greeted by a groan of pain.

Stunned into inaction, Helen could make herself do little other than watch as a small woman, a similar age to her, unfolded herself from the tangled and surely uncomfortable position she had landed in. “A-are you okay?” she stuttered at last, coming back to herself, when the brunette brushed her shoulder-length hair out of her eyes, trying to get her bearings. She appeared unharmed.

“I-” the woman looked up to her, bright blue eyes widening in shock as she seemed to catch up with what had happened. “Oh my God, I’m sorry-” She scrambled upright, leaving Helen with crinkled pages in her book and completely confused. “I didn’t see you there. I didn’t mean to-” She glanced back to the wall, then down around herself as though she was looking for something as she brushed herself down quickly, twigs and leaves remaining in her hair. It was not only endearing but utterly puzzling, and the blonde stared at her in shock.

“What were you doing up there? Why-” she started, watching as the other woman rushed to pick up something a few feet away. Helen couldn’t make out what it was, it appeared to be wrapped in cloth, and the mystery deepend. In a slightly terrifying notion, it occurred to her that she might be a thief. Why else would one be climbing over garden walls and tucking wares under one's arm? Even so, she hardly looked it. With a loose shirt tucked into tapered trousers and braces hanging off her shoulders, she fit in perfectly with the well-to-do academic youth Helen counted herself amongst. The young woman turned around to answer, offering an apologetic and strikingly charming smile, when suddenly voices called across the university green.

“She’s gone that way!”

“Over there!”

“Shoot,” the brunette groaned, “Must run-”

“What?” Helen was utterly bewildered. It seemed as though they were chasing her. Maybe she really was a thief? Or were people after her for a different reason? Usually, these things only happened in books. “Why-” She looked around to see several students emerge from the building to their right, charging towards them.

“Sorry about your book!” the woman apologised in a rush, flashing her another brilliant smile as she burst into a sprint. “Have a nice day!” And she took off towards the gates.

“Wait!” the blonde called after her, though not entirely sure why. She didn’t have reason to keep her, other than her curiosity. As she watched the group of young men rushing after her, she realised one of them to be her younger brother George who slowed as he recognised her. She didn’t have time to search her brain on whether she’d seen the mystery woman around the college before, or to decipher the hint of an accent that she had noticed, which she seemed to have been trying to mask. Those matters were rudely shoved to the back of her mind when her brother demanded her undivided attention.

“Helen!” he snapped at her, visibly annoyed, as he came to a halt in front of her and leaned onto his thighs to catch his breath. “Why didn’t you stop her?” he panted.

“Who was that?” she asked, hoping he could satisfy her curiosity, but he only gave an exasperated groan.

“How did you not realise?!” he exclaimed, gesturing to the gates. His friends hadn’t stopped to wait for him, seemingly continuing their chase as they were long gone.

“I-I don’t even know who that was,” Helen countered, taken aback by his anger. What was she meant to have realised? Whatever this was, she wanted no part of it. “She fell on top of me from the wall- What even-”

“That’s where she disappeared to, crossed across the gardens!” he groaned, running his eyes up the wall and kicking a nearby branch across the way. “Bloody hell!” he voiced frustration, that his sister wasn’t following.

“George!” the blonde admonished, shocked by his outburst. Their father had always been strict about the use of foul language, insisting it spoke of lower social class. Perhaps those rules differed for men… it wouldn’t be the first such rule she had been made to obey while her brothers didn’t.

“The bitch just stole our cup trophy from last year!” George snapped angrily, gesturing off into the distance, and her eyes widened in surprise as the penny dropped at last. This was over a rowing trophy?

“Seriously?” Not wanting to laugh, knowing how seriously some of her fellow students took sporting activities, she feigned surprise. These sorts of things happened all the time between colleges and while Helen was usually not so immediately involved, she thought the concept quite amusing. Credit where it was due, the brunette had done well to smuggle a trophy from their halls!

“Helen, honestly, get your head out of the clouds,” he groaned, moving towards the gate as the first of his team-mates began to return empty handed. “Try and engage with reality for a change. There is a world outside of your books!” He didn’t wait for her to respond, picking up his step to meet his friends and likely make an elaborate scheme to bring their trophy home.

Helen watched him go, finding herself in a strange sort of limbo, suddenly not sure anymore of what she was meant to be doing. She tried to shake her head free, willed her mind to focus on the page in front of her, and tried to smooth it out as best as she could. As silence fell around her once more, sunlight dancing across her book, she struggled to get back into Ovid, despite his lovely way with words.

Absently, she wondered which college the mystery woman belonged to.

—

When Helen returned to student halls that evening, it was with a smile on her face. The nice weather had lasted through the afternoon and done her the world of good. She had made good progress in her reading, in spite of the eventful interruption, but as dusk gathered and temperatures dropped, she’d had to admit defeat and make for her rooms.

With a sigh, the blonde dropped her bag onto the old oak desk under the window, finding herself more tired than she’d expected and longing for the comfort of a woollen jumper. She had left her return rather late and caught a chill. In the well ordered space that was her student accommodation, that was easily to come by.

Soon after, as she tugged a warm turtle neck into place, and she went hunting for matches. It was a well practised and much beloved routine; the light of candles and smell of beeswax somehow just suited the old-worldly surroundings the renowned university offered. As she lit a couple of stump candles on her desk and one on her bedside table, she felt warmer already and couldn’t help remark on how homely it felt alongside the ornate furniture. Helen hoped she would be allowed to keep the room when she went onto her postgraduate, having made firm plans to continue at Oxford already. In the past few years, she had grown more comfortable here than she ever had in her actual childhood home; not that she’d ever spent much time there anyway, boarding school had started at a young age.

Helen went to sit at her desk, pulling a blanket across her legs and she unpinned her bun, letting her hair down in a quite literal sense. As she threaded her fingers through the blonde tresses to untangle them, she started pulling her books from her satchel.

“Now, where were we…” the blonde hummed, flipping open her notebook alongside a well loved Latin dictionary. Her eyes fell to her copy of Ovid, and she couldn’t stop herself from having a peek at the creased pages, briefly returning to the chance encounter. It really had been odd, but no odder than the fact that she found herself thinking back to it. For weeks now she had been extremely focused, following an exact schedule and writing plan she had set herself for her undergraduate thesis. She wasn’t someone who left things late, having had her proposal approved a long time ago and started research long before that. When it came to academic focus, Helen was second to none, and it made her momentary preoccupation all the more difficult to explain.

A knock on her bedroom door startled her from her thoughts.

“Helen?” a familiar, female voice sounded, knocking again and the blonde quickly dropped Ovid back onto the desk, almost as though she had been caught red-handed at something, even though she wasn't sure what.

“Lucie, hello,” she greeted Lucie Miller with a warm smile as she opened the door to her. Her best friend since they had met in freshers week their first year was hardly an unusual visitor.

“So, I hear you had a bit of a run in today,” Lucie grinned as she walked past her, her blonde bob flying behind her as she didn’t wait for an invitation.

“A- a run in?” Helen echoed, not protesting her intrusion as she was far too occupied with trying to suppress her stutter, realising what she was referring to. Word certainly travelled fast around the college. She took her sweet time closing the door behind her, trying to hide the flush of her cheeks. She didn't like the idea of being the topic of conversation. “Oh, you mean-”

“George told me you got jumped upon,” her friend smirked, seemingly endlessly amused as she dropped down on her bed.

“That’s hardly-” Helen scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. Lucie’s forward personality often put people on the backfoot, and while Helen was not immune to it either, she knew how to handle her and quickly launched an offensive of her own. “What did he tell you for?” She frowned. Her brother didn’t usually share her social circles, neither one of them did. Even though they were all members of Trinity College, Harry a couple years ahead of her, George a year below, their paths rarely crossed, and it served them all just fine.

“Well…” Lucie seemed unsure as to how to answer, scratching the back of her neck and Helen took a step towards her.

“Well?” she pressed on, and her friend folded.

“You know we have to get that trophy back, right?” she opened, and Helen raised her eyebrows.

“We?” she echoed. That was not how she saw it, that was for sure.

“It’s a perfect opportunity,” Lucie continued, evidently not dissuaded by her friend’s doubtful expression. “You’re not busy right now, are you?” She cast a glance to the desk and Helen stepped in her way, almost as though she feared she might read something off the crinkled pages of Ovid.

“I was working,” she answered flatly, and Lucie launched into an enthusiastic proposal before she had the chance to stop her.

“Cause George thought you could pretend that you actually got hurt when she fell on you. It would be a perfect excuse to get into Pembroke, and-”

“Pembroke?” Helen interjected and her friend flapped her hand at her.

“That’s where she’s from, did you not know?”

“Well no, not at the time…” Helen admitted, oddly pleased to have the question that had been plaguing her through the afternoon answered unexpectedly. “Do you happen to know her name as well?” The question crossed her lips before she could think better of it and for a moment Lucie scrunched up her brow, uhming thoughtfully.

“Olivia- Livia- Liv-something or other.” She shrugged noncommittally, picking at the wax of the candle in the bedside table. “Foreign last name. Your brother will know.”

“Right…” It was far from the definite answer Helen had hoped for and she would be damned if she asked George about it, so she put the matter off.

“So, are you coming?” Lucie prompted, a grin spreading across her face.

“What, now? No!” It was a knee-jerk reaction, there was little she wanted to do less. Not just because of the increasingly late hour, also because she wouldn’t go pretending something that simply wasn’t true.

“Come on. You won’t have to do much. Just look a little sad and pained - shouldn’t be hard -” her friend teased and Helen shot her a glare.

“Hey!”

“While we talk to someone from the college about the accident, the boys can sneak in and get the trophy back,” Lucie continued, and Helen shook her head, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“I’m not getting involved in that,” she countered firmly as she perched on the edge of her desk. She had far better things to do with her time. If she hadn’t been the one to be landed on by ‘Liv-something-or-other’ she would never be asked.

“But-” her friend sought to change her mind, following her with an imploring gaze. “We have to teach them a lesson, they can’t just-” She gestured into the air and Helen shook her head firmly once more.

“Not me, no, this has nothing to do with me.” She held up her hands in surrender. “Besides, she was perfectly lovely actually and apologised, I’m not getting her into trouble for a little mishap.”

“She stole our trophy!” Lucie exclaimed, but Helen wasn’t swayed.

“I’m not getting involved. I’m busy.” She picked up the nearest book for emphasis, Ovid of course, as the fates would have it, and put it down again quickly as though it was a cursed item of some sort. Quickly she folded her arms again and tried to deflect. “Besides, what’s it to you?”

“Well I-” Her counter had the desired effect as it put her friend on the backfoot. Helen’s lips pulled into a grin as she sensed she was onto something. She probed further.

“If you want to ingratiate yourself to my brother, I’m sure he would be partial to taking you out without this song and dance,” she teased, shooting her a knowing look. “Be warned though, he does like the sound of his own voice rather.” That was an understatement, both Harry and George were rather full of themselves, but perhaps they had qualities that she herself couldn’t appreciate as their sister.

“Mind you, worse matches than one of the Sinclairs…” Lucie hummed, giving her friend a playful and exaggerated once-over in response, and Helen laughed.

“No offence, but you’re not for me,” she chuckled, struck for a moment by the realisation of how glad she was to have found friends in this place she could be carefree, honest and herself with. While she didn’t have many, she was all the more grateful for them, and they played no small part in her feeling welcome and wanted here.

“Rude,” Lucie quipped back. “If I liked girls, I bet I could win you around.” She fluttered her eyelashes at her, and Helen nearly choked on laughter.

“Unlikely,” she just about managed, shaking her head at her. “You’re not even remotely my type.”

“What is your type?” Lucie countered, dropping the act in favour of satisfying her curiosity. Even though they had known each other for a long time now, this subject they rarely discussed. Finding herself on the spot, Helen quickly realised today was not the day that she was willing to change that. Perhaps she would have, if she’d had a straightforward answer, but the plain truth was that she lacked the experience to really know.

“None of your business,” she shot back, working hard not to falter under her questioning gaze. These were insecurities she would prefer to keep private.

“Come on, if you told me I could try and play wingwoman for you. If you ever come to a social event, that is,” Lucie complained, revisiting a subject of contention they had been over many times. While she was a social butterfly at these things, with confidence and charisma to boot, it was not something Helen enjoyed. If she was being perfectly honest, she preferred books to people half the time.

“I’m here to study, not to-”

“Yes, but in nearly three years, I haven’t known you to go on a single date! Or even have a misinformed fumble at a party,” her friend continued, rolling her eyes at the excuse she had heard far too many times already.

“I have different priorities at the moment,” Helen quipped. “Have you finished the reading for your thesis yet?”

“Fair enough,” Lucie gave up, evading the pointed question and jumped to her feet. “So I can’t convince you to have a little walk over to Pembroke right now?” she tried once more with a half-smile, and Helen shook her head.

“Not a chance,” she held firm, casting a look out of the window, night was falling fast now, their window of opportunity closing.

“Thought this might be the end of it,” Lucie conceded, following her gaze. “The race is on Sunday anyway, not much point in going after it now.”

“Probably not, no,” Helen agreed, returning her attention to her friend. She had no idea what races took place when but she would take her word for it.

“You will show your face for that though, won’t you?” Lucie asked as she made to leave. “You can’t hide out in your room all hours.”

“Maybe if the weather remains as nice as it was today,” Helen evaded a straight answer as she walked her to the door. She very rarely went to sporting events, usually only when her father was visiting to watch Harry and George and her attendance was expected…

“I’ll hold you to it,” Lucie warned, wagging a finger at her. “Who knows, you might find you enjoy spending time with people.”

“Goodnight, Lucie.” Helen gave her a gentle shove out the door and her friend grinned, waving goodbye.

#doctor who #liv chenka #helen sinclair #fanfiction #eighth doctor #big finish #femslash #liv x helen #lucie miller #oxford #academia aesthetic #college au #alternate universe #digital art #slow burn #wlw #sapphic romance

22 notes · View notes