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talesofesther · 4 months ago

Text

𝔈𝔠𝔥𝔬𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔉𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔢

↳ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

Aemond Targaryen x Reader/fem!OC

Series Summary: You made a promise to Aemond once, when you were young and naive, and the only friend he'd ever known; yet you abandoned him before you could fulfill it. Between broken bonds, a betrothal, and flames that still burn deep within you; this is the story of how you fell apart and found each other again.

A/N: My newest series is finally here, and it's one that I am incredibly excited about. I'm not going to say this is fully a reader-insert, because there will be a few minor characterizations for the main girl, I even considered writing this in third person but at the end of the day second person is the style I'm much more used to and comfortable with. However, I believe it is still "vague" enough that it can be considered a reader-insert too. All in all, I sincerely hope you can enjoy this story, I promise it'll be a good one. <3

Word count: 2k

Masterlist

"Tell me again."

From one of the highest points in the Red Keep, you could see the immensity of King's Landing and the waves of Blackwater Bay crashing to shore.

"Tell you what?"

The wind was cold yet gentle, dusk settled on the horizon; painting the skies and clouds in deep golden.

"The story of how you found your dragon."

You smiled, easy and knowing. Aemond has heard this story a dozen times already, yet you never refused to tell him just one more time, whenever he asked. From the glint in the young prince's eyes, you knew that it gave him hope that one day he would find a dragon of his own.

"My father, Laena, my sisters, and I were traveling again, we had stopped by a small town to let the dragons rest. And there, they told us they had spotted a rogue dragon. As wild as a lioness. She'd come out to hunt at night, during heavy rain and lightning storms." You motioned theatrically with your hands, an excited grin on your lips as you recounted the fateful night you'd met your dragon.

Aemond listened closely, as he always did, leaning his elbows on the balcony's balustrade and keeping his gaze attentively on you.

"One night, when we were staying at a house at the edge of town, I walked out while everyone was asleep. Do you know why?" You bit at the inside of your cheek, playing the usual game.

"You heard her," Aemond answered with the same spark of youthful joy.

"I did," you whispered as if it was a well-guarded secret, leaning closer to the boy. "I could hear her outside, the sound of her wings, her heavy steps on the ground. It was raining, and dark, but I felt as if... as if she was calling to me." You placed a hand over your heart.

"I think Caraxes heard when I got out, I think I ended up waking him," both you and Aemond chuckled. "But he kept quiet when he saw it was me. I walked for a while during that night, until..." You paused dramatically, and Aemond grinned. "Until I saw her, feasting on a stolen lamb."

Aemond's eyes were sparkling, he was drinking in every word.

"She was so pretty," you recalled with a soft smile, looking out to the horizon and the darkening sky. "I could see the dark blue of her scales, and then the brighter blue of her wings. Her horns were long and pointy, and she had this patch of fur in between them and on the back of her neck that I'd never seen before."

"She didn't attack you," Aemond mumbled, more a statement than a question; he knew the answer.

You shook your head; "No, she just looked at me with those beautiful eyes, they looked like they were glowing. And then she came closer, baring her teeth, but I asked her to stay calm. Told her I was a friend." You picked at your nails, a fondly nostalgic look in your eyes. "She followed me back home after that. I think she liked that I wasn't afraid of her. Father was furious for what I had done, but I think he was even more curious about my new dragon." You shrugged, with a cheeky grin, "The next morning, I chose to ride her for the first time, and she let me. We don't know if she ever had a rider before me, but we share a deep bond now."

"You are so lucky," Aemond told you, his voice low and eyes downcast; not because of your story, but because the boy wished to have the same luck you did.

Turning your head to try and catch his gaze, you spoke with conviction, "You're going to find your dragon soon, Aemond, I know you will. And when you do, we're going to fly together over all of King's Landing, I promise you."

Despite the solemn look in his eyes, the young Aemond smiled.

You extended a hand to him then, "Come on, your mother will be mad if we're late to supper… again." Wiggling your fingers for him, you held back a grin.

Aemond rolled his eyes halfheartedly, taking your hand anyway.

You walked together through the hallways of the castle, blissfully innocent and unaware of the amused whispers between the maids about how you two would still marry someday.

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

Two nights later, Aemond did find his dragon. However, it came at a cost.

The day had been one filled with grief. Laena had passed away after trying to give birth to her third child. While she was not your birth mother, you had spent enough years by her side to consider her something similar to it; as she was, after all, the closest thing to a mother that you knew. She had always been kind to you, treating you no different than how she treated your two half-sisters.

You mourned her loss, the salty air of the sea mixing with the salt of your tears as you watched the ceremony unfold.

As soon as she had learned of her third pregnancy, Laena wanted to return home. Your father eventually agreed to halt the travelers life for her sake, and once King Viserys got word of your return he offered all of you a home in King's Landing again. Laena had been happy with the agreement since her brother lived there too.

And so that's how you came to meet Aemond. That was several months ago, yet it sometimes feels like it was just yesterday.

Tonight, you had gone to bed with red and puffy eyes, but it didn't take long for the distant sound of fast-paced steps and arguing to pull you from your sleep. You got up, rubbed your still tired eyes, and tiptoed towards the commotion, bare feet padding over the cold stone floor of Driftmark.

After turning corners and almost getting lost in the infinite hallways, you found your family. Everyone stood around the lit fire of the throne room fireplace while the Maester tended to someone you couldn't yet see as the back of the chair they were sitting on blocked your view.

Alicent was shouting, Rhaenyra and her sons were shouting, everyone was shouting; you heard the sharp words yet couldn't make much sense of them.

You spotted your father leaning against a pillar, a couple of feet away from everyone, and ran up to him, immediately clinging to the fabric of his vest and looking up at him with questioning eyes. He didn't speak, simply lay a hand on your back and then on your head, in the best comforting manner he could muster.

The shouting match continued until Viserys had to raise his own voice, everyone in the spacious room stayed quiet for a moment then. You could hear your shaky breath, feeling it in your bones that something was wrong. You gripped tighter onto your father, leaning your head against him.

Breaking the silence, Viserys demanded answers from Aemond, and your heartbeat sped up at the sound of your friend's name. And then his mother was speaking about the injustice of him being maimed. And when Rhaenyra mercilessly demanded that he be questioned, Aemond finally looked in her direction, and consequently, yours.

You saw it then. Deep red blood glinting in the low light of the fire, painful stitches stretching skin while also holding it together, his eye sewn shut. You couldn't hold back a gasp at the sight of him, the whole left side of his face now forever marked with an angry, deep cut that went from his forehead, over his eye, and down to the middle of his cheek. Seeing your friend like this twisted your stomach in all the wrong ways and made you feel like puking out your dinner, you were almost poking holes in your father's vest with how tight you were gripping it, already feeling your eyes burn with unshed tears.

Aemond met your gaze from afar, he looked almost as stunned and lost as you; but he was also quick to look away and hide behind the back of his chair again.

You didn't hear much of the rest of the fight then, all turning into muffled noise to your ears as your father took hold of your hand to pull you forward with him and into the commotion when Alicent picked up a dagger, dashing towards Rhaenyra. The sight of Aemond's bruised and slashed face forever burnt into the back of your mind.

The only voice you clearly heard again, was his; "Do not mourn me, mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

You were only able to meet Aemond again on the next day, minutes before both of you had to leave Driftmark.

You found him in a secluded hallway, he looked out at sea through the large windows, watching as they readied his ship for departure, the left side of his face carefully bandaged to keep the cut clean. Holding onto the sides of your dress so as not to step on it, you ran to him.

He heard you, of course he did, you were hardly the sneakiest of people. Part of him wanted to turn away and leave, deeply ashamed of the fresh scar marking his skin; perhaps even afraid that it might scare you off. But you were his friend. His only friend.

"Aemond..." you spoke softly when you reached him, biting at the inside of your cheek and nervously gripping onto the cotton fabric of your lilac dress. You were only kids; you didn't know what to say to someone who'd just lost a part of himself, and Aemond cowered under your gaze, making himself smaller as shame and timidness filled his gut.

"Does it... hurt?" You chose to ask, voice hesitant.

The young prince took his time, pursing his lips as he looked down at his feet and then out the window again. "Yes," he admitted, "but less than it did last night."

"I'm sorry," you said without a second thought.

Aemond glanced in your direction with the corner of his good eye, refusing to turn toward you completely. "Are you not upset that I claimed your step-mother's dragon?"

The corners of your lips turned up into a small smile, it held sorrow and affection in equal measures. "I'm not." You stepped closer to him and turned to look out the window as well, watching as gentle waves washed to shore. You bumped your shoulder onto his. "I'm glad it's you."

For several moments you stood in silence, simply enjoying the easeness that came with each other's company.

Alicent's voice was the one to eventually break the quiet. "Aemond," she called.

Both you and him turned in the direction of her voice, finding her looking at you with a fond smile on her lips. "It's time to go, my dear." She gestured outside, to where their ship awaited, now ready to set sail. Aemond nodded at her words and she turned around, making her way to the docks.

The prince, however, made no effort to leave, he kept his gaze focused outside, following a flock of birds that overflown the ocean.

You followed it too, the sight bringing an idea to your mind. You had a tentative smile on your lips before you even started speaking; "You should go," despite not looking at you directly, you noticed Aemond's attention shifting to you. "I'll meet you again once we reach King's Landing, and... now that you have a dragon, perhaps we'll soon be able to fly over it together, right?" Your voice held a hopeful tone as you spoke.

For the first time since he had lost his eye, Aemond smiled; a real smile that stretched the fresh stitches on his cheek and gave a prickling feeling to the sensitive skin around them, but he didn't mind. He finally turned to look at you fully, all hopeful excitement and pink cheeks.

"We will," he affirmed without losing his grin. He held your gaze for a moment longer, lips parting as if he wanted to say something more, but didn't.

From the same window, you watched, now alone, as Aemond's ship sailed away; the colossal figure of Vhagar flying close to it, as if to protect her new rider.

Later this same day, your father married Rhaenyra, taking both you and your sisters to live in Dragonstone without ceremony.

You never said goodbye to Aemond. You would have, if you knew you would not be seeing him again for many years to come.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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ssa-dado · 2 months ago

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4 - Thesis

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader

Genre: fluff, slow burn

Summary: Gideon urgently pulls Hotch and you into a complex case, leading to a sleepless night of intense work discovering the unsub's fascination with a symbolic, twisted version of a note design. Despite exhaustion, your insights prove invaluable, strengthening your bond with Hotch as partners as something seems to shift. As Rossi and Gideon joke about their own partnership comparing it to your own with Hotch, it’s clear that a deeper connection is unfolding. Warnings: Usual CM case stuff described in detail, Sapio intoxicating chemistry, Rossi going wild.

Word Count: 6.1k Dado's Corner: Is it fair for me to say that I'm obsessed with the two of them? Like c'mon get together already. Note to self: never study for a history of architecture exam while being obsessed with a crime show, even if that dream I had did inspire this chapter. I am afraid of my own mind. Enjoy these bigger breadcrums while you can. I’ve included some hyperlinks throughout the chapter if you’re curious to see what the buildings described look like!

previous part ; masterlist

Thesis - Hotch’s smile widened, his eyes crinkling in that way that had become increasingly familiar. “Maybe. But we make a strong duo, and I wouldn’t change that."

•

Gideon appeared in the doorway of his office, his usually calm demeanor slightly more tense, he scanned the room, his eyes settling first on Hotch, who was engrossed in a case file, and then on you. There was a look of deliberation on his face, as if he’d been weighing this decision for some time.

“Hotch, Y/N,” Gideon’s voice cut sharply through the bullpen, laced with urgency that left no room for hesitation. “I need you both at the train station in 30. Grab your go-bag, there’s no time.”

Hotch’s head snapped up, a flash of confusion in his eyes that matched your own. You exchanged a fleeting look, a mix of surprise and adrenaline sparking between you. It was only your second time being directly pulled into one of Gideon’s cases, and you couldn’t deny the rush of nerves mingling with excitement. This was what you had been working so hard for: to be trusted, to be out there on the field.

You didn’t waste a second. Hotch nodded at you, a silent agreement to move quickly, and the two of you scrambled to collect your go-bags, the weight of the situation palpable. Gideon was already halfway out the door, and you barely had time to sling your bag over your shoulder before sprinting after him, Hotch close on your heels.

The ride to the station was a blur, Gideon’s SUV tearing through traffic as if the urgency of the case had seeped into the very engine. The city whirled past in a smear of lights and noise, each stoplight feeling like an eternity as the clock ticked down.

“We’re cutting it close,” Hotch muttered under his breath, his gaze locked on the navugator as he calculated every second lost to traffic.

You glanced over at him, his usually calm demeanor strained by the pace. “We’ll make it,” you said, more to convince yourself than him, feeling the SUV lurch forward as Gideon pushed the gas harder.

The station finally loomed into view, the blare of train horns filling your ears, Gideon pulled to an abrupt stop, the SUV barely parked before you and Hotch were out the door, sprinting towards the platform.

“Which track?” you asked, your voice edged with urgency as you scanned the sea of people.

“Track 4,” Gideon called out, his tone clipped as he led the way, dodging through the crowd with a precision that only came from years in the field. Hotch was right behind him, his stride purposeful, and you kept up, adrenaline driving you forward.

Inside, Rossi was already seated scooted newt to the window, a wry smile tugging at his lips as he flipped through a stack of manila folders filled with crime scene photos. He looked up as you, Hotch, and Gideon rushed into the coach, sarcasm lacing his voice. “Well, well, look who decided to show up. Another minute later, and you’d have had to wait six hours to catch the next train by sheer coincidence.”

Gideon ignored the jab, his focus entirely on the case as he took the seat beside Rossi. Hotch gave you a quick, knowing glance, Rossi’s dark humor was just his way of dealing with the tension, and you both settled in, bracing for what was about to unfold.

Rossi slid thefolders toward you, each one packed with gruesome crime scene photos, autopsy reports, and detailed maps dotted with red marks. The images were laid out in stark, brutal clarity: victims of varying ages, genders, and backgrounds, each one more unsettling than the last. It was clear from the first glance that this was no ordinary case.

Gideon broke the ice, addressing you all. “We’ve been tracking a series of murders across five states. Each one is escalating in both violence and complexity. The victims seem random: different ages, genders, backgrounds. But there’s a pattern here, one that’s been slipping through the cracks.” He pointed to a topographical map spread across the table, each crime scene marked by a pin as the locations created a road map of horrors that the unsub was crafting.

“We’re missing something,” Gideon continued, his eyes scanning the photos again. “And we need to find it before this turns into something even worse.”

Rossi leaned back, his eyes narrowing at the map as he considered the gruesome puzzle before them. “Hope you two are ready,” he added, his voice losing the sarcasm, now laced with a hint of urgency. “We’re running out of time, and this guy isn’t waiting around for us to catch up.”

Gideon continued: "This unsub is not just killing for the sake of it, he’s making a statement.”

Hotch studied the pictures in his file intently, his eyes narrowing as he analyzed the data. “What kind of statement?”

Rossi leaned forward, setting down the photos. “He’s treating these murders like a grand design, but what that is, we haven’t figured out yet. That’s why we need fresh eyes on this, someone who can see what we might be missing.”

Gideon’s gaze shifted between you and Hotch, and you could feel the unspoken pressure settle over you. “That’s why I’m bringing the two of you in on this, we need different perspectives: Hotch, your tactical and organizational expertise and Y/N, your philosophical insight. We believe this unsub’s actions are possibly influenced by a deeper intellectual motive, they are too calculated.”

Your heart quickened at the prospect of tackling a case of this magnitude. You had been itching to prove yourself on something more complex, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. Hotch, meanwhile, maintained his calm, analytical demeanor, though you could tell by the way he was already flipping through the photos, his fingers on his right hand fidgeting, that his mind was churning with possibilities.

“What do we know about the victims?” Hotch asked, breaking the silence.

Rossi clicked again, bringing up individual profiles of the victims: names, ages, occupations. “They range from college students to retired professionals, all abducted within a few miles of their homes and found in remote locations weeks later. Cause of death varies: strangulation, blunt force trauma, some even poisoned. The one constant is the way they’re buried: each positioned carefully, with their hands folded as if in a state of peace.”

Hotch glanced at you, his eyes flickering with a hint of something, was it respect, or perhaps curiosity? “What do you think, Y/N?”

You leaned in, your eyes scanning the screen as you absorbed the details. “This isn’t just about control. He’s performing, staging these bodies in a way that reflects some internal logic or belief system, making each victim part of a larger narrative.”

Hotch agreed, his voice firm. “We need to visit these sites. We can start with the most recent site. We need to get ahead of this guy before he escalates again.”

As you arrived to the police station, you immediately gathered your notes and headed out to the SUVs, your mind racing with theories and questions. The drive to the first burial site was tense, each of you lost in your thoughts. Hotch was focused, his eyes fixed on the road, while you sifted through the case file, trying to absorb every detail. When you finally arrived, the scene was breathtaking: a hillside with a clear view of the surrounding landscape, marked by the telltale signs of the unsub’s careful work.

You and Hotch began analyzing the site, marking the locations of the victims and sketching the layout. It was slow, painstaking work, but every detail mattered. The entire time, you felt Hotch’s eyes on you, analyzing your every move, testing your instincts. You overcompensated by diving into every bit of evidence, pushing yourself harder than usual. You wanted to show them that despite your academic background, you could handle the practical side of profiling just as well.

“What do you see?” he asked, crouching beside one of the markers. “Anything that stands out?”

You squinted at the slope, trying to piece together the bigger picture. The way the victims were positioned, the spacing between them: it wasn’t random.

“He’s not just picking random spots,” you said, more to yourself than to Hotch. “The bodies are placed with a purpose, almost like... coordinates on a map.”

Hotch looked up, intrigued. “Coordinates?”

You nodded, pointing to the markers. “Think of it like a blueprint. He’s not just killing; he’s mapping something out. The hill, the elevation, even the orientation of the bodies, they all look like elements of a larger design.”

Hotch studied the scene, his expression intense. “A design that only he understands.”

You stood side by side, feeling the weight of the case settling over you both. And as you exchanged a look with Hotch, you realized that whatever this unsub was building, you were determined to tear it down, together, even if this was only the beginning.

By the time you returned to the accommodation that night, you were beyond exhausted, but rest wasn’t an option. The case had drained not only your energy but also the BAU’s humble budget, most of the funds had gone to buying last-minute train tickets to get the team out there as fast as possible, leaving little room for comfort. Rossi’s expectation of privacy had taken another hit, and at that point you were convinced the Bureau was skimping on accommodations just to see how long it would take for him to snap. At this rate, if they kept pushing, being aware of Rossi’s sassy side, you were sure he’d threaten to leave the BAU over it.

“You’ll be sharing with Hotch,” Gideon had said without much ceremony as you stood in the cramped hallway, barely keeping your eyes open. “Rossi and I have the other room.”

You exchanged a quick, knowing look with Hotch, both of you too worn out to even joke about the fresh material handed to you on a silver platter: Rossi and Gideon sharing a room yet again, practically married at that point. But the urgency of the case weighed heavily on everyone’s shoulders, and you didn’t have the energy to tease, not when the job ahead was still so daunting. You both simply nodded, both of you being aware that it wasn’t the best time to make light of the situation. Hopefully there would be time for that later, if you ever got a chance to catch your breath.

When you and Hotch arrived at the room, he carried himself with the same cool composure he always did. "You can take the bed by the window," he said, setting his go-bag down on the other bed. "I don’t mind."

"Thanks," you muttered, grateful for the small gesture. You unpacked your things in silence, acutely aware of every sound, every movement as the daunting images of the day still haunted your mind. Hotch didn’t seem bothered at all, which you found almost impressive. He had this remarkable ability to compartmentalize everything, to keep his personal and professional lives neatly separated, while you were still trying to learn that.

The night stretched on, but sleep remained elusive. You and Hotch sat in the dimly lit hotel room, the hum of the overhead lamp the only sound besides the steady scratching of pen on paper as you pored over the case files. The victims’ faces stared back at you from the photographs, haunting in their stillness, each one a piece of the gruesome puzzle you were trying to solve.

"We need to reconsider the pattern of these burial sites," Hotch said, his voice low, as though speaking too loudly might disturb the dead. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, his eyes tired but focused. "There's something deliberate here."

You nodded, flipping through the photos. "It’s too precise to be random."

Hotch spread out the map on the desk, meticulously marking the locations where each body had been found, his movements precise and controlled. “If we can figure out the geographical connection, we’ll be closer to understanding the unsub’s mindset. He’s organized, methodical. This guy sees himself as superior, smarter than everyone else. But it’s not just about the killing. He’s making a statement, flashing his intellect.”

You studied the photos and map intently, feeling a strange pull as you tried to make sense of the unsub’s pattern. “It’s intellectual arrogance,” you said, your voice edged with conviction. “He’s not just trying to get away with it; he’s challenging us to keep up. He wants us to see how clever he is.”

Hotch glanced at you, he could sense you were onto something, something that went beyond the surface details.

Meanwhile, your focus returned to the crime scene photos, and your attention locked onto the contours of the hill where the bodies had been buried. The arrangement was far from random, there was a disturbing intentionality in the layout, as if every placement had been meticulously planned.

“The hill’s shape,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Hotch. “It’s not just any hill. There’s an intentional pattern here. It’s like he’s using the terrain itself to say something.”

Hotch leaned in, catching the shift in your tone. He was intrigued, but he knew better than to interrupt your thought process. “What are you thinking?” he asked, his voice low, patient, almost coaxing you to continue.

Without responding directly, you grabbed a blank sheet of paper and laid it flat on the desk. Hotch watched as you began sketching an axonometric view of the hill, marking each burial site with quick, deliberate strokes. His brow furrowed as you connected the dots, each line revealing something more intricate.

“You’re mapping it topographically?” Hotch asked, leaning closer, the shift in his body language showing his growing interest. “Like a three-dimensional geographical profile?”

You nodded, the thrill of discovery pushing you forward. “Yes. The placements aren’t just random; they’re about the shape of the land. Look here.” You pointed at the locations marked on your sketch. “If you connect the burial sites, they form a spiral, a descending path down the hill.”

Hotch’s gaze sharpened as he traced the spiral with his eyes. “A spiral… That’s deliberate. It’s not a shape we see often in criminal cases. It suggests precision, control, narcissism. He’s not just killing, he’s orchestrating a narrative. He’s not just above everyone but also he’s putting himself on display, like an artist with his masterpiece.”

You nodded, and a familiar philosophical concept began to take shape in your mind. “This isn’t just about his ego - it’s about his worldview. It reminds me of Hegel’s dialectics, which are often geometrically visualized as a spiral. Think of it like climbing a mountain: each step forward, the thesis, faces resistance - the antithesis - and then finds a way forward, the synthesis. The journey isn’t linear. It’s about overcoming obstacles, each one contributing to a higher level of understanding.”

Hotch’s expression tightened, understanding where you were going with this. “But he’s twisting that. Instead of climbing, he’s descending. He’s turning the idea of progress on its head. This isn’t evolution; it’s devolution. He’s rewriting the narrative, making his own rules.”

You paused, something clicking into place as you stared at the drawing. You turned the page slightly, looking at it from a new angle. “But why a spiral? Why this particular hill?” you murmured, almost thinking aloud.

Hotch watched you closely, seeing the wheels turning in your mind. “What do you see?”

You flipped the drawing around, angling it from his perspective. Your pulse quickened as the shape of the spiral took on a new form, one that tugged at your memory. “Look at it upside-down.”

Hotch tilted his head, his eyes following yours as the spiral transformed before him. It wasn’t just a path on a hill, it was something far more deliberate and grandiose.

“This hill…” You traced the lines again, pointing out the specific angles, the calculated precision. “The way the bodies are arranged, the proportions between the hight and the width of each turn, the precise slope that the path follows. The way each of these elements have been designed in a human scale"

"It's architectural, something grand and of cultural importance, like a temple, a church, a museum..." Hotch finally understands.

Hotch’s brows shot up, surprise flashing across his face. “The Guggenheim? You’re saying he’s mimicking Frank Lloyd Wright’s design?”

"Yes, you're right! Wait, what if it resembled the structure of the Guggenheim Museum in New York? Wright designed the volume of the main exhibition hall as an inverted hollow truncated cone, the distribution corresponds to a ramp spiraling upward. But our unsub has flipped that idea on its head.”

“Not exactly,” you replied, your excitement spilling over. “It’s not a copy, but it’s inspired. Think about it: the Guggenheim is all about ascension, showcasing art as you move upward. But here, the unsub’s using the land to create a reverse. The bodies are placed almost like the artworks displayed on the walls of the museum, but instead of ascending, they’re spiraling down, each one a grotesque ‘exhibit’ in his twisted gallery.”

Hotch looked at you, a rare smile tugging at his lips, something warmer than his usual stoic demeanor. “Are you sure you secretaly also don't have an architecture degree?”

You laughed, caught off guard by his sudden lightness, you teased him starting an over the top philosophical rant “Nope, just psycology, linguistics and philosophy. Although architecture and philosophy aren’t so different. For Hegel, architecture represents humanity’s attempt to impose order on the natural world, creating structures that embody collective meaning. It’s not just about function, but about revealing the spirit of a specific time, showing how men connect with their environment through design and symbolism.”

Hotch chuckled softly, the sound low and unexpected, and it made you smile wider. “Keep talking like this, and I might have to suggest you take up teaching. You’ve got the lecture style nailed.”

Feigning mock offense, you shot back, “Careful, Hotch, or I’ll end up rewriting your whole syllabus."

Hotch’s eyes softened, a playful glint flashing in them, something uncharacteristic but welcome. “You rewrite my syllabus, and I’ll make sure to audit your classes. Fair trade?”

You shared a brief moment, the light banter cutting through the tension that had weighed on you both throughout the case. It was quick, but it left a lingering warmth, a connection that felt deeper than the job itself, a quiet intimacy that spoke volumes without needing any more words.

You cleared your throat, bringing the focus back. “We need to verify this before we present it. I need to check the actual measurements of the Guggenheim floors, just to be sure we're not reading too much into this.”

Hotch glanced at his watch, calculating the remaining hours of the night. “There’s a library a few miles from here. If we hurry, we can make it before it closes.” He grabbed his jacket, already moving toward the door, pausing only to look back at you with a determined expression. “I’ll drive.”

You smirked, brushing past him as he held the door open. “You always do.”

It was nothing grand, just a small, familiar gesture in the stillness of the night, but it carried a weight that lingered in the air between you, subtle yet undeniable.

Walking side by side, you couldn’t quite pinpoint the shift, but it was there, a quiet, unspoken connection that felt like uncharted territory. This case, and whatever was unfolding between you and Hotch, was leading you somewhere neither of you expected.

The drive to the library was filled with a comfortable silence, Hotch’s expression still carefully composed, but there was a softness in his features now, a slight relaxation in his usually tense posture. It was a small change, almost imperceptible, but you noticed, and though neither of you would acknowledge it, something was shifting.

Arriving at the library, you quickly located a book on modern American architecture and flipped to the section on the Guggenheim. You traced the diagrams and floor heights, your finger running over the details as you compared them to your axonometric drawing of the hill. But as you scanned the measurements, your heart sank, the pieces not fitting the way you’d hoped.

“The measurements don’t match,” you murmured, the weight of disappointment settling in. “We were wrong.”

Hotch stood beside you, close enough that you could feel his presence, grounding you. He didn’t seem fazed by your frustration, instead, he studied the diagrams with calm determination, his brow furrowing slightly. “Wait,” he said, his voice steady. “What if the unsub isn’t using American measurements? What if he’s thinking in meters instead of feet?”

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his as the realization clicked. There was a spark of something that passed between you, lingering longer than it should. “Of course. If he’s from a country that uses the metric system, he’d think in meters.”

Your fingers moved quickly, recalculating the heights and converting them into meters. As the numbers shifted, everything started to fall into place: the spiral, the Guggenheim, the inverted truncated cone. It all made sense. The measurements lined up perfectly with the victims’ positions on the hill, validating the theory that had seemed so impossible just moments before.

“We were right,” you whispered, relief and amazement flooding through you. “He must have studied or lived in a country that uses the metric system. His entire design is based on that.”

Hotch’s eyes met yours, a rare warmth flickering there as he gave a small nod of approval. “Good work,” he said softly, his voice carrying a note of pride that sent a flutter through your chest. “We’ve got the final piece.”

As you left the library, the first light of dawn painted the sky in soft hues, a quiet promise of a new day. You and Hotch exchanged a glance, something unspoken passing between you. The night had been long and exhausting, but the shared victory left a sweet spark lingering in the early morning air. Neither of you could put a name to it, not yet, and neither of you seemed ready to let go of whatever was unfolding.

As you and Hotch entered the hotel lobby, Rossi and Gideon were waiting, both looking ready for the day’s briefing despite the early hour. Rossi leaned against the reception desk, watching the two of you with a bemused expression.

Gideon glanced at his watch and then back at you both, his eyebrow lifting in mock surprise. “Did you two even sleep, or are you trying to set a new BAU record for consecutive hours worked?”

Rossi smirked, shaking his head as he took in the sight of you and Hotch, the unspoken exhaustion clear in both of your eyes. “I’m starting to think you two don’t even know what a bed looks like. Or maybe you’re just having too much fun playing detective all night?”

You and Hotch exchanged a knowing look, a silent acknowledgment of the sleepless night. The bond between you had been growing steadily, marked by subtle shifts and stolen moments, and while neither of you would admit it, you were becoming more in tune with each other’s rhythms, especially when it came to the job.

“Not exactly,” Hotch replied, his tone dry and laced with just the faintest hint of a smile. You couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, the way he carried himself: focused, determined, and maybe just a touch lighter in your company. “But we cracked the code.”

Rossi chuckled, crossing his arms. “Next time you two decide to pull an all-nighter, let me know. I could use your room and finally get some privacy around here.”

Gideon’s usual sternness softened slightly at Rossi’s jab about the lack of personal space, though his focus remained sharp. “So, what’s the breakthrough? You’ve been at this all night.”

You and Hotch launched into your explanation, laying out the theory behind the inverted spiral, the Guggenheim, and the unsub’s likely academic background. As you spoke, you couldn’t help but steal glances at him, noticing the way there was a certain intensity about him when he spoke, an underlying passion that only surfaced when the pieces of a case started to align.

Hotch continued, drawing the connections between the spiral and the unsub’s obsession. “We read at the library that Frank Lloyd Wright’s designs are not just architectural; they’re philosophical. Wright didn’t just build structures, he crafted experiences, integrating his work with nature in a way that transcended the ordinary. Our unsub is attempting something similar, but in a twisted, lethal manner.”

Rossi leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “So, he sees himself as an architect of death. He’s not just killing, he’s designing each murder, making it a part of a grand, dark statement.”

“Exactly,” Hotch agreed, his voice steady yet charged with conviction. “He believes he’s creating something monumental. The spiral is his signature, an artistic flourish that he believes sets him apart. And the use of the metric system? That narrows our pool of suspects significantly. He’s likely foreign or has spent a significant amount of time studying abroad, probably in Europe where Wright’s influence still holds sway.”

You nodded, and as your attention drifted to Hotch, you couldn’t help but notice something captivating; Every time his gaze shifted toward Rossi, standing in front of the window with the morning light filtering in, the usual dark intensity of Hotch’s eyes softened, revealing an unexpected depth. What you had always thought of as a near-black now transformed into a rich, warm chestnut, flecks of amber catching the light. It was a subtle shift, but one that unveiled an unexpected beauty you hadn’t fully appreciated until now.

As your mind kept wandering, another thought emerged - one that eroded the edges of your consciousness. “There’s one more thing,” you said, your tone laced with urgency. “If the unsub is using the spiral as a symbol of his intellect and superiority, he’s not finished. He’s building toward something, a final project. If we can figure out what that is, we can anticipate his next move.”

Hotch exchanged a look with you, as if you stole the words that still hadn't left his mouth yet, a flicker of shared understanding passing between you both. You had spent enough time working together that night you could read his thoughts before he spoke, and he could anticipate yours.

“We need to revisit the burial site” Hotch said, his tone thoughtful yet precise. “Pay close attention to any symbolic references, especially those linked to architecture. He’s not just mimicking Wright’s designs; he’s embracing Wright’s philosophy. Y/N pointed out that Wright believed architecture was an extension of the self, an embodiment of personal ideals. This unsub sees his work the same way.”

“Wright’s designs were about breaking the mold,” you said, adding to Hotch’s theory. “Wright was a revolutionary who viewed his designs as more than just buildings, they were personal expressions, challenges to traditional norms, and a reflection of his unique vision of the world. He wanted to create spaces that defied conventional expectations. Our unsub has a similar mindset: a desire to be seen as intellectually superior, someone whose ‘work’ can’t be understood by the average person.”

Rossi leaned back, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Did he work on residential projects or did some urban planning of his has been realised by any means?"

He nodded, his focus sharp as he continued explaining to the seasoned profilers. “Usonian Houses were Wright’s vision of the future, simple yet sophisticated homes designed to revolutionize American living. Each one was crafted with meticulous attention to detail, they weren’t just houses; they were statements. Wright designed each to be unique, tailored to the landscape and the needs of the homeowner. If our unsub idolizes Wright this deeply, it’s likely he lives in one of these homes himself. To him, it would embody everything he values: elegance, meticulous control, and the feeling of being distinctly set apart from everyone else.”

You understood where Rossi was going “What about the Usonian Houses project?" You turned to Hotch, eager to know if he thought the same thing as well.

As Hotch spoke, his voice steady and assured, you couldn’t help but be drawn in, not just by his words but by the way he delivered them. There was a quiet passion in his explanation, Hotch’s understanding of Wright’s philosophy wasn’t just an analytical connection; it was something he seemed to grasp on a deeper level, and as you listened, you couldn’t help but feel captivated by when he hit on something that truly fascinated him.

“He’s not just living in a house,” Hotch continued, his gaze flicking to you for a brief moment before returning to the team. “He’s living in a symbol of his superiority. A Usonian House would be his sanctuary, a place where he can manipulate, control, and perfect every detail, just like he’s doing with his crimes.”

You watched him as he spoke, noting the way his hands gestured slightly when he was particularly engaged. It was easy to get lost in his presence, to feel the pull of his passion for the subject as much as the pull of the case itself.

The realization struck you like a jolt of electricity. “And the Usonian Houses were Wright’s vision of perfection. Our unsub is killing according to those values. His admiration for Wright is more than just an interest, it’s a driving force in his crimes.”

Gideon, who had been listening intently, chimed in. “Then that’s where we start. We need to find any Usonian Houses in the area. Let's also focus on finding previous owners, or people curating them.”

The team moved swiftly, sifting through public records and historical registries. It didn’t take long for Hotch to uncover a promising lead: a privately owned Usonian House on the outskirts of a nearby town, linked to a man who fit the unsub’s profile perfectly. He was a reclusive former adjunct professor of architectural history, Victor Langley, with a history of erratic behavior and academic conflicts.

Rossi scanned the details, his eyes narrowing. “Victor Langley. Let go from his teaching position two years ago for increasingly bizarre behavior and clashes with his colleagues. Neighbors say he’s practically a ghost, only seen when he’s making strange modifications to his house.”

Gideon hung up the phone, his expression grave. “He’s barely seen outside. This house isn’t just where he lives, it’s his world, where he feels in total control.”

Hotch glanced at the three of you, his gaze intense, his determination unmistakable. You noticed the set of his jaw, the unwavering focus that drew you in every time he spoke. “This is his base, where he plans everything. Just like Wright used his designs to reshape the world, Langley is using his house to orchestrate his murders, and that’s where we’re going to find him.”

As Hotch turned to you, his eyes locked on yours with a newfound intensity. The nature of the sudden shift you had on him was becoming impossible to ignore, but for now, there was a job to finish before you could tackle it with some healthy dose of introspection.

The team mobilized quickly, setting up a perimeter around the property. As you approached, the Usonian House loomed in the distance, its low-slung roof and natural stone walls blending into the landscape. It was a beautiful, breathtaking reminder of Wright’s genius, but now, a testament to Langley’s horrors.

Rossi led the team as you breached the property, moving swiftly and silently. The house was meticulously kept, with architectural books stacked neatly on shelves, blueprints scattered on a large oak desk, and walls adorned with sketches of spirals and complex designs.

As you watched Langley being taken away, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of finality. The case had been riddled with the unsub’s twisted interpretations, but you had seen through his façade, piecing together the puzzle of his mind in a way that Wright himself might have appreciated, if only for the sheer madness of it all.

Back at the precinct, the team gathered for the debriefing, dissecting every detail of Langley’s motives and the psychological profile that had driven him down such a twisted path. As each member contributed their insights, you found your gaze drifting toward Hotch more than once, catching the subtle way he absorbed every detail, his mind always one step ahead. As the meeting wrapped up, Hotch made his way over to you, his usual stoic expression softening as he nodded in approval.

“You did very well on this one” Hotch said, his voice low but carrying a rare warmth.

You felt a flicker of pride, buoyed by his words, and met his gaze with a smile. “Thanks, Hotch. But honestly, I was amazed at how much you knew about Wright. The way you absorbed everything at the library and explained it with such passion… it was impressive.”

Hotch’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile, one that made his eyes light up in a way you couldn’t help but notice. “Guess I’m a quick study, or maybe I had a great teacher last night” he replied, the faintest trace of humor in his voice.

Before either of you could linger too long in the moment, Rossi strolled over, wearing a teasing grin. “You two are becoming quite the dynamic duo. But if you keep pulling these all-nighters, it’s gonna be the death of you both. I’m starting to think you two might need separate rooms next time.”

Gideon joined in, smirking as he gave you both a knowing look. “You work well together. Almost too well, if we’re not careful. The sleepless nights aren’t exactly in the job description.”

Hotch glanced at you, a glimmer of humor in his eyes as he replied, “Guess we’ll just have to be careful not to wear each other out.”

Rossi walked by, overhearing just enough to join in on the banter. “You two keep up these all-nighters, and one of you is bound to keel over. I’m starting to think you two might need separate rooms next time, I don’t think the Bureau’s budget covers whatever happens if you both get too lost in academic theories.”

Gideon, passing by with a knowing grin, chimed in. “Or we’ll have to start charging for private architecture lectures. Next time, just tell us before you decide to pull an impromptu masterclass, you work well together. Almost too well, if we’re not careful. The sleepless nights aren’t exactly in the job description.”

You laughed, sharing a quick look with Hotch that spoke volumes about the night spent working side by side, both of you pushing the boundaries of professional detachment. “Yeah, I guess we need to make it a rule: no more overnight research sessions unless we’re getting hazard pay.”

Hotch shook his head, a soft laugh escaping as he tucked his hands into his pockets, the moment light but undeniably intimate. "I’m starting to think we’re a bad influence on each other.” You affirmed

Hotch’s smile widened, his eyes crinkling in that way that had become increasingly familiar. “Maybe. But we make a strong duo, and I wouldn’t change that.”

The words hung between you, and as the team dispersed, you and Hotch headed to a quiet room to finish filing the last reports. The precinct buzzed with the usual post-case atmosphere, but as you worked side by side, the world seemed a little quieter, the connection between you both impossible to ignore.

Meanwhile, back in the main room, Gideon leaned against the wall, his eyes fixed on you and Hotch through the glass. A faint smile crossed his lips as he watched the two of you working seamlessly together. “They remind me of us, don’t they?”

Rossi glanced up, following Gideon’s gaze, and let out a low chuckle. “Oh, absolutely. But let’s get one thing straight: I might love you, Jason, but I promise I’m never going to end up jumping your bones. That’s where the similarities end.”

Gideon rolled his eyes, unable to hold back his laughter. “Relax, Dave. I think we’re safe there.”

Rossi clapped him on the back, still grinning. “But hey, they’re young and still full of energy. Let’s hope their late nights together work out better than ours ever did.”

As you and Hotch finished up in the other room, you both instinctively glanced over your shoulders, catching the tail end of Rossi and Gideon’s playful banter. Almost at the same moment, you felt the warmth of Hotch’s chestnut eyes searching for yours, a silent connection sparking between you. Without saying a word, you both knew exactly how the next five minutes would unfold - the lingering of your inside joke used as a comfortable distraction to brush aside the undeniable chemistry that was quietly growing between you.

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

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gothic-thoughts · 10 months ago

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Music To My Ears

Gojo Satoru x Black GN Reader Smut

MDNI, Perv Coworker!Gojo, Bimbo!Reader

CW: all the dirty words(he's a whore), stupid and oblivious Reader, Gojo jerking 📴 to your voice, reader being fluent in Yapanese 😭, imma degrade y'all cuz u lack brain cells

Word Count: 1191 (give or take)

It was 11 pm, and you were on the phone with your coworker, Satoru. You've been talking for about an hour now, but after a while, you noticed soft huffing and heard soft panting. Since there's not much going on up there, all you thought to do was tilt your head to the side with confusion. You shrug it off and continue to yap, but the longer he listened, the more he groped and palmed his erection through the grey sweats he wore.

“Uh, Gojo?” Your first mistake was saying his name.

“Yeah? What’s up, girlie?”

“You good?"

"Say again?" He heard you perfectly fine, but you can't tell can you?

"I asked if you were good. You workin' out right now?"

“Hah, yeah.” He responds before muttering, “I'm workin' somethin', ngh."

“Huh? You keep mumbling, Toru.”

"Hehe, don't worry about it." More panting "Just...continue your story."

You shake your head, believing his panting really came from a workout regimen, knowing damn well the strongest sorcerer don't need one.

“So like I was saying...”

He chuckled and made a low growling noise as he reached into his sweatpants, feeling how damp his boxers were from how much precum soaked into them. He bit his lip, slowly pulling out the erection that you caused from that voice you blessed him with. Every inflection, filler word, and gasp when you remembered another part of your story drove him so wild.

“And then I was like, ‘Ohmygod, Shoko’s not working for once?’ So I ran up to her...”

He grunts, trying his best to keep his voice away from the whiney territory he knew it could rise to if he felt too good. To you, his breathing sounded a bit...off, as if it sounded heavy and...well, different than normal. But he was working out, of course, he’d sound like that.

“The only reason I hesitated was because I feel like she don’t like me...”

With every passing moment, his fist passed over his shaft while his left hand kept a firm hold around his base, keeping him from exploding too soon, and with how often you clicked your tongue or sucked your teeth, he could’ve at any moment.

“Do you think she likes me; ion think she likes me. Anyways, though...”

The grunting sound only grew in pitch as the groans started to sound more...animalistic, mouth forming a smirk. He whispers your name, guiding his hand up and down his cock a little faster, getting the palm sticky with precum.

“Toru...” The concern in your voice makes his hand stop, “You sure you okay?

He bites his lip as he moans softly, watching another drop of precum squeeze out his tip and slide down to his still fist. "Yeah... heh...”

“You huffin’ like a dog.”

“Oh sorry. I’m doing... I’m doin’ some push-ups right now so..."

"Ohhhh, aight."

"Keep talking, short stuff."

"You even listening, Gojo?"

"Of course I am, I can, ngh, multitask."

"Mmm..."

The little hum of yours made him bite his bottom lip so hard that it bled. "I mean it, girlie." He sighs, "Hanging on every word. You were talking about your shopping spree."

"Oh yeah! I got a bunch of clothes with Utahime today! And they are the fuckin’ cutest! Like, there’s one that was...”

He groaned quieter as he heard you continue on, pumping his hand up and down to the speed your excited voice spoke. His fist twists with each stroke, grinding his red, sensitive cockhead into his palm which makes him shiver. The sound of his breathing had become noticeably heavier and deeper. He didn't respond just yet, instead, he only let out low grunts and 'mhm's in response to what he heard you say. He started to lift his hips from his bed, fucking his fist while pretending it was him making you ride him.

“And I got new lip gloss. Like a lot of lip gloss; cuz you know me...”

He did, in fact, know you; meaning that you prolly got almost every color, scent, and flavor imaginable just to try out. That sentence was all it took for the strongest sorcerer's mind to switch from thoughts of how good you'd feel bouncing on his long dick to how soft and wet your mouth was. You talk so much so it's gotta be moisturized as hell, not like he wouldn't make you use so much spit it made the colors on your lips smear around his veined shaft.

He whined into the speaker as you rambled, but TRUST he was listening. His eyes were rolled back, his hand began pumping faster, massaging the swollen head of his cock while his free hand gripped the base. He wanted to smear that lip gloss, stick, whatever so bad; just the thought of leaving your plump lips and chin stained with white and whatever other color made his full balls tense.

"H-hey, short stuff? You think you can you count down from 10 for me?"

"Yeah, why?"

"For my workout, remember?"

"Ohhh, right." You let out another oblivious giggle, "I forgot about that."

"Y-yeah, I'm, uhm, planking... and I'm al-most....done. Count for me."

"Kaykay. Ten.... nine..."

His hand slows down, trying to time his orgasm with that sexy voice. Gojo groaned and grunted, letting it all out since your dopey ass wholeheartedly believed he was tired from overexertion.

"Eight... seven..."

"Yesss~" He whispered, "Suck it, baby girl, that's it. Show me those eyes."

His breath got shallow as he looked down at his thighs, imagining you were scratching at them while your glazed-over eyes blinked up at him.

"Six... five..."

"Yeah, not a fuckin' thought behind them, huh? F-uck, lemme give your mouth somethin' else to do."

Unable to help himself, he speeds up his hand, coating his entire dick in his own precum. His back arches from the bed as his hips thrust up, fucking his fist as you got close to one.

"Four.... three..."

"So fucking close, s'fuckin' close. I'm...gonna...cum. W-wanna cum in your mouth, baby please."

"Two... one."

"Ah, shiiit!!"

He let a resounding, drawn-out growl as pent-up cum spurts from his cock, shooting across his slim fingers. He continued driving his shaft through his fist, body shaking on his bed as his load continued to spill over his hand. He finally calms down, resting on his bed, and looking down at the cum all over his abs and lower stomach, clinging to his happy trail and pubes.

"Damn," Your voice snaps him out of it, "Did you hurt yourself, Toru? That sounded painful?"

"N-no, I'm okay just...." He gulps thickly, collecting himself, "J-just planked longer than I could handle, heh."

"Was that okay? Did I count too fast or...?"

"Haah, no. It was perfect, girlie, th-thanks."

"Oh... uhh..." You tilt that empty head of yours, "What was I saying...?"

"You were talkin' 'bout... gettin' some clothes from Utahime... I think?"

"Oh, yeah! Then I was talkin' bout lip gloss!"

"Yeah, yeah." His cock slowly starts to harden again, putting a tired, yet devious smirk on his face, "Tell me what colors you got."

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

(a/n): eat up.

#black writers #black reader #x black reader #jujutsu kaisen x black reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo smut #gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo x you #black bimbo

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messy-gemini1 · 1 year ago

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More Hellsing :3

A/n: its gonna be alot of alucardxreader stuff :3

Alucard: What’s sexting? Reader: I'm not having this conversation with you. ______

Reader: Hey, wanna take a shower with me? Alucard: I have a gun in that nightstand beside the bed. If I ever say no to that question, I want you to take it out and shoot me because I’ve obviously gone crazy. ______

Seras: Bonjour, Reader. Voulez–vous coucher avec moi? Reader: No, I don't want to sleep with you. Seras: Is that what that means? Oh, man, Pip was really forward then huh. ______

Reader, gardening: Hey, can you bring me the hoe? Sir Integra: Yeah, sure. *A few minutes later* Sir Integra: Here you go. Reader: Sir Integra: Walter: Why am I here? ______

Reader: Is there a cactus where your heart should be? Seras: What’s up your ass this morning! Alucard: *walks in* ...Hey. Seras: Hmm… nevermind. Reader: WAIT NO! ______

Reader: *sucking on a popsicle* Seras: Pfft, you practicing for when Alucard gets here. Reader: *takes a huge ass bite out of the popsicle* Seras: *Concern* ______

Reader: Wait, what's going on? Are we all talking about how hot Alucard is? Because Alucard is a straight up sexual fox riding a red-hot nuclear bombshell right toward the yowza plaza in the heart of Babe City, Assachusetts, U S A. The last A just stands for more ass. ______

Seras: look Pip, I'm not slut shaming you but... Seras: Actually yeah, I'm TOTALLY slut shaming you. ______

Seras: Why is everyone so obsessed with top or bottom? Honestly, I’d just be excited to have a bunk bed. Walter: Walter: I'm gonna tell her. Reader: Don't you dare. ______

Reader: If we were in prison, you guys would be like my bitches. *The wild geese who just met reader*:.... ______

Reader: What’s your body count? Alucard: Do you mean sex or murder?

#hellsing #hellsing alucard #hellsing ultimate #hellsing x reader #seras victoria #alucard x reader #alucard hellsing #sir integra

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mechaknight-98 · 8 months ago

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A Train to Busan II (NSFW) FT: Jeewon

Part I

Authors note: sorry for the weird shift in the middle of how they speak in the middle. I was working on a different piece and the dialogue kinda bleed through.

I checked into my hotel on the edge of Busan after the train ride, because I wanted to see the countryside before spending the evening and night sightseeing. Interestingly enough Jeewon was also staying in the same hotel. So after we both checked in we both regrouped in my room. Jeewon was bubbly and as perky as could be. I noticed she was also exceptionally flirty.

A lingering touch here. A rub of the thigh there. I could feel her body inch closer to mine until she took off her shirt and bra leaving her massive bust bare.

“I know Chaehyun got a taste of your body and now I want mine.” She said with a voice made husky by lust.

“I saw you try to be a good man and not sneak looks at our bodies. Not think about how’d you ravish them but you’re not a good man Dino. I can feel it.” She said as she lowered herself to my crotch.

“You sure are cocky. How can you be sure” I challenge

Jeewon’s eyes go wide but then shrink to normal as she begins to massage her chest“I can see it in your eyes. I can feel it in your muscles. You hold back. That thing inside you that you spend every day killing I see it and it wants out. I intend to let it out.” Her words set me on edge. Surely she couldn’t mean what I thought she meant. I wondered if she knew what that part of me was capable of. I worried about her safety but it’s also not often such a voluptuous woman offered her body so willingly to me.

“Run wild fuck my huge breasts. then lose yourself as you claim my pussy, and please drink my milk.” Jeewon says as her breasts begin to leak all over her chest. Jeewon’s words make me question something and so I ask

“You say claim your pussy but your breast leak as though you’re with child. How can that be?” I inquire perplexed

“My body was blessed by a fertility goddess. In that blessing, I would always be fertile.” Between her melodic voice and mesmerizing body, my inhibitions were gone.

I lift her and begin to kiss her Jeewon smiles.

“You taste exciting,” she says eyes lit ablaze with longing and fascination before going in again. I feel her arms snake around my body hoping to bring me closer. As I reciprocate her kinetic pleas for intimacy I paw at her breasts. She moans and breaks the kiss again. She stares at my tattoos and asks “Where did you get these?"

“They were needed for my job,” I reply still guarded. Jeewon pouts and for a moment the bubbly girl is back not the vixen

She tenses and says, “So what do you do for work? Or do you still not trust us?” she asks. I remain cagey about my answer.

“Trust lives by more than just seduction and comfort,” I reply.

“Yet you trust Chae enough to let her claim you?” She teases

“I am not property to be claimed by anyone" I reply

“ Did I strike a nerve? I meant no offense, but please be serious both Hayoung and I see the eyes you have for her.”

“Then why am I here with you?” I ask

Jeewon smiles, “touche”

“Also what's with the old-time speech? I feel like I'm in a Bible class or some old play. Just waiting for you to bust out a thou or a thee.” I question.

Jeewon laughs and her bubbly smile returns, “The platinum tongue is so ingrained you don't even realize its magic has spread.”

“How do you know about that?” I inquired of Jeewon

“Because to me you're not speaking English but Korean. Not modern by any means but to me you sound like a knight of old.”

“Oh well, that checks out,” I say and Jeewon laughs.

“So why Chaehyun?” Jeewon asks

“Well I'm not thinking about her right now for obvious reasons but she chose me first” I answer Jeewon laughs as we go in and out of another kiss. She then pushes me down to the hotel bed and begins her ministrations in earnest.

I discarded my clothes as we feverishly make out, and she wrapped her tits around my cock. Her chest was soaked with her milk letting me almost glide between her mounds. Jeewon smiles as I groan. My eyes roll into the back of my head as she continues to push me closer to release. I watch and writhe as the young woman rubs her sizable breasts along my shaft. Each pull and push lowers my sanity just a little bit.

"Fuck Jeewon." I gasp. Jeewon smiles at me

"Enjoying it?" she questions. I nod at her question and she continues. She watches me with that infectious smile and I reach down and cup her face. Her smile only grows brighter. It brought me a weird sense of comfort, or maybe that was the dopamine from her excellent tit job. regardless I nodded to her question. As she continues I feel myself getting closer and closer. something she takes note of.

"Are you gonna cum?" Jeewon asked, "Do it. Cum all over my tits. Spray them with your seed." she says. her last words were enough to send me over the edge my rod began to expel my seed all over her chest and face.

"You cam a lot," Jeewon says with an amused smile as she takes a finger and wipes the cum off of her chest and puts it onto her face.

"taste a little like vanilla," she says happily. before getting up and approaching the shower. she wiggles her cute butt and asks me to join her.

Before I can answer her My phone has a call it's from Chaehyun. Jeewon walks over and laughs at the name on it.

"Marshmello?" She asks me.

"She's so soft. wait why am I defending myself to you?" I reply. Jeewon laughs and gestures for me to answer it.

"Hey, when you guys are done checking in remember to meet us at the art museum." She said.

"Okay, Mello. Jeewon will be there." I answer

"Good. I will be expecting you," she replied in a sing-song tone. Jeewon watches from her side and gives me a teasing smile. I shoo her away as I finish the call.

"You two are adorable," Jeewon says laughing.

"Oh be quiet."

"No, I am serious. Your smile was this big" Jeewon says exaggerating the size to be her full wingspan (The length between the tip of her longest finger to the other with her arms stretched out horizontally. for those who don't know.) "And she very rarely goes full girly voice." she adds. I smile but then shake it off.

"Y'all are trouble," I reply

"As are you Mister Mysterious Warrior," Jeewon replies.

#kpop fanfic #fanfic #jeewon cignature #jeewon smut #cignature #cignature smut

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inlovewithgreta · 1 year ago

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＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ Kinktober 2023 ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Week One: breeding kink/riding

Shapeshifter - Larissa Weems x Fem!Reader

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Summary: Larissa had learned something new about herself, and you were the only person she was ever going to share it with.

Other Warnings: shape-shifted cock, explicit language, creampie, etc…

Word Count: 1.5k

Taglist: @enchantressb @dopenightmaretyphoon @shslbunnylover

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Your gaze couldn't help but shift to the newfound bulge in Larissa's panties. You two had been carelessly making out in bed when you suddenly felt something new touch your inner thigh.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't know I could do that," Larissa's cheeks instantly grew crimson as your mouth fell agape at the sight beneath you.

Her hand went to move between her legs, in an attempt to cover her newly shape-shifted cock, but a gentle hand from you tugged at her wrist to stop her action.

"No no, don't be embarrassed, my love." Your hand slid from her wrist to interlace your fingers with hers as an attempt to comfort the blue-eyed blonde beneath you.

"But it's a—"

"I know, but that's okay!" You give Larissa's hand a gentle squeeze, "I actually find it quite... interesting." Your gaze lowered back down to her bulge.

"Interesting?" The blonde questioned, eyebrows knitting in confusion. "How?" Her usual pale cheeks only reddened ever more.

"Well, if you can do this..." You leaned forward, hovering your lips over Larissa's ear. "Then we don't need the strap anymore.. and if you can feel this..." You then placed a hand on her bulge, giving it a firm squeeze that had Larissa's breath hitch. "Then I say, let me pleasure you in ways you've never imagined." You ended your speech with kisses along Larissa's neck.

The blonde squirmed at your touch. Her thoughts were running wild at all the new things she could not only feel, but do. And she was glad that you were so into it. Something she never thought possible, something she was now excited to test out with you.

"Pleasure me then," Larissa's voice was quiet and breathy.

Your hand took no time in pulling her panties down, freeing her hardened cock from its tight restraints. The thin cloth got tossed carelessly behind you as you kept your focus on the woman beneath you.

"Is this okay?" you genuinely asked when you heard a gasp after grinding your hips on her.

"Yess, definitely yes."

Larissa was shocked at how good it felt. The feeling of your bare wet pussy sliding against her newfound body part had her in a daze. Her crimson colored fingers grabbed at your waist, gently stroking at your stretch marks as your hips moved back and forth.

She couldn't help but let out her first soft moan, unaware that her noises only encouraged you more. Your hands fell to her tits to keep yourself steady as you rocked.

"How does this feel?" you asked.

"I-It feels good, but—" The woman cut herself off, sheepishly avoiding eye contact until you lifted a finger to her chin, bringing her gaze back onto you.

"But what? Use your words, darling. I can't help you if I don't know what you need.."

"I need more," she confessed, letting out a shaky breath at the slow roll of your hips that had her cock twitch beneath you.

"How much more?" Your thumb gently grazed over her light pink nipple.

"I need to feel you... to feel myself inside you. To feel every possible inch of you that you'll give me."

You leaned forward after Larissa finished speaking, pressing your lips firmly against her now barely crimson colored ones in a loving kiss.

"If that's what you want, then who am I to deny you of such pleasure.." you purred against her lips.

You could hear Larissa's breath hitch as your hand slid between her legs to line her cock up with your slick hole.

"Are you ready?"

The blue-eyed beauty nodded her head, soft hands taking place at the curve of your hips.

"Words my love."

"I'm ready— I'm so damn ready."

You ran the tip of her dick along your folds before slowly easing her inside you. Your arousal made it easy for her to slide in, quiet profanities leaving Larissa's lips as she truly felt you for the first time.

She instantly felt euphoric, the new sensation quickly becoming something she would soon crave more and more of. You were both so eager to please each other, Larissa immediately guiding your hips along her length.

You sighed contently, head falling to the nape of Larissa's neck. Your lips instantly locked onto her porcelain skin to kiss along her neck.

"Fuckk..." she mumbled.

Your hand fell just under her jawline to turn her head, allowing you more access to the woman's neck.

Larissa's hips instinctively bucked up just as you made your way down her length that had her hitting the spongy spot deep inside that forced a moan to escape past your lips.

"Oh my god.." You met your movements with Larissa's, moving down the full length of her cock that had your skin smack against hers after being met with each thrust. "Faster.. please go faster," you mewled.

Larissa's hands left your waist to fondle your ass, slender fingers gripped at your cheeks as the blonde thrusted into your cunt that had your brain going fuzzy. Your hand on the woman's jawline pulled her face towards you, engulfing her full lips into a passionate kiss.

As Larissa picked up her pace, your moans got silenced into her mouth as her tongue was quick to dominate your own. Her fingernails dug across your ass, leaving reddened marks in their wake as she began deeply pounding into you.

"God you feel so good," she groaned into the kiss.

Your free hand slid down to her breast, fingers pulling her pink nipple between your fingers. You could feel a familiar knot form in your stomach as Larissa became erratic, her thrusts hitting you right where you needed her most.

"Let me see you when you come," Larissa stated when she felt your pussy clench around her. "I want to see that pretty little face you always make when I have you come."

You sat up straight, giving Larissa exactly what she wanted. Her blue eyes immediately fell to your tits that your hands grabbed as soon as you sat up. She loved watching the way your tits bounced and swayed with your movements. The way your eyebrows knitted as you could feel yourself getting close to your release. The way your mouth fell agape to let the throaty moans of ecstasy escape from your throat.

It was truly a sight for her to see, and it only made her want to let you finish faster so she can watch you come along the length of her cock.

"I'm so close, 'Rissa!"

You bounced on her cock, ignoring the strain to your thighs as you chased your release. Larissa was right behind you, she could feel herself getting worked up as her breathing labored. Beads of sweat formed along your hairline as your hand dipped between your thighs. Your fingers played with your clit, and that truly sent Larissa over the edge. Her eyes fixated on the way her lengthy cock sunk in and out of you while your fingers toyed with your clit.

"Fuck– I'm close too, don't stop!"

Your moans only grew louder as Larissa's nails dug into your sensitive skin. Your movements became desperate, mouth becoming dry as it didn't dare to close to allow for Larissa to hear every moan.

Your pussy clenching around Larissa's cock as you came had her own moans grow louder. Eyebrows knitted together, and legs shook violently as your orgasm ripped roughly through you.

"Oh shit! I-I'm gonna come!" Larissa quickly became aware of the fact that she had no protection, and the look of panic on her face didn't last long as your next words sent her straight over the edge.

"Come inside me," you said as you did your best not to still your shaking body from your orgasm.

"Fuck.." she groaned.

"Please," you whimpered as your movements slightly slowed. "Fill me. Fill every inch of me with your come!"

Larissa's breathing labored as she immediately held onto you tightly, head falling deeper into the plush pillow, her cock twitching before shooting her load inside you.

"Yesss, just like that!" you egged her on.

You rose and fell along her cock as she came inside you, white droplets coating the length of her dick that she couldn't help but gaze at.

It was a pure sight to see from her angle. Your body being completely overloaded with her come that when you slowly lifted yourself from her, your pussy dripping of her come.

Your inner thigh was covered with your juices along with her come, and Larissa's eyes darkened when your fingers dipped between your legs before sliding into your mouth.

"Mmm," you hummed in approval as you sucked on your come covered digits. "Sooo good..." you admitted before leaning forward once more, and giving Larissa a needy kiss.

Your tongue dipped into her mouth, and Larissa couldn't help but copy the same hum you just made as she tasted not only you, but herself as well.

"Do that again," you whispered against her lips, Larissa instantly flipping the two of you over to allow her to be on top.

She had a fire in her eyes as she pinned you to the duvet, stray hairs falling past her face as she closely hovered over you.

'Gladly' was her only response as she wrapped your legs around her and lined herself back up with your entrance, ready to give you exactly what you wanted.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

general masterlist | kinktober | taglist

#inlovewithgreta’s kinktober #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #principal larissa weems x reader #larissa x you #larissa weems smut #larissa weems #larissa x reader #larissa x y/n #principal weems

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rabid-reads · 2 months ago

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My August Reads Ranked

1. One Dark Window by Rachel Gillig: This was by far my favorite read this month. I love this book. I love it more than I love The Folk of the Air. More than the Dark Rise series. More than Captive Prince. Because it has EVERYTHING. The plot, the magic system, the characters, the writing, all of it is as equally good as the rest. Even though at the ending there’s a twist that’s sad, I was still EXCITED to see what happens next (more hype than sad). I root for the Nightmare too. “Long live the King.” The writing is show don’t tell and I fucking LOVE IT. I FUCKING LOVE IT. I am so tired of seeing a lot of telling in story books, and all my favs serve show.

2. Bunny by Mona Awad: This wasn’t as dark as I thought it was going to be, but it won me over with the writing. It’s clever, dark and hilarious. Samantha’s dilemma with the bunnies was relatable for me, especially the first smut salon she attends. It was a fun ride, and I enjoyed this book for reasons I wasn’t expecting to. The way Awad describes feelings is spectacular.

3. The Prisoner’s Throne by Holly Black: It was good to be back in Elfhame. I liked Prisoner’s Throne more than Stolen Heir because, of course, Jude and Cardan. I thought Wren and Oak’s story was cute and I had a fun time reading it, but I’m not over Jude and Cardan yet and that’s all I want.

4. The Stolen Heir by Holly Black: At first, I was a bit put off by how Jude-like Wren was, and how Cardan-like Oak was, but I had a good time. If Black wants to go back and write scenes showcasing Jude and Cardan falling in love, I’m all for that. Would love to see the two of them snuggling by a fire.

5. On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft by Stephen King: I knew I’d like this because every time I watch King speak, he’s fun. He’s fun to listen to, he’s fun to read. He’s at his best when he’s shooting the shit. This was a good time.

6. The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde: I love the dialogue in this, it can be interpreted in different ways and it’s exciting to think about. I’ve never read anything as quotable as this book. I lived for every time Dorian threw himself on a couch in a fit of angst.

7. The Corsair’s Captive by Ruby Dixon: Dixon never lets me down. It’s another cozy, fun sci-fi romance with the big blue dudes. I have to read her shifter smut; it’s going to be everything.

8. The Science of Storytelling by Will Storr: I appreciated how blunt this book was, and the information provided was interesting. If you’re looking for a book about why humans tell stories as well as scientific reasons why you should have an existential crisis. This is the one.

9. Victor by Brianna West: The most egregious offense to me was the smut. Because. How are you screwing an Angel, and it’s vanilla? No mention of where his wings are? Nothing special about his equipment? Only fucks in missionary? They could fuck in the air, but we’re going to sidestep that? Other than that the world-building wasn’t there for me, and the writing was a whole lot of telling. The adverb intense descriptions didn’t land for me, and I didn’t care about any of the characters. The fmc was annoying.

10. Haunting Adeline by H.D. Carlton: Zade is so Neil Breen coded. Like, if I found out Breen wrote this character for Carlton, it would make a lot of sense. I hate this book. I don’t know why I do this to myself.

The books I'm most stoked to read in September are: Monstrilio by Gerardo Samano Cordova, Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries by Heather Fawcett and Two Twisted Crowns by Rachel Gillig.

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choosingwhatmatters · 3 months ago

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Music in The Loyal Pin, Episode 1

My goodness, what a beautiful chocolate brownie of a first episode! There are already wonderful posts about the way in which the funds of the series have been put to good use. One aspect that has not been highlighted yet (please correct me if I'm wrong) is the music. And oh!, the music we get in this series.

My ears perked up from the very beginning of the show. We get an orchestral score! All the instruments of magic welcome us at the palace: strings, a harp, a glockenspiel, woodwinds, bar chimes, a piano - I was smiling within seconds.

Tv shows very rarely receive a score like this because arranging, recording and mixing music for twenty different instruments is time-consuming and complex, by which I mean expensive. One trick you can use to lower the costs is using synthesised instruments. The strings we can hear are not real. However, a brilliant thing the scoring team does here is mix in real instruments. For example, we can hear real flutes, if I am not mistaken. Some cello and violin pieces throughout the episode have also been recorded with real instruments. For me, the whole soundscape is simply beautiful!

What about the music itself? There are three things I would like to talk about: the pentatonic scale, Pachelbel and a melody that I hope will become one of Pin and Anin's.

1. The very first thing we hear when Anin has landed on Pin is a melody comprised of five different notes. For Western ears, these fives notes are inevitably associated with music from South-East Asia. The scale resulting from these notes is called a pentatonic scale, and if you ever feel like playing it: look for the black keys on any piano keyboard and go wild. The cool thing about the pentatonic scale is that it's fantastic for improvising. In Western music, it's used all the time because these notes simply sound good together.

We have a lot of ambient music in this episode. Music that blends with the peaceful atmosphere onscreen, and often the pentatonic scale is used to do just that.

2. Which brings me to another piece of music I want to talk about: Johann Pachelbel's Canon in D major. It's the first and the last piece played at the dance. While the king discusses Anin's future with the rest of the family, we can see Pin and Anin dancing to this piece. I find this significant because most music scholars believe that Pachelbel composed the Canon as wedding music (for Bach's brother, no less).

I haven't read the book the series is based on. I have avoided spoilers as best as I could. Logically, I KNOW that it is very unlikely that we get a happy ending here. But I get to see two women in a historical setting dancing to a wedding piece and this fact alone makes me very, very happy.

3. Off to my last point. Even though most of the episode features music, I have noticed very little repetition. There is, however, one piece of music that comes back.

We can hear it when Pin and Anin have their first meeting, and again when Anin discovers her windmill and her ribbon in Pin's bedroom. (What do you call those tiny windmills? And, more importantly, what is it with these two and tiny windmills? Thank you, creators, for the nod to your GAP fandom.)

The piece sounds somewhat like this:

The harmonies are more intricate, but this gives us an idea what we can listen out for in future episodes. The melody is simple and sweet. It could be connected to childhood and adolescence. I'm curious to see if we encounter it again.

And I'm very excited to see whether the score team continues with motives and reprises. I love straining my ears for these because they give us even more clues about the happenings onscreen.

Thank you for riding along with me! I am so excited to see what the show has in store for us!

#and thank you everyone for sharing your knowledge #i have learned so much #Utsch choosing music #the loyal pin #thai love you

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emmyspov · 2 years ago

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Four times he wasn't sure + 1 time he was (Aragorn x Reader)

author's note: ahh, this is finally done! i started it last year but then uni and work got in the way so it took me until now to finish it. i'm super excited about this honestly, and i hope some of you will feel just as happy reading it. if enough people are interested, i have thought about writing a part two already, like "four times reader wasn't sure + 1 time they were" - what do you think? as always, i tried to keep reader's looks etc. really vague, if there is something you think can be adjusted to make it even more inclusive, please let me know!

warnings: english isn't my first language, mentions of blood, war, death, canon lotr fights, let me know if i forgot something :)

word count: 2.4 k (I think that's the longest fic i've written!)

gif by @dunderklumpen

The first time

"What were you thinking, Strider?", you hissed as the man sat down next to you at the campfire.

"Going out there all by yourself, with no backup. What if a herd of orcs had found you, huh? What then?"

Aragorn could tell you were mad.

"You could have been killed!"

He wasn't even sure if that alone was enough to describe the intense emotions you were displaying right now.

"Darling, I-"

You cut him off. "I don't want to hear it, Aragron. This was dangerous. Something bad could have happened to you."

He hated this. He hated how your voice wavered, either with anger or fear or both. He wanted to see that pretty smile back on your face.

"I can take care of myself."

You took a deep breath. You knew he was right. After all, he was a Ranger from the north who's been riding through the wild all by himself for years, keeping others and himself safe.

Aragorn could tell that something had changed in your demeanor. The wild gesturing of your hands slowed down and your eyes had softened again.

"I know you can", you started as you fumbled around with your hands. "But... What I've been trying to say is that I worry. All the time, about everyone and everything. And when I realised that you were the only one gone from the group and out there without anyone who could help you in case of an attack, something inside me flipped. My worry for you was clouding any rational judgement."

You fell silent for a moment.

"You have the weight of the world on your shoulders, Aragorn. I'm sorry I raised my voice at you. I am just asking, begging you, please don't shut me out. Let me help you carry this weight. You don't have to be the lone ranger any longer. Allow me to take care of you. Let me in."

The crownless king was, quite literally, speechless. Your words had knocked the air out of his lungs.

Would your reaction have been the same if had been Legolas or Boromir who strayed away from the group? He wasn't sure. But then again, it didn't really matter. You cared about him. So much that you became sick with worry when the possibility of something bad happening to him arose.

The thought alone brought a smile to his face, making the skin crinkle around his eyes.

You would never get enough of that sight.

"I promise, I will try my very best to do exactly that", Aragon answered before he paused, thinking about whether he should make you an offer or not. He decided to take the risk. "Maybe, next time, you could accompany me."

Your eyes lit up and he knew he made the right decision. "I would love to."

His chest felt light.

The second time

You've always been someone who gave people their privacy. After all, you didn't want anyone to feel uncomfortable around you, but the way you saw Aragorn struggle right this moment made you second guess that decision.

He could feel your eyes on him. He knew you were watching him and yet, he didn't want to take the first step. He hated to be a burden which was exactly the reason why he wasn't going to ask you for help.

Maybe Legolas would assist him with applying the ointment on his back, or maybe- his train of thoughts came to a halt.

He promised you.

He promised he'd do his best to let you in, let you take care of him.

Instead of calling out your name, his eyes locked with yours and he silently pleaded you'd understand.

You did. Of course you did.

With just a few steps, you were standing next to the man, resulting in him letting out a sigh of relief.

His hair was wet from bathing in the lake closeby and the dirt that was usually decorating his face had also been washed away.

"Do you need any help?"

He's sure that he never heard a voice as sweet as yours, basically dripping with kindness.

He nodded. "If you don't mind."

A smile graced your features. "Not when it comes to you, my king."

You took the small container from Aragon's hand which was filled with ointment, made by Elrond to help heal wounds and relieve some pain.

You gestured for the ranger to sit down in front of you and he dropped to his knees without hesitation, his bare back to you.

You scooped up a bit of the tincture. "I apologise for my cold hands", you whispered before gently applying it to the ranger's skin.

He shuddered as soon as your fingers touched him and he tried to convince himself the goosebumps that arose on his skin were caused by the cold, not you.

You could feel Aragorn melt into your touch. His breath evened out and for a second, you even thought he had fallen asleep which was, truly, the only reason you started to trace over some old scars on his back, careful not to cause the ranger any pain.

"They don't hurt", he suddenly spoke and you flinched.

"I- My apologies, I didn’t... think, know- I-" You let out a huff of embarrassment, causing the crownless king to chuckle slightly.

A peaceful silence fell over you while you continued to rub the balm into Aragorn's shoulders and down his back, making sure to not only treat his more recent wounds.

"Where did you get this one", you carefully asked as you caressed a scar on his upper back.

And so, the ranger started to tell you the first story of many about life in the wilderness while you took care of him.

Both of you pretended not to notice when your lips brushed his skin every time he finished an anecdote of his life.

Even if that had been his last evening in middle earth, Aragorn would have been content. He got to spend it with you.

The third time

He didn't know how you did it. How you, despite of all the running, fighting and extreme weather conditions, managed to look absolutely breathtaking.

It was unfair, really.

Not that something as simple as one's looks impressed Aragorn, no.

It was just you he liked to look at because all he could think about were your beautiful brain and warm heart whenever his eyes fell on you.

It was his turn to stay up and keep watch of the fellowship's campsite, making sure they'd get through the night without an incident.

It was a calm night, there was no danger to be seen and although the crownless king stayed alert of their surroundings, he couldn't help but let his eyes drift to you every once in a while.

He was glad you were finally getting some well deserved rest after everything that has happened so far.

As if you could feel somebody watching you, you woke up. Keeping still, you checked the area around you without a single turn of your head.

Aragorn was keeping the night watch and you immediately felt a wave of calm wash over you. If he was sitting around so comfortably, you knew you could feel safe.

But then again, you also felt sorry for the ranger. Although he was running from his destiny, he had made it his mission to keep the whole fellowship safe and alive which was quite the heavy burden to carry.

You could see it, too. His tired eyes or the way at least one part of his body was always tense, ready to fight.

You let out a soft sigh and got up from your sleeping mat, quietly walking over to the man as you tried not to disturb the others.

"Y/N", he spoke softly, "Go back to sleep. You will need the rest."

Instead of answering, you plopped down next to him, his arm brushing yours.

"I can't lay down, pretending not to see you doubt yourself, even at night when everyone else entrusts you with everything they have. You think too much, Aragorn. Let that head of yours come to a rest."

Maybe it was the intimacy of the dark, but when you gestured for him to lay his head in your lap, he didn't fight it. Not for too long, anyway. There was some hesitation, but you looked too warm and too comfortable for him to miss out on this opportunity.

A sigh of relief left his lips as his head made contact with your thighs, the rest of his body turning into a ball.

A rare moment of vulnerability.

You were fighting your own urges for a while before finally letting your heart take over and bringing your fingers up to his head.

Carefully, you started to brush through the ranger's dark curls, removing any small knots along the way.

After a moment of fear that you might have overstepped his boundaries, your heart immediately felt lighter when you noticed him practically melting into your touch while he let out a relaxed groan.

"Does that feel good?"

Aragorn hummed and you smiled to yourself, deciding to go all in.

Your hands moved up his head, gently scratching his scalp for quite some time before massaging his temples.

You've never seen the ranger so blissed out.

Aragorn, on the other hand, couldn't remember the last time he felt so at peace. Your hands were like heaven in his hair and he wondered how they would feel holding his own hands in times of difficulty or against his cheeks while leaning in for a kiss.

He let himself indulge in those fantasies, not putting an end to them, despite the fact you weren't his.

When all this was over, he decided, he would ask you to stay with him.

The fourth time

The next time, there wasn't even hesitation. When you reunited with the man after the battle of Helm's Deep and saw him covered in blood - which wasn't his own, he assured you - you immediately pulled him aside, your hands cupping his face.

"Aragorn", you breathed and leaned your forehead against his.

"It is not over yet, Y/N", he replied as he took your hands, gently squeezing them.

"I feared for that, but let us celebrate this win. For now, let us take pride in the fact that evil did not win. There is still hope."

He grinned. "You are using my words against me, my darling."

"Someone has to", you mused, "otherwise you will never realise the power behind your words. And now sit down and let me clean your face before the blood dries completely."

He followed your instructions without any complaints.

You grabbed a bowl of water and a clean enough cloth and kneeled down in front of the king.

If it had been anyone else, you might have felt vulnerable or disrespected, but not in this situation.

You dipped the piece of fabric into the warm water before bringing it up to the king's face, gently wiping the blood off of his cheek.

His eyes were fixed on you. He wasn't sure how anyone could look so beautiful while being so focused. The urge to ease the tension between your eyebrows bubbled up in his chest and he desperately wanted to kiss that exact spot. But he couldn't. You weren't his and he still wasn't sure if you wanted to be.

Your voice interrupted his train of thoughts.

"Stop me if this is inappropriate, my king", you murmured after you had stood up and were now mere inches away from his face, brushing his hair back to clean his forehead.

He gulped, trying to ignore how nice you smelt, even during times of war and blood and how the use of his title didn't make him uncomfortable when you said it.

"No, this is nice", Aragorn finally replied and mentally scolded himself for sounding so unsure.

When you were done cleaning his face, you put the bowl down and turned back around to him.

"I can get you some more water if you wish to remove the blood from your chest."

He didn't want you to leave, but it would be selfish to ask you to stay when there were others who might need your assistance, so he shook his head.

"I am well enough, thank you for your help."

You tilted your head, eyes locking with his.

"You are too stubborn for your own good", you sighed. "Go and prepare what you have to, let us help the others, but tonight", you pointed at his chest, "tonight, we'll take a look at your torso."

Aragorn tried to surpress his smirk, failing miserably. "Yes, your majesty."

You rolled your eyes, a fond smile on your lips.

The fight was over.

Aragorn wasn't sure how to feel when all he's ever really known was blood and war and his own swords clashing against the enemys' weapons.

But it was over.

The ring had been destroyed and by some miracle, most of the good ones had made it out alive, you included.

His heart felt suddenly very heavy as his eyes landed on your form, not knowing how you envisioned your future now that the quest had been completed.

Your eyes found his and without thinking, you ran over to the king, throwing your arms around his neck.

"We won, Aragorn", you whispered into his ear and hugged the man even tighter.

It was hard to ignore the happiness bubbling up in his chest as he felt your body against his and the joy in your voice in his ears.

"My darling", he whispered and your heart skipped a beat, "stay with me. Stay by my side and let us, together, create a world of peace for the people now and the generations that will follow."

You stared at him, not believing your own ears.

Aragorn understood your silence as reluctance and took a step back.

"It seems I have misunderstood the situation when I believed you wanted to be mine as well, I apologise for the-"

Your lips crashed against his.

"No, my king." You let out a breath of relief. "It was me who did not believe your heart could want me in that way. For as long as you want me, you will have me. I'm eternally yours."

This time it was Aragorn who pressed his lips against yours, making you lose your mind with a single gesture.

"Aye, took the lad long enough to make his move", Gimli said and looked up at the elf who eyed his new-found friend.

"I told you though. They would end up together eventually."

Just like destiny intended.

#aragorn #aragorn elessar #aragorn x reader #aragorn imagine #lord of the rings #lotr #lord of the rings imagine #lotr imagine #aragorn my king #he is everything <3 #emmy writes

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ageingfangirl2 · 11 months ago

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Join My Crew! Luffy (OPLA)

You help a little girl steal a pocketwatch back from a marine, Luffy approaches and asks you to join his crew. You refuse. The next day you find yourself wanted by the marines and reconsider Luffy's offer. Luffy x Reader (F)

'Someone help me!' a young girl calls out, distress in her voice.

You look up from the fruit you were admiring at the local stall, just in time to watch a smug marine stare down at the little girl swinging a pocket watch by its chain.

'Give me Daddy's watch back! You can't take it!' the girl demands and stomps her feet.

The marine throws his head back and laughs mockingly, 'Run along little girl, you probably stole this, tears won't help you.'

You clench your fist as the marine shoves the little girl to the ground roughly. The girl bursts into tears. No one around dared to do anything, not wanting the wrath of the Marines, but that's not what you were about. You might be a thief but you had a heart, because you'd been that little girl who'd had a family necklace taken from you, that you stole back and started your life of crime.

'I hate the Marines!' a boy next to you states, you'd not seen him on the island before, but he stood out wearing a red vest and a straw hat.

You pay him no attention as you set off after the marine. This would be a simple pickpocket job, you just had to stroke an ego to get away with your crime.

You pull your blouse a little lower revealing a bit more chest than you were comfortable with, and roll your eyes before fake tripping into the marine.

'Oh no,' you gasp loudly, stumbling over nothing.

The marine catches you around the waist, and it's not lost on you when his eyes linger on your chest, but you use the distraction to snatch the pocketwatch out of his back pocket.

'Careful there beautiful,' the marine swoons, and helps you back to your feet.

You bat your eyelashes, 'Thank you, I'm such a klutz. The island needs more strong marines like you watching over us.'

The marine blushes, 'No problem, you keep safe now.'

You part ways quickly and approach the little girl who'd been helped up by the boy in the hat and a girl with short red hair, 'here you go little lady, keep a better eye on this.'

You drop the watch in her open hand and smile before ruffling her hair.

The girl stares up at you with wide eyes full of admiration, 'Thank you miss, I promise to look after daddy's watch.'

Not wanting to stay in the open any longer you go to walk away, but not before someone grabs your arm, and you stare blankly at the boy in the hat.

'Join my crew!' he says loudly, 'you can never have too many thieves.'

You shake your head and shrug him off not liking the attention, 'No thanks.'

He pouts, and you note determination behind his eyes, but you take your leave to head home for the day to try and keep a low profile.

NEXT DAY

You walk down the street feeling like hitting up the weekly market, when you walk past the bulletin board and freeze. On the board was a brand new wanted poster with your name and face with the caption 'THIEF AND ASSOCIATING WITH THE STRAW HAT PIRATE CREW'

'Shit! What am I going to do now? I'm a wanted person,' you curse, and rip the poster off the board.

'Oh? Congratulations. Join my crew,' a familiar overly excited male voice says next to you.

You jump at his sudden appearance, 'Excuse me.'

He grins, 'Join my crew, sail the seas, go on adventures, I could use someone with your set of skills.'

You gulp, noticing some marines in the distance, 'err I don't even know your name kid.'

'Luffy...now what do you say?' he replies.

You grab him and start dragging him back towards your house to grab what little belongings and weapons you have, 'fine... let's go...I hope I don't regret this...'

You were already a criminal so why not add pirate into the mix? This was going to be a wild ride.

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arlerts-angel · 1 year ago

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ONGG i just read ur softdom!armin x shy!afabreader and wanted to request – what if armin found out reader has started to steal his hoodies so she could get off somehow because she didn’t know how to ask him for pleasure? 🤭🤭 (‘m sorry the meds are making me crazy-)

note: are you kidding me!! 😩🤤 this was so much longer than i intended hnjksjshdj i love this anon!! i hope you enjoy too ❤︎ also!good morning, i've finished proofreading this at 10:30 am lolol

cw: armin x shy!afab reader are roommates, olfactophilia, voyeurism, masturbation (m! and f!), pet names (angel, pretty)

18+ ❀ minors kindly dni ❀

for a couple of times now, you've raided armin's hamper of previously worn clothes. it's too intimidating to ask him to help you get off, so you instead take his hoodies to aid in pleasuring yourself. you smell them, taking in his scent. his clothes smell so warm and inviting, like he'd swallow you whole in a hug or rearrange your guts. either one would suffice.

you take the hoodies back to your room and strip down to your bra and underwear. you lay back on your bed and begin to touch yourself as you breathe in his scent. you let out a few soft and quiet moans. though you are alone, you're still too bashful to make lewd sounds any louder. when you're aroused enough, you slide the second hoodie over your pillow and rise to your knees, placing the pillow between your thighs. you bring the other up your nose and begin to grind your clothed pussy against the pillow and let your imagination of armin run wild.

"armin–" you moan. freudian slip. you shut your mouth, but unbeknownst to you, the "damage" is already done. armin came home quite early from the library today. your door was ajar, giving him just enough of a view. he indulges in the scene before him, getting hard at the sight of you.

he slowly unbuttons his pants and slides his boxers down just enough to free his cock, hard and leaking precum. he spits in his hand and begins to stroke his cock as he watches you. he knows good and well he could just walk in and fuck you right then and there, but it was more exciting trying not to be caught. he has thought of this very moment many times, more than he'd probably like to admit.

you grind against the pillow covered by his hoodie more desperately now. your bed squeaks slightly and your slew of curses and moans of his name bring him close to his orgasm. his strokes grow faster and his breathing becomes unstable.

you moan his name one last sinful time and ride out the high of your orgasm. the sound of his name leaving your lips sends him over the edge. stringy ropes of cum collect in the palm of his hand. he dashes to the bathroom to clean up. you throw on a big t-shirt and walk back to return the hoodies to their designated hamper.

you are stunned by his presence like a deer in the headlights. he looks at the hoodies in your arms and back at you, his eyebrows raised. "what are you doing with those, y/n?" he asks innocently, as if he didn't just see a thing, much less cum to it. you're a stuttering mess trying to come up with an excuse. he grabs your chin gently and looks into your eyes, grinning devilishly.

"you're so sweet..." his voice trails and so does his hand. he gently grabs your hair in his fist and lifts your head up slightly, earning a soft moan from you. he looks in your eyes, still grinning. "i've got something that feels much better than my hoodies, angel."

shit, he saw. your heart is in your throat, but you manage to ask what he means. his grip on your hair tightens a little more, making you wince. "you know what i'm talking about, don't you? tell me what you were doing with those." he replies. why the hell is this turning me on? you think to yourself.

"i-i was, masturbating." you admit. you are well aware that he's loving this. he nods and lets go of your hair, his hands sliding down your body, stopping at your waist. "now... tell me y/n, do you want me?" he asks softly in your ear. you nod in response. "use your words, pretty. tell me exactly what you want." he coos.

"i want you to fuck me." you say without hesitation. he picks you up and carries you to his bedroom. "see? that wasn't too hard. just say that next time, angel."

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sequinsmile-x · 3 months ago

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Our Great Divide - Chapter 1: When I'm Above the Trees

It's what they'd hoped would happen for years. For a decade it's what they would talk about late at night whilst snuggled up in bed together, quiet voices whispering about a life where Jack and Haley came back, where Jack could meet his siblings and their family would finally feel complete. Now it was finally happening, Emily had a pit in her stomach. A heavy weight made of fear and guilt as she worried that this could actually be the thing that tore them apart.

A Foyet Arc AU

-x-

Hi friends!

I have been working on this one in the background for weeks! I am so excited about it and also nervous because it's something new and it feels a little different to what I've written before.

It's going to be a fun ride full of feelings and emotions.

Please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: Full list of warnings can be found on the Master List

Words: 4.3k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

April 2019

He wakes up to the sound of laughter.

There once would have been a time when would have been the first awake. When he’d sneak out from Emily’s embrace, a kiss pressed against her forehead as she’d groan and press her face into his pillow. It was something they’d done since the first morning they’d woken up together, their relationship finally shifting into what they’d both wanted for years and what they’d both put off to protect the other. Her return from Paris had been the catalyst they’d both needed. She’d shown up on his doorstep that first night back, her one bag of belongings slung over her shoulder and an unsure look on her face when she asked if she could come in as if he’d ever want anything other than her.

She’d never left. Not really. They’d immediately shifted into something serious, and if it had been anyone other than her he’d have worried it was all too fast. It had surprised him how easily they’d settled into it, how it felt like they’d always been together. He’d helped her find herself again and she’d helped him, her love a reminder that he deserved to be loved, something he’d allowed himself to forget ever since Foyet had torn through his life and his flesh like it was made of nothing stronger than paper.

Some days, he felt every second of the decade that had passed since he’d sent away Jack and Haley. Every moment of his son’s life that he’d missed because of one man as sharp as the knife he’d almost killed him with. Other days, it felt like no time had passed at all. Like he would wake up in that hospital room with Emily by his side, a determined look on her face as she told him in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t going home, a level of defiance he should have known to expect from her even then.

Foyet had never reappeared. Had never slithered out of whatever hole he’d crawled into after that fateful day that changed everything. It was almost crueller this way, his silence loud and overwhelming as Aaron tried to move forward with his life, tried to make sure he had something to show for the years that had passed when he finally got to see his son again. It was part of why he hadn’t shut himself off from Emily, why he’d let her sneak into his heart and help fix it, her soft and gentle love the exact thing he’d needed all along.

He groans as he rolls over, unsurprised to find his wife and daughter looking at him, matching smiles and dark eyes staring at him as they giggle again. Stella immediately reaches for him, the three-year-old launching herself from Emily’s arms onto his chest, her voice almost impossibly loud for someone so small.

“Daddy!”

“Morning princess,” he groans, raising his eyebrow at his wife when she laughs at him, her lips pressed together as she reaches over and runs her fingers through his hair, “I’m sure I put you down in your own bed last night,” he says, his comment more aimed at his wife than the little girl smiling widely at him, “When did you end up in here?”

“She snuck in at about 2 am,” Emily says, pushing Stella’s dark, wild hair from her face, “We needed snuggles.”

Aaron lovingly shakes his head at the two of them. He knew he was a pushover when it came to their children, Stella especially because she was the youngest, but Emily was too. She’d never been the one to encourage them back to their own beds in the middle of the night, and part of him is surprised that he doesn’t find both Hugo and Leo in with them too.

“Where are the boys?”

“Hugo is picking his outfit for school,” she says, smiling at the mention of their eldest, their sweet, opinionated 7-year-old, “I talked him down from the dinosaur costume. Again,” she laughs when he does, the sound warming him from the inside out, “And Leo is doing what he is always doing-”

“Whatever Hugo is doing,” they say in unison, the 5-year-old’s neverending admiration of his older brother well known.

Aaron hoped it was something that would last forever, their closeness something he could never help but imagine Jack as part of too. He’d always asked to be a big brother, too young to truly understand that his parent’s separation meant that wouldn’t be possible in the way he wanted. He saw Jack in his children, especially in his sons, and it never failed to make him ache. The gap in his family left by his son as big as the space carved out in his chest.

It had never been his intention to have this. Not only because he felt like he didn’t deserve a second chance, his one attempt at a family hidden away under names he didn’t know in a place he could not follow, but because he worried it was tempting fate. That it would have been asking Foyet to come after him and Emily, and he had refused to put her in that situation.

Life, as it turned out, had different plans.

He’d never forget the look on Emily’s face when she told him she was pregnant with Hugo. She’d been a strange mix of terrified and defiant that had almost become her signature, insisting that she was going to do this if he wanted to be part of it or not. It was still painful to think about, the look in her eyes that he’d never unsee as she told him she couldn’t be convinced not to keep the baby, as if she thought he’d ever try and tell her what to do with her own body.

Even though it hadn’t been planned, having a baby with her was all he’d ever wanted but what he didn’t think he could have. Their decision to move forward with it, to build their family, hadn’t been any less terrifying than before, but looking back he couldn’t imagine anything different.

“Pen called,” Emily says, drawing his attention back to her, “She said she needs to speak to me as soon as possible.”

He frowns, curiosity sparking in his gut, but he’s distracted when Stella pats his cheek, bored of not being the centre of attention, “You know what that means my little star?” He asks, hauling her onto his hip and standing up, his smile getting wider when Emily lovingly rolls her eyes at the nickname, “We should go make breakfast whilst Mommy gets ready for work.”

He’d retired when Hugo was born, the decision an easy one. An attempt to make amends, to make better decisions that he hadn’t made for Jack and Haley. He was surprised that he didn’t miss it, that he didn’t feel like he had a gap in his life that his job had left behind. He was happy to spend his days hosting princess parties and let his little girl paint his nails, or build forts with his sons when they came home from school. It was the life that, looking back on it, he wishes he’d given Haley, but if he had he didn’t know if he’d be here. Every decision he’d made had rippled out and led him to what he had now - and he wasn’t sure what he’d do without it.

“Please make the coffee extra strong,” Emily grumbles as she gets out of bed, rubbing her neck, her smile wide as she looks at the pair of them together, “I have a feeling I’m going to need it.”

He salutes her, something Stella mirrors, and he laughs when Emily rolls her eyes, “Yes ma’am.”

She scoffs half-heartedly as she turns away, throwing him a look over her shoulder as she walks into the ensuite, “Don’t call me ma’am.”

___

She suppresses a yawn as she steps into her office, the empty cup of coffee that Aaron had poured into her favourite carry cup doing nothing to wake her up. She’d been up half the night with Stella, the toddler as insistent on her attention as she had been since the moment she was born when she snuck into their bed. Her eyes soft and sleepy as she asked if she could sleep in the big bed, her face already pressed against Emily’s chest before she could even think about saying no.

She places the empty carry cup on her desk and smiles at the picture next to it. A photo of her, Aaron and the kids in a frame declaring her the world’s best mom. It was a gift they’d presented her with on Mother’s Day. Their smiles wide and fingers sticky with glue and glitter from the handmade cards they’d given her. Pieces of paper that were neatly folded by her husband before he handed them over to the kids, their handwriting, or in Stella’s case scribbles, beautiful and messy and somehow a perfect visualisation of their life.

There were times when Emily still couldn’t believe that she’d made it to this. That she and Aaron had found each other after everything they’d been through, that they’d made a family out of the ashes of their lives, happiness pieced together with what they’d been left with.

They’d agreed when they knew their relationship was serious, when they knew that they were going to be it for each other, that children weren’t on the cards for them. It felt like it would be inviting Foyet back into their lives, dangling a carrot in front of him that he wouldn’t be able to resist. Aaron had told her he understood if it was a dealbreaker for her, that he’d let her go if it meant she would be with someone else who could give her children without feeling like they were risking her life, and she’d shut him down with a kiss and a declaration of her love. She would have been lying if she’d said she didn’t want children, she always had, but she wanted him more. She knew she could have been happy without children, but she wasn’t sure she could have been happy without him.

She made peace with it. She loved their life and whilst she never moved away from hoping they’d somehow find Foyet after so many years of silence, that they’d bring Jack and Haley back and have enough time to add to their family, she never let the sadness when it didn’t happen take over. She felt nothing short of loved and adored as their relationship shifted into them being married, their engagement short but sweet, and when they bought their home they politely ignored the realtor's comments about the room next to the master being a perfect nursery. Emily had simply squeezed Aaron’s hand as they walked through, her smile soft as she said one of the rooms would be perfect for Jack when they finally got him back.

She sometimes worried if she was being naive, the chances of anything with Foyet happening getting slimmer with each year that passed, but she kept the hope alive for both of them. Aaron’s soft smiles and a gentle squeeze of her hand every time she said it the were only things she could hope for.

She made peace with what her life looked like, right up until she was staring at a positive pregnancy test. They were newly married, the ink on their marriage certificate barely dry, and she still remembered how terrified she’d been, a feeling she’d always thought she’d be spared if she found herself pregnant again, but she’d immediately known what she’d wanted to do. She’d kept it from Aaron for a couple of days. She hated to look back on the conversation they’d had, heartbreaking and painful as they navigated something difficult that in another life would have been full of nothing but joy.

The fear had followed them throughout her pregnancy, and even into the first few months of Hugo’s life. The worry that Foyet was watching them, that he knew about their precious son, everpresent, a phantom that lingered in every corner. The longer they went without anything happening, as months turned into a year and then more, they relaxed, a sense of ease overtaking everything else as they allowed themselves to believe that life was finally giving them a break. Leo and Stella were planned, additions to their family that had brought them nothing but joy from the start.

Emily still felt guilt over the start of Hugo’s life in comparison to his brother and sister, and she didn’t need to be good at her job to know that’s why she held him so close sometimes. Why she’d hold onto him tighter than necessary, an ache in her heart when he’d scamper away a little earlier every time, already grown up enough at the grand old age of 7 to be too cool for his parents if his friends were around.

They were happy, despite the perpetual awareness that something was missing. Her children knew about their older brother. Jack was spoken about in their home like he’d always been a part of it, like the closest he’d ever been wasn’t pictures hung on the walls amongst the rest of them. The kids would ask about them, their innocence almost painful as they questioned again and again if they’d ever get to meet him. Emily knew Aaron found it hard. That the parts of Hugo, Leo and Stella that were made of him were also in Jack, in the boy who was so little when he last saw him who would now look so different. A teenager whose face neither of them could quite picture, the soft boyish features he’d had a decade ago surely long gone.

There’s a light knock on her office door and she smiles when she looks up and sees Penelope there, a cup of coffee in each of her hands, “Oh Penelope Garcia you are a saint.”

Penelope flashes a smile at her, and steps into the office, “Rough night?”

Emily hums as she takes the coffee from her, “Something like that. Stella woke me up in the middle of the night,” she groans in delight as she takes a sip of the coffee, “She’s lucky she’s so cute.”

“She’s your kid, of course, she’s cute,” Penelope chuckles, an edge to it that makes Emily furrow her brows, her friend's demeanour finally registering. Her shoulders were tight, a tension in her frame that usually didn’t exist unless they were on the worst of cases, the after-effects lasting long after the team came home.

“Pen, is everything okay?”

Penelope clears her throat, her hands tight in a ball in front of her after she places her coffee cup down on Emily’s desk, “I have alerts set on a lot of names so I know when something has happened. All of us. Some of the biggest bads we’ve dealt with. The kids, obviously-”

Emily frowns, “Pen,” she says, stopping her from spiralling any further, “Tell me what you need to say.”

She nods, visibly swallowing thickly and she blows out a slow breath, “This morning I got an alert about George Foyet.”

It feels like all the air is sucked out of the room, and Emily has to place her hand on her desk to steady herself, her legs suddenly feeling like jelly. Every decision she’d made over the last several years suddenly weighing on her, the picture on her desk of her children suddenly a harbinger of doom instead of bringing the spark of joy it had just minutes ago.

“Wh..what? No one has heard anything about him in years,” she places her hand over her mouth as she tries to centre herself, her eyes wide as she reaches for her phone, “I need to call Aaron. He should go pick up the boys, I don’t want them anywhere we can’t see them. I-”

“Emily,” Penelope says, cutting her off this time, her eyes too kind when she looks up, “He’s dead.”

It’s another gut punch, another unexpected twist that steals the air from her lungs on this morning that had seemed so normal when she’d woken up, “What?”

Penelope’s face flickers into a half smile as she delivers the news again, the very thing they both knew they’d been waiting years to hear.

“George Foyet is dead.”

___

June 2012

“Fuck.”

The panic is familiar. Greeting her like an old friend as it wraps its hand around her throat, realisation hitting her all at once as she opens the medicine cabinet and is faced with an unopened box of tampons. The way she’d been feeling for weeks, exhausted, nauseous and irritable, things she’d put down to the relentless back to back cases they’d been on, suddenly make sense. Puzzle pieces she thinks she must have willfully been ignoring clicking into place, one obvious answer staring her in the face.

“Fuck,” she repeats, her mouth going dry in an instant, her chest stuttering as she struggles to fill her lungs.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Sweetheart, is everything okay?”

She closes her eyes at the sound of Aaron’s voice through the door and she blows out a breath, clearing her throat before she speaks, hoping more than anything that her voice doesn’t shake, “Everything’s fine,” she says, swallowing thickly, “I stubbed my toe, thats all.”

“Can I help?”

She laughs, a desperate edge to it as she shakes her head at him, “I’ve survived worse honey, I’ll be out in a second.”

She’s grateful when he relents, when he steps away from the other side of the door and she’s alone again. She takes a few seconds to tell herself not to panic, even though she knows she’s right, and decides there and then that she’ll buy a test in the morning, that there was no need to worry Aaron at this stage.

She sleeps badly that night. Torn from sleep by nightmares of a baby whose face she can’t picture being taken from her by Foyet, his smile wide as her screams go unheard. She lets Aarfon think she’s dreaming about Ian again. Lets herself sink into his embrace and seeks out the comfort she needs more than he knows.

When the test is positive, the result appearing immediately, she suddenly feels like she’s 15 again. Her heart in her throat as she tries to breathe, the opening and closing of the main bathroom door at work as other agents filter in and out doing nothing to calm her nerves. She wraps the test in a bunch of tissues and shoves it to the bottom of her go-bag. They are distracted by a case, something she’s grateful for because it gives her some time to get her head around it, to wrestle with the fact that this was something she couldn’t deny she wanted.

Aaron knew something was wrong. He wasn’t stupid, she knew that, and even if he wasn’t a world-class profiler he knew her. He’d made it his business to know everything there was to know about her so she isn’t surprised when he’s persistent in his attempt to find out what was going on with her. She lasts another day without saying something, her hand on her belly as she lays next to her sleeping husband, fear and hope pressed into her skin even though she knows what she wants to do.

The next night, she waits until they are in their hotel room, until his back is turned because she’s not sure she can see the look on his face when she tells him, and she blows out a slow breath.

“I’m pregnant.”

It hangs over them and he freezes, his shoulders tight as he turns to look at where she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his expression unreadable to her for the first time in years.

“Wh…what?”

“I’m pregnant,” she repeats, her arms crossed over her chest as she protects herself, her gaze falling to the floor as he continues to stare at her, “I found out a couple of days ago. I realised I was late and…I took a test.”

“A couple of days ago?” He asks, and she looks up at him. He’s a little closer now but still not close enough to touch, his expression still neutral as she nods, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She scoffs and shakes her head, throwing her arms up in the air as she laughs disbelievingly, “Why do you think, Aaron?” She asks pressing her lips together, trying not to be angry at him because she knows he’s done nothing to deserve it, “We always said…” she swallows thickly, hating that she feels like she could cry, “We always said we wouldn’t do this. And now it’s happened anyway,” she scoffs again, “Because apparently I’m the most fertile person to ever exist.”

He knew about Rome. She’d told him not long after they got together, answering the questions he’d never asked about her actions on a case years ago. He sighs and steps forward, “Em-”

“I’m keeping it,” she says firmly, sounding more sure than she feels, her voice shaking as the tears she can no longer fight push past her lashline, “You can…be as involved as you want. But I’m not getting rid of it.”

He almost stumbles backwards, her words a physical blow, “As involved as I want?” He repeats incredulously, “You’re my wife.”

She twists her rings on her finger, the weight of them heavy for once instead of a comfort, “I’m not getting an abor-”

“I would never ask you to do something you didn’t want to do sweetheart,” he says, kneeling in front of her, barely feeling the creak of his joints as he reaches for her hands, “I would never…” he trails off, his voice cracking, “Do you really think so little of me?”

It breaks her, forces the sob that she’d kept caught in her chest past her lips and she collapses forward, sinking into his waiting embrace, “Of course not,” she says, grasping his t-shirt in her hands, “I’m sorry, of course not, I just…” she trails off and looks at him, a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh escaping her, “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Em,” he says, cupping her cheek, “I know this wasn’t planned, but we’ll make it work.”

She scoffs, “Make it work? We have a sociopath stalking our every move.”

“No one has seen or heard from Foyet in years.”

She shakes her head, “And you think that means he isn’t out there? Your son and ex-wife have been in hiding for years, honey. I won’t do that. I won’t let him take anymore from us than he already has.”

He nods, already aware that would be what she’d say, “I know,” he kisses her forehead, his love and desperation seeping from his skin to hers, “I know, sweetheart. But we have this, and if you want it, I will find a way to keep us all safe.”

She closes her eyes and she nods, her breath shaky as it skips over his face, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

She presses her lips together and smiles, her chin and lips trembling as she pulls back to look at him, “Okay. Yes,” she laughs half-heartedly, “We’re having a baby.”

He smiles despite the fear that settles in his chest, the seeds of it planting in his lungs, ready to bloom over the coming months, “We’re having a baby.” He sits next to her on the bed and tucks her against his side, his arms tight around her as she folds herself against him, her sigh heavy and loud as she does so. “What are you thinking, sweetheart?”

“I just…” she trails off, unsure how to say it, how to put into words how she’d been feeling since the moment a bright pink cross had stared up at her from her hands, almost comically positive given the situation.

“You just, what sweetheart?” He asks softly, his touch gentle as he reaches for her, pulling her against his side, anchoring her to him to comfort them both. She sighs, her cheek against his shoulder, the words easier now she was no longer looking at him.

“I just thought that if I got pregnant again, if I was with someone I loved and had my shit together, that this would be something I could be happy about.”

Silence draws out around them, thick and cloying and she worries it will choke them. Then he speaks, his voice quiet, almost a whisper, but booming in their silent hotel room.

“You can be happy, Em,” he says, and she looks at him, moving so quickly her neck pulls, her hand shooting up to soothe it. He smiles and tucks some of her hair behind her ear, “I’m happy. I’m scared,” he clenches his jaw as he admits it, as if it somehow makes him weak, and she covers his hand with hers, linking their fingers together over her cheek, “I’m terrified Foyet will come out of whatever hole he crawled into and come after you, but I’m happy.”

She licks her lower lip, her mouth suddenly dry, her voice croaking as she forces herself to speak, “Really?”

“Really,” he says, tugging her close, holding her tight against him, “I’m having a baby with you, how could I not be?”

Her smile shakes and she kisses his jaw and then tilts her head to capture his lips, “I love you. So fucking much.”

He kisses her back, putting everything he could never quite find the words for into it, “I love you too.”

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