#my brain has ceased to word. take picture instead
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so the last castle of oblivion chapter by @jekkiefan am i right
t'was one of those that I had an IMAGE and had to draw it out so here's wips.
#my brain has ceased to word. take picture instead#ok how many of these are going to be mistyped tomorrow mornign#undertale#grillby#gaster#grillster#fanart#fic fanart#digital art#krita#castle of oblivion#i hope that's all. i gotta bed#this is technically a5 print sized somewow
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⥠Pairing: Best friends Woosan x reader ⥠Genre: smut, f2l!au, college!au ⥠Word Count: 6.6k ⥠Summary: Sometimes drunken decisions lead to the most unexpected results and the most shocking confessions. Or, after your boyfriend cheats on you, you propose a threesome to your best friends and it might just be what they have always wanted. đđđŻđ± ââ ⥠WARNING: only!18+ pet names, explicit sexual content, explicit language, unprotected sex, pussy eating, size kink, oral giving and receiving, double penetration, threesomes, dirty talk and more. âĄA/N: Here they are, our winners. I'm a little overjoyed because I'm about to try out a new style for myself. I'm still trying my best to write smut. So please be gentle with me. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated.
One year ago.
It was a feeling of sweet euphoria coursing through your veins. Pure, scalding ecstasy that frothed your blood and clouded your mind. Multicolored neon lights licked greedily at your wet, naked skin, leaving acid green and poisonous pink burns on it. All your senses were overloaded, and every touch felt like a liquid flame. The throbbing bass of the deafening music echoed through your body like the beating of your own heart and completely consumed all of your other senses, except for absolute pleasure.
You lost track of the amount of alcohol you had consumed that day, shot after shot, until a pleasant fog began to form in your head, blocking out all other thoughts. The tequila flowed down your throat like water, and you were sure you'd remember how it tasted in the morning, but you didn't care what you'd done tonight or how you knew you'd feel tomorrow. You didn't care about that. Your aim was to forget yourself, to disappear into the crowd, to merge with the music until any connection to the outside world was nothing more than the beginning of the next day.
Dance, baby, dance!
The atmosphere in the club grew fuzzier and fainter, sweaty, hot bodies pressed closer together merging, the hot touches of forbidden pleasures caressing the skin with the fingertips of strangers, wet lips touching the bare, sticky skin on you shoulders, pressing rough impatient kisses into it. Too many people and too many strangers are here for nothing but fuck.
You weren't a stupid little girl who believed in virginal marriage and pink ponies; to be honest, you were far from that gentle picture. God, Wooyoung, and San had been your best friends since high school, and now you were at university, and if after all that time you couldn't repeat every position in the Kama Sutra by heart, it really surprised you. Innocence and modesty were the last words in your vocabulary, and with Wooyoung's big mouth, you were well aware of the whole of theirs sex life. And when you say everything, you mean every fucking detail, and to Wooyoung's credit, he has a great memory and meticulous storytelling.
How long has it been since you started dancing? 20 minutesâor was it two hours? You could swear that Sang and Ueyoung were at your side a minute ago. Or did they leave you alone on the dance floor hours ago?
You can't remember at all.
Your mind is buzzing, your fingertips are tingling, and your heart is pounding against your ribs from the adrenaline rush of matching the beat of some new-fangled track and creating a world of your own inside your body. This sound will vibrate more and more strongly under your skin until your brain ceases to function, allowing you to let go of all the worries in the world and give yourself over completely to the music. Alcohol really does work wonders.
Man, you felt so good.
In the back of your drunken mind, you can't help but wonder if tonight could have gone differently. Probably, but here you are, drunk as hell, huddled with a stranger on a neon dance floor instead of a soft bed in your favorite man's arms. Where the hell did you take the wrong turn? It would seem that something in the universe hasn't gone quite according to plan. Did you have any idea this morning that your sweet, perfect boyfriend would be cheating on you? Correction: he's been cheating on you for a long time. You probably never would have found out if you hadn't come home from couples earlier than usual and continued to be his "convenient girlfriend." Hell, it wasn't nice, and maybe not as hurtful, if he'd been fucking someone else instead of your best friend. Were you that bad? Weren't you good enough? Either way, you've still got time to destroy yourselfâmaybe tomorrow, maybe never.
Maybe you'll even think about it when you visit the bastard in the hospital. He should have known better than to even think about cheating, and the clotted blood on San's knuckles proved that. Everyone at the university knew that you were Ateez's golden girl, and to mess with you was to mess with them. And since you, Wooyoung, and San were literally glued to each other, it was tantamount to suicide.Â
At the moment, the only thing that was more upsetting than the image of your ex-boyfriend driving his dick all the way up to his balls into your ex-friend's skinny body was the fact that your beautiful vintage sofa would have to be thrown away. Semen doesn't wash off. You checked.
Hongjoong is going to be absolutely devastated. That sofa was the absolute love of his life.
It's all nothing more than a vague memory of the day gone by, mixed into an indecipherable cacophony of shrill screams and blurred images. To be honest, you don't remember much of the chaos, as Wooyoung pressed your face against his chest with such force that you wouldn't be surprised to see your make-up imprinted on the light fabric of his shirt. All you could hear was loud cursing and the sound of a punch in the face. You hoped that San's punch was strong enough to break the asshole's jaw. And after that, there were a few hours of tears and emotional crisis until they'd had enough and pulled you into this club with a gentle and accepting hand: "Come on, baby, you could use a break and a change of scenery" from San, and "Fuck that scumbag, go show him what he's lost, baby" from Wooyoung. It was an absolute mystery how the two of them synchronized perfectly.
You have no idea what you would do without these two.
A few more minutes go by in this way, until you feel hot hands on your hips, pulling you closer to the hard body on your back. You don't have to turn around to see that it's San; the scent of his perfume, mixed with the sweat and the smoke of a freshly smoked cigarette, makes you dizzy, and you rest your head on his shoulder, taking a deep breath of the intoxicating mixture. Suddenly you want to get as close to him as possible, turn around and press your face against his hard, structured chest, breathing in deeply and sinking into him completely. Your arms reach out behind you and wrap around San's neck, tangling your fingers in the scarlet strands of hair at the nape of his neck. You feel it on your back as the action makes him purr like a cat. You wonder what other sounds you might be able to catch him making.
You shake yourself. The thought of it sends shivers down your arms and makes all the muscles in your lower abdomen tingle.
You should stop. These are bad thoughts. Very bad thoughts.
"Damn, baby girl, how much did you drink while we were away?" Wooyoung's voice is rough and husky, but his touch is gentle and careful as his fingers intertwine with yours. He has always touched you in a way that no other man in the world, with the exception of him and San, has ever been able to touch you. There was no comparison with your ex's touch. Wooyoung's touch is a promise. A promise to protect, to care, and perhaps to love? You could swear you saved the planet in your past life because you have such great friends in this one, or maybe a little more than friends, but you're not sure what to call this feeling.Â
You had been friends for so long that it wasn't weird not have a crush on Wooyoung or to dream of being married to San. The guy was literally a walking husband; he was second only to Songhwa in that respect, but please, Hwa was the epitome of husband material. You might even have wanted to be in the middle of it, sandwiched between hot bodies while they literally fucked the life out of you. But it was all just thoughts. Fleeting dreams that clung to the edges of your consciousness. You were the type to date, and they were the type to fuck. You were different when it came to loving. In any case, it was all a long time ago. You had a boyfriend, and Wooyoung and San collected girls like Pokémon. Somehow, you were sure that if you slept together, your friendship would end.
You weren't ready for that. With a strength that only Jongho could match, you ignored any romantic feelings for them
"Mmm⊠Woo, I have no recollection, but I had fun." You licked your lips as if you were trying to taste the lingering taste of the tequila and opened your eyes to stare straight into Wooyoung's face, full of worry. He could have been the biggest bitch if he wanted to be. But for you, that 'maternal' instinct of overprotection has kicked in. You stare at him unblinkingly in that moody light, he looks beautiful, to the point of being stupidly handsome, so damn handsome that you want to pull him to you and kiss him without explanation or reason. And you can do that because you know he's never, ever going to say no to you but kiss you? Wooyoung's tongue will be the first to enter your mouth. He will suck on it like a drunk, and he will hold on to you until there is almost no air left in your lungs.
"We leave you alone, gongjunim, for five minutes, and you're already in trouble. Shall I give you a lesson in obedience?" San is speaking into your ear, loud enough for you to hear him clearly, each word coming through the loud electric bass. His voice is too sultry to be sober enough. Woo probably talked him into a few shots, although he always got drunk pretty easily. The two were threatening each other. And to you as well.
The evil voice inside your head grinned: You know you want it. He's going to punish you for being such a bad, naughty girl. He will teach you to be the best little girl for him and for them and to follow all his rules. He'll make you beg and make you cryâŠ
Fuck, girl, come to your senses. Since when did you start to think with your pussy instead of using your brain? Or do you automatically turn into a horny, over-excited idiot after a break-up? Turn on your brains; they are your best friends.
Completely ignoring San's words, you whimpered:
"I'm thirsty." Your tongue is dry in your mouth, and your lips feel unpleasantly rough as you say the words. It looks like the fun's over for today.
San can't help but laugh at your capricious behavior, and you wriggle restlessly in his arms, trying to free yourself from his firm grip, but he only manages to hold you even tighter. You sigh in annoyance and decide to try your luck with Wooyoung.
"Woo, help me." You whine again, reaching out and pulling Wooyoung closer so that your forehead rests against his collarbone.
He smells good, like sandalwood and vanilla, like home.
Wooyoung lifts your face with his fingertips. The touch is soft and comforting, despite the roar of the music and the crowd of strangers around you. He stares intently into your eyes, almost too serious for your drunken haze. He hopes to find something more than alcohol-induced excitement.
"Come on, baby. It's time to go home." He releases your hand and carefully wipes the sweat from your forehead and cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt, his fingers lingering on your lips for a moment, and you playfully stick out your tongue and lick the pads of his fingers. God, may you not remember this tomorrow.
"But I don't want toâŠ" You purse your lips again. You turn your head towards San, looking for his support. "Sanni, let's stay a bit more." Your big, shining eyes are not making it easy for him, but you were already quite drunk, and judging by the way your body was leaning against him, you could hardly stand properly.
"Wooyoung's right, gongjunim, it's over for you today."
Something wild in you just wants to be a brat and start arguing, but the rational part of your brain wins out. You sigh tiredly and try to wriggle out of his grip, and of course you stumble, grabbing Wooyoung's biceps with your hands in an attempt to stay on your feet and not break your high-heeled leg, which would be a great way to end the night.
A strong arm immediately wraps around your waist. It digs lightly into the exposed skin between your top and your jeans. You can feel the coldness of the thin band of his ring. It actually burns from how sensitive you were now.
"I got you, chagi." San whispers softly and hoarsely into your ear, and you cling even more tightly to Wooyoung's arm as your legs begins to shake, but no longer from the alcohol you've drunk and the tiredness, but from his sultry tone. Damn, was that a saturi, or was it just your imagination?
"We'll be on our way now, for sure." Wooyoung takes your hand once more, pulling it away from his bicep, and quickly leads you through the crowd of sweaty bodies, completely ignoring your feeble protests until you see the flashing exit sign. The red neon sign brings you ominously close to the point where you are left alone with them. And you feel San's heavy presence at your back like never before.Â
The sounds of the city swallow you up and make you dizzy as Wooyoung opens the heavy metal door. Couples are kissing all over the place. Noisy groups of people are huddled together waiting for a taxi or sharing a single joint, leaving a faint smell of weed in the air. You can still hear the vibrating bass of the music that is pouring out of the club; it echoes in your head in an unpleasant way, with a slight throbbing pain. All of a sudden, all you want to do is find yourself in a warm bed, snuggled up against San or Wooyoung, or even better, against both of them.
San's hand on your waist tenses as you bend over to hail a taxi. Wooyoung's hands come down on your hips, hot and strong, and just like that, you find yourself sandwiched between them, their bodies shielding you safely from the searing cold and dirty stares. You could swear that you can hear Wooyoung swears to himself while a drunk guy is moving his tongue between two spread fingers and looking in your direction. San's body tenses instinctively. What's with all this protection? We're not in some kind of alpha-character romance; you can take care of yourself.
But in spite of that, your body still relaxes, your head leans back against Wooyoung's shoulder, and you rub your face against his like a cat.
"You're so drunk, baby." Woo chuckles and gives you a light kiss on the top of your head. "That's my girl."
My girl, just the sound of that one sentence makes a little fire start in your belly. What the hell is wrong with you today? A week ago, you were rinsing his mouth after Woo drank too much, and now you're ready to lick his mouth from the inside.Â
Fuck.
All these thoughts make you lose track of what's happening until you feel the smooth leather of the car seat beneath you and the soft touch of San's lips on your bare shoulder. You moan, either from annoyance or excitement. San just smiles and presses his lips harder against you. Finally, you are going home.
You faintly hear Wooyoung giving the Uber driver the coordinates of your apartment complex, your hands intertwining again, relaxing further as Wooyoung's head rests on your shoulder. His long hair tickles the back of your neck.
Sobriety slowly begins to clear your head as the ride continues. You're still drunk, but you're much more aware than before.
"Will you stay with me tonight?" Your voice is low, barely above a whisper, but in the confined space of the car's backseat, they can hear it well. It sets them in motion again, hands clasped around you with renewed confidence. You play mindlessly with the silver rings that adorn Wooyoung's long fingers, and you don't go unnoticed by San's light strokes on the outside of your thigh.
"All for you, chagiya." San whispers back and gives Wooyoung a meaningful look. There's something special between the two of themâa dialogue that is spoken without words but in which they both know exactly what is meant. If only you knew what was going on inside their headsâŠ
You let your hand drop to Wooyoung's muscular thigh and ran the palm of your hand over it a couple of times, feeling the tight muscles under the skin of his trousers. He covers the palm of your hand with his own and squeezes it in a silent, gentle gesture of affection.
"I love you guysâŠ" You whisper, sticking out your tongue to lick your suddenly dry lips. You hear them giggling together before you feel San press his nose against the soft skin of your collarbone, rubbing against it like a cat. He's the ultimate cinnamon bun; how he can be someone who's had sex with half the university is still a mystery to you.
"I love you too, gongjunim." And he means it, like he really loves youâmuch more than a friend should.
"Mmm, I love you more. You know that, baby." Wooyoung bites the skin on the back of your neck in a playful way, and you feel his wet tongue pressing against the site of the bite for a few seconds.Â
"You're not sleeping in my bed. Woo, stop it; that tactic won't work on me anymore."
He whimpers back with a puff of his swollen lips, turning his face away from you with an irritated roll of his eyes as you and San laugh, his arms naturally wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to his body so that you're practically sitting on his lap. A faint melody, from some kind of soft track, pours out of the speakers and lulls you into a state of serenity. You find it harder and harder to keep your eyes open. Your body relaxes even more in San's arms.
The next twenty minutes fly by, and you only begin to wake up when the cab door slams behind you and Wooyoung drags you into her flat. The fobs on your keys jingle loudly in the silence of the corridor as San fiddles with them to unlock the door. You sway in Woo's arms as you wait for the door to your apartment to open. The soothing scent of neroli and orchids greets you as you enter, your body automatically relaxing into the safety of your personal space, and you fall wearily into the armchair opposite sofa.
As the door closes, you hear the sound of the boys hurrying down the corridor, taking off their shoes and jackets. You can imagine San carefully placing his shoes next to yours and Wooyoung's one shoe being kicked further down the corridor. So damn different.
Woo sprints into the kitchen, slams the door of the fridge shut, and there is a bottle of cold water in front of your face.
"Here you go, starlight." He sinks to the floor at your feet and leans back against them, resting his head in your lap as he does so. You run your fingers through his long black hair, brushing it away from his face, and meet his gaze with your own. It's familiar; away from the deafening music and the sweaty crowd, you feel much better now, despite the fact that a few hours ago your ex was fucking your friend on the couch across the hall. This is still your home, and you're sure that in a few days your entire apartment will be taken apart and put back together by the caring hands of Seonghwa and Yeosang, when there won't be a trace of your failed past relationships left. Â "Are you okay?" San asks, leaning against the doorjamb.
"I'm⊠fine, yeah. Probably not as good as I'd like to be, but I'll be fine; it'll just take some time. At the moment, I'm just tired of it all."
"Go take a shower, sweetie; San and I will take care of the rest." Wooyoung says as he gets up from the floor and pulls the leather jacket off of his shoulders. The wide collar of his black t-shirt shows the tattoo on his back. You always found that part of him extremely sexy.
You rise from your chair, grimacing at the pain in your legs after so many hours in high heels. Your top falls to the floor as you take it off, the lace of your black lingerie clinging to your body like a second skin. They've seen you naked more than once or twice, and in any case, you're not one of those cute girls who blushes at every opportunity. You have to struggle to pull your jeans down your legs because they are so tight around your arse. The next thing to come off is your underwear, which you leaves halfway to the toilet somewhere. You let them take care of that too.
The level of intimacy that you have with San and Wooyoung is so high that it virtually erases any barrier to acceptable standards of friendship. Years of shared memories, from when you started high school to when you practically star graduates of Seoul National University. God, the things you've done and the situations you've been inâit's been a hectic time. The three of you literally know each other to your bonesâsharing habits, feelings, clothes, and even some sexual practices under the influence of alcohol and chance. You've seen them fuck; they've held your hair when you've puked, helped with periods, you've seen them jerking off in the morning or heard them moaning loudly in the bathroom, you all watched porn togetherâit's all been part of your friendship. In a way, the three of you have been completely and utterly shameless.
You close the bathroom door and stare wearily at your reflection in the large mirror. Your hair is disheveled from those beautiful waves there's not a trace, your skin is glistening with sweat, your make-up looks messyâa bit of smudged eyeliner, smeared lipstickâand in general, you look like you've been beaten up. The pupils of your eyes are dilated, even though you're still feeling sleepy, and there's a bit of puffiness under your eyes from previous tantrum.
Wow, you look like a real mess. You turn away from the mirror, turn on the tap of water, and sink back into your usual daily routine. The water cleanses not only your body but also your mind, spectacularly washing away all the memories and regrets of the day.
It seems to be at least a minute before you hear the sound of a heavy knock on the door. San's voice is muffled over the sound of water and steam, rough, husky, and incredibly sexy, sending electric shocks through your body and unexpected heat building between your thighs. Your fingers turn the handle, stopping the water from flowing, and you take a few long breaths, trying to get rid of this strange feeling. What's wrong with you today?
"Chagi, are you okay?"
You mooed in response, stepped out of the shower, and wrapped the towel around your body before opening the door to face him. He's standing across the bathtub, slumped against the wall, so soft and fluffy, when you open the door. San has changed into a pair of loose pajamas, which are very cute, according to your taste. He has washed off his make-up and generally looks more like an adorable bun than the voluptuous demon he is supposed to be at the university.
"What the hell took you so long? Wooyoung's already starting to climb the wall from here." He whimpers with a pucker on his lips.
"I needed some time to myself, Sanni."
He bites his bottom lip before nodding. His burning gaze travels over you from head to toe, lingering a little longer than usual on your thighs and breasts, and your body heats up at the sensation. When your eyes meet, there is an emotion that you are unfamiliar with that hovers just above the surface of his gleaming dark irises. Something predatory flashes across his face, just for a second, but it's enough to make your skin tingle with an unknown sense of anticipation.
"Just a few more minutes, and then I'll be on my way, all right? Tell Wooyoung to be a little more patient."
"Alright."
You step back into the tub, close the door behind you, and press your back against the wall. You bite your lips, trying to hold back a groan of disappointment. It's not that after all these years of friendship you've never felt sexually aroused in their presence; after all, Wooyoung and San were so damn attractive and even flirtatious to the point of insanity, they fit the cliché of lusty, popular boys at university so well.
Perhaps you had once or twice wondered what it would be like to be close to one of them, or even better, both of themâwhat their bodies would feel like and what their tastes would be like. Yet, consciously ignoring any romantic urges in their direction, you buried those thoughts deep in the back of your mind. You didn't want to think about how beautiful San's smile was, with those sweet dimples, or how your skin burned under Woo's playful, incessant kisses. But those were only fragmentary thoughts, a dangerous feeling creeping into your heart.
For a while your hunger for them was satisfied by a succession of boy toys until you found yourself a steady boyfriend, well until you caught him with one of your girlfriends tonight. Either way, the sex was hardly satisfying enough to get too upset about, but still, the ache in your heart and your bottom-punched self-esteem stung like a bitch.
But today there was something different between the three of you; on a day like any other, there was a different feeling. It wasn't anything special; San's tearful face had been tucked between your breasts more than once or twice after another romantic fiasco, and Wooyoung had been a complete fool in love, getting burned so many times because he wore his heart on his sleeve. You have been friends long enough to know how to comfort each other after breaking up. You have never experienced such a tension between the three of you before.
There was a barely perceptible change in the air; there was an electric tension in the chemistry between you; a crackle in the air like a thunderstorm was about to break. The storm was coming at a furious pace, and you weren't sure if you were going to be able to handle it. To end up between them was like voluntarily stepping into a hurricane rated at twelve. Was that what you wanted? You probably did. Did they want it? There was no way of knowing. Would things have changed if you'd fucked, yes, of course, but would you have had a 'happily ever after', you weren't so sure.
You brush your hair with your fingertips, hissing in pain when you can't untangle the tangled locks, and continue this compulsive action as you step out of the suddenly claustrophobic space of the bathroom. The corridor is cold, and the change in temperature causes goose bumps to run down the length of your skin. Cold air climbs under the towel's edges, clinging uncomfortably to your tender inner thighs.
"I left some fresh clothes for you on the dresser next to the bathtub. Didn't you notice?" San asks. His pronunciation is as simple as if he hadn't been the one who just a few minutes ago ate you alive with his eyes. He is sitting on the arm of the chair Wooyoung is comfortably ensconced in, mindlessly scrolling through social media.
The couch, which was once your favorite place to be, is clearly in disuse. You're already anticipating Hongjoong's endless complaints about it. That couch was the love of his life.
Wooyoung has changed his clothes too; there's no trace of the seductive college hottie left; the stretchy top of the oversized shirt slipping off his shoulders to expose his collarbones made him look so tiny and cuddly; and the soft disheveled hair falling over his face gave his features something adorably puppyish. They both looked homely and terribly comfortable, as if this was legitimately their home and not yours, as if their place had always been here, the space they belonged to.
"It's stuffy. I don't want to get dressed." You reply, pulling the towel tighter around your chest. You actually contradict yourself by wrapping your arms around yourself, but you don't want to explain anything to them either.
"Personally, I like it all; you can keep going, baby."
"Of course you like it, Woo; we all know about your love for exhibitionism." You say this nonchalantly and let your body fall into Wooyoung's lap, not caring that you're actually naked under the towel or that his shirt is getting wet as the water from your wet hair drips onto it. You're trapped between their bodies again, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't like the feeling. You savor his scent and the feel of his smooth skin as your face sinks into the curve of Woo's neck.
You all sink into a nice, relaxing silence as the boys scroll through endless social media feeds, your eyes grow heavier, and the need for sleep becomes more palpable. But you love it so muchâjust being around them, not thinking about anything else, feeling the way San's fingers play with your hair while you twirl the rings on Woo's fingersâthat you probably have a fetish for his hands. Anyway, you don't mind.
Minutes go by like this, slowly approaching an hour. You feel content and warm as you sit on Wooyoung's gorgeous muscular thighs. He is humming something to himself, drawing scattered patterns with his fingertips on your bare thigh. Your lips press against Woo's neck, leaving a sweet kiss on his skin. He squirms beneath you, his fingers clenching tighter and tighter on your thigh. God, he's so hot.
"You're so needy, kitten," San says with laughter before you feel his lips on your shoulder. It's not a chaste, friendly kiss; no, his lips are wet with saliva, open so you can feel the scorching breath and his tongue tip gliding across your skin in slow motion. San is licking you like a cat, damn it.
"Is this a side effect of the break-up or something like that? Look at you, Peach. You're a horny mess." Wooyoung raises an eyebrow in curiosity and pulls you closer to his chest. You slide down his thighs, and the towel scratches a little higher, a little more, and they can easily see your pussy. At that thought, the familiar throbbing between your legs reminds you just how wet you are, the viscous, clear liquid threatening to run down the inside of your thighs and stain Woo's clothes.
Praying that neither of them will notice how flushed and horny you feel at this moment, you squeeze your legs together and slide your hand down to pull the towel further down your legs, as far down as possible in this position.
You're so thirsty; the lust is bubbling just beneath the surface of your skin, and the heady mix of their scent and the residual alcohol in your blood is making you feel like such a needy slut.
The rational part of your brain tells you that you should be in a completely different state right nowâa mess of tears and snot, probably on the verge of a complete nervous breakdown. Somewhere between the self-destruction of your own self-esteem and a crisis of identity, But here you are, practically naked in Woo's arms, with an obscenely wet pussy and no shame whatsoever.
In contrast to the'real' half of you, something small and evil urged you to go further, to spread your legs, to expose yourself shamelessly, to ride Wu's thigh and have a hot rodeo until you couldn't cum any more, and then let San use you however he wanted; you don't mind at all being a chew toy for him. Hell, boy, all you want to do is let him fuck your brains out.
You sink your teeth into your lower lip with force; the taste of blood is almost in your mouth.
"Fuck me. I want to sleep, baby. You can use me. Let's go to bed."You whine, puffing up your cheeks.
"Okay, okay, baby, let's put the princess to bed." San lifts you from your place on Woo's lap and pulls you tightly against his chest, and you can clearly feel every ripple of muscle on that perfect body. When did he have time to get that big?
He carries you into the bedroom like a princess. Wooyoung's shuffling footsteps can be heard behind you, and you throw your head back to meet his gaze.
"We had a change of sheets. Personally, I'm in favor of burning all his stuff."
"Have I told you I love you?"
"Mmm, let me think. Maybe just a few thousand times." He gives you a cheeky smile, and you laugh.
"Love, love, love, love, I love you so much. You're the best boys in the world. You sing with a big smile on your face, and the sound of their laughter fills the bedroom.Â
"We love you too; we love you so much."
If you weren't so drunk and tired, your brain might have been able to process Wooyoung's changed intonation, but you completely ignored any possible hint of how they felt about you.
San gently laid you down on the bed, and Woo's lithe body crawled beside you, snuggling against your side, hugging you like his personal teddy bear.
"Woo, let her go; she has to put on some clothes." He pulls off his T-shirt and holds the soft fabric out in front of you. Your hands lazily crumple it up in an attempt to decide whether or not to put it on, but the boys decide for you.Â
Wooyoung sits you down and holds you tightly by the waist while San pulls the T-shirt over your head and pulls off the towel at the same time. You are still naked, but you are a bit more decent now.
"You're such good friends. I wish I could date someone like you." You lie back down, and Woo's hands paddle you again, as if it's his natural reflex. You're not aware of the exchange of glances between the two of them. The silent conversation that goes on between them is completely ignored.
"Hmm, someone like us?" San sits down on the bed in front of you, and in an instant, your fingers cling to his naked chest. You want so badly to sink your teeth into the smooth, bulging muscles of his chest. "Baby, aren't you afraid we're going to be jealous?"
"You and jealousy, come on. I went out with Suho, and none of you minded."
"It's because the idiot has a tiny dick." With an evil giggle, Woo whispers in your ear.
"Wooyoung!"
"He's right, chagia. When was the last time you had an orgasm?"
"San, not you too." You whine and give him a light tap on the shoulder.
"Well, if you were with someone like us, you'd know what it means to have a good fuck. We'd fuck your brains out, baby."
"Jung Wooyoung, wash your filthy mouth. San, tell him." You call out to your more rational friend in a resentful tone to calm Woo down.
"Well, I can't say that he's wrong. You won't be on foot for days after we are." The grin on San's face is so predatory that you can't tell that it's your sweet himbo friend. It's making the muscles at the bottom of your stomach clench in anticipation of this promise.
"You do know that I used to sleep with Yunho before I started dating Suho, right? You can hardly come as a surprise to me; he's very good."
"We know." Woo hissed in annoyance, and his arms tightened around you, planting his foot on your thigh and completely cutting off any attempt you might have made to pull away from him, even if you wanted to.
"But we're so much better." A hot palm slides just over your waist near to Wooyoung's hand, practically covering your breasts. You feel the full weight of it on your body.
"In your dreams."
For a few moments, you close your eyes and fall silent. The comforting silence lulls you to sleep, but there is one thought that keeps you from falling completely into a deep slumber. With a groan, you come back to reality, blinking slowly as your brain forms the words that seem to be too heavy on the tip of your tongueâheavy, but so damned sweet.
"I wanna⊠I mean, let's have threesome."Â
"Sorry, what!" Wooyoung almost yells, sitting up in bed in an instant and staring at you with his eyes wide open. If the situation wasn't so serious, you could laugh at his shocked expression. "Is it an offer for sex? Right now?"
"Jesus, Wooyoung, just let me finish." You sit down as well and take each one of them by the hand. "We graduate next year, and if⊠if we are all free and you don't mind, maybe we can have threesomes."
"I'm ready. Why wait?" Woo clings to you like a leech. He presses every inch of his body against you so tightly that you practically melt into each other. His skin is hot, and you can feel his breath brushing against your ear and his lips touching it as he speaks. "Come, Y/N, we can do this now. I'm going to take you to heaven."
"Wooyoung, I'm serious."
You have to look at San, who's been silent the whole time. The look in his eyes is so dark, full of lust and hunger. It doesn't leave you for a second.
"SanâŠ"
"I'll do anything for you, Y/N."
"I'll be ready for you in a year if you're still willing. Now get out of the room, the both of you. Tonight I'll be alone in bed."
You push them off the bed, San rolls over on the floor with a clatter, and Wooyoung jumps up like a man who has been scalded.
"But chagiâŠ" He whines, loud and nasty, as San drags him out of the room.
"Sweet dreams, gongjunim." That's the last thing you hear before the door slams shut behind them and you're left alone in the bedroom.
You can hear their muffled voices coming from the hallway, trying so hard to keep quiet. Wooyoung's incessant complaining, mixed with San's low muttering, effectively lulls you to sleep. You probably won't even remember tonight, let alone this stupid proposal, but little do you know that neither San nor Wooyoung have any intention of letting you forget.
You are going to have a very funny year in front of you. đźđđđđđđđđđđđ ⧠âđ'đ đđđ | đđđŻđ± ââ
#ateez#ateez smut#ateez x reader#kpop smut#ateez fanfic#hongjoong x reader#seonghwa x reader#yunho x reader#yeosang x reader#san x reader#mingi x reader#wooyoung x reader#jongho x reader#hongjoong#seonghwa#yunho#yeosang#san#mingi#wooyoung#jongho#ateez ot8#ateez imagines#seonghwa smut#ateez san#san smut#hongjoong smut#ateez wooyoung#yunho smut#woosan
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Silently begging you to continue âthe price paidâ, your work is incredible!
Your kindness has me flustered and blushing, Nonnie. So it took me a little while to scrape together the goo that had become of my last brain cell. I'm more than happy to write a little more of The Price Paid for you. Not going to lie, it thrills me to be able to share more of the story with a willing and eager recipient.
Ownership of Pain
Just because Astarion was more visibly alert didn't mean things were magically back to how they used to be. On the surface he seemed to be settling back into the usual groove of the party. Maybe his flirting was a little more extreme, far too willing to try and seduce any willing member for a night. Except nobody was accepting his offer. Not even Halsin or Gale, both of whom had been so willing to promise their shared affections as long as Astarion came back to them. Because Astarion remembered those long days and nights where he was locked in his own body, unable to break free of the comfort of nothingness. It was the closest he could get to ceasing to exist even if it didn't make the past magically disappear.
If Astarion couldn't prove his worth with his body, he resorted to other skills. Tagging along with a group heading out, he made sure camp was always brimming with pilfered supplies. Not only was Gale able to cook veritable feasts, tents were suddenly more comfortable with extra bed rolls, stuffed toys and even art. While Astarion didn't claim responsibility for it all, he didn't make a secret of it, sighing in relief whenever he could dump a load of stolen wares somewhere in camp. The others could sort through it, he was only good for the acquisition, not for putting any of it to actual use. Though he did keep a pair of simple gloves for himself, ensuring the ring which kept him free was hidden from view and as secure on him as possible.
Things maybe were returning to a new equilibrium. One that wasn't as good as before, Astarion had a knack for serving in an unsettling way. If his presence wasn't requested, he near enough disappeared into his tent. At first the others left him to it, hoping he just needed to bit of time to himself. Alas, it seemed to be nothing more than wishful thinking. Especially when Lae'zel caught a whiff of garlic emanating from his tent one quiet evening.
"Your spawn may have looted the wrong thing," she told Halsin, not unkindly.
Approaching the tent with Gale, Halsin wished Lae'zel had been right. If only it had been the case of some fumble, uncharacteristic as it was of Astarion. Instead, Halsin stepped into the tent and almost turned to leave without a word but Gale was at his back and far more vocal about their discovery.
"Just what in the astral blazes are you doing?!"
Crouched on the ground, wearing his gloves, Astarion had crushed a whole head of garlic and scooped it into a pouch. His actions would have been considered odd but could have been ignored if not for the fact that all around his lips and nose was blistered and bleeding exactly in the shape of the pouch's neck. Halsin could feel his heart squeezing, on the verge of shattering as he struggled to keep calm.
"Astarion? What's the meaning of all this?"
The more he looked, the worse the picture in his mind became. There was a healing potion set aside that was only half full. A rag next to it, its corner dried and tinged with potion and old blood. Taking it all in meant Gale slipped past him and was taking the garlic filled pouch from Astarion's lax fingers. In fact, Astarion looked on the verge of getting lost in his head again. It pushed Halsin into action too.
"It's okay. We're not angry, you're not in trouble. We just want to understand."
"Here." A stronger potion of healing was pulled from Gale's robes and thrust at Astarion. His hesitation wasn't a good sign but Gale chose to ignore it in favour or wagging the bottle to encourage it. Even so, Astarion's motions were hollow and obedient without any sign of thought beyond doing as told. The first few swallows were obviouly agony but he didn't say anything.
Once the bottle was empty, Gale took it from lax fingers and asked, "Why would you do such a thing?"
"It stopped the screams." Voice devoid of emotion, Astarion didn't meet their eyes. Obviously there was more to it but now wasn't the time to push it.
"What screams?"
Silence stretched longer before Astarion complied and answered. "When I trance." Face crumpling a little, he battled tears. "I mustn't disturb anyone's sleep. Can't give them reason to leave me behind."
Gathering him up between them, there were murmurs of reassurance that almost definitely fell on deaf ears. But it was all they could do.
"Please let me be useful," Astarion begged quietly. "I can be good."
"You are good, so good." Nose buried in his hair, Halsin pressed a kiss to the top of his head and tried not to think of how the garlic must have burned Astarion's throat and lungs until it was too painful to scream. "You're loved, okay?"
Of course his words fell on deaf ears. So it didn't take much to try and make actions speak louder than words. Next time a party was heading out, Astarion was with them. A small fight was expected and Halsin deeply hoped it would help restore some of his confidence. Once more he was wrong.
As soon as the fight commenced, Astarion froze, weapon slipping from between his fingers. In the grand scheme of things it wasn't a huge issue, the others more than capable of picking up the slack. It wasn't a long fight but Astarion had no part in it other than standing at the very edge, eyes near enough glazed over.
Once the fight had concluded, Astarion didn't snap back into the present. In fact, he cowered as Shadowheart approached him to hand his dropped bow back.
"You okay there, soldier?" Karlach asked with as much softness as she could muster, standing next to Shadowheart.
"Don't send me back. Please don't." Whatever it was Astarion was begging for, it made no sense to them. "Don't leave me behind."
The way he swayed, like his knees were on the verge of giving out, on the brink of sending him crashing into the dirt so he could plead properly made the others unesay. Gale stepped forward and tenderly wrapped an arm around him, helping him stay upright.
"We're not sending you anywhere or leaving you behind. Come on home, back to camp we go."
Upon their return, Halsin was there, helping guide Astarion to the fireside. They didn't dare leave him alone in his tent anymore, not when they could avoid it. The smell of garlic and sight of blistered skin still haunted them.
After the incident it became an unspoken agreement. Astarion no longer joined ventures where fighting was expected. As exceptional as he was with a dagger, all skill was lost in the face of freezing at the sound of blades clashing. Gale and Halsin also stopped going out together on missions unless Astarion was with them. One of them was always in his orbit, ready to protect him at the drop of a hat.
Perhaps the worst was the way Astarion didn't seem to mind. He used to whinge and complain incessantly about being bored and being left behind. Now, he took his fate like a defeated dog, resigned and accepting as long as he was thrown scraps. Though what he was given was more than scraps, Halsin knew that it would be a long while before Astarion would take it at face value. For now, they simply had to give what they could and hope that Astarion would learn to eventually trust them again.
#gale/astarion/halsin#gale/astarion#halsin/astarion#gale x astarion x halsin#gale x astarion#halsin x astarion#astarion#bg3 astarion#halsin#bg3 halsin#gale dekarios#gale of waterdeep#bg3 gale#bg3#baldur's gate 3
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S5 Ep 50: Tristan Hates Horses, I Think
Been a while! Tumblrâs annoying as hell changes to the text editor took a lot of wind out of my sails, ngl. It had some problems they're resolving as they go, but it was really annoying to use and to edit if you write any amount of youknowâŠâŠwordsâŠ.
And I was talking to a friend about this, and they were like âhave you tried writing it in google docs and copy pasting it after?â And I happily realized when you copy paste from google docs, it also copies the PICTURES. This has literally saved hours of my life, y'all. It has turned something that was so frustrating I didn't want to open tumblr again into something that is no longer an obstacle so I can write once more!
So lets travel to Yugiâs brain, where Tristan desperately has to make up for all the work he hasnât done because he was just a wee tiny bit possessed.
It may be hard to pick up where Tristan is on this picture, and I hope I recorded it somewhere in OBS like 2 months ago when I finished the series because it was such a funny animation, but hot damn this boy has hops.
And you can see him there on the ground in the bottom left corner, that isnât a rock, thatâs Tristan having toppled a man with his bare hands, a man who had a sword and was sitting on an armored horse.
Can you believe this guy ran for school president? And then lost and humbly became the janitor?
Meanwhile, Joey discovered magic.
Confirmation that duel disks are made out of old tank parts.
Realizing for the first time that magic exists, they decide to peace out.
Back in the real world, Mokuba and Roland donât know where the hell Seto went. Which is weird, I figured Seto would at least leave a note or a text message orâŠanythingâŠbut apparently even if he did, he just disappeared at some point down in Marikâs old living room.
So Roland and Mokuba decided that in order to find him, they would have to take a massive Boeing 747 to find their lost child.
Some kids have a motorcycle, some kids have a scooter, Mokuba just wants the most boring ass big commercial plane that is meant to sit a couple hundred people in an awkward way. Thatâs what Mokuba wants.
Just Mokuba things.
My bro who edits these for me wrote in huge ass letters "ROLAND SIGHTING" While saying "ROLAND ROLAND ROLAND" so I want y'all to know how much we appreciate a good Roland in this house.
Speaking of, I know it's like season 5 but...who is the other guy? He wears funny sunglasses but I have never heard his name, not once.
But this is when the plane was filled with heavenly light.
They begin to see the fight happening between Seto Kaiba (the OG Seto, the one that is cool and isnât depressed because his not-wife died) and Bakura (who is now Zorc). Donât ask me how the time stuff works, and why we see it now of all the times in human history, and right over Egypt in the sky. Donât ask me why.
I assume itâs time compression shenanigans, just like FF8, so maybe itâs just every moment in time is able to see this UFO in the sky, but overall, itâs here because it looks cool. The fact that this right here is actually not a physical place, but is actually a figment of Yugiâs imagination shaped by Pharaohâs botchy memories--is neither here nor there. Instead, itâs everywhere.Â
Seto is unimpressed by this, because he knows how science and timelines should work, and this wouldnât pass Kaiba Corp inspection.
Back at the yellow palace made of cheese and mario blocks, Pharaoh is still knocked out from that time he summed all 3 dragons last episode, which to me feels like just eons ago.Â
But itâs OK, heâs fine now.
Typically heâd be dead, because his dragons died on the battlefield and their life force is connected to their monsters. But not only is Pharaoh 1.) already dead and 2.) the author of this universe and cannot die or this universe ceases to exist heâs 3.) got the puzzle, which means he canât actually perma die, unlike everyone else in his court who is perma-gone.
He is not surprised by what is currently happening in Egyptâs downtown strip.
This is probably every day in Domino. Every day Seto Kaiba wakes up everyone in town with his three-headed dragon princess just because he can. Hell, Seto was doing this fight with Bakura on the top towers of Domino just this morning (or last morningâŠnot sure if time passes in real life the same way it does in puzzle life)
The audacity of Yami right now, the one moment Yugi isnât there to scream about ledges, this boy is leaping joyfully off that ledge.Â
He fuses with the dragon which gives him this familiar outfit.
I thiiiiink itâs the same outfit as Alexander season? Iâll be real with you though, I donât really want to look it up. Either way, good to see the return of putting on a ton of armor in a card game, I don't think we've seen it Canonically since that one time Joey did it against Valon, and ever since then, Joey kind of forgot it was a thing he can just do.
But unlike Joey, Yami doesnât take the opportunity to punch Zorc in the face, instead he just loses yet another time.
This time he didnât even pass out, he barely even died. This is progress, truly.
But as Zorc is powering up the peepee missile to fire in Yamiâs face (what a way to die!), Shadi has decided to inform us why heâs been stalking these kids for this entire show.
So thereâs two ways to read this. 1.) Shadi was Hassan the entire time but had to go back in time from this moment in order to do it or 2.) Shadi possessed the power of Hassan last second so Yami could avoid death one final time.
Both of these explanations donât fully make sense to me, Iâll be honest, because in order to know that heâll be needed in the first place, Shadi had to know that Yami would die at this particular moment--a moment that is a different timeline than has ever existed before.
So really, Shadi was just going by a hunch. He was like âI dunno, Iâll see how this goes.â which is more in line with the Shadi we know and love.
Is it a crying shame that Shadi, who has been with us for so many seasons, and it so integral to this show had such an unceremonious death? Yeah. I feel like I didnât quite get the closure I wanted but Iâm also sort of confused as toâŠwhat happened. But Iâll leave it there because apparently we get more Shadi content in Dark Side of Dimensions.
Anyway, I have no idea if these images will even fit into a post with how how tumbler does posts nowadays, and I'll be real I had to re upload the last bit of it, which I suspect was over 15 images???? Not sure??? but we found a workaround! google docs works!
Also, Seto didnât die today! Instead it was Shadi! For a SECOND time!
I cannot believe how freakin lucky Mana is, this girl is still kicking and if Mana survives everything I amâŠgoing to be astonished, thatâs what. Mana secretly OP, who knew?
And always you can read the rest of these here
https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono
if I turn it into a link it doesn't work right because the text editor is really, really bad. I hate it a lot. But uh...feel free to copy paste it until I can get links to cooperate.
#yugioh#photo recap#yugi muto#joey wheeler#seto kaiba#tristan taylor#ygo#bakura#yu gi oh#yami muto#S5#Shadi
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Blue sky thinking: or up there goes on forever
I was sitting back in my chair in my tiny garden and trying to imagine what my ideal of life would be, and then I tipped my head back and looked at a patch of clear blue sky above me.
My first impression was that comforting one of something material and protective: a shield, an umbrella, perhaps. In my head I translated that blue patch into something more than a colour generated by refraction. It had solidity, a presence.
But then, as my eyes tried to focus on it, I realised that I was looking up into something that was not a thing at all, an absence. That patch that I first saw as a canopy was actually nothing, not even a veil. Hard as it was to imagine, I was looking into forever.
Humans are not good at this kind of thing. We are mortal. We have a beginning (though we may argue about when; with birth or in some remote ancestor?) but more certainly we have an end: death. When we came to conceive of the idea of infinity, we could not imagine something without end. Needing to refer to it we did what now came naturally to us; we bestowed on it a name. We meant, I am sure, only to make it possible to debate this concept, to make it available for discussion by giving it a consistent definition. Â But in doing so, immediately we fixed it. In our minds it became, if not numerically quantifiable, limited rather than limitless, a thing with boundaries.
In short, instead of being beyond the possibility of reaching, infinity became simply the point you could not pass. A fence. Like the sign at the end of a railway platform warning passengers not to go beyond it, despite the rails and sleepers clearly running away before their eyes. In our heads, we had tamed infinity.
It may surprise you to realise that something as infinitely large as infinity is in fact readily available to you in the smallest of things. It is readily available to you right now. Go and get a plate. Or take a small coin from your pocket or purse. Move your finger around the rim of that plate or coin. How far will you need to keep tracing the rim until you reach its end? Answer: You will never reach its end. No matter how many circuits you make, you can keep on forever. And you will be no nearer to infinity. That is the point. It has no finite numerical value. It has no end.
Sure, we will be tempted to say âIf I go round the rim of this plate an infinite number of times, that surely must be infinityâ. Except that such an act is impossible. No matter how many times you do it, infinity will always be more. If that already hurts your brain, try this: you can never say that you are one away from infinity. Or two, or three, or any number. Because that would imply a limit on infinity. And you can never ask âwhat is beyond infinityâ, not because there is ânothingâ beyond infinity but because infinity never ends. If you can posit something â even ânothingâ - beyond infinity then infinity ceases to be infinite.
But that answer is unacceptable to us on a thinking level. We invent âendlessâ words, like âforeverâ and âeternityâ and âinfinityâ to try to embrace limitlessness but our brains have simply not evolved to handle something that has no end. We have to find approximations for it and all the approximations are imperfect.
And therein lie our big problems; with life, death and the universe.
Letâs start with the universe. We can just about accept the proposition that the universe is infinite in all directions. But that is where the problems begin. Suppose a person is standing at the precise centre of the universe. That is quite an easy picture to hold in your head. And that necessarily means that  the actual radius of the universe in each direction from that person to the edge of infinity is of infinite length. Yes, it must be.  Does that mean that the actual diameter (which in any finite context is twice the radius)  of the universe is twice infinity? No. The diameter is also of infinite length. Okay, now suppose the person moves off-centre. Does that mean that to one side the universe is now less than infinite and to the other it is greater than infinite? No. Has the person just shrunk the universe? No. So in what sense has he or she âmovedâ. He or she has only moved relative to other things within the universe. In terms of the entire universe, if such a concept is admissible, he or she has not moved at all.
And so it is with âeternityâ, timeâs equivalent of infinityâs distance. Eternity is not a âvast amount of timeâ. It is not even âall the time there isâ, because that implies that there is a fixed amount of time. No, if âeternityâ means anything it means âtime without endâ, time that goes on forever. And not just future time, past time too. We, humans, are just a tiny event in endless time. We canât even locate ourselves as having happened at a particular point or stage in time, because time without beginning and without end cannot have staging posts in it. It is not a railway line running from terminus to terminus through a series of intervening stations. It just is. If eternity is to have any meaning, it must be endless in any direction you travel.
But that is beyond us to connect with on any level that makes sense in our self-important heads. Because we are mortal. Because we do have beginnings and ends. Because life is what we have and life has a beginning and an end. Â
Life? Donât talk to me about life (apologies, Douglas Adams). Because here is the paradox. So consumed are we with our own importance that we cannot think of our lifespan as just the period between birth and death. We tend not to care much about the precise reckoning of our beginning. But once we are here, âaliveâ, we do not care to think that one day we wonât exist in any sense to which we can properly attach the word âlivingâ. But to outlive our mortality, our allotted time, that we have to have dominion over death.
So, death. It is the inherent nature of death that it represents finality. And to be fair, some of us, now we are not all plagued by religion, have managed the mental accommodation of appreciating, at least on a conscious level, that death is the end of us as living entities. We may âlive onâ in peopleâs memories, or in our children and their children, but for us death is the full stop without any prospect of a new sentence. That, truly, is our dominion. This too shall pass. We shall cease to be.
But for many more of us, and not just those who have been brow-beaten by priests and other overlords into the controlling idea that how we live âin this lifeâ will determine how we are treated in âthe next lifeâ, but also those of us whose egos will not allow us to conceive that we may, at some point, simply cease to be, death as the end of things cannot be taken on board. It is not sufficient, not satisfactory. So we have granted ourselves the fiction that there is this life and then there is the after life.
What, in this conception, would death be? It would be just the moving on to something else, some new form of existing. The religious (and philosophical) versions of this would be: an eternity in heaven, an eternity in hell, an eternity (with the possibility of a reprieve, parole, if you like) in purgatory, an eternity of darkness or light coupled with an awareness of being  trapped and formlessly impotent, or a series on rebirths on Earth offering the options of improving or scuppering your lot in the next iteration.
I may feel differently when faced with the proximity of my own extinction. I may instinctively act, and have instinctively acted, to avoid my own death on a number of occasions. That is built in to the condition of being alive. But it does not prove or in anyway justify a belief that death is simply a transition into another state of being alive.
And as I have remarked before, in a comment on David Baddielâs somewhat interesting book confessing his own desire to live on after his death, any of the above strike me as being a fate worse than death. I cannot think of anything worse that an afterlife that, in any form, involves the notion that âthe road goes on foreverâ. Imagine, as I have invited you, the reader to do, the best party imaginable, and then try to imagine that, no matter how long it has been going on, you know it will go on forever and that there is no way that you can leave, or even take a time out. No escape. Imagine the best book you have ever started to read but as soon as you open it you find you cannot close it again or put it down and each time you turn a page another page is added to the length of the book. Imagine if East Enders were to go on forever. No hold on, it probably will. But imagine you sat down to watch it and then could not get up or switch it off. That is the prospect of eternity.
And the pleasure would pall. We are mortal, we cannot sustain even the prospect of lengthy pleasure let alone endless pleasure. Whether we can see it or not, it is the transience of things, a transience that we owe to their temporal and spatial limitations, that makes them valuable. We seize them and hold them and seek to protect them knowing that this too will pass, that we too will pass.
And I got to the end of this train of thought thinking âthis isnât where I started and it isnât where I thought I was going and it isnât where I thought Iâd end up. But that is the beauty of the human mind. Itâs capacity to take a simple thought and to run with it through an infinite landscape of possibilities.
Sorry if I have wasted your time.
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Misread Affections - Laszlo Kreizler/Fem!Reader SMUT
I started at midnight. I had 0 words. Itâs 4:30am. I have 4643 words because I have fallen deeply for Doctor Laszlo Kreizler. Forgive me for this.
Synopsis: With all your history together, you and Doctor Kreizler believe you understand each other. Yet when you believe him to be infatuated with Karen Stratton, and he believes you to have affection for Marcus Isaacson, youâre both stunned when you find yourselves to be proven wrong.
Warnings: NSFW. Desk Sex. Dirty Talk. Patient-to-Friend-to-Lover. Definite depression and general self-loathing.
SPOILERS FOR THE SECOND SEASON!!!!!!
You had always admired the man Doctor Laszlo Kreizler was.
He championed those who could not champion themselves. He worked tirelessly to understand the minds of criminals. To those very same criminals, and many others that lived as outcasts to society, he would offer kindness and understanding. At his best he was beyond intelligent and, daresay, sweet.
At his worst, he was ruthless, and his own self-loathing would have him come across as unempathetic most days. While preaching to others to care for himself, he would often forego his own care. While offering an ear and a receptive mind, he would refuse to offer himself the same.
You knew this within mere days of knowing Doctor Kreizler. And such facts made you rather fond of him.
A fondness that was not helped by his handsome build, his dark locks, his scrutinizing gaze.
And yet no part of you could justify ever acting upon this fondness.
You had come to him both as a patient and a colleague. You had always been aware of a darkness within yourself, ever since you were a child. This darkness had only grown, too often all-consuming, leaving you. a dysfunction wreck of a human being. However, you had an obligation to keep going, a promise you had sworn to your sister to continue your own existence. So, exist you did.
While your familyâs fortune wasnât enough to send you to Harvard, like the Doctor himself, it did allow for you to be a reasonably educated woman of the times. A deep fascination in understanding your own darkness led you to the work of alienists, and eventually to the work of Doctor Kreizler.
While you couldnât often justify breaking societal rules to such an extent, you found yourself motivated enough to call upon the Doctor with a proposition â should he aide you in understanding your own illness of the brain, you would offer any services you could to the Kreizler Institute.
You could tell he was curious of you. A woman of your standing did not often make such demands with such authority, nor so blatantly admit to her own illnesses. He quickly agreed, eager to study why you considered yourself so damaged, and happy to take on an extra set of hands with the children he looked after.
Over time, you begun to slip effortlessly into Doctor Kreizlerâs life.
You met the likes of Cyrus and Stevie, along with many others that worked at the Institute. You were then blown away by the strength within Miss Sara Howard, and the pure, undiluted love that Mister John Schuyler Moore could show others. You were even called upon on several occasions to be a fresh set of eyes, the murders of young boy prostitutes and kidnappings of babies not deterring you, to the surprise and reluctant joy of the Doctor.
And as Doctor Kreizler studied you, you studied him.
You slowly learned of all the emotion he kept hidden behind the façade of professionalism. The kindness, the love, the anger, the fear. While he showed none of these most days, occasionally a concoction of such feeling would burst in an overwhelming outpour.
In offering him a platonic safe space, a place for him to talk through such outbursts should he wish, he in turn aided you.
The darkness you felt for so long began to subside some days, and between the efforts of him and a passing remark from John, you learned of an outlet for your darker thoughts â writing.
While expressing your own emotions and turmoil did not come easy, you found it far simpler when written down on paper, as opposed to spoken aloud to a judging room.
Doctor Kreizler gifted you a beautiful leather-bound journal a mere day after this revelation, with the request that you record your thoughts. He promised he would not read it unless you requested him to as an act of therapy.
For many days, you allowed him to read any thoughts that came to mind.
Thoughts of blood, of death, of pain and anger. Thoughts of a stolen childhood, of worthlessness, of longing.
Many days when he read your pages, you would be silently crying as he did, fearful of his judgement. But it never came.
Instead, he would close the book silently, and offer you professional advice.
One particularly rough day, in which your narrative was beyond vicious to you, he closed the book before finishing, and offered you something you didnât expect â an embrace.
He hugged you so tightly, that for onceâŠ
Your inner monologue ceased.
His own, however, raged on.
How could you think so lowly of yourself, he wondered? While he could understand mindsets built from trauma, he couldnât help but wish you could see yourself through his own eyes. Your empathy when you cared for the children in the Institute. Your intelligence when conversing with Miss Howard. Your artistic delight when laughing with John. And the perspective, the warmth you offered such a broken man such as himself.
Neither of you knew, in that exact moment, that the other was realizing the fondness you both held in your hearts for each other.
And neither of you knew how truly broken the other felt at their core.
Two souls, believing themselves to be undeserving of love, finding it in their hearts for the other.
When the beautiful, cunning Doctor Karen Stratton entered the picture, you asked Doctor Kreizler to refrain from reading your journal.
He was hurt by this, but profession and courtesy claimed that he could not show it.
You began to withdraw from him, placing your entire focus on the case of the stolen babies and your focus on the children in the Institute. Kreizler, in his own difficulties of potentially losing the said Institute, took notice of your own withdrawal from your sessions, but held enough hope that you had found stability to care for yourself. You still conversed with Sara, you smiled with John. You had even been introduced to the Isaacsons, and he had wondered if you had taken a liking to Marcus.
You deserved a young man such as him, he told himself, heart heavy. A whole, young man with enough strength to support you.
And on the night of Marcusâ death, he believed it to be confirmed.
He found you alone, in his study where you so often had your sessions with him. You were curled inwards on yourself, clutching your journal as though it were your lifeline, sobbing uncontrollably.
He moved to console you, arms holding you tightly.
âItâs all too much,â you choked out, unable to articulate much more.
 Doctor Kreizler nodded, waiting for you to be able to go on.
You regained some breath with difficulty. âI justâŠI canât stand to lose a friend. Not after everything else lately.â
 âI know how difficult it can be, to lose one you loveâŠâ Kreizler began, not noticing how your sobs stopped in confusion. âAfter Mary, IâŠWell I swore I would never againâŠThe point is, I-â he stopped short.
You had spluttered out a laugh.
 Your hand covered your mouth immediately, noticing what had just happened. You immediately moved to cover it up, wiping away your tears and standing up away from him. âNo, no, Doctor. Heavens, MarcusâŠwell, he was loved but, I sawâŠI see the Isaacsons as brothers I never had. He was dear to me butâŠnot in the sense I suspect that Mary was to you.â
 âIâŠseeâŠâ Doctor Kreizler pulled back, sitting in his study chair as he gazed at you. âApologies, I seem to have misread your relationship. Nonetheless, his death has greatly affected you, as it has all of us. I suspect it will be a very difficult grieving process, butâŠâ he manages a soft, rare smile that warmed your heart. âWe will endure it together, as we have these cases.â
âWill we?â your voice grew empty as your thoughts swirled.
He titled his head, unsure of where this was leading. You gathered your courage to question him.
âRumour has it, Doctor Stratton has asked you to join her in Vienna. I wonder if youâll go.â
 Silence falls over the room.
 Laszlo couldnât understand what this had to do with anything. Your crying, your distress over Marcus. What did his leaving have to do with any of your distress?
 âYouâre greatly upset by something,â he eventually said, gazing at you with a more analytical eye than before. âIâm afraid you give me too much credit, if you think I know the specifics of it.â
âI-â you stopped, clearing your throat as you choked up. Your knuckles turned white on your journalâs edges, hands shaking. âDoctor Kreizler-â
âItâs been months since weâve known each other,â he interrupts, âand we havenât held a session together in nearly five weeks. Would it pain you to call me Laszlo? Are we notâŠfriends?â
You gaped at him, but his face remained unreadable.
 You shake your head. âYes, itâŠit would pain me. It would pain me a great deal, Doctor â it does pain me a great deal to hear you call me a friend whenâŠâ
âWhen what?â he prompts you sharply, and you inhale quickly.
âWhen I feel Iâve been dishonest with you, unkind to youâŠâ had the room not been dead still, Laszlo might have missed the next words you whispered. âI feel Iâve been perverse to you.â
 If he was confused, he didnât show it. And you were talking now, the words spilling out, a cascade unable to end.
âI feel as thoughâŠhad Marcus notâŠdiedâŠtonight, I might never have done this. But then my mind, it began spinning so quickly I couldnât stop it, and I couldnât help but imagine countless scenarios in which Libby, in which the Dusters, in whichâŠwell, in which any number of causes might take your life as well. In which you might die beforeâŠbefore I can confessâŠâ You huff, your words getting caught once again. With a determined move, your arm shot out to pass your journal to him, and Kreizler takes note of a particular page being creased.
 He looks up at you, but you donât meet his eye.
âIâve marked where I want you to start reading. JustâŠgo from there. Inform me when youâre finished.â
You walk over to the window, desperate to be distracted, as Doctor Kreizler opens the book and reads at your request.
      He canât comprehend what heâs reading at first.
      While he had grown accustomed to your twisted perception of yourself, he hadnât realized just how ruthless the self-loathing could take you. Endless doubt of your friendships with the team, with your position as a caretaker, in your abilities to be a friend.       And as words continue, he realizes your doubts in being a partner, a lover.
      If he grows flustered at the words he reads, heâs determined not to show it to you.
      He reads your envy of women like Sara Howard, able to move forward with such strength and certainty, and of Karen Stratton, so brash, so forward. Your envy is strong towards her, in her abilities to understand sexuality, passion, human desire, and inâŠ
      In her connection to himself.
      His eyes widen as your own ramblings seem to uncover a truth you hadnât explored before â your attraction to the Doctor that had aided you, offered you employment. The pure taboo of such affections, yet your inability to stop it. Your adoration, your admiration for the intimidating, raw man that he was. How you felt unworthy, that you would hold him back, that he deserved a woman as delightful as Doctor Stratton, a woman who could stimulate him academically, that could pleasure him physically. How you felt so deeply ashamed of harbouring such elicit fantasies of the man that had been nothing but kind to you. How you loved him so deeply it made you want to die, because you would never be deserving â
      You heard the journal snapping shut, and you couldnât bring yourself to face the Doctor, knowing what he mustâve read, dreading what he must now be thinking.
      The silence lasted far longer than you wouldâve liked, but you couldnât bring yourself to speak.
      âI find myself taken aback more often than I like,â Kreizlerâs voice shatters the still air. âI believe myself to be so wise, so understanding of the mind, and yet I come across a mind such as yours that IâŠI truly cannot fathom how you think what you think.â
      âIâm sorry,â you start, voice breaking as tears begin to flow again.
      You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel a hand on your own. You donât dare to turn around, frozen like a rabbit having been sniffed out by a hound.
      âYou think me to be attracted to Doctor Stratton, am I correct?â
      You nod. Of course, he was. Was it not obvious?
      âKaren and I are colleagues, and friends, should I be too bold to assume so. I can recognize that she is a physically beautiful woman, yes, and Iâm sure some day she will make a man a very happy husband, should she wish. But her and I have a kinship, a partnership, not unlike what I believe you and Marcus might have had, that I too misinterpreted as love.â
      You sniff, closing your eyes tightly. What was he trying to tell you?
      Doctor Kreizler spins you around slowly, leading you to face him.
      âI do not harbour half the affection in my heart for Doctor Stratton as I do for you.â
      You freeze. âDoctor-â
      âPlease,â he reaches up to cup your face, wiping away several of the tears that had fallen. âPlease call me Laszlo. You are not the only one to have an epiphany after the loss of our friend, my dear. If you are being so honest with me, I feel it only right to offer you the same.â
      âLaszloâŠâ you whisper, meeting his eyes for the first time since he read your words. His heart breaks with the pain within them. âHow can you do this? Look at me, hold me, when you see how broken I am? Iâm undeserving-â
      âYou would choose to love, to care for a cripple, a shell of a man in the eyes of society. A man who has too often neglected the children he cares for, often spat in the face of those he dares to call his friends. If either of us is undeserving of the otherâs love, my dear, itâs me.â
      Your brows furrow angrily, reaching up to mirror him, cupping his own face with both of yours. âLaszlo Kreizler you stop that right now, I wonât hear any more ofâŠyouâre smiling. How could you be smiling?â
      He leans into one of your hands affectionately, a rare, dashing smile lighting up his features in a way you cherished to see, despite the circumstances. âPerhaps we are both wrong. PerhapsâŠperhaps we need each other, to use each otherâs eyes and hearts to understand who we truly are. We both have such lowly opinions of ourselves butâŠperhaps it was meant to be.â
      Your own smile was beginning to form, despite your best efforts, as your brainâs screaming of all that could go wrong began to quieten.
      âI hesitate to believe in fate, DoctorâŠâ you trail off, taking a step closer, your heart filled with hope and eyes filled with wonder. âI hesitate further to admit to needing someone, and yetâŠmy brain is only ever kind and quiet when Iâm around you.â
      Laszloâs weaker arm rests on your hip, while the thumb of the hand caressing your face moves to trace your chin. âMy language is not asâŠpoetic, as yours, my dear,â he confesses, and you both chuckle, âbut I very much would like to kiss you, with your permission.â
      âLaszlo, you could do anything to me,â you confess, reaching forward to finally meet his lips.
      Itâs messy, and uncoordinated, but any lack of experience the pair of you may have is made up for by the pure, electric eagerness that overtakes the both of you. Youâre both exploring, testing each other, in some give and take dance that does not seem to quell any emotions within you, instead quite the opposite.
      You could kiss him forever, you quickly realize.
      But by some cruel twist of fate, you have to pull away, air taking priority.
      You stare wildly at him as he breathes heavily, eyes darker than you had ever seen, with a sense of uncertainty that you hadnât ever seen about him before.
      A teasing smile finds its way onto your face, as you canât help but test your luck.
      âHow far, exactly, did you read in my book?â
      He blinks at you a couple of times, uncertain of your line of questioning. âI read of your jealousy, of your shame, I donâtâŠI donât believe I finished it all, I found I had to address the issue before I continued ââ
      âWould you like to know what else was in there?â
      Laszlo appeared flustered as you led him back to his plush chair, and you knelt down between his legs to pick up the book that had fallen to the ground. You donât offer it to him, however, instead putting it aside.
      âMy dear, I donât ââ
      âI ask you to stop me, if my advances are tooâŠforward to you, Laszlo.â
      You slowly rise from your place, moving to lift your skirts so you might position yourself above the Doctor, straddling him in his chair. As if on its own accord, his good hand rises to situate on your waist tightly. You gently grasp his weaker hand, his âbroken wingâ, and lift it to your mouth, delicately kissing the palm, each finger.
      Laszlo mutters your name, transfixed by your mouthâs movements.
      âI would love every part of you,â you begin, continuing your assault of affection as you whisper against the part of him, he views as most broken. âI would care for you in every capacity in which Iâm capable. I would strive to be deserving of you in every which way.â You drop his hand and lean forward, hands grasping the back of the chair as you hold his gaze. âI would have you claim every part of me, I would have your marks for the world to see, if you wished. Iâve dreamt of you and I in the most compromising positions that I dare not say, on nearly every surface of your study, my bedroom, the Institute. I would give you every single piece of me, Laszlo, every ounce of my attraction. I would give you my darkest sins and my deepest pleasure, if you would allow me too. Please, Doctor Kreizler, let me please you.â
      You didnât know what you were expecting from your confession.
      Perhaps you wondered if he would push you away, exclaiming that your desires were too much, your words too sinful, and that he would cease associations with you immediately. Perhaps you thought he would scold you for being too wanton, too unbecoming of a woman of your standing. Perhaps you hoped the worst that would happen is he would kiss you softly and instruct that you both go to bed in separate rooms, that more carnal needs could be discussed at a later date.
      Never in your wildest dreams did you expect to feel Laszlo shift and harden beneath you, eyes growing so dark they were nearly completely black, and have him reach his hand to curl around the back of your neck.
      And you certainly didnât expect the deep growl that escaped him as his lips, tongue, and teeth clashed with yours frantically, animalistically.
      Neither of you had experience, you both knew this.
      But you both knew what you wanted, what you needed, and that would be enough to motivate you.
      You both took what you could, Laszlo leaving your lips to reach what he could of your neck, lavishing it with lips and tongue. He explored expertly, quickly learning what you liked based upon the quickening of your breath, of your pulse. What was left of his analytical mind was fascinated by the chain reaction of events, how you spurred each other on.
      When he nipped at your ear, your hips rolled uncontrollably, and a rough groan escaped him unconsciously.
      Fascinating indeed.
      He panicked slightly when you stood, wondering if he had stepped too far. The panic raised as you strode across his study, heading quickly to the door.
      âWait, my dear, I-â
      âCalm down, Laszlo,â you hushed him, and he heard a loud click of the door locking from where he sat. âI merely donât wish to be interrupted. If this is still what you wish.â
      He leans back in his chair, breathing heavily, observing you as you stand once again before him. âI should be asking you what you want, my darling.â
      You grin, shaking your head. âWas my speech before not enough for you to know what I want, Doctor Kreizler? Can you not infer exactly what I want from you from the writings in my journal? Itâs your turn to share, else I might just leave you like this.â
      His good hand involuntarily juts forward, grasping yours desperately.
      âDonât you dare.â
      You giggle, and he smiles at the sound.
      âThen, tell me what you wish, Doctor.â
      âI wishâŠâ he trails off, watching as your hands move upward to begin slowly undressing yourself.
      âYes?â You prompt him teasingly, continuing your motions. âDonât mind me.â
      Laszlo shifts in his chair, erection clearly visible by the bulge in his slacks. âIâŠI wishâŠâ his voice trails off again as his eyes take in every inch of your skin thatâs uncovered. âI wish to be with you in every manner. Intellectually, spiritually, physically. I wish to connect with you in a way I never will with any other living creature on this Earth. I wish to feel you around me, to bring you to climax. I wish to fill you, to be yours, to fuck you, to make you Mrs. KreizlerâŠâ
      He stops at that, only becoming aware of his own ramblings you straddled him once again, completely nude.
      The faintest voice in his head wondered if you made him stupid, but it was silence as his eyes took you in completely.
      âYou are the most gorgeous specimen Iâve ever been graced with seeing, my love.â
      You pull him in to a languid kiss, gently tasting each other as your hand travels down his chest.
      âYou speak of love, of my being Mrs. KreizlerâŠâ you start, almost losing your train of thought as you feel him twitch beneath you, your hips rolling to meet his. âAnother day Iâll ask you to remind me of those words. But for nowâŠâ you lean forward, mouth grazing his ear, causing him to shiver. âI need you to fuck me, Doctor Laszlo Kreizler.â
      For all of your faith in him, you donât expect the next feat of strength.
      With only his good arm he manages to lift the pair of you from the chair, quickly placing you upwards and onto the desk of his own study, mindless of the papers underneath you, of any others that might be in the building as you shriek in surprise.
      He captures your mouth with his, more forceful, captivating, as his good hand explores your form, grasping both of your breasts before heading downwards to the warmth between your thighs. His fingers collect some of the wetness that had escaped your folds and examines it with an almost mocking scientific fascination.
      âIs this all for me, my darling?â he questions, and you find yourself at a loss for words as he curiously lifts his fingers to his mouth, his tongue slowly tasting you off of them.
      âFuck, Laszlo,â you whisper, reaching forward to pull him in for a kiss again as he chuckles darkly against you.
      His teasing ends when your hands wander downward, now working at the buttons of his slacks frantically, your palm grazing across his length through his pants, causing him to gasp.
      âMy God,â he pants out, and you pull him out of his slacks. Heâs hard, warm, rigid in your palm, with veins and girth that you hadnât imagined in any of your fantasies, but was now all you could imagine filling you, ending that emptiness that you felt.
      âPlease,â you whimper, and he gently removes your hand, before lining his cock up with your entrance.
      He meets your eyes, checking one last time to ensure this was what you wanted.
      âLaszlo, please ââyour begging is cut short as he breaches you slowly, pushing his full weight forward as the pair of you connect.
      Itâs unlike anything youâve ever felt.
      A tantalizing combination of pleasure and pain, your mind repeating an endless mantra of âLaszloâ, which you realize, when heâs fully inside, flush against you, that youâre muttering out loud.
      âOh, my love,â he breathes, his damaged arm lightly resting on your thigh, his other gripping your hip so tightly you knew there would be marks.
      âYou feel so right,â you mindlessly breathe, and you canât help but moan at the feeling of him twitching inside you at the comment. You would remember that he likes praise, butâŠ
âI donât know that I will last long, my love,â Laszlo warns, his voice low, gravely, warm against your neck as he buries his face into it, pressing kisses into the skin of your shoulder.
It crosses your mind that youâre completely nude and heâs fully clothed, but the thought fills you with warmth rather than disappointment.
âNor will I, but this will happen again, wonât it?â you question, a hint of doubt crossing your voice.
The Doctor silences it immediately, kissing you deeply. âEvery night, every hour if you would let me, my darling. You are so wonderfulâŠâ
âThen please, fuck me Laszlo. I want to cum, I want you to fill me, I â oh!â
The first snap of his hips was relentless, and it was only more intense from there.
He was strong, sure of his movements, chasing his own pleasure and encouraging yours as much as he could, pressing kisses into your neck, your breasts, your lips, his good hand finding your hair tightly. Broken moans left you as dark, rasping breaths escaped him, and it was all too soon before you felt your peak approaching, familiar with the sensation from lonely nights with your own hand curiously working against yourself.
âLaszlo, Doctor Kreizler, I-â at your moaning of his title, something in him snapped, and his teeth sunk into where your neck met your shoulder.
A deep cry left you as you reached your climax, a white-hot rush waving over you.
As your cunt clenched around him, Laszlo lost himself, growling his native German tongue as he lost his rhythm, heat filling you as he came.
You two didnât have much time to come down from your highs, as the door to his home could be heard opening and closing from the floors below.
âDoctor Kreizler?â Sara Howard could be heard calling.
Your eyes wide, you rushed to put yourself back together, close wrinkled, roughly thrown back on and your hair being a wreck. You hoped you could pass it off as merely the result of a rough day, an intense mental break.
You turned to Kreizler, who was a picture of perfection, seeming to not be rattled by the events beforeâŠalmost.
      âBack to the caseâŠ?â he trailed off, his voice filled with uncertainty, and you smiled fondly at the terribly awkward, intelligent man before you.
      You step forward and kiss him softly, the warmth between your legs and bruises on your thigh a reminder of what had just occurred.
      âBack to the case. We can continue our escapades when itâs all over, Doctor.â
      He chuckles, confidence returning to him as he nods. âI look forward to it.â
#x reader smut#laszlo kreizler#laszlo kreizler x reader#laszlo kreizler imagine#Laszlo kreizler fanfic#smut#godpleaseletmerest#Ineedsleep
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Pictures of You
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader
Summary: you lose your memories of the last few years, including the ones of your relationship with Aaron. The rest of the team thinks itâs hilarious.
Word Count: 5.3k
Warnings: memory loss, swearing, some angst, hospital, talk of injuries, team shenanigans and fluff
A/N: okay this was a lot of fun to write bc soft!Hotch rights !! also really wanted to make the team play a larger role in a fic so here we go :)
Masterlist
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You wake in a hospital bed, Morgan by your side, and a godawful pounding in your cloudy head. With a groan, you try to raise one of your hands to cover your eyes as Morganâs head shoots up to stare at you with a relieved smile.
âHey,â he says, catching your hand before you can lift it higher, âDonât do that. You had a nasty fall, Princess.â
Satisfied that you wonât make any more moves towards your head, he sits back down at your side.
âShould I even ask how youâre doing orâŠâ he trails off when you glare at him. âIâll go let the team know youâre okay. Boss Man will be happy to hear you finally woke up,â and with that, Morgan is up and out of the room before you can even open your mouth because what.
Shifting around in the bed, you try to gauge just how injured you are, but the soreness in literally your entire body coupled with the haziness in your mind from the constant pain makes you conclude that youâll leave it to the doctors to tell you whatâs wrong. Sighing, you gently tilt your head to the side and observe the various beeping monitors.
The door opens and as you turn to see who it is, your mouth opens in disbelief. Thereâs no way. Thereâs absolutely no fucking way. This is fake. This is a dream. Your stomach simultaneously drops and fills with dread. How is this possible?
âYouâre dead. Youâre dead. We buried you,â you say in a rush, as none other than Emily fucking Prentiss stops by the side of your bed, looking at you confusedly. âDoes this mean Iâm dead? Are you a ghost?â you wonder out loud, and Emily looks behind her as the rest of the team, except Hotch, file in behind her, seemingly fine with her sudden appearance.
âHow are you here, why are you here, what happened? You died. Youâre supposed to be dead which means Iâm probably dead,â you continue to ramble, frantically looking from at each member of your team and then back to Emily.
âWhat? Y/N, you arenât dead. Just like Iâm not dead,â she says like itâs the most obvious thing in the world.
âBut you are,â you say shakily, chest tightening as your breaths become shorter and shorter.
âY/NâŠâ she says slowly, softly, âI faked my death four years ago.â
And with that, your ears rush and your mind goes blank. No no no no no no we buried her six months ago, sheâs dead. You donât notice the rest of the team trading glances around you as the world you thought you knew shatters and reforms in your mind.
âNo,â you croak, throat suddenly constricting, but Emily only looks at you worriedly, Reid slipping out the door behind her.
âY/N, can you take some deep breaths for me?â and your head turns to find JJ at your other side, hand on your shoulder. âLetâs breathe, you can do this,â she says, taking exaggerated breaths to demonstrate, smiling gently as you cooperate.
Reid enters, now, followed by a doctor who, immediately upon reaching your side, proceeds to shine a light in your eyes and asks you to complete all sorts of short tests while the team looks on.
âNow, Agent Y/L/N, Dr. Reid informed me that you seem to be having some memory issues, which is normal,â the doctor assures you, âespecially with the head trauma you endured. So, tell me what you can remember and weâll go from there,â he says with a helpful smile.
Fuck. What do you remember?
âWellâŠâ you trail off, trying to pin-point an exact moment. âI remember EmilyâAgent Prentissââfuneral because it was six months ago, but apparentlyââ your eyes slide over the rest of the team, ââapparently, it was more like four years ago,â you finish slowly.
âAnd thatâs as recent as you can remember?â the doctor pushes. You nod your head. âWell, Agent Y/L/N, it seems that you have post-traumatic retrograde amnesia, which isnât a surprise, as I said before. My guess is that itâs temporary, and that youâll recover your memories in time.â
âAny ideas how long?â Emily speaks up, carefully looking at your face.
âWith cases such as these, there isnât a definite timeline or standard procedure for memory recovery,â the doctor explains. âIt may help to look at photos or videos and tell stories to try and help Agent Y/L/N heal quicker, but the brain is tricky,â and with that wonderful statement, the doctor turns and exits, leaving you and your team staring at each other, processing the fact that you donât know when youâll get your memories of the last four freakinâ years back.
âSo, from the research Iâve done, it seems thatââ Reid is cut off by the door flying open and Aaron Hotchner, your Unit Chief, bursting into the room with a concerned look on his face wearing a hoodie and jeans.
Morgan tries to grab his shoulder, but Hotch shakes him off as he walks right up to your bedside and grabs your hand. Holy shit. Heat rises to your cheeks instantly and you think your heart might have actually skipped a beat but, you canât help it, youâve had a crush on Hotch for ages and heâs holding your hand. But you donât remember a time when Hotch was so forward in showing concern for one of his agents.
âIâm so sorry I wasnât here when you woke up, Sweetheartââ youâre pretty sure youâre dreaming because Hotch has never called you Sweetheart. Ever. Youâve also never seen him in anything other than a suit. ââJessica called because Jack has the flu and then he wanted to talk to me andââ
âHotch!â Morgan all but yells, interrupting Hotchâs update on Jack, as you stare pointedly at his hand, still holding yours, trying to control the redness growing steadily stronger in your cheeks. What the hell.
âHotch,â Morgan states, softer this time, âThe last thing Y/L/N remembers clearly is Prentissâ funeral.â
You look up with a weak approximation of a smile, and watch Hotchâs face shift as he comprehends what Morgan said.
âThat was years ago,â he says slowly, face hardening into a look youâve seen too many times when he tries to separate himself from the information heâs received.
Looking down at you, you canât tell what heâs thinking, so you divert your eyes to his hand in yours. Once he notices this, he gently lets go and you know itâs silly, but you almost reach out for it again. Who knows the next time Hotch will want to hold your hand?
âSo you donâtâŠâ he doesnât finish his question, which leaves you even more confused. Donât whatâŠ?
âUmm. If itâs happened in the last four-ish years, then umm⊠Then I probably donât remember it,â you say quietly, apologetically. âSir,â you add on quickly, not wanting to forgo formalities even if your memory isnât what itâs supposed to be.
However, instead of nodding, like you thought he would, Aaron Hotchner looks sad which confuses you even more.
âAaron,â Rossi begins slowly, âthe doctor said that talking about whatâs happened since then may help Y/Nâs memory come back.â Hotch looks up, almost relieved. âSo why donât you tell her something thatâs happened since Prentissâ funeral.â
And with that, Hotch takes a breath before reaching across your body to your other hand and holding it up. Not quite sure whatâs happening, you allow him to hold your left hand up in your line of vision and thatâs when you notice a fucking wedding ring. On your hand. Which Hotch is holding.
âIâm married?â you screech, looking at the team, who are now all trying not to laugh for some reason. âWho am I married to? Holy shit, what?â you continue looking around. Morgan and Prentiss look like theyâll break into outright laughter any minute. Whatâs going on?
Looking helplessly to Hotch, who is suspiciously quiet, you donât have to repeat your question before he is carefully letting go of your left hand to hold his own up next to it and since when did Hotch wear a wedding band? Until you notice the striking similarities between the ring on your hand, and the one on your boss. What the actual fuck.
âWeâre married?â you say, whipping your head to the sideâouchâto stare at Hotch, who is looking a little more amused than worried. âWhat? When? I justâŠïżœïżœ you canât even finish your train of thought because your head is spinning so fast.
âIs it really that much of a surprise, Princess?â Derek chimes in. âI mean, you guys have been in love with each other forever,â and with that, he and Prentiss dissolve into a fit of laughter, which they try to smother, but youâre too busy taking in this very new and very interesting life development.
At some point in the last couple years, you married Hotch. Which means he knows you like him. And he likes you. You dated Hotch and now youâre fucking married. And you canât remember any of it.
ââŠI donât remember itâŠâ you say sadly, softly and the laughter ceases.
Running a hand through his hair, Hotch takes a step back and shrugs, a small, reassuring smile on his face.
âWeâll figure it out, Sweetheartââ your stomach erupts into butterflies, ââwe always do.â
With a sigh, you sink back into the pillows on your bed and stare at the ceiling, head throbbing worse than before thanks to all the new information.
âI justâŠâ you pause to think about your current dilemma. âI just donât know where to start with all thisâŠGetting my memory back,â you look to Hotch and then the team, unsure of what to do.
âWell, the doctor did say that photos and videos might help. Iâd be willing to recount every conversation weâve had since Emilyâs funeral, if you want, including the ones that you werenât a part of, but were about you or a case,â Reid offers with a grin, and your heart melts.
Slowly shaking your head, you answer, âThanks but maybe later, Spence. Iâm still stuck on the whole Iâm-married-to-my-boss thing right now.â
âTrust me Princess,â Derek laughs âIâm pretty sure all of us could tell you about how everything went down like a damn movie.â
âYeahâŠâ JJ continues with a fond shake of her head, âYou guys werenât very subtle about it.â
Sneaking a look out of the corner of your eye, you catch Hotch blushing and staring down at his shoes before he also sneaks a look at you, meeting your eyes.
âSee?â Derekâs voice breaks your gaze. âThis is exactly what I was talking about. You guys werenât subtle and still arenât,â rolling his eyes, he laughs a little and you canât help but smile.
âAt least theyâre married this time around,â Rossi supplies. âNo more âsecretâ glances and yearning,â he says with such contempt you canât help but laugh as HotchâAaron? â lets out a small chuckle of his own.
âNow I just need to remember how we got here,â you say, feeling a little more at ease. Slowly, you reach for Hotchâs left hand, studying the ring the matches your own. âRemember us,â you continue, just to him, and the smile that overtakes his face is the best thing youâve seen since waking up.
âYou werenât wrong, Morgan,â comes Emilyâs voice from the end of your bed. âThis is just like a movie. Ugh. But donât worry, Y/N, weâll help you sort this out.â
âAnd I know just the woman for the job,â Morgan adds with a mischievous smirk which immediately makes you wonder about whatever it is he has planned.
âNow as much as Iâd love to watch the two lovebirds gaze into each otherâs eyes, I actually have plans,â Rossi states, looking down at his watch. âSo, Iâll be back tomorrow. Have a good night, Y/N,â he says before waving to the rest of the team and leaving.
The rest of the team makes their own excuses to leave, and you canât help but feel like Morgan and Prentiss have concocted some sort of scheme to âhelpâ you get your memories back.
Running a hand over your face, you sigh. What now? The sound of someone clearing their throat makes you look up and realize that Hotch hadnât left with the others, but was instead standing near the foot of your bed, looking somewhat anxious.
âI ummm⊠I was planning on spending the night here to make sure you were okay, but ummâŠâ he trails off, unsure.
âBut since I have no memory of us being together you think itâs weirdâŠ?â you ask gently.
âYeah,â he answers in a sigh. âI donât want to make you uncomfortable by being here, especially because I know how frustrating and confusing this must be for youâŠâ
âHotch,â you start, but he canât hide his wince when you call him that. âAaron,â you try again. âYes, this is incredibly confusing and frustrating because Emily should be dead and I didnât think you had feelings for me at all,â you pause and see him smile, just a bit, âBut Iâd really like it if you stayed here. With me. Becauseââ you take a deep breath. ââBecause you make me feel safe, Aaron, and I need that right now,â you say gently, not quite sure where the confidence came from, but Aaronâs eyes soften and his smile grows bigger as his shoulders drop in relief. Worth it.
âThen Iâll stay,â he says, and you canât help the heat that once again rises in your cheeks as he continues to look at you.
You guys are married, dammit. Pull it together.
Averting your gaze, you turn your attention to getting more comfortable in your bed and decide to fuss with the placement of your pillows because damn was your back starting to hurt, but Aaron beats you to it. Within ten seconds of arranging the pillows behind you, he has them perfect.
âHowâŠ?â you start to question, but he just raises his eyebrows. âRight. Married,â you say with a shake of your head.
Aaron finally sits in the chair next to your bed and reaches, almost absentmindedly, for your hand before catching himself and stilling. You can see the fight in his mindâhe wants to comfort you and himself, but with your memory, he doesnât quite know where your boundaries are. Taking pity on him, you grab his hand yourself, weaving your fingers together so he knows it was on purpose. Okay so you really just wanted to hold his hand again, but youâre married! Youâre allowed. He takes a deep breath and leans back in the chair, turning his head to really look at you.
âHowâs your head?â he asks, brow furrowed in what youâve come to understand is genuine concern.
You pause and consider for a moment.
âNot terrible, but not great,â you say slowly. âItâs like thereâs a fog in my mind that I canât see through. I know Iâm missing stuff, but I just donât know what.â
Aaron gently squeezes your hand, but doesnât speak yet.
âI want to know what brought Emily back, how we happened, what it was that gave me this fucking injury, I justâŠâ with an exasperated huff, you collect yourself. âI just want to know.â
âWell, Emily should be the one to tell you her part of the story, and as for us,â he gives you a smile âitâs a longer answer, at least for me, so that will have to waitâSorry, Sweetheart,â he says when you pout. âHowever, I can tell you about what landed you in the hospital. How does that sound?â
âItâs a start,â you tease, and yes Aaron smiles wider and rolls his eyes.
âWe were chasing an unsub, and Garcia had tracked him to a warehouse not too far from Quantico. We went there andââ his voice wavers. You squeeze his hand. ââand the unsub had set explosives around the perimeter of the building. I guess you got too close to him when trying to talk him down and he triggered the whole set.â Aaron sighs, and his eyes are glazed over like heâs reliving thisâwhich he probably isâand thereâs nothing you can really do besides let him take his time.
âYou werenât right by any of them, but you were thrown back and had hit the ground before I could even yell at you to stopânot that you would have listened,â he says pointedly with a watery laugh. âYou just laid there, Morgan and I carried you over to the medics as soon as the dust settled and they took you away as we cleared the rest of the scene.â
âAnd the unsub?â
âHe didnât survive the explosion. As soon as we figured that out, we left it to the local PD and crime scene techs.â He looks at you softly. âWe came straight here after that.â
âHow long was I out before today,â you ask lightly, curiously.
âThree days. Dave had to convince me to go home and shower on the second day.â He looks down before sneaking a sideways glance at you.
âWell Iâm glad he did,â you tease, scrunching your nose.
âAnd Iâm glad youâre awake, Sweetheart,â he replies, squeezing your hand.
You laugh and look away before mumbling, âI donât think Iâll ever get used to that.â
âGet used to what?â he waits a second. âSweetheart?â Motherfucker. He knows what heâs doing.
âThat! I woke up convinced you didnât have feelings for me at all,â you say with a glare, âand now I know weâre married and you keep being so nice and understanding and calling me Sweetheart and I just donât know how to deal with all of this!â you finish in a huff.
âI just feel bad that I canât remember this, usâ you add, gesturing between the two of you. âIâm trying and thereâs justââ you make a frustrated noise and flop back to stare at the ceiling. âAnd my head still kind of hurts,â you add softly, almost pouting.
âOh, Sweetheart,â Aaron whispers. He clears his throat before continuing. âYouâll get your memories back,â he leans forward to stroke some hair off your forehead. âAnd until then, you know the team and I will do what we can to catch you up and help you remember.â
You push your head further into his hand with a sigh. He runs his hand through your hair a few times before pulling back and you almost whine. You yawn instead. Settling down, you tug the blanket up higher across your chest and turn to face Aaron as he also gets comfortable. He turns on the small television in your room and at some point, you fall asleep holding his hand.
---
You wake to the sound of the door opening, followed by the unmistakable click-clack of heels worn by none other than Penelope Garcia. Â
âRise and shine! Time to regain your memory, lovely Y/N,â she sings, coming to a stop by the side of your bed as you roll over with a yawn.
âPenââ you groan. âLet me sleep. Please.â
âOh no, my little profiler. Do you have your memory back?â You shake your head. âThen we need to work on that! And donât you dare tell me no; my wonderful Derek Morgan and I were up all night making this for you,â
You raise your eyebrows.
âSadly, not like that. But, we compiled a presentation-slash-video montage for you about what youâve missed!â
That catches your attention.
âWha--? How? Penelope where did the footage come from?â you ask, more awake now.
âWell, I may or may not have used security cam footage for a lot of it, but thatâs neither here nor there, so, without further ado, I present to you: your life for the past four-ish years!â and with that, she somehow connects her tablet to the TV and you see a picture of the whole team; Penelope then produces a remote from the depths of her purse and then proceeds to the next slide.
Which is a photo of you. And Aaron. Standing by the coffee machine in the office and smiling at each other, clearly unaware that the moment was being documented. The image is embellished with what must be close to fifty moving, sparkly hearts, obviously done by Garcia.
âFirst thingâs first,â she starts with a flourish. âYour husband!â and as if on cue, Aaron walks into the room, cup of coffee in hand. Much to your surprise, Aaron just rounds your bed to sit in the same chair you assume he fell asleep in, watching the screen.
âWhat is happening,â you say softly to yourself, looking from Aaron to Garcia and back.
âThe doctor said photos and videos might help restore your memory, so who better to put something together than Garcia?â Hotch answers dryly, a small smile flashing across his face. âThe rest of the team should be here shortly,â he says directly to Garcia.
âOh good. I always work better with an audience,â she replies as you continue to process just what the hell is happening since you woke up approximately five minutes ago.
Within a few minutes, your hospital room is overrun with the rest of the team. Sitting, standing, leaning wherever they can find the space to view Penelopeâs presentation with you in the middle of it all.
âDonât you people have jobs?â you grumble.
âCâmon, Princess. Who better to help you remember the last few years than us?â Derek says with a cheeky grin that makes you roll your eyes.
You turn your gaze to Aaron and find that heâs already looking at you in concern.
âIf you really donât want all of us here we can leave,â he says just loud enough for you to hear.
âI justâŠâ you take a moment to try and collect your thoughts. âI guess I just donât know how to feel about all of this, but youâre all here soâ â
âSo here we go!â Penelope cheerfully finishes your sentence before turning back to the screen. âAs I was saying before, part one of Operation Get Y/Nâs Memories Back is all aboutâdrumroll pleaseâour very own Unit Chief, a.k.a. Hotch, a.k.a. loving husband to our very own Agent Y/L/N.â
With a shake of your head, purposefully ignoring the way Derek and Emily are whooping and whistling, you settle in and gesture for Penelope to continue. God, letâs hope this works.
---
It doesnât work.
Fuck.
Three almost four hours later and nothing has changed for you. However, itâs a lovely opportunity for some team bonding and creating new memories, but youâre still disappointed. Itâs not for lack of trying, though. Penelope did a wonderful job of pulling together a presentation-slash-video montage of your life, complete with titles such as âYour lovely husband,â âThe Miraculous Life, Death, and Subsequent Resurrection of Emily Prentiss,â and even âBadass BAU Babies,â which was a collection of team photos and news clips of cases you guys had closed in the past few years.
The whole team had gotten a kick out of each section, especially the last one, as Penelope had spared no one in her quest to help your memory; ugly selfies sent in the BAU group chat, embarrassing footage of you tripping up (and down) the stairs to the bullpenâcourtesy of the security cameras, Reid doing physics magic and narrowly missing Rossiâs coffee cup, it was all there. But nothing worked, there was no magical ah ha moment where everything came rushing back. If anything, it really was like watching a movie; it didnât feel like you were the one is all of these clips and photos. Not even Reidâs commentary made you feel any closer than before to recovering your memories.
It wasnât all bad, though. Penelope had a veritable stockpile of photos of you and Aaron, ranging from the office, to cases, to the occasional night out with the team. Your engagement announcement, wedding photos, freakinâ everything on the two of you and yet, nothing seemed to make a difference to your brain.
The photo on the screen was one of you and Aaron on a case. You were tucked under his arm, snowflakes visible in your hair and his as you look up and laugh at something he said while he just smiles gently down at you. Penelope had put hearts over both your eyes.
âActual heart eyes! I had to! You guys are so cute!â she basically squealed when the photo came up.
âWhat did I tell you,â Rossi said teasingly, âYearning.â
Prentiss and Morgan hadnât stopped laughing for this entire segment, with JJ and Reid occasionally joining in if there was something exceptionally ridiculous Penelope had included, like fucking heart eyes.
A hand covering your own makes you realize you had spaced out, and you look down to see that itâs Aaronâs hand, wedding band catching the light.
âAnything, Sweetheart?â he asks in a low voice, carefully watching your face.
You shake your head. âItâs like itâs someone elseâs life, but I know itâs mine; youâve told me itâs mine, thereâs photographic evidence that itâs mine!â you say in a huff. âIt just doesnât feel like itâs mine,â you whisper, voice breaking at the end. Tears gather in your eyes and you bite your lip to stop it from shaking as you desperately try and control your overwhelming emotions. You can hear the team in the background, strategizing new ways to help you, but Aaronâs face hovers in front of your own, drawing your attention.
âItâs okay,â he says lightly, stroking your cheek with his thumb.
âNo, itâs not,â you insist as a few tears make their way down your face. âItâs not, Aaron. What if this is it? What if I just donât get my memories back?â
Letting out a long sigh, Aaron raises your hand to his lips and kisses your palm before folding your hand into his.
âYou will. I know you will,â he says with such conviction you might just believe him if it werenât for the way he rapidly blinks to keep his own tears at bay.
âYeah, Princess.â Morgan chimes in from somewhere across the room. âWeâll figure this out, you know we will.â
And with that, you see something click into place in Aaronâs eyes and suddenly, heâs looking at you in such a way that your heart picks upâthanks, heart monitor.
âAaronâŠ?â you ask cautiously.
âPrincess,â he says it so simply, like itâs the most obvious thing in the world. You only have time to raise an eyebrow at him beforeâ
Oh.
Kissing Aaron Hotchner is something you could definitely get used to. His hand comes up to cradle your face as he gently moves his lips against yours. You sigh and can feel his smile against your mouth before heâs tugging your face closer, tilting your head just so andâ
There.
Itâs like opening a window to let in a breeze. Soft and sure, filling the space in a way thatâs all-encompassing without being suffocating.
Like snowflakes falling and settling on his black jacket, like Aaron down on one knee sliding your engagement ring on your finger while you smile so much it feels like your face will break. Itâs leaving cups of coffee on his desk during late nights in the office. Itâs playing soccer with Jack as Aaron smiles and cheers both of you on. Itâs being in bed late at night, falling asleep in the comfort provided by the man you love. Your wedding vows, promising to love him forever.
And you know.
With a gasp, you pull Aaron closer, kiss him deeper, harder, moving your lips more frantically against his. I remember I remember I remember and you think he gets it because he pulls back and looks at you with so much hope it almost breaks your heart.
âWhen I said Iâd love you forever, Aaron Hotchner, I meant it.â
And his face breaks into the biggest smile youâve ever seen as he laughs in disbelief before capturing your lips with his again, returning the urgency you had kissed him with just moments ago.
Someone clears their throat and you pull apart, smiles obvious on both your faces as you turn to the team who are looking somewhat confused.
âWould you mind enlightening us as to why you two are suddenly acting like teenagers?â Rossi asks, eyebrows raised.
âWell,â Aaron starts, grinning in your direction, âIt would seem thatâ â
âNuh uh. No way,â Derek interrupts him. âAre you seriously about to say that you kissed her and she magically remembered?â
You canât help but laugh at his disbelief because what the hell and nod, unable to speak through the giddiness overtaking your body. You remember.
âOhmygod! You guys!!â Penelope squeals before launching herself into your arms for a hug which she promptly pulls Aaron into as well; he doesnât protest.
âWhat made you do that, Hotch?â Reid asks curiously once Penelope has let you and Aaron go. âDid you know it would work?â
âPrincess,â Aaron says with a nod towards Morgan. âIn Jackâs storybooks, a kiss always wakes the Princess so she and her prince can live happily ever after.â
Okay thatâs adorable and you canât help but aww with the rest of the team at Aaronâs confession.
âHappily ever after, huh?â you say, tugging on his hand. âWho knew you were such a sap, Hotchner?â
Rolling his eyes, Aaron just smiles. âWasnât it obvious from Garciaâs presentation? Iâve been in love with you forever, Sweetheart. And besides, it worked, didnât it?â he says with a smug smile.Â
You pull him down for a short kiss before moving back just enough to murmur âMy Prince Charming.â
âI canât believe you guys,â you turn to see Morgan shaking his head. âA literal fuckinâ fairytale,â and then heâs laughing and the whole team, you and Aaron included, are laughing with him because yeah this is pretty surreal.
âI canât believe you thought I was a ghost!â Emily says once the laughter has died down, her arms crossed in mock-anger.
âCan you blame me?â you retort. âThe last thing I remember was burying you and suddenly youâre here? Nope. No way. Ghost. Only explanation.â
âI have to say, Y/L/N, Iâm glad youâre back, if only to stop Aaronâs sad puppy-dog eyes every time you called him âHotch,ââ Rossi shakes his head. âI donât know how much more yearning I could take.â
âHey! Be nice,â JJ admonishes, swatting Rossiâs shoulder. âI think itâs sweet.â
âYeah guys,â you echo. âBe nice! Donât think I forgot you two,â you say, leveling Morgan and Prentiss with glares, âand all your laughter when I couldnât remember that my husband and I were married!â
âOh câmon, Princess,â Morgan groans. âIt was pretty funny. You were trying so hard not to look completely in love with your husband.â
âIn my defense,â you start, âI didnât know that you guys already knew how much I love Aaron, so excuse me for trying to hide my love,â you say with a sniff.
âWell, it was pretty obvious. Whenever you looked at him or he grabbed your hand, the heart monitor would register an increase in your heart rate byââ Reid starts to ramble but your laughter cuts him off.
âI get it, I get it,â you continue through your laughter. âIâm very in love with Aaron, even when I think itâs a secret, but as Penelopeâs presentation so eloquently demonstrated, Iâm not subtle and neither is he.â
Aaron leans over to kiss your cheek as the rest of the team continues into a conversation about Penelopeâs presentation and how the hell she collected all those photos and videos in one day.
With the attention no longer on youâfor nowâyou smile at Aaron, who smiles right back. He slumps back in his chair with a sigh, and you canât help but pull him back closer to you.
âI love you,â you say kissing the back of his hand.
âI love you more, Sweetheart,â he replies softly.
Yeah, this is happily ever after.
#criminal minds#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x fem!reader#aaron hotchner x female reader#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner x you#hotch x reader#aaron hotchner#aaron hotch hotchner#aaron hotchner fanfiction#criminal minds fanfiction#cm fanfic#cm#fanfiction#fanfic#david rossi#penelope garcia#derek morgan#emily prentiss#jennifer jareau#spencer reid#bau#andi writes
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oblivious | k.takami
⥠pairing: keigo takami x gn!reader.
⥠word count: 1.8K
⥠rating: everyone.
⥠genre: pro hero!au, assistant!au, fluff.
⥠summary: usually, when it comes down to smooth talking and flirting, pro hero hawks has all the boxes checked right off. except for when it comes to his assistant, who doesnât quite seem to get it. or the one in which miruko meddles with hawksâ love life on valentines day.
⥠warning(s): please read ! tooth-rotting fluff, cheesy pick-up lines, just keigo being a dorky boi! :D
⥠authorâs note(s): goood evening my loves! hereâs a little fluff fic for you on valentines ! it was requested a while ago by @mocha-fochaâ but i figured today would be the perfect day! i hope youu enjoy, sorry this is so last min! happy valentines day <3
⥠masterlist | requests
keigo couldnât tell if he found it more adorable or more annoying.
your obliviousness that is.
on one had, your cluelessness to the number twoâs attraction towards you was most certainly adorable. the way you grew flustered when he walked by or leaned down to your height to tease and compliment you. the way your gaze dropped shyly to your desk when heâd ask something minuscule of you. keigo knew he intimidated you; after all, who wouldnât be in the shoes of japanâs second most beloved hero.
the winged hero had wanted you ever since he first laid his avian eyes on you, after heâd stumbled back into his agency to complete paper work for that dayâs patrol. you had been unpacking boxes at the desk outside of keigoâs office, hired to be a temporary assistant while the last had quit due to said blonde âbeing too much to handle.â
keigo still remembers the way your eyes had flittered to the floor as soon as he came into view and the timid way your name had slipped from between your pretty lips when heâd asked for your name.
the blonde swears he could never get tired of the sweet taste of âynâ on his tongue.
you were nice company and worked well with keigo, since you were resilient unlike his last assistant. he couldnât fault you anywhere, not in your kind smile and precious gestures ( you always brought him a chicken sandwich when you came back from your lunch break ). you were a gem. the only âannoyingâ thing was that you never quite understood his flirting.
sure; some of keigoâs methods like bringing you little gifts of shiny things and rocks were a little unconventional... but he couldnât help it! he was a goddamned bird after all and it wasnât his fault you mistook the dead rabbit on your desk as a cruel practical joke instead of a proclamation of love. and okay, maybe keigo giving you extra work so you could spend more time with him after office hours was a little over the top; but at least his pickup lines got through to you.
they were cringeworthy of course but at the very least; they made you grin even if you were a bit confused. one time you thought he had been practicing on you to test on endeavour on their patrol later that day. another story for another time.
so maybe the most annoying thing wasnât your obliviousness to keigoâs advances but instead the reactions and teasing from his friends. just like now.
âso whatâs it gonna be today keigo?â rumi asks from the winged heroâs left, her rabbit ears twitch and pick up on his light scoffâ while he mentally prepares for the incoming barrage of teasing. ââare you the alphabet because i can c u and i together?ââ
âno rumi, iâve got better than that.â keigo barks out with a shift of his crimson wings, the number five smirks from beside him and keigo rolls his eyes with defeat, hating the way his wings often conveyed his underlying emotions. Â the elevator they both travel in comes to a slow stop on the thirteenth floor of the hawks agency where the man himself hosts meetings in his office. the whole reason rumi was even here was to attend some dumb mission briefing the commission wanted to set them on but more than likely the bunny like hero would be here to tease keigo about his failed attempts at flirting with you. âjust you wait!â
she enjoyed making his life a living hell. âi donât know, nothing can quite beat that âiâm not a photographer but i can picture you and i togetherâ line you used last week!â rumi winks, swiftly exciting the elevator as the doors chime and open up, just narrowly avoiding the flurry of cursing and chirps from the bird-like hero.
said  blonde follows with a huff,  making a b-line for his sacred office as he sets his mind on getting the meeting done. the sooner it ends, the sooner rumi can get the hell out of his hair and stop bullying him for having a crush on his personal assistant. only, keigo is stopped in his tracks when he notices you innocently perched at your desk, tapping away at some document on your computerâ  one that he probably couldâve and shouldâve done himself. hawks almost hates how he catches himself blushing over how you complete such a mundane task,  the squint to your  eyes and the slight pinch to your brows in concentration ( which is adorable to him quite frankly ) make his heart flutter.
he finds himself coming to a stop just in front of your desk, causing rumi to slow up ahead and turn around to watch the chaos unfold.
your typing ceases quickly when you notice the shadow on your boss looming over youâ his gold and piercing avian eyes staring right back down at you as soon as you look up. âoh! mr hawks, youâre backâ!â
âyn, i seem to have lost my number, can i borrow yours?â hawks blurts out the cheesy line, almost instantly regretting it right after.
thereâs a beat of silence between you both while your face morphs into one of confusion. why would he need to borrow your number when you could just locate it in the personal records you had access to? in the meantime, miruko has taken it upon herself to fill the awkward air with pockets of wheezy laughter. you blink up at your boss, once, twice, three times before reaching for your notebook with all of his important details written inside. âmr hawks, if you wanted me to read your number out loud for you again , you could have asked! i'm more than happy to!â you say your words slowly, just to make sure he understandsâ your boss can be a bit of an air head sometimes and it is your job to help him out.
ânoâyn, no iââ keigo instantly shakes his head, the red tint of shame blaring across his cheeks in a shade that almost rivals the red of his wings. said appendages puff up and flutter with embarrassment and it doesnât help that his fellow hero is laughing at him so hard that sheâs bent over and struggling to breathe. âbabyâi meant i was asking for your numbââ
you smile up at him with sweet innocent eyes that have his words dying in his throat. âi didnât know you had a baby! congratulations mr hawks!â and then you return to typing.
keigo wants to die, physically deflating right in front of your desk where he stands.
rumi, who now seems to have recovered from her laughing fit passes by keigo with a pat to his back, he only pouts while she wipes the remainders of amused tears from her eyes before perching herself on your desk, practically leaning over you. you look up once again, feeling shy under the gaze of yet another esteemed pro hero but greet her politely with a bob of your head.
âyn, hun, can i ask you a question?â the number five asks you, warm grin helping you relax just a little.
âyes miss miruko?â
you find the woman shaking with laughter above you before she pets your hair endearingly, the gesture almost makes you pout and you have to remind yourself of where you are and who you work for. âfirstly, love, you can call me rumi, i know youâre shy but i donât biteâŠâ you paw gently at your cheeks in oder to fight the growing heat that burns brightly under your skin, growing ever so flustered under mirukoâs silky voice and knowing gaze. âsecondly, hawks isnât a father nor does he have a babyâ he was addressing you, sweetheart. and finally,â rumi pauses, patting your head again as her bunny ears twitch with amusement and mischief. âhow do you feel about the bird brains over there, do you like him?â
takami jolts up in his place, impossibly redder than he was before while he makes an attempt to shut rumi up with his ruffled feathers. the bunny simply catches the red feather between her hands, giving them a little tickle to distract her fellow hero , tilting her head down at you as if to ask âwell?â you gulp, feeling yourself become nervous as the two wait for your answer expectantly. of course you had nothing but positive feelings towards your boss; he was kind and made the time out of his busy day to talk to youâ but why did they care so much as to ask you for your opinion? you were only his assistant and saying anything bad about the number two hero would surely get you fired.
hesitantly, your gaze flickers between the clearly entertained miruko and the highly embarrassed hawksâ forcing you to take a deep breath before delivering your anticipated answer. âwellâ! heâs a great boss, iâ i couldnât ask for better, why wouldnât i like a boss who gives me an hour and a halfâs lunch break?â you sigh in relief at your answer, assuring yourself that it wonât have offended anyone but your heart rate is quick to spike when miruko squishes your cheeks and tilts your head to face your flustered boss.
âno sweetheart,â she corrects herself, pointing over at keigo who cowers into his wings. âi mean, do you like him as in... would you date him?â
you swear on all mightâs life that you almost pass out from her words, mind swirling with a thousand thoughts. why would she ask that of you? sparing a glance at your boss once move, you realise what all of this is about. his hot blush, the way he avoids your stare, his flustered state to match your own. he likes you, just as you like him. rumi was only being a good wing woman, one that you were grateful forâ as youâd never make a move on hawks on your own, no matter how many feelings youâd harboured for him in the time that youâd worked for him. You had been oblivious to his romantic gestures this whole time and now; the situation for you to confess had presented itself to you.
to hell with it.
âyes,â you breathe as best you can through squished cheeks, staring at keigo with eyes dreamy enough to make his heart soar. âwhy wouldnât anyone? i-i mean, mr hawks is so sweet and kind to everyone he meets, fans or not! andâŠand heâs really prettyâ i mean handsome⊠and his eyesââ you cut yourself off upon realising the tangent youâve gone on just to prove your attraction to your boss, looking away shyly and rumi letâs you go with a sweet chuckle.
but just as quickly as you look away, the softness of a little red feather tilts your focus back to him. âglad to know you think so yn,â he winks, making you giggle shyly. âiâll pick you up tonight at seven for valentines, then.â
and who were you to say no to him.
#tteokdoroki#bnha#mha#bnha x reader#bnha x you#bnha imagines#bnha fanfic#bnha fluff#bnha smut#mha x reader#mha x you#mha imagines#mha fanfic#mha fluff#mha smut#bnha hawks#hawks x reader#hawks x you#hawks smut#hawks fluff#hawks imagines#hawks fanfic#hawks angst#hawks headcanons#hawks fic#keigo takami x reader#keigo takami x you#keigo takami imagine#keigo takami fluff#keigo takami smut
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â CHASING PAVEMENTS 04 â JJK
âł PAIRING: dad!jk/married!jk/bff!jk x readerÂ
âł GENRE/TAGS: f2l, angst, unrequited feelings, cheating, future smut
âł WARNINGS: (for this chapter) angst as per usual whatâs new, jk is sad, reader is sad, sunhi is sad, everyoneâs just SAD
âł RATING: (for this chapter) PG
âł WORD COUNT: 4kÂ
âł SYNOPSIS: Jungkookâs been feeling a little weird lately. Maybe itâs got something to do with his crumbling marriage and the way you seem to care for his daughter more than his own wife.
âł A/N: ehem letâs pretend like i didnât ghost this story for like half a year aha iâve written more than this for cp but i decided to just divide it and leave the juicy stuff for the last chapter !! sorry for making u wait so long </3 anyway hope u enjoy still n iâll see u in a couple months for the final chapter of cp!! (iâm jkingâŠ..or am i?)
01 02 03 04 05 (coming soon)
Minji thinks youâre starting to get better.Â
Well, she hopes you are because itâs been two months since you broke the news on her and anyone would think thatâd it be long forgotten by now. She tries to stop as often as she can to check up on you, even though you assure her that youâre fine and that a simple text would suffice instead of having her come over every day in between.Â
Which is why sheâs unsure if giving you the invitation Jungkook had handed her about two weeks ago was a good idea, considering that itâs been a few days since you had last even mentioned him to her like you usually did before. In fact, today you look like youâre at peace for the very first time.
ââI did yoga!ââ You explain when she mentions that you look different, ââI still canât face going back to Namjoonâs class, but I remember a ton of positions he taught us!ââÂ
Minji has to force herself to smile, her hand lingers inside the purse sheâs carrying as her fingers fiddle with the cardstock paper waiting patiently to be handed.Â
ââAnd then I stopped for some yogurt at the place down theâââ
ââI need to give this to you,ââ Minji stops your ramble and youâre taken aback by how urgent her voice sounds, very unlike her. ââI promised Iâd get this to you, soâŠââÂ
Youâre about to ask her what sheâs on about when she abruptly hands what you could make out to be a colorful piece of paper. Your eyebrows furrowed at the sight, completely confused until it suddenly hit you what it is that your friendâs talking about.
ââHow did youâ?ââÂ
Minji gives you half a smile and shakes her hand so you can take the card instead of just staring at it, ââJustâtake it.ââ
Your hand reaches out to grab it from her and your eyes quickly focus on the unicorn and sparkles themed birthday invite. It reads that itâs Sunhiâs birthday and that you are invited! You recognize the handwriting that filled the partyâs information details, you always thought he had really nice penmanship.Â
ââI think you should go,ââ Minjiâs voice sounds like sheâs faraway, but sheâs just a few feet away from you, ââfor Sunhi.ââÂ
Youâre still staring at the invitation, memorizing every single detail. Thereâs so many unicorns, when did she start liking the mythical creature? She had never mentioned a liking towards them to you ever. You assume it mustâve happened during these few months of your absence.
How many moments have you missed? How many unanswered questions must Sunhi have by now? How many new toys has she had to wait to show you? How many kindergarten stories has she been saving to tell you?Â
Youâve been counting. Sixty days have passed since you last saw Sunhi. Itâs been seven Fridays since you last had her in your arms.Â
Sixty days and seven Fridays since you kissed Jungkook. Fifty-nine days since you blocked him.Â
Minji is still waiting for any sort of reaction from you. Youâre stoically analyzing the piece of paper and she wonders what is it that youâre thinking or feeling. Is it good, bad or all in one? Whatever it is, her small deed is done.Â
ââY/N?ââ She calls out, you slowly nod and take your eyes from the invitation from the first time since she gave it to you. ââDo you mind if I go? I have some stuff toâââ
A small gasp escapes your lips, ââYes Minji, of course!ââ Your friend smiles slightly and you proceed to escort her out your apartment. She actually doesnât have anything to do, but she thinks itâs best if you get some space to take everything in.Â
Minji notices how youâre still holding on to the birthday invite and she has to suppress a chuckle because she knows youâre most likely doing this absentmindedly.Â
Before youâre able to thank her for coming, she stops you to say one last thing. ââIf you donât want to go, then donât,ââ she begins and your eyebrows raise at your friendâs comment. ââWhatever it is that you decide on doing, Iâll support you either way,ââ Minji offers you a genuine smile and you canât help but hug her tightly.
Youâre alone again. Loneliness has come in waves as of lately. Youâve lived alone for years now, youâre used to being the only person present in your apartment â but that fact hasnât felt more obvious than since you shunned Jungkook out.Â
Good days eventually turn sour. The times where it seems like you can go on about your life without thinking about him and what he might be up to quickly change because your mind makes you feel bad about feeling good.Â
Why did you cut him off knowing his daughter idolizes you like no other? Why did you selfishly decide to block him when you couldâve just talked it out? Why didnât you stop him that night if you knew things would change between you two? Why did you let him kiss you knowing it was going to hurt in the end?
You know Sunhiâs fourth birthday is coming up. Itâs one of those dates you canât simply forget, it comes naturally to you. You had settled with the idea that you werenât going to be invited this time around, it wouldâve been okay since you think itâs what you deserve anyway. If Jungkook had taken you off the guest list, he was in his total right to do so.Â
You want to be mad at him right now.
Why would he invite you? Why couldnât he just leave things the way they were? You wish you were angry, but youâre not. You feel slightly comforted with the fact that he had decided to include you even with everything that went down. In fact, not inviting you wouldâve been selfish knowing that Sunhi must want you there.Â
And if the invitation wasnât enough of a sign that you should go, two days ago you got an email that the gift you had preordered for Sunhi some time ago was on its way to your place. Just in time for her birthday party.Â
Thatâs life for you.Â
Youâre quick to remind yourself of Minjiâs last words to you. Youâre not obligated to go and if you donât want to, then you donât have to. But youâd be lying if you said that because you really want to go, but thereâs still some things that are holding you back. Your brain starts breaking down the pros and cons of going.Â
The pros: Youâd get to see Sunhi again, who you missed terribly and a tiny part of you was wishing that she didnât hate you for suddenly leaving. Itâs too much to ask for, but you do hope that Jungkook had come up with something instead of telling her upfront that you had left.Â
The cons: Youâd have to see Jungkook. Having to face the awkwardness of knowing you had blocked his number, prohibiting him from contacting you and discussing what happened like adults would do.Â
Oh, and youâd see Jiwoo too and pretend like you didnât have any romantic feelings for her husband.Â
Whatever decision it is, youâd only have two days to decide.
Jungkook smiled warmly as he looked at Sunhi twirling in her green and purple dress in front of the long length mirror in his bedroom. Ever since he got the garment in the mail, he had to hide it from her curious hands because if it were up to her sheâd be wearing it day and night.Â
ââDaddy, I look so cute!ââ Sunhi said with an excited tone, hopping in her place. The tull of her skirt followed her movements, making the glittery details sparkle brightly caused by the natural sunlight slipping through the curtain cracks.Â
He chuckled, ââYou do, Pumpkin, but you need to settle down.ââ Jungkook placed his hands on her tiny shoulders, making his daughterâs bouncing cease. ââYou gotta be fully energized for the party, alright?ââ She nodded quickly, but he could still feel the excitement radiate from her.Â
ââGramma will do my braid, daddy.ââ Sunhi let him know once she noticed her father take a brush in his hand. The little girl much rather have her hair tangled in knots than having him attempt to do any sort of hairstyles on her.Â
Jungkook pouts, but nods understanding. Heâs thankful that his parents had made the trip from Busan this year. He knows his mother knew he would have a hard time setting everything up by himself this time around. His parents would normally miss Sunhiâs parties due to the distance, but heâd make it up to them by visiting the following weekend and doing a smaller gathering at their house instead.Â
Things feel different. One could say that this time, everything is exactly where it should be. Sunhiâs growing older, his parents are here and not far away like usual, Jiwooâs no longer in the picture, heâs picking back up the things that used to make him happy. Thereâs just a missing piece that doesnât allow him to declare the puzzleâs finished.
And his daughter hasnât really been helpful in allowing him to forget about it either.Â
ââDaddy, is Auntie Y/N going to come?ââ She asked for what seemed the thousandth time that week alone. The younger girl only wanted to make sure youâre coming even though her father had reassured her that you might be making an appearance.Â
Jungkook hummed, pursing his lips together, ââWell, I donât know if Auntie Y/N will manage to catch her flight in time for your party, but hopefully sheâll come,ââ he painfully lied and Sunhi nodded with a pout, she was hoping sheâd get a different answer this time around, but still settles with her fatherâs explanation.Â
Ever since you left, it had been part of her daily routine to ask about you and your whereabouts. Jungkook hated lying to his daughter, but he knew that even if he were to explain the ending of your friendship, she wouldnât be able to understand. He had foolishly hoped that after telling her, repeatedly, that you had been out of the country because of your job, Sunhi would get the clue that you showing up at her birthday party was very unlikely.Â
He canât blame her because heâs also been hoping that youâll show up for whatever reason. Jungkookâs aware that Minji had made no promises of you attending, but that little bit of faith he still had, clung onto you tightly.Â
Heâs let go of so many things recently, but he refuses to add you to that painful list.Â
ââI miss Auntie Y/N,ââ Sunhi mumbled to herself, but Jungkook heard her clearly and his heart shattered at the longing in his daughterâs voice.
Thatâs why heâs relieved that sheâs now running around the yard with her friends from the kindergarten she attends, screaming in glee as they all chase each other around the grass. The PinkFong playlist he had put together earlier that week has been a hit with the children, who danced and sang along to the lyrics; although some parents mightâve gotten tired of hearing the infantile music after a while. Jungkook himself is part of the people who much rather listen to something else, but itâs worth it if it means he catches Sunhi humming along to the tunes every once in a while.Â
Having to entertain the parents has taken his mind off of knowing youâre not there. The party started two hours ago and youâre never late for anything, especially his daughterâs birthday celebrations. Heâs settling with the idea that youâre no longer coming while he dabbles in serving food and refilling drinks, all the while having to make conversation with the parents of the invited kids.Â
He can feel just how bad they feel for him, the wordâs gotten around the PTA committee that heâs in the process of divorcing while taking full custody of his daughter.
ââJungkook, how are you doing?ââ One of the invited moms asked him with a tactful tone, accompanied by a gentle smile that made him feel like a child for a mere moment. With a smile that could put anyoneâs worries at ease, Jungkook assured her âand the rest of the worrying mothersâ that he was doing just fine.Â
Itâs Sunhiâs day, itâs her party, a few more hours and you can cry all about it when sheâs sleeping, had become his mantra as the party goes on.
ââWhatâs with the long face?ââ His mother suddenly asks him after he finishes placing the candles on Sunhiâs unicorn themed cake.Â
Jungkook furrows his brows, ââThe unicornâs face looks pretty alright to me,ââ he comments looking at the fondant shaped mythical creature at the top of the cake.Â
Mrs. Jeon rolls her eyes, shaking her head slightly at his sonâs obliviousness, ââIâm talking about your long face. Is everything alright?ââ She asks in genuine concern, making him sigh as he scratches the back of his neck. ââItâs not because of Jiwoo, right?ââ The woman cautiously asks, afraid the mention of her sonâs ex partner might be too sensitive.
The news of the divorce had surprised his parents, but they werenât completely heartbroken about it. They had known her for years, but it had never been a close relationship at that. His mother had made a couple of comments here and there before concerning his ex partnerâs behavior, but were always overlooked by Jungkook. Â
Jungkookâs eyebrows raise in surprise and he quickly shakes his head no, ââIâm fine, mom. Iâm just kinda tired.ââÂ
For someone who hates lying, heâs been doing it a lot recently.Â
His mother doesnât seem so sure about his answer, but decides not to interrogate him any further since she knows her son has been dealing with too much recently and she didnât want to add her nagging to the list.Â
Eventually the party guests all sing happy birthday to Sunhi as she sits behind her cake clapping alongside them, mumbling the famous song as she waits for everyone to finish so she can blow the four candles out and make a wish. She closes her eyes with force, putting her hands together as the guests watch her silently mouth words out.Â
ââWhat did you wish for, Sunhi?ââ One of the kids excitedly asks her, fingers curling around her arm as he waits for her to answer.Â
Sunhi hmphs and turns her face away from him, ââIf I say it out loud it wonât come true!ââÂ
Jungkook can only hope his daughter had asked for something heâs able to buy. The newest Barbie doll, a trip to the zoo, that pretty tutu she saw at the store. Anything that is at armâs reach from him to give her. But Jungkook knows his daughter all too well, those things donât really matter to her right now.Â
Sunhiâs wish is something he canât obtain â someone thatâs no longer a call away from him. His daughter doesnât know, but heâs wished for the same thing too.Â
You to come back.Â
The small pieces of confetti on the ground, paper decorations pasted on the wall and hanging from the ceiling of the house are enough to give away that a party had happened the day before, and that someone had been too tired by the end of it to even attempt to clean up.Â
Even the thought of having to deal with all of the mess that his living room currently looks like is already making Jungkook regret not accepting his motherâs willingness to help after the party had ended yesterday, assuring her that she had done enough that day and that it was only fair he took care of the cleaning.Â
Sunhiâs birthday had gone smoothly for the most part.
And as Jungkook scrolls through his phoneâs gallery, smiling warmly at the small clips he managed to capture of his gleeful daughter running around the yard with her friends and the multitude of pictures his mother took of her blowing the candles of the cake out, granted, majority of them blurry, he is reminded that, although the party had been a success, the aftermath hadnât been as pretty.
The party was over when he started hearing the first goodbyes and thankful comments of the parents for inviting them over, wishing Sunhi a final happy birthday before they took their sleepy kids in their arms. He had hoped his daughter would be drained too, despite the amount of sugar she had a few hours before.Â
ââAuntie Y/N didnât come.ââ Sunhi had stated, a pout on her trembling lips as she looked up at her tired father. ââWhy didnât she come?ââ She asked in genuine curiosity as her eyes started glossing with tears.
Jungkook sighed, ââPumpkin, I told you sheâs not in town. Iâm sorry sheâââ It didnât matter what excuse he had given her, the waterworks had begun. He hadnât seen his daughter cry like that in a long time and for a moment, he didnât know what to do to get her to stop.Â
Even if he tried to coax her with distractions, like the number of gifts she had received from the guests or telling her heâd let her have another slice of cake if she stopped crying. He knew that what his daughter wanted wasnât toys or food. She wanted you. And as much as Jungkook wants you just as much, heâs lost on ways to make you come back.Â
Sunhi cried for what seemed like hours, his parents had even tried to cheer the little girl up by promising to take her to their house the very next morning for the rest of the weekend, to which she merely nodded as she fell asleep from exhaustion on her fatherâs chest.Â
He envied her as he remained awake for most of the night, tears streaming down his face as guilt ate him away for his daughterâs heartbreak.Â
Itâs his fault after all.Â
Jungkook isnât upset you didnât show up, you didnât have to. Not even Sunhi could make you come back. Selfishly kissing you that night had changed the course of your relationship forever and that meant that his daughter would have to pay for his wrongdoings.Â
With the absence of Sunhi, heâs reminded of just how big his house feels when heâs by himself. Ever since Jiwoo moved out, the only company heâs had is that of his daughter and itâs more than enough. With her dancing around the hallways and singing songs to the top of her lungs, Jungkook doesnât feel as lonely.
He mustâve missed the knocking at the door or the ringing doorbell âif there even was oneâ because of the earphones he had on while he swept the confetti paper scattered on the hardwood floor of his home because by the time he opens his door to get a run around the neighborhood, he notices thereâs a gift placed in his front doorstep.Â
Jungkookâs brows furrow with confusion, unsure of why it was there in the first place. Heâs sure Sunhi had opened all of her gifts last night, lazily and not very excited about them after her big cry, but she had made sure to leave them all unwrapped.
The medium-sized box is wrapped with a white and pink polka-dot paper, a cute golden ribbon placed right in the middle of it. Jungkook picks it up, bringing it closer for better inspection. Maybe it was from one of the kids that couldnât make it? Although, they couldâve just gave it to Sunhi when they saw her at school again.
His eyes widen and his heartbeat races up when he reads the sticker tag with the name of the person responsible for the gift.Â
ââTo: Sunhi âĄ
From: Auntie Y/Nââ
His eyes scan the tag over and over again, just to make sure heâs reading the name correctly. When he manages to take his attention away from it, he looks around the street in hopes that heâd find you.Â
How long has this been out here? Could he have caught a glimpse of you had he been less distracted?Â
Although it feels wrong to open his daughterâs gift without her consent, he feels the urgent need to peek at whatâs inside. His mind even tries to reason with himself, telling him itâs probably only a doll or a clothing item, like the other gifts Sunhi had received from the birthday guests yesterday.Â
With a click of his tongue, he forgoes doing the right thing and tells himself that heâll just wrap the gift again before Sunhi comes back from his parentâs house.Â
The cute wrapping paper is thrown over his shoulder carelessly as he quickly unveils a white cardboard box, tilting his head slightly at what could possibly be inside. When he takes the top off, a soft gasp escapes his lips.Â
A pink and white digital camera aimed for children lies inside, thereâs decorative paper placed around it and a note inside. Jungkook swallows the lump in his throat, taking it delicately in his hand as he reads the words written in the familiar handwriting that hasnât changed from all those years back in college.Â
ââHappy 4th birthday, Sunhi! Since youâre growing older, I wanted to gift you something different this year around. Your daddy loves taking videos and I thought you should start doing it too, maybe heâll pick his camera back up again haha. Iâm sorry I couldnât be there to see you blow your candles out, I hope all your wishes come true! I love you and miss you so much,Â
-Auntie Y/Nââ
Jungkook blinks back the tears that had formed in the corners of his eyes. He places the note back inside the box and breathes in deeply, exhaling slowly as he stares at the gift. No one but you could come up with an idea like this. It hurts him, but he smiles slightly at your thoughtfulness.Â
A different feeling arises inside him as he holds the gift in his hand, looking at it like this is the sign he had been sent from above. The last thread of his string of faith. He doesnât even think twice, placing the gift gently inside and rushing to step outside to close the door.Â
Heâll go on that run, just not around his neighborhood.Â
As he runs past rows of houses and stores, the voice inside his head tries to tell him that he should think rationally. Thereâs a reason why you didnât show up yesterday and another for you dropping the gift in front of his house without a sound. You donât want to see him and yet heâs running straight towards you even if he knows this is hopeless.Â
He manages to shut that voice off as he maintains his rapid pace, rushing past the rows of buildings heâs familiar with and the street names heâs memorized by now. It all feels so different when heâs not behind the wheel, he usually always has to depend on his GPS to help him reach places. Your address, though, is one he proudly knows by heart.Â
As Jungkook stands outside your apartment building, he stares at it with the sound of his heart drumming inside his ears. Catching his breath, heâs reminded of the many times these past few months heâs been here, with Sunhi fast asleep in her car seat at the back.Â
He always pictured going up, knocking at your door, and begging for forgiveness, all for you to turn him down in the end with a gut-wrenching I donât want you in my life anymore and a door closing on his face. Thatâs why he always drove away, deciding that uncertainty is better than hearing you reject him.
This time, though, nervous and unsure as he usually is when he comes here, Jungkook breathes in deep and ignores the familiar knot formed inside his stomach.Â
He decides that uncertainty isnât a feeling he wishes upon you.
#heartsforbts#bangtanhq#btswritingcafe#btswriterscollective#btsghostie#jungkook fic#jungkook angst#jungkook fanfic#jungkook smut#jungkook scenario#jungkook fluff#jungkook imagine
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I Take Flight but You Hold Me
Wilhemina Venable x Reader
Word Count:Â 7k
Summary: You hate her. You hate the way she makes you feel, you hate the way you canât get her out of your mind, you hate the way she makes you burn. You hate her, but you think maybe you could love her too.
Warnings: Brief mentions of past toxic relationships. Slight NSFW. Angst? Yes. Yearning? Haha, no of course notâŠ.. đ Also, yes.Â
A/N: Iâm supposed to be working on a fluffy Ally piece, but I love this song so much and all it does is make me think of Mina. So this happened instead. đ€·ââïž Writing her and trying to capture that snarkiness with the underlying insecurity was very difficult. But I think it came out okay.
Song: To Be Loved by Askjell (ft. AURORA)
Youâd seen Wilhemina Venable before: walking through the hallways of Kineros Robotics, her cane tapping rhythmically against the ground in a way that insured others kept a wide berth; sitting outside on a picnic table during her lunch hour, always at the same table, the same space, facing the sidewalk, always, always; once, even, as you stepped out of the elevator to the parking garage at the end of the day.Â
Sheâd stood ramrod straight next to her car, one hand gripping the head of her cane and the other fidgeting with her keys. Something inside you had tugged insistently and you had slowed to a stop, your gaze drawn to the fingerless gloves she wore. They were made of a dark purple leather that covered her slender hands all the way to the first knuckle. Her nails were short and unpainted and for some reason, you couldnât stop staring.
Someone cleared their throat, breaking your trance and causing you to jerk back as if suddenly woken from a daydream. You looked up and met dark eyes. They were deep and brown and furious. She wore a scowl on her face, one you recognized easily as youâd seen it often enough when you passed her in the corridor. âDonât you have somewhere to be instead of staring at me with that idiotic look on your face?â she snapped and you realized, in all your time working there, you had never heard her speak.Â
Your face growing uncomfortably warm, you had muttered a vague apology under your breath as you darted past her and into the direction of your car. Her voice had been nice. Low and husky with a slight rasp that gave you goosebumps. You tried not to think about how you could feel her eyes on your back.
You went home that night and lay in your bed and tried to ignore the heat coiled low in your belly. But your thoughts ran rampant in your mind, pulling and twisting into versions of her you had yet to see. You wondered, if when she touched you, whether she would take those gloves off or keep them on so that all you could feel were her fingertips. You wondered if she would speak to you, low and husky and warm. You wondered if her bite would sting.
The thought burned you from the inside out.
--
The next week, your boss retired and you were granted a promotion. You were excited at first. A better job meant better pay, but now, as you stand in front of Wilhemina Venableâs desk, you think maybe itâs not all that worth it after all.Â
âI donât have time to sit here and indulge in your little exercise. Unlike some people in this establishment, I have actual work to do,â she says, tapping at her computer and not bothering to spare you a glance. Like you are less interesting than a fly she has to swat away. The notion churns in your gut, twisting your insides unpleasantly. You resist the urge to shift on your feet, knowing that she will catch the motion in the corner of her eye and latch onto it like a dog with a bone. She is an apex predator always looking for weaknesses she can exploit. You refuse to show her any.
âThis âlittle exerciseâ comes down from Jeff and Mutt. Spending time with you isnât exactly on my list of priorities,â you snap and you blink and you wonder where it came from.
Her motions cease, fingertips hovering over her keyboard. You try to ignore the way your gaze lingers on her hands. âIs that so?â She looks up then, suddenly meeting your eyes. You want to look away, to move, but you feel frozen in place. They are so brown. Her words are sharp when she speaks. âDo you not recall the gaping fish impression you showed me in the parking garage last week?âÂ
âI wasnât gaping,â you retort, neck warming. You hope she canât see. The flick of her eyes to your ears tells you she can.Â
Venable gives you a blank look. âOf course not. Because that would imply that the space between your ears is filled with more than just hot air.â The words get under your skin. They rake across the sensitivity of your nerves and coil around your very being and sink into your bones and you hate it. A part of you thinks you could hate her.
Your spine feels like it might snap as you stand up straight, tension lining the squared edge of your shoulders. âMs. Venable, we really need to discuss these layoffs,â you say, hoping that professionalism will get through to her so you can go on about your day pretending that she doesnât set your soul on fire.
She arches a single dark brow, pursing her lips. âWhat layoffs?â
âIâve been looking at the account ledgers. Weâre overstaffed.â
Venable tilts her head, studying your face. âAnd what is someone with the brain capacity of a park squirrel doing looking at our accounts?â
Your jaw flexes as you grit your teeth. âThatâs my job.â
âSince when?â
âSince three days ago when the head of finance retired.â
âOh really? And they chose you to replace him?â She clicks her tongue, lips pursing once more. Theyâre a plum color. You silently reprimand yourself for noticing. âI canât imagine why. Itâs clear you have no capacity for intelligence, no work ethic, and not enough brain cells to do it yourself.â
Heat washes through you like an oceanâs surf. âYouâre HR,â you retort.
Her fist clenches around the top end of her cane, those damned leather gloves creaking beneath the force of it. âAnd youâre finance. As far as Iâm concerned, if it werenât for your department, we wouldnât be in this mess to begin with.â She locks eyes with you for one long moment that makes your breath catch. You force yourself to remain still and curse the fight or flight instinct inside you thatâs telling you to run, that she is a danger, that if you look directly at her, you will be turned to stone. âFigure it out,â she demands, voice clipped. Then she drops her eyes and returns her gaze to the screen of her computer.
You resist the overwhelming urge to shove everything off her desk and demand her attention, her time, her respect. Your body burns with anger and humiliation and the need to know what her gloves would feel like against your bare skin, but you smother it down and squash it beneath your foot like a lit cigarette into the pavement of a sidewalk. You turn and walk away and listen as the same rhythmic tapping from before resumes as if you had never been there at all.
You feel her eyes on you as you leave, but when you turn to look, all you can see is the top of her head. It was just your imagination, you tell yourself. The piece of you that spent a better part of a year being aware of any and all movement tells you that isnât true. This isnât the first time youâve been in the sights of a predator.
However, it is the first time you find yourself hoping that you are.
--
Later that night, you still sit hunched over your desk, finalizing the changes you made to the account ledgers. You donât know what time it is. All you know is that the sun had gone down long ago, that your back will probably hurt in the morning, that youâre exhausted and your brain is running on fumes, but also that you need to finish. Just a little more time, and you can save these people and their jobs. Maybe a part of you wants to show Venable that you can do it too. She doesnât believe you can. So you will.
You hear her coming before you see her. The building is completely void of life except for the janitor who came by to greet you a few minutes or an hour ago, youâre not sure. The steady tapping of her cane against the pristine flooring echoes in the empty space around you. You look at your computer, save your progress, and wait.
She appears in your doorway like a ghost draped in lavender. Her pale skin and bright red hair stand out from the shadows like the highlights in an oil painting. You will yourself to look away, but find that you canât. She raises her eyebrows at the sight of you. âYouâre still here.â Itâs not a question.
You bristle at the tone of her voice and sit up in your chair. You want to cross your arms, but don't; you donât want her to think youâre being defensive. She will only see it as an act of war and you are too tired to battle with her tonight. Maybe tomorrow you will adorn your sword and shield and finish what you started, but tonight... Tonight, you just want to look at the stars in her eyes. âI had some things to finish up,â you say once you finally find your voice.
Venable hums, her eyes raking over your form in a way that is not comforting at all. Her path raises goosebumps along your skin. You tell yourself not to blush, and bite back a curse when you do. You search her form for a reason to break the tense silence between you when you notice the folder she holds between her fingers. âWhat is that?â You nod to the item in question.Â
She glances down at it as if she forgot she was holding it in the first place before extending it out for you to take. âItâs a list of low level employees.â
You rifle through the papers and recognize several of the names. People you know, people who work under you, people who trust you. Thereâs the janitor who always checks on you when you work late and the security guard at the front desk who greets you every morning by name and the young woman who used to work in the cubicle next to yours before you were promoted. Her name is Maria and she has a daughter. You know because thereâs a picture on her desk of a little girl with a gap-toothed smile. Your stomach churns unpleasantly. âSo those you deem expendable.â You canât help the bitter tone to your voice.Â
Venable catches on if the slight raise of her eyebrow is anything to go by. âTheyâre replaceable,â she says simply.Â
You shake your head and with a flick of your wrist, toss the file back onto your desk. It slides to a stop back in front of her. âI donât need it.â
She blinks once, twice. âWhat?â She watches as you stand and begin to gather your belongings. âWhat do you mean you âdonât need itâ? Unless you simply tossed them from the window, someone still needs to be fired. Donât tell me youâre that incompetent,â she scoffs.
You grab your bag by the strap and throw it over your shoulder. âI figured it out,â you respond, voice bitter and words sharp like knives. You refuse to be prey, to roll over until your belly is exposed and your weaknesses are aired out for the whole world to see. Not again. Especially not for her.
Just as youâre about to march out the door, she grabs your arm. You freeze in place. You think you both do. The tips of her bare fingers brush the inside of your wrist and you wonder why your skin burns when her hands are so cold. You canât think, you canât breathe, you can only stand there and wonder if she can feel the rhythm of your heartbeat beneath her fingertips. Does it speak to her? Does she understand? Does she want to?
You lock eyes. One long, impenetrable moment passes between you and you hate that you canât tell what sheâs thinking, you hate that she has your heart in her grip, you hate her, you hate her, you hate her. She blinks and the sharp glint in her gaze returns. You snatch your wrist back before she can say something that poisons your soul. You flee your office like itâs on fire. But itâs not your office thatâs on fire. Itâs you.
--
When youâre alone, you think about her. You chastise yourself, force the thoughts away, but eventually, like the tide rolling in, they always, always come back. It is infuriating. You donât really know this woman, and the things you do know are nothing good. She is selfish and entitled, cruel and hateful, and worst of all, she makes you burn without ever having touched you a single time.
The sound of the bell jingling above the door yanks you abruptly from your thoughts and you resist the urge to sigh out loud as you realize, once again, where your mind has gone. You tighten your grip on your book, forcing yourself to concentrate on the words but only managing to repeat them several times as they donât sink in like they should. Youâre vaguely aware of a familiar thumping sound growing steadily closer and itâs not until it stops at your side that you realize what it is. Or rather, who it is. You look up to see dark brown eyes already staring down at you.
âYouâre in my chair,â she says before you can even work up the courage to speak.
You blink. âExcuse me?â For a moment, youâre reminded of the picnic table she sits at during her lunch hour. The same table, the same space, facing the sidewalk, always, always.
âI know itâs hard for you to comprehend the English language, but if you could summon all of your brain cells to at least try, Iâm sure society would thank you.â Venable looks at you disdainfully, her eyes flicking to the open collar of your shirt and then down to the book clasped in your hands. âLord knows I wonât,â she mutters.Â
You bristle at her tone, at her words, at her everything. âThis is a public space, Wilhemina.â She blinks owlishly at your use of her first name and taps her cane against the ground, just once, before settling both of her hands on top of it. It is a warning you ignore. âYou donât own this chair or this table or this cafe. Iâm sure you can find another seat.â With that said, you turn back to your book, intending to ignore her further.
It works⊠until you hear the scraping of a chair against the floor and you glance up just in time to see her easing into the space across from you. She pulls a book out of her bag and sets it on the table, but does not open it. She looks at you instead, her eyes cold and calculating as she tries to size you up. You could imagine the gears in her head turning but you decide you donât want to see inside her mind. If you did, you donât think youâd make it out alive. âI donât recall asking you to take a seat,â you comment pointedly. Your body hums at her close proximity and it drives you mad.
âI donât recall asking for permission,â she snaps back. You huff, but concede her point and avert your gaze, anything to keep yourself from looking into her eyes. âIâve never seen you here before,â she says.Â
âThatâs because Iâve never been here before,â you retort under your breath, looking at the words on the page but not reading them.Â
âThen why?â
âWhy what?â
âWhy are you here? In my chair?â
You sigh and close your book. âHow exactly is it your chair?â
âItâs my table.â Her response is spoken with the conviction of someone who thinks they are always right. Your nostrils flare in annoyance. Venableâs eyes are intense and endless as she studies you like you are a science marvel she canât figure out and it makes you uncomfortable, like youâre nothing more than an experiment under a microscope. She tilts her head, the motion causing her bright red ponytail to fall over one shoulder.Â
Your eyes travel the length of it and youâre suddenly gripped with the urge to free it from itâs restraint. You want to see it draped over her bare shoulders or formed into a halo around her head. You want to know what it would look like in the morning, in the earliest rays of sunlight, if it would hurt your eyes to see. You swallow the ball in your throat. âWhat?â
She rolls her eyes. âYou didnât answer my question. Why are you here?â
You raise your eyebrows and fold your hands around your coffee cup, allowing the warmth to seep into your skin, your bones, eager to feel anything other than the burn inside you. âI just moved down the street from here,â you answer absentmindedly, watching as a man pulls out a chair for the woman in his company. She smiles up at him, warm and real. Sheâs in love with him, you think. You can see it in her eyes.
âWhy?â
You sigh. "Why do you care?âÂ
She laughs and it startles you so much that you turn to watch it leave her lips. It lights up her face but it is not right. It is cold and harsh and cruel. You wonder if this is what the gods hear before they are smote and sentenced to a mortal life on Earth. âCare?â She laughs again, and shakes her head as if the thought alone is one she wishes to physically knock from her head. âDonât be ridiculous. I merely wish to know if this will be a common occurrence.â
Frustration bubbles up in your chest and you hate, hate, hate how she can get under your skin. You will not give her the satisfaction of watching you break. You shrug indifferently. âConsidering this is the closest coffee place to my apartment, probably.â She looks peeved and you preen a bit like a proud peacock for finally making her feel something other than indifference. You stand up to leave.
âWait,â she stops you. She doesnât move; she doesnât have to when your body ceases all movement as soon as she speaks. That fact alone fills you with dread. You watch in amazement as she shifts uncomfortably in her seat. She flicks her ponytail back over her shoulder and lifts her chin. âYou donât have to leave.â
For the second time in less than an hour, you feel yourself become speechless. âWhat?â
She rolls her eyes, runs the tip of her index finger absentmindedly along the spine of her worn, hardback novel. âStay,â she says. She sniffs then, as if allergic to kindness. âIf youâd like.â
You meet her eyes, briefly, intensely, too long and not long enough. It feels like a trap. Your brain throws mental hazard signs all around for you to see, bright flashing lights and neon letters that read âDANGER, DANGER! DEAD END; TURN AROUND BEFORE ITâS TOO LATE.â You donât. âOkay,â you find yourself saying. You sit back down in your seat, pull your book closer to your chest and resume where you left off. Your eyes dart back to her figure and you watch from across the table as Venable does the same.Â
Silence settles between you like a blanket. It is warm and comforting and still, you burn.
--
The next week, Venable comes into the coffee shop on her usual day at her usual time, and just as she expected, she finds her chair empty. What she didnât expect to find was you, sitting on the other side.Â
No words are spoken. She takes her seat, you stay in yours. You drink your coffee, you read, you people watch, you take comfort in another personâs presence. You donât know why, but you feel safe.
You hate it. Truly, you do. It doesnât make any sense. How can you be safe in the presence of the one who belittles you? Who makes you feel small? Who has only shown you cruelty and whose words are always laced with razor blades?Â
And then you realize, this makes perfect sense. For the woman you used to love hid her cruelty behind pretty words and even prettier lies. She had torn you down and disguised the knife in your heart as a beautiful red rose. She had put your hand around the hilt and convinced you that it was you who had done the hurting, the breaking, the stabbing. She had said, with conviction and earnestness in her words, that you were the cause of everything that was wrong with you and her and the both of you together. You had believed her.
Venable is not like that. She does not lie. She does not hide. If you want to find her, all you have to do is look- and she is a painting. Itâs pretty at first glance, but the longer you look, the more you see. The beautiful and the ugly, the deepest darkness and the hidden light, all the things she tries to hide and fails to be rid of. You see her.
Sometimes, you wonder if she can see you too.
--
The days bleed into weeks and you wonder if you will ever be free of this hold she has on you. Itâs like the seed sheâs buried in your head has finally taken root and no matter how hard you try to fight it, you canât get her out. Thatâs days, weeks, it feels like years, that you spend thinking about Venable, burning and scorching until youâre sure all thatâs left inside is ash. You hate it. You think you might hate her. No, you donât, a part of you whispers, but you ignore it like you always do.
You butt heads at work. Often and with force, but she will never fire you, because despite her best efforts to prove otherwise, you are competent and you get things done. She thinks you are a menace; you think she is a mad goddess high on a pedestal of her own making. You want to knock her off. You refuse to be another sheep cowering at her feet. When you pass her in the corridors, when you see her on her lunch hour (the same table, the same space), even during the late evenings when you catch her in the parking garage, you donât cower. You donât flinch. You look her in the eyes and dare her to smite you.
Every Saturday at 7:50 in the morning, you go to the coffee shop down the street from your apartment. You sit at the table in the back right corner with a coffee and a book and you wait. At 8 oâclock on the hour, Venable will join you. She will sit in the chair facing the room, pull out her novel, and read while you do the same.Â
The thoughts that plague your mind donât stop until you are in her presence. When she sits down, your mind goes quiet. Finally, finally. So you sit and you read and sometimes, only sometimes, do you wish you could reach across the table and stroke her hand.
You rarely speak. When you do, itâs a discussion about literature, about the authors you find redundant and the works you think are derivative. Sometimes, she will comment on something that has happened at work. It is always sarcastic, a jab at some hapless employee or something inane like she is just trying to fill the silence, like she wants to talk to you.
You know this canât be true. Venable likes no one, takes pleasure from no oneâs company, but sometimes you think maybe she doesnât mind yours.
--
You and Venable eventually settle into a new rhythm, one that ebbs and flows with the days and the flux of your emotions but it is one that is constant and real. Most of your arguments have progressed from barely concealed insults to clever banter and a back-and-forth repertoire that make smiles come unwittingly to your mouth. She smiles sometimes too when she thinks you arenât looking. A little lift at the corner of her mouth, barely there, but noticeable all the same. Only because she never smiles and it looks so out of place there on the curve of her lips. If you blink, it will disappear, but you see it. You always do. You think it is beautiful; you also think you are losing your mind, being so attracted to a person you dislike. But you donât hate her, a little voice in the back of your head reminds you.
You can live with that though. The attraction, the thoughts running on a never ending cycle in your mind, the burn. And you do, for many weeks that turn into months that turn into long hours working together in overtime, that turn into you sometimes joining her on her picnic table during lunch, the same table, the same space, always, always. It isnât lost on you that sheâs let you intrude on her safe spaces, not once, but twice. You donât know what it means so you donât think about it. You donât want to give water to a plant you arenât sure you want to grow. And you are fine with that. You live with it.
Until one day, you fuck up.
--
Itâs one of those Saturday mornings in which you speak. These mornings are not so rare anymore, but when they happen, you cherish them, turn them into memories in your mind. You donât even know why, but you bottle them up like four leaf clovers and put them in your pocket for safe keeping. The sun is out, shining through the window over Venableâs shoulder. It sets her hair aflame. It hurts your eyes to see, but you canât look away.
You donât even remember what youâd said and doesnât that just eat you up inside? That a woman you canât stand has the ability to completely turn your brain to mush? Youâd said something and it had just come bubbling out of her: a laugh. A real one, warm and low and husky. The sound of it makes it seem like she laughs all the time, like those laugh lines around her beautiful mouth are genuine. You have never seen her look happy before. You wonder if you make her happy. You wonder if you could, if she would let you.
As you look at her, as you watch the smile on her face grow, as her hand comes up to settle on her collarbone like the motion will keep her heart from leaping out of her chest, you feel your own heart drop unpleasantly into your stomach. And you freeze.
Oh.
Oh, no.
You donât know when it happened. When the Venable who made you feel small became the Venable who laughs at your jokes and smiles where you can see her. When the Venable who tore you down became the Venable who presses her hand into the small of your back when she passes by you at the office. When the Venable you detested and who detested you became the Wilhemina who makes you feel safe.
You donât know, you donât know, you donât know.
She is the deep blue underbelly of the ocean and she is pulling you under. You donât want to drown. You want to burn and burn and burn. But she looks at you and douses your fire. She is the chain around your ankle, the anchor weighing you down, pulling and pulling and you wonder at what point you stopped fighting and let yourself sink.
Stomach churning, you lurch from your seat and make for the door.
No, no, no.Â
You donât notice her following you until youâve made it down the sidewalk and feel her hand clasp around your wrist. Just like old times. Her fingers are gentle and soothing and this time, they trace the veins under your skin, timid and softly and barely there but you can feel her. You want to weep. You wonder if sheâd been wanting to do that, if she had wanted to do that last time. Can she feel how your heart beats for her?
You watch her fingers for a moment, too scared to look in her eyes, fearful of what might be there. What if she wants you too? What if she doesnât?
âWilhemina-â you start, and that single word has her dropping your wrist as if it were on fire. Maybe it is. Maybe you are.
Her eyes darken and she turns without saying a word. Your heart in your throat, you watch her back as she walks away, determination in every step she takes. The picture is enough to hurt you more than the idea of falling in love with her scares you.Â
Youâve been hurt before. Mistreated, gas lighted, bruised, and broken. But you are not broken anymore. You remade yourself. You became a new you that you rebuilt from the ground up, piece by piece, until you were a wall of solid brick. You are not soft, you are not naive or gullible or innocent, not any longer. You know the damage she could do, the danger she poses to your heart and your soul and your brand new walls. How did she knock them down without you realizing? The only conclusion that you come to is that she was supposed to.Â
You realize, suddenly, with an ache in your heart, that the walls werenât meant to protect you. They were not even made of bricks. They were the walls of a home and inside was your heart and painted on the front door was a sign. A sign addressed to Wilhemina Venable that simply read: Come on in.
Youâd taken too long. Sheâs almost at the end of the block now. Your heart thunders in your chest as you break into a jog, rushing to catch up with her. âMina!â The nickname tumbles from your lips before you can stop it.
Wilhemina jerks to a halt, shoulders angry and bunched up around her ears, reminiscent of a disgruntled cat. She locks her fingers around the head of her cane. It seems like she might turn around, like she might let you in. Look at me, please look at me, please, please, please. For a moment, you think she might. Her head turns to the side, just barely, just enough for you to admire the way the sun glints off the sharpness of her cheekbones. But you blink and sheâs walking away from you still.
You dodge pedestrians and cyclists and dogs on leashes and in your mind, you beg and plead for her to stop, to turn around, to do anything but walk away from you. You would rather her yell at you and belittle you and call you names. You would rather feel her thorns against your skin, or feel the ire build up in your bones until you know nothing but anger, anything, anything, but this intense helplessness. You canât do anything but run.
By the time you catch up with her, she is ascending the steps to a townhouse. You reach the mailbox, watching as she pulls her keys from her pocket and fiddles with them like she doesnât actually want to use them, but feels like she must. âPlease donât run away,â you plead, your voice quiet from exhaustion, from pain, from the feeling of your love for her overwhelming you completely as it fills your body and inflates your soul. You wonder how you hadnât felt it before.Â
Wilhemina stops and you could sob with relief when she finally, finally looks at you. Her eyes are so very dark, but they are not stone. They are weary, cautious and guarded, but not impenetrable. âExcuse me?â
âYou heard what I said,â you retort, and itâs just like old times. The sparring games that never really ceased. Itâs time to pick up your sword and shield and fight for the love of your life. âPlease, Mina.â
Her jaw flexes and you can see her knuckles whiten from where her fingers grip the head of her cane. âIâm not running from anything. I am simply going home.â
âReally?â You move down the sidewalk, closer to her and further away from the real world. You want to live inside her bubble if she will let you. As she has before. As she will again. If you cannot quit her, she cannot quit you. Please, please, please. âBecause I think you love me and that scares the hell out of you. Well, guess what, it scares the hell out of me too.â It hurts to say, and a part of you is afraid that voicing it out loud may make it disappear, but your heart still yearns and your chest still burns. The realization that itâs real, that itâs not all in your head, has you ascending her front porch steps. You need to be closer. You need to look in her eyes and feel the weight of the world lift from your shoulders. You need to see the stars.
âFunny, I recall you fleeing the coffee shop like I had a disease. Clearly, you donât want to be seen with-'' You kiss her, smother the words against her lips and press her back into the townhouse door, holding her firmly but gently against you. If love is a person, you can feel her right now beneath your hands. Warm and soft and whole.
She hesitates, only for a second, before you hear the clatter of keys and her cane falling to the steps. Her hands reach up, bare of her gloves, and wrap around the collar of your shirt, simultaneously pulling you in and pressing against you. She bites your lip, harsh and unforgiving, and it stings but it hurts so good. You whimper when she soothes it with her tongue. âFoolish girl,â she hisses against your mouth.
âAm I?â You ask breathlessly, running your fingers up her spine. Sheâs trembling, but she leans into your touch all the same. âI think you like that about me,â you murmur against her lips.
You look into her eyes. They are still guarded, still cautious and they search your face like she is waiting for the punchline. You realize, with a great overwhelming sadness, that she is expecting you to laugh at her, to betray her and say itâs all a joke. She is afraid of you. You reach up with your other hand to sooth the furrow between her brows. You follow the elegant line of her nose, trace the small groove above her top lip, brush your fingertips along the curves of her mouth. âI wonât hurt you,â you whisper. Like it is a secret, and maybe it is, but itâs a secret just for her.
You watch in wonder as Venable disappears, as chocolate brown eyes turn glossy and vulnerable, as her lips tremble, and Wilhemina appears before you. Your gazes lock, and if two souls can speak to one another, you know that yours are speaking right now. Theyâve been waiting for each other all this time.
You take one of her hands in yours and press it against your chest, to the erratic beating heart beneath your shirt. She may be the ocean, surrounding you, pulling you under, and holding you down, but you realize that you were the anchor all along. You will not falter, you will not move. She is a force to be reckoned with and you- you are the stone that will not break. âFeel that?â you ask. She nods, bites her lip, searches your eyes for the answers to questions you donât yet know. You donât need to know the questions. You vow to find the answers anyway. âThatâs yours,â you say. âThatâs for you. No one else. Not now, not ever, not even before. Itâs always been yours.â
âThatâs very poetic,â she murmurs huskily, trying to sound sarcastic, but her voice wavers and loses the sharpness to her tone. Her eyes are wet. You realize yours are too.
âIâve seen what you read,â you respond. You feel her hand curl into a fist above your heart. âYou like my poetry.â
She snorts, leans up, brushes her nose down the length of yours. You kiss her once, just to feel her beneath your lips. âPossibly,â she admits under her breath when you pull away. You smile, kiss her again and again and again. She leans into you like she wants to crawl inside of you and become one person, one soul, one being. You think you already are.
Her tongue slides into your mouth, hot and insistent, overwhelming your senses and causing your brain to stutter. The burn that settled in your being when you saw her that moment in the parking garage flares like a fire thatâs been coaxed to life with kerosene. Youâre familiar with this burn, with the nature of it. It has been a piece of you for months now. The very first moment you met her, she crawled into your heart and built a fire inside you. As she sucks your tongue into her mouth and bites at the tip and her nails scratch down the length of your neck, you realize that this fire was never meant to go out. It was meant to be a bonfire that could rival the stars.
You donât know when you picked up her keys and her cane, or when she unlocked the door to her townhouse, or when you followed her up the stairs. You donât know when you lost your clothes or she lost hers or when you traced her spine with kisses. You donât know how you got here, with her underneath you, her long red hair splayed across her pillow like a halo around her head, but you are here. And you are in love.Â
You watch her throat bob when she swallows. Sheâs staring at the ceiling as if it holds the answers to the universe. Her eyes are not guarded, or weary, but cautious. Look at me, please look at me, please, please, please. And she does. Your heart somersaults in your chest. She is right. You are a fool.Â
The cautious look is gone, replaced with a determination that is both strange and familiar. She cups your face in her hands and tugs you down until your faces are so close, you can feel her lips brush yours with every breath she takes. âI might hurt you,â she admits, voice trembling as she looks into your eyes and you wonder if you look as scared as she does. âBut I will try. What I hurt, I will soothe.â Her thumb traces the spot she bit not moments ago.
âI know,â you whisper, before you lean down and press your lips together once more. You gently bring your body down to rest on top of her so that all you can feel is your naked skin against hers. It is warm and soft and unbearable and you know you are crying but they are happy tears. As your kiss deepens, and her tongue comes home to meet yours, you feel a saltiness fall into your mouth and you realize that she is crying too. You kiss her and worship her and love her, love her, love her.
You fall like an anchor into her ocean where you will sit unmovable, impenetrable, always and forever. Her waves can lash at you, the tides can rise and fall, but you will not break. For her, you will be everything.
You breathe her in and feel her body move beneath your bare skin. You trace her spine with your fingertips, press kisses to her collarbone, hold her in the palm of your hands like she is the whole entire world. And to you, she is. You show her the night sky when she closes her eyes, and you teach her to reach up and take the stars for herself. You tell her you love her and you make promises you know you will keep. She doesnât have to say it back. You can see it in her eyes, feel it in the way she kisses you, in the tender way she traces your face and looks at you like you are the sun. You wonder if she can feel your heartbeat against her chest.
You make love and you burn and burn and burn until you are a supernova ready to come crashing down into her ocean.
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The Only Antidote is a Kiss
Summary:Â Scarecrow always did come up with the most whacky chemical formulas to test on people. Red Hood gets dosed with his latest toxin, and the only way to cure it is with a kiss. The only candidate? Long time rival and almost enemy, Ladybird.
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âNo,â Red Hood said, resolutely. âNo way in hell.â
Red Robinâs exasperated voice crackled over the comm. âHood, if you donât, youâre going to die.â
âDo you think I care? Death is better.âÂ
âI would say thatâs insulting if I didnât feel the exact same way.â Ladybird nonchalantly twirled a yoyo at her side. âBesides, ten minutes is plenty of time to get him someone else.â
âYou two are in the middle of nowhere. Itâs thirty minutes to the nearest city.â
âYeah, but the suburbs are always an option. You Bats always seem to miss the obvious solution.â
âIâm not kissing her,â Red Hood repeated.
âI know that you two areâŠâ Red Robin tried to find a more delicate way to word their relationship, âNot always on the best of terms, but you are on the same side right now. Ladybird, you donât want Red Hood to die, do you?â
Plying Ladybird was always easier than trying to convince Red Hood. The woman had a heart of gold. Today? No such luck.Â
âHeâs not going to die,â Ladybird scoffed. âIf he dies over this instead of the many, many, many assassination attempts that I saved him from, Iâll feel insulted. But Iâm also not going to help. Iâm not going to kiss an unwilling party, and certainly not one with a mug as ugly as Red Hood.â
âYouâve never even seen my face!â Red Hood argued from safely inside his beauteous red bucket.
âYeah, well youâve never seen mine either, and yet somehow, you have no issue with calling me disfigured every time our paths cross.â
âYouâre wearing a mask. Only people who are horribly scarred wear full face masks.â
âOh, so youâre admitting youâre ugly then?â
âNo, Iâm wearing a helmet, not a mask. Big difference.â
Ladybird barely stopped herself from bashing her head against the cement and steel wall. If the action didnât break her mask, she would have considered going through with it. âGod, this is why Iâm not going to kiss him, Red Robin. Canât you use one of those zeta things and drop in a girl for him to make out with?â
âYou know they donât work like that.â
âI wouldnât know, itâs not like Iâm in the Justice League.â
âNot for a lack of trying! Weâve offered you the position at least ten different times.â
âYeah, on the condition that I get Red Hood to join up too. That certainly doesnât sound like you guys actually want my help.â
âNine minutes on the clock,â an automated voice reminded them.
âI say we blow this popsicle stand,â Red Hood pointed a finger up at the cement ceiling.
âWow, what a stupendously original idea, Red Hood. Itâs almost like the next thing out of your mouth might be something vaguely resembling intelligence. Oh wait, thatâs right. We canât get out of this hell hole because thereâs three feet of cement on every side of us and we have no weapons that can help.â
âI havenât had a crack at it, yet.â
âBe my guest. Iâll sit back and laugh at your failed attempts.â Ladybird reclined on a wall. âWe both know that between the two of us, Iâm the one whoâs better at escape and solutions that don't require firearms. You donât think with either one of your heads, you think with your AK-47.â
âMy babies are all I need to get the job done. Your plans are always so unnecessarily convoluted.â
âTheyâre convoluted so I can cover my tracks instead of leaving evidence, debris, and dead bodies behind.â
âUh, guys? Can you have your spat after Hoodâs life is out of immediate danger?â
âNo,â both of them chorused, immediately glaring at each other for speaking in sync.
âI doubt Scarecrow actually came up with a formula that will make you die if you donât kiss someone of the opposite gender within ten minutes. That seems like the kind of chemical compound thatâs featured in all of those really trashy romance novels, except instead of being unable to control your instincts, you die.â Ladybird considered the empty vial on the floor. âIâm confident that Red Hood can ride this out with minimal damage. Even if he does get horny, itâs not like heâs going to go for me-- drug induced state or not, he canât stand my guts.â
âCan I just say that I donât want to bank his life on that assumption?â
âItâs not like your life is the one at stake. Just try to get someone out here that can break down this welded door for us sooner, rather than later.â Ladybird gives Red Hood a once over. âBesides, if he does try anything, we all know that Iâm more than capable of tying him up.â
#
âHey, why donât you use that Lucky Charm of yours?â
âDo you think I didnât think of that already? That was one of the first things I considered.â
âSo why didnât you use it?â
âOh, I donât know, maybe the fact that after I do, I detransform within five minutes? Not a big fan of exposing my identity, plus itâs not like anybodyâs in any real danger because weâre locked up here. Scarecrowâs tied up, the goons that welded the door shut on us arenât capable of using their brains, and a team is going to bust us out in thirty minutes anyways.â
For the millionth time, Red Hood pounded his shoulder against the steel weld, hoping that something would give. Nothing happened.
A beep sounded.Â
âTen minutes have passed.â
âSee?â Ladybird crowed triumphantly. âI was right. Nothingâs--â
Red Hood fell to the floor, clawing at his chest.
â... happening. I jinxed it, didnât I? I guess Iâll use it, then.â
Ladybird called for a lucky charm. No antidote fell into her hand. Just a sheet of paper, saying Kiss him.
âYouâve got to be kidding me. Tikki, donât do me dirty like this!â
âTikki? Whoâs Tikki? What did the Lucky Charm give you?â
A wet cough sounded from underneath Red Hoodâs helmet. He started to gasp for air.
Ladybird didnât like Hood, but Red Robin was right. She had grown fond of him after saving his ass so many times. She wasnât just going to let him die, especially not when she could help him. With a bone weary sigh, she knelt next to Red Hood.Â
âI guess weâre doing this, arenât we? Red Robin, comms off.â
âOff? But Hood sounds like--â
âOff,â she repeated, firmly. âOr Iâll break them.â
The telltale sign of static ceased in her ears.
Ladybird held Red Hood by his shoulders, maneuvering his mask off.Â
âI hope youâre ugly,â she whispered.
He was not.
#
Even with blood on his lips, Jason Todd was unfortunately attractive.Â
âGonna--â he coughed again, the spray of blood accompanied by a wheeze. âBless me with your face before I die?â
âI canât believe that youâre still snarky while youâre on deathâs door.â Ladybird touched the full face mask that she added during her years as a vigilante in Gotham. She still has the usual Ladybug eye cover, so her identity is safe. But the noh mask provides a sense of safety to her. Sheâs loathe to take it off, but in order for a kiss to work, it needs to be put aside. With a sigh, she places it on the ground and places a hand over Red Hoodâs startlingly blue eyes.
âKinky,â he spat. Ladybird grimaced. Why she ended up on this mission alone with Red Hood was beyond her, but they always ended up in the worst situations together somehow, anyways.
Her lips descended on his.Â
Iron and sweat.
âOkay,â she said, wiping her lips with the hand that wasnât preoccupied with shielding Red Hoodâs eyes. âYou feeling any better?â
He coughed again.
âGreat, so Scarecrow was lying and I didnât have to kiss you. You were just going to die anyways.âÂ
She placed her noh mask back on, then pressed a button on her comm. âYouâre going to want to speed up the whole backup team. Looks like Scarecrow was lying.â
âYouâre kidding me. Scarecrow never lies--â
Red Hood sat up shakily.Â
âIâm fine, Replacement. Throatâs a little sore, but Iâm fine.âÂ
âGood to know his MO hasnât changed,â Ladybird remarked. âIâd suggest that you wipe your face with something. Itâs covered in blood.â
âAnd Ladybird cooties.â Red Hood used his forearm to wipe the blood off. Ladybird had to admit that the man was objectively good looking. The artist in her wanted to take a picture or sketch him. The shock of white hair, symmetrical features, and prominent nose. His eyes had a certain darkness in them, like he had seen the worst of the world, but there was still a clarity to them that said he was fighting against those injustices. âCâmon, youâve seen my face, donât you think itâs time to exchange the favor?â
âBackupâs arriving in three,â interjected Red Robin.
âThereâs nothing in it for me.â Ladybird tugged the hood of her cloak down lower.Â
âIsnât it weird that we kissed and I donât know your face?â
âNo.â
âYou really are into some kinky shit.â
âAlso no on that.â
âThen why not show me your face?â
âStop being such a brat.â
âI know Iâm older than you.â
âBratiness isnât measured in age, but in mental maturity. Which you have none of.â
âPlease?â
âIâm almost tempted to take off my noh mask if only because thatâs the first time Iâve ever heard you say the word please.â
âIf I say it again, will you?â
âIâll consider it.â
âPretty please, Ladybird?â
â... Fine.â Sheâd get a laugh out of this anyways, and the team was minutes away from picking them up.
She took off her noh mask to reveal the red and black domino.
Red Hood cursed.
@jasonette-july-2k20
itâs wild that yall are liking my fics when i basically vomit these things up im honestly scared to look back at some of the ones that have been posted because i do not proof read or editÂ
#poison#jasonette#you ever want to see what's under a mask?#only to find another mask?#Marinette's masks are like those russian dolls#never ending#maribat#jasonette july#jason todd#marinette dupain cheng#miraculous ladybug#dcu
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The Thirst is Real
Summary:Â Little Freya might not be who she says she is...
Pairing: Henry Cavill x Little FreyaÂ
Word Count: 1965
Warnings: uhhh.... slow burn; dirty thoughts; erotic thoughts; mentions of arousal, daddy kink, spanking, oral, masturbation, and thigh riding; size kink; slight manhandling; dom/sub kink if you squint.
A/N: So itâs been buzzing around The Cavillry that @littlefreyaâ is either a mole in the community or Henry himself... @agniavateiraâ (my beautiful goddess of a beta who also betaâd this fic for me) and I had a sensational conversation about what Freya and Henryâs weekly meet-ups would entail, and this beautiful birthday present was born! Itâs also a little different that what Iâve done before, as I might have used some real life thirst examples in the fic.Â
Did I call you out? I guess youâll just have to read. đ
Youâll get another gift on your actual birthday my love, but for now, please enjoy!!
~~~~~
Freya adjusted her curls in the mirror, adding one last dash of eyeliner. She was preparing for her weekly meeting with Henry, but this time her stomach was twisting itself in a spiral like a shirt ready to be dyed.Â
When Henry first suggested the idea of her going on Tumblr to spy for him, she was hesitant at first. What if she couldnât make friends? What if they didnât trust her? But now, with a solid 6k followers under her belt, she knew she could say just about anything and people would flock to the thirst.
With a nervous look at her reflection, Freya gathered her things and headed out the door, sending a quick couple of texts to Henry.
Iâm on my way. You should post on your IG stories⊠theyâre wondering what youâre up to this morning.Â
Perfect, thanks. Iâll send you what Iâm about to upload.
A couple of seconds later Freya received his text, quickly setting up a post and waiting for Henry to update his Instagram. She smiled to herself; Tumblr would be buzzing in a matter of seconds once she posted, and what better way to show Henry what went on in the torrential world of social media than to show him live? Freyaâs phone chimed again, indicating Henry had done as sheâd suggested.Â
She couldnât help but grin like a demon as she hit the small blue button.
Pocketing her phone, Freya enjoyed the scenery on the short walk to Henryâs place. He was in London briefly as was she, so they were meeting at his home instead of Skyping like usual. Why she was so nervous, she didnât know⊠Henry had been a friend for quite a few years now, even becoming one of her closest companions. He confided in her and she in him, and it was always a joy to see him. Every day she looked forward to their flirty banter. But that was easier when it was over the phone; doing so in person was an entirely different matter.
Freya reached Henryâs small home and knocked on the door. Sheâd only been there a couple of times, but the tiny house never ceased to give her a wonderful sense of charm and sensibility. A loud bark and clack of nails on the floor signaled that Kal was ready and waiting to greet her, which meant Henry wouldnât be far behind. Freya fidgeted with her fingers and chewed on her lip in taut anticipation.
The door swung wide and there was Henry, sporting a puppy dog grin on his face and his large frame filling the entire entryway. His muscular chest was practically bursting from the snug grey shirt he wore, and his dark blue jeans couldnât have looked more sinful. He had Kal by the collar as if the dog weighed nothing, and Freya couldnât help but feel incredibly small. Henry reached out his hand, softly tugged her bottom lip from her teeth, then swooped her up for a one-armed squeeze.
âItâs so good to see you,â he murmured against her ear, sending chills down Freyaâs spine. Her feet dangled helplessly as she wrapped her own arms around his neck, inhaling the sharp scent that had long since faded from the hoodie heâd let her âstealâ. The fact that he was holding her petite stature in one arm and still controlling Kal with the other wasnât lost to Freya, and the images it provoked in her mind of what exactly he could do to her with that kind of strength made her tingle.Â
Oh, the positions he could put her in...
All too soon Henry set Freya down, shaking her from her sudden daydream.Â
âCome on in,â he said, maneuvering Kal and ordering him to sit. Freya crossed the threshold, imagining what it would be like if she was in a long, white gownâŠ
âIâm making a smoothie, would you like one?â Henry broke into her thoughts again and Freya flushed, hurriedly setting her bag on the table and pulling out her laptop.Â
âJust some water please,â she replied, swallowing thickly as she realized how dry her throat was. She logged into Tumblr as Henry bustled about in the kitchen and quickly reblogged a few thirsty comments, scrolling through to find some good ones while she waited for Henry.
âGo ahead and start, tell me what âThe Cavillryâ has been up to this week,â he stated, not quite a command but it thrilled Freya nonetheless. Stupid filthy gutter brain. She pulled out her notes and dove straight in.
âWell, a few of them like Lisa and Berry have a theory that thereâs a mole in the community,â she laughed. âSome of them even like to surmise that Iâm you!â
âDo they really?â Henryâs deep chuckle resonated throughout the living space and Freya closed her eyes momentarily, picturing that chuckle after a rather exhilarating round of cardio between soft, silken sheetsâŠ
âWhat else are they saying?â Henryâs voice was in Freyaâs ear and she jumped, startled yet again from her indecorous thoughts. Henry set her water down next to the laptop and placed his hands on the table, caging her in his warmth as he leaned over her shoulder to read. Freya felt the familiar flush of arousal start to creep its way up her thighs but she did her best to ignore it, continuing on with her notes.Â
âMarta made some really funny memes,â she stammered, âAnd Demi excels at clipping audios, where it sounds likeâŠâ
âHow does it sound?â Henryâs hot breath ghosted over her ear, and his exhale came out nearly a growl. Freya felt lucky she was sitting down, positive her knees would have given out on her if she hadnât been.Â
âLike you just had a--an orgasm,â she faltered, grabbing her glass of water for a big gulp. Henry hummed, and Freya nearly choked on the clear liquid.Â
âWhat else do they say? I want you to read it⊠out loud.â
Freya was shocked for a moment. What was he playing at? Wait a minute... this is a game; Henry is playing a game. Emboldened by her sudden epiphany, Freya switched personalities from timid bird to devilish vixen, determined to win whatever it was that Henry had set in motion. She arched her back and leaned her head against Henryâs shoulder, pointing at the screen.
âWell look, see what your post this morning has done? We descend into a thirsting frenzy every time.âÂ
She scrolled through a couple of posts, landing upon one that would give her what she needed. Â
âFor example, Miya writes:Â
âI guess good to know heâs on a morning run instead of fapping offâŠÂ
But good sir, you will have to shower after that no? And unless heâs a never nude, heâs going to be naked very very soon ladies. KEEP THAT IN MIND! IN A SHORT FEW MINUTES, HENRY WILL BE NAKED AND RUBBING HIMSELF IN THE SHOWER.â â
 Freya emphasized the last sentence and was rewarded with a small hitching of Henryâs breath. He recovered quickly.
âHowever did they know,â he quipped in a low rumble, reaching over Freyaâs hand to do some scrolling of his own. Her hand was trapped in his but her thoughts were elsewhere, immediately flooded with the image of Henry getting off in the shower, water cascading over his hairy torso down the line of his abs and through the rabbit trail on his groin to the surely insurmountableâŠ
âThis one next,â he stated, drawing her back to the present. His thumb brushed softly over her skin before landing just out of reach of her touch. Freya focused her attention on the screen and a small groan escaped her lips. Heâd chosen one of Wendiâs Smutbombs.
â...My eyes were instantly drawn back to his fierce gaze.
âYou wanted to use that mouth,â he snarled, staring at me with lewd concentration.
âSo use it.â
Freyaâs palms grew clammy at the thought of using her mouth around Henry, in exactly the way the raucous words depicted. The way he would stretch her tiny lips until they burned, the way heâd fuck her throat without a care, the way heâdâŠ
Henry grabbed Freyaâs hand and abruptly slapped his phone on her palm, severing the thought.Â
âRead this one,â Henry commanded her again, his voice now clear and authoritative. This time his tone left no room for argument; he was doing it on purpose. His arms still pinned her to the table with no way to escape, and she could feel the dominance that was dripping off of him tingling down her spine.Â
Freya looked at the small screen, recognition of the words dawning on her face. She faltered, and cleared her throat.
âYes, my bottom is always bare, Sherlock. Bare and ready for you to spank me and take me any which way you want.â
âWho wrote that?â he questioned sternly. Freya took a deep breath.
âI did.â
âRead the next one.â
Freya whimpered, clenching her thighs together tightly.Â
âFuck this shit I want to die on this manâs thighs.â
âWho wrote that?â
âI did.â
âKeep going.â
Freyaâs chest was heaving. Her head was swimming with lust and need. Her arousal had long since wet her panties to the point of extreme discomfort. She was certain Henry could smell it too, as she certainly could and his head was still right next to hers. She watched his fists tighten on the table, the veins in his arms becoming more prominent with every passing second. Freya imagined what his hands would look like with one wrapped around her throat and the other buried knuckle deep inside herâŠ
âI said keep going; youâve got one more.â
It wasnât just Henryâs voice this time that dragged Freya back to reality; he wrapped his hand firmly around her nape and pointed her toward his phone.Â
She blinked rapidly and scrolled to the last quote.Â
â...They share a mutual smile and she forces herself to look away.
They have always liked each other, he has always been kind to her.
Sometimes he would touch her as they sat with friends, a feverish stroke, innocent or by mistake, but that would be enough to make her heart flutter like a huge butterfly in the cage of her chest.Â
To see him physically hurts sometimes. Especially on a night like this when she is supposed to be happy, yet her heart feels sorrowful.â
The moment her lips finished moving Freya was pulled off the bench and thrust against the wall. Henry pressed his thigh between her legs, his own arousal evident as it strained against the ridged fabric of his jeans. His face was gentle and sincere but his eyes were as dark with lust as she was certain hers were, and the tremor of his voice left no room to imagine anything but desire.
âWho wrote that?â he whispered softly.
âI did,â Freya whispered back.
âDid you mean it?â Henry searched her face, looking for any scrap of evidence that would present him with permission. Freya brought a hand up to his curls, brushing the one out of his eyes that always seemed to disobey.
âEvery word.â
Henry slammed his mouth against Freyaâs, probing her deep and hard. She kissed him back with just as much fervor, tugging on his curls and wrapping her legs around his waist as he hoisted her in the air. Never in her life had she ever thought this moment would happen, that he would want her this way. But now, here in his arms with his lips on hers and on their way to his bedroom, she couldnât picture anything else.Â
The man had ruined her for anyone else over a decade ago, and sheâd been thirsty for far, far too long.
~~~~~
@wolvesandhoundshowltogetherâ @killjoy-assbutt-1112â @achaoticaugustâ @demivampirewâ @raspberrydreamcloudsâ I hope you donât mind that I used your thirst! I though it might be fun, but if you donât like it just let me know, Iâll remove it. đ
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shades of grey
summary:Â âwhat color am i?â yoo han asks. and yeon woo tells him.
this was thought up in the early hours of the morning while discussing color rush with rahul. i donât have an exact time frame from for it, but at the very least, it takes place after episode 3. if nothing else, i hope this can bring some happiness and peace to a rather painful show (fingers crossed the finale this week doesnât break our hearts!).
i used the colors yeon woo said that he could see in episode 1, so i hope they all make sense!
âwhat color am i?â yoo han asks when theyâre meant to be studying. min jae and joo haeng have ventured off to the vending machines, leaving their back corner to just the two of them. the rest of the class is as oblivious to them as ever, their chatter not ceasing at yoo hanâs question.
braving a glance up from his book, yeon woo has to quickly revert back to the physics diagram heâs in the process of memorizing. yoo hanâs gaze is always too intense to look at for more than a moment. itâs like the sun; a second too long, and youâll go blind.
sliding his chair closer to his desk, closing off as much space between them as possible, he mutters back, âwhat are you talking about?â
âwhat color am i?â he asks again, this time adding on, âto you? i already know what you look like in my colors. i want to know what i look like in yours.â
he wants to tell him that they donât belong to him. that they belong to his mother, to generations of other monos who have only ever been able to describe their entire worlds in shades of grey, to thieves and murderers and convicts that learned to hate the only color palette theyâve known by getting a taste of one that hooked them in like a drug. that there is a reason that people beg, barter, and steal just so they do not have to live another day in monochrome. that they are nothing more than dogs; the only difference is that dogs are never teased with the ideas of rainbows and color wheels and âmaybe somedays.â
he says none of them. instead, he says, âitâs nothing exciting. we donât have a booklet of one hundred and fifty-five colors to choose from like you do; we only have ten. it will bore you.â
ever persistent, yoo han treks on, childlike tone to his voice as he pleads, âbut i want to know how yeon woo sees me. am i just as handsome in black and white as i am in all of the other colors you canât see when i have my mask on?â
âi do not see in black and white,â he mutters with a languid sigh that yoo han takes as acceptance. heâs on his knees beside his chair in mere seconds, looking up at him with that same burst of sunshine; yeon woo only hopes he can get through this quick enough, lest he burn.
he begins at the top with, âyour hair is still black, just like your mask. but when weâre outside and the sunlight hits it, itâs lighter. i donât have the yellow. theâŠthe warmer one that isnât too bright.â
âgold,â yoo han supplies, patience and intrigue written across the half of his face that he can see.
âright.â for a moment, he thinks he can see it, just beyond the corner of his eye. itâs only a flicker of a memory, one too new to hold on to for long, and before he can reach out for it, itâs gone. âfor me, thatâs mouse grey.â
yoo hanâs eyebrows stretch up, creasing his forehead. âmouse grey? what is that meant to be?â
âthe color between grey and charcoal grey.â his brow furrows this time, confusion settling into the twin creases above his nose. letting out another sigh, silently acknowledging that there will be many more to come, he explains further, âour school jackets are mouse grey. and the lapels, theyâre charcoal grey. the shadow of your bangs is grey. but your skin is moonlight grey.â
âiâm the color of the moon?â he asks with excitement. and how ironic it is, when his entire being contrasts the night sky with such brilliant warmth. his minimal knowledge of the rest of the worldâs colors tells him that yoo han exists in reds, oranges, and yellows; cooler tones just donât seem to fit him.
(but then he remembers the blue sweatshirt heâd popped up in the other day, the one he wore when he had proudly proclaimed that yeon woo was special. and for that, he thinks that maybe yoo han is a living rainbow.)
âmhm,â he hums as he finally comes to meet his eyes. theyâre soft as they look up at him, always are. reaching out towards them, his fingers linger a breath away from his temple, just where his mask meets his skin. heâs too afraid to surge that small distance, but yoo han does so for him; he nudges his head against his three middle fingers, his pointer resting on the outer crease. âthe outer parts of your eyes are snow white. itâs like our shirts but darker. and the restâŠâ
he knows theyâre meant to be brown, but brown doesnât exist in his reality. to him, there is little distinction between his irises and pupils, the blacks bleeding together into one endless void that dares to pull yeon woo through.
âthe rest are black,â he says quickly, before heâs sucked in with no way to return. âbut i can see the reflections of the lights in them. theyâre silver.â
yoo hanâs mouth twists into a frown, and yeon woo can feel the edge of his eye crinkle as he squints. âno wonder yeon woo didnât like me when he first met me. i donât look like anything special to him at all.â
pulling his fingers away, yeon woo returns back to his textbook. âi told you so,â he huffs with a third sigh. but only because he canât tell yoo han how wrong he is. he canât tell him that every color, no matter how dull, paints the most beautiful picture heâs ever seen. he canât tell him that he wishes he could put him on canvas, just as his father had his mother, so he could show him just how amazing he is.
he canât do anything; canât find the words, doesnât have the skills. all he can do is bury himself in science equations and hope that when yoo hanâs mask comes off and the colors return, his brain will catch up to his racing heart, and he will think of something.
#color rush#color rush the series#choi yeon woo#go yoo han#yeonwoo x yoohan#yeon woo x yoo han#my writing#i hope everyone likes this!
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heaven's cloud : Paradise
- in the afterlife where we get to choose our own paradise, two souls unexpectedly meet.
genre: soulmates!au, but also involves idolverse, kinda fantasy whimsical, afterlife-paradise world; fem!reader x lee chan warnings: mentions of death, magical creatures, not really sure what else i guess word count: 2.4k + i generally am not good at making these infos, bear with me sorry! also not really fond of the fic picture, but i also suck and still is learning,,,,
next | masterlist
-
Lee Chan, for your exemplary journey in life, you are hereby bestowed a place in Paradise.
"I'll take the clouds if I may,"
Then to the clouds you shall ascend, Heaven's Cloud.
-
Eleven months of (not) living in paradise, Chan had adapted well into his afterlife. The Guides had placed him in his own haven of his choosing, the Clouds. Fluffy white and softer than cashmere, the touch is cooling and healing, peace and quiet were also a given. To Chan, it's his very definition of heaven.
Despite being the only soul - apparently, no one has chosen the Clouds for centuries - Chan has been never alone. He had the little fairies and spirits to keep him company while wandering around the forests. Stars often appear in his nights to cast a light show for the boy. Cancer loves to see Chan's awe-stricken face as the constellation shows him a few tricks.
The Clouds inhabitants and surrounding astronomical beings grew fond of the boy. Hence, Lee Chan never felt alone.
Though it was a blissful experience and a beautiful memory, there was only one month left. One month until the end of his livelihood above the world.
You will be given twelve months of afterlife until your next life begins.
Chan still doesn't understand why they must be sent back to Earth, living another full life that may or may not be 'great'. Though the thought of living on Earth, whatever their life might be, is already a disappointing thought. After having to exist in a paradise of your own, nothing else would come close.
But apparently, the universe believes differently.
The fairies and spirits told him once, 'Universe sought in a cycle, to them it's the perfect way as it does not end, leading to the continuation of life and its purposes.'
"But what exactly do those purposes serve if there is no end to it?"
'There is none silly, if there was to be an end to it, then life itself would cease to exist. It serves to preserve life as we know it, and well - the Universe.'
Chan pondered the thought for a while, "What if, just really hypothetically, someone happens to break the cycle, what happens then?"
The fairies' expression saddened, 'Hopefully it never happens.' Some of them flew to sit on Chan's shoulder, a calming place for them. 'But if it were to happen somehow, life wouldn't perish instantly, but the Universe and everything in it will meet its end, including the afterlife.'
The boy nodded before noticing the frowns on the beautiful faces of the winged creatures, the atmosphere had taken a drop turn. Choosing to lighten the somber mood, Chan raised another question. "Well then, um, what about aliens? Do they exist?â
-
Throughout the time he was there, Chan spent it listening to the stories of the creatures, exploring the cloud haven that seemingly doesn't end, and conversing every now and then with the astronomical beings -- when they so happened to be passing by.
It didn't get boring for the boy as the stories that the fairies had been plenty and new, never losing the interest of Chan, and the beings were more than happy to talk with him about almost anything.
Of course, all this was okay and fine, revealing the Universe's secrets and whatnot, Chan wouldn't remember this anyway when he enters his next life.
On the first day of his twelfth month, Chan woke up from his sleeping quarters in the usual well-rested sleep. Walking out to do his routine of visiting the forest and later on relaxing by the Serenity Sky Lake. But before he could reach the outlines of White Forest, he saw a figure walking through the field, he couldn't see clearly who it was, but what he registered in his mind was enough to make him gasp.
It was another soul. A human.
As quickly as his feet could take him, Chan sped through the flurry landscape of clouds, wanting to figure out this stranger.
"Hey you! Hey!"
The figure turned to the general direction of where Chan was coming from, revealing its appearance. Upon view, Chan stumbled over nothing, causing him to fall forward into a roll and tumbling on the ground until he laid flat on his back. Luckily, there were clouds under him.
"Oh my God! Are you okay?" He heard the figure shout before rustling and someone appeared by his side. Chan scrunched his eyes trying to block the light coming from above while identifying the person looming over him. The first thing he noticed was long brown hair, the strands were flowing almost magically. As if hypnotized by it, Chan could only stare. Until finally, he saw the stranger's face.
Sheâs ethereal.
~
You were quite confused as to why you were where you were. All you could see for miles were⊠white? Your body was standing on nothing, or at least that was how it looked. A sudden voice interrupted your wonders.
Welcome _____, you are in Paradise.
You turned back to find the source of the voice but all you found was a blinding light that caused you to squint your eyes.
âWh-what? Where?â
Paradise dear, the afterlife.
Your mind went blank, the afterlife? No way. Your brain tried remembering the last thing before waking up in this weird place.
Thereâs no use child, your memories are long gone. But I can tell you this, you went in peace. You werenât in pain.
Were the voices capable of reading minds? And who were they? You were a bit frightened.
To answer your question, yes we can read minds. We are the Guides, here to assist the souls in the afterlife. Thereâs no need to be afraid.
âUh, okay, ...thank you?â You voiced out, still a little overwhelmed with whatever was going on.
Well then, perhaps we should take you to your choice. Please, follow the green path.
Just as the voices finished speaking, a sudden green line appeared in front of you. You couldnât see what was ahead, just the green line until the end. You decided to follow through, whatever this was.
As you walked on the path, you were gradually transported to a different place. When you were finally able to understand your surroundings, there were screens that had different landscapes and writings in different colors under them. The scenes displayed were (what you could only describe as) heavenly. Each of them has its own set of vibe and warmth to it. Unconsciously your hand moved itself to touch one of the screens, but then the voices returned prompting you to pull it back.
What you see in front of you are the places in Paradise, according to how one lives their life on Earth, you have a series of options that you may choose from. I shall provide you a look-through.
The screens suddenly disappeared and now you were standing in what looked like those busy city streets, only not so busy.
First is the Silver City. Its appearance resembles the metropolitan areas down on Earth but without all the pollution, noises, and busy traffic. Many people who had used to live in these areas usually choose them, sensing a familiarity to it, they say.
As the Guides explained its landscapes, you were admiring the tall buildings and skyscrapers around you. The architectural designs were marvelous and even if you didnât remember if you had studied such things, you canât help but stare in admiration.
Aside from the buildings, the streets looked beautiful as well. The sidewalks were arranged perfectly as if it was placed with the most proper city planning. But one building stuck out to you most, it was majestic. A silver mansion, with tall gates and filled with all kinds of trees and plants. Before you could step towards it, the Guides were already finished explaining the Silver City and had transported you instead to another location.
Second, the Golden Countryside. As the name states, this place is best likely your ultimate countryside farm paradise. A quaint farmhouse with animal livestock to nurture and many forests to explore and spend time in. Families often choose this place for their resting, itâs quite homey.
True to their words, you couldnât believe what you were seeing. It was a vast field of grass with a simple two-story house that looked like it could fit six bedrooms. Beside it was a giant farmhouse and animals roaming around it. The view itself was doubled in beauty as the sun (or whatever source of light that existed here) sets from behind, casting a soft orange glow over it. Somehow the silver mansion from earlier was placed way aside in your head. Yet again, before you could ask any questions, you were immediately transported once more.
The third is Cosmic Space. Ever wondered how it is to live in Space child?
You heard the voice give out a sound that was similar to a laugh, but somehow not quite.
More people than youâd expect actually dream of this. It may not be as simple as the City or the Countryside, but itâs nonetheless paradise. To them.
Now you were most definitely floating, though despite floating in the middle of random space, you could breathe easily and see easily as well. You thought that space may be too wild for you but as you were looking around, you saw one of the most magical things you have ever seen.
âA comet showerâŠâ
The Guides seemed to have heard you as they projected the shower closer, now holographic space comets were right above you, shining as they continued the rain of them. Mesmerized was all you could feel, the meteors were almost hypnotizing you.
âWhoaâŠâ
Beautiful isnât it?
Was the last thing you heard before you felt the sudden pull of transport again, at this point you were no longer fazed with the continuous changing of locations, though you did wish to have been able to watch the shower longer.
Number four, the Pearl Waters. For those who favor the deep sea and vast oceans. Of course, many souls who felt close to the waves chose this. The afterlife here is often intriguing, staying with the many creatures and traveling wherever paradise takes you.
You found yourself standing on a deck of a ship, it was modernized though some parts resemble that of an older version. Heading to the flanks you watched the blue ocean as the waves sloshed around the sides. As if welcoming you, dolphins suddenly jumped above the sea, whalebacks spurting water, and schools of fish could be seen from the clear water. You were most surely amazed. As the sea creatures displayed a water show, you felt something touching your arm on the railing. You looked to find a woman with green-blue hair, her cheeks had features similar to scales, and as you peered further you realized it wasnât a woman at all.
âA...mermaid?â
Ah yes, indeed. Each paradise also has guardians that help care and maintain the afterlife. Mermaids are the Pearl Waters guardians. As for the Silver City, we have the Elves. Golden Countryside has the Shapeshifters while Cosmic Space has Angels.
âWait what?â You were pretty much confused all together, mythical creatures? Well, then again, it is the afterlife, who knows what actually exists here. But still, you found yourself in confusion and quite the shock.
Not to worry dear, youâll have plenty of time to get acquainted. Now for our last destination.
The mermaid who was staring at your side gave you a small smile before disappearing back into the ocean. You continued to stare at her general direction before your view changed into that of...clouds?
Last but not the least, Heavenâs Cloud. Itâs truly magical here. Not many people find it appealing though, but of course it always depends on whoâs choosing. Essentially, it's the skies. The guardians here are the fairies and spirits. Quite the peculiar and very friendly creatures.
As your eyes set on the landscape, you couldnât help but let out a gasp. It was breathtaking. It was as if you were standing right in front of the Sun but at the same time, you werenât. You knew for one youâve never been in a place like this yet all you could feel from the surroundings was home. You leaned down to touch the fluffy ground and it was the softest thing youâve ever felt. As quickly as the previous location visits, the surroundings changed again back to their original place with screens.
Now _____, because of the well-lived life that you have gone through. You, _____, are given the choice of one of the five Paradises that you have just seen. Speak now for your choice.
You didnât know if it was your own voice and mind that spoke, or your conscience, because the sound that erupted from your body sounded firm and almost unbreakable. You didnât even realize that you had spoken your choice after it was said.
âHeavenâs Cloud if I may,â
The Guides paused for a moment as if they were thinking about something, before continuing.
Very well then, your heart has spoken. To Heavenâs Cloud, you shall go.
One last time, you were again transported to a field with white clouds, similar to the earlier landscape you visited. This time without the voices. Somehow you suddenly felt alone, scared, and unsure of what to do. Wandering aimlessly, you tried looking for the guardians - the fairies and spirits. Then you suddenly heard someone shout.
âHey you! Hey!â
You turned back to see a man, brown fluffy hair swaying atop his head, running towards you. Well, was running, until he stumbled down and started rolling across the field.
âOh my god! Are you okay?â you shouted before heading towards the boy. As you reached his side, you saw he was unhurt and fine, just squinting his eyes. You sighed in relief, although it should make sense, after all, it was clouds underneath them. Before you could say anything to the stranger, you caught him staring right at you, and somehow you stared back as well.
The boy looked mesmerizing.
#heaven's cloud#lee chan scenario#dino scenario#seventeen imagines#em;writes#your choice based stories#svt fanfic
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The short and very miserable life of Napoleon II, aka the Eaglet, aka Franz, Duke of Reichstadt: PART TWO
Although the beatings had ceased, Franzâs life continued in refined isolation until his fifteenth year, when his cousin Franz Karl married the beautiful and charming Sophie of Bavaria.
She was only six years older than he, a fine, pretty girl of sweet features and merry lips, with light chestnut brown hair arranged in great loops on her temples. She had done away with the stiff sumptuousness of her apartment at the Burg, and refurnished it in a more intimate atmosphere. In her salon, with its mahogany furniture covered in yellow velours and minus the usual gilding. Reichstadt would often come and sit beside her, looking through the pictures in her albums while she would paint, or play graceful Italian airs on her piano. And they would talk. She sided with him when things went wrong, pitied him, loved him. She was the only one to whom he could talk to with an open heart. Thanks to Sophie, in those troubled years of adolescence when the child is disappearing and the man is trying to find himself, he had at last found what had been refused him for so long: a friend. Â [Aubry pg 140]
Franz was growing into a handsome young man, with his motherâs blue eyes and blond curls, but his fatherâs striking bone structure and deep-set eyes, and the emotional Bonaparte temperament. Though he was robust and âglowing with healthâ as a baby, by the time he was an adolescent he became more frail. Doctors said he had a âscrofulous tendency,â which was 19th century medical gobbledygook for some sort of disorder connected with the lymphatic glands. It seems to me that this kid was isolated and beaten for years, and suffered from pretty severe depressionâ on top of that, he didnât eat (Aubry records that he had âa poor appetiteâ). Throw in an inherited tendency from his mother to have lung trouble, Iâm not surprised he struggled with illness going forwards.
Apart from Sophie, there was no one to really look out after him. She encouraged him, his interests, his passions, his keen desire to be a soldier, his love for his father and of France, helping undo all the years of Habsburg brainwashing. As the years passed, he even learned how his fatherâs executors were continually frustrated in trying to pass on the legacy his father had tried to leave to him. âThey had been kept away, or driven away: or else the relics they had brought had been politely taken from them and stuffed away into strongboxes, thus cheating the son of the only material inheritance his father had left him. Who had so ordained? Metternich, none other!â [Aubry pg 154]
Metternich, the true ruler of this not-so-holy and not-so-Roman empire, was the one man who had schemed and plotted to keep Franz so isolated and alone. Metternich, and this is no exaggeration, hated every atom of Franz since he was a baby, and he never let Franz forget it. Franz was under police surveillance at all times: the Chancellor had the Corsicanâs son in his grasp, and would not lose him. He wouldnât even allow the young man contact with his own grandmother, Letizia, Madame MĂšre, now eighty years old and blind from cataracts. He wouldnât even allow a single letterâ a single sentence.
That statesman, who had a government for a soul, had made Austria a prison for him instead of the home it should have been! Metternich had been his fatherâs enemy; he was his enemy too, and always had been! The young man felt the hostility underneath the Chancellorâs icy courtesy, and he hated him. Altogether without basis in fact are those accounts of numerous conversations between Metternich and the Duke of Reichstadt during this period. Prokesch maintains that the Minister talked to the Prince just five times in seventeen years. Far from seeking to influence the Duke of Reichstadt during this period, Metternich avoided all contact with him. He hated him as he hated his father. The likeness to the Corsican which he found again in the young manâs features offended him like an insult. He could not bear the sight of that forehead, the sound of that voice. At a Court reception on the evening of the Dukeâs eighteenth birthday, the Chancellor paid the obligatory compliments and turned away hastily. Those who spoke to him immediately afterwards found him more distant than usual. As soon as he could do so without attracting attention, he left the palace. [Aubry pg 162]
After years of being force-fed Austrian propaganda, Franz had started reading as much as he could about the greatness of Napoleonâ obsessively reading Las Casesâ Memorial of St Helena, which he found on one of the top shelves of the library. Imagine his feelings when he read his fatherâs will for the first time, discovering what affects and relics were left to him, but which he would never see, thanks to Metternichâs machinations (and Louiseâs clumsy attempts to lay claim to Napoleonâs inheritance, which had sabotaged the work of the executors in the first place, did not cease until 1837). Franz, fascinated with his fatherâs campaigns and personal history, threw himself into his studies. Through books, he vicariously experienced Lodi, Arcole, Marengo, the Pyramids, Jena, Austerlitz⊠He became drunk with the glory of the past. A spell had been cast, and Franz became determined to make his father proud of him. When one of his tutors began to lecture him on his fatherâs shortcomings, Franz replied impatiently:
âThe actions of great men are not to be weighed with ordinary scales.â [Aubry pg 156]
Franz was slowly shedding the relationships of his childhood. When, upon Neippergâs death in 1829, he had discovered his mother had contracted a morganatic marriage with the one-eyed Neipperg, he âfelt deeply insulted and humiliated.â He was enraged enough to discover just that: of course, keep in mind he had no idea that she was sleeping with Neipperg and had given Franz two illegitimate half-siblings while his father was living with the rats on St. Helena. I doubt he would have ever talked to her again if that was the case. Even without knowing that, he withdrew, âhis letters were less affectionate and he mentioned her name more rarely. She had been expected at Schoenbrunn for the summer. Her son learned with relief that she preferred to take a cure in Switzerland.â [Aubry pg 160]
Of course, Louise kept doing her thing, weeping for Neipperg over âgay dinner tables and at the opera,â being annoyed whenever the name of Napoleon reached her ears, and then finding âa substitute for the one-eyed general in the person of the Count de Bombelles, at first Grand Master of her Household, then her lover, and then finally her third husband.â [Aubry pg 161]
Meanwhile, for years Franz had struggled with depression. The July Revolution had happened, with the kind and comfortable Louis-Philippe installed on the throne, and even though the King of Rome was still a popular figure in France, with perhaps a chance to ascend the throne, Franz was still, for all intents and purposes, a prisoner. And the older he got, the more obvious this became. Suggestions to become a monarch in Poland or Greece were pushed asides by Metternich. Attempts by his uncles Lucien and Joseph to discuss Franzâs future with Metternich were completely blocked. All he wanted to do was to start his military career, and make himself useful, but he couldnât even join his regiment, or even visit his mother in Italy. His health was floated as the reason why he should stay inactive, but Franz doubted this was the only reason. Bouts of rage alternated with deep sloughs of âsadness and tedium,â and he could barely summon the interest to hold a conversation. Not surprisingly, his mother lacked sympathy. In 1830, when Louise was summering in Baden, taking the waters, she ârebuked him for his apathy. She could not understand why her son could be âso little like other young people.ââ [Aubry pg 181]
It grew worse a year later. Italy was on fire with the revolutionary activities of the Carbonari, and Louise had fled Parma in fear of her life. Franz pleaded with his grandfather to let him go rescue her, but Metternich intervened. Let the son of Napoleon, the King of Rome, go to Italy, where his father won his own fame? Of course not! Emperor Francis gave into Metternich, and poor Franz was left feeling torn between misery, fury and desperation. Even Prokesch, his best friend apart from Sophieâa major in the Viennese army, a loyal soldier, scholar and diplomat who had worked for Metternich, but had defied him on a few occasions-- couldnât calm him. Â
His despair was palpable. He knew he would spend his entire life bound and trapped, with Metternich as his jailer.
The young man had sealed himself up in a silence that was almost complete, venting his feelings at the most in talks with Sophie and Prokesch, during which he expressed many severe judgments on members of the Imperial family. He loved Sophie and he had an affection for his grandfather, but he did not like the Empress, fond as she was of him. He thought the Archduke Ferdinand, heir-apparent and King of Hungary, was a ninny. [Editorâs note: Ferdinand was actually a brain-damaged hydrocephalic epileptic who couldnât even consummate his own marriage with his wife Maria Anna, married in 1835.] He hated the Archduke Franz Karl, Sophieâs husband, calling him deceitful, mean and vulgar. Table conversations at the Hofburg were stupid, the Court life was cheap and in bad taste. Comparing himself with those pious, submissive and conceited Archudukes and those ugly, insipid Archduchesses, he felt himself of a superior race. He even said one dayâ and Prokesch recorded the words in his secret notes:
âIf Josephine had been my mother, my father would not have gone to St. Helena, and I would not be languishing in Vienna. My mother certainly has a kind heart, but no backbone! She was not the wife my father deserved!â
And he added, burying his face in Prokeschâs hands:
âYou do not respect her, do you?â
And Prokesch replied:
âShe was what she could be. The woman your father deserved for a wife did not exist. But he chose her, and she is your motherâŠâ
Reichstadt was now weeping, and a long silence followed. [Aubry pg 207]
And that was when he seriously began to think about escaping.
While the two began to consider exactly what they could do, Franz decided that he had had quite enough of the chaperonage of Count Dietrichstein, his head tutor. This was the man who whipped him when he was five, who thrashed him when he was ten, who drilled him for countless hours on his German and his Italian translations and all the minutiae of court etiquette. He claimed to be utterly devoted to the young prince. Maybe he was, in his own weird way. But Franz was spreading his wings (or at least attempting toâ even when he was 20, his imperial grandpa was still prone to treating him like a child, forcing him to dine with him in austerity if his own personal dinner parties became, in Francisâs opinion, too extravagant). In addition to the sensible and devoted Prokesch, Franz had befriended a few other young men, rakes and dandies all, like Neippergâs eldest son and the young Esterhazy. Franz was gorgeous, brooding, romantic, and with perfect manners, and the women were obsessed with him (a Polish nun who had never met him but only saw him from a distance once swore undying love, even writing letters to this effect).
There was one woman that Franz danced with at a masquerade ball, a certain Naudine Karolyi, black-haired, handsome and bold, and not only did they manage to dodge Metternichâs spies, but they exchanged a lot of letters. This was 1831, and he was 20. But Dietrichstein soon found out about the correspondence.
At any rate, he strode into the Dukeâs room, began rummaging through his desk, and finding a drawer locked, commanded him to open it. Reichstadt did not dare refuseâ he obeyed, and his governor saw before him a pile of letters from Esterhazy. He opened a few, ran through them, and turned around livid with anger:
âWhat?â he cried. âYou have a love affair?â
âYes,â replied the prince coolly. âYou can see with whom.â
âDo you write to her directly?â
âNo, sir.â
âThen through an intermediary? Someone I know?â
He was besides himself with rage and almost shouting. Other persons had just entered the room and stood looking on in surprise at the strange scene. Reichstadt begged the Count to calm himself.
âCome downstairs with me,â he whispered. âYou shall have all the letters afterwards, I promise you.â
The Count mastered his anger and went down with him to the Emperor. On the return, the Duke scrupulously handed him the entire correspondence, and it was forthwith consigned to the flames. [Aubry, pg 212]
But this didnât stop Dietrichstein from trying to intercept Franzâs personal letters. At one point he saw that Esterhazy called him âthe old woman,â and Dietrichstein was âextremely hurt.â He tried everything he could to break up the friendship from that day on, but didnât succeed, as Franz could be extremely stubborn and loyal to a fault.
The affair with Naudine didnât go anywhere, but there were othersâ there was even a reputed bastard daughter who later called herself the Comtesse de la Pommiereâ but no matter what happened, his heart belonged to Sophie.
* * *
Iâm cutting this off here, because LONG POST IS LONG, but more angst and drama will be coming with the next post!
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
#napoleon II#sophie of bavaria#franz duke of reichstadt#l'aiglon#eaglet#octave aubry#marie louise#napoleon#napoleon bonaparte#count dietrichstein#metternich#austria#habsburgs#prokesch#king of rome#this poor kid#fucking habsburgs jesus christ
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I NEVER SAID FRIENDS
part twenty-eight bonus - assigned female at birth route
nsfw details of their first time
masterlist | part twenty-eight
tws - 18+ VERY VERY VERY NSFW. full on smut. gender neutral pronouns. âdarlingâ used. âsirâ used once. passionate intimate sex, safe sex, we using a condom bby, oral (y/n receiving), fingering, a sprinkle of overstim, light aftercare.
a/n - 2.5k this would not be nearly this good if it werenât for my beautiful incredible beta reader @half-baked-biscuitâ. thank you bby for your help. and i hope yâall enjoy. đ
Anticipation and expectations often obscure what the reality might be. Shouta had always said he wanted to move slowly the first time and you had assumed he wouldnât be able to. As he pressed slow gentle kisses to your chin and neck, you realized he was serious. A warmth spread through your abdomen as you thought about it. His kisses were so sensual. You were already letting out little moans and gasps as he kissed his way back up to your mouth. Your fingers tangled in his hair once again. They just gravitated to it. You knew how much he loved having his hair played with and having that closeness. Soft against your mouth, his delicate kisses were driving you mad. You barely noticed that he was starting to remove your top. Your hands grabbed the hem to lift his shirt up but he grasped them and pulled away from the kiss. âPlease. Just let me have this first.â His eyes were dilated and he looked soâŠvulnerable. You nodded with a smile and his hands resumed their place. As he pulled off your top, he didnât leave the skin untouched for long. He placed kisses along your arms and your collarbone as he removed that last piece of fabric between his hands and your chest. His hands cupped your breasts running his fingers along them as he drank you in.
 âBreathe.â You reminded him before he sucked in a deep breath of air. âYouâre just so sexy.â He had never seen this much of you and while you wanted to rip his clothes off, you were trying your best to be patient. He was memorizing every curve, every mark, every inch of your skin as he kissed from your collarbone to your breast. He sucked gently on your skin, his teeth grazing the soft flesh. It was almost like he wanted to mark you up but he was so soft. He didnât want to ruin your skin. Agonizingly slow he made his way to your right nipple. His eyes flit up to make contact with you while he took it into his mouth rolling his tongue around it. The sensation combined with his steady eye contact was making you squirm. He pulled off with a small pop, smirking when you whined at the lost sensation. He guided you to the bed and laid you down on your back in the middle of it before he was back on you. His body was hovering over yours still frustratingly fully clothed. His mouth was back on your left nipple and you hummed at the sensation. One hand was rolling the other nipple between his fingers softly while the other was tugging your pants down. He pulled back once again to undress you completely.
 Kneeling at the end of the bed and staring at you, you felt a little shy under his intense gaze but his breathing was heavy and as you spread your legs apart, he let out a low groan. âFuck.â You smirked at the effect you were having on him. He stayed there staring at you, drinking you in, while you moved your hands up to cup your breasts. Something snapped in his brain at that and he started pulling off his clothes. You leaned up to cease his movements. âNo. Itâs my turn.â You werenât quite as slow as him when he was undressing you. There was a bit more urgency in your fingers as they rid him of his shirt. Fingers running down his toned chest. There were so many scars. Your fingers brushed through the hairs at the base of his abdomen. His delicious happy trail before you unbuttoned his pants. Your eyes were on his as you pulled the zipper down and slipped your hand underneath. Cupping him through the fabric of his boxers he was already hard for you. You could feel him throb against your hand. His whole body shuddered and his head fell back. âYeah? I havenât even done anything yet, sir.â A small buck into your hand was all you needed to answer your question. He separated from you and stepped off the bed to rid himself of the rest of his clothes. And there you both were, naked and needy staring at each other.
 Shoutaâs hands led you back to your original laying down position. His lips crashed against yours as his hands caged your body. The kiss was rougher than before. More passionate. His body was barely hovering above you and the heat coming off of him was intoxicating. Your leg moved up to wrap around his, pulling him in to grind against you. You needed friction. You needed him against you. In you. He groaned into your mouth as his hips ground into yours. He pulled out of the kiss and whispered against your lips. âYouâre going to kill me. Iâm gonna be a two-pump chump if you arenât careful.â You both chuckled and he peppered kisses along your jaw.
 Kisses started moving lower and lower, back to your breasts and you wiggled underneath him. âPlease, Sho. I need you.â He looked up at you and spoke between kisses. âDarling, please. Let me eat you out first. I really really want to.â Who could say no to that? Especially with the way he was looking at you. The pleading look in his eyes. All you had to do was give him a small nod and he was grinning so wide. His kisses led a path from your breasts, to your stomach, to your thighs. Kissing and nibbling everywhere except where you needed him. You shivered as he kissed your mound. So close but so far away. You could feel his hot breath. He kissed your inner thighs and smiled against your skin as it made you squirm. He knew exactly what he was doing. âMmm. Does someone want my tongue on them?â You glared at him a little as he kissed your thigh making eye contact with you the entire time. He wanted you to beg and you really didnât want to. It was too much though. âPlease, Sho.â That was all he needed and his tongue licked a stripe up your lips to your little clit before giving it a few flicks. âYou taste so good, darling. Youâre already so wet for me. I want to make you cum until your legs give out.â He said as he rested his cheek against your thigh. Too far away again.
 Shoutaâs right index and middle fingers moved up to your lips and pressed asking for permission to enter. You took them in eagerly and sucked on them before he even had to tell you to. Swirling your tongue around and in between them made Aizawa groan. Picturing his cock in your pretty mouth instead of his lucky fingers. He pulled them back and ran them through your folds. He teased his fingertips along your hole eliciting a whimper from you, much to his satisfaction. Your hand reached down to weave through his hair trying to pull him closer and that only spurred Shouta on. Slipping just his pointer finger in, he started kissing, licking, and sucking with more speed and pressure than before. Stars sprinkled your vision as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. He slipped his middle finger in and crooked them to massage the spongy sweet spot. His other hand reached up to grab yours. You thought Shouta wanted both hands in his hair but you were surprised when he laced his fingers in yours and simply held onto your hand. What a sap.
 As Shoutaâs lips latched onto your clit and his fingers pumped into you at a delightfully fast pace, you felt the pressure in your stomach tense even more. Your whole body was tense. Back arching and then flattening back out. Head pushed back into the bed. His hand never left yours. You glanced down to see he was looking up to watch you and that was the last thing you needed. The pressure broke and you trembled under him as your body tensed more and then melted back into the bed. He eased you down by pressing kisses against your thighs and slowly removing his fingers from you. âHoly fuck, Sho.â You mumbled from your dazed state.
 Black hair tucked cascaded on your chest as Shouta moved up to rest his chin on you, beaming wide at your face. âWhat?â You looked at him a little confused or at least as much as you could emote from cloud nine. âYou look so pretty when youâre cumming. I think I need to see it again.â His words sent shots of warmth rushing to your core again. âJust a moment and Iâll take care of you too.â He shook his head against your skin. âI donât care about that right now. I just want to be inside you, darling.â Shouta said it so casually. Like it wasnât hot as fuck. You whimpered a little and nodded at him. His eyes lit up and he slowly moved off of you and the bed, you could tell he wanted to jump up and run to his bag but held back.
 Shoutaâs form was so rough. His skin wasnât smooth. It was littered with scars. His muscles werenât extremely defined but your eyes drank in every divot there was. He was rock hard as he rolled the condom onto his tip. You didnât notice the drops of precum on the edge of the bed before. He was that turned on while eating you. Yup. Sent from heaven. As he moved back to the bed, his knees pressing into it and shifting you in the process, you got a good look at him. He was perfect. The perfect length and the perfect girth. You didnât realize youâd been staring until Shoutaâs finger moved to close your gaping jaw. âIâm not that impressive, Y/N. You donât have to pretend.â Your brows knitted together as you looked at him. He didnât have the same confidence as before. His cheeks were tinged pink and he wouldnât make eye contact with you. âShoâŠyouâre perfect. Donât say that.â He shook his head and shrugged a little as he leaned down to kiss you shoulder. âTai has got to have a massive dick right? Like he has to. Thereâs no way itâs not huge.â You couldnât help the yelp of laughter that you let out. Covering your mouth as you shook trying to hide the laugh. âI mean yeah obviously. But that doesnât mean anything. I donât want Tai, you goof. And size isnât everything. That shit hurt.â
 The both of you were laughing as he moved farther up the bed to lay next to you on his side. His hand ran along your leg and pulled you so you were on your side and your leg was crooked over his. Your bodies were so close. There was more skin touching than not and you wrapped your arms around him. Kissing up his jaw as he aligned himself and slowly started to thrust into you. Just a little at a time. Small slow thrusts that felt so good. His lips locked with yours and your eyes fluttered closed as he kissed you like youâd never been kissed before. Your movements were one, him thrusting into you and you moving your hips onto his. Small moans and groans escaped in between kisses.
 Being this close and intimate with someone was new. There was passion. There was a different level of connection. He wanted to be one with you and not just in a carnal way. He wanted to face you and be as close as he could to you while you had sex. While you made love. You had used that terminology for sex before but now you knew what it really meant. This was making love. His hips pushing themselves into you as he moaned into your shoulder. Your fingers were once again in his hair and you could feel his cute smile even if you couldnât see it. âDarling. You feel so good. Fuck. I could lay like this forever.â His raspy voice in your ear sent shivers down your spine. He started pumping into you a little faster. His hips snapped into you and each movement made him moan. He was delightfully vocal. His hand moved from holding your thigh over him to cupping your ass cheek, using the grip to get more momentum and giving you a new angle that knocked the air out of you with how good it felt. You knew his noises from the phone calls. You knew he was getting closer with you. âShit.â He groaned as you clenched around him. âFuck. Are you going to cum with me, Y/N? Please, darling, I want to feel you cum around me.â He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew what that position was doing to you and as his thrusts became more erratic, so did your noises.
 Gripping onto each other so tight, moving together like you had dreamt so many times, the two of you came together. Shouta cried your name into your shoulder and you gasped his out. It was perfect. It was the perfect first time together. He moved his mouth back to yours and took your lips in a much more gentle and calm kiss as he slowed his movements. âWow.âHe whispered against your lips. âWow is right.â You replied. Pulling out left you with such an empty feeling. His arms leaving yours. His body no longer pressed against you. He held his hand out to you and helped you get up. Your legs wobbled a little and he couldnât help but smirk. âHaving trouble walking already? I only made you cum twice.â  Only. That was a concerning word. This had already been amazing, the idea of him fucking you into oblivion was a pretty nice one. He helped you to the bathroom and tossed the condom in the trash before heading towards the kitchen. âAnything special you would like to request, darling?â He smiled when you mumbled something along the lines of no Iâm okay. He started perusing the cabinets and grabbed a couple of snacks. Two bananas, a half bar of chocolate and he poured two glasses of water before heading back to the bedroom and resting them on the nightstand.
 Rejoining you in the bathroom Shouta grabbed a hand towel and cleaned himself up before grabbing one for you as well. You were still sitting on the toilet but hadnât stood up yet no he knew exactly why. âCome here.â He helped you up again and guided you back to the bed. He pulled the covers up and helped you lay down underneath them. âSweatpants?â You pointed at the dresser in the corner. He pulled out some comfy clothes for you and started dressing you again. âHere. Drink some water and have a banana and some chocolate, okay?â His lips pressed a small kiss to your forehead as he left you to go put his boxers back on. The warmth of his body was back as he climbed into the bed next to you. Munching on the banana with a smile. You could get used to this. Â
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