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snowyslytherinowl · 4 months ago

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A Love Paid in Galleons - Part 1

PAIRING: Severus Snape x Reader

SUMMARY: Knowing that no one would ever want him, Severus hires a prostitute to help him lose his virginity. But what he doesn't anticipate is that he'll give his heart to her as well.

Part 2 here

I hate to say this but if we’re speaking canonically, I believe that Snape either died a virgin or lost his virginity to a prostitute. I wanted to write something on the latter topic with some cuteness. This also has been interesting for me to write since I haven’t written smut in a long time and never really wrote smut like this. I hope y’all still enjoy this though!

18+ DUE TO SEXUAL CONTENT; MINORS DNI!

Severus wouldn’t dare to do this at Hogwarts. For one thing, inviting someone like this within the castle walls would surely be strictly forbidden. But most importantly, he wouldn’t be able to bear the embarrassment if knowledge of his actions circulated the school. His head pounded at the thought of the incessant teasing by the students, or even worse, by Minerva and Dumbledore.

Earlier that day, he covered his head with a black hood and ventured into Knockturn Alley. The only place of its kind could be found at the very end of the alley, tucked away in a corner lit only by a flickering lantern. Severus handed his galleons to the madam, paying extra to reserve a pretty one for the entire night. His blood ran cold as he gave her his address and a fake name, not processing that he was actually going through with this. But he felt that it was only right to reserve the prostitute for the entire night; at least after she had sex with a disgusting man like him, she could leave and be free from company for the rest of the night.

Even now, hidden away in the privacy of his home at Spinner's End, he doesn’t know what to do now that he has dared. He showers and roughly scrubs his hair, ridding it of all its grease. He tidies up the sitting room, repairs all the cracks in the walls, cleans his dirty dishes, puts every dish in the cupboard, and removes the nightmare-inducing jars from his study. He decides that they would do it inside his study, rather than his bedroom. He’s embarrassed by the holes in the sheets and the mismatching pillowcase and comforter. Even then, he doesn’t want to be reminded of the upcoming encounter every night and subsequently wrap his arms around his body, attempting to ease the feelings of loneliness.

The clock rings, signifying a new hour. It’s ten o’clock; she should be here any second now. And then there’s a knock on his front door. Severus jumps in his seat and slowly makes his way to the door, his hands shaking and his heart pounding.

The woman on the other side of the door takes his breath away. He doesn’t think he’s seen a woman as beautiful as you. Smooth skin, luscious hair, full lips painted a deep red. Even your eyes are bright and welcoming as you smile at Severus. His heart pounds even faster as his eyes rake over the short green dress tightly hugging your body. “Hi,” you greet in a sweet voice.

“Hello,” Severus says quietly. He stares at you as though he’s stupified, completely mesmerized by your beauty. How could he ever rip his eyes away from a woman like this?

You blush and bite your lower lip. “May I come in?” you ask shyly.

“Oh. Yes,” Severus mutters, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He steps aside and allows you to enter. You walk to the middle of the sitting room and look around. He fidgets with his fingers at the thought that you might be judging the simplicity of his house.

But it doesn’t seem like those kinds of thoughts are on your mind. You spin around and look at him with the most alluring gaze a woman has ever looked at him with. His breath catches in his throat and he stands frozen once more. You inch closer to him, that sweet smile still playing on your lips, until you stand directly in front of him. “What would you like me to do, sir?” you ask in a low voice.

“I… er… I…” Severus’s heart beats so fast that he can’t breathe, let alone speak. His face becomes even more red. He’s so embarrassed that he can’t form a single coherent sentence. He gulps as you continue to look up at him, awaiting his response. “Er… anything you wish to do. And you do not need to call me sir.”

You laugh the sweetest laugh he’s ever heard. A laugh more powerful than a siren’s call, a laugh that could make any man weak in the knees. You bat your eyelashes at him and say, “How about we get out of the sitting room so I can show you what I have in mind?”

You take his hand in yours and gently squeeze it. Severus fights the urge to run his thumb over your smaller hand, a perfect match nestled within his grasp. He leads you up the stairs on shaky legs and pushes open the door on the right.

Like the sitting room, the study is unassuming. Shelves full of books filed in alphabetical order line the wall on the right. On the left, there are cabinets holding jars of potion ingredients. There are no framed photos or personal effects. He flips the light switch on, the dingy overhead light beginning to glow. But since the light flickers unreliably, he chooses to light the candles on his desk instead. Perhaps it’ll even give this situation a romantic feel, even if there is no romance involved.

You walk to the bookshelves and run a finger over several of the titles. Your eyes light with genuine curiosity as you inspect his room. No one has ever been interested in anything he owns. “What do you work as?”

“Oh…. er… I… I do…” Severus stammers again, still hesitant to tell you for fear of exposure. He awkwardly stands at the doorframe, hoping you’ll catch on.

You seem to sense his discomfort and smile reassuringly at him. “It’s fine. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

You stand directly in front of him once again and take his hand. You place your intertwined hands on his chest and stare up at him. “Do you want me to show you what I have planned?” you ask in a low voice. The combination of you smiling at him, looking up at him like you actually want him, and speaking in a sultry voice is too much for him. His eyes dip down to your lips but quickly looks away before he can give in to the urge to kiss you.

“Er… that would… er…” he mutters. You brush a strand of his hair behind his ear with your free hand, sending his heart into a tizzy.

“Are you nervous?” you ask. Severus nods very slightly in response, so you follow with, “Will this be your first time?”

Ashamed, Severus’s eyes sink to the ground and he remains silent. The reason why he solicited a prostitute is because he wants to lose his virginity. Is it so wrong for him to yearn for the touch of a woman, want to feel wanted, even if that want is all a superficial act? He knows no woman would ever want to sleep with him. No woman has ever looked at him, approached him, or complimented him. If anything, they would be repulsed by him. With his greasy hair and sallow skin, he can’t blame them. And what would you say if he told you that he, a man in his thirties, was a virgin? He knows you’ll think that he’s a pathetic, lonely slug because that is exactly what he is.

With your pointer finger, you tilt his head so he’s looking into your eyes. You smile at him and reassure, “Hey, there’s nothing to be ashamed of if it is. I’ve never been anyone’s first, but I promise to make this special for you.”

He frowns and his hands start to shake. Blinking rapidly, he tries his best to hold back the tears that are threatening to form in his eyes. “Why are you so kind to me?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. The only possible answer is that you’re paid to be here. Otherwise, you would have screamed and apparated away the second he opened his front door.

“Why do you think that?” With a gentle touch, you caress his cheek to relax him. Severus sighs again, still not able to understand or accept your kind touch. “I think you’re very handsome,” you say in a tone that sounds genuine.

Butterflies flutter in his stomach. No woman has told him that before. Or maybe you’re just saying that to be kind? “You really think so?”

“Of course. If anything, I’m surprised that no woman has snatched you up yet,” you say with another one of your beautiful laughs.

He can’t stop his lips from pulling upward into a smile. Now all he can think about is kissing your soft, plush lips.

“May I… may I kiss you?” he mutters, his cheeks reddening.

“Yes,” you say and get on your tippy-toes. Severus bends his head down and tenderly presses his lips against yours.

The moment his lips touch yours, shockwaves run throughout his entire body and his head spins. All thoughts drift into oblivion. All he can think about are your kind words, your gentle touch, your ethereal beauty, your enchanting smell, you. He wants to stay here in this exact position, kissing you forever.

He lets go of your hand and then wraps it around your back, pressing his chest against yours. When you moan into his lips, Severus cups your face with his other hand. He kisses you deeper and rougher, as though he’s a dying man and your kisses are the only things that can save him.

Severus is hurt when you pull away until he notices that your cheeks are now a deep crimson. He begins to panic at the thought that he hurt you by not restraining himself well enough. But then you take in a deep breath and laugh. “Sorry, I had to take a breather.”

He stares at his feet like a schoolboy caught doing something he shouldn’t have, yet this embarrassment feels amazing. “No, I apologize that I got carried away,” he mutters.

You smirk at him. “No, no. Silas, I think you deserve a reward for how excellent of a kisser you are,” you say seductively.

A shiver ran through his body at your words. As you inch closer to the desk chair, Severus stops you. He feels wrong continuing this night with you without telling you his real name. He’s willing to throw caution to the wind with you; he has a feeling you’d keep his identity a secret. “Actually, my real name is Severus.”

“Ok then, Severus. How about you sit down?” You grab his hand and then gently push him. He flops onto the desk chair and stares up at you with wide eyes.

You lean down and press wet kisses on his cheek. You unbutton the top part of his coat and continue your trail of kisses down his neck. Severus freezes as he feels blood rush to the lower parts of his body. He doesn’t want you to notice the growing bulge in his pants, and neither does he know where to put his hands. He sits stiffly on the desk chair, his fingers tightly gripping the armrest.

Instead of continuing to unbutton his coat, your hands trail down to his trousers. His breath catches in his throat as you drop to your knees and unbuckle his belt. With swift fingers, you undo his belt, and then his button trousers, and then pull the trousers down to his knees.

Severus jumps in his seat when you run a hand over his clothed cock. If he had any intentions to hide his bulge earlier, well, his secret is out now. He takes a deep breath and stares down at you with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. With the mischievous expression you’re looking up at him with and the way you’re slowly palming his clothed cock, Severus thinks he might pass out.

Severus holds back a moan when you apply more pressure with your palm, and you smirk as you notice how tense he is. You slowly shimmy down his boxers and reveal his large, hard cock. Severus stares at the ceiling, too embarrassed to look you in the eye. How pathetic he must be to get this hard at only a few touches.

“Severus, look at me.” Your voice is gentle, but the firmness of your command is there. Severus forces his eyes to move from the ceiling to you.

Below him is an absolute sight to behold. His hard, thick cock is leaking precum from the tip. Embarrassment burns through him, but he can’t stop staring at how you’re looking at him. Your hands rest on the chair cushion, just touching his thighs. And Merlin, you’re staring at his cock like you want to devour it.

“Do you want me to touch you, handsome?” you purr. Your hands slither onto his thighs and massage his skin there. He nods a little too eagerly and you chuckle.

“Where do you want me to touch you?” You run your hands up his body and rest on the bottom of his torso. “Here?” He only whimpers in response and moves his legs, trying to shift your hands where he needs them most. You smirk and click your tongue in disapproval.

“Is here better?” You shift your hands to his hips, your fingers ghosting around his cock. He whines pathetically and looks down at you, silently begging you to just touch him already.

“Use your words, Severus,” you gently command. As an extra tease, you skim one finger down the length of his cock.

“My cock, please,” he begs you. If anything, he would spend the rest of his life begging him to touch you. Even if you got up and left, this would still be the best moment of his life.

You finally wrap your hands around his cock and swipe a thumb over his slit, smearing precum up and down his cock. Severus lets out a needy mewl as you pump your fist up and down his manhood, his apprehension at making noises melting away. Every so often, he’d touch himself in the shower and eventually bring himself to orgasm, his feelings of shame washing away any feelings of pleasure. But masturbating never prepared him for this. Your expert touch feels better than any form of self-induced pleasure.

Severus gasps loudly when he feels you peppering kisses down the length of his cock. You go even further downward and massage his balls with your tongue. When he was a teenager, his dormmates told stories of their sexual encounters right in front of him, knowing he would never have a need for their knowledge. He rarely listened to them either; the feelings of loneliness that arose would be too painful. During the few times he listened, he remembers how his dormmates raved about how amazing blowjobs felt. Merlin almighty were they right, and you had only just begun.

Locking eyes with him, you lick his tip and then wrap your lips fully around his shaft. Severus enters a state of euphoria as you simultaneously wrap your fist around the base of his cock and rotate your hand around him. After several moments, you pull your hands back so you can take more of him into your mouth. Severus groans and unintentionally juts his hips up at the intense sensation, but then his mind floods with shame as he hears you gag. “Sorry. I am so, so sorry,” he apologizes profusely. He stiffens in his seat and watches your every move, afraid that he might have hurt you.

You don’t say anything, instead subtly nodding your head and lightly holding down his hips. You slowly take more and more of him in your mouth, alternating between soft and firm pressure. He’s finally reassured when you moan around his cock. He allows himself to relax and his eyes flutter closed, indulging in the immense pleasure you’re providing him. The warmth and wetness of your mouth are beyond anything his imagination could’ve conjured.

Severus grips the armrests so tightly now that his knuckles are white. He keeps his hands there partially because he’s too afraid to grasp your hair and potentially hurt you again, but mainly because he’d holding on for dear life. His hips shake violently and he can’t stop groaning. He can feel his cock pulsating, ready for sweet release, but he has to use every fiber in his body to not just cum already. Severus wants his first blowjob to last longer. But you sense that he’s close to his orgasm, and you hollow your cheeks more and suck more firmly. With a loud groan and shaking legs, he comes undone in your mouth. His heart races and he pants, his body and mind in a state of absolute bliss after the best orgasm of his life.

His eyes flutter open and he suddenly remembers that he never asked you if he could cum in your mouth. Though before he can apologize, he feels you humming around his soft cock and swallowing his seed. He stares at you with wide eyes, stunned that you’d do such a thing and stunned at how intensely his cock is throbbing with pure arousal.

You slide his manhood out of your mouth and stand back up. The candlelight illuminates your messy hair and sweat beading on your forehead. Merlin, you look gorgeous like this.

“You were amazing,” Severus whispers. You smile shyly at him and lean down to kiss his cheek.

“Thank you.” You run your hand down his clothed chest without breaking eye contact. “Do you think you’ll be up for another round soon?”

Severus blushes at your forwardness. “I am not sure. My refractory period is slightly long,” he admits.

“Hmm, that’s fine. In the meantime, maybe you can undress me?” you lure. You pull down the straps of your dress, giving him a peek at your bra. You’re still leaning above him, so he can feel your breath on his skin and see the anticipation in your eyes.

Severus is a flustered mess as he stares at your body. With a shaky hand, he reaches out and rests his hands on the top of your dress. He sits awkwardly on the desk chair, not knowing what to do or say.

You sense his confusion. “Stand up.” Severus completely pulls down his trousers and steps out of them before standing in front of you. You point behind yourself and tell him, “Unzip me.”

Severus focuses his eyes on the window as he reaches behind you and unzips your dress, which pools around your legs. Although you’re a prostitute and you just gave him a blowjob, he feels wrong looking at your naked body without your explicit consent. His hands then hover over where your dress once was, yet again not knowing where to put them.

“You can look, you know,” you tease. Severus peels his eyes away from the window and takes in the magnificent sight of your partially naked body. His eyes linger over your lace panties and bra, which are the same shade of green as your dress. The sheer fabric clings to your body, revealing your curves perfectly. As the candlelight glistens off your flawless skin, he thinks that maybe his refractory period won’t last as long as he thought it would.

“Er, what do you want me to do next?” he murmurs.

You wrap your arms around his neck and look up at him with immense desire. You’re either one hell of an actress or you actually want him.

“You can start by taking off my bra.” Severus reaches behind your back and fiddles with your bra clasp. He fails at this task, partially because he’s overtaken with anticipation and partially because he’s so inexperienced. After several moments, you giggle and offer, “Let me help you.” You quickly unclasp your bra and allow Severus to pull it off of your arms.

Severus swallows hard and has difficulty breathing as he stares at your breasts. Not even Muggle magazines prepared him for this. He gently cups one of your soft breasts and he marvels at how it fits perfectly in his hand. He lightly squeezes it and runs his thumb over your nipple, which hardens and peaks at his touch. He squeezes a little harder when you moan and bite on your lower lip, eager to draw more divine sounds out of you.

“You are a goddess,” he murmurs. Maybe he’s crossing a line with you, but his words aren’t a lie. He’s never seen and never will see a woman as stunning as you.

“You’re very kind, Severus,” you whisper. Time freezes for a moment. It’s just the two of you in Spinner’s End staring deeply into each other’s eyes. No one matters in this world except for you. He doesn’t want to admit that his heart is starting to ache for you.

You break the moment by standing on your tippy-toes and kissing him on his lips. Severus takes his time kissing you and exploring your mouth, wishing to drag this moment out for as long as he can.

You take one of his hands and trail it to between your legs. He takes the hint and snakes his hands into your panties. He’s shocked when he feels your wetness coating his fingers. Does this mean that you truly want him, that all of this is not just an act? He shakes away the thought before it begins to play with his heartstrings even more.

You gaze up at him expectantly, so he begins to experimentally circle his thumb around your clit. You moan with pleasure and bury your face into his shoulder. He melts at your touch and wraps his other around your back to pull you even closer.

As you moan again, his face reddens as he remembers that he doesn’t know how to touch a woman. He wracks his brain for memories of the knowledge his dormmates had and any obscure piece of information he picked up from conversations with other men. All he wants is to pleasure you, so he runs his middle finger up and down your slit and then slowly pushes his finger inside. You gasp and start to grind your hips against his hand, beckoning him to fill you with more of his fingers. He pushes another finger inside you, pumping them both in and out of you. You two groan in unison, becoming more and more aroused each second.

You and Severus are pressed so closely together that you can feel his now hard cock nudging against your front. Your eyes flutter open and you smirk at him. “I thought you would take longer,” you tease.

You step away from him, forcing Severus to pull his fingers away from you. His heart drops, disappointed that he couldn’t pleasure you more. But those thoughts are quickly wiped away when you slip your panties off and rest your hands on his chest.

You take your time unbuttoning his coat and then peeling off his robes and coat. He holds his breath as you caress his now bare chest. You somehow find his face handsome; it would take a miracle for you to like his thin physique. Yet if you are turned off, you don’t show it. Instead, you glance back up at him and bite your lower lip. “It’s up to you, Severus. Do you want to take me standing up, on the desk, or on the chair?”

His eyes drift down to your supple breasts and your exposed cunt. Merlin, you are divine. Honestly, you would look stunning whether you’re naked or wearing a potato sack. He gulps, the burden of the decision weighing heavily on him. “Umm… I find…” he stammers, his voice hoarse. “I…. I think…”

“You’re taking too long. We’re standing.” You laugh and turn around, your back flush against his chest. You reach behind you and reassuringly rub his thighs. You turn your head back and look at him for a moment to quietly say, “Take your time, okay?” Seduction melts away and all he can feel is your tenderness.

Severus nods and takes a deep breath. His heart is beating a mile a minute and his palms are sweaty. This is it, this is the moment every interaction with you has been building up to. His mind goes blank; he can’t even fathom how he got here or how he’s about to lose his virginity to the most beautiful woman in the wizarding world. Pure and sheer exhilaration kicks in, and he grasps your hip with one hand. With the other, he aligns himself with your entrance and pushes the head of his cock in.

Severus lets out mindless groans as he pushes his length into you, shocked by the feelings of warmth engulfing him. He thought the feeling of your hand around his cock felt good. He thought a blowjob felt amazing. But this feels heavenly. The warmth and wetness of your cunt, and the way your walls clench against him, is beyond compare. If he knew how this would feel earlier, he would’ve asked you to skip the blowjob.

Once he bottoms out, he stills his hips and allows you to adjust to his length. He can feel your walls spasming around him as if you’re affected by this as much as he is. After several moments, you pat his thighs. “You can start moving.”

Severus rocks his hips at a gentle pace to test the waters. Even though this night is devoted to him, he wants you to enjoy this as well. He wants to slide deeper inside you, but he doesn’t know exactly how to rearrange himself. You look back at him and smile, and then bend forward slightly.

He pulls back his hips and enters back into you. Oh, this new angle definitely feels much better. And even though you’re no longer completely flush against him, he can still smell the intoxicating scent of your shampoo and perfume. You moan loudly after a particularly deep thrust and praise, “You’re doing so well.”

“You feel, oh…” he whimpers. One hand trails up your body and squeezes your breast. It’s so, so soft. Everything about you is just perfect.

You press your head against his shoulder and look up at him, your breath tickling his neck. You look expectantly up at him, so he nibbles on your ear and kisses your neck. This feels so, so right.

Severus starts pumping into you at a faster pace, drawing out more gasps from your lips. “Keep going. You feel amazing,” you moan. Your praise makes Severus whine even louder. At this point, he’d do anything for you. He keeps up his pace and eventually reaches such a level of bliss that closes his eyes and opens his mouth in a silent ‘o.’

Severus almost jumps when he feels your walls squeezing around him, dissolving him into a moaning mess. He can feel his cock pulsating again. Merlin, he won’t be able to last much longer. He opens his eyes and although his vision is hazy from all the pleasure, he can tell that you’re smirking wickedly at him. “How does that feel, handsome?” you tease.

“Please… I can’t…” he whines. His breaths become more shallow and his thrusts become more erratic and messy; he’s rutting against you more than anything. His grip on your hips is so firm that he knows your skin will be peppered with bruises. But his primary concern is that his legs are shaking so aggressively that they might buckle.

You intentionally squeeze around him again, making Severus sob with pleasure. He can’t handle this anymore; he really can’t. The pleasure is so overwhelming that he thinks his soul might leave his body. And if his soul did, then so be it. At least he’d die a happy man.

“Here, let me help you.” You suddenly pull away, snapping Severus out of his paradise. Before he can protest, however, you spin around, push him to sit on the desk chair, and straddle him. All of it happens so fast that he has no idea he got here or how you got on top of him. It’s probably because his mind is hazy, but how can he complain about this new position when your breasts are hanging directly in his face?

You slide down onto his cock, your abundant slick making the movement effortless. You grip his shoulders and start to ride him, your breasts bouncing up and down. He stares at them as though he’s stupified, and then takes one of your nipples in his mouth and sucks. You moan his name and press your chest even closer to him.

His legs tremble again and he takes in deep breaths in an attempt to stop himself from cumming right then and there. But when you swirl your hips and squeeze your walls, he knows his efforts are of no use; he’s done for. His hips jolt upward and he groans so loudly that he wouldn’t be surprised if the neighbors hear him. His cock keeps twitching, ropes of hot cum spilling inside you. It lasts so long that he knows that the second he pulls out, his seed is bound to drop onto the floor and down the desk chair.

Your body gives no indication of it, but seeing his features drawn in pleasure brings you faster to your orgasm than you thought it would. You moan and trail your hands down to between your legs, rubbing your clit without a rational thought in your mind. Severus jolts as he feels your walls squeezing and spasming as you reach your own orgasm, the feeling making his cock ache with both pleasure and newfound desire.

Now that the both of you are coming down from your highs, Severus leans his head onto the soft flesh of your breast, the beads of sweat on his forehead wetting your chest. His eyes are shut as he silently embraces you, relishing in relaxing against you. Never could he have imagined a better way to lose his virginity.

He wishes he could stay here forever with you and forget all his responsibilities, though he knows you’ll leave after tonight and potentially never see you again. You’ll move on with your life and forget about him, but his memory of you will forever be engrained in his mind. Severus has to push all these thoughts far into his mind before he can get upset.

Instead, he whispers “you are amazing,” his voice sounding as though it might fade away. You deserve nothing less than the highest praise. Honestly, he wants to tell you that this was the best moment of his life.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you whisper. You twirl his hair with your finger and look down at him with a twinkle in your eyes. Perhaps you’re only saying that because you want to be nice or because you’re paid to make him feel good. Yet seeing that twinkling ignites hope inside of him, overturning previous thoughts about all of this just being a part of your job. Deep down in his heart, he thinks you’re telling the truth. Maybe, just maybe, you have grown attached to him as well.

You’re still breathing heavily as you rest your forehead against his and close your eyes. The two of you sit still in this position for what feels like an eternity, yet Severus couldn’t care if actually did last an eternity; he’d be happy here in your arms. He’s never been as happy anywhere as here, his body against yours.

At some point, you shift around, ready to stand up from him. Before you can leave him, he kisses you. The kiss is gentle and doesn’t last for more than three seconds, yet he still feels like it’s the last time he’ll ever kiss someone. And maybe it will be.

You smile at him once he breaks the kiss. You slowly lift your hips off him and stand up. The second you pull out, his seed trickles out of your cunt and drops onto the floor and his legs. He stares between you and the floor, wondering if he’d be able to go for a third round.

You wave your wand, picking your clothes off the floor and neatly folding them. “Where is your bathroom?”

“On the right.”

The sight of you gripping onto your dress irrationally sends him into a panic. Is this it? Is this goodbye? Are you going to get dressed and leave? But he bought you for the entire night. On another note, though, he won’t force you to stay if you want to leave. His words come out in a hurry as he adds, “If you desire, you can take a shower. I have shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. You can stay the night as well. Only if you wish to, of course.”

You smile at him and nod. “Thank you, Severus. I think I’ll take you up on both your offers.” You press a kiss to his cheek and head out of the room. Even though the kiss was quick, the feeling of your lips against his cheeks burns in his mind.

His heart soars at the fact that you’ll be staying overnight, but it quickly sinks when he remembers what his bedroom looks like. It would be a miracle if you weren’t disgusted by the slimy potion jars he hid there earlier, or disappointed at his lack of organization. Severus rushes to the bedroom and waves his wand over his sheets, mending the holes in the fabric. Muttering “Colovaria” under his breath, he changes both the comforter and pillowcase to be a deep green. There’s only one pillow, but he can sleep downstairs. At least the bed looks halfway decent now.

When you come out of the bathroom, a towel is wrapped around your body and water drips from your hair. You smile shyly at him and say, “I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed your towel.”

“No, that is perfectly acceptable.”

“By the way, I’m done with the bathroom. You can use it now if you want.”

Severus nods at you and then heads into the bathroom. An odd part of him doesn’t want to shower, to wash away your scent and the traces of your touch. Yet he still turns on the water and scrubs his body, knowing that you won’t be able to linger on his body forever anyway.

After his shower, he dries his body instantly with a charm and puts on pajamas that don’t look beaten up. Usually, he throws something on and tumbles into bed. This time, he stands in front of the mirror and rearranges the fabric to make himself look more presentable for you.

He walks back into the bedroom and finds you wearing your lingerie. Seeing you like this, about to go to bed, feels wrong. The night isn’t particularly warm and you should be sleeping in something more comfortable.

“You do not need to sleep in that,” he comments. He opens his wardrobe and turns to look at you. “Do you have anything to sleep in?”

“I… You don’t want me to sleep like this?” you ask, confused. “And I don’t, actually.”

He finds it strange that you don’t have pajamas tucked away in your bag. Haven’t you had to sleep in a bed other than your own for your job? Nevertheless, he finds pajamas and hands them to you. “Here. You may wear this. It will be large on you, but it is comfortable.”

“Thank you, Severus,” you say quietly. You briefly look up at him and smile, and Severus briefly notices a strange look in your eye. But before he can say anything or decipher that look, you take the pajamas and slip off your bra and panties. He turns around as you undress, embarrassed to look at your body, as though he hasn’t seen you naked before.

You pat the pillow and smooth down the blankets, getting all cozy in his bed. He takes this as his cue to head for the door. But just as he’s about to turn around to wish you a good night, you stop him. “Wait! Where are you going?”

“Downstairs.” He pulls on the handle as he hears you laugh.

“No, silly! Come here!” You pat the blankets next to you, beckoning him to join you. Concerns about invading your privacy and comfort flood his mind, but then he sees the inviting smile on your face and relaxes. If anything, he’s excited to sleep next to you.

Your face scrunches in confusion as Severus joins you on the mattress. “Where’s your pillow?”

“I only have one,” he admits sheepishly. When Severus inherited this house from his parents, he wanted to erase the memories of his childhood from the house. He threw out his childhood bed and converted his old bedroom into an office. Then, he threw out almost all his parents’ items, their bedding set included. The last thing he wants at the beginning and end of every day is to be reminded of them.

“Oh. You can take this then.” You lift your head from the pillow, but Severus stops you.

“It is yours. You are the guest, after all.”

“That feels wrong,” you say. You scrunch your brows together and then your face lights up. “I have an idea. How about you take the pillow and I use your shoulder as my pillow instead?”

Severus’s heart skips a beat at the thought of cuddling with you, partially from nervousness and partially because he’s never cuddled with anyone before. He extends his arms to you and hopes you won’t notice his racing heart.

After getting cozy on his arm and resting your hand on his chest, you look up at Severus and smile. Neither of you say anything or move in for a kiss; you both just lie there until you eventually drift off. He watches you as you sleep, taking in the delicate lines of your face and the rising and falling of your chest.

No matter how hard he pushes it in the back of his mind, Severus has to admit to himself that he’s fallen for you. When you part from him tomorrow, he’ll be parting with the first person to make him feel alive in a long time. He watches as you rest, allowing the seconds to tick by, hoping that time will slow down if neither of you moves from this position. But after an hour of trying to slow down time, Severus finally sinks into a deep slumber. As he drifts off, the last thought that crosses his mind is how desperately he wishes that morning will never arrive.

#snape #severus snape #smut #reader insert #severus snape x y/n #severus snape x you #severus snape x reader #snape x y/n #snape x reader #snape x you #loss of virginity #virgin snape #sub severus #hp #hp fanfic #some angst #some fluff #sub snape

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sidekick-hero · 10 months ago

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(steddie | 483 words | teen | tags: childhood friends | @steddiemicrofic prompt "stuff")

Steve is seven when he runs away from home.

It's the end of his first year at Hawkins Elementary. His report card says his reading is below grade level and that he needs to improve over the summer. Steve doesn't mind practicing reading, but he's afraid his parents will be angry.

So he packs his little backpack and leaves. His little legs carry him through the woods behind the Harrington estate. The sun is still warm and bright, but soon it gets dark in the dense woods and Steve starts to feel scared. What if there are bears? He saw some on the Nature Channel; they could eat him in one giant bite.

Or worse, what if there are monsters?

Whimpering, his legs speed up until he almost runs.

He barrels into a boy playing at the edge of the woods, both of them falling to the ground with a loud oomph.

"What did you do that for?" the boy demands, looking at Steve with big brown eyes.

"I didn't mean to. I was running from the monsters."

"Monsters?" the boy asks in alarm. "Where?"

Steve points behind him. "In the woods. They would have eaten me!"

They both scramble to their feet and look to where Steve came from.

There are no monsters, but they agree that this doesn't mean anything. Monsters are sneaky.

"Wanna go to my place and play?" The boy suddenly asks Steve. "There are no monsters, just Wayne. He's, like, super nice."

Steve looks at the boy's dark, unruly curls that would make his mother huff, and thinks he likes how wild they look.

"Yeah," he agrees, and then, remembering his manners, holds out his hand. "I'm Steve."

Eddie looks doubtful, but takes it. "I'm Eddie," he says, pumping Steve's hand exaggeratedly, which makes Steve giggle.

They play for hours until Eddie's uncle, who is super nice, asks him when his parents are picking him up. It doesn't take much nudging to get Steve to spill the beans. Wayne assures him his parents won't be mad and that they are probably worried sick.

When he leaves Eddie's room to call them, Steve looks at his new friend with sad eyes.

"I don't wanna go. What if the monsters catch me?"

Eddie looks back at him with equally sad eyes but then straightens his little shoulders and picks up a stuffed dragon.

"You can have Sir Lancelot. He protects me from bad dreams; he can protect you from monsters."

They hug for a long time as Steve's parents arrive to take him home, Sir Lancelot safely in Steve's arms.

Years later, Eddie wakes up in a hospital bed to find Sir Lancelot lying on his chest, watching over him, while Steve sleeps in a chair next to him.

Protected by his dragon and his knight in shining armor, he closes his eyes and lets sleep take over once more.

#steddie #steddie drabble #steddie fic #steve harrington x eddie munson #my writing

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ama0310 · 9 months ago

Text

Bubblegum Bitch

Character: Aaron Hotchner

Requested: No

Type: Song Fic, Angst/Fluff

Summary: Hotch never thought he'd fall in love again—until he met Y/N.

Author's Note: Based on Bubblegum Bitch by MARINA

***************************

Meeting the Unit Chief should have been terrifying, but for you, it was exhilarating. Strauss had recently transferred you to the BAU from the Counter-Terrorism Division.

You suspected she added you to the team to ruffle the Unit Chief's feathers. It might have bothered you if it hadn’t come with a nice bump in your paycheck.

The moment Hotch saw you, he knew you were trouble. He just didn't realize how much trouble until your very first case.

Got a figure like a pin-up, got a figure like a doll Don't care if you think I'm dumb, I don't care at all

You stood before the mirror in a dingy motel bathroom, applying the finishing touches to your makeup. The skin-tight leather mini dress hugged every curve, transforming you into the perfect bait for the unsub who had been terrorizing local nightclubs.

Hotch's reflection appeared behind you, his face etched with worry. "Y/L/N, I really don't think you're ready for this."

You turned, cocking an eyebrow as you placed your hands on your hips. "And why is that, sir?"

Hotch's response was immediate and brutally honest. "You're still new, never been face-to-face with an unsub, let alone undercover. You're reckless, difficult to control, and frankly, a loose cannon. Need I go on?"

I'll chew you up and I'll spit you out

A smirk played at your lips as you sauntered towards him, invading his personal space. The scent of your perfume mingled with the tension in the air. "Look, Hotchie," you purred, noting how he stiffened at the nickname, "I was transferred here for a reason. I know what this job entails. So be my boss and let me do it."

You could see the internal struggle playing out behind Hotch's eyes. His professional concern warred with something else – an attraction he was clearly trying to suppress. You were a walking danger sign, and part of him was drawn to that fire.

"First," he said, his voice low and controlled, "don't call me that. Second, I'm not trying to offend you. I simply think Emily might be better suited for this operation. You can take points next time."

You scoffed, taking a step back. "Next time? With all due respect, sir, I fit the victimology perfectly, and you know it. I've spent the last hour transforming myself into exactly what this creep is looking for. If I don't do this, he'll likely claim another victim before we can catch him. So again, Hotchie," you emphasized the nickname, watching him bristle, "let me do my job. Don't make me have to disobey orders."

Without waiting for a response, you slipped on your stilettos and brushed past him, the warmth of your body tantalizingly close for a moment before you were gone.

Hotch watched you go, a mix of admiration and trepidation swirling in his gut. You were brilliant, fearless, and undeniably effective. But you were also unpredictable, pushing boundaries at every turn. As he followed you out, preparing to oversee the operation, one thought echoed in his mind:

Definitely trouble.

Candy bear, sweetie pie, wanna be adored I'm the girl you'd die for

Over the past few months, you had become the team's radiant beacon of positivity, your presence a cure for the often-dark nature of their work. Even the usually stoic Hotch, though he'd never admit it aloud, had fallen under your spell.

It was impossible not to be drawn to your infectious energy. Each morning, you breezed into the bullpen, a whirlwind of warmth and enthusiasm. Your greetings were accompanied by compliments, tailored to brighten each team member's day. After particularly grueling cases, the aroma of your famous blueberry muffins would fill the office, a comforting reminder that there was still sweetness in the world. You even patiently endured Spencer's lengthy tangents, sparing the others from information overload.

As the team prepared to head out for a new case, you sprinted across the parking lot, your laughter echoing off the concrete walls. "Shotgun!" you called out triumphantly, playfully shoving past Spencer to claim the coveted front seat next to Hotch.

Your friendship with the young doctor had blossomed quickly, bonded by your shared status as the "kids" of the team. While the others sometimes found his endless stream of facts overwhelming, you delighted in his knowledge, often engaging him in spirited debates that left the rest of the team both amused and bewildered.

The unit chief's lips twitched, fighting back a smile as he watched your antics. Spencer, mock indignation coloring his voice, appealed to their leader. "Hotch, come on! She rode shotgun last time. It's my turn, isn't it?"

Hotch cleared his throat, his tone stern but his eyes betraying a hint of amusement. "Y/N, you know the rules. It is indeed Reid's turn to sit up front."

You turned to face Hotch, unleashing the full power of your most irresistible puppy dog eyes. Your lower lip jutted out ever so slightly as you pleaded silently. Behind you, Spencer let out a resigned sigh, already knowing he'd lost this battle. Your ability to wrap Hotch around your finger was legendary among the team, even if the man himself was loath to acknowledge it.

Hotch held your gaze for a moment, visibly wavering. With a barely perceptible shake of his head, he started the engine, tacitly allowing you to keep your place.

Victorious, you twisted in your seat to face Spencer, sticking out your tongue in a childish display of triumph.

"Y/N!" Hotch's voice held a note of warning, though it lacked any real heat.

You straightened immediately, your voice dripping with faux innocence. "Sorry, sir!"

The apology was hollow, and you both knew it. As Hotch pulled out of the parking lot, you caught the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Your sunny persona had once again melted the ice around the unit chief's heart.

Oh, dear diary, I met a boy He made my doll heart light up with joy

The realization hit you like a thunderbolt – you were hopelessly, irrevocably in love with Aaron Hotchner. For the first time in your life, you felt a fear that chilled you to your core.

How could someone like him ever reciprocate such feelings? The cons seemed endless: a decade age gap, your extroverted nature clashing with his stoicism, your wild spirit at odds with his controlled demeanor. Not to mention the professional boundary – you were his employee, AND he was still navigating the aftermath of his recent divorce.

Your newfound awareness of your feelings for Hotch led to a desperate attempt at avoidance. It was hard, given how intertwined your lives had become over the months. For a week, you'd been dodging his texts, offering only cursory greetings, and maintaining a physical distance that felt painfully unnatural.

Hotch noticed the change immediately, and it gnawed at him. Your vibrant presence had become a constant in his life, a source of warmth he hadn't realized he'd come to depend on until it was suddenly gone.

He found himself missing the little rituals that had naturally developed between you. The morning car rides, once a practical solution to your car troubles, had evolved into a cherished start to each day. Your habit of bringing him a piece of candy during lunch breaks, with the excuse of "sweetening up his day," never failed to bring a smile to his face. Most of all, he missed the casual physical contact – the way you'd unconsciously place your hand on his arm when standing close, a gesture that grounded him more than he cared to admit.

As the week progressed, Hotch's concern deepened. Had he unknowingly offended you? He wracked his brain, trying to pinpoint any misstep. Perhaps the latest case had affected you more than usual, or maybe you were simply exhausted. Whatever the reason, he was determined to lift your spirits.

During his lunch break, Hotch made his way to your favorite café. The aroma of freshly baked goods enveloped him as he ordered your usual – a ham and cheese croissant and your preferred coffee blend. Back at the office, he noticed your empty desk and quickly left the bag before retreating to his office.

When you returned from the restroom, steeling yourself for an afternoon of paperwork, the sight of the familiar bag on your desk stopped you in your tracks. With trembling hands, you opened it to find the still-warm croissant and perfectly prepared coffee. Atop the container, a piece of candy was taped to a note that read: "To sweeten your day up! – Hotch"

Your heart swelled, a mix of joy and ache flooding your chest. Looking up, you caught Hotch watching you from his office window. Despite your best efforts to maintain distance, you couldn't help but offer him the radiant smile he'd come to cherish.

In that moment, the truth was undeniable. You were completely, utterly, and hopelessly in love with Aaron Hotchner. As your eyes locked with his, a flicker of something – hope, perhaps? – passed between you, hinting that maybe, just maybe, these obstacles weren't quite so impossible after all.

Oh, dear diary, we fell apart Welcome to the life of Electra Heart

Aaron Hotchner never imagined falling in love after Haley left. His life revolved around his job and Jack. He didn't need anyone else. That is, until you entered his life.

You were the first to sense something was wrong when he didn't answer his phone. Racing to his apartment, you found it covered in blood. With Penelope's help, you tracked him to a hospital, learning he'd been stabbed nine times.

When he opened his eyes and saw you, Hotch thought he'd died and gone to heaven. You looked angelic - an angel he couldn't bear to see harmed.

So when George Foyet shot him in his own home, Hotch realized he needed to end whatever was blossoming between you before you got hurt.

But you made it difficult.

The moment he was released, you were there every day, before and after work. Groceries, cleaning, anything to ease his burden. You knew how hard it was for him to send Haley and Jack away, how alone he must feel. You were determined to show him the team - and you - were there for him. For anything.

Driving him home after the Darrin Call case, where he'd recklessly entered a house without backup, your anger finally boiled over.

"What the hell were you thinking, Aaron?" you demanded, following him into his apartment. "No gun, no vest, no backup. Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

Hotch turned, his face a mask of stone. "I knew the profile. I had it under control."

"Under control?" you scoffed. "If it were anyone else, you'd have suspended them! This isn't you, Aaron. What's going on?"

His eyes flashed. "What's going on is I'm the Unit Chief, and I don't answer to you. I think before I act, unlike some people."

The barb stung. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he said coldly. "Just find it ironic you're lecturing me on recklessness."

"I've never walked into a hostage situation alone and unarmed!" you countered.

"I don't have to explain myself," Hotch snapped. "Especially not to you. Get out."

Your eyes widened. "No. We're talking about this. You're spiraling, Aaron. This obsession with Foyet-"

"Stop. You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I know you're not alone in this!" you pleaded. "The team needs you. I need you."

Hotch laughed bitterly. "If you haven't noticed, I am alone. My son is gone. I have no one. And I won't rest until Foyet is dead."

Tears welled in your eyes. "You have us. You have me. We can figure this out together."

"There is no 'we,'" Hotch said, his voice cold and final. "There never was."

The words hit like a physical blow. "Don't say that. You know that's not true."

For a moment, his mask slipped, revealing the pain beneath. But then it was back, harder than ever. "I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression."

You stared at him, hurt turning to anger. "Go to hell, Hotchner," you spat, before storming out, leaving him alone with the wreckage of what might have been.

I'm Miss Sugar Pink, liquor, liquor lips Hit me with your sweet love, steal me with a kiss

Your relationship with Aaron had crumbled to dust. Since that night you stormed out of his apartment, you'd made it your mission to avoid him at all costs. Difficult, considering he was your boss.

You understood he was facing unimaginable challenges - the loss of his ex-wife, becoming a single parent. Part of you ached to support him, but you both needed space.

That space stretched into a year.

You'd left transfer papers on his desk days ago. Despite your love for the team, staying had become impossible. It wasn't fair to you or Hotch. Counter Terrorism Division beckoned - a fresh start.

You hadn't told the team yet, dreading their reactions. You'd become their wild, sassy, overdramatic little sister. But tonight wasn't about goodbyes. It was Spencer's birthday, and Derek had chosen a club to celebrate. You wouldn't miss it for the world.

Arriving in a hot pink mini dress and matching heels, you spotted the team immediately.

"Happy birthday, Boy Genius!" you exclaimed, hugging Spencer tight.

"Please," he whispered, "get me out of here. Derek's trying to set me up with his friend."

You laughed, ruffling his hair. "No can do, Spence. It's your night. Go crazy. I promise not to film anything too embarrassing."

Turning to greet the others, you froze. Hotch was there. You hugged everyone but him, pointedly avoiding his gaze.

"Damn, girl! You're on fire!" Penelope gushed, clearly tipsy.

Emily nodded appreciatively. "I'm borrowing those heels."

"You know how to make a girl feel special," you winked. "First round's on me!"

An hour later, you were dancing with Penelope and Spencer, the alcohol buzzing through your veins. Suddenly, Spencer spun you – right into Hotch's arms. You glared at Spencer, who mouthed 'Karma' with a smirk.

The tension was strong as you and Hotch swayed silently. You wanted to escape, yet craved his touch.

"You requested a transfer," he stated, his voice low.

You quirked an eyebrow. "Did you sign it?"

"No."

You pulled back, stunned. "What do you mean, no?"

"We need to talk first."

Anger flared. "You're unbelievable," you spat, pushing past him and out of the club. He followed close behind.

"Y/N, please-"

You whirled to face him. "There's nothing to say. It's been a year, Hotch. Whatever we had is dead."

"You don't mean that," he insisted, his eyes burning into yours.

The alcohol amplified your emotions. "I do. I'm over it. Over you. There's nothing left to talk about."

"Then I'll talk, and you listen," he said firmly, gripping your shoulders. "There was a 'we'. Everything I said that night – it was a lie. To keep you safe from Foyet. He was targeting everyone I loved. I couldn't risk losing you."

Your heart stuttered. "You... loved me?"

"I still do," he breathed, cupping your face. "This past year has been hell. Not having you by my side – our carpool chats, sneaking candy, just... you. It was torture. I'll do anything to earn your forgiveness."

You wanted to resist, to make him suffer longer. But the alcohol, the longing, the raw emotion in his voice – it was too much. You threw your arms around him, burying your face in his neck.

You both exhaled, tension melting away. It felt right. It felt like coming home.

"I love you too," you murmured, then pulled back with a stern look. "But you've got a lot of making up to do."

He pressed his forehead to yours. "I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if I have to. You deserve the world, Y/N, and I intend to give it to you."

Your lips met in a soft, tentative kiss, full of promise and the weight of a year apart.

As you parted, you whispered, "This doesn't mean I'm not still furious with you."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

I'm Miss Sugar Pink, liquor, liquor lips I'm gonna be your bubblegum bitch

Again, you were trouble. Even after two years together, you definitely kept him on his toes. Not transferring and working alongside your boyfriend made for an interesting way to live.

“What you did was stupid and reckless, Y/N.” Aaron's voice was stern as the team boarded the jet to head back home. The case had been a success, but it came at the cost of you getting into the unsub’s car without any weapons. Fortunately, you had your team.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at him. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me, Y/N. I’m serious.”

“Ooooo, Mom and Dad are fighting,” Spencer teased from across the jet.

“Shut up, Spencer,” you snapped, making him raise his hands in mock surrender. Then, you turned to Hotch. “You know damn well I needed to get into his car. If I didn’t and you caught him, he would’ve acted like he was just trying to get with me.”

Aaron rubbed the side of his head. Migraines. You gave him migraines. “The plan was for you to walk down the street, and the moment you were alone with him, we would get him. You went rogue.”

You rolled your eyes again. “Well, technically we were alone, and you did get him.”

He was about to argue again, but you wrapped your arms around his neck, giving him your infamous puppy dog face. “Aaron, I’m okay. You know I did what I had to do to catch him. I’m sorry I worried you, but I’m not sorry for helping bring him in.”

He sighed, knowing you were right, and he could never stay mad at you. “I hated every second of it. My heart stopped the moment you got into that damn car.”

You smiled and pecked him on the lips. “Hey, you always said I was going to give you a heart attack.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes before he kissed you. “You have, and you most definitely will again.”

“Hey, that’s what you love about me.”

“That is true.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #ssa aaron hotchner #thomas gibson #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch x y/n #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch imagine #Aaron Hotchner #bau team #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch x y/n

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ginnsbaker · 4 months ago

Text

All Of Your Pieces (8 - The Other Side)

Chapter Summary: After a drone attempts to eliminate her in her own home, Wanda emerges from the Hex to give Hayward's team their only warning. You, on the other hand, is left to figure things out on your own. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3.2k+ | Chapter Tags/Warnings: None

A/N: I know what we've established in the previous chapters, so hold onto your seats. Merry Christmas to those who celebrate! // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

They reach the Command Center just in time to see Hayward’s plan laid bare: eliminate Wanda Maximoff. It’s not surprising—they’d suspected as much after days camped outside the anomaly—but now it’s undeniable. Hayward wasn’t stalling or hesitating; he was waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The operation is set to launch in sixty seconds. Too little time to stop it, even with a former Avenger in the room. Clint doesn’t believe for a second that Hayward’s plan will succeed—Wanda isn’t just powerful, she’s impossibly powerful—but he knows letting this play out unchecked will only make things worse. If they don’t intervene, the attack will escalate, pushing Wanda further into anger and fear, and the walls of her Hex will only grow stronger.

“What the hell is this?” Monica demands, pushing past agents to get closer.

On the screens, live drone footage hovers ominously above Wanda's house within the Hex.

Hayward barely glances at her. “We're taking a proactive approach.”

Clint shakes his head, a wry smile playing on his lips. “He’s about to poke a bear with a stick, and we’re all gonna feel it.”

“Hayward!” Monica yells, catching the attention of everyone in the room, but Hayward pays her no heed.

Darcy, meanwhile, frantically taps her tablet then sighs in frustration. “I can’t override the launch. He’s locked everyone out.”

Jimmy heads toward the console center, but suddenly two agents step in front of him, hands resting on their holstered guns.

“Maybe we can warn Wanda?” Darcy surmises.

“There’s no time,” Clint says grimly.

On the monitors, they see Wanda stepping out of her home, carrying a bag of garbage to the curb. The drone's camera zooms in, locking its target. You follow her outside, noticing the drone immediately.

“Wanda?” you murmur, looking up at the night sky where the drone's signal lights blink like distant stars. “What is that?”

“Y/N, get back inside,” Wanda says in that low, dangerous tone—familiar somehow, even though you can't recall ever hearing it before. Instinctively, you feel the urge to protect her, even though between the two of you, you're the one more likely to get hurt in situations like this.

Outside, they watch in shock as you step in front of your wife, despite her urging you to flee back inside the house. Panic surges through Monica in particular, realizing the potential casualties might not be just one, but two. And who knows how powerful the missile inside that drone is? There are kids sleeping soundly in your home, for God's sake!

“She's not a threat! You're making a huge mistake—”

“Take the shot,” Hayward commands the drone control team.

“Hayward, please!” Monica implores, her plea causing the operator's hand to waver, hesitating for just a fraction of a second. “Look, she's not alone! You're putting civilians at risk—”

That hesitation shreds the last of Hayward's patience. “Take the shot now!” he bellows.

“No!” Monica shouts, lunging forward, but agents hold her back.

Clint also rushes forward, but more agents block his path.

On the screens, a blinding flash of light erupts, then everything turns to static. Around the room, faces turn white as everyone exchanges uneasy looks, silently wondering if they've just caused a catastrophe. The Command Center is dead silent, charged with a nameless fear that grips everyone like a vise.

Then, an agent strides in, panic etched across his face. “Sir, we've got a breach.”

Clint exchanges a look with Monica. “She's coming,” he says quietly.

—

It all happened too fast.

One moment, you’re standing beside Wanda, braced for whatever threat the drone overhead might bring. Then, in the blink of an eye, everything changes.

You’re alone, standing in front of your house.

“Wanda!” you cry out. Panic clenches your chest like a vice as your eyes dart wildly across the empty street. She has to be around here somewhere. She has to be safe.

You race back inside the house, but you’re careful not to make too much noise this time and wake up the twins upstairs. The house is still. Dinner is still spread across the counter, the kitchen light still glowing, but there’s no trace of your wife.

Rushing back outside, you scan the street, looking for any sign of movement. A few houses down, you spot Agnes in her front yard and—weirdly enough—watering her plants like it’s any other night.

You jog over. “Agnes, have you seen Wanda?”

She looks up, startled, then smiles. “Oh, hey! Haven’t seen her. Everything alright?”

“I don’t know,” you say, trying to keep the trepidation out of your voice. “She was just here, and now she’s gone.”

Agnes cocks her head, her smile fixed in place, unfazed, like the world around her isn’t fraying at the edges. Like this—all of this—is perfectly normal. You thought you could handle it, that you’d made peace with the strangeness of everything, but right now, it’s making your skin crawl.

“I’m sure she’s fine, dear. You know Wanda—always off doing something,” Agnes says, light and casual, like she’s commenting on the weather.

“Yeah, I guess,” you mumble, though the assurance does little to ease your mind as your eyes continue to frantically wander, hoping against hope that Wanda might suddenly step out from one of them, smiling like none of this ever happened.

But she doesn’t.

You start walking back toward the house. She’s fine. She’s fine. She’s not fine. The rhythm builds and builds inside you like boiling water, until the panic buzzing at the base of your skull becomes impossible to ignore.

At the driveway, you stop. For one long, stretched-out moment, you hesitate. Then instinct takes over.

Your hand digs into your pocket, fingers curling around the cold metal of your car keys. You’re already moving, already yanking open the car door before you’ve fully decided what you’re going to do.

Just as you’re about to climb in, Agnes appears, moving faster than you’ve ever seen her move before, her cardigan flapping around her like wings.

“Where are you going?” she demands, breathless.

“I'm going to look for my wife.”

Agnes frowns. “Look for her where?”

“I don't know,” you sigh, one hand braced on the car door, the other gripping the keys tight enough to leave imprints on your palm. “But I'll scour the ends of this town if I have to.”

—

At the southern boundary of Westview, Hayward's men are already assembled, a line of armed agents standing at attention with their weapons trained on the elusive barrier of the Hex. The alarms continue to blare. They don’t know what’s coming, but they’re all on the front lines, waiting to find out.

Clint hangs back, his expression grim as he waits for Wanda. He hadn’t expected the girl they’d practically adopted from Sokovia to still carry so much darkness—a side of her that rears its head through the cracks when she’s at her lowest.

He can't stop questioning why you ever chose to let Wanda believe you’re dead. But he figures that’s your burden to bear. His own regret is not being there for Wanda after Tony’s funeral. With Vision also gone, he feels he should have stayed closer.

Part of him can’t shake the feeling that he’s failed her somehow.

For Clint, it had been five long years of grieving for the family he thought he’d lost forever. Once he was reunited with them, all he wanted was to put his Avenger days behind him and catch up on lost time, which he did. But when he heard about Wanda's situation in New Jersey, he couldn't just stay away. Steve and Nat would’ve done the same.

The barrier sparks like a live wire as a shadow begins to materialize behind it. Moments later, everyone watches with bated breath as Wanda Maximoff steps through, dragging the drone behind her with one hand. She strides ominously forward, indifferent to the dozen infrared lasers trained on her body.

“Is this yours?” Wanda yells. Without waiting for an answer, she flings the drone, sending it crashing down toward Hayward's feet. It skids across the coarse grass, stopping just short of him.

“The missile was just a precaution,” Hayward says coolly. “You can hardly blame us, Wanda.”

“Oh, I think I can.”

Clint chooses this moment to reveal himself among the crowds. He’s not sure whether it will placate Wanda or anger her further, but he knows he has to try—not for their benefit, but for hers.

“Wanda,” he calls out gently.

“Clint,” Wanda breathes out, taken aback. For a second, she looks stunned, as if the thought of someone from her old circle stepping in hadn't crossed her mind. They know her, understand her motives—or at least, they should. “So they sent you, too?”

“No one sent me,” he assures her, taking another careful step closer. “I came because I was worried about you.”

“Funny way of showing it,” she scoffs, nodding toward the agents with their weapons drawn.

Monica steps out from behind one of the vehicles, hands raised in a placating gesture. “Wanda."

Recognition dawns on Wanda’s face, her lips curling into a half-amused, half-impressed smile. After how forcefully she ejected Monica from Westview, she hadn't expected her to come back.

“You’re still here,” she mutters warily.

“Please, let’s just talk,” Monica urges.

“Not interested.”

“We want to help you through this, Wanda,” Clint tries.

Wanda lets out a hollow laugh. “Help me? Like you helped me after everything was taken from me?” After the funeral, they all went their own way—back to work, back to their families. And Wanda had—

She had no one to go back to.

“I’m sorry,” Clint murmurs, his eyes dropping to the ground. “I should've been there. I'm sorry.”

Wanda purses her lips. “Sorry doesn't bring them back.”

Monica walks up to Clint’s side. “I know what it's like to lose someone. To feel that emptiness.”

Wanda’s voice becomes a cold whisper. “You don't know anything about me.”

Clint stops for a moment, the implication of her words just occuring to him. “Wait. Them?”

Wanda doesn’t answer him. With a simple wave of her hand, Hayward’s snipers, who had their sights on her, suddenly swivel their rifles toward him instead. He instantly throws up his hands in surrender.

“This will be your only warning,” Wanda says coldly. “Stay out of my home.”

“Wait!” Clint tries again, but it’s too late. Wanda has already turned away.

Hayward's arms stay in the air, a stricken look on his face as he orders his men to stand down, but not a single one of them listens. They only manage to snap out of it the moment the Hex re-absorbs Wanda Maximoff.

—

You do exactly what you told Agnes you'd do and drive toward the edge of town.

As you go, things start getting…weirder. The farther you get from the center, the stranger things become. People are outside their homes, but they're not moving. A woman hangs laundry on a line, her arms frozen mid-air. A kid stands with a basketball, paused in the act of dribbling. They are like living statues.

“What the hell is going on?” you mutter under your breath, your knuckles white against the steering wheel. You ease the car to a stop by the curb, with only the sound of the running engine the other sign of life aside from you.

Cautiously, you approach the frozen figures for closer inspection. They're not just still—they're vacant. Their eyes stare straight ahead, unfocused and glassy, like mannequins propped up in a storefront window. You wave a hand in front of a man's face, but he doesn't blink.

Stumbling back, fear rises in you. “Wanda!”

But there's no answer. There’s only your own labored breathing. No birds soar overhead, no butterflies flit through the gardens—none of the life you’re accustomed to near your home. There’s not even a whisper of wind. It feels like the air’s been sucked out of the place.

You get back in the car and keep driving. Houses thin out, streets get emptier. Soon, you're at the town's edge. That's when you see it—a faint shimmer in the void ahead. It ripples subtly, like a mirage or heat haze.

Frowning, you park and walk toward the strange phenomenon. As you go nearer, you see sparks dancing through a grid-like pattern. Reaching out cautiously, you touch it, and a jolt runs up your arm. It’s not painful, but it’s definitely not welcoming either.

“What the hell is this?” you whisper.

Without fully thinking it through, you decide to push forward. There's resistance at first, like walking through thick mud, but suddenly you break through.

On the other side, the world is completely different.

—

Wanda returns home, closing the door softly behind her and letting out a quiet sigh.

She sinks onto the couch, burying her face in her hands. The sheer force of the urge she'd felt—to just wipe them all out, to eliminate any threat to her family—left her shaken. It wasn't like her, or at least she didn't think it was. She knows if that drone had reached you before she intervened, she would have pulled the trigger. The darkness that surged up inside her scared her. Is this who she's becoming? Perhaps being a bit hardened is necessary if it means keeping you and the boys safe. After all, being innocuous only ever stripped away everything she held dear.

She tries to shake it off, taking a deep breath as she makes her way upstairs. First things first: check on the twins. Pushing open their bedroom door, she finds them fast asleep, the steady rise and fall of their chests bringing her a small measure of peace. They're safe.

But as she moves through the house, calling your name, she realizes you're nowhere to be found. Trying to keep her cool, she steps outside, only to find the neighborhood just as empty and silent.

Except for Agnes, who's out watering her garden at a very unusual hour.

“Agnes?” Wanda calls out as she walks over.

Agnes looks up, a friendly smile on her face. “Hey, neighbor! Can’t sleep either?”

“Have you seen Y/N?”

Agnes hums, thinking it over. “Actually, I did see her earlier.”

“You did? When? Where did she go?”

“Just a little while ago,” Agnes replies casually. “She mentioned she was heading to the edge of town to look for you.”

Color drains from Wanda's face. “She went to the boundary?”

“Yes, she seemed quite determined—”

Without waiting for Agnes to finish, Wanda turns abruptly. She rises off the ground, levitating effortlessly. She doesn't care if Agnes sees her powers or if anyone else is watching. The only thing that matters now is getting to you before it’s too late.

“Please be okay,” she murmurs under her breath, repeating it like a mantra, synced to the frantic beating of her heart.

—

Dozens of people in black uniforms, faces smudged with exhaustion, stand scattered across a patchwork base of canvas tents, armored vehicles, and machinery that doesn’t belong in a small town like Westview. They freeze when they see you—every single one of them—like you’re a ghost that wandered in from the wrong side of reality.

“T-There’s another breach!” someone yells.

You just stand there, blinking at the sea of wide eyes staring back at you. “Who are you people? What’s going on?”

No one answers. They just watch.

And then it starts.

A sensation creeps over your skin, wrong in a way that defies language. Static under your fingernails, pins and needles crawling up your veins. You glance down. Your hands are flaking away, little particles peeling off like you’re made of burnt paper.

“What the—?”

Your vision tilts. The sky feels too far away, the ground too close. The disintegration spreads—up your arms, across your chest. You hear someone shouting in the distance.

“Someone help her! She’s clearly dying!”

“Hold your ground!”

Then, through the noise, you hear it. “Y/N!” your name being called by the same voice you caught in Wanda’s broken radio.

You reach out blindly, trying to grab onto something as you continue to come apart, but your knees buckle, and you hit the ground.

It feels like you're dying.

But why? Why is this happening?

Seconds later, you can't even hold yourself up anymore. You collapse onto all fours, watching helplessly as pieces of you start to drift away like dust in the wind.

“Wanda…” you whisper, and then everything around you goes dark.

—

Wanda senses it first—a noticeable diminishment of your presence where it used to be strong, as if a part of her is fading away with it. A sense of dread fills her as she looks toward the edge of town. From her vantage point above Westview, she spots your car abandoned near the boundary with its headlights still on.

“No,” she breathes, her eyes turning red as she tries to search for you past the invisible barrier.

Desperation propels her forward as she flies toward you, the wind whipping through her hair. But no matter how fast she moves, she feels you slipping away, bit by bit.

That’s when she spots you, lying on the ground, crumbling the way she did five years ago.

“No, no, no,” Wanda cries, pushing herself to go faster. But deep down, she knows she won't reach you in time.

She stops mid-air. There's only one thing left to do. Closing her eyes, she gathers every ounce of her power. Scarlet energy crackles around her hands, growing brighter and more powerful. With a fierce cry, she releases it, sending a surge of magic outward.

The Hex trembles and then starts to expand, pushing outward. Houses, trees, streets—all get swallowed as the boundary moves to encompass more area. The strain is immense, but she doesn't care. All that matters is pulling you back, keeping you within the safe confines of the world she's created. Tears blur her vision, but she keeps her focus, watching as the red glow envelops your car, hoping it's not too late.

“Come back to me,” Wanda murmurs, willing the Hex to bring you home.

—

“Where are you going?” Monica calls after Clint, chasing him down as he strides toward his truck. Behind them, the team is scattered, hollow-eyed and dazed—they just watched you stumble out of the Hex, your body coming apart like sand slipping through an hourglass. Morale isn’t just low; it’s subterranean. Hayward's back at the S.W.O.R.D. base, probably scheming his next move, but right now, everyone’s flailing in the dark.

Clint digs through his pockets for his keys. “There’s something I need to check out,” he mutters.

“Like what? Does it have to do with… whatever that was?” Monica asks, her voice strained. “With Darcy gone into the Hex, Jimmy and I are—honestly, I don’t even know what we’re supposed to do.”

“I can’t explain yet. Not until I know for sure,” he says, avoiding her gaze. He's racked with a hit of guilt for leaving Monica in the lurch, especially when she and Jimmy are already scraping by without Darcy.

But he swears he’s leaving for a reason.

Monica nods, her face drawn. “Are you coming back?”

Clint exhales, long and slow. “I was hoping this would clear up fast. But it doesn’t look good. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Be careful out there,” she says, her voice quieter now.

“You too. Stay sharp.”

Before Monica can head back to camp, Clint beeps his truck, pulling her attention back. She turns, looking over her shoulder and waits.

“Deep down, Wanda’s a good person, you know?” Clint says, unsure of his point but feeling compelled to speak up for Wanda.

Monica gives him a small, tired smile before walking away.

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ssa-dado · 7 months ago

Text

0 - Symposium, definitely not Platonic love.

Aaron Hotchner x bau!reader (I hope I tagged it correctly woops)

No use of Y/N!

Summary: Hotch, after seeing you reading a book on the jet, picks it up out of curiosity. Late-night texts with you evolve from work to teasing philosophical banter about love, deepening your connection. Through this dialogue, Hotch reflects on both philosophy and his feelings for you, as the conversation subtly flirts with deeper emotions.

Genre: fluff, sapiosexual fluff.

Warnings: Implied alcohol consumption ; Reader and Hotch being completely blind yet marvellously insightful ; Philosophical discussions, I tried my best to make them as user friendly as possible ; Sir kink if you squint, although it's not intended in that way at all ; The story is set around season 3/4 before the team found out about Strauss' drinking problem, I feel so bad anyways.

Word Count: 2.9k

Dado's Corner: be kind this is my first ever Hotch fic and overall first fic I've written in English (yes, I indeed am a real Italian stallion) so there might be some mistakes, bear with me.

next part - set when they first ever met.

Hotch sits on the couch, the soft glow of the lamp casting shadows across his living room, the house is so quiet, he briefly interrupts his late night reading session as he swears he can almost hear Jack’s light breathing from across the house. Those sweet thoughts, mixed up with the muffled night traffic almost lullabies him to sleep while the weight of another long week at the BAU settles into his bones.

His eyes immediately gaze down to his hands, firming holding opened the slim book: Symposium by Plato—a book he wouldn’t normally pick up on his own. The corners of his mouth quickly turn up as he recalls how he’d seen you reading it on the jet a few cases ago, sitting cozily and crossing your legs alone in a seat in front of him, strategically shielded from the table seats occupied by playing the rest of the team, including himself, busingly playing cards.

Every now and then his gaze automatically lingered on your stillness, the only movements coming from the swift air you moved while turning the page or adjusting your pose to be more comfortable, this sight intoxicated him. Your focus was so intense you didn’t even flinch at Derek standing up from his seat and leaning forward, while his hands gravitated towards the doctor’s bare neck after the latter just killed him off the game because oblivious of yet another variation they all added so it would make it easier to beat Reid. An attempt that ended tragically.

In that abrupt mess - from JJ laughing at the ironic hilarity to Reid using the highest-pitched voice his vocal chords could ever produce to defend himself from Derek's accusation of cheating - Hotch only remembers how your statuesque figure slowly had revived itself again as you glanced up to make sure no harm was done to the doctor. You made eye contact with Hotch and and you immersed yourself back to the slim book as soon the Unit Chief signed you not to worry and that he would tackle the situation himself. In a matter of fractions of seconds all your surroundings had disappeared again.

As soon as the Unit Chief was back into his office, curiously reminiscing about your hypnotic serenity, he’d ordered a copy.

Now, as in the comfort of his living room slowly turns the pages, his phone vibrates with a message from you awakening him from his trance, immediately wonders why you would message him so late at night.

“Hotch, quick question: about the profile for the Winger case—should we revise the victimology section?"

…Of course, he almost started to hate how his role as Unit Chief always seemed to ruin his brief-lasting delusions.

He robotically types a response, a straightforward answer to your work-related question but as he presses send, his gaze lingers on the book in his hands. There’s somehow a temptation on his side to share the weird coincidence, to see how you might react.

"Good catch. I’ll review it tomorrow.” He writes.

“Wow that was quick, I didn’t expect you to still be up, did I interrupt your late night reading session?”

He quicky blushes, how could you know him so well?!

“You did. Don’t worry about it. By the way, I’m reading Symposium tonight." He blurts out

There’s a pause, and he can visualize your surprised reaction, how the sight of your smile would always warm his heart; almost immediately, his phone buzzes again.

"Wait, really, Symposium?!”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. He wouldn’t smile so much if you were standing in front of him, thankfully, the shield of communicating through texts allowed him to put down his.

You continue. “Not to raise your expectations too much, but that’s my all-time favorite book, just so you know!"

He swears he can hear the intonation of your voice reading that text, visualizing how you would face your palms towards him and raise your shoulders, trying to keep that non-chalant expression of yours and not perk a soft smile to him.

Entitled by that fateful coincidence, Hotch feels brave enough to decide to tease you - just a little - hoping the text doesn't sound that much so out of character for him as much as it does in his head, although he shrugs, sending it before he starts overthinking it.

“Your all-time favorite? A book about love? I should’ve known."

He pauses, imagining you raising an eyebrow, maybe with that knowing smile you wear when he’s teasing you. And even though he’s playing it off as a joke, part of him can completely see how you, could actually have a natural flare for romance - even if you never openly admit it and always tried the best you could to suppress that side of yours.

He decides to blame it on the years spent at the BAU when it was just the two of you along with Rossi and Gideon; At how you were recruited as soon as you turned 21, while the youngest person you worked with on the team and could relate to the most was Hotch himself, even if he was late in his Jesus year.

He quickly remembers how you would always overwork yourself - you both still do nowadays, that's why you're having a conversation at past 2 AM - He could see how you were always trying to prove your worth more to yourself rather than to your co-workers or even to the sketchy police officers and detectives somehow still stuck in the 1400s.

He had always admired you for your intelligence and acute instincts, and so does your nowadays team, immediately entrusting you with the nickname of "Prehistoric Reid" only because because you had started working at the BAU back when they still didn't provide the jet so you all had to move using the trains. Even if you already have 9 years of experience in the field, yet you were the 2nd youngest - still no eidetic memory though - this desire to always prove yourself never fully went away. One day you were the youngest, the other they assume someone way more genius than you were so you can't stand out anymore for merely for your intelligence.

You finally respond: "Well, it’s more than just a book about love. It’s actually quite of a concrete example of Plato’s take on philosophy - the whole thing told through dialogues, like a discussion among friends. But I won’t bore you with all the technicalities"

Hotch chuckles softly, picturing you downplaying your passion, trying not to sound too academic. What you don’t know is that he could listen to you talk about philosophy for hours - especially tonight, about philosophy’s take on love, no less. He doesn’t dares to say that, though.

"I wouldn’t say you’re boring me. In fact, I’m starting to see the appeal. But really, all-time favorite?"

He leans back into the couch, waiting for your reply.

You told him back when you first met that your first ever degree was in philosophy, and now recalling that specific information he's been wondering why exactly a barely-reaching-100-pages-long book holds such a special place for you, out of all the others he’s seen you passionately read during the years. A part of him is genuinely curious, the other part is trying to stretch as much as possible this conversation with you.

"Absolutely. I mean, think about it: a bunch of people crashing at their friend's house, sitting around, getting drunk, each giving their take on love while they feast at a banquet." You continued. "It’s almost like when we’re at Rossi’s, except instead of love, we’re all talking about criminology and cases while stuffing ourselves with his Italo-American dishes".

An image of Rossi pouring wine wearing an ancient greek costume - fake long white beard included - while everyone at the table delves into some intricate discussion about a case flashes through his mind, Hotch immediately chuckles at the comparison. He's sure you've imagined the exact thing too and he can almost hear you suggest hosting a real Symposium next time, his profiling skills never fail him as soon his phone buzzes again.

"Imagine if we recreated the Symposium at Rossi’s. Each of us giving our take on love. I can almost hear Reid's speech delving into the psychology of affection and its variations throughout the various cultures"

Quick on his chubby fingers, after laughing at the scenario, he types the continuation "In stark opposite, Garcia would follow him and pull out her tarot cards and read each of our birth charts, telling us who we're most compatible with based on our stars alignements"

While waiting for you, he stands up and makes his way towards his home bar, reaching for the scotch bottle, swiftly filling up his glass, silently blessing Plato for making this the longest light-hearted conversation you haven’t had in years. You were both either too focused on your work or actively suppressing your romantic feelings and ignoring each other. After all this time he would almost forget how the two of you were first and foremost very good friends. As the liquid burns the back of his throat, his phone buzzes again.

"That's actually really fascinating yet so intimidating, what about Rossi though? Of course he's hosting all of us but I feel he would totally blurt out some old-scool stuff he only understands. I know I'm not the only one who doesn't get his references, but I really feel bad whenever I don't."

He almost chokes himself after your other reply

"So, big boss, have I convinced you with giving us the free week-end or should I extend the invite our lovely friend Strauss? I fear that after a few glasses of Rossi’s wine all that angst towards you might turn into some ol' sweet love. I would watch out if I were you, Unit Chief"

You loved poking fun at him using his rank; It all started a few years ago to jokingly shrug away the awkwardness caused from how the co-worker you always used to joke around, spend the nights together in the same room, sharing your theories about the unsub and building up the profile with suddenly turned into your superior. As much as you both didn't want to admit it, something in your relationship had shifted since this happened, not to mention to the fact that it's much more awkward to admit to your boss you've been having a crush on your him for almost 9 years rather than to your co-worker.

Now Hotch, encouraged by the slight booze, further teases you "And what do you think my take on love would be?"

This was the closest he could ever come to flirting with you, walking on that fine line and never pushing himself further. For Hotch, the gesture of basically asking you to profile him in a moment in which he was so vulnerable, breaking his golden rule of "never profile your coworkers" was the most romantic declaration of love he could ever think that of.

Your text brings him back down to Earth:

"Hmm, I imagine you’d give a thoughtful, analytical speech something with a lot of depth but surprisingly subtly humorous. You would wait for everyone to finish their own speech so you would be last, acknowledging all of us completely busted, only because you have self-control."

You feel the need to add something else, even if you know already he would read into it, at the way how you reserved a mere sentence to describe that scenario involving your teammates. On the contrary, you could write a whole book about him and all his hypothetical remarks, meticulously poiting out every small gesture or expression - or the lack of - of him. Since truth lies in the middle, you decide to dedicate him only another lengthy paragraph.

"You would start with something along the lines of ‘Love is a complex system of emotional responses influenced by myriad factors…’ as if you were delivering a profile, definitely using that same tone as well. You’d probably have us all analyzing every possible nuance and you enjoy watching us slobber, trying to quickly sober up to keep up with your impeccable remarks. Of course we would miserably fail at being analytical whatsoever, but you love whenever we make a fool out of ourselves."

He chuckles "You do know me too well"

He probably hints at the possibilty of having a weekend off with his next text "And since now you're making me think I might have to start prepare my speech about love, it wouldn't hurt to also include a few practical applications for the BAU team’s dynamics."

Ha. You wish he showed you what those practical applications consisted of. Hotch although interrupts even the possibility of recycling this genius quick witted remark with him, making sure to replace yourself with his archenemy section chief Erin Strauss, to not weird him out.

"Jokes apart, your take on love would be fascinating, I'm looking forward to hear it", he says.

"Only if you’re ready for philosophical debates after a few glasses of wine. Though, I’ll warn you - I take my Plato very seriously."

Hotch smiles at that, apparently he took his Plato quite seriously as well. What you're not aware at all is that the late-night session of Symposium you had interrupted wasn't his first.

"I’ll keep that in mind. But honestly, I’ve been finding parts of it… enlightening."

He had actually finished it for the first time less than a hour before you texted. What you actually interrupted was Hotch helplessly going back through certain passages that reminded him of you. He hypothesises your take on the subject of love, trying to gauge how you view it without revealing feelings he’s kept carefully hidden for a long time.

"Enlightening, huh? So you’ve gotten to the part where Socrates explains how love makes us better people?"

Hotch remembers that part well enough, but he hasn’t revealed just how deeply he’s been thinking about it - how, in his own quiet way, he’s been trying to connect those ideas to his life, and to you, so he chooses his next words carefully.

“Not yet." He lies, knowing that the part you appointed to would only come much later in the book "But I’m guessing you’ve got some thoughts on that?"

He imagines you smiling on the other end, maybe a little amused at how he’s obviously deflecting, although you don’t press him, but your next reply doesn't lack a subtle challenge.

"I do. But I think you'd find it pretty relevant, Hotch. Phaedrus talks about how lovers fight better together - how love gives them courage."

He quickly smirks and reminds himself how much he loves when you put him in the corner with the choice of your words, there was no way he could deflect that, since Phaedrus’s speech comes first, he couldn't say he hadn't read that yet.

Hotch's eyes flicker toward the book again, remembering Phaedrus’s discourse: the idea that love could make people fight harder, be stronger… it strikes a chord, reminding him of the strength he’s seen in you, in the unique way you both handle the intense challenges of your work when paired up together. He types, his words more deliberate now.

"Phaedrus might be onto something. Love as a motivator, as a way to push people to be better. What about you? Do you see it that way?"

There’s a slight pause before your next message, and he can almost sense your careful consideration, you’ve never been one to answer these kinds of questions lightly.

"Yeah, I think so. I mean, love isn’t just about being close to someone, it’s about making each other better, pushing each other forward. But that is not easy at all. It takes patience, discipline… and maybe a bit of faith."

Hotch’s expression softens as he reads your words. He admires your thoughtfulness, your ability to cut straight to the heart of something that most people shy away from. He finds himself thinking about how true those words are, how they seem to apply not only to love, but to the way both of you approach life and work. He types slowly, his words carefully chosen.

"Patience, discipline, and faith. Sounds a lot like what we do every day, maybe we’re already living it."

As he sends the message, he sets the phone down beside him and glances at the book again. He’s aware of the irony - that for all the deflecting, all the jokes, he’s learning more about you through this conversation than he would have if he had simply asked.

The words of Plato, the discussions on love, seem to take on a new meaning - one that feels personal, one that makes him wonder if he’s been missing something between the lines all along.

"You know, this conversation feels a bit like Socratic dialogue. Just without the wine. Maybe I’m learning about love through you and Plato’s dialogues in a way Socrates might’ve appreciated."

He sends the message, a small smirk on his face. He knows how much you would appreciate the unexpected extra philosophical remark about Socrates even if he knows little to nothing about him apart from that his idea of love in Plato's book. To impress you he totally forgets how only just a few moments before he stated he hasn’t read his discourse yet. A few moments later, your reply comes through.

“No way! Aaron Hotchner now delves into the Socratic dialectics?!"

Now you smell the lie so to make sure you trick him with the next text "Well, maybe you should read something by Socrates next, he was quite the conversationalist, you would rely a lot to him, especially after all of this philosophical banter"

"Any recommendations?" He naively takes the bait

"That’s the thing, Unit Chief - Socrates didn’t write anything. He relied on his students to record his thoughts. It’s all oral and dialectical. The dialogues are his legacy, not written works, maybe that’s why it’s such a rich experience—like having an ongoing conversation with someone through the ages."

Hotch leans back, wishing these moments would linger forever, hoping the words you exchanged could be eternal just like those exchanged by the men he was reading about, now printed with black ink on the paper resting in his hands. He's surprised he doesn’t feel the tiredness of the week anymore or neither the need to sleep. Damn, he has so much energy he's sure he could run a whole marathon, but only if you’re out there watching him.

"Well, if our conversations end up like Plato’s dialogues, I think I’m in for a rewarding challenge. Just don’t make me drink too much wine before our next discussion."

"Unit Chief I thought you had self-control and didn't need to be babied like us mortals"

His phone buzzes with another message from you.

“Sorry if I ask, I’m curious - what got you interested in Symposium all of a sudden? I didn’t think philosophy was your usual reading material."

Hotch takes a moment to think, considering how to respond without revealing too much.

"You know, it’s funny. I saw you reading it a while back and it piqued my interest. I guess I wanted to see what you found so engaging about it. And honestly, I’m finding it pretty compelling - there’s a lot more depth to it than I expected."

His cheeks turn into a light shade of pink at your last response. "Unit Chief, do you believe you might need some professional insights on that speech you needed so urgently to write?"

"I definitely might need a hand - if I'm not wrong you do have a philosophy degree, don't you?"

Symposium might just become Aaron Hotchner's all-time-favourite book as well, after all.

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

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pucksandpower · 2 years ago

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Gilded Cage

Charles Leclerc x heiress!Reader

Summary: when a girl who craves for freedom meets a boy who knows what it feels like to race at the speed of light

Warnings: overprotective (but loving) father

The first time you tried to escape, you were seven.

“Y/N, let go of the bird!” The nanny’s frantic voice echoed as your small fingers clutched the delicate cage, trying to unlatch it.

“I just want to see it fly!” You cried, tears streaming down your face, looking at the trapped canary. Its golden feathers seemed dulled, its tiny beak opened in a silent plea for freedom.

The cage slipped from your grasp, crashing onto the pristine marble floors. The sound was deafening in the otherwise quiet mansion. Your nanny rushed forward but not before the canary took off, its wings catching the sun, radiating a blinding brightness.

You watched, mesmerized, as the bird soared above, circling once before disappearing into the vast blue sky.

“It’s gone …” your nanny muttered, distraught at the loss of such a valuable creature.

But you, young and innocent, whispered with a smile of pure joy, “It’s free.”

From that day on, you knew one thing for certain: no amount of gold or jewels could substitute for the glitter of freedom.

***

“Again!”

The shout echoes through the cavernous halls of your palatial home. Somewhere outside, the splashing of the water from the elaborate marble fountain merges with the faint humming of gardeners trimming the intricate mazes. The walls, lined with gold-trimmed tapestries and priceless paintings, feel more like prison bars than luxuries.

"Again!"

Your fingers, stiff and aching, try to mimic the piano instructor’s exact movements. Every wrong note feels like a physical blow, another reminder that you are trapped in a world of perfection and expectations.

“I don’t want to play anymore,” you whisper but it came out stronger, more defiant than you intended.

Madame Lucille, your instructor, raises an eyebrow, unaccustomed to your resistance. “Your father wishes you to be well-versed in the classics,” she reminds you with a patronizing tone.

A voice, deep and commanding, interrupts the tension, “Let her be, Lucille.”

Your father stands at the doorway, his expensive suit impeccably tailored, matching the stern look on his face.

“But Sir, she—”

“I said, let her be.”

Madame Lucille gives you one last disapproving glare before hurriedly packing her things. Your father watches her go then turnes to you with softer eyes. “I just want the best for you,” he murmurs, walking over to sit beside you on the grand piano bench.

You take a deep breath, “I know, Papa. But I want to breathe, to live. Not just exist inside these walls.”

He sighs, looking tired. “The world out there isn’t a nice one. There are those who would want to harm you, to use you.”

“I would risk it,” you admit quietly, “For a taste of real life. For a moment outside this golden cage.”

He takes your hand, his grip firm but gentle. “You’re my everything. I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

The weight of his love and the prison of his protection bears down on you. “One day, whether you like it or not, I’ll have to face the world. And when that day comes, I want to be ready.”

He leans back, looking up at the ornate chandelier. “What if that day was sooner than you thought?”

Confusion marrs your features. “What do you mean?”

He smiles cryptically, “There’s a Formula 1 race across the country next week. I sponsor Ferrari. Thought you might like to come with me, see something different for a change.”

You blink, taking a moment to process. “A ... race?”

He nods, “Yes. It’s not freedom but it’s a start.”

You look into his eyes, seeing a glimmer of understanding. “Okay,” you whisper, “Let’s start there.”

***

“The roar of the engines, the energy of the crowd ... there’s quite nothing like it,” your father begins, his usually stern voice tinted with boyish enthusiasm. You find yourself watching him, intrigued by this rare display of passion.

Sitting across the opulent dining table, which was rarely used to host anyone but the two of you, you play with your food, pushing it around the plate. “Cars going in circles? I don’t see the appeal.”

He chuckles, taking a sip of his vintage wine. “Oh, it’s much more than that. The strategy, the risk, the sheer speed ... it’s ballet at 300 kilometers per hour.”

You raise an eyebrow, interest piqued despite yourself. “Ballet? Really?”

He nods with a smirk. “Don’t tell me you’re not curious now?”

You hesitate. “I mean, maybe a little? But why the sudden interest in taking me? I’ve never even seen you watch a race.”

He leans forward, his gaze intense, searching yours. “I sponsor Ferrari and have an open invite to every race. Now that one will be hosted nearby, I thought maybe it’s time you see a bit more of the world. Not just through the glass windows.”

You blink in surprise. This was unexpected. “A public event? With crowds and other people?”

He nods slowly. “With crowds and other people.”

You weigh the options in your mind, the yearning for freedom battling with the anxiety of exposure. “And you think I’m ready for this?”

He reaches across the table, his fingers brushing yours. “I think we’re ready for this. It will be an unforgettable experience, I promise.”

You look into his eyes and realize that this is as much a leap for him as it is for you. Taking a deep breath, you reply, “Alright, Papa. Let’s go watch some ballet.”

***

“The red ... it’s everywhere.” You can’t help but blurt out, momentarily overwhelmed.

Your father chuckles beside you. “Well, it is Ferrari. Red is their signature.”

You gaze down, the red soles of your Louboutins now seem almost camouflaged against the vibrant Ferrari decor. “Feels like I’m stepping into another world.”

“Just stay close,” your father advises, his protective instincts rearing up again.

Promising him with a nod, you’re soon lost in the kaleidoscope of sounds and colors. The hustle of engineers, the chatter of excited fans, the roar of engines being worked on.

Suddenly, a man clad in a racing suit accidentally bumps into you, causing your drink to splatter.

“Mon dieu! I am so sorry!” He exclaims, eyes wide.

You find yourself staring not at the stained dress but into the most expressive eyes you’ve ever seen. “It’s ... it’s okay,” you stutter, taken aback by the unexpected jolt of electricity at the brief contact.

He looks genuinely apologetic. “Let me make it up to you? Another drink, perhaps?”

You laugh, “Only if you promise not to spill it.”

He grins, the smile reaching his eyes. “Deal. I’m Charles, by the way.”

Hesitating for a split second, you reply, “Y/N.”

He raises an eyebrow, “No last name?”

You smirk, “Not today.”

Charles chuckles, intrigued. “Alright, Y/N-with-no-last-name, let’s get you that drink.”

You follow him, weaving through the crowd. Every now and then, someone stops Charles to shake his hand or pat him on the back, throwing in a “Good luck, Charles!” or “Can’t wait to see you on the track!” He greets everyone with a genuine smile and a word of thanks. It’s clear just how loved he is here.

However, you remain a mystery to him. He sneaks curious glances your way, the playful teasing evident in his eyes. “So are you a big Ferrari fan or just here because you look particularly fetching in red?”

You laugh, the sound more carefree than you’ve felt in ages. “Let’s just say I’m here to explore something ... different.”

Charles nods, handing you a fresh glass from the bar. The bubbling champagne mirrors the effervescence you feel inside. “Different can be good,” he muses, taking a sip from his own plastic water bottle. “Sometimes it’s the unexpected moments that change everything.”

The weight of his gaze, the intensity of the moment, makes your heart race. “Tell me, Charles,” you begin, leaning in slightly, “What was the unexpected moment that changed everything for you?”

He looks taken aback, clearly not expecting such a question. He takes a thoughtful pause, “Every time I get behind the wheel. Each race is a new story, an unexpected twist waiting to happen.”

You nod, appreciating his sincerity. “It’s brave, you know. Facing the unexpected at such high speeds.”

He smiles warmly. “It’s not bravery, it’s passion. When you love something deeply, risks become challenges instead of threats.”

Your fingers toy with the stem of your glass, his words resonating with your own yearning for freedom. “I envy that,” you admit softly.

Charles tilts his head, studying you. “Why?”

You search for the right words. “I’ve lived in a world of certainty for so long. Every step planned, every move calculated. It’s ... suffocating.”

Charles reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “Then maybe it’s time to take a risk, Y/N-with-no-last-name. Even just a small one.”

You smile, the promise of the unknown beckoning. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time.”

***

“Do you trust me?” Charles’ eyes search yours, intense under the paddock lights.

You blink, taken aback by the sudden question. “We just met.”

He grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “That’s not an answer.”

Drawing in a deep breath, you reply, “I might. What are you proposing?”

His gaze drifts momentarily to the track. “After qualifying … how about a drive? Not here,” he adds, seeing your hesitation, “Away from all this. The city at night, the open road. Just two people and the world.”

You tilt your head, contemplating the offer. A spark of excitement ignites within you. “A midnight drive with a stranger? Sounds reckless.”

He chuckles, leaning in closer. The scent of leather and adrenaline wraps around you. “Life’s best moments usually are.”

As his name is called by his press officer, Charles straightens up. “I have to go. But think about it, Y/N-with-no-last-name. The invitation stands.”

Before you can respond, he jots down something on a piece of paper and hands it to you. An address. “Meet me here if you’re in. Midnight.”

You watch him stride confidently towards his garage, the weight of the decision pressing on you. Risk, freedom, the open road — its all you’ve always yearned for.

Hours later, as Charles places his car on pole, you find yourself gripping that piece of paper. The thought of the city lights and the wind through your hair is too alluring to resist.

You whisper to yourself, “Midnight it is.”

***

The ornate curtains rustle as you inch your way onto the balcony of your suite. The sheer drop below sends a thrilling chill down your spine. You’ve never snuck out before but the thought of the night ahead and Charles’ invitation propels you forward. You hitch up your dress, carefully lowering yourself onto the ledge below. The soft grass cushions your landing and you take a moment to steady your racing heart.

“You’re even crazier than I am,” a familiar voice observes from the shadows.

You whirl around, finding Charles leaning against his car, an impressed grin on his face. “I had to make a discreet exit,” you explain, cheeks warming.

He chuckles, pushing away from the car and walking over to you. “Glad you made it. Ready for our adventure?”

You nod, the proximity of him, the thrill of the night, everything heightening your senses. “More than ever.”

The car roars to life as you both settle in. The city lights blur past, the nocturnal beauty of the world unfolding around you. The road beckons, the possibilities endless.

Charles casts a sidelong glance at you, a playful smirk on his lips. “Ever driven with no speed limit?”

You laugh, “Not in my daily commute.”

He grins, “There’s a first time for everything.”

The car accelerates, the wind whipping through your hair, the night alive with potential. The city skyline fades, replaced by an open stretch of road, illuminated only by the car’s headlights and the soft glow of the moon.

Charles’ voice breaks the comfortable silence. “There’s something freeing about the night. The world sleeps, and for a few hours, you can pretend you’re the only ones alive.”

You glance over, sensing the depth of emotion behind his words. “Is this why you race? For that freedom?”

He nods, his profile bathed in moonlight. “And more. Every time I’m behind the wheel, it’s a battle against my doubts, the world, and myself.”

You understand, the weight of your own gilded cage pressing on you. “I’ve been trapped for so long. But tonight, with you, I feel … alive.”

He reaches over, entwining his fingers with yours. “Then let’s live. For tonight, let’s forget the world.”

***

“Why are those men watching us?” Charles’ voice is low, almost a whisper, as he subtly gestures towards two figures in dark suits, positioned at opposite sides of the bar you found yourselves at.

You follow his gaze discreetly, feeling a familiar dread settling in. Security. Your father’s men. “They’re ... they’re just protective, that’s all.”

Charles narrows his eyes, piecing things together. “Protective? Y/N, who are you really?”

A pang of guilt washes over you. You had hoped for more time before this moment, more stolen moments under the veil of anonymity. “It’s complicated,” you admit, hesitating.

He leans forward, his intense eyes searching yours. “Try me.”

You take a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. “My life ... it’s not what it seems. I live in a gilded cage. A cage built by my father’s wealth and influence. A beautiful cage, yes, but a cage nonetheless.”

He processes this, watching as one of the security approaches your table, handing you a phone. “Your father wishes to speak with you,” the man says tersely.

Charles’ gaze sharpens, suspicion evident. “Your father?”

You nod, taking the phone with a sigh. “Hello, Papa.”

“Y/N,” your father’s voice is a mix of relief and sternness, “I’ve been so worried. You just disappeared.”

“I needed some time,” you explain, glancing apologetically at Charles who is watching the exchange closely.

“You should come back now.”

“I’m not a child anymore,” you argue gently, “I need to live my life.”

A heavy silence follows. “Just ... be safe,” he finally murmurs.

Hanging up, you face Charles, the weight of the world pressing on you. “I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner.”

Charles leans back, his expression unreadable. “So, the mysterious Y/N-with-no-last-name turns out to be the daughter of …?”

You sigh, “A very wealthy and overprotective man.”

He processes this, the playful teasing from before replaced by deep contemplation. “You know, secrets have a way of catching up with us. But,” he adds with a hint of a smile, “I’m interested in who you are, not your family name.”

You smile, relief washing over you. “Then let’s leave the secrets for another day.”

***

The morning sun paints the Ferrari garage in a wash of golden hues, every glinting reflection a dance of radiant red. Charles stands out despite wearing the same color as he eagerly waves you over to show off the helmet in his hands.

“It’s beautiful.” Your fingers trace the lines of the design, the light catching on its glossy finish.

Charles spins the helmet so you can see every detail. “Not just the design. It’s the weight, the feel. When I put this on, I’m stepping into another world. Everything else fades away. Just the track, the car, and me.”

You smile, fascinated by his passion. But as your gaze slides over the helmet, you freeze. There, emblazoned on the side, is the unmistakable logo of Y/L/N Industries. You try to hide your surprise but Charles catches your reaction. “You recognize the logo?”

Swallowing hard, you nod. “It’s … everywhere, isn’t it?”

Charles, not picking up on your unease, grins. “Oh yes. They’re our main sponsors this season. Y/L/N Industries is massive.”

Your heart thuds. Every mention, every hint, makes the looming truth harder to avoid. “They seem ... impressive.”

You avoid his gaze, watching the mechanics prepare the cars for the race. Each Ferrari, shining in the morning sun, proudly displays the same Y/L/N Industries logo. There’s no escaping it.

Noticing your distraction, Charles follows your gaze. “I’ve always found it fascinating. How brands link up with teams. How they can become synonymous with each other over the years. Like what we had with Marlboro and now Y/L/N Industries. It’s ... an alliance.”

You chuckle, trying to deflect. “An expensive alliance.”

He laughs, “Very true. But Y/L/N Industries is more than just a name on our cars. I met the owner once, at a sponsorship event. Very ... protective of his interests.”

You gulp, feeling cornered. “Is that so?”

Charles nods, oblivious to your discomfort. “Yes. Has a daughter too, I’ve heard. But she’s kept away from the limelight. Must be hard, living under such a powerful shadow.”

Your voice is barely a whisper, “You have no idea.”

He looks at you, sensing the weight behind your words. “Y/N?”

Taking a deep breath, you finally admit, “My last name ... it’s Y/L/N.”

He stares, processing the revelation. The playful driver you spent the past days with is replaced by someone more cautious, more guarded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You look down, fighting back tears. “I wanted to be just Y/N, not a Y/L/N. I wanted freedom, even if just for a few days.”

Charles reaches out, lifting your chin gently. “You're still Y/N to me. But secrets ... they complicate things.”

You nod, regret clear in your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He smiles, though it’s not quite as bright as usual. “Let’s focus on today. The race. We’ll figure the rest out later.”

***

You’re startled from your thoughts when the doors to your room burst open, the journal in which you’ve been scribbling memories of your secret meetings with Charles slipping from your fingers.

Your father stands there, a mixture of anger and desperation etching his features. In his hand, he holds a photograph — one of you and Charles lost in conversation in a hole-in-the-wall restaurant.

“Explain this,” he demands, voice shaking.

You swallow hard, the weight of your secret outings pressing down on you. “Papa, I—”

He cuts you off, waving the photograph. “Weeks, Y/N! Weeks you’ve been sneaking around, meeting him. Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

Your voice trembles, “I just want something for myself, something real.”

He looks torn, battling between his desire to protect you and understanding your need for freedom. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because,” you hesitate, taking a deep breath, “I want to be just Y/N for once, not Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Don’t you see? That’s exactly why I protect you! The world will never see just Y/N. They will always see a Y/L/N and they will always want something from you.”

“You can’t keep doing this!” The words burst out of you before you can stop them, the pent-up frustration, fear, and yearning for freedom all culminating in this very moment.

Your father stands at the opposite end of the lavish living room, the city skyline a muted backdrop behind him. His eyes, usually so authoritative, are wide with surprise and concern. “I am only looking out for you.”

You shake your head, your voice trembling. “Looking out for me or controlling me?”

He flinches as if you physically struck him. “I want to keep you safe.”

Safe. The word hangs heavily between you, a reminder of the invisible chains binding you. “At what cost, Papa? My happiness? My freedom?”

He sighs, running a hand through his graying hair. “It’s not that simple.”

You pace the room, your emotions spilling over. “Do you even realize? Every choice, every decision has been made for me. Who I meet, where I go, even what I feel. I am suffocating!”

He looks pained. “I never meant to—”

“But you did!” You interject, tears streaming down your face. “Every time you made a choice for me, you took away a piece of my life.”

A heavy silence settles between you two, the unspoken words and regrets creating an impenetrable barrier.

Finally, your father speaks, his voice soft and filled with sorrow. “I lost your mother. I can’t bear the thought of losing you too.”

Your heart aches, understanding and resentment warring within. “I’m not Mama. I need to live, make mistakes, find love. I need to be free.”

He closes his eyes tightly, the weight of your words pressing down on him. “I just ... I love you so much.”

You walk over, taking his hands in yours, feeling the roughness of age and experience. “And I love you. But love isn’t about possession. It’s about understanding, trust, and letting go.”

Tears brim his eyes, the facade of the powerful businessman crumbling. “You will always be my little girl. I would give up every dollar — everything — if it meant keeping you safe. I’m scared that one day I won’t be able to protect you.”

You squeeze his hands. “We have to face our fears. Together.”

***

“He knows. Papa knows about us.” Your voice wavers as you meet in your secret hideaway, a small bakery tucked away from prying eyes.

Charles’ face pales, his fingers gripping the table edge. “How did he react?”

You draw in a shuddering breath, recalling the confrontation. “Not well. He feels... betrayed. I think I got through to him eventually but you never know with him. One second he’s smiling at a business rival and the next he’s snatching away their company in a hostile takeover.”

Charles’ eyes darken with concern. “I don’t want you caught in the crossfire between me and Y/L/N Industries.”

You shake your head, reaching out to touch his hand. “This isn’t about sponsorships or racing. This is about us. He’s just overprotective.”

He sighs, rubbing his temples. “This complicates things. Your father’s influence runs deep, even in the racing world.”

Tears sting your eyes. “So what? Are you saying we should …?”

“No,” Charles interjects firmly, squeezing your hand. “I’m saying we need to be careful. I won’t let anything harm you.”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. “My father would never hurt me … at least not physically. It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s you.”

He smirks, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, I do have a penchant for driving really fast cars. Comes with a touch of danger.”

You’re not amused. “This is serious. Papa can be ... vindictive.”

Charles looks deep into your eyes. “Then we face this together. Secrets have kept us apart but now, truth will keep us together.”

You lean in, your foreheads touching. “Promise?”

He smiles, capturing your lips in a kiss. “Promise.”

***

A reporter leans forward, her voice crackling with excitement. “Charles, you just secured a stunning victory for Ferrari in a race that almost everyone thought was Red Bull’s to lose. How does it feel to come out on top?”

Charles grins, his eyes alive with a fire that burns brighter than ever. “Honestly, it’s hard to describe. We’ve been pushing ourselves, refining the car, and today, everything just clicked. The team’s effort, the car’s performance, it all paid off.”

The crowd cheers, their elation echoing through the broadcast. The reporter presses on, “You dedicated this win to someone special. Care to tell us who?”

Charles’ gaze softens, a subtle smile tugging at his lips. “There’s someone who has shown me a world beyond the track. Someone who made me realize that the freedom I feel whenever I get behind the wheel is even more precious than I always thought. This win is for her.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd, the identity of this mysterious someone a topic of speculation. The reporter smiles, clearly eager for more details. “And can you give us a hint? Is she here today?”

Charles chuckles, his dimples popping through. “Let’s just say she’s closer than you might think.”

Later, as the celebrations continue, you find yourself in a secluded corner of the motorhome, away from the clamor of the team and fans. Charles walks over, that same victorious smile on his lips. “Did you hear?”

You nod, heart still racing. “You dedicated the win to me.”

He steps closer, his hand cupping your cheek. “Of course. You’ve given me one more reason to keep pushing, keep racing. It’s not just about the cars. It’s about the freedom, the moments we steal away from the world.”

Tears well up in your eyes and you kiss him passionately, pouring all your emotions into that single moment. The crowd may not know the truth behind his dedication yet but you do. And that’s all that matters.

***

“Charles seems ... different than the others,” your father begins, his gaze distant as he looks out from the penthouse balcony.

You step closer, the night air cool against your skin. “Different how?”

He sighs, turning to face you, vulnerability evident in his eyes. “He looks at you like you’re the only person in the room. He looks at you how I used to look at your mother.”

You smile, “I never expected you to notice.”

He chuckles softly. “Just because I’m protective doesn’t mean I’m blind. I’ve watched people all my life. It’s how I built everything,” he gestures towards the sprawling city below, the twinkling lights of his corporate empire.

The weight of the moment settles between you, the years of misunderstandings and unspoken words pressing down. “Papa, I know you’re scared. Scared of the world out there, of what it might do. But I can’t be trapped forever.”

His expression softens, pain evident. “I have seen so much, faced so many betrayals. The world is rarely kind.”

You reach out, touching his arm gently. “I understand. But holding on too tight will only push me away.”

He closes his eyes, taking a shaky breath. “It’s just ... hard. Watching you grow, wanting to spread your wings. I wish I could shield you from everything.”

You smile gently. “But then I wouldn’t truly be living. Charles, he’s shown me a world beyond these walls. A world that’s unpredictable, thrilling, and real.”

Your father nods slowly. “I saw that. The way he stood by you, the way he spoke of you. He … he loves you.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, the night’s chill deepening. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Someone who sees me, not my last name, not a walking dollar sign.”

He steps closer, pulling you into a comforting embrace. “I’m trying. It’s not easy, letting go. But I trust you. I just need time.”

You nod, resting your head against his chest. “I know. Just promise me one thing.”

He tilts your chin up, looking into your eyes. “Anything.”

You smile, a weight lifting off your shoulders. “Trust him too. Give Charles a chance.”

He sighs, the walls he built over the years slowly crumbling. “For you, I’ll try.”

***

“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” your father says, breaking the tense silence that envelops the extravagant dining room.

Charles, sitting straight-backed and visibly anxious, clears his throat. “Sir, I assure you, my intentions with Y/N are—”

Genuine laughter interrupts him. You glance in shock at your father, who chuckles, “Relax, Charles. I’ve watched you on the track. You face challenges head-on. That’s a quality I admire.”

Charles exhales a sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir. Y/N means the world to me.”

Your father studies Charles, his gaze thoughtful. “I can see that. And I have seen the change in Y/N since she met you.”

You bite your lip, waiting for what he might say next. “Papa, I—”

He raises a hand, silencing you. “I’ve spent my life building walls around you, trying to protect you from the world. But maybe ... maybe it’s time to let you fly.”

Your heart leaps in your chest. “Papa …”

He smiles at you, warmth shining in his eyes. “You’re my daughter. All I’ve ever wanted is your happiness. If Charles is the one who brings that joy, then I give you both my blessing.”

Tears glisten in your eyes as you stand, moving to embrace your father. “Thank you.”

Charles stands too, extending a hand towards your father. “Thank you, sir. I promise to take cherish and take care of her.”

Your father grasps Charles’ hand for a moment longer than expected, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “Charles,” he begins, a twinkle of mischief evident, “just remember … if you ever hurt my daughter, they will never find your body.”

Charles gulps, eyes widening, then realizes the playful tone your father has adopted. He chuckles, nodding, “Duly noted, sir.”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Papa, you are impossible.”

Your father grins, the atmosphere significantly lighter. “Just making sure he understands.”

Charles playfully raises his hands in surrender. “Message received loud and clear.”

***

The pitter-patter of little feet echoes through the grand halls, accompanied by peals of laughter. The once silent mansion is now alive with the exuberance of youth. Every corner and every room tells tales of play and joy, of childhood memories being crafted.

“Slow down, my darlings!” You call out in amusement as you chase the energetic duo.

Charles laughs as one of your kids hides behind him, tiny hands clutching his leg. “You can’t hide here forever!” He teases.

From the doorway, your father watches, his eyes glassy. The stoic businessman, the guardian of a vast empire, is rendered soft and vulnerable by the presence of his grandchildren.

“Grandpa!” The children cheer, running to him, their arms outstretched.

He bends down, scooping them into a gentle embrace. “I have a surprise for you,” he whispers, producing a small cage with a golden canary inside from behind his back. Its wings barely beat, eyes darting around to mirror its trapped spirit.

The children’s eyes widen in wonder. “Why is it in a cage, Grandpa?”

Your father looks up, meeting your gaze, the weight of the past reflected in his eyes. “It looked sad at the market, just like someone I once knew. But we’re going to set it free.”

Together, the family moves to the balcony. Your father opens the cage door, and the canary, after a hesitant moment, takes flight, its song a melody of freedom and hope.

As you watch the bird disappear into the horizon, your father breaks the silence. “Sometimes, we cage the things we love, thinking it’s for the best. But true love is about letting go, letting them spread their wings.”

You lean into Charles, his arm wrapping around you, the children nestled between you both. “Thank you, Papa,” you whisper. “For letting us learn the true meaning of freedom.”

Your father smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “It took me a while but I finally understand. Love, life, freedom — they’re all interconnected. We just have to find our sky.”

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vaggietheangel · 11 months ago

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Charlie is the type of girl to have a teddy bear named Mr snuggles. They have matching slippers and pajamas.

Vaggie is the type of girl to say "I'm getting to old for this crud." When another person destroys the hotel walls.

Angel Dust is the type of guy to say "The jig is up. Let's skedaddel. " And skitter off into the distance when Vaggie catches him doing something bad.

Sir pentious the type of guy to give his friends a visit from the "tickel monster."

Alastor the type of guy to hide his bite mark an infection apocalypse.

Niffty is the type of girl to say "Scuse me. 🥰🤭" in the most polite tone possible, after stabbing someone.

Lucifer the type of guy to not play chess because he "can't loose another queen."

Husk the type of guy to say "somethin just popped" after lifting a box.

Rosie the type of girl to bring her new neighbours a plate of cookies.

Cherri the type of girl to say "No more misses nice girl." When she's anrgy.

#hazbin hotel #vaggie #hazbin vaggie #charlie morningstar #Angel dust #sir pentious #Alastor #lucifer hazbin hotel #husk hazbin hotel #rosie hazbin hotel #cherri bomb #goofy ahh headcannons #husk

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months ago

Text

In From The Cold

Warnings: noncon, somnophilia, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Summary: The power goes out on Christmas and your landlord comes over to keep you warm.

Character: Brock Rumlow

Day Twenty-Nine of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - the electricity is out, let's keep each other warm.

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The knock at the door makes you jump. You’re not a child, you shouldn’t be afraid of the dark. Yet, since the power flickered and fizzled out, you’ve been on high alert. Your nerves are frazzled and the shadows nestling in the corners are playing tricks on you. It’s only because you’re alone. Really, you’re not a coward.

You shine the light on your phone ahead of you as you move around the soft silhouettes of the furniture. Without power, you won’t be able to recharge it once it drains. The only other light is single candle burning that does little to ward off the obscurity. It only fills the house with the scent of mulled cider.

You go to the door. That should be the landlord. You’re not sure who else would bother on Christmas Day. You flip back the lock and open the door. Rumlow’s gritty growl greets you as he shields himself from your phone light with his large hand.

“Shoot, sorry,” you lower your phone as he squints in irritation.

“Hmm,” he grumbles. “What’s goin’ on?”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s Christmas but the power--”

“Doesn't matter,” he waves off your apology, “what were ya doin’ when it went out?”

You’re not sure it’s a genuine question so much as an accusation. You rarely bother the leaser as he often meets you with the same simmering agitation. He’s like a bear and just a smile is a poke in his side. You don’t want to bother him more than you need to.

You hug yourself with one arm and shiver. No heat, no power. He tilts his head and sighs. He steps inside and you back up. He shuts the door with a sigh. “Well?”

“Um, I was watching a movie, sir,” you don’t know why you add that last title; it feels appropriate. “I only had a lamp on and the kettle for hot chocolate.”

He doesn’t respond. You feel the judgment roiling off of him. He must think you a ridiculous girl, like the rest of your roommates. You all know Rumlow can barely stand you but your rent is his profit.

“What about the others?” He asks as if reading your mind.

“Well, er, they went home for Christmas, sir,” you unfold your arm and chafingly grip your wrist instead.

“Mm,” he grumbles again.

He kneels to unlace his boots. You wonder if he has a family. If you dragged him away from a lovely dinner with presents and children. With the people he preserves his love for.

“I’m sorry if I spoiled your holiday,” you say.

“Fuck Christmas,” he snarls as he puts his boots aside and stands. His figure is draped in black like a horror movie villain, looming, waiting to pounce. Your phone light points behind you, offering little clarity.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” You utter as you stare at him, clueless.

He huffs again. He steps forward and you retreat out of his way. He stalks down the hall without explanation and you stay where you are. He stops at the door behind the stairs, right before the kitchen. He sniffs and raises his blurry hand.

“Bring that light.”

“Oh, sure,” you leap into a scurry.

He opens the door and proceeds down the stairs without waiting for you to catch up. You shine the light over him, illuminating his broad shadow against the wall ahead of him. He lumbers down as you keep a few steps back. You trail after him as he goes into the second room of the basement.

He pulls open the metal cover of the switch board. You sidle up beside him to give light to the rows of switches. He leans in and narrows his eyes. He drags his fingertips over them all. He curls his lip and snarls.

Your eyes flick to him as the light of your phone limns his gruff features. His stubble darkens his jaw, the cleft of his chin deep, and his brown eyes look black as they swallow up any gleam. He’s a large man, ornery, and strict. You suppose you should want that in someone tasked to manage a property.

“You girls paying your bills?” He clucks.

You wince, “yes, sir. Always.”

“Mm, well, you know... dealt with a lot of ya. Not always the case.” He shuts the metal box and you squeak at the noise.

“You can’t fix it?”

“Did I say that?” He snips. You shake your head.

“Power company will need to come check the meter. Buncha morons,” he sneers as herds you out of the room just by stomping toward you. You retreat on your heels.

“The power company?” You echo thinly.

“No service on holidays,” he puffs as you barely keep from getting underfoot. You swerve to let him past. He continues to the stairs as you follow like some lost child. “You’ll have to wait.”

“Oh, but sir--”

“Relax,” he climbs the stairs without pause. “Got a portable heater in the truck.”

“Oh, okay, um--”

“Get more candles. A flashlight,” he commands.

“I couldn’t find any,” you sniffle.

“Don’t got any,” he scoffs under his breath.

You come back to the first floor and stop by the door as he marches down the hall. You stare after him dumbly. The power’s going to be out all night? On Christmas?

“Close that door.” He stops to put his boots on again. “Wanna keep the heat in. Go around. Check the doors and windows.”

He tramps out the front door without awaiting your acquiescence. There’s something about him that brooks no argument. You cast your phone light ahead of you like a shield against the shadows and hurry upstairs. You work your way through, checking that all windows are shut, doors too.

As you come back downstairs, he’s there again. There’s a large block next to him as he strips off his boots. He hauls it with a single hand into the front room. You keep your distance as you watch him from the doorway. He puts it centre, across from the sofa, and twists the switch. The heater glows a sinister red.

“Um, thanks, sir,” you scratch your ear as you aim the light at him. He waves at you like a gnat. You turn the light off as the heater offers a dulcet glow.

He unzips his jacket as you stare. What is he doing?

“I don’t need you suing me,” he rasps. “Dealt with enough of you girls.”

He folds his jacket over the side of the armchair. He rolls his shoulders and pushes his head back. Your brows rise as you check the battery on your phone. It’s not very much.

“Oh, you don’t have to stay--”

“I do. I know how sneaky you college girls are.”

“What?” You squeak.

“Put on those pretty smiles and call up daddy’s lawyer in the morning,” he growls.

“I wouldn’t-- no, sir--” you sputter. What daddy? What lawyer?

“So,” he turns his back to you and sits on the couch with a sigh. “You should sit by the heater so you don’t get sick. Girls...”

You hesitate. Right. This is going to awkward. You don’t know him very well. Not even his first name because you’re certain it’s not Rumlow. And he’s older. Meaner. Not much for small talk. You can’t be on your phone all night without a charge and there’s not enough light to read.

You come around the couch and he twists to drag the blush-coloured faux fur throw from his other side. He sits in the middle so no matter what cushion you choose, he’s right there.

As you sit, he puts the blanket around you, a tiny snort as if judging that you even have something like that. It matches your slippers. That must be even more ridiculous to someone like him. You’ve never seen him wear anything but black.

“Thanks,” you say and you grab the edges of the blanket.

He just sniffs again and sits back. He leans his head against the sofa and exhales deeply. You wince as even his breathe feels like a remonstrance. You curl up under the blanket and lean against the arm of couch.

You sit and stare at the soft red-orange coils of the heater. You feel its warmth, a soothing wave in the flickering dark. The candle burns, the aroma lining the air, and the wick burns out as the wax bubbles. As that light dies, your left in the soft amber hue of only the heater.

Rumlow’s even breaths tempo the heedless night. Is he asleep? You glance over as he remains unmoving. You can’t blame him for being unhappy. You wonder if the issue is going to be expensive. That’s not the kind of stress anyone wants, especially this time of year.

That’s a good idea. The night will go by quicker if you just sleep. The only thing is, you’re too anxious to settle down. Still, you have to try.

You wiggle closer to the armrest and lean against it. You lay your head and shoulder against the curl of the cushion and slump into the corner. You pull the blanket snug. Is he cold? Should you have offered him a blanket? You don’t dare ask now.

Your eyelids sink and your fatigue surprises you. You’re more tired than you expect, even after such a lame day. Your Christmas isn’t family dinners or gift-giving, just the listlessness of a solitary day in the big house. Most years you prefer that, knowing your parents would only torture you with questions that underline their disappointment, but this year, it’s a bit lonelier. You miss your roommates. Especially now.

You drift off in the turmoil of your thoughts. Of unwinnable parental approval and the lifeless bulbs and sockets of the house. That shadow beside you lingers even in your unconscious, as if Rumlow’s shadow is watching the nonsensical machinations of your nocturnal imagination.

A swirling sleep brews in your head, cocooning you in a heat that drags you further into oblivion. Foggy flashes of a contorted reality along with the blankness of deep slumber enshrine you. Forgotten is the dark house and the dissatisfied landlord.

Dampness glazes on your cheek and down your neck. Cool air mingles with the hot puff against your shoulder, a tempestuous heat across your body. Your voice tickles sin your ear as it scratches up your dry throat like sand. Your head lolls but stills in an iron grip that cradles you from beneath.

Thunder rolls through the muddiness of your unconscious, drawing you up towards the surface. Growls and groans that flow into you like a tide. A deep, thrumming weight churns your guts only to lessen, the emptiness just as heavy before you’re filled again.

You mutter as your lips peel apart dryly and your eyes flick back and forth beneath your eyelids. Your arms are heavy as one lays limp at your side, crushed into the cushion, as the other hangs off the edge. Your lashes stick as you try to see between them.

The couch rocks with the rhythm of gritty breaths, with the tempo of the crush atop you, the swelter of the body over you. Your head throbs as your eyes roll back and you centre them, fighting through the haziness.

Your head falls to the side as your vision pinpoints on the orange pulse of the heater. Rough fingertips scrape your scalp as a pinch on your neck makes you whimper. Your leg is prickly as it drapes over the couch, exposed to the cold air of the dim room.

The cushions flatten under your body and the other one. You’re trapped beneath the paralysing weight. You murmur and force your head straight. The shadow at the edge of your vision draws your gaze and you can see only the writhing, pumping form pinning you to the couch.

“Gotta keep you warm, girl,” Rumlow snarls into your throat and bites again, ramming deep until you squeal. “Ain’t ya cold?”

You shakily bend your arm and press your hand to his arm, his bicep bulging as his nails jab into the meat of your hip. Your other leg is hooked over the back of the couch as he pounds between them. Your pajamas pool at the end of your foot that dangles over the floor. You feel the fabric brushing your toes with each battering snap of his hips.

He’s...

Inside you!

Your walls burn with his rutting, undisturbed by your rousing as he puffs along your shoulder and smears saliva along your skin. He bites there too, sinking his teeth in until your whimper.

“Wh-wh-wha...” you warble through tears as they rise and fall like acid. Why is he doing this? How—why didn’t you wake up before?

“Fuck, so hot,” he pounds against your pelvis as your bones ache. “Fuck-- fucking girls.”

He drags his hand up your side, his other still hooked under your head. He braces your shoulder and pushes himself up. He pins you down as he spreads his fingers wide across the top of your chest. Your pajama top is rumble above your tits as they bounce with his unfettered motion.

He looks down at the joining of your bodies and thrusts as deep as he can, watching the fuzzy scene of his violation. His other hand slides from beneath your hand and stretches across your neck, his thumb pushing into the bruised mark of his bite under your jaw.

“You warm yet?” He taunts as he pumps into you harshly. “Feel fucking warm to me.”

#brock rumlow #dark brock rumlow #dark!brock rumlow #brock rumlow x reader #december daze #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #marvel #mcu #crossbones #captain america #navy and roo's sleepover

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babybearnation · 17 days ago

Note

Twitch streamer Christian, Oscar and Dino with an F1 gn partner if you don’t mind, and remember that we’re all okay if you take your time and take breaks 🩷

🥔 anon

gn!f1 driver!reader

christian mansell:

to say christian thought he was lucky would be an understatement - he has no idea how he managed to score you

you were the most talked about rookie for the 2025 season and, thanks to your never-ending praise, his twitch was blowing up now

christian always talks about you on his streams and the fans love it, asking a billion questions about you, him, you two together, etc.

if he ever convinces you to stream with him, you best bet his chat is gonna explode

oscar piastri:

oscar was quite the popular streamer, especially after he started playing with lando more, but you weren't a nobody either

you were only 3 time world champion y/n y/l/n, after all, and, most surprisingly, you were oscar's partner

oscar prefers to keep his streams on topic but sometimes he will blush sweetly and talk about you, his smile wide and happy

you love streaming with oscar and will try and do it all the time, a bright smile on your face as his chat goes crazy over you two

dino beganovic:

dino was well loved within his circle of friends/fellow streamers - he was chaotic and loud and fun

you, his beloved partner, were fighting for your first wdc, only max verstappen and charles leclerc really being able to stop you

he loves live reacting to your races with his chat and will always get clipped saying the most heinous shit about you lmfao

you best bet he's fighting tooth and nail to get you on his stream, especially because he knows how his chat will react to you

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fandom-random-help · 2 days ago

Text

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Part 4 of Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Military!Reader

Smion looked around the infirmary looking for an exit that wasn't past the front desk. His eyes finally laid on the fire exit and he smirked. He casually walked towards the fire exit door and slipped through without anybody noticing. He knew he would have to explain himself later, but he didn't care. The last thing he needed was for his team to find out he was in love.

Meanwhile, you finished packing the last of your things. It wasn't much. Mainly just double-checking that you had all of your stuff. You let out a breath of accomplishment as you hear multiple knocks at the door. You opened the door to be greeted by a bear hug from Johnny followed by low chuckles from Kyle and Price. "Oh Bonnie! I'm glad to see you up and walking fine." Johnny said with relief. "We were pretty worried about you. Had to come see you before your discharge." Gaz spoke. Price stepped forward with a folder. Handing it to you with a small smile. "I need you to fill out a few things for your medical leave. You don't have to do it today, but I will need it by the end of the week." Price said. You nodded your head. "Yes sir, copy that." That reply did get a low chuckle from Price. "Who's taking you home Bonnie? Surely you're not driving yourself home, are ya?" Johnny asked with slight concern. "Oh no, I'll call my boyfriend to pick me up. It'll be fine." You said. Gaz gave you a confusing look, "What happened to 'my boyfriend is gonna kill me if he sees me like this'? He have a change of heart?" You cringed slightly at the sentence repeated back to you. "Oh yeah, he's cool. We talked it over last night. Nothing serious." You say, playing it cool. Gaz was still skeptical, but the other guys believed your words so he couldn't say anything.

After bidding your goodbyes, you made your way out of the base and walked to the farthest end of the parking lot. You knew Simon's truck would be parked all the way at the back and you weren't disappointed. You walked up to the passenger side door and tapped on the window so he would unlock the door. He looked in your direction and leaned over to open the door from the inside. "Can you get in, love?" He asked as you pulled yourself up and into his truck. "Is that even a question, darling?" You retort, causing Simon to laugh under his breath and shake his head.

Once you made it to you guys' shared apartment, you immediately went to the bedroom. As soon as your head hit the pillow you almost moaned at the newfound comfort in yours and Simon's bed. Simon stood in the doorway with faintest smile on his face. "Oh you love the bed more than me huh?" Simon asked, his deep voice making the atmosphere even more comforting. You looked up at him and smiled, "Yes. Why? Jealous?" He rolled his eyes and walked towards you. He climbed into bed with you and held you in his arms. He took in your scent and kissed the top of your head. "It feels good to be back home." Simon whispered. You look up at him and give him a slow, passionate kiss.

Simon only deepened it until it became a full blown makeout session. Your hands made their way all over his body as his carressed every curve your body had to offer. He gave your ass a nice squeeze which made you gasp. This gave him easy access to slip his tongue into your mouth. Tasting every last drop of your saliva. You figured he tasted enough and pushed him onto his back. Straddling his thighs you looked down at him with a smirk as you slightly tilted your head. Simon looks at you in suprise whilst trying to catch his breath. You've never seen him this caught off guard, why not have fun with it? You get to work sliding his pants off of him and taking yours off too. You were already wet from the most simple of foreplay, and it was about to get even better. Simon was rock hard. His red tip leaking with precum, begging to be satisfied. You got back on top of him and aligned yourself to his dick. You slid in just fine. Gasps and sighs escaped from both of your mouths as you adjusted to his sheer size alone. After a moment, you began to rock your hips. Simon wasn't saying a damn word. There were only little grunts and hums that would occasionally slip. He tugged at your shirt, a little sign that he wanted you completely bare. You smiled and took your shirt off. Simon smiled too, for a second. He takes in your now bare body until he sees the stitches from your injury. Any lust or passion he may have had was long gone after seeing the small pattern of black stitches lining a small portion of your right side. You didn't tell Simon they had to go in and remove the bullet. It was the only thing keeping you from bleeding out entirely, but it couldn't stay in forever. Simon looked up at you, concerned. You looked down and seen your patched up wound. "Oh, baby it's nothing. Just a few stitches. They'll be out in no time." You tried to reassure him it was okay, but he couldn't continue. He helped you off of him and went to cuddling you again. He held on tighter than he ever has before. He couldn't bear the idea of losing you. You stayed in his embrace, letting him take time to process everything that led up to this point.

"Why didn't you go with me?" You whispered, breaking any and all silence there was before.

"I was afraid to get too close. Didn't know it was you, love. I figured you were strong enough to handle yourself. I'm regretting it now. I wish I could go back and protect you. You needed me, but I was too stupid to care. I'm sorry love." Simon explained, kissing the top of your head.

"It's okay babe. It wasn't, I repeat, wasn't your fault. I was the stupid one for hiding who I truly was. Which made you think I was someone different that you didn't want to get close to. I get it baby. I love you more than words can describe. You mean everything to me. Don't ever forget that."

After your little speech, you and Simon drifted off to sleep. No gunshots, no monitors, none of Price's snoring.

It was just the two of you.

Part 5 coming soon!

Taglist:

@camcvpidd @thatoneghostcosplayer @exitingmusic

#cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod #cod modern warfare #simon ghost riley #ghost #ghost cod #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #call of duty #simon ghost fluff #simon riley #simon riley x you

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jhoneybees · 11 months ago

Text

Fear

This is a first! My first smutty fic that is inspired by this song!

Taglist: @elvisalltheway101 @atleastpleasetelephone @i-r-i-n-a-a

Characters: Mid60s!Elvis x Wife!Reader

Warning/triggers: Never knew I would be saying this but...Smut! lol, mentions of sex, nudity, reader's first time-ish, nipple play, blowjob, male receiving and almost female receiving

_____________________________________________

The both of you are quite open with your thoughts and feelings and it's been like that for years and years, of course Elvis and you would sometimes feel a bit insecure about something but you two would find ways to work through it.

But the only thing that Elvis hasn’t shared with you is a fear, something that he thinks you might find silly and… maybe it is.

Ever since you met back in 1964, he has been dodging the topic of sex over the many years of dating and it's not that you’re dumb and naive around sexual things, no sir, Elvis sure knows you’re not a stranger to foreplay and it’s not that he hasn’t done the deed before, the two of you know he’s been with many girls before.

It's just this one thought, this one itchy thought that's been plaguing his mind ever since you brought up the topic.

Of course, he wants to have sex with you. Oh how he wants to show you how a man really loves a woman.

But it's just…he’s afraid that he might hurt you.

Most men may think it’s silly to have such ideas because it’s only natural to thrust themselves into a woman and pound them into the mattress.

Right?

Well, yes but there's something about the thought of seeing your angel face contort in pain, tears springing at the outer corners of your eyes and hissing at the burning sensation that doesn't sit right with him, he knows the pain wouldn't last forever.

He's just scared.

He couldn't bear seeing you wincing and crying because of him. He's always been so sensitive with how you're taken care of and yes, you're a full grown woman and he probably shouldn't be worrying about you so much like that.

Hell, he can't help it though.

This fear is scarier than anything else to him, even more terrifying than the big fear of proposing to you which he did a year ago.

Now he's finally married to you and right at this moment sitting on the edge of a bed in a hotel suite in Hawaii, on your honeymoon.

“Elvis…”

Elvis perks up at your voice, seeing your head peeking out from behind the bathroom door with that gorgeous smile. His lips curl at the corners.

“Close your eyes”

He does what you say and closes his eyes, he has an idea what you might be doing and he's nervous to say the least.

Swallowing thickly as he hears the varnished floorboards creak, a light whiff of your sweet perfume tickles his nose.

“Feel me”

He gulps again and when your soft hands lift his ones up to place on your hips, his breath catches in his throat at the feeling of delicate lace.

“You know what it is?”

He nods quietly, his heart pounding in his chest, he thinks it might go out of control at any second.

“Open your eyes”

Just…

How could he do such a thing to you? To tarnish your angelic, heavenly body, with how the white lace underwear moulds onto your hips and the little pudge below your belly button. The matching white lace bra complimenting your breasts, the softness and fullness of them spilling over the tops and little pink buds peeking through the fabric.

It’s all making his head spin. You’re so beautiful and he can already feel his dress pants tighten. He has shown his love to you in so many ways but he has never shown the way that he has been waiting to do and as much as his heart is telling him to show you, his brain is stopping him.

Fingers pushing ever so lightly against your waist. Elvis is in absolute awe of you, the pressure of his fingertips pressing down on your skin makes something crack inside of him, his breathing becoming laboured when the urge to feel your entire body with his palms enters his mind.

His eyes roaming up your body, eyelids fluttering lazily. A groan vibrates in his throat.

“You’re gorgeous…” he breathes, earning an angelic giggle from you.

As his eyes begin to trail back down your body, they snap up to yours when you place a hand on his shoulder. A breath sucks out of him at the slight contact of his clothed length getting brushed by your knee resting on the mattress between his legs.

He gently lays himself down at the light push from your hand, making sure to let out a breath or he would’ve exploded right then and there.

A flame ignites in his heart at just the sight of you crawling on top of him, your goddess of a body planting right on his pelvis and leaning down closer and closer to his face. Sighing at the feel of your soft lips pressing onto his passionately.

Elvis’ hands try to grasp onto something, anything, and what he finds is your hips, your squishy but firm hips.

Sliding them up to the curves of your breasts, he hovers his thumbs over your hardened nipples. Hearing you let out a moan as he brushes over your clothed buds.

“H-honey…”

Stuttering in between kisses. He groans at your sensual hums and gentle nibbles on his bottom lip, watching you pull away, he looks into your eyes that dig into his soul and with hesitant hands, he gently clenches the sides of your panties in his fists. Feeling your hands trail down his chest to his pants, shuffling back to unbutton and his breath hitches at your fingers wrapping around his cock.

His mind falls static at the image of you, leaning down and peering up at him with your pretty soft lips parting to take him into your mouth, knowing you'd take such good care of him because you always do, and as he feels your wet tongue flatten against his tip and enveloping him in between your lips letting the wet muscle slide down under his length ever so slowly and so gently, the wind gets knocked out of his lungs.

“Ooohh baby…”

His voice comes out hoarse and pleasured. He tried keeping his head up to watch you but the anticipation of wanting to feel you spreads all throughout his body and with that his head falls onto the bed.

Shaky hands going up to press into his eye sockets, a string of moans fall from his lips. He swears you must know every little trick, you make him become so undone in such a short time.

His hips stuttering, more slow dragged out groans squeeze out of his throat as the suction in your mouth milks every drop of him.

Elvis in a daze, his hands fall to his sides. Taking a few moments to come back to earth.

After taking a few breaths, he opens his eyes, sensing your fingers grazing his skin as you undo the buttons on his shirt, sliding it just over his shoulders. He almost chokes on his own saliva when you quickly take your underwear off and unclasp your bra, leaving you bare naked right on top of him.

…How did he get so lucky?

He’s falling in love with your body all over again because of the view of your little imperfections that you would always think are ugly, he finds them so damn sexy and he always makes sure you believe that too.

His gaze travelling down your frame, he grunts at how pretty your dark wiry hairs decorate the trail down to your womanhood. He’s hypnotised by your beauty that he doesn’t notice his cock is nearly just about able to be nestled in between your lower lips but when you grind on him again while biting your lower lip, he suddenly feels the wetness and as he's sucking in a sharp breath, the realisation hits him like a truck.

“U-uh.. honey uhm-”

“Hmm?...”

His brain runs in circles. That thought comes drumming back into his mind. He doesn't want to hurt you.

Feeling your hand travelling up his chest, his breath hitches at the mischievous glint in your eye, your hips moving to grind on him again and a mental flash blinds his vision. Your little hole ripping open twice the size causing blood to seep out and a deafening scream right in his ear coming from your mouth.

Sucking in the air as his cock slides in between your lips, his heart pounds out of his chest even more.

A small whimper rolling off his tongue.

“Hon-”

Elvis stares as your eyes flutter close, your face contorting slowly into pleasure and the sounds of small moans falling from your pretty lips, his horror thoughts come to a halt at the sight of your angel beauty melting into something that he can imagine is sinful.

His heart almost stops when you lift your hips. hovering over his hard cock, you lower yourself slightly rolling your hips over his red, angry tip. Teasing him. Barely rubbing, making combined gasps and moans fill the room.

“D-don’t, I’m gonna hurt you- please”

Flashes of the painful images flood his vision again. With frantic hands, he grips onto your hips to stop you.

“Elvis?”

Peering up at you with parted lips and furrowed eyebrows “W-w-w-we shouldn’t…” he shakes his head while quickly sitting up, leaning himself back against the headboard. Gulping thickly, Elvis runs his fingers through his hair, breathing in and out as he tries to calm himself.

It’s not just him who's been waiting, it’s you too.

He should be telling you.

“I-I-I don’t want to hurt you, Y/n…I-It’s gonna hurt a-and It’s not that ah don’t think yer strong baby, yer real strong b-but its just…I-I can’t bear ta see ya in pain” he stutters.

Glancing over at you sitting there on your knees naked in front of him on the shared bed, he swallows harshly.

“Honey I-”

“It only hurts for a little bit…”

His heart thumps at your sudden soft voice, eyes flicking from one of your eyes to the other. He’s looking for something, something like some sort of judgement but all he can see is bravery, certainty and just pure love.

“W-we don’t gotta do this anymore if ya- if ya don’t want to” he mutters.

The room falls silent for a few moments before your voice breaks through.

“Have you always been gentle with me?”

“Baby?”

“Have you always been gentle with me, Elvis?”

Clearing his throat softly, he thinks for a bit.

“Of course, darlin”

“ And would that change now?”

“N-no…”

Elvis gulps, watching as you crawl closer. Your legs on either side of his hips gasping softly at the coolness of your fingertip lifting his chin, your soft stare boring into his soul.

“Then there’s no need to worry”

Then ever gently your lips press against his, his heart sighing at your delicate hands cupping his face.

“I want your sex, Elvis”

#elvis presley #elvis fans #elvis #i love him #60s elvis #elvis imagine #elvis presley x reader #elvis smut #elvis fandom #Spotify

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jude-duarte-wannabe · 7 months ago

Text

boyfriend material

so to keep my formula one girlies satisfied and fueled, i put this together until i can get my non formula one requests finished, i was hoping to have them done by now but i keep getting called into work, i'm sorry my lovely's <3 i'm also working on another one of these for sir lewis hamilton titled husband material, it is based on my other smau series billion dollar baby.

pairing; charles leclerc x marceline bennett [original character]

blurb; this is a list of cute things boyfriend charles leclerc and his girlfriend marceline bennett do in my smau series that i'm working on called the broadway bug, this story features a original character but for your reading pleasure, i've used 'you' and 'y/n' in this little snippet <3

currently playing; monaco by mkto "i'll go wherever you go, chase you through the streets of monaco, i'll run wherever you are"

when it comes to your jobs;

you are a broadway actress and charles often finds himself just watching you hum the lyrics to a song you have to sing in a show or tap a beat on your thigh as you walk through the paddock together.

speaking of broadway, charles makes sure to go to every single show that he can, just like you try to make it to every single race that you can.

when at charles's races, you stay in the ferrari garage, your often caught on camera jumping up and down excitedly and screaming "that's my boy!" or "go baby!"

when charles got p1 in monaco and monza, you completely ignored the barriers and ran for him as soon as he was out of the car, he'd luckily gotten his helmet and balaclava off in time to catch you, pick you up and kiss you right there on the track.

charles gave you a necklace with his race number on it saying "i'm giving you my number until i can give you my last name".

charles didn't release his music too often but when he did you always made sure to listen to it on repeat.

you could spend hours just sitting and listening to charles play the piano, it was your safe place, just you and charles together in your own little world.

charles loved catching you humming a tune he'd played on the piano earlier in the day while you were brushing your teeth or making coffee, he loved the simple things you did.

no matter where you are in the world, you always make sure to support charles.

and one time when you were in rehearsals for a show and charles was off racing somewhere in the world, there was a moment with one of your co-stars that led to you posting a video on your instagram story that would soon go viral - it went something like this

"hey my little broadway bugs" you couldn't keep a straight face while talking to the camera "so i'm currently in rehearsals right now" you flipped the camera to show the theater stage and most of your co-stars just chilling before flipping it back to face you "but this one right here" one of your co-stars pops into the frame "this one just came sprinting across the stage screaming 'y/n! y/n!' and keep in mind i thought she was dying" you hold up a magazine for the camera to see "but she just wanted to show me this and god do i love her for it" you giggled.

just cute couple stuff;

when you two first started dating you loved to listen to charles talk, he could talk about anything and you'd listen, he eventually noticed and teased you by saying "the accent got to you, didn't it".

charles mum; pascale basically insisted that you call her maman when she saw how happy you made her boy.

when your out to dinner or at an event together, your feet eventually get sore from standing around in heels all night and so you eventually go barefoot and charles just wanders around carrying you heels.

you and charles call each other all kinds of nicknames with his favorites for you being; ma cherie [my darling], mon ange [my angel], mon coeur [my heart], ma meilleure moitie [my better half] and of course mon amor [my love].

your favorite nicknames for him are; mon joli garcon [my pretty boy] and mon nounours [my teddy bear].

in fact the very first time you ever called him mon joli garcon, he looked at you surprised and muttered "did you just call me pretty boy" and you merely corrected him before going about your day "correction.. your MY pretty boy".

charles also calls you baby but only ever when he's sleepy and you try to get out of bed early, he just reaches out to wrap his arm around you and pull you closer muttering "baby.. no.. you stay put" in his sleepy voice that drives you insane cause it's so cute and raspy.

and you guys are the kind of couple that after being intimate you pillow talk in french with charles mumbling "si jolie comme ça" [so pretty like this] as he tucks a strand of your messy hair behind your ear as you giggle against his chest.

charles calls you the best thing that's ever happened to him.

and this man blushes and has the biggest goofy smile on his face whenever someone says your name or an interviewer asks about you.

charles takes photo's galore of you and even some of the two of you together and shamelessly posts them on his instagram / instagram stories - like this.

you are the kind of girl that could eat pasta for every meal for the rest of your life, you love pasta so much that you and charles now have a saying where you say "your the pesto to my pasta" or he'll say "your the pasta to my pesto".

charles tried introducing you to new foods including foods from both french and monegasque cuisine like stuffed peppers which you were a fan of but when he tried to fed you escargot you freaked out, which led to arthur now having a video of you running away from charles who held a snail on the end of his fork while yelling "never! keep that nasty ass snail away from me!"

charles is also the kind of boyfriend that would memorize your coffee order.

he sends you this text or something similar to it whenever your in the same place as one another.

charles doesn't hide how badly he needs you, he'll just straight up tell you, he doesn't care if anyone sees the texts he sends you while he's horny, your texts to each other basically look like this all the time.

cute couple stuff involving your pets;

leo loves you more than he loves charles but he doesn't complain because coming home to see you snuggled up in his bed with leo curled up against your side just makes him melt.

your cat however absolutely hates charles with a passion and charles tries so hard to get your cat to like him but it never happens, all of your photo's with your cat; clementine look like this

all the photos you have of charles with clementine picture her practically begging you with her eyes to get him the hell away from her.

two of the most iconic moments of the charles and clementine feud was when they first met.

it was charles first time in your apartment and while he knew you had a cat, she was no where to be seen at the moment, you and charles were standing in your kitchen leaning against the marble island, hands linked and resting on the bench as you talked, charles had leaned in to kiss you which you gladly excepted, lips locking with his in a soft kiss.. you loved kissing him and he loved kissing you even more but unfortunately he had to pull away with a hiss, seeing your cat on the counter having appeared out of thin air "she just bit me" he complained and while you kissed his hand better she simply hissed at him before running off.

and the other was when in the you two were in the heat of the moment, clementine just had to cock block him.

the temperature in your room was hot with your body pressed against charles's with your lips locked in a sloppy kiss, your kisses began moving down his neck, you loved to hear the whimpers that escaped him whenever you kissed at the soft spot behind his ear but that didn't happen instead you heard him mumble "i can't do this.. not with her watching" you didn't understand what he was talking about until you followed his gaze and what you saw had you laughing until there were tears in your eyes and you held your sides in pain "ouchy.. stitch" you complained to which charles simply responded "serves you right" the memory of clementines face and the side eye she gave charles still makes you laugh today.

cuddles, kisses and hand holding;

charles's love language is 100% physical touch at least i think so, this boy loves cuddles and there is only really one form of cuddle this boy will ever settle for and it's the one where he can lay in your arms, head pressed to your chest listening to your heartbeat as you run your fingers through his hair.

cuddles like those are his favorite especially when he's had a long day racing or has been away from you for weeks.

he's also notorious for falling asleep in your arms when you cuddle like this.

but he's also one for simplistic intimacy like when your together in the paddock, in line at the supermarket or just stationary while talking to friends, his arms are wrapped around your waist and his head is tucked into your neck.

and when it comes to falling asleep or even just napping, he is the little spoon mostly cause he just likes having you hold him and partly because he just feels safe whenever you fall asleep together like this.

and don't even get me started on the kisses that this man would give you; forehead, cheek, neck, belly, thighs or lips, if you name it he'll kiss it, charles loves kissing you and you love kissing him.

there was moment when you were doing an interview for with the cast of hamilton over zoom and this boy while you were in the middle of answering a question found that he couldn't stop staring at your lips so he just walked up to you, grabbed your face in his hand and kissed you, it lasted about 10 seconds before he pulled back and walked off, leaving you dumbstruck and just staring at your laptop screen unsure of what to say.

there was another moment when you said goodbye to him about ten minutes before a race and gave him his good luck kiss but when you went to walk away, he grabbed your hand and pulled you back to him mumbling "where you going, we're not done yet" before kissing you again.

charles would smile against your lips while you kiss

your favorite way to wake charles up is by kissing him, you start peppering kisses up his and across his shoulders, moving up his neck, across his cheek and then finally connecting your lip to his and while it may take a few minutes, he'd eventually wake and roll over so your trapped beneath him unable to escape his kisses.

being trapped like that often leads to his hands wandering up your sides and despite knowing that you were ticklish, he loves hearing you giggle.

your giggle is one of charles favorite sounds in the world and so he often just attacks you with tickles "give me a minute, i need to tickle the shit out of you".

whenever you two walk together, he's always holding your hand and leading you safely through the paddock or big crowds of people, especially paparazzi.

or if your just out and about you'll walk with your ring fingers wrapped around eachothers.

you'd somehow convinced charles to get matching tattoo's, just small ones on your ring fingers and that's pretty much why they are always linked when you walk.

eventually when he proposes you add to those tattoo's by getting another set of matching ones.

they are in his color too.

you two don't fight often but when you do, it's normally over something small and insignificant.

but when it does happen you get banished to the backseat of the car while carlos sits in your seat as passenger princess.

but within five minutes charles had forgotten all about it and reaches back to hold your hand, it's his way of saying i'm sorry.

time to get down and dirty;

a turn on for you is when charles stretches his arms above his head causing his shirt to raise and it gives you the most beautiful peek at his chest and v-line, he also lets out a little moan every time he does it. [can you imagine it... like my god!]

this boy doesn't believe in quickies unless he gets to eat you out, this boy just lives for it, he'll drop to his knees just about anywhere; your apartment kitchen, his drivers room, a club bathroom... literally anywhere.

both you and charles have praise kinks, he loves hearing you whisper "un si bon garçon" [such a good boy] in his ear and you live to hear him whisper "c'est ma gentille fille" [that's my good girl] while he thrusts in and out of you like a rabbit in heat.

this boy whimpers when the pleasure gets to much.

and when you decide to be naughty and not listen to his instructions, those whimpers turn to growling demands.

you and charles had decided that kids were something you both wanted and so when he gets you pregnant after like two tries, he's fucking proud, walking around wearing a cocky little smirk on his pretty face.

and to finish it off; instagram stories

just a few instagram stories you've posted of your beautiful boyfriend and his responses to them.

charlesleclerc; do you enjoy embarrassing me y/n.on.stage; fuck yeah i do, it's my job charlesleclerc; since when? y/n.on.stage; since the day you asked me to be your girl, you did this to yourself joli garcon charlesleclerc; god dammit

charlesleclerc; your not going to get one amor y/n.on.stage; and your not getting head tonight, win or no win charlesleclerc; baby i'm sorry let me explain *read* charlesleclerc; baby please y/n.on.stage; too late leclerc charlesleclerc; not the last name.. baby i'm sorry! y/n.on.stage; the number your trying to reach is currently unavailable

charlesleclerc; always mon ange <3 y/n.on.stage; you say that but there's still no ring on this finger charlie

charlesleclerc; baby you can't post shit like this, my mother follows you! charlesleclerc; but yes, you can have them y/n.on.stage; correct answer leclerc

leclerc_pascale; grandchildren? y/n.on.stage; working on it leclerc_pascale; that's my girl

charlesleclerc; BABY! where are you.. y/n.on.stage; you'll never find me.. hehe charlesleclerc; *view attached photo* charlesleclerc; you were saying y/n.on.stage; FUCK!.. i wanted to scare you.. once i was finished with lunch charlesleclerc; can i have a bite? y/n.on.stage; no

charlesleclerc; my eyes will always find you mon ange for you are the most beautiful thing they have ever seen y/n.on.stage; you want head? your drivers room in ten charlesleclerc; i'll be there in five y/n.on.stage; god i love you <3

a/n; so..... it was a bit more than a snippet but i was having to much fun to stop, can't wait to start officially writing this series <3

#charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc x reader smut #formula one #formula 1 #formula one fanfiction #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc smau #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fluff #original character #sneak peek

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waitmyturtles · 2 months ago

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Turtles Catches Up With Old GMMTV, and When Queer Media Goes Mainstream in Thailand: The Lakorn Corner, Part 1 -- The Fallen Leaf Edition

[What’s going on here? After joining Tumblr and discovering Thai BLs through KinnPorsche in 2022, I began watching GMMTV’s new offerings -- and realized that I had a lot of history to catch up on, to appreciate the more recent works that I was delving into. From tropes to BL frameworks, what we’re watching now hails from somewhere, and I’m learning about Thai BL's history through what I’m calling the Old GMMTV Challenge (OGMMTVC). Starting with recommendations from @absolutebl on their post regarding how GMMTV is correcting for its mistakes with its shows today, I’ve made an expansive list to get me through a condensed history of essential/classic/significant Thai BLs produced by GMMTV and many other BL studios. My watchlist, pasted below, lists what I’ve watched and what’s upcoming, along with the reviews I’ve written so far. Today, I'm starting a three-part sub-series on queer primetime lakorns in Thailand, starting first with 2019's The Fallen Leaf.]

TW: major spoilers, suicide attempt

WELL. I don't know if anyone's around anymore whose been tracking this project! I haven't written an entry for this project since (scary!) August of 2024. But I have good reasons (!!!), and I attribute this, in part, to Thailand's predilection of broadcasting very, very long primetime dramas. (Besides, of course, the usual craziness of life that happens in-between my watching of shows.)

The last time I updated my Old GMMTV Challenge project, I was just about to tune into (for the first timmmmeeeee omg), My School President, after offering a rewatch analysis of The Eclipse, along with commentary on my perspective of the current impact of branded paired actors in the dramas of GMMTV and other studios. I was really enjoying ploughing through 2022's slate of Thailand's BL and GL dramas, and during the fall of 2024, I watched The Miracle of Teddy Bear, which was ridiculously amazing, and for which I will pen my next review in this series.

The Miracle of Teddy Bear is often cited as Thailand's first queer lakorn, or primetime drama, and is thus on the OGMMTVC list as an important milestone of the extensions of queer media's reach within Thailand's mainstream media. However, the comment that Miracle is Thailand's first queer lakorn is not accurate.

More accurately, The Miracle of Teddy Bear is Thailand's first lakorn to center a male queer character in a same-sex relationship.

In conversation with the FABULOUS @flowerbeasblog (who helms an incomparable blog about ratings and social media performance of our fave shows and actors in Thailand!), I learned that Thailand had an earlier primetime lakorn that featured a queer main character -- a transgender woman who suffered an abusive childhood.

This lakorn, 2019's The Fallen Leaf (aka The Leaves), stars a cisgender female actress, the hugely popular Baifern Pimchanok. The Fallen Leaf was one of Baifern's first shows that put her on Thailand's and Asia's maps as a huge continental star, particularly in China.

I was on the fence as to whether or not I was going to watch this show and list it. The idea of watching a show about a transgender female character, acted by a cisgender actress, gave me the jibbles, as was highlighted during a recent controversy involved a cisgender male actor playing a transgender female in the second season of Squid Game.

However, through some lucky connections, I got word from a Thai screenwriter that I should watch The Fallen Leaf if I was interested in the short history of queer lakorns. Later on in this sub-series about lakorns for the OGMMTVC, I'll discuss 2022's Khun Chai (To Sir With Love), which smashed QL ratings records. Comparing The Fallen Leaf to The Miracle of Teddy Bear and Khun Chai, therefore, is an accurate way to tell the story of the primetime centering of queer stories in Thailand's mainstream mediascape, aside from the continued growth of the specific Series Y genre.

And so. When The Fallen Leaf aired in 2019 on the One31 channel, it was massively popular. I want to talk about why I think that's the case.

Firstly, I want to note the importance of the year in which The Fallen Leaf aired. The inimitable @bengiyo has noted that 2019 was the year in which the Thai BL fanbase bifurcated. Thai BLs, also known as Series Y in Thailand, is a far smaller genre than that of the Thai primetime lakorn. However, the BL genre, by 2019, was growing exponentially, offering fans a wide array of content, from the heaty-hot drama TharnType, to the contemplative miniseries He's Coming To Me, to the complicated and rewarding romance of Dark Blue Kiss.

I thought a lot about TharnType while I was watching The Fallen Leaf. Not too many people in the global QL fanbase know about The Fallen Leaf, save for the incredible @so-much-yet-to-learn, who flagged for me that what he knew about it was that the show was rumored to have contained many problematic stereotypes about transgender individuals.

TharnType was notable not just for being one of the steamiest Series Y shows of its time, but for also centering enough problematic stereotypes about queer sexuality that I felt compelled to forever flag it. I noted in my OGMMTVC review of TharnType that I felt, as an Asian myself, that the show's basic framework relied on Asian stereotypes of bigotry against the queer community, a foundational approach that really made me queasy.

However: that approach (along with the heat), I think, allowed a broader Asian audience to tune into the show and relate to it -- a coincidence that's unfortunate, but one that the show's creator, MAME, likely knew would resonate with a growing fanbase that wanted to see men kiss, but that wasn't potentially fully up to speed on advocating for the queer community and for LGBTQ+ causes. (I posit a similar corollary in theorizing about the popularity of 2020's 2gether.)

I'm not fully sure what led to the creation of The Fallen Leaf, as a 2019 primetime, mainstream drama on one of Thailand's biggest channels. But I will posit, twofold, that the growing popularity of Series Y in Thailand -- not a mainstream genre by way of viewership, but a genre that carried tremendous social media clout, even in 2019 -- along with the resulting increase in social conversations and commentary about queer sexuality and queer life, may have made executives at One31 nod their heads in approving a novel script for the lakorn genre, one that very often centers not just romance, but deeply heterosexual and misogynistic approaches to romance (an issue discussed in the Series Y documentary, BL: Broken Fantasy).

And with The Fallen Leaf, in part, centering often controversial commentary about transgender individuals, the show was sure to achieve notoriety, as it certainly did by way of its resulting popularity in Thailand, and particularly in China.

So...

Now that I've said all of that -- that The Fallen Leaf was a hugely popular show, with a cisgender female actress playing a transgender woman, and that the show contains a hell of a lot of problematic takes on the queer and transgender communities -- what exactly is this show about, and was it a successful narrative?

The Fallen Leaf, as with other lakorns (like The Miracle of Teddy Bear), benefits from being a REALLY LONG SHOW. In a REALLY LONG SHOW, 21 episodes-worth (27 if you find them on YouTube), problematic takes can actually be addressed and countered with delicacy. Of course, problematic takes can also create scripted drama, but I'll get to that in a second.

Nira, our main character, is a transgender Thai woman who underwent gender-affirming surgery in London. She is in England with her mother after her mother's divorce from her abusive and cheating husband. Nira's supportive mother dies in a car accident while Nira is recovering from her surgery. Nira is left devastated -- and hellbent on exacting revenge against her abusive father (Chom) and her equally abusive paternal aunt (Rungrong).

Chom rejected his former son from an early age, noting his former son's feminine tendencies, and abusing his wife and son to a great extent out of his frustration of this reality. (Nira's formerly male identity is recollected in flashbacks, and notably, Saint Suppapong plays Nira's teenage male self.) It is indicated to Chom early in the series that his son died along with his ex-wife in the car accident, allowing Nira to come back to Thailand unidentified as related to Chom's family.

Rungrong is married to Chat, an unhappy husband caught in an almost-unconsummated marriage after Rungrong faked a pregnancy to get Chat to marry her. As a young boy, Nira was close with Chat, the only relative besides Nira's mother who was willing to wholly accept the young boy. Upon Nira's arrival in Thailand as a transitioned adult woman, she insinuates herself in the lives of Chom and Rungrong, ostensibly to upend their lives and exact revenge. During that insinuation, she gains the attraction of both her unhappy uncle-in-law, Chat.....and.... her father, Chom.

Yeah, sooooo, let me stop there for a second. Yes, this show is predicated on the premise that TWO of Nira's relatives -- a non-blood-related relative in her uncle, and her very blood-related relative in her father -- are into her. This tension is not ignored, it's very much addressed, and if you have familiarity with American soap operas or (worse), Indian Zee TV dramas, that a primetime Thai lakorn would choose this approach is actually not so surprising.

(That's Uncle Chat down there, played by the incredible Push Puttichai, who NEEDS TO BE IN AN OLDER MAN BL ABSOLUTELY STAT, THIS MAN IS BEAUTIFUL, JUST BEAUTIFUL. PAIR HIM UP WITH PRAN'S DAD!)

In order to exact revenge against the HUGELY bigoted and abusive Rungrong, as well as a new rival in some dumb influencer named Manow, Nira situates herself to become a famous make-up artist, model, and actress, which she actually achieves to an extent.

However, her abusive past, and the traumatic loss of her mother, haunt her throughout the drama. A huge part of the show is centered on her struggles with her mental health and her psychological care with her doctor, Benjang, who.... yeah, falls in love with her too, at some point. (Codes of ethics don't mean a thang in lakorns, I guess!) BUT BESIDES THAT, her needing anxiety medication, along with her regular hormonal therapy, are depicted clearly as a part of her everyday routine.

I'll stop there for now. Much of the show is centered on Nira's power plays with Rungrong and Manow, especially as these two fucking bigots pry into Nira's past, particularly as Rungrong seethes in jealousy while Nira becomes ever closer to Rungrong's husband.

The drama is a lot. It's a lot, and it's crazy and insane, and it's perfect for a primetime drama meant to draw in a mainstream audience accustomed to catfights and inordinate amounts of scripted tension.

However: let me also compliment this complicated show on a couple of fronts regarding depictions of LGBTQ+ themes.

As I said before, 21 hourlong episodes gives a script a lot of time to unwind. The macro-level, core premise of the show is indeed insane -- two of Nira's older relatives falling in love with her. It's a bombastic premise designed for attention and ratings.

But the show, surprisingly, treats almost all of its LGBTQ+ topics with sensitivity. Transgender women abound in the show, including Nira's steadfast and headstrong manager, and a sympathetic club owner who owns the bigoted Rungrong at one point. The FABULOUS James Rusameekae plays an over-the-top make-up artist. While I was afraid that his character, Baitong, would be treated with disrespect by the script (like Green in the original 2gether), the opposite happened: his feminine traits and never-ending support of Nira were celebrated in the show. Rungrong's own make-up artist, a gay man himself who initially helps Rungrong uncover Nira's secret, ends up lashing out at his boss after Rungrong makes bigoted comments about him and his community.

All of these characters, at some point in the series, face discrimination. Notably, Nira leaves an event where she is asked to be a model, when it is revealed to her that the LGBTQ+ community is not welcome at the site where the event takes place. While the resulting public conversations she engages in about her stance are a touch precious, they're also important to note, considering that these frank conversations about discrimination were happening during a primetime hour to a mainstream audience.

Perhaps even more notable as presented to a mainstream audience: there are many instances in which Nira's transition care are depicted and sometimes explained. At the end of the series, pictures of Nira's post-surgical transition are shown. At the start of the series, Nira is shown in the hospital, bandaged. The transition of her feminine hairline is depicted and explained. She is shown using hormonal gels and vaginal dilators, and carries her bag of dilators with her as she moves apartments during the series.

Thailand is certainly known globally for the quality of its gender-affirming care. However, regarding the transitional experience, I myself have never seen a fictional show delve into so much detail about the process, and I found myself learning and researching parts of the process that I wasn't aware of.

I want to also note, with thanks again to the amazing @flowerbeasblog, that the creators of The Fallen Leaf actually addressed the earlier controversy I noted earlier, about the casting of a cisgender woman in the lead role. As what might have been expected in 2019 -- the creators of the show felt that if a transgender person had been cast, that the show might have been categorized within a more specific genre, like Series Y, for instance. In order to widen the show's appeal to a larger audience, the decision was made to cast a cisgender woman (you can use Google Translate to read this Thai wiki entry about the show). With LGBTQ+ actors and actresses gaining more attention and accolades in mainstream Thai media -- James Rusameekae recently winning a major award, and Jennie Panhan gaining the spotlight for playing a mother in another mainstream lakorn -- I hope that soon enough, a transgender actor or actress will indeed lead a primetime lakorn.

[NOTE: SKIP THE NEXT THREE PARAGRAPHS IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW THE ENDING!]

...

I found the ending of The Fallen Leaf to be a sensible one, but a tough one. Nira's secret is revealed publicly, and she suffers tremendously for it. The accurate psychological connection is made regarding her mental health and the previous abuse she suffered at the hands of her father. None of the villains are redeemed -- an ending that I'm thankful for, because the show didn't need to jump through any other extraneous and insensible ethical hoops.

The show ended on a reasonable note of hope. Nira admits she is ill, and leaves behind Thailand, and Chat, to recover. She comments on the possibility of being able to go back to Thailand to the community that loves and supports her -- her doctor, her manager, her friend in Baitong.

The show was already too long to establish a narrative that she could triumph, within 21 episodes, over the lifetime of pain and abuse she had suffered. While I found that tough, I also found it a realistic and reasonable approach in a discussion about a lifetime of mental health issues. I think the fictional Nira indeed deserves love, and I hope that another lakorn that centers a transgender character will take up that mantle.

While The Fallen Leaf does not technically fall within the spectrum of the Series Y genre -- which The Old GMMTV Challenge project specifically focuses on -- I am ultimately so thankful that I watched it, because it is a clear precursor to 2022's Khun Chai/To Sir, With Love. Khun Chai, a fellow One31 queer primetime lakorn, turns up the volume on the conversation of discrimination against the gay community from the JUMP of episode one, with (similar to The Fallen Leaf) a suicide attempt after an unintended outing. I'm watching Khun Chai right now, so I can't make full comment at this moment, but I very much feel that with 2019's The Fallen Leaf having aired prior to Khun Chai -- and with the INCREDIBLE growth of Series Y shows from 2019 to 2022 -- that the Thai mainstream audience was really ready for some blunt conversation about gay men, bigotry, and true love, in a Very Big Soapy Show by the time Khun Chai aired. I see the similarities between The Fallen Leaf and Khun Chai already. While tropes abound in shows about young boys finding their feminine tendencies early in their lives, the fact that The Fallen Leaf and Khun Chai (as well as The Miracle of Teddy Bear) all start with young boys receiving physical abuse for their tendencies would not have been lost on the Thai lakorn audience who watched all of these shows.

With that, I close out my thoughts on The Fallen Leaf. Part two of the OGMMTVC's Lakorn Corner will focus on the absolutely OUTSTANDING The Miracle of Teddy Bear -- a Channel 3 lakorn that performed notably worse than The Fallen Leaf and Khun Chai, but that still carried incredibly important messaging about queer sexuality and childhood abuse and discrimination. I cannot wait to start writing about it, and I'll see y'all for part two of this sub-series!

[I wanna note that I am way behind on reviews for a lot of shows I watched last fall and winter. I'll write about Miracle next, then I'll pen a brief tribute to the FUCKING INCREDIBLE Triage, then onto Khun Chai, and then a quick deep-dive into the history of Thai GLs with Love Songs Love Stories: Pae Jai from 2015, Love of Secret from 2022, and then the biggie, GAP.

And then. I will finally watch My School President. Once I'm done with Khun Chai and the quick Love Songs Love Stories. (Yes, I am finally adding a show to the list that I myself am not watching, in Love of Secret. I'll explain more when I get to the GLs era.)

ANYWAY. Here's the current list as you see fit!

1) The Love of Siam (2007) (movie) (review here) 2) My Bromance (2014) (movie) (review here) 3) Love Sick and Love Sick 2 (2014 and 2015) (review here) 4) Love Songs Love Stories: Pae Jai (2015) (Thailand’s first serialized GL) (to be reviewed with GAP the Series) 5) Gay OK Bangkok Season 1 (2016) (a non-BL queer series directed by Jojo Tichakorn and written by Aof Noppharnach) (review here) 6) Make It Right (2016) (review here) 7) SOTUS (2016-2017) (review here) 8) Gay OK Bangkok Season 2 (2017) (a non-BL queer series directed by Jojo Tichakorn and written by Aof Noppharnach) (review here) 9) Make It Right 2 (2017) (review here) 10) Together With Me (2017) (review here)

11) SOTUS S/Our Skyy x SOTUS (2017-2018) (review here) 12) Love By Chance (2018) (review here) 13) Kiss Me Again: PeteKao cuts (2018) (no review) 14) He’s Coming To Me (2019) (review here) 15) The Fallen Leaf (2019) (not a BL; adjacent to the project as Thailand’s first lakorn featuring a queer/transgender main character) (review coming) 16) Dark Blue Kiss (2019) and Our Skyy x Kiss Me Again (2018) (review here) 17) TharnType (2019-2020) (review here) 18) Senior Secret Love: Puppy Honey (OffGun BL cuts) (2016 and 2017) (no review) 19) Theory of Love (2019) (review here) 20) 3 Will Be Free (2019) (a non-BL and an important harbinger of things to come in 2019 and beyond re: Jojo Tichakorn pushing queer content at GMMTV) (review here)

21) Dew the Movie (2019) (review here) 22) Until We Meet Again (2019-2020) (review here) (and notes on my UWMA rewatch here) 23) 2gether (2020) and Still 2gether (2020) (review here) 24) I Told Sunset About You (2020) (review here) 25) YYY (2020, out of chronological order) (review here) 26) Manner of Death (2020-2021) (review here) 27) A Tale of Thousand Stars (2021) (review here) 28) A Tale of Thousand Stars (2021) OGMMTVC Fastest Rewatch Known To Humankind For The Sake Of Rewatching Our Skyy 2 x BBS x ATOTS (re-review here) 29) Lovely Writer (2021) (review here) 30) Last Twilight in Phuket (2021) (the mini-special before IPYTM) (review here)

31) I Promised You the Moon (2021) (review here) 32) Not Me (2021-2022) (review here) 33) Bad Buddy (2021-2022) (thesis here) 34) 55:15 Never Too Late (2021-2022) (not a BL, but a GMMTV drama that features a macro BL storyline about shipper culture and the BL industry) (review here) 35) Bad Buddy (2021-2022) and Our Skyy 2 x BBS x ATOTS (2023) OGMMTVC Rewatch (Links to the BBS OGMMTVC Meta Series are here: preamble here, part 1, part 2, part 3a, part 3b, and part 4) 36) Secret Crush On You (2022) (review here) 37) The Miracle of Teddy Bear (2022) (review coming) 38) KinnPorsche (2022) (tag here) 39) KinnPorsche (2022) OGMMTVC Fastest Rewatch Known To Humankind For the Sake of Re-Analyzing the KP Cultural Zeitgeist (part 1 and part 2) 40) Triage (2022) (review coming)

41) Honorable Mention: War of Y (2022) (for the sake of an attempt to provide meta BL commentary within a BL in the modern BL era), with a complementary watch of Aam Anusorn’s documentary, BL: Broken Fantasy (2020) (thoughts here) 42) The Eclipse (2022) (tag here) 43) The Eclipse OGMMTVC Rewatch to Reexamine "Genre BLs," Along With a Critical Take on Branded Ships (review here) 44) Khun Chai/To Sir, With Love (2022) (watching) 45) Love of Secret (2022) (a GL that preceded GAP) (I will not be watching this, but it's on the list to precede GAP) 46) GAP (2022-2023) (Thailand’s first GL with a branded pair and ship) (review coming) 47) My School President (2022-2023) and Our Skyy 2 x My School President (2023), Coupled with a Speed-Watch of My Love Mix-Up Thailand (2024) to Comment on GMMTV Trying to Make Magic Happen Twice 48) Moonlight Chicken (2023) (tag here) 49) Bed Friend (2023) (tag here) 50) La Pluie (2023) (review coming)

51) Be My Favorite (2023) (tag here) (I’m including this for BMF’s sophisticated commentary on Krist’s career past as a BL icon) 52) Wedding Plan (2023) (Recommended as an important trajectory in the course of MAME’s work and influence from TharnType) 53) Only Friends (2023) (tag here) (not technically a BL, but it certainly became one in the end) 54) Last Twilight (2023-24) (tag here) (on the list as Thailand’s first major BL to center disability, successfully or otherwise) 55) Cherry Magic Thailand (2023-24) (tag here) (on the list as the first major Japanese-to-Thai drama adaptation, featuring the comeback of TayNew) 56) Ossan’s Love Returns (Japan, 2024) (adding for the EarthMix cameo and the eventual Thai remake) 57) 23.5 (2024) (GMMTV’s first GL) (thoughts here) (I am not finished with this show; I will finish it when I get to it on this list) 58) Spare Me Your Mercy (2024) (thoughts here) (added as the finale of Sammon's medical trilogy in Manner of Death and Triage, and as a major lakorn starring two of Thailand's biggest actors in Tor Thanapob and Jaylerr)]

#the fallen leaf #the leaves #baifern pimchanok #thai lakorn #thai lakorns #the old gmmtv challenge #ogmmtvc #turtles catches up with thai bls #turtles catches up with the essential BLs #turtles catches up with old gmmtv

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homeofthelonelywriter · 1 year ago

Text

Drawn to you | Pt. 4

(A/N) This one's a bit shorter, but I hope you like it! Also, thank you so much for 2500 Followers!!! Aaaahhhh I love all of you so much!

Pairing: Alastor x bunny demon!Reader (no Y/N)

Warnings: flashback to life on earth, sexism

Synopsis: Your life back on Earth.

Earth - 1920

“You’re late.”

You raised your head to look into the glaring eyes of your boss. The fat, old man regarded you with a scowl before turning around and stomping towards his office.

“I-I’m sorry Sir. The bus was full, so I had to wait for the next one, and-”

He turned to face you again, his face red with anger.

“I don’t care! You are paid to be here on time! The next time you’re late, I’ll cut it from your paycheck, understood?”

You frantically nodded while holding your breath. Pointing out that you were actually twenty minutes early and just ten minutes late from your usual thirty minutes early, would just enrage the man even more.

With another huff, the man walked into his office and slammed the door, making you jump at the sudden, loud noise. You sighed and quietly made your way to your workstation, where you sat up for the day. You smiled at your colleagues that passed and led pleasant small talk with the ones that stopped for a chat. But the whole day went by without you seeing your favorite person even once.

Not that he had to stop by or anything, but he sometimes did and those were always the best moments of the day. He held such a passion for this job, it always infected you, made you hold on to the dream of one day being a host yourself.

But in your heart, you knew that that dream was foolish. A woman? A radio host? That would never happen. If you were lucky, maybe you could become the secretary, but your voice would never be aired live. At least not in this century.

With a sigh, you got to work. You quickly wrote up the weather report for the day, before handing it over to your boss, who would give the final go. After that you filed through letters and parcels, delivering them to where they needed to go.

You were basically done with your day’s work and it wasn’t even time for lunch. So, you decided to work on your dream some more. Whenever you had free time, you’d type out what you would do if you were the host. Corny jokes and funny advertisements. You’d make a list of the songs you’d play and what you’d be talking about.

Your shoulders slumped as you finished your dream program, the realization that that would never happen, catching up to you. Sometimes you wondered if playing into the dream made reality harder to bear. You still continued your wishful thinking, lost in a dream where you were calling the shots and where you would yell at fat, old men.

Two hands suddenly covering your eyes pulled you back to reality and a grin took over your lips.

“Guess who?”

You chuckled, trying to think of a witty response.

“Oh, Samantha, is that you?”

The laugh that escaped the man behind you made your heart race and butterflies erupt in your belly.

“Would you prefer it being Samantha?”

You shook your head with a smile and the hands lowered until they rested on your shoulders. With a wide grin, you spun in your chair, to come face to face with your favorite person.

“Now, how is my favorite lady doing?”

You rolled your eyes as he guided your right hand to his lips, before pressing a chaste kiss to your knuckles.

“Ah, you know, same old, same old. Got my work done within two hours, wrote down my concept for the day and it’s not even lunchtime, got yelled at by boss-man once again,-”

The usually smiling host’s expression hardened when you mentioned the fat, old man. He glared in the direction of his office. If looks could kill, that man would be dead.

“Someone ought to take care of that bastard.”

With wide eyes, you raised your hands against the man’s mouth to shush him.

“You can’t just say stuff like that. You’ll get fired.”

He turned back to you with his signature smile.

“If I were to get fired for protecting you, it would be worth it.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at his words and quickly lowered your head, a coy smile playing on your lips. Your reaction caused the man to chuckle, before carefully ruffling through your hair. A complaint crossed your lips at his action and he stopped with a playful laugh, before helping you to fix your hair.

“So, what’s on your agenda today?”

You grabbed the pieces of paper and went through the different points you had written up, ending on the big story you’d talk about, were you in any kind of position to.

“Congress is supposed to vote on the 19th amendment in a few days. I really hope it gets signed.”

The man nodded thoughtfully, taking notes in his head. He was about to say something when his name was called from the other end of the office space.

“Gotta run, will you tune in tonight?”

He was already walking away, still facing you.

“I always do.”

He grinned, before turning around and running to where he was being summoned, leaving you with a soft smile and a racing heart.

By the time you had to clock out, you were sure you were dying of boredom. It was bad enough that you had considered asking for more work, but thankfully you made it through the day without. You quickly put on your gloves and hat, before you left the radio station and made your way home.

As soon as you entered your apartment, you hurried to the old radio in your kitchen and turned it on, just in time to hear him introducing himself.

“Welcome ladies and gentlemen to the evening show. I’m your host, as usual, Alastor!”

Hell - now

“Why don’t you remember me?”

@impulsivethoughtsat2am @dasimp777 @fanficwriter5 @wonderlandangelsposts

Please consider reblogging and following me! It helps a lot!

Hazbin Hotel - Masterlist

Master-Masterlist

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfic #alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor fanfiction #alastor fanfic #alastor love

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featheredclover · 8 months ago

Text

September Rain

Chapter Six

Also on Wattpad

Read from the beginning

Chapter Five> <Chapter Seven

“Topsy World it is” NK said, swinging his legs in the air.

Khushi walked over to the bunch sitting across the rocky ledge.

“Isn’t there also a water park somewhere inside that park?”

“Yes! Aqua Land! So don’t forget to pack your swimsuits”

Mona raised an eyebrow,” How excited are you for this picnic ,NK?”

He grinned,”The second last one day trip before we get to go on weekend long trips? Hell yeah! I am excited “

Khushi giggled, “I have heard good things about the place”

“Aman is upset class 9 is going to a different place”

“I am not!”

Khushi climbed up, sliding beside Aman.

“It’s okay to be upset a little Aman”

He smiled, “I guess,K”

“So after lunch is the water park?” Preetika noted in her tiny book.

“What are you doing Preeto? Scheduling the picnic?” Mona scoffed.

Khushi hid her smile, while Preetika glared.

“Aah here comes the supermodel” NK whistled.

They twisted their necks as Lavanya Kashyap walked towards them, a dainty smile on her face.

“Hello guys” her voice settled down like mist against a window pane.

“Hi” , Khushi joined the chorus in a small voice.

“Arnav asked me to wait for him with you guys”, she shrugged.

“How nice,” Aman said dryly.

“Aha! Time for us to get to know each other more Lavanya “ NK grinned

“You can sit with us, you know ? Climb up!”

“No thanks NK, I don’t feel like sitting”

Khushi found herself rolling her eyes as her friends kept on asking Lavanya mundane questions. She desperately wished for Arnav to come and occupy his girl’s attention.

“So Khushi ? Aman tells me you are leading the dance club with him”

Startled at the sudden spotlight on her, she fell quiet for an awkward moment.

“Um yes Lavanya. Are you interested?”

“I don’t know. I did Bharatanatyam like you for a couple of years. But I don’t know if I should take up this or polo”

“Oh, you should take up polo! I could help you “ Preetika clapped.

“Thank you Preetika “ Lavanya shot her a charming smile.

Khushi looked up as she heard footsteps.

“Hi everyone “ Arnav huffed out, catching his breath.

“You were in a hurry to get here, hah?” NK raised a brow.

Arnav laughed, “I am just getting away from Bakshi sir! He has been paranoid ever since green won against yellow ”

Khushi looked away as the thoughts of the last game flooded her mind.

“Eviscerated yellow house, you mean? We crushed them!” Mona laughed.

“Isn’t someone a little too smug for a match she didn’t play?” Aman teased.

“Ask Khushi! We brought luck to the team simply with our presence!”

“Khushi? You watched the match?” , the incredulity evident in NK’s voice.

“Yes. So?”

“So?” Aman chuckled, “You have never been at anything except the-“

“Finals”, Arnav interrupted.

She didn’t need to look around to know she was bearing the brunt of all eyes.

“Things change”, she shrugged.

Her eyes unwillingly met his. The storm visible in his depths.

——————

Her fingers skimmed over the thick bindings, searching for something. Something which will last her for a week. Khushi looked up, to see golden letters gleaming from the bind of a brown leather bound.

‘Emma’

She rose on tiptoes, an arm stretching out,a frown marring her face as she tried to reach it.

A warm breath of air grazed her neck. A shiver ran down her spine as her book was grabbed.

“Here” Arnav said hoarsely, “Jane Austen again?”

“Yes” Khushi whispered, “That one was ‘Pride and Prejudice’”

“Aah! Both your signature qualities !”

He grinned slyly, as she gasped in outrage.

“What the hell Arnav!”

“Sshhh!”

Mrs. Roy’s disapproving glare was enough to stop their bickering.

Sticking a tongue out at him, she brushed past him and placed the book on the desk.

“Miss Khushi I admire your reading habits but whenever Mr Raizada accompanies you,you spoil the sanctity of this library “

“Sorry ma’am, I am to be blamed” Arnav intervened charmingly, “And oh! The sanctity of this place is too strongly maintained by you to be broken by us!”

“Shoo off boy!” A rare smile broke across Mrs. Roy’s face.

————

Khushi stared at their entwined hands. Arnav had not let her have a moment of respite since they got out of the library. Her hand was quickly grabbed. And now, she was being dragged across campus.

She knew where they were heading. She knew they had to talk. But fear gripped her heart as she felt this could end up being worse for them. What if he confirmed her suspicions? Her hand turned rigid as an unpleasant feeling flooded her body. She was distracted as she felt Arnav clutching her hand tighter.

She sighed. He was going to make it happen. Come hell or high water!

————

The bricks were home, Khushi thought as she climbed up the stairs, took off her bag and settled down in her usual spot, leaning against the wall.

Arnav smiled at her woebegone expression. He reached into his bag. And then brandished two sodas before her.

He threw his bag aside and settled down beside her.

“Thanks”, she cracked it open against the wall and took a deep sip.

“How was Payal di’s party?”

“You wouldn’t have had to ask me, had you been there”

Arnav looked away.

“You missed me?”

Khushi paused. She didn’t want to be flippant with him anymore.

“Yes”

Hearing his breath hitch, she felt her heart go a mile a minute.

“I am sorry Khushi” , he held her hand, “I just couldn’t come and be- be normal. I knew we couldn’t talk the way I wanted us to, had I been there. I was just too angry to see things clearly”

“So you admit you were unreasonable that day?” She raised a brow.

He frowned, “No. I wasn’t “

“Khushi, let me explain, “ he said as she struggled to free her hand.

“You’ll explain?”, she gave him a dubious look.

“Yes, just let me speak”

“Okay” she grumbled.

“I don’t like Dhruv. And I hate that he has asked you to attend every match of his. But because you want to be there for him, I won’t say anything again. But…I just want us to be us. If you are going to the ground, I would want you to tell me and not scatter off without a word!”

Khushi smiled at his exasperation.

“Dhruv is just the sub captain of our house, Arnav. He wants to be the captain next year. And if he feels, having visible supporters will help him win,I have to go, as his friend. I didn’t mean to brush you off but…”

“Lavanya is not my girlfriend “

She froze. Clutching her skirt, she felt cold. Her stomach was not being her friend.

“Khushi, she is new here. And we talked while I was showing her around. Her parents…NK must have told you. They are having an ugly divorce. It’s all in the papers. And she is getting stuck in between their fights . It was actually her grandmother who felt she would feel better here, away from the mess.”

She sighed, “I understand “

“And she is so reserved that she doesn’t even want to talk to other girls in our house. Even with NK and Aman around, she will fall silent! I just wanted to get her out of her shell. I feel sorry for her Khushi. And yesterday, I told her to go wait for me with you guys, so that she could make some friends”, Arnav shrugged.

She bit her lip.

“I get it, Arnav. I had just never seen you so occupied. I felt…that everything was changing. We were changing. And I was- I was simply upset”

A breath of air huffed out of her as Arnav mauled her into a hug.

“Never! We are never going to change Khushi “ his furious whisper reached her ears and calmed her heart.

She clutched him tightly, ignoring the flutter of butterflies in her stomach.

Everything felt right again.

Under the dome, against the evening sky, they held each other, waiting for the twilight to chase away the sun.

————

Next chapter>>

Tagging:

@hand-picked-star @phuljari @msbhagirathi @thenainitaldisaster @thedupattaknowswhatsup @jalebi-weds-bluetooth @barshifan @andli @shiyaravi @chutkiandchotte @laad-governess @minpdnim @bigfatreader @arshiradio @simplycurlz @scorpio-smiles @bengudill @exosexosekai @0218fm

#ipkknd fanfiction #ipkknd ff #ipkknd #arshi #arnav singh raizada #khushi kumari gupta #fanfic #ipk 13th anniversary fiesta #arnav x khushi #ipkknd fanfic #what shall i name this love

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