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hiccanna-tidbits · 1 year

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@jackunzel-time

Jackunzel Month Week 4 - Fairy Tales Beauty and the Beast

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AKAJSIFEBPYBGU NOT ME PLANNING A JACKUNZEL ONE SHOT FOR JACKUNZEL MONTH LAST YEAR AND NOT GETTING AROUND TO WRITING IT UNTIL THE END OF JACKUNZEL MONTH THIS YEAR OMG

Anyways, it’s here!!! I finally did it, it’s here!!! I was gonna write two other little drabble things for fairy tale week, but honestly?? *Collapses*

I MEAN I’LL DO THEM I PROMISE I’LL DO THEM but ain’t no way they’re getting done on time XD

So basically the story is that I saw this post last year and just. Immediately came up with a Jackunzel Beauty and the Beast-type AU to go with it in my head. At first I was like “UGH great another fanfic idea I’ll never get around to writing” and then I was like “BUT WAIT!!! Jackunzel month!!! I’ll write it then!!!” and then I just. Didn’t. XD

But then THIS year I was like “ENOUGH DILLYDALLYING BITCH YOU GONNA DO THIS” and then I guess I actually did??? Took like a week of late-night writing sessions and intensive spooky ambiance, but IT GOT DONE.

So without further ado, enjoy this bout of literally-star-crossed celestial angst! I also took a lot of inspo from the Corrupted Nightmare Jack AU here, as well as the beast from Over the Garden Wall. Kind of going for what Jack could have become if he really did join up with Pitch, even if he doesn’t exactly here. Hopefully the design I used for him is sufficiently spooky!! And tragic!! :’)

Might go without saying, but CW for a little body horror here. It’s beauty and the beast, tho so I feel like that comes with the genre XD

Fic under the cut! As always, moodboard pic credits available upon request!

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The Sunbringer and the Shadowkeeper

The Sunbringer shivered as she made her way through the murky forest.

It felt like she’d been walking for hours and made it nowhere. The woods never changed—always the same crooked, barren tree silhouettes, their topmost branches forming jagged windows into a vast and endless night sky. Peat and old leaves squished and crunched underfoot, sometimes making noises so pronounced that the Sunbringer could swear someone else was there.

Or something. Watching her.

She quickened her pace, pulling her translucent golden cloak tighter around her shoulders. Some solar warmth still remained among its folds, but it was trickling out day by day.

The periods where the days should be, anyways.

Spring was late that year. The Sunbringer was starting to regret telling the Council of the Skies she would be the one to investigate.

By the equinox, the sun was always released from the Place of Shadows. The Sunbringer caught it without fail, holding it high in the sky as the grass grew and the flowers bloomed and the animals crept from hibernation and started families. But the solstice had come and gone, and there was no sign of the warmth-giver needed for the world to be reborn.

Now, the Sunbringer wandered through an endless winter landscape. Dead and dark and horribly cold, the only sources of light were the faint, faraway stars and the glow from the Sunbringer’s own golden braid. The further she went, the more the air bit into her skin and the winds wailed like a miserable dog. It was like something out of a nightmare.

She hummed a tune to herself, trying to calm frayed nerves. The sound of her own voice was her only companion in this lifeless place.

It was a song her mother had taught her, long, long ago. A healing incantation that could seal any wound, no matter how brutal. If rumor be believed, it could even raise the dead.

Now, the Sunbringer only hoped to dispel her own fear.

Surprisingly, the Sunbringer’s mother was not some celestial goddess, a queen of the clouds who passed her divinity on to her daughter. No, the Sunbringer had been human once, chosen for this job many, many millennia ago.

She couldn’t remember much of her human life. There were bits and pieces, scattered through her mind like tiny wildflowers in an alpine meadow.

She’d been from a small village. It was a simple life—one where she was expected to become a seamstress or a milkmaid or a farmhand girl or a grocer’s assistant or any number of other mundane things. She collected berries and herbs in the woods. She knew which mushrooms were the poisonous ones, and which ones tasted delicious cooked with butter and sage. She helped where she could—the fall harvest and the sheep herding and the chicken feeding. Her mother, who she faintly recalled being a curvy, dark-haired woman, doted on her day and night, but at the price of smothering her relentlessly. The Sunbringer had to fight to do anything on her own.

She had to fight not to have her hand held.

There was a boy, too. Brown-haired, twiggy, a constant bounce in his step. Always running through the woods and climbing trees in the summer and entertaining the younger children with goofy antics on long, frigid winter nights. He’d been her best friend. She was pretty sure, anyways.

She remembered he died young, although the exact way wasn’t clear. It brought her a strange sort of comfort, knowing that she never missed out on growing up and growing old with the brown-haired boy.

Sometimes she snatched at the faint recollections, trying to pull on the threads to see what else she could find. Her Sunbringer duties always seemed to call before she got far.

After all, there was sunshine to spread and plants to grow and cats to keep warm in little yellow squares on kitchen floors. The world was a delicate, precious balance of life and death, and it would crumble within days if she ever shirked her responsibilities.

And now more than ever, she had more pressing matters. She suspected she knew what happened to the sun—and if she was right, there was no time to be wasted.

The Council of the Skies had told many a tale of the Shadowkeeper. A creature always just beyond the shadows, he was more the dread of the darkness or the nervous tingles you got on the back of your neck than a tangible being. Those who met him said they never got a clear look, his form obscured by black tendrils and his head only a silhouette with sharp antlers and pointed teeth. When you came upon him, you felt all the bleakness and biting cold of the dead of winter wash over you.

He kept the sun swept up in his dark, swirling form all throughout the frostiest months, weakening it almost too much for the world to bear. In spring he released it, at last letting warmth reclaim the sky.

This year, the Shadowkeeper must have kept his grip on the sun, greedily sucking light into his cold body like a tick drinking blood. Hogging the sun for 3 months was no longer enough for him, it seemed.

Light embedded into the Sunbringer’s skin flickered, as it always did when she grew nervous. Long had she suspected she may have to battle the winter’s terrifying guardian, but she never dreamed it would be over something as immense as him wanting to keep the sun for his own.

Sometimes she resented being chosen for this life. It was a draining existence, guarding the heat that kept the world alive when the smallest chain reaction could leave everything destroyed.

The Sunbringer had never met the Shadowkeeper, but she believed the stories. The forest he called home was icy and frightful, and she didn’t imagine he was any better.

A heavy fog hung in the air, sticking to her skin in chilly droplets. She wondered, not for the first time, what would happen if she were to die again.

Was there any way the Council of the Skies could bring her back, use their powers to form her out of sunlight again? Or would they simply move on, letting her fade into legend as they chose a new Sunbringer?

The thought made her feel unbearably lonely—a nearly invisible wisp of a soul that could dissolve into the mist at any moment, leaving few behind who would care she was gone. The world would mourn the role she played, sure—mourn the position that needed to be filled. But they wouldn’t mourn her.

She couldn’t say how long she walked before the fog began to clear. The forest floor came into sight at some point, a carpet of brown leaves frosted at the edges.

They were cold against her bare feet. She couldn’t fully explain why, but the prickles they sent through her didn’t bother her.

Perhaps, she thought, she was so used to the heat of her own skin that a new sensation was welcomed, even if it was the antithesis of everything she was meant to stand for.

When the wisps of fog were thin enough to see the trees she stopped, eyes widening. The branches were covered in white snow, glimmering softly in the starlight.

It was a strange kind of beautiful. An unexpected piece of something pure and lovely in a world so desolate.

She couldn’t explain why, but the sight of it made her sad. Her heart felt suddenly hollow, like there was something just out of reach that belonged there.

Something to do with this tiny speck of beauty in a dead, frozen world.

The Sunbringer pushed the melancholia aside. She had a job to do—one where she simply did not have time to wonder about why she was at such a puzzling loss here.

She walked on. The leaves became sprinkled with snow—first flakes, then clumps, then a sprawling carpet. She found herself relishing the shivers it sent through her feet. Something still strange and novel, but exhilarating nonetheless.

Moonlight glinted off ice, and she saw a frozen river blocking her path. She tested it with a tentative foot, wondering if she had enough of the sun’s power left in her to float if the frozen covering didn’t hold.

The river was sturdy and strong, no trace of spring around to weaken the ice. The Sunbringer placed a foot on the frosty surface and began her crossing.

Toward the middle, the river groaned. The Sunbringer tensed as the realization hit.

There had been no spring to melt the ice until she came along.

She broke into a run, ice cracking and caving behind her. Thank the skies she always seemed to be one step ahead of catastrophe.

She swore there was something dark swirling below her—something always just under her field of vision. She knew if she stopped to get a good look, the river would have her.

Reaching the other side did not bring her the comfort she had hoped.

There was something distinctively eerie about the woods here. The Sunbringer wondered again—more urgently this time—if someone or something was watching her.

There seemed to be shadows everywhere—rippling, licking, always just out of her grasp. She heard them swooshing and whistling like gusts of wind.

But whenever she turned to look, they were gone.

Her feelings were becoming more and more of a riddle. The Sunbringer should have felt fear—crippling, nauseating fear.

Instead, all she felt was a strange longing.

The shadows were her other half, she supposed. You couldn’t truly have light without them. Perhaps that was why they called to her.

But there was something more.

The dark tendrils swirled thicker and thicker between the trees, always on the verge of engulfing her. She stopped.

“Shadowkeeper.” She spoke the word aloud, realizing where she was.

She’d reached the heart of his domain. His lair.

“Is that all you know me as?”

His voice floated in the air like mist, formless and ghostly. The icy breath of winter itself.

The Sunbringer frowned. “What other name is there? I bring the sun, you hold the shadows. That is all we are.”

“It wasn’t always.” The Shadowkeeper laughed, and it didn’t sound nearly as menacing as the Council of the Skies always described.

It was…playful. Bittersweet, almost.

“That doesn’t matter.” The Sunbringer forced her expression to harden. “All there is is now. You’ve kept the sun too long, and I have come to reclaim it. It is time for spring to come.”

“So formal.” The Shadowkeeper chuckled. “How long have you rehearsed that?”

“Long enough.” She frowned, although she couldn’t quite determine which cluster of dark wisps she should frown at. “It’s been weeks!”

“That was the only way I could see you. It’s not like you’d come out here on your own.”

Her frown turned to a look of confusion. “Why would you want to see me? Doesn’t the light hurt you?”

“Not if it’s you.”

All the flickering shadows snaked around the tree trunks and clustered together, twisting like water in a whirlpool. They spun around and around, melting from a trembling pillar into the inky form of…something.

The creature that stood before her loomed over the forest clearing. His body was surrounded by billowing shadows, floating in inky puffs like a cloak of midnight clouds. His head—or what the Sunbringer guessed it to be, anyhow—was narrow and elongated, crown adorned with the silhouettes of sharp, spindly tree branches. They jabbed out in every direction, bringing to mind the head of some strange deer that couldn’t stop growing antlers.

The only bit of color on the beast was his eyes—a pale golden that almost perfectly matched the Sunbringer’s hair. The Sunbringer found herself feeling strange again.

“You really don’t know me?” The voice that came from the beast was soft. Almost timid.

It had to be a trick. Some way for the Shadowkeeper to throw her off-guard.

Did he believe if he attacked her—if he vanquished her light—that he could plunge the world into darkness? It seemed a naïve sentiment from a spirit at least as old as her, if not older. He had to know the Council of the Skies would pick a new Sunbringer.

It was strange, come to think of it. She somehow knew the Shadowkeeper was not some ancient creature who had been around since the dawn of time, nor was he a young spirit only just learning the ebb and flow of the natural world.

To answer the Shadowkeeper’s original question, what the Sunbringer did and did not know was becoming more and more puzzling.

“I know you stole the sun.” Perhaps she should start with what it did make sense for her to know. “And I’m not sure what you want with me, but I know you need to give it back. I can’t let you make the world go dark.”

“Ask me by name, and it’s yours.”

It was an odd request, but the Sunbringer saw no reason to refuse.

“Shadowkeeper, I implore you to—”

“That’s not my name.”

The Sunbringer scowled. “Well, if that isn’t your name, then I don’t know what it is!”

“I think you do.”

The shadows swirled around their keeper, circling a few times before dissolving like smoke. Gradually his form came into view, lit only by the faintest starlight.

The Shadowkeeper—the beast—was a frightening thing. His limbs were long and grotesque, spindly and stiff like the barren trees surrounding him. His skin was rough and cracked, made almost entirely of bark. His hands ended in long, pointed branchlets, curved and sharpened into claws.

The branches on the Shadowkeeper’s head looked even more unnerving in the light. They snaked all the way down his back, all honed like a young stag’s antlers. It hardly helped that his face was still difficult to see, save for those eerie yellow eyes.

Her eyes trailed across his body, and she started. There was something pale under the bark, barely visible behind thickly-woven black tendrils.

Human skin, slowly being suffocated by wood. Before long, it would all be buried too deep for anyone to see.

The Shadowkeeper was once an ordinary person. Like her.

“Does it hurt?” Her voice came out in a strangled whisper.

The Shadowkeeper glanced down, as if just noticing the bark that was choking out the softer flesh underneath. He chuckled.

“To be honest, I’ve stopped noticing. Does it hurt when you hold the sun?”

Despite herself, the Sunbringer laughed too. “I guess…I’ve stopped noticing, too.”

The Shadowkeeper took a pace toward her. The Sunbringer surprised herself when she felt no desire to back away.

Something on the Shadowkeeper’s back caught her eye, and she cried out. Protrusions she had thought were just more branches were arrows.

She knitted her brow, suddenly concerned. “People hunt you? In your own forest?”

The Shadowkeeper snorted. “Maybe they think they can get rid of winter that way. I’m usually too quick for them to land a good blow, but not always.”

“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to live in fear.”

The Shadowkeeper shrugged, the bark of his shoulders creaking. “Eh. What can you do? I pretend it’s an intentional fashion choice.”

The Sunbringer found herself laughing again.

She gave him a thoughtful look, wondering if she’d been wrong. “You…don’t want to hurt me, do you?”

“No.” The Shadowkeeper looked at her with such a sorrow that it took her aback. “Who do you think helped you across the stream? Who do you think made sure the places you stepped were always frozen?”

“That was you?”

Her eyes widened, picturing the dark swirls under the ice and not quite believing they were something benevolent. “You were really trying to help?”

“Always.”

His voice was quick and certain, and she was left baffled once again. “But why?”

He takes a breath before answering.

“Because we were friends once, Rapunzel. A long time ago.”

Rapunzel…

The Sunbringer almost fell back onto the snow.

Memories so vague before came stampeding back at full force. She remembered everything—the bedroom her mother locked her in, a fluffy bob of brown hair, weaving flower crowns for her best friend’s sister, dancing around the maypole at summer festivals, the ice pond that had drowned her best friend.

Her best friend.

“Jack.”

She breathed out his name in a ragged sob. For a moment she stood with her head spinning, wondering despondently how she could have ever forgotten Jackson Overland.

“Took you long enough, Zellie.”

She ran to him, throwing her arms around rough skin and burying her face in his chest.

Bark groaned as his arms wove around her, pulling her closer. She felt wooden tendrils twist across the surface of her gown, entwining them together until they could have been one being.

Rapunzel thought back to the cramped room in her human home—the one her mother made her prison. With Jack’s branches surrounding her, she found it strange she didn’t feel trapped.

On the contrary, she felt safe. She felt loved.

“I’m so sorry,” she choked, face wet with tears. “I’m sorry I—I don’t know how I…”

“It’s all right.” He murmured into her hair, voice soft. “For…a long time, I didn’t remember you either. Then one spring, I looked up, and saw you floating through the sky like this…miracle of nature, and…” His voice broke. “It was like you never left my mind.”

She looked up and met his eyes, getting a good look at his face for the first time.

It wasn’t quite what she remembered. Framed by spikes of inky black instead of chocolate brown. Stretched, slightly distorted. All ghostly skin and sharp angles. Like the lengthened shadows at the end of the day. Like something in the half-light.

She reached out a hand and cupped his cheek. It was so frigid her hand stung.

She didn’t let go.

He leaned into her palm, amber eyes slipping shut. Long, sharp fingers slithered into view, his clawed hand coming to rest gently over hers.

The frightful tales of the Council of the Skies seemed laughable now. She couldn’t be scared of Jack, not when she knew how bright and good and kind he had once been.

How much he still was.

It seemed none of that tenderness ever left, monstrous form or not. He was still her Jack, even after everything.

“I missed you,” she whispered. “I felt so hollow. I didn’t even realize it, but…it always felt like I lost something. Why didn’t you ever come find me?”

“I can’t—I can’t leave this place.” He blinked down at her with wet golden eyes. “I’m not strong enough to come out of the shadows. Going out and finding you would be like—like trying to make a blizzard in June.”

“But in the winter?”

“You’re always too far to reach.” He smiled sadly, shaking his head. “I see you, flying through the clouds and glowing bright enough to warm the whole world. Meanwhile, I’m stuck in all the dark crevices—down on the ground, wanting to run to you every chance I get. But the light beats me back every time I try. So…that’s why I had you come to me.”

His hand uncurled from her back, sliding around to form a closed fist in the air between them. As his fingers opened, Rapunzel gasped.

There was the sun, golden and radiant and as mellow as it was on spring mornings. It looked strangely delicate, floating in Jack’s hand in a tiny, flickering orb.

Odd to imagine something that seemed so small and insignificant gave life to all of earth.

“At the end of winter, you always waited for me to release it.” Jack’s voice was suddenly pained. “You floated above me and got ready to catch it, but…you never looked at me. You never saw me.”

She stroked the cold skin of his cheek with her thumb. “I see you now.”

“All according to plan.”

He smirked in a way that made her raise her eyebrows.

“I knew you’d never give me a second thought if things went on like they did. I was this…menacing thing that tossed you your sun sometimes. Always just out of sight enough to make the tales of horror seem true. So one spring, I didn’t toss you your sun. I made you come and get it.”

“And so you did.” She laughed, pressing her forehead into the craggy bark of his chest. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Jack. A forest that gives a girl the scare of her life is no way to treat an old friend.”

“Sorry about that.” He chuckled sheepishly. “Wish I could curate a bit of a warmer welcome. Unfortunately I am, in fact, a guardian of winter and darkness and other related spooky things.”

“Well, I suppose it’s my own fault. I was the one who volunteered to roam the creepiest forest in existence to find you.”

“Also planned on that.” He snickered into her hairline, and she scowled.

“What do you mean?!”

“You always have to bend over backwards pleasing everyone. I remember how you were with your mom.”

Rapunzel huffed. “I like to think I’ve grown a little as a person in the past millennium or two.”

“Maybe, but…you’re still not going to ask someone else to do something you figure you could take care of yourself.”

She sighed. Even after all this time, he still knew her well enough to predict her every move.

“Oh, get out of my head, Jackson Overland.”

“You wish.”

Something nudged her side. She turned her head to see Jack extending his hand to her, sun gleaming in his palm.

“I believe I have something of yours.”

She scrutinized it for a moment. It was strange—the end of her journey was so close and so tangible, and yet…

Rapunzel didn’t want it anymore.

“Take it.” The rough edges of Jack’s fingers nudged her again. “It was selfish of me to keep it so long, anyways. And now I got to see you, so…”

She reached out and closed her fingers around the bright sphere.

Immediately she felt its power course through her, setting every vein in her celestial form ablaze. Warmth rippled beneath her skin, seeping into every crack and crevice that had grown cold. The corners of her vision were flooded with a blinding glow, and it took her a moment to realize it was her.

Suddenly, she was expanding, the sun’s power swirling around her body as she grew and grew and grew. She felt like a supernova—a radiant burst of light on the verge of giving birth to a new galaxy.

Within moments, she was standing as tall as the Shadowbringer. As Jack.

He looked different from up here. His eyes were close enough now that she could see the playful shine in them. She could make out the thin curve of his lips and the boxy shape of his ears and the rounded bridge of his nose and eyebrows that always had a rebellious hair or two out of place. Everything about him was so achingly familiar that she wanted to cry.

She glanced down at their hands—still intertwined. Jack never let go after she took the sun.

It might have been her imagination, but his clawed fingers looked a little shorter. A little less pointed.

He laced their fingers together and held on tightly, as though scared she might dissolve at any moment.

Like an afternoon sunbeam when the evening was looming.

Her thumb ghosted over the back of his hand, trying to communicate a silent reassurance.

I’m here. I’m real. I’m not going to leave you again.

She hadn’t meant to disappear in the first place, but it was no matter. It was still a mistake she was not keen on repeating.

Rapunzel looked up, and their eyes met again. She remembered something else.

She remembered how she looked at him when they sat tucked away in the treetops, him telling her stories and her sketching his movements on a tattered paper pad. She remembered watching him do skits by the fireside and splash her in the lake in the summer, and how she felt something so profound that for weeks and months and years she couldn’t put a name to it.

All she could do now was try and speak with her heart. Rapunzel leaned in and pressed her mouth to the Shadowkeeper’s.

Pure energy exploded through her, and all at once she felt so gloriously alive. It was as if she had become the entire sky, unbounded and immeasurable and shining with every color—cerulean blue, peach pink, blinding golden, deep violet, tangerine, fiery red, soft white, ebony black.

Jack’s arms wrapped around her again, pulling her closer. It felt like every moment in the universe—every passing day, every time the sun had risen and set—had been leading up to this.

It was more powerful than all the stars above them combined.

Perhaps that was only her biases talking. Perhaps she only imagined it to be that way, considering she had yearned for this longer than she would ever know.

It was like coming home to a hearth and a cozy bed after a long, long journey. One that had taken her much farther than she ever wished to go.

And it was right. Something—she couldn’t tell quite what—had been so asymmetrical before.

Now it was perfectly centered.

A deep, warm calm settled through Rapunzel as she pulls away. Jack watched her with soft blue eyes.

Blue eyes.

He’d changed. Eerie amber faded into sparkling ice blue. Inky back hair was now tinged with a beautiful, crystalline white, like fresh snow dusting winter treetops. Bark begun to peel off his skin, revealing more and more of the boy Rapunzel remembered.

He smirked in a way that made her feel lighter than she had in perhaps a century. She laughed, resting her hands on his cheeks and pressing their foreheads together.

“I love you.”

It was the first time she had truly put it into words, but she was certain some part of her had always known.

She knew when they were children, chasing each other through the woods and jumping in leaf piles and sledding down steep hills in the winter. She knew when the boys and girls at school began to kiss and hold hands, and she found her eyes always straying to Jack, wondering if his lips tasted like peppermint hot chocolate and stories and mischief. She knew when she heard he’d drowned in icewater, and it felt like half of herself had suffocated right down there with him. And she knew for all the centuries she thought she forgot about him, even if it was buried deep inside.

She felt wetness against her face, and realized he was crying.

He let out a shaky, relieved laugh. “I love you, too.”

Sharp cracks and snaps rang out as more bark peeled off. The body beneath Rapunzel’s fingers grew softer.

More like the one she had always yearned to hold, all those years ago.

And suddenly Rapunzel knew. She knew exactly what she had to do to finish this.

She knew what she had to do to fully pull Jack from the dark shell—the prison—that had grown around him, fueled by all those centuries of being feared and alone.

One of her hands strayed from his face, grabbing a tendril of blonde hair and wrapping it around a spindly, twiglike wrist. His long fingers curled over hers, shaking nervously.

Even so, Jack made no move to pull away. He must have trusted her fully.

She began to sing.

Rapunzel’s mother may have been an eccentric woman, strange at the best of times and terrifying at the worst. She may have had some unusual ideas about what it was to “love” your daughter, too.

But she had been right about one thing: The incantation she taught Rapunzel could heal anything.

Sunlight slipped down blonde hair, radiating soft gold as it went. The glow trickled across Jack like honey, and Rapunzel could only hope the heat didn’t hurt.

It appeared not to. Jack’s eyes slid shut, contented. His hand went limp in hers.

The hand that, to her amazement, was starting to feel less and less like gnarled twigs and more and more like skin.

The glow faded. Blue eyes opened under a mop of pale hair, white as afternoon clouds. Rapunzel felt fingers lace between hers, holding tightly.

They were a perfect fit.

The hand he lifted to cup the back of her neck was fully human. She smiled into his mouth and kissed him again.

Down on earth, folk across every land and every sea would later say that spring began with the most spectacular sunrise any of them had ever seen.

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alexa-crowe · 5 months

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A Wizard's Guide

Chapter 2: ...to Wooing (and Wowing)

“I cannot believe that old sack of bones! The audacity! One lesson, some fabric to make a robe, and off he went!”

Gale huffs out a laugh, eyes not straying from the parchment on his desk. It’s late, a sliver of moonlight peeking in through the window of his bedroom. An orb of light floats above the desk, illuminating his work. “You’ve been saying that for nearly two years now, Tara.”

The tressym ruffles her feathers. “Well, am I wrong? I say, sending you scrolls to learn from is hardly the bestowing-of-arcane-knowledge that he made it out to be.”

The ten-year-old reaches out to scratch Tara’s chin. “Elminster’s a busy man. He’s one of Mystra’s Chosen, Tara. They’re all working to bring her back and to stabilize the Weave. Besides, a long-distance apprenticeship means I don’t have someone breathing down my neck all the time.”

“False.” Gale quirks an eyebrow at her. “You have me.” He rolls his eyes before turning back to his parchment, furrowing his brows. Gale scratches out a line and feverishly rewrites it. “You know, Mr. Dekarios,” Tara says, voice softer, “She may not even hear you.”

“But what if She does? Elminster chose mefor a reason. He wouldn’t apprentice just anyone.”

“Well,” she says, bringing a paw up to lick it clean, “as long as all this ‘hand-picked by Mystra’ business doesn’t go to your head. You’ll be of no use to anyone if you forgo your studies, least of all the Lady of Mysteries.”

“It’s just a quick trip to the House of Wonder. You seem more nervous than I am.”

“Of course I’m nervous, Gale. Being one of Mystra’s servants is, well, nerve-wracking! You’ve barely even scratched the surface of your powers; if She has any sense, She’ll recruit you as one of Her Chosen the instant She’s able to. And by then, you’ll be as powerful as our bearded friend.”

The disdain in Tara’s voice makes Gale chuckle. “I thought cats were supposed to love beards?”

She huffs, face twisting in disgust. “Well, I’m not a cat, am I? I’m a tressym, a far superior species of feline, if I have anything to say on the matter. You had taste enough to summon me, Mr. Dekarios—don’t falter by insulting me. And never grow a beard, or I might not be able to stomach looking at you.”

Continue reading on AO3.

#baldur's gate 3 #fanfiction #mine #surprised that i wrote this in such a timely manner. so unlike me!#gale

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eccentric-nucleus · 1 year

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so there's this old actionbutton review of prototype (that has apparently been removed from the actual website, which i guess is fine b/c on reflection the review overall isn't super good) that has a part that i think about a lot.

Prototype is clearly a game that was originally meant to be a challenging action game that took the concept of super-powered main characters out of the ego-trip where you simply explode in ever greater fireballs the entire universe, like a Final Fantasy character in a platformer, and into the realm of the thoroughbred racer. A realm where the power is a tool that must be used carefully, because there’s so much of it, that there’s too much of it. Restraint is what we play video games for, in a sense. We restrain ourselves from making the wrong choices. We take pleasure in our sense of timing. We enjoy learning and growing and doing and, above all, not doing (the same thing over and over, due to failure).

b/c like... yeah that's the thing with power? power invites complications; that's kind of what power is: the ability to affect change at greater magnitudes, which invariably means a reduction in your fidelity of control. unintended side-effects and all that. but the entire concept of the 'power fantasy' is about not having the drawbacks of power, & that's what video games are all about, so it makes sense that that doesn't really come up that much in games. leveling up is just Good, it makes you better at things, because if it made you worse gamers would find that to be bad design, etc

this also comes up constantly in progression fantasies. unsurprisingly!! b/c their thematic content is entirely the power fantasy, so of course getting more powerful is an unalloyed good.

there's another prose chunk in a similar vein i think about a lot that's from a wizard of earthsea, near the beginning: duny (as a kid, before he's named ged) has his island raided by barbarians and they're gonna burn down the town and kill everybody.

He had worked all night at the forge-bellows, pushing and pulling the two long sleeves of goathide that fed the fire with a blast of air. Now his arms so ached and trembled from that work that he could not hold out the spear he had chosen. He did not see how he could fight or be of any good to himself or the villagers. It rankled at his heart that he should die, spitted on a Kargish lance, while still a boy: that he should go into the dark land without ever having known his own name, his true name as a man. He looked down at his thin arms, wet with cold fog-dew, and raged at his weakness, for he knew his strength. There was power in him, if he knew how to use it, and he sought among all the spells he knew for some device that might give him and his companions an advantage, or at least a chance. But need alone is not enough to set power free: there must be knowledge.

(incidentally i think reading progression fantasies has made me a worse reader. they're frequently so wordy and yet nothing happens, and the writing never really says anything or has specific sentences that capture the mind, and so i've gotten into this really bad habit of skim-reading through them snatching out nouns and verbs. so now when i go back to reading prose that's actually, you know, good, i still end up skimming it and missing out on relevant details, since relevant details actually matter in real stories, instead of just being wordcount padding.)

anyway the rest of a wizard of earthsea is basically all about the relationship between knowledge and power and what responsibility comes with that.

i guess this is yet another post all about how i really don't like the thematic simplicity of all the progression fantasy but boy have i been thinking about that a lot as i've been writing other stuff. fun fact, 'goblin cave', my royalroad story, and 'blinded by the summer sun', the tmnt porn i've been writing, have basically the same themes b/c they're both actually about the blunt nature of power + the problem of needing power to exist in the world vs. the grotesque nature of people who seek only power. b/c as you can see by all the above that is kind of a thing i've been thinking about a lot recently. it's just one of them has turtle porn.

i mean i'm fairly sure i've mentioned it here also but they're very heavily influenced by dead zones of the imagination, which i would recommend everybody read. it's only like 20 pages.

To be more precise: violence may well be the only form of human action by which it is possible to have relatively predictable effects on the actions of a person about whom you understand nothing. Pretty much any other way one might try to influence another’s actions, one at least has to have some idea who they think they are, who they think you are, what they might want out of the situation, and what their aversions and proclivities are. Hit them over the head hard enough and all of this becomes irrelevant.

It is true that the effects one can have by disabling or killing someone are very limited, but they are real enough—and critically, it is possible to know in advance exactly what they will be. Any alternative form of action cannot, without some sort of appeal to shared meanings or understandings, have any predictable effects at all.

[...]

As long as one remains within the domain of theory, then, I would argue that simplification can be a form of intelligence. The problems arise when the violence is no longer metaphorical. Here let me turn from imaginary cops to real ones. A former LAPD officer turned sociologist (Cooper 1991), observed that the overwhelming majority of those beaten by police turn out not to be guilty of any crime. “Cops don’t beat up burglars,” he observed. The reason, he explained, is simple: the one thing most guaranteed to evoke a violent reaction from police is to challenge their right to “define the situation.” If what I’ve been saying is true, then this is just what we’d expect. The police truncheon is precisely the point where the state’s bureaucratic imperative for imposing simple administrative schema, and its monopoly of coercive force, come together. It only makes sense then that bureaucratic violence should consist first and foremost of attacks on those who insist on alternative schemas or interpretations. At the same time, if one accepts Piaget’s (1936) famous definition of mature intelligence as the ability to coordinate between multiple perspectives (or possible perspectives) one can see, here, precisely how bureaucratic power, at the moment it turns to violence, becomes literally a form of infantile stupidity.

and so on. that's power, baby! the power to define a situation and stop anybody else from objecting to your framing. by killing them!

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ina-nis · 1 year

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When you start to put on serious work on yourself, you start to realize how isolating that can be.

You’re no fun anymore, you become quite intolerant and sensitive of things that people usually won’t bat an eye.

And it starts confusing you: how people endure so much crap?

The answer might be, among other things, they don’t even see it from that point of view. It’s “normal” maybe even “attractive” but for you, a big red flag.

When you start to put on serious work on yourself, and so much of this work is to try to nurture healthy interpersonal relationships, you might end up (or remain) alone.

Interpersonal relationships require 2 or more people working together to make it happen. Who has the time or energy to take something lighthearted as this seriously?

In the end, you realize it all emerges from... communication issues, again. Poor communication is always the culprit, isn’t it?

You’re not willing to befriend or stay around assholes, or people who are “casually” bigoted, even though those are the ones whom have swarms of friends gravitating towards them: they’re attractive, fun and confident! Who doesn’t want a friend like this?

You’re not willing to make compromises when you feel like it always end up unbalanced and you have to carry the brunt of the relationship (of any kind) on your back. Same old issues: a lot of taking and none of the giving, not without complaints or defensiveness.

You’re not willing to settle for casual and lighthearted connections, you have plenty of those already. The feel like snowflakes that will melt in the heat of your hands, so the next one can fall and the same happens again.

There’s so much more.

You know better and you want better. You just didn’t know how isolating that would be.

It doesn’t make sense when you’re the only one trying to better yourself and your relationships and, chances are, you will not find someone that will resonate with you on the same level. Even if/when others are working on themselves, it’s mostly their actions that show and when something as simple (for you) as communication is in such a sorry state, it’s hard to believe that’s the right timing for anything to happen.

People don’t bother fixing what’s not broken. Maybe they don’t care, maybe they can’t afford to care, either way, you can’t go back. It doesn’t make sense to go back. It wouldn’t be good for you.

You’re aware connections are a two-way street and, at some point or another, you’d have to be the one to take a step back and concede. The issue is you’re not seeing others willing to concede so... yes, someone will have to take the first step and, usually, you do that. You’ve been working to get on that vulnerable and uncomfortable space and not let issues get to you too much but it’s exhausting all the same, isn’t it?

So you prefer to walk away, which feels like a self-defeating move. You keep stuck in the avoidant patterns, different each time, but essentially the same.

You’ve been doing the work, you’ve been doing what’s supposed to work but, deep inside, the desperation grows because you feel more and more disconnected - and it makes sense! You can’t get out of your own head and reach out to others, not in any way that feels meaningful or deep enough to fulfill you.

It doesn’t really matter that you’re a very social person, who is amicable and able to navigate social customs and spaces mostly unscathed. It doesn’t matter if you can have conversations and have people trust you and enjoy being in your presence and talking to you, none of that matters in the grand scheme of things.

You remain disconnected from the world around you.

Maybe you don’t feel so lost anymore. Maybe you don’t feel like a ghost or like people see through you anymore... you know what you want and you know you exist as a person, just like everyone else. That’s not the issue.

Every time you reach out, you’re begging to be wanted, you’re begging to be desired and chosen, you’re begging to have your needs met... and the tide just changed but it’s still the same ocean. Your will is still the same.

You’re chasing after the same thing, through several different methods and, of course, the outcome is always the same: you’re doing all the work by yourself.

The only real connection you have is with yourself and that - people swear by - is the strongest and best way to exist.

It’s not the best for you. You have tasted the best of it and that only made the loneliness and disconnection grow.

You’re not sure what else you’re supposed to do.

#avpd #avoidance #avoidant #avoidant personality disorder #loneliness

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pizzatheif · 1 year

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two machines appear in town within days of each other. one, a bright blue with illuminated butterfly wings and MORPHO in bright bold letters at the top ; the second, black, blank. the only illumination coming from the screen tucked behind a curtain — it felt like stepping into a photo booth going through its goth phase.

hugo had seen both. hell, the blue one was hard to miss considering it had turned up in the old borders-turned-cvs that sat neatly next to that one bagel place with the thin-sliced taylor ham; his fave. in a matter of days, he’d had to start taking the long way if he wanted breakfast. traffic down that street was a nightmare — worse than usual and that’s saying something.

he decided he wasn’t gonna buy into that crap, though. a matter of principle, he’d claimed ( though he’d probably misspoken ). what did he care that some stupid machines were telling people’s fortunes? he’s content where he is, anything else needed work or schooling and when would he find the time for that?

it eats at him, though – subconsciously plagues his dreams. especially when he finds tony’d gotten his done. ❝ ey, 'ugo, lookit this shit. ❞ the blue card is shoved under his nose and hugo squints at it, narrowed eyes darting upward to meet tony's in the space of a breath. ❝ i thought we thought this shit was bull? ❞ to which tony shrugs, tucking his potential back into his pocket. ❝ you do the death one too? ❞ gaze averts and hugo holds out his hand, ❝ cuh'mon, tone. you holdin' out on me? it's me. ❞ but tony won't let him see the card and hueg don't like the feeling that settles in his stomach because of it.

a couple of days later, he follows his feet to breakfast but he ends up in front of that damn blue machine. his tummy grumbles — he ignores it.

sweaty palms are pressed to the glass when prompted. he almost leaves the stupid butterflied blue envelope that pops out.

he doesn't read the card for a week.

there’s nothing he can rationalize as to why he’s so nervous for it, only that he’s been disappointing people since he was born. what if this card finally means he’ll be disappointed in himself? what if it means tony’ll expect him to change? what if he don’t like who he’s supposed to become?

he knows the thoughts are silly. especially when he gets the call from eloise because she’d gotten her blue card and she wanted to jabber about some conspiracy theories she’d read online that the potentials aren’t what you’re supposed to become, only that they’re supposed to show you a path forward. maybe she won’t become the next picasso, but now she knows wendy doesn’t have a leg to stand on when she criticizes lu’s choices. if she hadn’t gotten an artistic path, she says, then she’d be able to explore what that might mean.

it bolsters him. at least enough to slide the card from his envelope. a cold sweat breaks out when he reads the word.

RAT

hugo flips the card over to see the silver embossed butterfly on the back before rereading those three little letters. fuck.

a rat? his life's potential is to be a fuckin’… nervous gaze darts to the empty spot on the couch, half-relieved that he’d chosen to read his card when tony wasn’t home.

a wave of anxiety shoots through him as he stands, throwing on the green jacket he’d commandeered from tone ages ago. thoughts spiral with each step out the door — who the hell would he rat on? how’d they get him cornered enough to get him to squeal? what if it’s tony he gives up? god, he’s sick to his stomach until he looks up and finds himself at the blue machine, again.

maybe it's a mistake. yeah... yeah. hugo wipes his hands on his jacket, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one was tailing him. laundry quarters are slipped into the slot and he goes through the motions to get another card.

RAT

❝ fuck! ❞ he jumps out of the booth and slaps a five on the counter. ❝ can i get change? ❞ is his voice cracking? he clears his throat, voice dropping half an octave with the follow up demand of : ❝ quarters. ❞ hands are clammy, again, as he punches in his social, again, to draw another card.

RAT ( again ).

he sits in the booth, this time, world crashing down around him. how would lulu spin a card like this? his phone is in his hands as he hovers over her name, hesitation stalling him until there's a knock on the booth that rouses him from his panicked thoughts. a mumbled apology falls from him as he pushes past the person waiting their turn and he shoves the three identical cards into his pocket, as deep as they'll go.

he shoulda never read the card. he shoulda dumped it or maybe never tried it in the first place. how're you supposed to come back from this? is he just supposed to give up crime in favor of a boring-ass nine-to-five? you can't be a fuckin' rat and not expect to get got because of it.

he doesn't realize where he's going until he walks into a dude at the end of a line and almost gets himself punched because of it.

he’d heard the news label it the machine of death. hugo swallows thickly, stepping gingerly behind the dark curtain when it's finally his turn. he’s gotta know if they’re related – is he gonna pull cement shoes? is he gonna get whacked just for pulling RAT? the white card slips into the slot and hugo all but rips it out in his fervor.

PIZZA

❝ wh... what the fuck is that s'pposed'tuh mean? ❞

#005 ( ⚠︎ ) ─── alt ( the big door prize ).#yeah. i'm happy with this.#after almost a fuckin MONTH of it in my drafts lmao #pls ignore the differences in apostrophes. i don't care enough to change them having half-written this on my phone.

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theoreticslut · 3 years

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Plaything

pairing: charlie weasley x reader; bill weasley x reader; fred weasley x reader; george weasley x reader

requested: nope

word count: 5.1k

warnings: SMUT, age differences but all characters are 18+, first times, fingering, oral (female receiving), penetration

A/N: Please do not judge me for this. That’s all I ask. I know this is questionable, but the weasley boys?? All of them?? They’re pretty hot and I’d be down to sleep with all of them, just saying. I’ve had this written for months and have just been too scared to post it, but you know what? It’s written, it’s pretty freaking good in my opinion, & I just really want/need to post shit again so hopefully you enjoy this.

Taglist: @justmesadgirl @xuckduck @yikesyikesyikes95 @filipi-yes @aestheticwh0r3 @siredkai @matsuno-nadeshiko @msmarklee1213 @immajustreadwritereblog @msmimimerton @perfectlysane24 @mischievous-queen @bunnyboo7 @grandeoptimist @kaitlynw011 @daddystevee @slytherinxhunter @streetfighterrichie @sarcasticallywitty15 @isthereanymorejello @karushinekomiya @p0gue420 @hogwartslut @sebby-staan @darthwheezely @slytherin-7 @callmelilone @teenagesublimefan @midsummernightdream @hufflrpuffforfred @aviezap @stxrryxsky @snoopydoop1 @fredweasleypls @hopefullhearts @pandaxnienke @georgeweasleyishot @christhebell @fredshmeasley @youralternantpersonality @angeletarte @stoopidwithtwohoes @georgeweasleysbabe @psychocracker @tovvaa @weasley8800 @wand3ringr0s3 @pinkypurplemagic @pineapplesandpinas

^let me know if you’d like to be added/removed (or add yourself here)! Xx

You were excited to be staying at the burrow again this summer. You had pretty much grown up with the Weasley boys as your parents were friends from their time at hogwarts.

You had also been around to see Ron and Ginny grow up, so all of you were almost like siblings. You got along with all of them really well, and you were an only child so anytime you came to the burrow felt like you were coming home.

You were closest in age to the twins, being only a month or two younger than them, which meant that the three of you were as thick as thieves. There are plenty of stories from your childhood of you three planning pranks...and getting in trouble for them later.

Even though you’re closest to Fred and George, both in age and friendship, you still got along really well with Bill, Charlie, and Percy. Percy could be a bit stuck up at times so you didn’t socialize with him too much, but you did have a good relationship with Bill and Charlie.

In fact, most of your late childhood into early teen years you had a bit of a crush on the two older siblings. It’s bound to happen when they’re cute, older than you, nice to you, and almost always around.

Once you started at hogwarts, however, your crush on the two faded as they weren’t around as much and you were surrounded by other guys. Not that that really mattered any because you found yourself starting to crush on Fred and George more and more.

You knew it was weird since you literally grew up alongside them and they were your best friends, but you couldn’t help it. Even though the two of them could be a menace, they did know how to be really sweet. They had consoled you many a time from scraping your knee to losing your longtime family pet, even to when you had had a falling out with a friend.

You suppose that’s part of the reason you had fallen for them; since you grew up with them, you knew all these different sides they had that others didn’t necessarily get to see.

“Y/n! It’s so nice to have you stay here with us again.” Molly smiles at you in greeting as you, Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny walk through the door after yet another school year.

You, Fred, and George had just finished up your sixth year and were excited that you were so close to graduating.

“Thank you for letting me stay again. I swear I’m not trying to permanently move in.” You smile, earning a chuckle from her as Fred rolls his eyes and mumbles a sarcastic ‘sure’ to which you slap his bicep for.

“Don’t worry about it, dear.” She chuckles. “You’ve been a surrogate daughter to me for years. It’s almost wrong to not have you here.”

You smile, loving that you’re essentially a part of the family. Don’t get it wrong, you love your parents just as much and wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world, but something about being a weasley just sat perfectly with you.

~.~

You frown as you make your way down the stairs. You’re not really sure where everyone was. You’ve been hiding away in ginny’s room with a fan trying to stay cool while you read a book you bought in hogsmeade you just hadn’t had the time to read yet.

It’s surprisingly quiet, which is why you become so curious. It’s almost always full of noise in here.

Even though it confuses you, you decide to ignore the itch you have to figure out why and instead find yourself something to eat as your stomach is growling something fierce.

You make it down to the kitchen and make a beeline for the fridge, looking around to see what there is. Just as your about to pull stuff out, you hear someone call you’re name from behind, startling you.

“Ah, sorry, y/n.” the same person chuckles as you turn around.

If you had been annoyed before, it all left your body when you saw who it was that had scared you.

“Charlie! What are you doing here? It’s been ages!” You ask, running up to give him a hug.

After he graduated, he decided he wanted to study and work with dragons and moved out to Romania to do so. That was nearly four years ago now, and you’d barely heard anything from him since.

“Nice to see you too, kiddo. How have you been?” He chuckles, hugging you back.

He doesn’t like admitting it, but he’s always had a bit of a soft spot for you. He remembers always wanting to take care of you when you were real little, granted he was real young then too, but something about you fascinated him. Maybe it was because you weren’t a boy.

Either way, he took care of you a lot when you were both real young. He got to watch you grow up, seeing you as a cute and innocent toddler to a carefree child.

He loved how you were wild enough to keep up with his twin brothers, yet were so soft and laidback as well.

He ended up having a bit of a crush on you. But he never acted on it as he was about five years older, and didn’t want anyone to think he was a pervert or anything. It’s not like it would matter, you two had grown up together, but you were both young and people don’t always like an age gap in young couples.

“I’ve been really good, Charlie. I was chosen as one of Gryffindor’s prefects this year! Not to mention I’ve done really well on all my tests.”

“That’s amazing, kiddo. I always knew you would do good. I hope you’ve been able to keep Fred and George in line?”

“Well, sort of...” you trail off. You didn’t really want to tell him how being a prefect gave you the ability to help Fred and George sneak around even better to set up their pranks.

“You’ve been helping them out with their pranks, haven’t you? I remember how much you three would get in trouble for them when you were younger.”

“We only got in trouble because Percy would rat us out.” You argue to which Charlie chuckles. He does remember how feisty you were at times.

You sigh as you take in his features. He was the same Charlie you had always known, but he was so much more mature now. His muscles were even more defined since his days of quidditch from working with dragons day after day.

You couldn’t help the butterflies that had started fluttering in your stomach as your heart started racing. You thought you were over your crush on him, but seeing him now resurfaces all your old feelings, only tenfold as you’re now with raging hormones.

“I see you’re still as feisty as ever, kiddo. Glad to know you haven’t changed that much since I’ve been gone.”

“If I’m ever not feisty, somethings wrong.” You chuckle, getting him to smile as he looks over you.

He has to admit just how well you’ve matured. Your y/h/c hair fell smoothly against your shoulders, not much longer than that. Your locks only highlighted your soft face, framing your features perfectly.

Same as you, he can’t help but feel his childhood crush on you reappear.

“You know, you never did answer what you were doing here? Does molly or any of your siblings know you’re here?” You ask after a moment of you two admiring each other.

“No, she doesn’t. Nor do they. I was hoping to surprise them with my visit, but none of them seem to be here. Honestly, I was more than surprised to see you here.”

“I’m surprised to see you. I don’t know where anyone else is, but I’m glad I got to see you first.”

“Same here, pumpkin. I didn’t expect to see you at all, but I’m glad I am. It’s been real nice seeing you before anyone else, especially since I don’t think I’ll have much time away from them whenever they do come home.”

You smile, looking up at the man you’ve been crushing on for years. He’ll never know what his words do to you.

“Y/n, kiddo. Can I tell you something?” Charlie asks, pushing some of your hair out of your face as he tucks it behind your ear.

“Of course.”

“This might be crazy and I know it’s probably a bit weird, but I used to have such a crush on you.” He confesses, smiling at you as you watch him.

“Yeah? Well, I used to have such a crush on you too, Charlie.” You blush.

He quirks an eyebrow at you, chewing on his bottom lip as he mulls over his next action.

“Used to? Or still do, kiddo?”

“Still do...” you mumble, your cheeks a furious shade of red now as you admit to liking him.

You’re not really sure where your confidence came from. Sure you’ve always been comfortable talking to him about anything, but this was unchartered territory.

“Good.” He smiles, kissing you before leaning in so he can whisper in your ear.

“Because I do too.”

You gasp as he kisses your neck, not giving you any warning.

“Charlie.” You gasp, as you wrap your arms around the back of his neck, your hands tangling into his hair and tugging.

He moans, pulling you even closer as he sucks on your earlobe, drawing a whiny moan from you.

“What do you say to taking this up to my room? We can have a bit of fun before everyone gets back?”

“O-okay.” You agree, melting against his body.

You’ve never been kissed before, let alone touched like this. Your body was going crazy with all the sensations and you weren’t sure what to do.

Charlie leads you up to his old room, that had been left pretty much the same. He closes the door, placing a locking spell on it even though no one should question why his door is closed. Molly keeps it shut anyways.

“Have you ever done anything, kiddo?” He asks, laying you down on his bed as he hovers over top of you.

You shake your head, chewing on your bottom lip as you watch him for any sort of reaction.

He smiles warmly at you, gently tucking your hair behind your ears as he admires you. He would love to be the one to take your virginity, but only if you’d like him to.

“Are you okay with all of this?”

You nod, moaning lightly as you clench your thighs together.

“Do you want me to stop?”

You shake your head, not wanting him to stop at all. No, you much rather he do something to help this sensation you’re having.

“No.” You whine. “Please don’t stop.”

He smirks, pressing a soft kiss to your nose as he feels down your body.

“You’re so beautiful, y/n. I hope you know that.”

“Charlie, please do something. I-I don’t know what to do.” You whimper. You’ve never felt so needy before and you need something to happen.

Charlie chuckles lightly above you before pressing a kiss to your lips.

“Are you feeling a bit needy, pumpkin? Need me to take care of you?”

You whimper, nodding at his words as he smirks.

You close your eyes as he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before whispering to you, “let me know if you want to stop, okay? I want you to feel comfortable.”

You nod, moaning as he starts to undress you, feeling your body up and down.

“So pretty, pumpkin. You’re so so pretty.”

Slowly you feel him drag his hands over your breasts, gently massaging them in his palms before trailing his hands down to your thighs, pulling your legs apart so he can see your pretty sex.

“Charlie.” You groan as he trails his fingers around your inner thighs, placing kisses at the tops of them but not touching where you need him to.

“Patience, kiddo. We gotta make sure you’re warmed up enough. I don’t want to hurt you any.”

You nod, tossing your head back as he tauntingly trails his fingers closer.

You become lost in the bliss of everything, not being able to separate his hot kisses from when he starts rubbing your clit before sliding two fingers into you.

No, you’re too far gone in the bliss to even realize he’s ready to slide himself into you until his head is pressing against you, ready to be enveloped within your soft walls.

“You okay, pumpkin?”

You nod, a few tears falling out as he begins sliding himself inside you, intertwining your fingers with his as he holds your one hand near you head, the other gripping at the sheets while his is planted on your hips to hold you still.

“Feel so good, pumpkin. You’re taking me so well.” Charlie praises, slowly pushing his way inside you.

“Oh, Charlie. Fuck.” You groan, squeezing the hand that’s intertwined with yours.

“It’s alright, pretty girl. You’re doing so well. Just a few more inches and I’m inside you, yeah? Can you handle that?”

You nod, moaning as he pushes further into. You never would have expected him to be so well-endowed. It felt heavenly, but bloody hell.

He hisses when he finally fills you completely with his dick. He’s had sex before, but nothing has ever compared to this. He swears there’s nothing that could top the feeling of filling his childhood crush with his cock.

“Charlie. Oh Merlin, please move.” You whine, your walls finally stretching enough for the pain to dissipate.

The next few minutes go by way too fast. One second, Charlie’s thrusting into you making you feel the best you ever have, and the next you’re coming all over him as he does the same in the condom he’s wearing, his dick still buried inside you.

You sigh as you come down from the high, not quite believing that just happened, but wanting to do it all over again.

~.~

You groan, frustrated at the feeling you’ve been dealing with for the last few days. Charlie only stayed for a week, and as he said, he had been swept up by his siblings wanting to spend time with him before he left again.

Since you two slept together, you’ve been finding yourself getting turned on and needing release more and more.

Charlie had been kind enough, or needy enough depending on how you want to look at it, to please you a few more times during his stay. Each time was absolutely amazing and you wanted so much more, but you knew he would be leaving again while you were stuck here.

Charlie has been gone for nearly three weeks now and yet you still find yourself getting turned on and needing release. Unfortunately, there was no way to do that, not unless you want to risk completely embarrassing yourself.

Bill had come home for a visit and he’s been here a few days now. You wanted to blame him for getting turned on, but you knew it wasn’t anything but your own thoughts doing it to you.

Same as with Charlie, the moment you saw Bill, all your old feelings arose and hit you tenfold.

Unfortunately, no “promising situations” arose where Bill might confess that he’s had feelings for you all along as well.

“You look grumpy, kid.” He points out as you come into the kitchen.

“I am a bit.” You frown, making your way over to the fridge. Again, you had been so preoccupied that you didn’t realize just how hungry you were until your stomach was yelling at you.

“What’s got you so grumpy?”

“I’m really hungry and just kinda tired.” You half-lie. Sure you were hungry and tired, but that’s not really what was making you so grumpy.

“Really? I would’ve pegged it on something else.”

“Yeah? Like what?” You ask, too irritated to really care what he thought anyway.

“Well, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re turned on and haven’t done anything about it yet.” He states, not shy about it in the slightest.

“Excuse me?!” You blubber, choking on your own saliva at his answer. You never expected him to say that, especially to you.

Bill was always the mature, proper one out of all the boys. You two were close, but never in a million years would you have expected him to say something like that.

“Y/n, kid. I’ve been through puberty myself. I know what it’s like to be sexually frustrated.”

You whimper, not meaning to in the slightest, but it’s out before you can stop it.

“Is that the case, beautiful?”

You nod, blushing furiously. You don’t like to admit how needy you are, but here you are anyway.

“Would you like some help to feel better?”

You look up at Bill with such a needy expression on your face. Your eyes are wide and your lips are pouted. You don’t want anything more than to have him help you out, but the thought embarrasses you.

“Is that a yes, love?” He chuckles, caressing your cheek as he watches you. He’s always thought you were attractive but for merlins sake the sight of you all horny was a bloody masterpiece.

You nod, watching as he smiles at you, grabbing at your hand and tugging you along behind him.

He leads you up to his bedroom where he kisses you, pulling you flush to his body. Even though you’re younger than him by a number of years, he’s always had a crush on you. Seeing you now, nearly all grown up and matured, he wants nothing more than to make you feel good.

“Please do something.” You moan as he keeps kissing at your neck, his hands feeling over your sides, hips, and ass.

He nods, placing one last kiss to your lips before ripping your shirt up over your head and quickly unbuttoning your shorts.

Before you know it, you’re naked underneath him as he’s naked hovering over you. He looks absolutely delicious, and you can’t help but kiss at his neck as he pushes his way into you.

“Oh, fuck.” You groan.

“Ugh, fuck. Doing so well, love. Taking me so well.”

You can’t help but moan at the praise. You love knowing that you doing good, that you’re making him feel good.

As soon as he’s all the way inside you, you’re arching your back, wanting him to move. You swear he’s even bigger than Charlie and yet you’re taking him better.

Before long, Bill has a fast pace set that’s nearly knocking the bed into the wall.

“Feels so good.” You whine, arching up against him.

“Almost there, love.”

You let out a high pitched moan as you both hit your highs, you arching against the bed as your one hand grips at the sheets, your other holding on bill’s shoulder.

“Feel any better, love?” He asks, panting as he pulls out of you.

“So much better. Thank you.” You smile, happily curling up into his arms as he holds you to him.

~.~

Summer passes by with days filled with happy and fun memories of swimming in the pond near the burrow or eating marshmallows that you toasted over the fire.

Soon enough though your back at hogwarts, stressing over classes and spending all your free time with the twins.

Tonight they had decided they wanted to drink and play silly muggle party games as it was a Friday after a big test in potions. You all felt pretty confident with your work, but it had been a long and stressful week. One that Fred and George just wanted to drink away. Being their best friend, you were of course invited.

“Alright, y/n. Truth or dare?” George asks.

“Let’s go with truth, I guess.” You say, taking a drop of the Veritaserum you all insisted you play with to make things more interesting.

“Alright, let see. Fred, what are you thinking?” George asks, leaning over to his brother to converse.

You were drunk, but not so far gone that you weren’t aware of what was happening or that you’d forget tonight’s events in the morning.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s a good one. Okay, y/n. Have you lost your virginity?” George asks, giggling at the alcohol coursing through his veins.

Neither of the boys knew you had, which is why they both choked on their drinks when you blatantly answered “yes.”

“Wait, really?!” Fred asks, his eyes wide as he looks at you in a new light. How did he not know his best friend had lost her virginity?

“Yeah.”

“When?!”

“Over the summer.” You answer before you can stop. You really, really did not want to tell you’re best friends that you had slept with their two oldest brothers.

“Over the summer? B-but, you never left the house.” George splutters out, not quite putting the pieces together yet.

“Mm-hmm” you hum, your cheeks flushing in embarrassment as you can’t help but tell the truth. Stupid veritaserum.

“The only people you would’ve seen...w-were,” he trails off, blanching at the realization that you slept with at least one of his brothers.

“Bill and Charlie.” Fred answered, not yet at his brothers realization.

You all sit in silence for a minute before Fred shouts out.

“Oh Merlin! You lost it to one of our brothers?!” Fred asks, a hint of disgust in his tone.

You nod, closing your eyes as both Fred and George shake their heads at the images.

“Which one?” Fred asks.

“Uh, well...both?” You answer, the veritaserum wearing off only slightly as you had such a small dosage.

“Both?!” Fred and George exclaim.

“What the hell, y/n! They’re our brothers!” Fred groans, disturbed by the thought of you sleeping with his older brothers.

“Hey! I didn’t start any of it, okay! They initiated it each time.” You defend.

“Each time?! How many times did you sleep with them?” George asks, exasperatedly.

“Uhm, 3 or 4 times with Charlie. Twice with Bill.” You admit, the veritaserum kicking in again as it works it’s way out of your system.

“Oh, godric. Ugh, we didn’t need to know that.” Fred huffs.

“You two asked!” You huff, blushing wildly as you lean back on the bed, crossing your arms.

A few minutes pass in silence as you mull over your words while Fred and George try to accept this new information.

“What was it like? D-did it feel...good?” George asks, shyly.

“What? Sex?”

He nods, blushing lightly as you start to get wet, thinking back on how amazing it feels.

“It feels amazing, Georgie.” You sigh, your thighs clenching together unconsciously.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I-I don’t know how to explain it, but the high it's-it's phenomenal.”

“C-could you show us?” Fred asks, both twins flushing madly.

“You want me to show you?!”

“Yeah. C-can you take our virginity?” George asks, shifting around in his spot as he gets turned on by the idea.

“I-I guess. B-both of you?”

They nod and you smile shyly, a deep blush on your cheeks as you lean forward to give each of them a kiss.

“Alright, well both of you lie back then, yeah?”

They do as you say, laying down on the bed you three were sharing. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. These were your best friends for merlin’s sake, you had literally grown up together.

Slowly, you climb on top of George as he’s closest to you and you smile lightly as his breath hitches at the sight of you on top of him.

“You’re sure you two want to do this?” You ask, looking between the two twins.

They nod, gulping as they watch you. True they had never really thought about you being their first, but now that the moment had arose, they knew they didn’t want it to be anyone else.

“Okay, uh, how should I do this?” You mumble to yourself, blushing at the reality that you’re going to be taking your best friends’ virginity. Not one of theirs, both of theirs. At the same bloody time.

“How did your first time go, love?” Fred asks, watching you as you try to figure out what to do first.

“Uh, well. It started with kissing; kissing each other’s lips before h-he trailed down my neck.”

George gently sits up, connecting your lips as Fred works on kissing your neck, drawing a moan from you.

“Like that?” Fred asks, as George pulls away and taking his turn at your neck.

“Just like that.” You hum, pulling the older twin into a soft kiss.

“What next?” George asks, trailing his fingers up your sides.

“A lot of touching, caressing. W-we undressed.” You say, a bit breathily as you pull away from Fred, the red head immediately moving back down to your neck and shoulders.

“I-I’m supposed to be making you two feel good.” You moan, both of their hands feeling all over your body.

George had decided that he’d trail his fingers over your hips and thighs, roughly grabbing onto them every now and then to get you to grind against him.

Fred, however, decided he’d take responsibility for groping your breasts, sides, and stomach. His touch sending shivers throughout your body.

“We’re feeling good, don’t worry, y/n” Fred mumbles.

George nods, groaning in agreement.

“No. Let me take care of you guys.” You say, halting their movements as you push Fred back down on the bed.

You trail one of your hands up each of their stomachs, lifting their shirts as you do. You place a kiss to both of their lips before ripping off the fabric.

You slowly grind against George as you reach over and palm Fred, locking your lips with him as George throws his head back in a moan.

“Fuck, y/n.” Fred groans, upset at the lack of contact as you switch to kissing George.

You slowly trail your kisses down george’s neck and stomach as you crawl down to unbutton his trousers. You can hear him groan and you smile to yourself. Sure you’ve had sex, but you had only just started and were still quite inexperienced, especially when it came to focusing on the guy's pleasure. Hearing that they were enjoying it certainly made you feel better about your skills.

Once George’s trousers are off, you move over to Fred to give him the same attention. You slowly straddle his hips, grinding into him slowly as he grabs yours.

“Godric, y/n. You’re so...so good to us.” Fred sighs, grinding you down onto him harder.

After a few minutes you get both boys rid of their bottoms and them ridding you of your clothes except bra and panties.

“You’re so beautiful.” George smiles, kissing you before easily removing your bra.

“So beautiful.” Fred agrees, kissing you after his brother. You let out a shocked gasp of air when Fred pushes you back onto the bed, kissing your neck.

“Can we fuck you now, princess? Please, angel?” Fred begs, looking up at you after making a mark on your collarbone.

“Go ahead, weasley.” You hum, a shiver running up your spine as he hooks his fingers in the crotch of your panties to rip them off you.

“Oh fuck, Freddie.”

He smirks, carefully bringing his finger to your folds, circling your clit carefully before slowly inserting his pointer and middle finger inside of you.

You groan, back arching up off the bed as your one best friend fingers you, your other best friend gently massaging your breasts.

“Come taste her, George.” Fred says, pulling his fingers from inside you and sucking on them.

You moan at the sight, never imagining your two best friends would be here taking turns on you to lose their virginity. In all honesty, it was quite a spectacle. You really hoped you’d be able to do this again with them...except maybe one at a time though.

You sigh out in pleasure as George begins fingering you, bringing his tongue to your folds and eating you out at the same time.

You fall into a bit of trance, not able to differentiate between all the pleasure, the twins taking their time in prepping you. You don’t even realize they’re ready to fuck you until you feel George enter you, stretching you out.

“Oh fuck, Georgie. So big. Feels so good though, baby.” You groan, grabbing ahold of his shoulder as he pushes himself inside you.

You can just barely see Fred kneeling at the end of the bed, watching the two of you as he absentmindedly palms himself slowly.

George groans, twitching as soon as he’s inside you, much too overwhelmed with all the stimulation.

“Merlin, darling. You’re s-so tight. Feels so good.”

You moan, feeling him finally enter you completely. He waits a minute, letting the both of you adjust before he starts moving.

The next ten minutes or so go by much too fast, it didn’t take long for George to cum, pulling out of you as Fred takes his place. You register the switch, Fred feeling different inside you as well as going at a different pace.

You’re a moaning mess, reaching your high with Fred who stills inside you, leaning into you as you both ride out the bliss.

“Oh fuck, princess. That was amazing.” Fred smiles, kissing you as he massages your lower back, laying down beside you, facing you.

“Yeah it was.” George agrees, laying behind you and massaging your hip.

You smile tiredly, nodding in agreement as you try to catch your breath. The three of you lay together in silence for a few minutes before Fred kisses your nose, George kissing your shoulder.

“Is it cool to do that again? Like, tomorrow or something?” Fred asks, smiling at you as you chuckle.

“Yeah. Yeah, we can do that again. It felt amazing.” You smile, looking at Fred and then over your shoulder at George.

“Definitely, angel.” Fred agrees, kissing you and you feel george nod against your back as he continues placing soft, warm kisses to your shoulder.

You never expected all this to happen when arriving to the burrow this past summer, but you can’t say you weren’t pleased with the outcomes. Not only did you get a confession from your two oldest crushes that they also liked you back, but you lost your virginity to one, got to sleep with the other, and you got to sleep with your two best friends; which you’re pretty sure the three of you are going to continue to do for quite awhile. What more could you possibly ask for?

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books-and-catears · 3 years

Note

I liked the one about a ghost MC it was a really cute idea! I wanted to request something similar, where the MC who has a the appearance of the Japanese slit mouthed woman. She is a regular human and you can decide if she got the scar's from an accident or not, but she always where's a face mask to hide it and eats alone rather then with the brothers. When she's asked why they say "People can't eat when I they see my face." But one day she finally trusts the brothers enough to show her face.

OH MY GOD I KNOW THIS GHOST. If I'm not wrong, this ghost is called the Kuchisake Onna, kuchi meaning mouth.

This is so wholesome I love it. Your asks are so adorable :')

It has been forever since the accident. And yet the scar makes it feel like yesterday. Two scars running up towards your cheeks, making it look like you're constantly smiling. You hated mirrors at this point, without your mask especially.

You hear loud talking from the dining room downstairs as you stare at your meal on your study table. When was the last time you ate a meal with other people?

"What do you mean you won't eat with us MC?" Mammon and Asmo parotted every other day.

"People can't eat when they see my face." You left with that reply, refusing to answer the follow up questions.

Yours was a face only a mother could love, they said. Some screamed, some smiled sympatheticallly, the others nervously scattered away from the last time you tried to eat out by yourself. The restaurant requested you to leave since they were losing customers.

You walk up to the stairway, watching the brothers in their usual chaos. Maybe - just maybe, they won't be repulsed. Surely they've seen more horrifying things than you?

"Um..." You cleared your throat loudly. All of them stopped and looked at you. You usually never showed up until half an hour after meals.

But today you called out to the one of them. "Would you mind eating with me tonight...?"

Lucifer

"Of course I wouldn't mind MC."

He promptly got up with his plate as if he was already prepped for this day. Swiftly follows you into your room.

He sat down across you and began eating normally. "Thank you for inviting me in MC. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Nothing just..." You said untying your mask. "It felt like a good day." The mask fell off your face into your lap.

You paused and stared at Lucifer. He only looked shocked for a split second before a hidden rage clouded beneath his eyes. "Did someone deliberately-"

"No it was an accident. I was getting my teeth fixed when the lights went out and I moved. And something cut through my- well you can see." You explained.

"I see. Well that's quite unfortunate." Lucifer said and began picking at his plate.

You felt uneasy as chewed your food."You can leave if you feel repulsed. I wouldn't force you to-"

"No such thing MC. I was just thinking of consulting Satan and Solomon. Surely they know of spells that can heal your scars if you want them gone." Lucifer replied promptly. "And it's going to take a lot more than scars to scare us demons away."

"Lucifer...thank you." You said quietly.

"If possible I'd like to eat dinner with you from now on, MC. Frankly it's much calmer and it's a relief from my brothers."

After a long time, you laugh without your mask on.

Mammon

"I'll be right there, MC!"

Hurriedly grabs whatever food he has making a mess and jumps to his feet. He is in such a hurry, it's a miracle he didn't drop half of his dinner.

He plops down across the table from you, grinning ear to ear. "Of course you'd choose the Great Mammon to eat with ya!"

You nodded and chuckled, "Of course. But would you choose to eat with me?" Your pulled your mask away from your face.

His eyes went wide and then watery in the same instant. Is he..crying? "I-Im sorry..." You feel horrible so you hurry and tie the mask back up. Mammon grabs your hands and holds them down.

"I'm not crying stupid human! I'm just...you..you must have been in pain..when that happened." He said. "Who did this to you..."

"It's okay it was an accident, Mammon." You try to calm him down.

"Then why do you hide it? It's not even your fault!" Mammon said pouting. You looked down, "People get uncomfortable..."

Mammon shot up from his chair. "WHO DARE MAKE YOU FEEL BAD ABOUT IT? Show me I'll get them all! Noone messes with my human! I'm yer protector ain't I?! You never have to wear that thing around me!"

You blushed as he moved forward and hugged you, burying your face into his shoulder. "Mammon..."

You knew he was the best protector out there.

Leviathan

"I'm coming right away, don't worry MC!"

Stumbles around with his plate at your sudden invitation. His day has come. He is the chosen one.

He struggles to sit down, feeling estatic and nervous at the same time. "I didn't think you'd want to eat with me of all people, MC..."

"After tonight, maybe you'll feel that way about me Levi..." You said, taking off your mask. His face lit up as he let out a loud "Woahhh!"

Thinking he was scared you tried to hide it again before he screamed, "MC you look just like my favourite character from that horror romance anime "I fell for my best friend's scarred smile! That's so cool!"

You blink at him, blushing. What is with him and his oddly specific anime names!? Levi was oblivious to your shock ,going off at his own tangent. "You could pull off the perfect cosplay, come to my room tomorrow I can design it for you and then I'll make my own to go with it and we can go to the next convention-"

"Levi Levi calm down you'll run out of breath!" You couldn't hold in your laughter.

He stared at you awestruck,"So cute...why would you hide that cute face MC?" You shake your head, "Not everyone sees it as cute Levi."

"Well sucks for them to be such stupid normies." Levi blushed and scoffed.

Levi was the best friend everyone deserves and you were glad to have him.

Satan

"I'd be delighted to join you MC."

Was slightly taken aback at first but quickly composes himself and his dinner and follows you. His pace faster than usual.

Pulls out your chair for you like a gentleman and sits down himself. You smile and blush at the action. "So how was your day MC?" He asks like a gentleman, avoiding the elephant in the room, choosing it normalise it. You let the mask fall off your face.

"Oh..." Satan sat up straight, his shoulders stiff, his eyes going wide in anger. "Who dared to-"

"No no no Satan it was an accident!" You had to explain the whole thing for him to calm down. Then he nodded and held out his palm. "May I see how the deep the scar is MC?"

That was new. Noone has wanted to touch your scars before. When you nod, he reaches out and runs his fingers softly across your scars. "Hmm don't worry. They're not too deep. I can have them gone in a matter of days. That is if you'd like to me to."

It's like he knew. As much as you hated that scar, it kind of helped you see people's true intentions. You looked down unsure. Satan held your hand. "It's normal to get attached to scars you have for too long. None of us here will treat you any differently with or without it."

You smiled at him and held one of his fingers playfully. He laughed, his cheeks turning pink. "Ah now that's a smile I'd love to see everyday. May I have dinner with you more often MC?"

"Of course." His words and his presence were always calming to you.

Asmodeus

"I was wondering when you'd ask MC!"

Daintily picks up all of things and paces after you. He was excited but he restrained himself but he didn't want to scare you off.

Sits down close to you, smiling gleefully. He's just happy to be there with you. Grabs something off your plate with a fork and holds it upto your mouth. "MC come here let me feed you!"

It was probably the most nerve wracking to open your mask in front of him. The Avatar of Lust, the most beautiful being in Hell, and you- ugh, what's the point? You've come this far, let's get it over with. You put your mask down, bite off the potato off his fork.

You'd think Asmo would probably gasp and act all dramatic and hysterical. But instead he cupped your face, his eyes filled with worry and tenderness. "MC how long have you had this...?"

"A little over three years." You answered honestly. Asmo looked like he was about to cry. "You've been hiding away your pretty face from people for three years..." Asmo pulled you in a hug. "Noone deserves that. It's too lonely."

"Oh I'd hardly call it pretty-" Before you can even retort, he is glaring and pouting at you, holding your shoulders.

"I think I know beauty a little better than you, MC. And I say you're gorgeous and I'm going to eat with you everyday now." Asmo huffed to which you laughed.

Everyone deserves a hypeman like Asmo in their lives.

Beelzebub

"Oh? Me? Sure MC!"

Is surprised but happily goes along with you with all his food. You know he loves you when he gets midway from eating just to eat in your room.

He sits across, already muching away at his food. "Thank you for asking me to eat with you MC." You nod and tentatively take your mask off, trying not to draw too much attention for it.

Beel looks up shocked, his mouth full of food but he stopped chewing. He involuntarily reaches out to touch you, "Does it hurt MC?"

You shake your head. "It's years old Beel. It's okay. " Beel looks genuinely relieved at that and goes back to eating again. He doesn't seem bothered by it at all after that.

"Say MC will you be free next week? I could use your help in the new workout I'm doing. I need to train particular muscles for the big game they said." He switched to a whole new topic just like that. "Also this means I get to eat with you every day right?"

You felt warm inside. You were more than just your scar and Beel made you feel like that by hardly saying anything at all.

Belphegor

"...me huh? No I wouldn't mind."

Has a smug grin on his face as he gathers up his meal and slowly heads upward with you, making sure his brothers see how you chose him over the others. Cheeky cow.

He sits leaning into you cause he's too lazy to sit up straight. "So what's the special occasion MC? A face reveal?" Wow this one is direct.

He is staring right at you, as you pull off the mask slowly, thinking if it was a bad idea. His eyes grow wide for a split second before his fingers are already near your mouth feeling the scars.

"Deliberate or accident?" He asks. "Accident." You answer. He nods, "Good. I'm too tired today, wouldn't be able to take appropriate revenge." His fingers never leave your face.

"Is that why you keep it covered? You're embarrassed of it?" He asks. You think about it for a while. "I think I accepted it, it just seemed to make people uncomfortable and scared, if I smiled or opened my mouth to eat." You answer.

He smirked. "Then smile more. Let their cowardly selves feel uncomfortable. It's their problem that they can't see how cute your smile is."

That was surprisingly thoughtful. You smiled at him. "Thanks..."

He smirked back, "Also I'm going to be eating here from now on. My brothers annoy me."

He's cheeky but he has a good heart. Smiling never felt so easy.

#obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me levi #obey me beel #obey me belphie #obey me mammon #obey me asmo #obey me fluff #obey me imagine #obey me game #obey me angst #obey me angst fic

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prettyboykatsuki · 3 years

Text

am i warm enough for you?

➳ tags ;; soulmate au, strangers to lovers, fluff and angst but mostly fluff, some-what canon compliant, bakugo katsuki is bad at feelings, lots of Feelings™, you guys are adults but the end of the fic but the fic is sfw, alcohol, drunk confessions

➳ wc ;; 5.6k..

➳ plot summary ;; you see your soulmate in dreams - sometimes in bits and pieces and other times in full. bakugo is less than inclined to admit he even has a soulmate - and you learn how to cope with it, one day at a time.

bakugo learns that this soulmate shit is no joke. that has to be why he keeps falling for you so helplessly.

➳ a/n ;; i wasn’t even gonna comeback this early but it felt so wrong not to post on my bfs birthday so alas </3 for anyone who cares to know this is @elysianseraph but with my new url. nice to see u all <3

this was originally posted on 4/20 but im reposting cause it didn’t show up in the tags dskjds

It’s hazy.

A cloud of smoke settles over your body, permeating your lung. It smells like sugar, like burning, like smoke and a little like leather. You can feel your toes curl and your hands moving but your body is separate from you in a way you can’t describe. It’s a pleasant kind of warmth that spreads, creeping up from behind your neck till it’s soft and cradling your skull. It’s soft like the touch of a mother, like wool over your ears.

It’s a pleasant feeling, that’s all. Almost cozy but there’s a fading sense of distress that chills in your lungs as you encompass it. Your hands are too small to reach forward, and truthfully the sensation is so powerful that you’re afraid to reach out. You’re 6 years old, so all you know is how it makes you feel. You can’t remember many details, but you feel pleasant. Something about it is soft, but there’s a sharp edge right at the end that has your lungs gasping for air.

It’s a flash of colors. Red. Orange. Pale Yellow. Grey. Black. Forest Green. Red. Red. Orange. Red.

And then it fades into a feeling again. A blurry feeling. You feel conflict, then concern, then inadequacy in heavy waves almost like it’s drowning you. It’s the first time you’ve experienced such a pain, so your wailing and wiping tears away with chubby fingers and saying a name you don’t know and can’t remember.

Ka. You know the sound, Ka. But you don’t know of anything more. It repeats rhythmically in your mind like a knock on the door, rapping with urgency - but it doesn’t do anything to jog your memory. Someone is trying to be let in but you don’t know how to answer them, and you’re still crying. The distress, the inadequacy shakes you and all you feel is frustration in short simple bursts.

Your first encounter with your soulmate is written this way in your memory. A sense of urgency laced with frustration - but they’re not towards you. It’s him, his feelings - you can feel them even deeper then he can. They pierce you in a way that makes it hard to breathe, no matter how you try to escape them it’s an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. The only way to escape the feelings of a dream is either to control them, or to face them and swim through the fog.

Soulmates have an urgency to them, in general. His is different, you can tell as much. Your first soulmate dream leaves the heaviest impression and each one thereafter is like pieces of a puzzle.

Sometimes you simply share random dreams, like a split screen in a video game - the two of you witness different parts of the same dreamverse. Other times, and honestly - most times, you’re experiencing their emotions or feelings. You experience their core memories, their life, in flashes and bits and pieces.

It’s not enough to know them or who they are, it’s like know everything about them except the things that matter

Sometimes you meet too. Just barely.

MEETING 1:

The room is white. When you blink, colors flash in order - red, pale yellow, orange, forest green and you know. You blink a few more times, stretching your hands out in front of yourself. Curling your hands into fist then into stretched palms, you lean forward and stretch. You wriggle your toes - notice you're wearing shoes. Clothes from your closet. Strange.

You take a look around the room but there isn't much to see. There’s a wall in front of you with a glass divider and a mirrored empty room. The room across from yours has spiky decor littered against the walls. An orange dresser, plastic grenades and play guns. You know who it is without a second warning - and a foggy part in the back of your head tells you that it’s him, again but with more force. You don’t see anything in your room, but you figure he might. All of it is confusing to you.

Before you can blink, there’s a loud thud coming from the other side of the glass. It’s a silhouette, the outline of a face - but nothing clear. Dream logic dictates you can’t know a face you’ve never seen, yet somehow you know his outline. Spiky, he’s spiky everywhere.

“Hello?,” you call out, overly tentative. The figure pauses, seems to take in whatever they must be seeing. You’re not sure what response you’re expecting, really. There’s no expectations at all.

“...Who the fuck are you?,” says a pitchy, male voice. He sounds like he’s your same age, a highschool boy. His throat is rough, yet not overly deep. It’s almost scratchy.

“Uhm,”

You’re not sure how to reply. You can see him through the glass, but not really. Still, you take note of his shadows like they’re going to tell you anything more. You shove your hands in your pockets, messing around with something inside.

“Uh.. your soulmate, I think,” you reply.

Scratching the back of your neck as an awkward silence settles, you take a few minutes to try and figure what more to say.

“We met when we were kids once too,” you explain awkwardly. He must know, has too - this soulmate thing is a two way thing, but his silence is deafening. You just want to feel this space. Is it always this awkward?

“Red. Orange. Pale Yellow. Forest Green,” you repeat, like a mantra. You hear him take in a sharp breath, and freeze. For some reason, you’d like to avoid upsetting him. He doesn’t seem like he’s taking to the information too well.

“I don’t have time for this damn bullshit… whatever quirk you’ve got to mimic this - cut it the fuck out,”

Hostile.

You pause, not sure how to feel. Half of you is offended, the other half is confused - had you done something to upset him? You can feel how he feels - but you don’t understand it. You sit with your mouth agape, like a fish out of water. Unsure of how to proceed, you scoff a little.

“Woah.. this isn’t a quirk thing. We’re.. soulmates? That’s already a thing,”

More silence. You’ve.. he doesn’t seem upset, but you can tell he’s not all that keen to the idea. It’s a bare minimum improvement that you find yourself valuing, without your consent. He breathes again, throat even more hoarse than before. His voice is angry but it doesn’t fit his responses, his feelings - so you don’t pay attention to his madness. Something is off.

“... I’m not supposed to have a soulmate. No fucking way I have a soulmate,” he grits. You step back, stumbling. You didn’t have any expectations.. but this wasn’t what you had been expecting at all. You feel uneasy, sick. It must be a shared feeling if the way he leans against a wall counts for anything.

A beat of silence passes before you open your mouth to speak.

“... I have no idea what I’m supposed to say to that,” you admit. He scoffs.

“Nothing you damn extra. Leave me the fuck alone,”

You don’t reply, too stunned. This was your soulmate? This.. asshole? Not that you were a peach entirely either, but this was supposedly the person that the universe had decided for you?

You shake your head. Maybe you’re just being rash? He could be a nice guy behind all the chaos. You try your best to hold onto that, that this was literally someone chosen for you before you gave up all hope. You sigh, cracking your neck.

“You can say whatever you want but.. we’re here, you know? It’s more productive to just go with it.. isn’t it?,”

“Go fuck yourself,”

“After meeting you, I’m not exactly over the fucking moon about it either. It is what is,”

“You’re not my fucking.. soulmate or whatever the fuck. Leave me alone,”

Your heart both aches with anger and sadness. You don’t know what to do. What does this shit-head know about you, anyway? You know he’s been through some shit, same as you - what makes him so entitled? You swallow the lump in your throat. It hurts. It pierces. Stupid soulmate bonds.

“Yeah? Alright. Fuck you too,”

You see him pace around for a longer before he disappears in a cloud of smoke. You didn’t even catch his name, and you’re not sure you wanted too. It must be morning, but at least you're away from him. It feels lonely, but it must just be you.

Your eyes flutter open but your heart is heavy with regret. You don’t know who it belongs to, but you’ve got class in an hour and not enough time to think about it. If he doesn’t want to meet you that’s fine.

It’s fine. Not like you wanted to meet your soulmate anyway.

You don’t have another meeting with your soulmate for months. Lately your dreams have little if anything to do with him or where he is, how he’s been. You have some of those split screen ones, where you know he’s there but neither of you acknowledge each other, even in spirit, like how you did before. When you wake up feeling angsty, you don’t know how to distinguish the feeling but you don’t try.

You wonder idly if he can feel your apathy, if he cares enough too. Maybe he also mistakes it for his own? It seems likely.

It’s a weekday where you’re getting ready for remedial classes at your school. First year advanced courses were no joke, and you find yourself regretting your choice to participate in them.

Still you get dressed anyway, put your uniform on and brush your teeth - wash your face with your eyes half open and look presentable. No one's home in the morning, the house is empty of any life but you. Food becomes a last minute priority, so you make an egg sandwich with cheese and eat it on the way to the train station.

You stare down at your feet as you step outside, music drowning out the noise of your surroundings aptly. The walk to the station is long and the ride is longer, but the streets are packed edge to edge. Musutafu is busy this time of year - the U.A. Sports Festival is taking place today and everything seems to reflect that. You barely manage to squeeze past all the strangers on the subway - clearly on their way to see it.

When you get to school, you're greeted by a mostly empty classroom with a teacher. These classes were straightforward as always, do the work you need to correct, have it approved and leave. It repeats until your finished with all the assignments and you get to be done. You give a respectful nod to your teacher before grabbing your work from your bag.

It goes on and on - occasionally, you hear an excited gasp and quiet chatter from classmates. It’s about the festival, the happenings - but you’re too caught up in completing your work that day and trying to get the fuck out of their as soon as possible.

Shit like that didn’t matter to you, anyways. It’s just a festival.

You leave around the same time the festival seems to have ended, the streets flooded with people - you miss the first station and wander towards an electronics store a block away from your highschool.

It’s the winners on TV. A guy with split hair - Shouto Todoroki, Endeavors son. A guy with a bird head, and a blonde with red eyes - muzzled to the pole.

When you see them, your heart stops. You can feel anger, an unfamiliar rage and humiliation building in your chest. It feels the word has stopped as you watch from afar, through screens. Your soulmate seems upset about something, but you wouldn’t know what.

And that blonde on TV, you wonder if you know him from somewhere.

MEETING 2:

Red.Orange. Pale Yellow. Grey. Black. Forest Green. Red. Red.

You feel him before you even know what’s happening - and it catches you completely off-guard. You haven’t had a proper soulmate dream in two years. Smoke clouds your lungs, the taste of sugar burning your tongue as you cough yourself into awareness. This time, you’re not in a room but it’s a campground. In the middle of the space is a bonfire, burning warmly. This one feels more vivid, more real.

But you know it’s not, your body feel unusually light and your hands can’t hold anything for too long. You know it’s a dream, but you sit in the chair anyway. It feels like you're floating. You feel oddly warm. Dread builds in the pit of your stomach. Even though it’s been so long since you’ve spoken to your soulmate - you can’t forget the terrible first encounter. It sticks to the roof of your mouth - a bitter memory that fills you with unexplainable, irrational resentment.

But it’s not like you hadn’t been seeing him, to an extent. You’ve seen all his memories in bits and pieces - all of them tragic and painful. This time, you see people but they come in the form of small scraps. Spiky Red. Electricity. Tape. Pink with Horns. Music. Green. So much green and red - like Christmas, you’ve called it. You’ve seen disappearances, fear, anguish - so much anguish.

In the weeks after All Might’s fall, you were in so much pain - you couldn’t stop crying for days. It’s been enough time to know what feelings were yours and which were his - and these ones felt so much like him. It went on for nearly a year - you’d almost got accustomed to it. If tears showed up to blot the ink of your lecture notes, you didn’t think twice about it. You tried to keep yourself calm, steady - in hopes you could lend your soothing to him. Even if he hated your guts, you could barely believe so much sadness could exist in one person. You didn’t know what happened but whatever it was - it must’ve been terrible. At the very least, you felt sympathy.

Sympathy was enough to get by for a long time. A neutral, level-headed sympathy that helped soothe some of your own hurt.

All that said, you were hardly expecting to see him again - especially not this soon. You don’t remember the last time you thought about him in anything other than passing - actively. It’s one thing to know what's happening - you’ve felt him passively everyday for damn near two years.

But it’s another thing to see him in front of you, force yourself to acknowledge him as your soulmate even if he insists on not doing the same.

You squirm in your chair, noticing that you’re wearing PJ’s instead of clothes. Just a hoodie and sweats, none of which fit you quite right. You pull your sleeves over your hands, fiddling with the stray strand of thread loose.

“What the fuck is this shit?,”

Your stomach drops. Unsure of what to say, you opt to say nothing at all. Just let him be, sit quietly in your dreams and mind your business. Maybe he’ll wake up soon and it’ll all be over.

You can’t see him from the corner of your vision but you can hear him shuffle. The way he touches things, noticing how they make noise but don’t feel quite right in his hands. How it feels real but doesn’t, how it is real and isn’t. Surely, he’s noticed you by now. The lingering silence makes you squirm.

“...It’s you,”

You flinch, lifting your head up slightly to meet his gaze. His expression is unreadable, but it’s different from before. In a fleeting moment, something occurs to you.

You can see him. What he looks like. Blonde with red eyes, and a sharp chin and thin waist. You know it must mean you’ve seen him before - perhaps you’d even seen each other, but for your life you can’t remember where you’ve seen his face. It’s right there, on the edge of your mind, but you’re stumped.

“Hello?,”

“Oh,” your reply comes short, strained. Your eyes flutter as you press your lips into a flat line. “Uh, hi,”

The blonde sits in the chair, slumping down. His eyes go towards the flickering flames without another word and you decide it’s best not to engage. It stays like that for a while, a beat of silence - not awkward but not comfortable, passing by without another thought. It all feels real, present - not like normal dreams. This must be the special kind of soulmate thing you find yourself feeling resentful towards.

His eyes are heavy. Relief is overwhelming him, with an iron grip and he’s worried you can feel it. If you can, you don’t say a word.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he admits.

The words sound tender passing through his mouth, unmistakably so - but you don’t get your hopes up. Instead, you give him a placating laugh, leaning forward towards the fire and mirroring him.

“I didn’t think so either,”

When it falls silent, it feels comfortable. It’s not like either of you have anything to say to each other right now, with no manual on how this was supposed to go. If he even wanted to go there.

“I can.. see you,” you start. He squints.

“You couldn’t before?,”

This takes you by surprise. You shake your head.

“No..Could you? See me, I mean?,”

Bakugo feels heat rise to his skin. Oh. Huh.

“Yeah,” he replies, a sharp inhale leaving his lungs “I can see you,”

There’s something tense in the air. It’s a strange sensation - to know the deepest and most intimate parts of someone without even knowing their name proper, or where they went to school, or what they normally eat for breakfast. All that connects you are these mutual feelings, shared grief that holds you two to the title of soulmates. This odd bond.

“..d’ya still think I’m a quirk wielding villain?,” you laugh, or try too - you’re doing your best to cut the tension. He can feel your hurt all the way from your sit, so deep in his gut - it’s been haunting him for years. How many nights of sleep he’s lost knowing there are soft and helpless tears coming from these suppressed feelings. He doesn’t know how to say sorry, so he sighs and rubs the back of his neck. He’s changed a lot in two years - but not enough to be good at this.

“No, I don’t,”

“Oh,”

He smiles, just a little. It’s gentle, casts shadow on his face from the light of the fire. It’s warm, everything feels warm and better and invigorating. When you look at him and his uneasy expression - you know he feels it too.

“By the way, uhm - what’s your name? Ka.. something? Right?,”

His eyes shoot up in surprise. He nods a little.

“Katsuki Bakugo,” he replies, expectantly. You seem surprised that he wants to know yours.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” comes your reply.

“Nice to meet you,” says him, Bakugo - your soulmate.

“Nice to meet you too,”

Getting to know Bakugo is unusually easy. You get the feeling it wouldn’t be, in the case that you were anything but soulmates - but Bakugo has never known being this intimate with someone other than you. Despite himself, how much he hates himself - you never seem too. Even though you feel and see all the ugliest parts of him - have since he was small enough to still be innocent, you always treat him the same.

Your conversations are short, and shallow. Regardless, he’s not used to talking so much about himself. But you’re always curious, so much so Bakugo doesn’t have the heart to see your countless questions go unanswered.

You keep a little notebook of all of your encounters. You remember them by heart but write them down too, just in case you miss something. You ask about his friends - Spiky Red and Soft Green, referring to them that way even after you’ve known their names. You ask about his work - the life of a dangerous hero, and if he ever gets nervous flying through the air.

Admittedly, he’s mean to you. He teases you so frequently, he’s lost count of all the times you’ve huffed and puffed at his sarcastic remarks. Still, you never turn away from him. You stand with your foot down and your arms crossed over your chest - insistent on making him feel flustered too. And it works, somehow - because you know all too much about Bakugou and always gets him right where he’s most conscious about. You don’t have to tease him about his feelings since you know them like the palms of your hand.

But these shallow conversations always mean a little more to him that he knows how to verbalize, and half the time he doesn’t need to do that at all. You’ve learned the masterful of working around him quietly, making all the parts of that feel too big to love - something small and fragile. Somehow, you’ve made being with him, even as friends - feel like less of an impossible feat but a dream.

Katsuki Bakugo has been in love with you since he was 6 years old. There must be some feelings we cannot share with our soulmates, because he has no idea if you feel it or not. He just knows he does, somewhere deep in the cavern of his heart, he loves you.

You never cross the barrier of romance with him, though. A paralyzing fear seems to settle in your bones when you breach too close to love and intimacy - and Bakugo understands those feelings, even if he doesn’t know exactly why they’re there. It’s not something you’ve decided to tell him yet, but he feels it in the same way he feels your loneliness. You may be kind but you’re more guarded than he is, and not fearless but reckless.

But he still finds himself aching to love and be loved by you, no matter how much he hates it. The yearning still manages to swallow him, even late into the night.

MEETING 3:

It’s been a while since your last meeting with Bakugo but not long. You were 21 now, but your dream visits were frequent. When you weren't speaking or seeing him through dreams - you were watching him on TV. You’d been yet to meet with him in real life but to you, that was okay. Seeing him like this had been more than enough.

Today was different. Normally, that bonfire was always a back-drop to these little encounters but it was a field today - a filed with rolling hills and hundreds of flowers and tall grass that made you feel itchy. The sun was permanently stuck right before it set but it was so warm everywhere. When you get there, there’s a blanket on the top of one of the hills. You sit on it cautiously and watch the wind pass. Everything is tinged orange, and red - you know he’s there with you before he appears.

When he does, he seems different. You glance over at him as he stumbles towards you in a stupor, and when he does finally sit - you get a whiff of alcohol coming from his neck and mouth. It’s strong enough to make a little dizzy. Blinking owlishly, he sits crisscross besides you, staring a little at the surroundings.

“..the fuck?,” he slurs. You can’t help but break out into a laugh. He nearly falls over, body swaying so you bring his head down to your shoulder wordlessly, a furious heat running all over your skin. Even though you can’t feel him, the gesture makes you feel something in your belly.

“Why’re you so drunk?,”

“Birthday,” he mumbles. Your eyes widen in surprise. Bakugo is seemingly unfazed, eyes drooping with tiredness. He’s completely inebriated.

You feel yourself grow tender. You’d have to wake up and remember the days date. Despite all the times you’ve met, you had no clue about his birthday or how he celebrated. You feel your heart ache at the idea you’ve spent the latter half of it together, in your own way.

“Happy Birthday, Bakugo.”

“Bakugo this, Bakugo that,” he growls, a little incoherent “We’re supposed to be fucking soulmates and you still call me by that.. damn name.”

He hiccups a little as you sit there stunned. You blink.

“.. You think of us as soulmates?,”

“Are you some kind of moron?,”

You scowl, flicking his forehead with your thumb and forefinger. He makes a noise of indignance.

“Well, how would I know? When we first met, you didn’t seem enthused about it,”

Bakugo sighs tiredly.

“I was 15 and an asshole - clearly I don’t fuckin’ feel that anymore,”

You seem surprised again.

“..You don’t?,”

Instead of swearing at you, he closes his eyes and gets closer to you. The liquor runs through his system like liquid courage and he nods a little.

“Not at all,”

“What do you..”

“What do you think I mean?,” he barks a laugh. You feel your pulse under your skin, drumming against your chest like a hammer. You can’t even breathe.

You’ve had feelings for Bakugo from the second proper meeting you’d had with him. It was clear as a day that he was your soulmate for good reason, that inexplicable draw that kept your heart from ever belonging to anyone else. You tried to - tried to go on dates and see other opportunities through but he was always so one of a kind.

Yet, you’d given up all hope that it would mean anything to harbor these feelings, convinced that Bakugo simply wasn’t interested in you In doing any of this. You didn’t want to force him into something he didn’t want - so you kept your distance with hope that he’d still be in your life. It was enough, or you’d wanted it to be.

It’d be a lie to say that you hadn’t started thinking about it more and more as the days pass. What it would be like to see him, touch him and love him and be with him for real - these passive daydreams gone vivid. If he could see your dreams, he must know about them. But you didn’t know how to approach it - how to approach love at all.

That’s the thing with soulmates. You’re told that you’ll just have the answers, destiny will do the hard work but that’s far from true. Because even now, with Bakugo leaning on your shoulder with this confession lingering in the air - you don’t know what to do.

“Stop being so nervous,” he mumbles. You stumble a little over yourself.

“Sorry,”

He chuckles.

“You really need me to say it, huh?,” he sighs. He picks himself. If he’s drunk and reckless, then fuck it - he’s gonna take it all the way. He drops his head onto your lap with a tired sigh.

“I think you’re my soulmate, you fuckin’ idiot,” he admits.

And it’s hard to say, because feelings don’t come easy for Bakugo Katsuki - but it’s the least he can do. All Bakugo Katsuki has ever known is to be lonely. It’s a loneliness that he’d forced on himself. Bottling up all the anger and sadness and swallowing it. It’s long since sunk it’s claws into him. That overwhelming, all consuming ugly feeling that lingers underneath that superiority complex.

That no one would ever, could ever love the ugliness that lingers in him. That no one who knew him for what he truly is, could care for him. Deku was the first of many disbeliefs and not much had changed.

Except for when it did. Except for when he met you - in a dream, and you were real and beautiful even at 15. That the universe hadn’t been playing some sick joke on him when he kept seeing you in his dreams, so soothing to his teenage loneliness. You were real and that was so fucking scary.

But you loved him anyway. Looked out for him when he was at his lowest - the soothing beat of your heart in the days after All Mights end . When he cried himself into sleep and dreamed of you. God, how he dreamed of you. Not especially romantic dreams, but dreams of how you made breakfast. How you watched cartoons on Sunday and read manga in your classes instead of the assigned work. How you fell asleep on the train station and always ate icecream after big tests. How you were especially mundane and how he got to be apart of that everyday routine.

After all, you see dreams of each other, but Bakugo has no clue what your dreams of him look like. His have always looked like you though.

When he was worthless and empty and unable to give you anything meaningful, to apologize or put his pride away - you had loved him anyway. Felt for him with clumsy hands and held on, not letting go. Even when he was begging for you to leave him alone, in fear of this all being nothing more than a cruel dream - you held on tightly to him. With your silly notebook questions and dumb names.

Bakugo Katsuki has never known what it means to love someone who isn’t you. Even if you found someone else and there was someone better than you for him, he would grit his teeth and bear it. He wonders if he’ll ever believe he deserves you. He wants to believe you’re his soulmate - to believe you wont ever leave. To believe that he did something right enough that the universe could give him someone like you.

And he wishes he could say all this, but he can’t - he just closes his eyes and hopes you can feel it.

“You’re so mean,”

“Isn’t that why you like me?,” he grins.

And you can feel his sincerity. He should feels yours too.

“I love you, actually,”

He gasps, a sharp breath that stabs his lungs. He feels sober from the confession.

His voice is gravelly when he speaks.

“Yeah, shit - me too,”

Your heart beats rapidly in your chest. The address is correct, it has to be with the way this place looks. Only a hero could live here, with the floors that lead up to skies. He lives on 3rd floor, so you swallow your fear. You give yourself a thumbs up in the glass window pane of the building before entering through the doors.

When you get there, a box sits. You press the button next to his place, bouncing on the balls of your feet until you answer.

“Hello?,”

His voice feels different in real life. You cough.

“Uh, hi,” you greet awkwardly “I’m here,”

“Oh,” he says. You hear something buzz and then him again. “Come on up,”

And you do. The elevator ride feels like it stretches mild, classic piano echoing against the empty walls. You feel yourself feel sick but you’re not sure it’s from the movement. All you can do is fidget and wait.

When the doors open, you peak your head out into the hallway. He’s the first one on the left, just as promised. You can see a welcome mat - forest green, and something in you knows that it’s the right one.

You step up and knock, three times precisely. Your heart is all the way in your ears and everything in you is filled with unease and excitement.

When the door swings open, the world stops. You gape like a fish out of water in disbelief. He’s tall and big like he promised he’d be, but you’re unprepared. His chin is scruffy, eyes full of sleep. Strong chest and arms that seem to crowd your vision, you don’t know what do.

His expression is full to the brim with feelings you’ve never seen. He steps aside with his head ducked down.

“Come in,”

“Ah.. right,”

You take your shoes off and place them in the slippers meant for you - they fit you just right, and it can’t be a coincidence. Your heart swells up a little as you take your coat off, hanging it on the rack. You can feel his eyes as they linger on your silhouette.

“So -,”

Before you can get a word out, you feel strong arms wrapped around your waist. His scruff brushes against the skin of your neck as he holds you tightly too him. The warmth of his breath lingers on your neck - and he hiccups, a sob stored in his rib cages let out with a howl. The tears blur your vision too. You can feel his drip onto your shoulder as you snivel into his neck. Your legs feel weak, but he holds you up at the door - the only thing keeping you standing.

You cling around him tightly, your nails digging into the meat of his shoulders. It’s him, your soulmate, Katsuki Bakugo. He’s real and holding you - and he smells like leather and sugar and a fireplace. He’s warm and strong and overwhelming and your crying into his shoulder with so much feeling you don’t know what to do. You hit him weakly, unsure of what do with yourself and he laughs.

“Damn you, shitty woman - makin’ me fucking cry,” but his voice is strained. It’s like something connected, how you feel each other so intimately in that moment. Not only because you’re soulmates, but because you love each other so deeply. Your heart feels heavy.

When you pull away, you manage to give him a warbly smile.

Your hands cradle his face - so handsome and wonderful. You lean forward, emboldened, and peck him. He melts into your touch like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life. It makes you grin.

Maybe you don’t realize that he had.

He’d been waiting for you all this time.

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x you #bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha imagines #bakugou imagine #bakugou imagines #PLEASE SHOW UP IM BEGGING

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scuttling · 3 years

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Lavender

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 9,244 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad's Best Friend Friend From Work Hotch, Me turning a naughty, smutty story into something way more aka my specialty, Fingering, Unprotected sex, Oral sex, Semi-public sex, Office sex Summary: You absolutely dread going home for vacation, to your sickeningly cheery childhood bedroom and opinionated parents, but meeting your dad's friend from work at a stuffy cocktail party has the potential to make this a vacation you'll never forget.*Requested by anon, severely altered by me 😅 Link to A03 or read below! Most people would jump at the chance for an unexpected two week vacation, but you are not most people. When your boss emailed you to inform you that there had been some kind of glitch in HR’s system and you actually had two weeks of paid vacation that were set to expire, your anxiety had kicked into high gear. There isn’t enough time to coordinate travel with any of your friends, too short notice, and you’re kind of afraid to travel alone, though you’d never admit it, so that’s out.

There’s always the prospect of hanging out at home, catching up on all the shows you started but never had time to finish, doing things you’re always too busy for, like cooking and cleaning out your closet and going to the animal shelter to pet the dogs and cats.

Unfortunately, those dreams are crushed when you accidentally let slip during a call to your parents that you have the time off, and they literally insist you come home, will not let you get off the phone without confirming your plans.

You only live about an hour away from them, but for one reason or another, you rarely visit.

The minute you step into your childhood home, you’re reminded of why you rarely visit.

“There’s my little do-gooder!” Your dad is all but waiting at the door when you arrive, pulls you into a hug despite the fact that your hands are full of luggage. “Let me look at you.” He pulls back, hands on your shoulders, acting like it's possible something has changed about you since you had lunch together a month ago in DC. “Oh, you’ve got that serious lawyer hairstyle now,” he remarks with a chuckle, even though your hair is styled the same way it was at that lunch. He might not mean it to come out this way, but it sounds condescending.

“That would be appropriate, considering I am a lawyer,” you remark, trying to keep the snark out of your tone. You know he always means well. “You look good.” He takes his hands off of you and puts them on his stomach.

“Your mom has me on some kind of greens and beans diet, says it will help me live longer.” You smile, a little awkward, not sure what to say about that—your dad is typically the meat and potatoes type, so you figure some variety can’t hurt, but if you say that you’ll never hear the end of it, and you’ve already got a headache.

“Where is mom, anyway?” You shift your bag on your shoulder, and your dad clues in, takes it from you and starts walking up the staircase.

“Oh, she’s at the gym, then taking care of some last minute things for the party.” You pause at the base of the stairs, sigh softly.

“Party?” You weren’t told about any party. Your dad keeps walking, and you’re forced to follow.

“Yeah, nothing major, just some people from the office and their spouses coming over for drinks tonight. Maybe some of their kids,” he adds innocently, and you can’t help rolling your eyes.

By kids, he means sons: eligible sons to try to set you up with. You wouldn’t mind being in a room full of hot, single men vying for your attention any other time—in fact, it’s been a little while, and your most recent hookup was lackluster, so you’re a bit more tightly wound than usual—but the kinds of men your parents bring around aren’t your type at all. You’re career driven yourself, but all they want to talk about is how they plan to be the youngest partner at their firm, or the clubs they can get into, or worst of all, money. Your potentially somewhat relaxing vacation just went to shit in no time at all.

“I didn’t bring anything to wear to a cocktail party.”

“I think mom got you a dress, honey. Check your closet after you get unpacked.” He pushes the door to your former bedroom open, and you’re assaulted by the color lavender; somehow you’d actually forgotten how purple it is. “You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.” He sets your bag on the bed—oh god, the frilly purple comforter, you may have actually repressed that memory—and you drop your other luggage there too. “I’ll give you some time to get settled in, maybe order some lunch for us? Vesuvios?”

As irritated as you are about the party, it’s sweet that he remembers your favorite restaurant. You went there for dinner after you graduated from high school, college, and law school, so there are lots of great memories associated with the place.

“Do they adhere to the greens and beans diet?” you ask with a grin, and he puts his finger up to his lips to silence you.

“What mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?” You shake your head fondly, and he slips out of your room and leaves you to it.

You start unloading your clothes into the empty dresser, hanging them in the closet that holds things like your prom dresses, graduation gowns, old cheerleading and volleyball uniforms. Every touch of silky fabric is a memory, and at this point in your life most of them are good, even if they weren’t at the time. It’s kind of nice to remember where you came from, when where you are now can be so hectic, so fast-paced you don’t see the forest for the trees.

Feeling nostalgic, you walk over to your desk, where you spent so much time with your face crammed into textbooks it’s not even funny, and flip through your old stationary set—what teenager had her own stationery? You were a total nerd—and photos you’d taken off the mirror but left sitting in a pile to be packed away eventually.

You snap out of the past after that, finish putting your toiletries away, setting up your laptop and chargers where you want them, then shove your empty suitcases in the closet and grab your phone to head downstairs.

You meet up with your dad in the kitchen, where he is opening steaming takeout containers full of Italian food. You grab some plates from the overhead cabinet and lean against the counter, look over the offerings to decide what you’ll have.

“So how are things at the ACLU?” he asks with a bit of a teasing tone. You’re well aware of the fact that he thinks you could be doing more—translation: making more—in private practice, or working for the government like he does, but neither of those things interest you and he is well aware of that.

“They’re really good, actually. We’re working on a disability rights case now that will probably make national news if we win.” It’s been forever since you had penne arrabbiata, since it’s not very easy to eat at your desk without running the risk of staining your blouse with spicy red sauce, so you load up your plate with it, add wilted spinach for color, a piece of garlic bread because it’s garlic bread. You lick your thumb, and your dad points a finger in your direction in that way that means he’s about to give you life advice.

“When you win; if you’re not confident about your capabilities, no one else will be.” You roll your eyes good-naturedly, nod, because that’s a pro tip you’ve heard time and time again. “If you came to work at the bureau, you’d win more of your cases; Constitutional law isn’t easy.” He says that like you don’t already know, like you haven’t been working in your current department for more than a year. You sigh.

“I’m not really the bureau type, dad.” You take your plate over to the breakfast table, sit down and start to pick at your food. Arguing about your chosen career path is enough to make you lose your appetite, even for your favorite dish. Your dad follows, sits across from you.

“You’re so smart, honey, you could be if you wanted to.” He takes a bite of fettuccine alfredo, points his fork at you. “Hey, maybe you could talk to Jim from the Office of General Counsel tonight—or maybe Aaron. You’d be really interested in the work his team does.”

“Who’s Aaron again?” You don’t recognize the name, so he’s probably not one of the attorneys on your dad’s team, but he works closely with so many departments you might have heard it before and missed it.

“Friend from work. He’s the unit chief at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They’re criminal psychologists or something. Profilers,” he says, snapping his fingers. “That’s what they call them. They get into criminals’ heads, analyze them and interrogate them. I know you minored in psychology, I bet he could get you an internship.” You laugh at that, because he always gives you advice about furthering your career, but that’s a step backward for you and he can't be so dense not to realize it.

“An internship? I’m a little old for that, don't you think? Not to mention I have a job that I love.” You stab at your food, more than a little agitated by the current conversation.

“Never too late to get your foot in the door, sweetie. It’d be great to see you more, that’s all I’m saying,” he adds, ending on a gentler note, and you sigh. Your mom does it too, but your dad is an expert into guilting you into doing what he thinks is best. Unfortunately, you’ve never handled guilt very well.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him, if it means that much to you,” you promise, and you both smile and make easy small talk for the rest of the meal. The dress your mom bought for you for the party is a black, sleeveless, designer cocktail dress, something more form fitting than you would normally wear—she is evidently trying very hard to find you an eligible bachelor tonight. You pair it with your favorite jewelry, simple heels, and when you head downstairs your mom acts like it’s prom night all over again.

“Oh sweetie, you look so beautiful!” She puts her hands on your arms, spins you around. “You’re looking too thin—must be eating a lot of salads on that paralegal salary,” she throws over her shoulder to your dad, and they both laugh. You wish life were a documentary so there was a camera you could look into with an unimpressed expression.

“I’m a staff attorney actually. Fully accredited,” you add, but it’s no use. If you don’t follow in your dad’s footsteps, you will always be seen as living beneath your potential, and therefore always the butt of these types of jokes.

You love them, really, and you know they love you, but they are not the most supportive pair by a long shot. They made sure you got into a great college, let you follow your law school dreams—and you’re grateful, won’t deny their money is a privilege so many other people in your position do not possess—but that was only because those were their dreams as well. As soon as you told them about taking the position at the ACLU, it was like the tables were turned, and instead of your accomplishments, all they saw was wasted potential.

It’s enough to keep you away most of the time, which sucks, but it is what it is. It’s easier to love them from afar, so that’s what you do.

At the party, you shake hands, talk about the weather, introduce yourself to so many middle aged white guys and their sons that their faces all start to blur together. After half an hour you excuse yourself, head to the bar for a drink, and come to stand next to a middle aged white guy you have not introduced yourself to—this one, you’d have remembered, because he is tall, broad, serious looking, and very handsome.

If you were a dog, he’d have your ears perking up, no doubt about that. Instead, your heart just races a little.

“I have to say, these FBI parties are even less fun than I thought they’d be,” you comment as you wait for your drink. The man lifts the corner of his mouth in a slight smile.

“Get a bunch of men who are past their prime in one room, and all you hear about are the glory days. Can’t get a word in edgewise.” The bartender hands you your glass, and you turn to fully face the stranger.

“Why aren’t you talking about your glory days?” You immediately kind of want to slap yourself. Your social skills have been exhausted tonight, apparently. “I’m sorry, that was rude; I didn’t mean to insinuate that you’re… past your prime.” You give him a brief once over, because he deserves it, is even more gorgeous up close than you’d initially assessed; he chuckles softly, sips on his own drink.

“It wasn’t rude, it was… shrewd.” His own gaze lingers on your face, maybe the neckline of your dress, just a little. “Your father’s really happy you’re here, wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

“Yeah, he's one of the most ambitious people I know; he gets an idea in his head and won’t rest until he’s seen it through.” It’s a quality that sounds good on paper, but when it’s constantly being applied to your life, it’s more tiring than anything. “Right now he’s trying to get me to bully one of these poor guys into giving me an internship, as if I’m not twenty-nine years old with a career of my own.” He wets his lips, laughs again.

“I think I’m the poor guy—Aaron Hotchner. I’m the unit chief overseeing the BAU.” Wow, 0 for 2. This guy’s got to think you’re a complete idiot. He extends a hand and you shake it firmly, melt a little because his palm is so broad, his fingers so thick.

“Right, I’m so sorry. Feel free to tell me right now that I’m not the right fit, and I’ll slink off and hide in a corner somewhere for the rest of the night.”

“No need for that. You strike me as someone who would be a great fit for my team, if that was something you actually wanted.”

You aren’t looking for a career change in the slightest, but you can’t deny it would be tempting to report to this man every day.

“It’s not that I’m not curious about what you do; my dad told me a little, and it sounds really intriguing. I just have a lot on my plate right now. If the offer had come up before I started my current job, I would be all over it.” You smile, shrug. “Unless you could have me intern for the next two weeks I’ll be on vacation, I’ll have to politely decline the offer you haven't actually made me.” You smile, and so does he.

“Now who’s ambitious?” he asks with a raised eyebrow; the way he says it, like he finds it charming, makes your face heat a little. You’ve never connected like this at one of your dad’s FBI events, and even though there’s no way it ends well—if anything even starts—you feel the need to see how far you can go. Even if it’s just a little flirting. Even if it’s just tonight.

“Have you ever been here before tonight?” you ask after a beat. You take a sip of your drink, and he mirrors you. You lean in a little closer.

“Once, briefly. I didn’t get a grand tour, or anything.” You smile—bingo—and reach out to place a hand on his arm.

“Oh, I’d be happy to give you one, if you like. Usually my dad is all about it, but he looks occupied.” You both glance across the room at where he is in the middle of a group of men—still discussing their glory days, no doubt—and Aaron looks at you again, nods.

“Sure, I’d love one.” You show him around downstairs, the backyard, the garage—he doesn’t seem to care about the cars at all—and then go upstairs, show him guest rooms, the master bath your mother recently remodeled; he gets a little closer as you go, and you smile more, flirt a bit. You stop outside the door to your room, block it with your body while you talk about the art hanging in the hall; he’s very good at reading your body language, apparently, because he leans closer to you, puts his hand on the doorknob next to your hip.

“What’s this room?” he asks, feigning innocence, and you put your arm over his.

“Oh, no, we’re not going in there. That’s my old bedroom.” He smiles, and you grimace.

“You mean the room I most want to see now? Come on.” He turns the knob, hears it click, and you cover your face with your hand, sigh.

“This is going to be really embarrassing. It’s exactly the way it looked when I went to college, and that was over ten years ago.” You push the door open with your hand, walk in and flick on the light. Aaron follows, chuckles.

“It’s... purple. Cute.” He makes toward the bed, touches one of the frills on the comforter with his big, broad hand. The juxtaposition of your innocent lavender bedding being stroked by the fingers you can’t stop staring at is a very interesting one.

“No, it’s not cute, it’s horrifying,” you say, and when he walks toward the open closet, you begin to regret this little tour. He pulls out your prom dress, your cheerleading uniform.

“Cheerleader, huh? You don’t seem the type.” He looks over at you, and you push it back into the closet, lead him away from it with your hands on his arms.

“I’m not. It was important to my mom.” The two of you are by your dresser now, and he leans in to look in the mirror, at you standing behind him and not his own reflection.

“I see. Do you always put other people's needs before your own?” You sidle up next to him, and he turns to face you.

“This is what you do, right? You… deduce for a living? Like Sherlock?” That makes him laugh, which in turn makes you smile.

“It’s called profiling, but that’s accurate enough.” You feel a challenge brewing inside you, take a step closer to him.

“Okay… What can you tell me about myself by looking around the room? Remember, this stuff is from ten years ago; a lot could have changed.” He crosses his arms, nods.

“You’re right, but your core values wouldn’t have.”

Slowly, he walks around the room, taking things in, touching things, looking back at you briefly and then rifling through parts of your past. It’s a few minutes before he speaks again.

“I think your father wants you to work at the bureau, and you don’t want to because you’ve always felt like you’d live in his shadow if you followed the same career path. You want to blaze your own trail, do what fulfills you, not let his last name be what moves you up the ladder.”

That’s all scarily true, so you nod, cross your arms, lean your butt against your desk.

“I think you’re afraid of commitment because you don’t think any relationship you’re in will ever measure up to what your parents have.” That stings a little, but he’s not wrong. He points to a flyer stuck to a cork board, something about a charity project you’d worked on that revolved around recycling. “Environmentally conscious: I bet you drive a hybrid, and if your dad bought it for you, it’s a... BMW.”

He glances back, and you encourage him to go on. He points to a copy of your Georgetown diploma hanging on the wall, then picks up a cheerleading trophy on your dresser.

“You were a cheerleader to please your mom, went to Georgetown to please your dad, excelled at both; you’re an only child, so you felt you couldn’t let them down. My question is,” he says, looking up at you curiously, “what pleases you?” The words make your heart beat fast; you lick your lips, tilt your head.

“Not much.” He comes closer, arms crossed again.

“Why?” God, that’s a loaded question for a Friday night, for the first day of your vacation. You absently wonder if he’s going to bill you for this impromptu therapy session.

“I find it difficult to ask for what I want,” you ultimately say, and he moves even closer. His stare is probing, and you speculate that he may have been a lawyer before the FBI. The look on his face is the same one you’ve seen in many courtrooms over your short career.

“Of course you do. You’ve never done it before. You've spent your whole life asking other people what they want from you.”

You feel very seen, and you kind of hate it, but you also kind of like it—that he’s able to dissect you like this is a huge turn on. What that says about you, you’re not entirely sure; maybe that you enjoy being seen for who you are—for all that you are—instead of who you know, or who you could have been, for a change.

“I think you didn’t lose your virginity until college—your second year.” It feels like bringing that up is a bold move for him; he doesn’t meet your eyes when he says it. “I would guess you got drunk for the first time around then, too. Your first year you were trying to navigate the feeling of not being under anyone’s thumb anymore; your second year, you finally felt like your own woman, you wanted to try new things, but it made you feel out of control and you don’t like that. Even now you only drink socially, never to get drunk.” He is directly in front of you now, and he reaches out a hand, brushes it over your cheek. “I also think you gravitate toward men you find inappropriate and unattainable so you don’t have to worry about being the reason your relationships fail.”

He looks into your eyes with a questioning gaze. It’s a painfully accurate take, but he softens the blow with the gentle touch.

“Wow, you’re kind of an asshole,” you breathe, but you smile, and he laughs low.

“Maybe. But am I wrong?” You nod your head, and his face falls a little, so you narrow your eyes to mess with him a bit.

“Only about one thing: I actually drive a Kia hybrid. And I bought it myself, for your information.” He smiles, and you press your hands against his chest; it’s crazy how quickly he drops back into the serious expression you first saw him wearing by the bar. “Are you unattainable and inappropriate?”

“I work with your father; we’re the same age. We play golf together sometimes.” He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, doesn’t back away or remove your hands. You slide them down his body, over his stomach, stop at his belt, and he looks the way you feel: tightly wound, aroused, a little breathless.

“That doesn’t really answer my question, Aaron. May I do some profiling of my own?” You look up at him, curious, and he nods.

“Be my guest,” he murmurs, and you lean back. You rake your eyes over his body slowly—there’s no mistaking your appraisal for what it is. “No ring on your finger, but there’s no way you haven’t been married before. My guess is you’re divorced, and it wasn’t your idea.” You look up at his face, smile softly. “Sorry. You weren’t exactly pulling punches either.” He huffs a laugh.

“You’re right: I wasn’t pulling punches. You’re right about the divorce, too. Go on.” You nod, hum.

“Okay. You have a strong moral compass; you always do what’s right, even when it’s difficult. It’s what makes you such a great leader for your team. You like to go by the book, you’re a Fed through and through—but when it comes down to the bureau or the people you care about, you’ll fight the establishment with all you have. You aren’t a blind believer in the government; you have your criticisms, and you aren’t shy about voicing them.”

“Unlike your father,” he says, and you sigh. “You don’t have an appreciation for his work.”

“No, I really don’t.” Your dad specializes in Freedom of Information Act litigation—he does his best to keep the FBI from actually living up to its commitment to be transparent with the American people, and it doesn’t sit right with you, never has. You may both be attorneys, but you could not be more different if you tried. “But I’m profiling you, remember?”

“Right. Please continue.”

“This might be going out on a limb, but I think you went to law school. The way you speak, and the way you looked at me earlier? It was a little like cross-examination. Am I right about that?” His answering smile actually looks pleased.

“You are. I was a prosecutor for a number of years before joining the FBI. I think it’s something you don’t ever really lose.”

“For better or worse,” you say with a smile of your own. Happy with your assessment, you move a little closer again. “One more thing. I don’t think you’re the kind of man who would normally let a woman take you into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing her. Childhood or otherwise.” You smooth your hands down either side of his tie, over his firm chest and solid midsection. “Maybe you saw something in me you liked?”

“I was... dreading coming here tonight.” He brings his hands up to cover yours, but doesn’t pull them away, just holds them. “If you’ve been to one of these parties, you’ve been to them all—no offense to your father—and I was contemplating a good excuse to leave early, if I’m being honest. Then you showed up at my side—my friend’s mysterious daughter that I’ve heard so much about—and you’re funny, and charming. Insightful. Vulnerable.” He squeezes your hands, presses them closer to his chest. “Beautiful. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at someone and felt an instant connection. Do you feel it?” His voice is just above a whisper, and you nod lightly.

You aren’t the type of woman to take a man into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing him, childhood or otherwise, but he makes you want so badly you’re almost ravenous—you’ve felt this way before, maybe twice in your life, but neither of those experiences ended with you getting what you wanted. You really hope this time might be different.

“Kiss me?” He takes a breath and then presses his lips together.

“I shouldn’t.”

“I know. But will you?” After a beat, he does, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, moving his hands to your face as he deepens it.

It’s not a hard kiss, but rough around the edges, your noses pressed together, mouths seeking contact even as you pull apart for breath. He kisses like he needs it, tastes like bourbon, feels like heaven; it’s steamy, wet, makes your chest heave and your pussy throb. When he walks you backward, gently presses your body against your desk, you hop up onto it easily and pull him closer, between your spread knees.

“Aaron,” you sigh over his lips, and his hands move to your thighs, pushing up your dress so he can get closer to you. You glide your fingers through his hair, plant a hand on the desk, then feel something tip over, hear the soft sound of paper sliding over the edge.

Aaron looks down, picks up a lavender envelope; he holds it up with a question in his eye and an enamored look on his face.

“‘From the desk of…’ You had personalized stationery at eighteen?” His mouth is a little red from the kiss still, and he’s teasing you, perfect; you smile, can’t believe this is happening.

“I liked to write to my congressman… and Ruth Bader Ginsburg,” you pant. He chuckles, kisses you a little softer than before, then moves down your throat, sweeps his tongue over your pulse. “Mmm. Right there.”

He pauses to look up at you, hair mussed from your fingers, and you push his jacket off his shoulders; he shifts to full height, helps you take it off, and you drape it over your desk chair, work the knot of his tie loose.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks as your fingers slip down the front of his shirt, freeing his buttons. You unclasp his belt, open his pants, and stretch up for a kiss, touching his face; you nod when you pull back.

“Absolutely. Are you?” He nods too, all serious eyebrows you want to kiss, mouth you want back on yours, on your throat, anywhere.

“Absolutely.” You step down off the desk, run your hands over his arms, then kick off your shoes and walk over to the door, close and lock it; when you pass him again, you guide him to the bed and sit in his lap, clutch at his shoulders and kiss him with as much desperation as he showed you before. There’s a lot of heavy breathing, sighing, moans from you both, and if just kissing is this good, you can’t imagine what he’ll be like inside of you.

When you can find it in yourself to stop kissing him, you pull back and climb out of his lap, present the back of your dress so he can ease down the zipper. He pushes it off, large, warm hands gliding over your body until it hits the floor in a heap unbecoming of the designer label. Your mother would lose her mind.

“You are incredibly beautiful,” Aaron says as he moves his hands to your hips, sliding your panties down and leaning in to press his lips to your stomach. You sigh, press a hand to the back of his head while his mouth explores you where you’re soft and sensitive. You’d like it lower, but there may not be time for that tonight. “What do you want with an old man like me?”

“None of that.” You sweep your hands over his shoulders, sink down onto his lap again, and his hands fall to your bare hips, squeezing you softly; you close your eyes for a moment, so overwhelmed by just the simplest touch. “Like you said: I feel a connection.” Your fingers move to push his shirt open, to lift his undershirt so you can get your hands on bare skin and soft body and hair. He groans, and you kiss him, deep and slow, hands moving to take off both shirts and add them to his jacket on your chair. You take a deep breath, reach out to touch his cheek. “Connect with me.”

He takes your hand, brings your palm to his mouth and kisses it, then drags it down so your fingers slide over his lips; you swallow hard, can feel wetness pooling between your legs, so you slide off of him and onto the bed—however sexy it may be to leave your mark on him, you do both have to return to the party at some point.

Sitting up beside him, you touch his body, ease his pants and boxers down; he takes them off along with his shoes, and you pull the comforter out from under you, push it to the side, let yourself lay back and bask in the look and feel of him as he settles between your knees, leans in for a kiss.

It’s even more intense than before, somehow, his thighs against yours, strong arms supporting him, and you drag your nails lightly up his body, tip your head back and sigh when his lips trail from the base of your throat to your jaw.

He moves a hand low, rubs his fingers between your lips and presses one finger inside you, slowly glides it in and out so you’re moaning, sighing his name.

“That feels so good,” you breathe, and he moves his mouth to yours again, soft and wet, the slide of his tongue sinfully delicious. He adds a second finger, earns more gasping moans, then a third; with the help of a capable thumb stroking over your clit, you come, and he kisses the praise right out of your mouth and then pushes inside you.

His mouth doesn’t leave yours, keeps you close as he thrusts inside, gradually lowering his weight onto you until you feel him everywhere: chest soft against yours, stomachs pressing together as you both work your hips, as your hands grasp his back to keep him close, heavy. Connected.

“You’re perfect. You feel incredible, baby,” he speaks against your lips in a rare moment apart, and you hitch your knees up higher, press the heels of your feet against his ass.

You thought he looked turned on before, but now he looks like he’s being consumed by it, like he wants to thrust deeper into you, make a home in your body and never leave; you would be more than okay with that, to spend the next two weeks beneath him, holding him close, sharing breath and sweat and pleasure so complete it changes you profoundly.

He moves a hand behind your head, cradles it, and sucks wet kisses against your throat—nothing so deep as to leave a mark, but that doesn’t mean you’re not panting, whimpering, begging for more.

“Aaron. Hmm, oh. You’re so gorgeous, I—everything about you.” He pulls away from your neck, peers down at you, and you’re sure you’re a sight to behold in your desperation; your palms smooth down his back, to his sides, and you hug him close, squeeze him hard when he comes, panting your name against your throat and pumping roughly inside.

You meet his every thrust, dig your nails into his hips, and he leans forward, covers your mouth with his and grinds against you until your second blissful orgasm shudders through your limbs. You clench tight around him, moan, then slowly sag back against the mattress, more thoroughly satisfied than you’ve ever been in your life.

He shifts, half on top of you and half off, his kisses gradually slowing, his hands sweeping over your shoulders, your face, your arms. When you’re calm, content, you sigh, kiss his hands and cheeks and lips; you’re warm, and you curl around him, overheated skin on skin, and never want to leave.

“Mmm,” he rumbles against your shoulder, mouthing at it, and you sigh, scrape your nails through his hair.

“Mm hmm. Think I can die happy now,” you murmur, and he shifts up to look at you, a smile curving softly from the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t die on me, now.” You smile too, scoot closer for slow kisses. You’re both happy to lay there, quietly kissing, but eventually it’s clear you need to return to the party in order to avoid suspicion—not that you think anyone would ever guess what just occurred.

You dress side by side, turning to have him fix your zipper, reaching up to help him with his tie. When you’re both technically decent enough to head downstairs, you plan to give him a head start, but the two of you get caught up in one more deeply sensual kiss that almost makes you want to just say screw it and take his clothes off again. He can tell, has the barest hint of a smirk on his face when the kiss breaks, and he punctuates it with a soft press of lips before walking out the door.

With your spare few minutes, you look around the room—and at your rumpled, frilly, lavender bed, on which you just had super hot sex with one of your dad’s friends, it’s still kind of sinking in—and wonder what the rest of your vacation could possibly bring that could top this night. At breakfast the next morning, you find out.

You and your parents are discussing the party, who got too drunk to function, who left with the wrong wife, which of your dad’s friend’s sons you got along with most, and then he drops the bomb on you.

“And see, honey, I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial.” You choke on a bite of scrambled eggs, try to wash it down with a sip of juice; your mom pats you on the back until the moment passes.

“What?” you ask, voice barely a squeak. You clear your throat and try again. “What about Aaron, dad?” He flips the newspaper he’s holding to the next page and peers over it at you.

“I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial. Before he left last night, he told me all about the internship—it’s nice of him to set it up for the two weeks you’re here, so you can get some experience under your belt.” You briefly think about your experience under Aaron’s belt, but it’s really not the time.

He really set you up with an internship—one he knows you aren’t interested in—based on the offhand comment you’d made about squeezing it into your two week vacation. You’d be kind of irritated at him for making the plans on your behalf, but if it means the next two weeks are anything like last night, he’s going to make it well worth your while.

The internship excites both of your parents, and your mom declares it a girls day, takes you out for some new clothes, since you didn’t bring any workwear, for a manicure and pedicure and then drinks. She talks about what a great opportunity this will be for you, and you don’t have the heart—or maybe you just don’t care anymore—to argue about what great opportunities you’ve already made possible for yourself.

Sunday is for relaxing, and not internally panicking about seeing Aaron again. Friday night was incredible, but you didn’t think it would turn into anything, considering he is your dad’s friend, and you’re only here for a couple weeks.

You have to hand it to him, though: if he enjoyed himself as much as you did, and this internship is his way of getting to spend more time with you, he has managed to do what you haven’t been able for twenty-nine years—find a way to please your parents while finally pleasing yourself. Monday morning, you show up at the BAU office to receive a photo ID badge and fill out some paperwork. You don’t actually get to meet anyone from the BAU until after lunch, and when you do, Aaron is nowhere to be seen.

“Hi, I’m looking for Unit Chief Hotchner?” you say to a fair-skinned woman with long blonde hair and a kind smile. “I’m interning for the next couple weeks.” There is a man with her, Black, tall, bald, with very expressive eyebrows; the eyebrows don’t look like they think very highly of you.

“You’re an intern? A little old, aren’t you?” After a beat, his face breaks into a smile, and you roll your eyes, huff a laugh.

“Charmer. Yes, I’m definitely too old to be an intern; do you have overbearing parents by chance?” He raises his hands, palms up, and takes a step back.

“No, but enough said.” The blonde woman laughs, and he nods in your direction. “I’m Derek Morgan, this is JJ Jareau. Come with me, I’ll take you to Hotch.”

You thank him, follow as he leads you across the room and up some stairs.

“So what’s he like, Agent Hotchner?” you ask, wanting someone else’s opinion of Aaron as a boss, a coworker—anything other than the one night stand that wasn’t. You really know so little about him.

“He’s a good guy; smart, fair, great at what he does. A little tightly wound; could stand to live a little.” He looks back at you with a grin. “He’ll probably remind you a little of your dad.”

God. It almost makes you throw up in your mouth a little.

“You know, I doubt it, but thanks for the warning.” He knocks on a closed door at the end of the hall, and a moment later, Aaron answers it. His expression doesn’t change as Derek introduces you, and when he walks away with a friendly pat on your shoulder, Aaron gestures you in. He closes the door behind you and looks carefully over your face.

“Hi,” he says, and you see that hint of a smirk on his face again. You take a moment to appraise the room—there’s a window with blinds that are closed, a desk and chairs, bookcases, a printer, more windows on the far side, a loveseat. You look back at Aaron with a raised brow.

“Hi. What am I doing here?” His expression gets serious, like he can’t tell if you’re pleased or upset with him for the surprise. You sit down on the loveseat, set your bag down, and he sits down next to you.

“I know you wanted to get your father off your back, and you did say if I could squeeze an internship into two weeks that you’d be interested.” You smile a little, because you did say that. “I thought it might be nice to see you a little more, too. You’re under no obligation to stay,” he assures you, briefly looking down, and then he takes your hand. “But surely there are worse ways to spend your vacation?”

You give him an uncertain look, like you’re really trying to decide what you’d like to do, and then you push up your skirt and swiftly straddle his thighs, press your hands against his shoulders. His mouth falls open a little, and you lean in to catch it with yours.

“I have been thinking about you all weekend,” he mutters into the kiss, wraps his arms around your back. “Have you thought about me?”

“Only every night.” He groans at your words, lets his head fall back a little, and you press your lips to the column of his throat, nip softly with your teeth. “Every morning. Every minute.” You bite at the shell of his ear, kiss it, card your fingers through his hair. “Do I have an actual job to do here?” You pull back, and he raises his eyebrows; you can’t help the grin that takes over your expression. “Because if not, I’m going to focus on making this the best two weeks of your life.”

He pulls you in for another kiss, a little rougher than before, deeper, and you tug on his hair, pant against his cheek when you separate.

“In that case, no. You don’t have a job to do here.” You tilt your head, and he smiles a little. “I'm the boss, I make the rules.” That kind of thing has never done it for you before, but you have to admit it’s making you feel some type of way right now. You sweep your hands inside his jacket, squeeze his sides.

“Mmm, yes you do. Hey, do you think there’s enough room for me to fit under your desk?” He wets his lips, and you climb off of him, walk around to check it out for yourself, bending over his desk in your tight black skirt to peek beneath it. You look up to see Aaron is not shy about taking in the view, and you grin. “Spacious.”

He walks toward you, and when he’s closer, his eyes look dark with need; his hands look like they ache to reach out and touch. You step forward, let yourself be caged in against the desk by his arms, and you arch your back a little, open his belt slowly.

“I didn’t set this up so you would feel obligated to do this.” You sigh, lean up to catch his lips in a soft kiss.

“I know you didn’t. But if I want to?” You tug down his zipper, slip your hand inside his underwear, feel him hot and stiff in your palm. “And you want to?” He nods tightly and you kiss him again, squeeze him softly, sweep your tongue between his lips. “Then let’s.”

You take a step back, push his chair far enough out of the way that you can crawl under the desk, come up on your knees; he exhales deeply, then sinks down into his chair, stretches his long legs so they rest on either side of your body, holds his pants open for you. You look up at him, hope he sees how ridiculously eager you are to do this, and you take his dick out, stroke it a couple times, and cover it with your mouth.

“My god,” he sighs, head resting back against his seat. You hold him with both hands, suck deep and wet, moan a little when he spreads his legs further apart. “Your mouth feels so good, baby. Does this make you wet?” You pull off, move one hand to slide up his stomach, clutch his shirt there.

“Very, but I’m patient. Want to make you come.” He wets his lips, sighs, and you dip your head, lick up the length of him before sucking him back down.

He is all perfect, desperate noises, soft grunts and moans, gently palming your head as he gets closer, and you’re pretty sure he’s about to get off when there’s a knock at the door. He mutters a curse, and you squeeze his stomach, determined to make him come in the next five seconds. He looks like he’s going to lose his mind.

“Just a minute,” he manages, his voice strained, and he puts his hands on your arms, but you stroke and suck him quickly, actually sigh in relief when he spills in your mouth; your only regret is that he couldn’t be louder.

As soon as he’s through coming, you duck under the desk to wipe your mouth, and he hurries to fix his fly, to close his belt. There’s another knock, and he exhales, calls for whoever is on the other side to come in.

He accidentally bangs his knee off the desk, winces, and you lean back against it, panting, your heart racing.

“Aaron!”

Your eyes snap closed. What are the actual chances of this? You don’t know enough about karma to have an opinion on it, but you come to the sudden realization that you must have done something wrong in a past life.

“Hey, what are you doing in our neck of the woods?” Aaron asks, managing to sound like he is in fact not talking to the father of the woman who just swallowed his come.

“Looking for my little girl, of course. Had to see what she was getting up to on her first day at the FBI.”

“She’s actually… downstairs. In the mailroom. Interns start at the bottom and work their way up.” You stifle a laugh, because despite your compromising position, that’s kind of funny.

“Oh, okay. Agent Morgan thought she was up here, but I guess she must have snuck by him. Would you tell her I stopped by?”

“Absolutely. She’ll be happy to hear it,” he says, and you think you might be out of the woods, but you hear your dad’s voice again.

“Hey I almost forgot to mention: Monday Night Football tonight, got a bunch of guys coming over to watch the game. You interested?”

“You know, that would be great. You can text me the details. Thanks for the invitation.”

“Sure, of course. I really appreciate you taking care of my girl.” You have to bite your lip this time, and Aaron taps his foot against your hip.

“It’s my pleasure. She’s really wonderful. You should be proud.”

“I am. I’ll text you the details,” he says, and then the door closes and Aaron pulls back, looks down at you beneath the desk. You kind of just stare at each other for a minute.

“Close call?” you say with a shrug, and he helps you to your feet, then lifts you up and sets your ass on the edge of his desk. He grabs your face for a messy kiss, and you cling to him, breathless when he pulls back.

“What does it say about me that I’m turned on again?” he asks, and you shake your head, pull him close for another kiss.

“I don’t know, but I’m really turned on, too. Can you—” That’s as far as you get before he strides over to the door, flips the lock, and comes back to push your skirt up, tug your panties down to your knees so quickly it makes you gasp. He gets on his knees slowly, looks up at your face, and puts his hands on your hips, takes a few deep, thorough licks of your pussy. “Oh, my god.” You put your hand on the back of his head, drop your ass harder against the desk and press your other palm against it for support.

He is as enthusiastic as you were for him, slipping his tongue between your lips, gliding rhythmically over your opening but not pressing in, the tease. It feels insanely good, so much but not quite enough.

“Aaron. Oh, mmm—please. Please.” You sigh, dig your fingers into his hair, and he puts his hands under your ass and tilts you back on the desk, dives lower to start thrusting inside you with his tongue. “Yes, yeah, right there,” you murmur, and you rock your hips a little; your hand slips, sending you further back on the desk so that you’re almost laying back on it, and it makes you feel so deliciously dirty that you groan, grab at the collar of his jacket at the back of his neck.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling back to look up at you, and you nod, frantic; he licks his lips, lifts your legs and puts them over his shoulders, then dips down to stroke his tongue inside you, to press a finger inside alongside it.

“Holy—oh, yes.” You toss your head back, whine, and come around his finger while his tongue flicks in and out until you’re left breathless, spent.

You press yourself up to sitting, and Aaron stands, kisses you deeply, hands on your face while you’re still slick on his tongue. After a couple of minutes, he helps you get cleaned and straightened up, his kisses soft presses of lips this time.

“I should try to get some work done,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he wants to; after that, you can’t really blame him.

“That’s okay; I brought my laptop, so I can work on some stuff too, if you don’t mind.” He doesn’t of course, and you get set up at the other end of his desk. You’re both plugging away at your work when you’re reminded of something from earlier; you close the lid of your computer and look over at Aaron, head tilted. “I didn’t take you for someone who likes football.” He smiles, taps his pen against his chin.

“I don’t. But I figured you’ll be there.” You smile back.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Maybe I’ll see if my old cheerleading uniform still fits—you know, just to go with the theme.” You open your computer back up, but the look on Aaron’s face out of the corner of your eye is very, very promising. “Mmh, that feels good,” you murmur, one hand on Aaron’s shoulder and the other on his thigh; he is propped up against your pillows, massaging your bare breast and your clit while you roll your hips in his lap. Your cheerleading skirt fits, mostly, but you couldn’t zip it all the way; still, it’s the only thing you’re wearing, and you can’t deny the whole situation is so hot it hurts.

“You feel so incredible. Taking me so well.” He can’t kiss you in this position, and you can tell he wants to—you really want him to—so you feel a little like a tease as you work your ass and thighs atop him. “You know you’re beautiful, but I can’t stop saying it. You’re perfect, baby—in this little skirt?” He moves the hand from your breast to your hip under the skirt, squeezes you there. “So sexy. Do you remember any cheers for me?”

You groan, roll your eyes.

“Not worth the orgasm to embarrass myself,” you say, and he lifts his hips, slams up into you hard. “Mmh. Okay, almost worth the orgasm, but not going to do it.” He lifts an eyebrow, pumps his hips up again.

“Really? Not even if I…” He lunges forward, lifting you out of his lap and making you laugh, then maneuvers you onto your stomach, gets on his knees behind you, flips up the skirt.

“God, Aaron,” you sigh, and he presses his thighs right up against your ass, slides inside, pumps slow and steady while squeezing your cheeks, pulling you back toward him. Your fingers dig into the stupid, frilly bedspread, which will probably turn you on for the rest of your life, now, and you move back against his thrusts, moan.

“Worth it now?” he asks, filling you so completely, and you pant, hum.

“Wouldn’t you rather I just moan your name?” He leans forward at that, hands planted up under your arms, and leans in to speak into your ear; the way he’s pressed against you, the angle is perfect, and you’re right on the edge when his lips brush your throat.

“Yeah, why don’t you do that instead.” It takes about two seconds for you to come, and you aren’t shy about it, let his name fall from your lips in an endless string of praise. He hammers against your ass, the roughest he’s been—and god, does it feel good—then comes inside you murmuring your name.

He pulls out, rolls you over, and you finally kiss, make it count; it’s like the first night, how you can’t get enough of each other, messy, desperate, curling tongues and soft, eager lips, but you know you can’t keep it up forever, because his presence downstairs will be missed much sooner than Friday’s party.

You help him get dressed—in jeans and a blue polo, maybe the only time in your life a polo has made you wet—and then throw on a t-shirt and jeans of your own, head downstairs. You detour for the kitchen to grab a couple beers while he heads into the living room, and then you plop down next to him on the couch and hand him one like you weren’t just defiling your childhood bedroom yet again.

“There you are,” your dad says when he registers your presence—it’s impossible to get him to look away from the tv when a good game is on. “So how was your first day at the office? Think you’re going to like it there?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why I was resistant for so long.” You shift, put your leg under your butt, and take a sip of your beer. “It’s not going to be a career for me, but I have a really good feeling about the next two weeks.”

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @hotforhotchner11 @itsmytimetoodream

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #anon #prompt

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willowcrowned · 3 years

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Obi-Wan, one fine morning before the war, having been dragged to medical by his padawan and given a level of painkillers he insists he doesn't need as his broken ribs knit up, sobbing into a bowl of mashed tubers and salsa: A-and and nobody's called me a twink! In seven years!

You know what we're really missing out on in canon? All the mental breakdowns Obi-Wan had over the years for a variety of deeply stupid reasons, including:

the child breakdown - Obi-Wan, barely two weeks post-Naboo, is helping Anakin find clothes. Upon seeing the row of tiny little tunics, he loses it. Anakin is a child. A child. With little child-sized hands and little child-sized feet and child-sized teeth and oh god what if Obi-Wan breaks him. What if Obi-Wan breaks the Chosen One. CAN Chosen Ones get broken?? What if Obi-Wan’s broken him already and he just doesn’t KNOW because Chosen Ones aren’t like NORMAL PEOPLE and they BREAK and oh god oh no oh sweet lords of mercy what is he supposed to DO??????? (Hyperventilate on the floor for fifteen minutes straight, which he does in short order.)

the twink breakdown, as mentioned above - obi-wan gets high and spills salsa on his clothes. while looking through his closet for a new tunic he realizes that he hasn't worn anything but beige tunics in years because he hasn't been in a club in years. anakin finds him on the floor sobbing because he's a boring adult who hasn't been called a sexy twink in years.

the knight breakdown - look, he knows they’re in the middle of a galactic war, he knows he’s already responsible for a good portion of the GAR, he knows he’s constantly repressing 300 internal crises about the duty of a Jedi, but Anakin’s braid has just been cut and this? this is the breaking point. this is what sends him spiraling. this is what lands him on the floor of his room weeping like war widow trying to conceptualize how his tiny little padawan is a knight now

the amidala breakdown - anakin is obsessed with padmé amidala. anakin is very, very bad at not projecting his emotions straight at obi-wan. anakin is twelve. cue obi-wan lying on the kitchen floor laughing hysterically while genuinely considering drinking straight rubbing alcohol if it gets him out of this awkward nightmare of sleep deprivation and teenage hormones. anakin, fortunately, does not see this. this is because anakin, unfortunately, is still jerking off

the height breakdown - obi-wan is not short. he is NOT short. shut up anakin. no, he’s a perfectly reasonable height. then why is anakin taller than him? what? no. anakin’s not— oh god oh no wait what this wasn’t supposed to happen. anakin’s not supposed to be tall. he’s supposed to be SMALL!! he’s supposed to be a tiny little dog!! with one of those sad little faces!!! that yips when you pet it!!! he’s supposed to be CUTE and TINY!! why is he TALL when did that HAPPEN how can enough time have passed that anakin isn’t a tiny cute baby padawan

the shortly following age breakdown - wait, when did he get old. is he old? he’s not old. he’s thirty three. that’s— that’s not old. that’s not even middle aged. he’s NOT old those grey hairs aren’t there shut UP anakin but when did he start aging?? is he inching closer to death every day? he IS!!!! it’s a matter of time before he’s waking up at six and sitting on the balcony while reading the paper. yes he knows he already does that SHUT UP ANAKIN!!!!!!!! YOU’RE GOING TO GIVE HIM MORE GRAY HAIR

#is this anything?#can't tell I should have been in bed an hour ago #asks #phoenixyfriend #star wars #obi wan kenobi #this is my highly developed opinion #obi wan and anakin #star wars meta

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bigassheart · 4 years

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I’ve seen a couple posts about how everyone was wildly out of character and totally inconsistent this season and I’m just like... were you guys paying attention?

1. Luther

Arguably the biggest shift in character between the two seasons, but it makes sense. Luther spent a year fending for himself and thinking his entire family was dead.

This is the first time in his life that he had to hold down a job and actually live on his own. It was literally his first time living out in the world among anyone other than his family, and you can see in his reactions with the other characters from that life (the boss, his landlord, those kids that idolize him, and the waitress) that it has really mellowed him out. It has allowed him to be more normal, despite being very much not normal. You can see the way he’s so much more comfortable in his skin. Literally the only times he looks uncomfortable is when he’s fighting people, shirt off and body on full display. He’s still not comfortable with that, but he’s not trying to hide under huge overcoats anymore. He has people in his life who accept him for being a little weird, but really do treat him normal.

So is he a little less uptight and mission focused? Yeah. Because he can finally see another life, and it’s the life that he honestly did want in season 1 but felt like he couldn’t have because he was number 1 and he had a responsibility to his dad, his family, and the academy to be the leader. Having a year on his own frees him of all that.

But he also spent all that time thinking his family was dead and feeling so guilty about it. You can see in his very first interaction with Vanya, where he suddenly feels that responsibility again. He brings a gun, not knowing what’s going to happen and, despite what he told Five, he absolutely does still have that lingering feeling of responsibility. But then he sees Vanya and she’s not a threat and everything he has been holding in for the last year comes out. Because he does feel guilty as hell for what he did to Vanya, but also for the fact that his actions pushed her into causing the apocalypse. He spent a year with the knowledge that he did that and thinking that his family was dead because of his actions.

He’s willing to listen now because he spent a year living in a world where his actions killed his whole family. And now he finds out that that didn’t happen and he has a second chance. Of course he’s going to take it!

2. Diego

In the first season, Diego finally admitted that he wanted to be close to his family and that he cared about them and wouldn’t leave them again. He confronted the guilt about leaving, which he had previously denied. He realized the difference between revenge and honoring someone’s memory. But despite all that, he never confronted the reason why he, a grown-ass-man, wandered around the city as a leather clad, mask wearing vigilante.

So when we see Diego show up in 1963, that’s still who he is. He wants to be that hero and he finds an answer for how to be that hero in the first several minutes that he’s there. So he takes it. I mean, what else is he going to do? His family is gone. Maybe they’ll show up again. Maybe this is it. Either way, he’s on his own like he was before, so he’s got a duty to be the hero he has chosen to be.

And then he meets his dad again. Everyone keeps telling him he has daddy issues, and they’re right. He absolutely has daddy issues. He’s still trying to simultaneously prove that he’s good enough for his dad, but also doesn’t need Daddy’s approval. Except he does need it. He still desperately craves it and he feels gutted when his dad denies him that approval, even falling back into the stutter he had as a kid.

Now, despite the way we joke, Diego is not dumb. He is so observant and he makes some of the most poignant statements about his siblings and the way they see the world. He sees the people around them and he understands them, but he has never been able to completely turn that gift inwards and see those same things in himself. In this season, Lila breaks through all that and he finally sees himself in her at the end.

“Do you know how hard it is to trust people when your whole childhood was bullshit manipulation? Then why would you do that to me?”

Diego sees himself in Lila, in her failure to break away from her mother despite the fact that he knows she wants to. In the final episode, he sees that she is just like the rest of the siblings, but she doesn’t have to be. None of them have to be stuck with their daddy issues, because they have each other. They can support and care for each other. It’s the last step of the growth he started in season 1, moving beyond his tendency to define his life and his family through their father.

3. Allison

Throughout season 1, Allison struggled with whether or not to use her powers, but it was all centered around getting back to her daughter. When she appears in 1961, that motivation is effectively removed. She thinks everyone else is dead. She thinks that she is stranded in the past and that she will never get back. She finds a group of people to support her and before long... she finds her voice again.

It’s no coincidence that Allison’s first spoken words in the series come right after she gives Ray that pamphlet with a bunch of added notes. She finds her voice in the civil rights movement. She finds her power there. She finds a way to help change the world, to change reality, and she does it without her powers.

This is something she struggled with through the entirety of season 1, feeling inadequate for using her powers to get what she wanted, not knowing if anything was real or earned. Now she has the chance to earn everything without those powers and she is thriving.

And then she is forced to use her powers again. It all turns out fine, but now she’s showing off and experiencing all over again how good it feels to have power. She spent two years in a world where she was denied equal treatment, where she could be arrested and assaulted for any reason those with more power came up with. And now she feels that power... She doesn’t have to wait for people to give her respect. She can demand it. But the pain is still there, and it’s not enough to just be respected, because these people have hurt her. They almost killed her husband. They have used their power to cause pain to her and all those who look like her time and time again and now it’s time to understand what it’s like to be powerless, to be hurt and to be unable to stop it and...

And it’s scary. It’s scary to have that much power, to see how you could become the kind of person who uses your power to hurt others. And she knows that her power has hurt people she loves and suddenly she’s right back where she started.

Only not entirely.

She doesn’t shy away from her powers in the final fight. She is obviously still finding that balance and I would expect this struggle to continue for her in future seasons. Power can be addicting and Allison’s power is so strong. She knows the danger there, but she also knows that sometimes it’s needed despite the danger.

4. Klaus

Klaus is an addict. He finds obsessions to bury himself in to avoid dealing with reality. In season 1, he buried himself in drugs and booze. When he shows up in the 60′s, he finds a new drug to bury himself in: adoration.

Klaus is so impulsive and it’s not difficult to connect the dots of how one thing leads to another until suddenly everything is out of his control. Honestly, that’s the story of Klaus’s life, no matter where he goes. And then something changes. He gets tired of his cult and leaves. Except... that’s not really the reason.

After all this time, Dave is still the love of his life, and he knows he has an opportunity. He knows where Dave will be at this one time and he knows exactly what he has to change to keep Dave alive.

He also knows that Ben is going to have thoughts about this.

I know some people were disappointed that there wasn’t more Klaus and Ben bonding this season, but it makes sense that there is tension there. I think a lot of that tension comes from Ben’s circumstances, which I’ll discuss later, but Klaus is also not responding to that tension well.

They are fighting more than ever (not that they ever didn’t fight in season 1, where they spent much of their time being snarky to each other and Ben literally punching Klaus in the face for being an asshole), but the fighting is about something new this season. Ben wants his own life and Klaus is not in a position to give Ben what he really wants. We also learn that he has been carrying around this guilt for the last 17 years about forcing Ben to stick around as a ghost. He forced this half-life on his brother and now that it’s not enough for Ben, Klaus doesn’t want to deal with it. So he avoids and deflects and snarks and we see the toll on their relationship. We see it in the way he tries to deal with his plans around Dave entirely on his own. He focuses so much into that last ditch effort. He’s already in such a low place before this, so when that fails, we see him snap. We see him give up and crumble. And Ben falls back to his old role, trying to save Klaus from himself.

But the tension isn’t gone and Klaus’s guilt isn’t gone. We see it again when Klaus finally agrees to let Ben possess him. Klaus has always been afraid of his powers and being possessed is just as terrifying a thought as being surrounded by the dead. And yet he gives Ben that chance. It’s the last good thing he can do at that point.

I do wish we had gotten more closure for Klaus and Ben’s story. I think Vanya’s reveal could have been given a little more time, but that’s not really a problem with inconsistent characterization, so we’ll save that for another post.

5. Five

OK, who would argue that Five was out of character or inconsistent? He’s obsessed with stopping the apocalypse, is willing to cross a lot of lines to save his family, and constantly frustrated by his family’s failure to go along with his plans. This is textbook Five.

What I loved about this season was that we got to see Five finally meeting his father again. They interact as two adults, not as a child trying to find away to become his own person, frustrated by a lack of trust from his father. It allows Reggie to see Five in a different light and to actually provide advice in a constructive way, something he has almost never been able to do when viewing them as his children. But despite outward appearances and despite the fact that Five is a grown man, he still sees his father the same way he always has. He doesn’t register Reggie’s advice as advice. He hears that he’s striving beyond his abilities and that maybe he can only travel in seconds. He hears his father telling him he can’t handle time travel. That’s why he doesn’t try to actually take the very good advice until the very end.

An old dog can still occasionally learn a new trick and Five proves that true.

6. Ben

As I mentioned earlier, Ben is chaffing at his ghosthood. Maybe it’s because Klaus has been sober enough to keep Ben around solidly for 3 years. Maybe it’s because Ben is no longer spending all his time trying to keep Klaus alive and sober. Or maybe it’s the fact that he has finally found someone that he actually wants to spend time with. Whatever the reason, Ben wants to be alive this season.

Again, as I mentioned, that’s causing some tension. Ben doesn’t want to be tied to Klaus, but Klaus is ignoring that because he feels so guilty about it. Ben doesn’t want to admit that he was too scared to go into the light on his own, so they’re at a bit of a standstill.

And then Ben gets the opportunity to be alive again, if only for a while. And in a lot of ways, it’s wonderful! But it’s not the same as being truly alive.

So when the time comes, when he’s faced with that light again... he’s not afraid. He knows that it’s time to move on. He knows this isn’t where he should be, but he also got the chance to be there for his family. He misses them, but he got to talk to Diego and Vanya. He got to save Vanya. He got to save Allison and Diego and Klaus and Luther and Five and the whole world! So while he would have stayed, he’s not sad about leaving anymore, and he’s not afraid.

7. Vanya

OK, she was a little out of character because... you know. She had amnesia.

But aside from erasing her past, the amnesia allowed us to see Vanya without the anger and resentment that plagued her for all of season one. Vanya was always someone who was kind and loving, someone who cares enough to leave peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches out for a missing brother for years. Someone who knows the pain of not being seen and who will always take the time to truly see other people. She’s someone who wants to love and to be loved and to protect those she loves.

That was all here, with or without the memories. And as soon as the memories came back, so did the guilt and fear about what she had done, what she had become, terrified of what was inside her in a way that she was not when her powers first surfaced. But Ben is used to being afraid of what’s inside of him. He knows she’s not a monster and is the perfect person to explain that to her. And this time around, she has experienced the love and care and attention of her siblings (and Sissy) to back up those words. That’s how she finally accepts them as truth, how she finally accepts her power as a part of her.

Overall, there are things that I wish this season spent more time with, but there was nothing that I felt was out of character or wildly inconsistent. The characters still struggled with all the baggage from their shitty childhood, their fear of their powers, and the guilt in their past. Some struggled in new ways this season and some continued old struggles that had never fully been resolved. The season felt very different than the first, but it still felt like the Umbrella Academy. It was a good mix of new and old and a good mix of feel-good moments we have all been waiting for and frustrating and sad moments that just come with having a complicated family. I loved this season. And now, I’m going to go re-watch every episode.

#tua s2 spoilers #tua season 2 #tua analysis #The Umbrella Academy #tua #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #alison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves #ben hargreeves #vanya hargreeves

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honeymoonjin · 3 years

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 7.8k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: threesome, nipple play, riding, unprotected sex, dom!taehyung, sub!?, restraints, blindfold, degradation, praise

A/N: it's my first time writing tgm smut in so long i hope it's okay ;;;-;

DAY TWENTY-SIX

Unable to fall deeply into sleep, when you wake fitfully at half past six in the morning, you decide to give up on it entirely.

A bath wakes you up slowly and gently, in no rush to clean yourself with a soapy loofah, the sweet smell of orange blossom lifting your mood just slightly. No matter how hard you scrub at your skin, Jin’s touch lingers beneath the surface like a tattoo, the reminder that you’d willingly chosen to cut him off from you that elimination day, and that your decision was keeping him from you.

The previous night, you’d spent hours with a hand cradling your cheek, trying to work out what the kiss even meant. A farewell, a consolation prize, a promise for patience? Either way, it just felt cruel to you. You rub harder, covering yourself in the foamed soap and watching it dissolve into the water.

By the time you dry yourself, well over an hour has passed, and the pangs of hunger start to flare off inside your stomach. You dress quickly, thoughtlessly, and sneak out of your door to the complete silence of the second storey. Nobody else seems to be awake yet, so you take your chance to go down and start on some breakfast.

The selection is relatively bleak to your lazy body, unwilling to make anything that requires the kind of effort the two eldest men tended to give for a meal. In the end, you tug some leftover curry from the back of the fridge, giving it a stir and setting it to heat up in the microwave.

The rhythmic whir and countdown combined with your lack of sleep is enough to have you feeling weak, slumping on the counter top. You rest your heavy head for a moment, pillowing it with your arm, and watch the dish turn around and around and…

“-matter, we’ll just wait and find out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Trust hyung. It’ll be fine. Can you pass me the- no, just beside it, the soy sauce- thank you. Should be ready soon.”

“Mhm, smells good.”

Adjusting to your sloped return to consciousness, it is the inviting smell that greets you after your hearing. A deep, meaty aroma is lifted with spices, making your mouth water.

The moment you shift, a sharp pain runs down your spine, settling at the back of your neck. You grunt, eyes squeezing shut at the ache.

“There she is. Must’ve been tired, poor thing.” The first one grows louder, sounding close to you as fingers reach out to tap your shoulder. “Wake up, sweetheart. Let’s get you something to eat.”

You groan again, lifting your heavy body up enough to prop your elbows on the table and press your hands against your eyes, willing coherence to sink back in. “Morning,” you croak, though by the way you feel, it could very well be evening.

The figure behind you - Yoongi, by his smooth rumbling voice - moves back around into the kitchen, and your ears perk up with the clink of bowls on the countertop. Blinking blearily, you yawn and focus in on the second person.

Jungkook is lifting a heavy saucepan and carefully pouring a stew into three bowls, the pink of his tongue trapped between his lips. “‘S that enough?” he questions, biceps flexing beneath his shirt as he hovers with the pan.

Yoongi nods once, fiddling in the drawer for spoons and chopsticks, and quickly hands you a set with your bowl, steaming lightly.

You smile gratefully, reaching out to feel the heat radiating off the ceramic. “Thanks, Yoongi.” The last of your sleep fades away, and you gasp suddenly, shooting up ramrod straight. “Wait - Yoongi, Jungkook! You’re back!”

“Keen eye,” Yoongi drawls sarcastically, but a fond smile plays on his lips nonetheless as he blows on a spoonful of broth. “Dad checked out of the hospital around 5. He’s doing really well.”

“Oh, Yoongi, I’m so glad,” you gush, relief filling your system.

Yoongi, however, seems to grow somber, eyebrows drawing together. “It wasn’t all good news, though.”

You freeze. “What? What happened?”

Like the news pains him, Yoongi grimaces. Jungkook, too, looks absolutely crestfallen. In unison, they open their mouths with matching frowns.

“The restaurant sold out of lamb skewers.”

“I didn’t see a single gho- Oh, yeah, the lamb skewers,” Jungkook tacks on, deflating. “But we stopped by a market on the way home to buy some lamb so we could make our own.”

“We?” Yoongi asks incredulously. “I didn’t see any ‘we’ when you refused to chop vegetables just now.”

Jungkook makes an offended noise in the back of his throat. “I just suffered a paranormal experience, hyung, I was too shaky to handle a knife.”

“You just said you didn’t see any ghosts.”

The youngest huffs. “I felt them.”

Your head darts back and forth, lamb stew forgotten as you watch the playful rally between the two men. Yoongi doesn’t miss a beat, raising a single brow. “What; was there a poltergeist petting zoo on the fourth floor I wasn’t told about?”

“Their presence, hyung. I felt their presence. Taehyung even said he could feel a chilling aura coming through the phone and into his body, but he thinks it could’ve just been Jimin’s feet.”

Yoongi presses a few fingers to his temples like he’s getting a headache. “You mean to tell me I had to get my sickly father to pretend you were his son all for you to stay the night, and the only thing that happened was Taehyung getting possessed by the ghost of Jimin’s feet?”

Jungkook blinks once. “There was a vending machine that gave out free lollipops,” he offers.

“A vending…” Yoongi sighs, eyes slipping closed. “Jungkook, I think that’s for patients who get low blood sugar. For emergencies.”

“Oh.” Jungkook considers this for a moment. “I took five of them.”

“Of course you did. Alright, eat up, please. It’s getting cold.”

You quickly thank Yoongi for the meal with a bemused smile, chest feeling light at having the two back in your company, and Yoongi in a visibly better mood than the past two times you’d seen him. The three of you fall into an easy silence for a few moments, but it doesn’t last long as the others in the house begin to wake.

Namjoon is first down, getting over his initial surprise quickly and rapid-firing countless questions to Yoongi about his father, ensuring he truly was alright. Taehyung and Jimin are next, the former just about barrelling into Jungkook and Yoongi, tugging them into a bear hug as Jimin watches fondly from behind. When a bleary-eyed Hoseok comes down, he notices the breakfast before the company, letting out a relieved groan at a mouthful of broth and promptly choking on it as he processes the presence of Jungkook and Yoongi.

Finally, it’s Jin that takes the longest to wake, and when he turns the corner and spots them, his only response is a wordless sigh, and a silent hug. Despite that, his emotions radiate off him in waves, and you don’t doubt there are unsaid words shared between him and Yoongi. To your surprise, he breaks away after a moment and pulls Jungkook into a tight albeit brief embrace as well, patting him on the back with a quiet murmur you don’t catch.

It feels right, comfortable and calming to have all eight of you back in the Villa together. The short absence feels so much more extended when you’re used to the same company twenty-four hours a day, and having them all back in your immediate vicinity again feels like a hit of some intense high. The relief rushes through your system, and you catch yourself unconsciously counting heads over and over.

“So I guess we just sit here?” Hoseok asks at one point, interrupting the blanket of quiet that had descended over you as you ate. “Do you think we should text Sejin and tell him to come debrief us or what? It feels like we’re in limbo.”

“No need.” A new voice resonates from behind you, Sejin himself walking through the doorway.

Taehyung narrows his eyes to the point of almost closing them, glaring first at the producer and then at the dormant cameras in the top corners of the room.

“Don’t worry, we aren’t rolling just yet. I’ve just been waiting a while for you all to get sorted. I figured you deserved to at least eat first, Yoongi, Jungkook.”

“Well, we’ve eaten,” Yoongi confirms, oddly stiff, an unreadable expression darkening his features. “I guess that means it’s showtime again.”

Jungkook looks up at him from his hunched posture leaning on the countertop. “I bet a lot of them missed you, hyung. The viewers. They seemed really worried on Twitter.”

Yoongi blinks, shifting. “Missed-? I- I suppose it was sudden. We should probably get this thing up and running again so they aren’t concerned.”

As Sejin nods in confirmation and pulls out his phone to relay the message, you nearly miss the quirk at Jungkook’s lips at changing Yoongi’s attitude so easily. The two of them seem at ease with each other like nothing you’ve seen before. No doubt due to the time they’d spent together last night, and it warms your heart to see them standing so closely.

“Come on, then,” Sejin announces, belatedly lifting his gaze and putting his phone back away, the cameras installed around the room blinking back to life with their steady red blip. “Let’s move to the couches again.”

“Just like the good old days,” Jungkook sighs dreamily.

Jin raises a brow, taking a seat in the center of the middle couch, the two youngest jumping in on either side of him like toddlers ready for a bedtime story. You do your best to ignore him, still feeling sensitive from the night before. “You mean ‘just like four days ago?’”

From his left side, Taehyung huffs lightly, though makes no effort to distance himself at all from the eldest. “Time is a social construct.”

“Can we make a start?” Sejin questions, perched on the corner of the coffee table with his hands on this thighs. “I doubt the viewers are here to listen to you bicker.”

“Right you are,” Taehyung notes, nodding sagely, “they’re here for the good stuff.” He shares a glance with Jungkook, and in unison the two of them place their hands side-by-side directly on top of Jin’s crotch, glancing up at the cameras expectantly.

Jin clicks his tongue like his dick being used as a prop is little more than a mild inconvenience, making no move to push their hands away.

They do, however, when Sejin flattens a stare at the two of them. The youngest properly chastened, the producer finally looks around at all of you as a group. “For the sake of continuity and coherence, we’re picking up where we last left off: Limited Edition week. Yoongi, you’re the only one to already have completed your prompt-” the man puffs his chest at this, sharp eyes darting to you as Sejin speaks, “-so you’re done for the week. Namjoon, Hoseok, Jungkook and Jimin, I’m afraid you’re left with very little time to complete yours. Because of this, you’re no longer required to wait for a text message to start your scenes, and I’m also postponing the Fan Favourite vote until Monday morning to give you some additional time. We’ll unfortunately have to merge it with the elimination meeting. Today is already Friday, so do the best you can.”

“We won’t let you down,” Jungkook promises fiercely, conspicuously glancing down at Jin’s lap as if he’s about to use it for emphasis again.

Sejin sighs, shifting back, continuing on as if he didn’t hear the strangely passionate pact. “If anyone has forgotten their prompt, don’t hesitate to ask, otherwise the show is back on as per usual. Producer Kang is coming in at midday to set up the confessional booth again, so from this afternoon onwards, feel free to use it again to share your thoughts. I’m sure the viewers will have their fair share of questions for you as well. Understood?”

Most of you nod, content with the update. You try and fight the sickly flutter of anxiety in your chest that creeps up at the reminder of elimination, focusing instead on the side of you that’s relieved to have this level of normalcy back, and secretly pleased to have your cards filled up for the next few days. It feels like it’s been longer than it has, and you shift in your seat wondering who will approach you first out of the four men yet to fill their prompt.

Perhaps it won’t be Jungkook; he pushes himself off Jin and tiptoes to Sejin’s retreating figure, asking for a reminder on his prompt with shy pink cheeks. The producer lets out a weak laugh of bemusement and guides him out of the front door to escort him to the producing van outside.

The others seem to know what they’re doing, and you spy Namjoon and Hoseok with heads ducked together, Hoseok grinning at something Namjoon’s saying. The two have been growing closer lately, almost out of nowhere, and you’re curious if they’ll stick as two peas in a pod when it comes to the game, too.

The four of you that remain chill for a bit, making lazy conversation on how strange it feels being back on the clock again. It’s nice, being able to enjoy the time relatively care-free. Despite the overall weirdness of the competition in context to real life, it’s become a comfortable familiarity, and you welcome it back.

You could happily spend the whole morning there, were it not for the sharp bolt of pain that rushes up your spine when you turn to listen to something Jimin has to say.

Gasping, hand coming up to cradle the back of your neck instinctively, you squeeze your eyes shut at the sensation. From beside you, it takes no time for Jimin’s hands to find you, gently settling on your back and arm as he asks you if you’re okay.

“I fell asleep on the counter this morning,” you admit, trying not to move your head at all as you speak, “I think it messed up my neck.”

As your eyes untense and open again, you see Jimin’s rounded in concern, first at you and then glancing over at Tae in sober worry. His teeth are running over his lower lip over and over, a habit that he does in moments of stress and helplessness, and through the ache you can’t help but feel warm at his reaction.

“When does it hurt most?” you hear Taehyung ask, and it’s habit that makes you turn your head to face him.

“Fuck,” you curse thickly, shoulders hunching up against the tight feeling, “just when I turn it. Feels like a tug that shouldn’t be there.”

Yoongi and Jin are silent, and from your new angle of vision, you can see their apt focus on you, Yoongi going so far as to be shuffled half off his couch, ready to jump up and give medical aid.

“It’s probably a crick in your neck,” Taehyung asks, and you spot his mop of browl curls fill your vision as he crouches in front of you and looks back over his shoulder. “Right, hyung?”

Yoongi hums in agreement. “Sounds like it. I can get a heat pack?”

“I have some upstairs,” Taehyung answers, “I think a massage would help a lot. Y/n, do you think you can make it upstairs?”

You take a moment to consider this, and gently shift your head around with small motions. Up and down seems to be fine, and left and right hurt the more you turn. “I think it’ll be okay,” you decide, “I didn’t really notice it that much until just now.”

“Okay.” Taehyung presses his lips together and stands up again, holding out his hand to you. Slowly, with several check-ins, he guides you upstairs and into his bedroom, assisting you in sitting down on the bed, propped up against a mountain of pillows. You leave Jin and Yoongi downstairs, but Jimin insists on following, his hand warm against the small of your back the whole way up.

Feeling a little embarrassed at the fuss they’re making, you nonetheless soak up the chance to be at the center of their attention, Jimin linking your fingers together from the side of the bed as Taehyung rushes around, grabbing a single-use heat pack and some massage oils.

“You’ll need to turn around so your back is facing me,” Taehyung instructs, getting on the bed behind you. It’s a little awkward shifting around with three of you on the bed, and you unable to really move as freely as you’d like, but after a moment Jimin has replaced your original spot against the headboard, your knees bumping his as you sit cross-legged with Taehyung behind you. “Okay, that’s good. Just relax.”

Your shirt has a relatively low, round neck, and even though it’s not quite loose enough to push past your shoulders, Tae doesn’t want to make you take it off and risk hurting yourself further, so he just makes do, warming some oil between his fingers.

The soothing smell of lavender fills the air, and your shoulders go lax as Taehyung slips gently presses down on them with his still-dry knuckles, thumbs sliding up to hold your neck steady. As he pushes the hem down as much as he can and begins to slide his fingertips over your skin to spread the aromatic oil, you fight the urge to let your head loll back. It’s been a long time since Taehyung gave you a massage, and though you have no doubt he’d do it anytime in a heartbeat if you asked, you always felt strange approaching it. A crick in the neck was not ideal, but certainly a nice excuse to have his hands on you again.

In front of you, Jimin watches you carefully for any sight of pain. While a month ago you may have been intimidated or even put off by his intense stare, you know he’s there to make sure you’re alright, and you’ve seen him vulnerable enough to feel okay sharing this with him.

It is still a little awkward, however, and as Taehyung lets his fingers dip as low as they can between your shoulder blades, you send Jimin a crooked smile. “Do you want some popcorn?”

He scoffs warmly with a shake of his head. “If I’m bothering you…?”

You almost shake your head, sucking in a sharp breath through your nose as you fight the automatic urge. “No, you’re fine. I just don’t think me getting my neck fixed is very-” Your voice is abruptly cut off by a staccato groan punched out of you by Taehyung pressing his thumbs right into the knots on either side of the base of your neck. He crawls them up carefully but confidently, beginning to smooth out the tension, and you can’t help your eyes fluttering shut. “Very entertaining,” you finish, breathier than when you started.

“That’s where I’d have to disagree,” Jimin responds in a buttery whisper. With eyes closed, you don’t see him move, and are caught off guard by the tickle of sensation that arises on the sensitive skin of your inner ankle as he slowly sweeps a single fingertip in lazy circles around the bump of the bone. The touch isn’t particularly sexy in its location, but nevertheless feels dizzingly intimate with the knowledge of whose finger it is roaming the fine details of your body.

“I see how it is,” you manage to respond, but the fight is drained from you from both ends; Jimin at your ankles, Taehyung at the nape of your neck. Taehyung’s touch is distinctly heavier and more decisive than Jimin’s, and it becomes harder to resist lying back against him as he works at the sore muscles of your neck.

“My clients aren’t normally so chatty with someone that isn’t me,” Taehyung remarks from behind you, lightly flicking the side of your neck in playful complaint.

“Client?” you question with a pout he can’t see but can definitely hear. “Are we not even lovers, Tae?”

He hums, so low in his chest that it’s a soft growl, and his hands converge on your sternum, face coming forward to press at the side of your cheek as he hugs you from behind. Your heart rate picks up at the proximity; his lips so close to yours, but impossible to reach from the angle. “You know I can’t touch you like a lover should. Not now.”

“Would it be so bad?” you wonder aloud, even as you recall the rule that would get him kicked out should he touch you intimately. The rule wasn’t so harsh were it you to touch him, however. “I could.”

His breath comes out in a rush that tingles your jaw. “Don’t tempt me,” he warns, sitting back upright and pressing the sides of your neck to straighten you up again, “you’re injured.”

“I’m injured?” you retort, “I thought you were meant to be fixing me. You mustn’t be doing a very good job.”

This time, the sound that leaves him most certainly is a growl. His fingers dig into the dips in your upper spine with a ferocity that while measured is distinctly more authoritative. You feel manhandled into wellness, the pain malleable and easily manipulated by his touch. Your body is heavy, barely able to hold itself up, but inside you feel lighter than air, so thrilled to be at the receiving end of Taehyung’s dominance after such a long time under Jimin’s strong hand.

As if following your thoughts, Taehyung mutters out a low, “hyung?” Jimin hums in response, his fingers circling your ankle and letting the lax weight of his arm pin you to the mattress. “I want to touch her so bad.”

You let out an unfiltered moan as you hear Taehyung talk about you to the man on your other side as if you’re not even there, though his fingers never stop for a second, leaching away every last ounce of pain.

“You can’t,” Jimin replies simply.

“But you can,” Taehyung fires back. “Do you trust me?”

Your eyes open wide as you hear the hidden meaning behind his words. Jimin seems to recognise it, too, as he looks past you with lips parted in surprise. It takes him a moment, but he eventually does respond. “I trust you.”

“Get the blindfold.”

It’s clear Jimin is hesitant about letting Taehyung take control. Not the kind of resistance you’d expect he’d give someone else trying to dom him, but simply the delay of uncertainty, of inexperience. He gets up on his knees after a moment to reach into the bedside stand’s drawer, pulling out a soft black sleeping mask.

Taehyung’s hands finally slow, fingertips slipping just under the hem, fiddling with your bra straps. “Put it on, hyung.”

“Tae,” Jimin breathes, eyebrows furrowed in worry, but he goes along, slipping it over his head and adjusting it, lips pursed. You see the way his Adam’s apple bobs with a harsh swallow, his toes curling and staying tucked.

“How’s your neck?” Taehyung asks you, and in your daze at seeing Jimin gingerly submit, it takes you a second to even realise he’s addressing you. You quickly assure him it’s fine, and feel your heart race as he takes his hands off you and backs away, pulling you backwards as he does. “Lie down for us,” he commands softly.

Your breathing is elevated, and you can’t seem to calm it as you watch Taehyung in your peripheral pull up a chair to the side of the bed. His knuckles are white as he clutches the arms, but his face is darkly focused.

“You can’t fuck her with all those clothes on, hyung,” Taehyung states simply, and you can see the way Jimin’s brows lift above the blindfold.

Obediently, Jimin moves towards you, but with his vision obscured he pats around to find you, fingers running blindly up your side to seek out the lower hem of your shirt and lift it over your head. There’s something strangely exciting about Jimin being the one to disrobe you, when only Taehyung will see your naked body, and the clumsy way the older man fiddles with the zip on your jeans before slipping them off makes it feel like he’s touching you for the first time.

It takes him no time at all to unhook your bra once he finds the hinge, and soon enough your panties, the only scrap of fabric left on your body, are being tugged down your legs impatiently. Once they’re gone, however, Jimin’s hands hover uncertainly over you, awaiting further instruction.

Taehyung grins, though Jimin won’t see it, and wets his lips. “So you can be a good boy, hm? Who would’ve thought the big bad wolf was just a little puppy?”

Jimin swallows, nostrils flaring as he struggles with his own submission. He offers no answer, but Taehyung doesn’t seem to mind, sitting forward in the chair.

“Are you hard, Jimin?” The blue-haired man grits his teeth at the intentional lack of honorifics, but confirms reluctantly that he is. “Show us.”

After opening and closing his mouth, Jimin swallows hard again and his fingers pat against his waistband until he reaches the button, undoing it and dipping a hand in to release his cock. True to his word, he’s hard, the tip glossed with precum and angry red.

A wave of arousal rushes through you so strong that you clench around nothing, wanting nothing more than to push him back and take what you need yourself. But it’s fascinating seeing him like this, and you don’t want to even speak, too scared to break the spell Taehyung has somehow constructed.

The younger man just lets out a flat noise as if unimpressed. Jimin’s dick twitches as his cheeks heat in shame. “Tae,” he breathes, fingers digging into the tensed flesh of his still-clothed thighs.

“It would benefit you to give my name more respect than that. I’m not your boyfriend now, not your pet. I’m your boss. I say what you can and cannot do. So what do you say to me?”

Jimin’s lips are parted, a pretty pink that trembles if you look closely enough. He stays silent for a moment, thinking it through. “Mister Kim,” he says, going so far as to duck his head shallowly in an imitation of a bow.

A dark smirk tugs at Taehyung’s lips. “I like that,” he decides, “good boy. Why don’t you touch our girl, then? She’s arching so nicely for you, Jimin, I think she wants to feel you on her pretty little tits.”

Your eyes couldn’t be wider if you tried, fingers twisted harshly in the bedsheets on either side of you. It’s true, your back hitching off the mattress in need. Truth be told, you’re shivering in the desire to feel him anywhere, but the thought of him flicking at your sensitive nipples has you letting out a shaky whimper.

It’s not Jimin’s hands that greet you, however. Instead, he uses them to catch his fall when he hangs forward, face burying in the soft skin close to your right hip. You can feel the hard tip of his nose, the tickle of his eyelashes, and the plush warmth of his lips.

You tremble beneath him at the way his breath heats your naked skin in pants. Jimin navigates higher with his nose, running it over you, lips dragging against you just enough for you to catch scrapes of his bottom teeth occasionally as he works from left to right, seeking out the swell of your breasts.

It’s not long before he crawls high enough, but it feels like an eternity of absence has been broken when it’s not his fingers but his hot, wet mouth that closes over your nipple, sucking it in like a man starved.

You gasp at the sudden bloom of sensation, a moan getting clogged in your throat. Once Jimin reaches you, you can feel the confidence of his usual dom persona return in the intense way he laps and nipples at the stiffening peak, but the hastened breaths that have his chest heaving above you are entirely due to Taehyung’s invisible grasp on the both of you.

It’s not until Jimin fastens his teeth around your nipple and tugs once, harsh enough to make you keen and grab at his shoulders, that he moves to the other side, repeating the previous treatment with twice the hunger and desperation as before.

“Mm, atta boy,” Taehyung praises in a borderline sarcastic drawl. Jimin huffs through his noise noisily against you as he places sloppy kisses on the pebbled skin around your nipple, and your eyes roll back at the overwhelming situation you’ve found yourself in. There’s something unbelievably obscene about being at the whim of Jimin touch but Taehyung’s command, of hearing and seeing and feeling Jimin be just as affected by Tae as you are.

Jimin’s still mostly dressed, but you can feel the heat radiating from his unsheathed cock as it presses against your leg, and you will Taehyung to demand Jimin fuck you, feeling out of your mind with need.

“You want to taste her somewhere else, don’t you?” Taehyung asks after a few moments of ecstasy. Jimin groans lowly against you, and you feel his hair tickle your breast as he nods. Taehyung’s voice hardens. “That’s a shame. On your back, Jimin. Clothes off.”

You and Jimin whine in unison as you’re parted again, but the latter wastes no time in undressing, throwing his shirt, pants and underwear away blindly, almost hitting Taehyung with them.

Taehyung lets out a cheeky smile as he ducks out of the way, before steeling his expression again and standing up to join you at the bed. You prop yourself up on your elbows to watch as Jimin lies down beside you, head propped up on the pillows.

Making him wait in silence and darkness for a moment long enough to make Jimin hold back another whine with a bit lip, Taehyung suddenly reaches out and rakes his nails up Jimin’s chest from his lower stomach to his collarbones, flicking his nipples on the way.

Jimin hisses and almost comes clean off the mattress, arms flying down, but Taehyung catches him at the wrists and tugs his arms up with a roughness that takes Jimin by surprise, leaving him pinned open with reddening lines across his torso.

“Fuck,” he curses, head thrashing back and forth once in frustration. He looks overwhelmed already, though you’re beginning to suspect this is his first time subbing, at least in many years. “T- Mister Kim, Mister Kim, please.”

“Y/n’s going to take what she wants now, Jimin,” Taehyung instructs gruffly, sending you an expectant gaze for you to get up, “and you’re going to give it all to her. Isn’t that right?”

“Please,” Jimin repeats brokenly, fingers curling in the open air as Taehyung holds his wrists up.

Heart racing violently in your chest, you find yourself straddling Jimin with barely-restrained excitement. His cock is lying against his lower abdomen, leaking steadily, and the moment you reach out and take it in your hand he lets out a low, keening sob, thighs lifting as if to curl in on himself.

“Colour, Jimin,” Taehyung demands, loosening his hold on the man’s wrists briefly.

Jimin lets out a frustrated whine, foot stomping against the mattress. He’s panting like he’s run a marathon, even with your hand still on him, and it almost seems like he’s about to end the scene with the pained look on his face. “Dammit, green. Fuck.”

Taehyung pauses for a moment, but suddenly a booming laugh is leaving him as he stares down at the figure on the bed below him, with restrained arms hanging uselessly in the air. “Oh, you dirty fucking boy,” he gushes, bending down to nip at the already-swollen flesh of Jimin’s lips, making the older boy whimper, “you love this, don’t you?”

Shaking his head, Jimin can’t hide the way blood rushes to his cheeks, tinging his face and neck pink as his cock pulses in your grip. It encourages you to move again, and you lean down to spit on it, hearing him hiccup wetly at the feeling of it before you’re jerking him off steadily to spread the slick around.

As much as he tries, Jimin can only hold back the sounds of pleasure for so long, and by the time you’re straddling him, lining him up at your entrance, his chest is heaving and every breath out is tinged in a moan. He all but trembles in anticipation as his tip bumps against you, and you suck in a single slow breath to prepare yourself before you’re sitting on his cock, feeling it part your walls deep inside.

Jimin shudders, and his arms, still in Taehyung’s grip, tug towards his own face to cover it, fingers curling into claws at the flood of sensation.

“Is it good?” Taehyung asks rhetorically, allowing Jimin to pull his hands over his face before cruelly spreading them wide again, leaning down until their noses touch, voice dipping to a gruff whisper, thick with arousal. “You don’t get to hide from us.”

You’re propping yourself up with one hand on Jimin’s heated chest and another on the mattress, letting yourself adjust to the intrusion, and you see the way his lips tremble every time you clench around him.

Though it hasn’t really been that long, you feel the stretch more than usual, especially without the foreplay involving any fingering. But, if you’re honest with yourself, you wouldn’t want it any other way.

There’s something so divine about rocking your hips against him and having his cock open you up through your own movements. You control the pace despite the whines and weak growls of complaint, and you take your time with it. While Jimin might prefer more friction, more motion, you’re enjoying the deep grind, his pelvis pressed to your clit every time you lean forward.

You look up from him, at Taehyung holding him down for you. His hair is messy, but no more than before, and he’s still fully dressed. His eyes are dark with lust and glimmering with excitement, and once he feels your gaze he looks up at you sharply. Your heart jumps, and you squeeze unintentionally around Jimin, making him groan.

Still looking at Taehyung, however, at his sculpted lips, strong gaze and hooded lids, you’re overwhelmed with the urge to lean forward and kiss him. It’s like a string is tied between the two of you, being cranked tighter and tighter. It would be so easy just to give in and-

“Don’t be mean, Y/n. Jimin is being good for us.” Taehyung grins at you, teeth glinting. “Make him come.”

Jimin’s chest hitches, and his hips rock shallowly up at you, unable to get the momentum to do much more. Still, it causes him to drag against your walls, and the pleasure shoots up your core at the feeling. Inspired by both your own pleasure and the need to please the two men with you, you steel your thighs and begin to ride Jimin in earnest.

It’s harder than you expect to keep a rhythm up. Every time you get a good downstroke that reaches your g-spot, it makes your legs tremble, and before long your thighs begin to ache. Nonetheless, you’re determined as you watch Jimin’s blindfolded face contort in pleasure, and you shift your position and bounce harder.

In the back of your mind, you hear Taehyung praise you, but you barely spare him a glance, chest lowering so that you can put all your energy into the tight motion of your hips. Your fingers dig into Jimin’s shoulder, and his muscles tense beneath them as he tries to reach out for you.

Every time he’s reminded of the grip Taehyung has on his arms, Jimin thrashes just a little beneath you, but his cock just keeps on getting stiffer inside you, and as you suck in harsh lungfuls of air, you know he’s getting close.

The sounds that leave his parted lips are nothing short of pornographic, losing all sense of shame or hesitation as he approaches that peak.

You fight off your own orgasm, tightening around Jimin as you try and hold back and distract yourself with him. You’re losing stamina quickly, the rhythm falling apart into unsteady jerks and bounces.

Taehyung watches you carefully, before bending down again and biting right into the plush flesh of Jimin’s cheek, addressing him only after he soothes the blooming red with his tongue. “Why don’t you return the favour and fuck her a little, my good boy?”

Jimin sobs, and his abs tighten as he attempts to get up, but Taehyung just tuts, instructing him to do it right where he is. Clearly too far gone to protest, you feel Jimin prop his feet up against the mattress with a shaky sniff. That’s your only warning before he makes full use of his core strength to piston his hips up into you with toe-curling speed, purely seeking out his own end.

You cry out, knees buckling at the first thrust, and your chin hits his shoulder awkwardly, almost biting your own tongue. Clutching at his arms, you attempt to hold yourself up enough not to bear your dead weight on him, and go along for the ride.

Even from his unwieldy position, Jimin manages far better than you did, and his his moans quickly raise in pitch and shorten in length, until he’s whimpering in desperate yips, thrusting up into you with such ferocity that your teeth chatter.

He’s deep inside you, deeper than he’s been before, and your eyes begin to well at your own impending orgasm.

Closer than you, however, Jimin freezes for a split second before he’s shuddering violently and spurting inside you. Taehyung holds onto him for a moment longer before he releases his wrists, and suddenly you’re being caged in by Jimin, his arms holding you flush against his heated torso as he grinds his cum into you, still blindfolded and barely able to catch a breath.

It’s this rocking motion that tips you over the edge, your clit gaining enough friction to break the dam, and you sob hard as the pleasure wracks through you. There isn’t a single inch of space between you and Jimin, and just as you think you’re in pure ecstasy, you feel Taehyung’s hand tangle in your hair, stroking it as his lips brush the shell of your ear with praises intended for the two of you.

Your face is wet and your body is trembling uncontrollably as you let your climax run through you, and when it fades you feel hollowed out, boneless.

Jimin is clearly the same, because he quite contentedly lets you lie atop him, panting just as hard as you are. His eyes remain closed long after Taehyung slips the blindfold off, pressing kisses to Jimin’s eyelids and the flush on his cheeks.

After a sweet eternity, you gather enough energy to roll off Jimin and sit up, separating yourself from him. He sighs out weakly, and you’re shocked to see just how drained he seems. For a moment, your heart stutters, but as you reach out and grab his hand, matching Taehyung who has his other one sandwiched between his, a drunken smile stretches across Jimin’s face.

“What the fuck?” he asks breathily, chuckling slightly despite his exhaustion. A single eye cracks open, looks up at the two of you with a warm gaze, before slipping shut again. “Oh my god, I can’t believe… I can’t believe that.”

“Can’t believe you liked it?” Taehyung questions, and even after the scene you hear a tinge of nervousness in his tone.

“God, Tae, I think I get it now,” Jimin gushes, voice lowering into a sleepy slur, “it’s- that was fun.”

Taehyung beams, squeezing Jimin’s hand fondly.

Jimin sighs in bliss. “And next time I’m going to edge you so much you cry, Mister Kim.”

The smile drops off Taehyung’s face in an instant. “Hey! That’s not fair. I let you come.”

Whatever protest Jimin would normally fire back is dissolved in his post-orgasm bliss. Instead, he just hums sweetly, entirely unbothered by the sticky mess his lower torso has become.

“Come on,” you jibe softly, feeling your own skin growing tacky, “let’s get you in the shower.”

Jimin groans at the thought of standing up, but Taehyung is having none of it, digging his hands under Jimin’s back to lever him up like a crowbar. “Yeah, we’re not gonna stop taking care of you just because you busted a nut, asshole. Get up and let me clean your dick like the good dom I am.”

Though Jimin huffs all the way to the shower, as the two of you clean him up, dry him off and dress him in a pair of Taehyung’s sweats and a baggy shirt, his eyes never stop gleaming for a second, not-so-secretly enjoying every minute of it.

The three of you spend an hour or so post-shower chilling in Taehyung’s room before hunger overcomes you one at a time. You’ve certainly missed lunch, but there is plenty still left in the fridge, and Jimin takes on the duty of reheating it as a silent thank you for the scene.

He’s quieter than usual, and you know it has to do with the intensity of it, at least for him. It was a big deal, actually submitting to another, and both you and Taehyung keep a close eye on him, filling the silence between the two of you so he doesn’t feel the need to exert himself, but keeping him close nonetheless.

At one point, Jimin goes upstairs to take a nap, insisting he’s fine on his own, and Namjoon and Hoseok return inside from where they’d been having a picnic of sorts (or perhaps fucking on the lawn, though they refuse to deny nor confirm your teasing accusation). The four of you put on a random reality show you’d been meaning to watch, and it isn’t long before Jungkook is joining you too, piling on the couch between the two subtle lovebirds. When Jin comes down, he half-watches from the kitchen, preparing some side dishes for dinner, but Yoongi is nowhere to be seen.

Your mind doesn’t linger on the thought for long, getting distracted by the dating show that somehow is just as ridiculous as the one you’re on, and you let the time slip by as you watch episode after episode. It’s nice to rest up, aching a little bit in a new place than before, but satisfied.

When Yoongi comes down, you’re so caught up watching television that you don’t even see him. It’s not until he cuts into your line of sight and holds out a decisive hand that you blink into focus and notice his presence.

“Y/n. A minute.”

You stare at him for another minute, brain not catching up. Yoongi huffs and bends down, grabbing onto your hand and tugging you up off the couch.

The others stare at you in bewilderment, and you return the confused gaze over your shoulder as he tug you out of the room.

Stumbling through the hallway, you furrow your eyebrows as he leads you up the stairs, almost frantic in his pace.

Arriving at your own door, he throws it open and pulls you inside and shuts it behind you. Your brain catches up, and you let out an uncertain laugh. “Yoongi, you already did your prompt, you don’t have to-”

You’re cut off by a pair of lips on yours.

Yoongi’s body knocks you back and pins you firmly to the door as his mouth slants against yours. Both hands cupping your face, he kisses you like there’s no tomorrow, tongue darting out slightly to flick at your lips.

You let out a surprised moan that gets entirely swallowed by him, knees weak and held up only by his hold. Frantic, hurried, his kisses convey a thousand praises, and your mind whirls with the sudden passion.

This close, you can smell the musk of his cologne. It dizzies you, and you feel as if his hands on your cheeks and his lips on yours are the only thing anchoring you to the world. They move against you, exploring your mouth with a desperate sweetness. You can’t wrap your head around it, can’t catch up, and so you let yourself drown in it instead, clasping at the fabric of Yoongi’s shirt to hold yourself steady.

When you finally part, he rips himself away with dazed eyes, pupils blown with desire. “Y/n,” he breathes, staring at you in wonder as if for the first time. He steps back again, after a moment, touching his swollen lips with a disbelieving smile. “I really tried, you know.”

You frown in confusion, stepping forward to get closer again. “Tried what? Yoongi, I don’t understand.”

“I tried not to fall in love with you like the rest.”

You have no words, mouth hanging open. Before you can think of anything to say, he’s moving past you and letting himself out of your room, the door half-ajar as his footsteps recede into silence.

You stay up in your room for what must be hours, replaying his words over and over in your head, lips tingling.

You miss dinner that way, too occupied in your own thoughts to even notice the knock at your door. Even as the sky darkens outside your window, you feel too wired to sleep, running through every single interaction you’ve ever had with Yoongi. Reading them in every possible way you could.

Working out if you would be telling the truth to say it back.

Your mind runs in circles, unable to land on a single answer, on a single perspective or truth or belief.

Late into the night, and further to the early hours of the morning, you force yourself to think about every other member in the house, too. About how they treat you, how kind they are to you, the way they look at you.

About the way your heart races when you’re around them, even as they comfort you with their presence alone.

You manage to fall asleep shortly before sunrise, eyes aching and body exhausted, every line of thinking and internal interrogation whittled down to a single two words.

I’m fucked.

#the gentlemen #bts smut #bts x reader #jimin smut #taehyung smut #jimin x reader #namjoon x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #jin x reader #hoseok x reader #yoongi x reader #tgm

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zafirosreverie · 3 years

Text

Must be the eyes (Teacher!Agatha x Fem!Student!Reader)

Here it is! first part of the TxS au! Let’s get this party started!

----

"And who exactly was the villain then, Miss Y/L/N?" You gnashed your teeth when your teacher looked at you behind the frame of her glasses, with her piercing, stupidly beautiful blue eyes and a raised eyebrow.

You flinched a bit from her gaze, but you refused to back down, you never had and you weren't going to start now, no matter how hot your cheeks got or how close this damn woman stood to you.

Agatha Harkness, Westview’s University history professor, terror of the first years and your crush since the first class you had with her. Her blue eyes had captivated you from the first moment, as had her slightly wavy hair and mocking smile. Her sarcastic and dry sense of humor was also something you loved, plus she was incredibly smart and not afraid to show it. Beautiful, smart and taught your favorite subject. Yup, you were completely under her spell.

But you hated it when she argued with you in front of the whole class, especially for things like this. It always made you feel so small and helpless, even if you didn’t show it on the outside.

She had asked your class for an essay on Greek myths, and you had chosen Medusa’s. Miss Harkness had said that you should express your views, with clear and concise arguments, which took you most of the week to investigate. But it seemed that you had not been clear enough.

Either that, or your teacher really hated you and enjoyed challenging you in front of your classmates, expecting you to break up and argue with her, so she could send you to detention. Well, you wouldn't let her win that easy.

You forced a smile and looked up. She was right in front of your chair, looking down at you as she waited for your answer.

"Athena and Poseidon" you said confidently "They are the villains"

"Interesting posture" she smiled, but it was a smile that reminded you of the cheshire cat "Although that doesn't take away the blame for the lives she took, does it?"

"It wasn't her fault either," you said, frowning.

"Oh it wasn’t?" she asked. You suppressed a gasp when she rested her hands on your table and leaned forward. You could feel her minty breath on your face "And whose fault was it, Miss Y/L/N?" she asked.

"Men’s" you gulped "Those who went to look for her"

"Explain" she ordered. Her eyes never once left your face.

"They went looking for her. They tried to kill her, what was she supposed to do? Let herself be killed? Besides, it wasn't her fault that Athena turned her into that, she didn't ask to turn people to stone" you said, crossing your arms and leaning toward back in your seat.

Anyone would think that your gesture was one of challenge, considering that your face was neutral and your eyebrow was raised slightly. But inside you were screaming and having a panic attack.

Agatha smirked in her head at your attitude. She wouldn't tell anyone even if she was under torture, but she loved having these little discussions with you. You were the only student brave enough to argue with her, and you were brilliant in the way you did.

On the other hand, you were also incredibly cute and she would lie if she said that she didn't like to make you blush, your eyes lit up a bit and the red on your cheeks really contrasted beautifully with your skin. She knew it was wrong, that as a teacher she shouldn't find any of her students attractive. But she couldn't help it, there was something about you that just fascinated her.

Most of her fellow teachers had already noticed the strange dynamic she had with you, but they took it as a simple student/teacher rivalry, stemming from the fact that you seemed like a history prodigy, which presented a vast battlefield for Agatha, it was no secret that the woman was competitive, after all.

The only one who seemed a little suspicious of what was really going on was Wanda, the literature teacher. She had been one of the best students in the university and had returned as a teacher 5 years ago and because their subjects shared a field of investigation, she and Agatha ended up spending more and more time together, until they became good friends.

It was fun having someone to judge and gossip about both the staff and the student body. But that also meant having to endure the teasing of the younger woman every time you walked by Agatha.

Of course, she had scolded Wanda for even suggesting that she was attracted to you, a student, and the redhead had apologized, saying that she was only joking, but she wasn't sure how long it would be before her friend became suspicious again. Not that the history teacher was that subtle with the way she looked at you.

Still, Agatha Harkness had certain principles, and she knew that she couldn't flirt with you as long as you were her student, so she was content to make you blush and nervous when she was around you.

“She broke Athena’s rules” she said, almost growling.

“Poseidon raped her. That wasn't her fault” you growled back. You cursed yourself for being so passionate about this. Your classmates probably thought you were an idiot for fighting a teacher.

"You seem quite determined to defend the monster," she accused, frowning. She pushed herself off your bench and turned to the rest of the class, letting you breathe for a second. "Not many people would pay attention to Medusa, a hideous and dangerous creature. But she seems to have won Miss Y/L/N’s heart" she said, making your classmates laugh and you blushed again.

"It must be the eyes" you mumbled without thinking.

Your teacher looked at you for a moment before smirking. Fortunately, it seemed like she didn't have time to keep arguing with you. Blessed heavens for that. You heard the ring bell and sighed in relief, starting to pack your things.

“Remember that the project is due for next monday” Ms Harkness said and you hear some groans from your classmates. You chuckled as you left the classroom.

“It’s not fair” you heard your friend Nick saying beside you “She didn’t give us enough time!”

“What do you mean?” you asked “I finished it three days ago”

“But you don’t count!” he frowned “you’re good at history! I can’t even remember my sister’s birthday!”

“Nick, you don’t have a sister” you rolled your eyes fondly

“And? I wouldn’t remember her birthday anyway”

You laughed and playfully punched his shoulder. You and Nick have been friends since your first day here and you were thankful for that. He was the only one who knew about your crush on Ms Harkness, which was a blessing but also a nightmare. He loved to embarrass you.

“So, what was that Y/N?” He asked suddenly

“What?” you frowned

“The whole Medusa’s thing”

“Well, she wasn’t a monster and-”

“No no, don’t give me a history lesson, I already had enough of that. I was talking about you and ‘Ms magical eyes’ almost kissing” he smirked as you coughed and almost tripped.

“What?!” you hissed “The hell you’re talking about?!”

“Oh c’mon Y/N!!” Nick laughed “She was practically lying over you!”

“That’s not true” you crossed your arms

“It is” he crossed his arms too “Y/N,I love you, but you can be so blind sometimes”

“What is that supposed to mean?” you asked, a little offended

“Y/N, we all could feel the sexual tension between you two” he laughed and left you frozen in the hall.

_____________

“No” Agatha frowned and crossed her arms

“Please” Wanda begged

“No, I’m not going to babysit a bunch of spoiled kids” the older woman said

“Okay, first of all, they’re college students, not from the kindergarden” the redhead frowned “and this could be an amazing opportunity!”

“For what? I already know about the Salem trials, love, I’m more than capable of teach my students about it without having to taking them there”

“But it would be more fun for them” Wanda argued

“I teach history, buttercup, it’s not supposed to be fun for them” the brunette smirked while the other woman rolled her eyes.

“We both know you don’t actually think that. You love your class and want them to love it too”

When the other woman shrugged and started reading again, totally ignoring her, Wanda knew it was time for plan B. She kneeled in front of Agatha and gave her puppy eyes.

“Pleaaaase” she cried “I need another teacher if I want permission to do the trip”

“Then ask Monica” Agatha said, not looking up from her book

“She has a game next week with the basketball team” Wanda said “Besides, as the history teacher, your class is the most similar to mine, it just makes sense if we both go”

“I’m not going Maximoff, period”

Wanda sighed and stood. “Fine.Thanks for nothing, Harkness” she pouted and left the teacher’s room.

Agatha rolled her eyes, she knew the other woman would get over it in a few hours.

____________

“I just say that witches are cool” you said as you and Nick walked through the hall

“They are Y/N, but visiting an old town isn’t exactly my idea for a good summer trip” he said and you rolled your eyes “Why don’t you go to Disneyland instead?” he joked

“Because I hate gigantic amusement parks” you said “And I really want to visit Salem, it was my dream since i was 9 and i read about witches from the first time. But you know I don't have enough money to do both trips. So, Salem it is for me”

Nick sighed “Alright, you do you, history girl” he joked “But try not to get cursed while you’re there, i don’t want my best friend to be a frog”

You laughed and he put an arm around your shoulders. None of you noticed the brunette teacher walking out of the teacher’s room and who totally heard your conversation.

_____________

Wanda jumped when her office door opened with a slam. She looked at a frowning Agatha, who had her arms crossed and let out a sigh.

“Alright, you win” the brunette said “We’re going to Salem”

The redhead smiled and quickly stood up to run to her friend and hug her tightly.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she said.

“But!” Agatha said, gently pushing the younger woman to lock eyes with her “I pick the class we’re taking with us”

“Deal!”

#I really don't know what I'm doing ok #sorry if this sucks ;-;#i think I'm losing my writing abilities #anyway #x reader #reader insert #imagine #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness imagine #agatha harkness x y/n #agnes x reader #agatha harkness x you #request #must be the eyes #mbte

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