#it would have been more interesting if there was anything to compare it to rather than just

[shouldprobablybereading]

Hot take of the day is that I think sanderson not letting adolin murdering sadeas have any real consequences killed like 95% of interesting debate on the morality of it

#it serves some narrative point on some character arcs #but it could have been so much more interesting than sanderson made it #like right now it’s just kinda pointless #to talk about #nobody cares about sadeas so it’s not emotional #and the closest we can get to a philosophical debate is adolin and dalinar being kinda awkward about it #which again would have been interesting if anything actually came out of it #but it didn’t #now it’s just a question of whether you should be allowed to take the law into your own hands like that #which I think could be very interesting if we took a look at the power position adolin holds #as highprince and heir etc. #should he be allowed to make that type of decisions #sadeas was an asshole but how does this play into how he solves other conflicts #if not for his dad and cousin being the ones in charge would someone else be treated differently #this type of thing was exactly why people didn’t want to work with the alethi to begin with #what are the political implications #blah blah #even if saying ‘yeah it was right it was necessary and sadeas sucked’ #it would have been more interesting if there was anything to compare it to rather than just #‘well now we don’t have to deal with sadeas anymore that’s convenient’

[katakaluptastrophy]

I think what's so interesting about Gideon as a narrator at the anniversary dinner is the fact that there's clearly tensions that she's just not picking up on because she's only there to eat a dessert.

But these people are all the immensely powerful leaders of the Houses and consider themselves to be in competition for literal godlike powers and the favour of the emperor.

There's so many little snippets that are potentially intriguing: why is Teacher trying to prime the Ninth to consider the Fifth a threat? Why are the Third and the Sixth "sizing each other up like prizefighters"? The Fifth absolutely knew what they were doing when they sat the teen heads of the opposing cults near each other.

Through Gideon's lens, Magnus' speech is a little awkward jokey thing. But...the seneschal of the House that is known to be actively trying to absorb another House is saying it's such a shame they're all so remote from each other and what do they all have in common (and it's so quiet you "could have heard a hair flutter to the floor") - that had to feel a bit different to people who aren't Gideon.

Palamedes' is dissecting the meaning of "Master Warden" and at one point compares it to a prison warden. 'Dulcinea' asking about whether Magnus and Abigail have children is perhaps less small talk and rather more pointedly political. Harrow's apparently stilted conversation with Protesilaus is clearly her actually probing his limitations like he's a bad Chat GPT-run chatbot.

And then 'Dulcinea' tells Gideon she liked the dinner because it was "useful". In her typical "I never lied to you" way, Cyth wasn't lying when she said Abigail had to die because of her hobby - Abigail Pent let loose on the Facility would have risked blowing Cyth's cover sky high. But what does a Canaan House look like where after the dinner party, the Fifth go down to the facility, get a key, and survive to continue their 'the Houses are going to get along or else' agenda? We've seen Fifth House soft power on a smaller scale in HTN: and it looks like inviting a teenager round for coffee, lulling her into a false sense of security with small talk, and then physically preventing her from leaving the room until she does what you want, while smiling the entire time. A series of little coffee chats could probably have led to a lot of cooperation in Canaan House, one way or another.

Gideon jokes about Silas marrying Ianthe because of their similar colour pallete, but it does raise the fact that there seems to be some tension around the Third, its succession, and the *point* of Ianthe. Why is Silas openly saying Ianthe should have died at birth? Combined with Judith's comments in the Cohort Intelligence Files about succession on the Third, it feels like there's something else being said here that Gideon isn't picking up on.

And of course, Harrow wasn't the only one desperate to become a Lyctor because her con was unsustainable. Presumably at some point Corona and Ianthe would be expected to marry, or at least take on more separate roles as Corona prepared to take over the throne and Ianthe was funneled off elsewhere. At some point, their package deal would have become unsustainable and Corona's cover would have been blown. But much as Harrow wants to become a Lyctor so she can reveal the state of the Ninth without repercussions, Ianthe is probably in part motivated to become a Lyctor for the same reason. Because otherwise, what would Ianthe's expected role have been? Amidst the suggestion of anxiety about the Idan succession, the dinner party also presents the fact that the reason Abigail and Magnus' infertility isn't a succession crisis for the ruling family of the Fifth is that Abigail's younger brother dutifully married in his early 20s and had kids. We know there are branch families in Ida - Babs is from one. He may be a prince, but he's not treated well, and you do get the sense that the stakes to stay in power in Ida are high.

We don't learn anything about the political situation in the Houses themselves during HTN or NTN, but in the wake of Canaan House, you have to suspect there are a number of tensions and concerns.

#the locked tomb #tlt meta #Is Ianthe's “going to see a man about a queen” seeing to the political situation back home in Ida? #Which must have been devastated by her ascension and Corona's apparent death?

[kiss-inthekitchen]

no vacancy | spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader

set sometime in early s2; you get stuck sharing a room with your favorite boy genius who absolutely cannot know that you have feelings for him. and also, there’s only one bed. fluff, f!reader (i think there's only two usages of gender markers)

word count: 4.7k

notes: this is a rework of a very old fic i used to have up on ao3. i'm thinking i'll do more of these, i've got a few spencer fics in the vault and it was fun to rework this and see how my style has changed :)

You shivered against the cold desert air. Twirling a keyring around your finger, you headed for the door marked 3. You were exhausted from the day and so, so ready to collapse into bed as soon as you got inside your room. 

You turned the key in the lock while Spencer waited behind you. It was late, and you and the team had pulled into a motel for the night, having been dragged out to a tiny rural town by the unsub after days of tracking him through surrounding areas. He’d been apprehended, finally, and handed over to local police around midnight. You all had decided it best to spend the night before driving back into town in the morning for take off. 

So here you were, at one of those single story motels that still used actual keys instead of key cards. Given the time of night, you knew vacancies would be scarce, so you’d already expected to have to double up on rooms. Gideon had stayed behind at Quantico, leaving Hotch and Morgan in one room and JJ and Prentiss in another, with you and Spencer sharing the last room. You’d hung back while JJ got everything figured out with the concierge (who was just a bored looking kid posted at the desk), and then she’d passed you your key with its little keyring attachment listing the room number and you all bade each other goodnight.

You’d been on the team nearly a year already, but you were still the rookie compared to everyone else. Even Spence had two years on you. But seeing as you two were the youngest, and the least inclined toward the more physical parts of your job– the chasing, tackling, firing your weapon parts– you were paired off with him more often than not. 

You weren’t complaining. You’d come to know Spencer pretty well, and you didn’t feel much apprehension at the thought of sharing a room with him for one night. 

That is, until you opened the door. 

“Oh,” you said involuntarily.  

"There's only one bed,” Spencer said. 

“Sure looks that way.” 

"At least it's a queen?" 

There was a brief pause before you both started speaking at the same time. 

"Maybe we can go back to the concierge–" Spencer began. 

"I mean, I guess I don't really–" 

"–although, JJ did say we got the last–" 

"–mind as long as you–" 

You cut yourself off this time. It’s not like there was another good option, unless one of you wanted to sleep in the car. "This is fine?" it came out as a question rather than a statement. 

"I think so? I wouldn't want to– to make you uncomfortable or anything."

"This is fine," you repeated, more sure of yourself this time. “And you don’t make me uncomfortable.”  

It was only kind of a lie. You trusted Spencer with your life, of course. But he also made you nervous. He was sweet, kind, always seeming genuinely interested in anything you had to say. And of course, anyone could see that he was attractive. You were developing feelings for him, and in a job where your coworkers and your crush himself were all adept at reading people, it really wasn’t a good position for you to be in. You just hoped Spencer was as oblivious with women as Derek made him out to be. 

"We should get out of the doorway," Spencer suggested, and you realized you'd been standing in the threshold this whole time.

"Right."

The two of you walked in, Spencer closing and locking the door behind you. It was a modest room in a tiny town; your standard ugly-patterned, faded bedspread draped over the queen bed in the center, a window looking out into the parking lot, and a dresser that didn’t even have a TV on top of it. You headed straight for the bed, sitting on the edge and removing your shoes while Spencer stood by with his hands in his pockets.

"You know, if it's a problem I can sleep on the cou– uh, the chair," Spencer offered, looking back mid-sentence and realizing that the only additional furniture this motel offered was one rigid looking armchair by the window. 

"No, you're not doing that."

"What?" he asked, taken aback by the quickness of your response.

"You're not sleeping in that chair. It looks horribly uncomfortable and I’m sure it’s never been cleaned, and I know how you’d feel about that.” 

Spencer grimaced, not having thought about that particular detail. “Yeah, but, I mean… I’d do it for you.” 

God, why did he have to say stuff like that? Like you were something special. And why now, when you were stuck in the same room with him until morning? It probably didn’t even mean the same thing to him as it meant to you. He was one of the most caring people you’d ever met. He’d probably say that to any one of you on the team. 

Or maybe sleeping in a chair meant nothing to him at all. Maybe he actually didn’t want to share the bed with you and that’s why he was trying so hard to avoid it. 

Ugh. You just wanted this day to be over. It was late, the case had been a week long, and now you were probably in for a fun night of overthinking and second guessing when you’d been expecting silence and easy, dreamless sleep. 

Okay, maybe that last part was never really an option, but still. 

“Look,” you sighed, “I know this isn't an ideal situation but there's a perfectly good bed here, so let’s just share it. If you’re okay with that. It's just one night and tomorrow we'll be back home and nobody has to know about it."

You had to fight from squeezing your eyes shut in regret. You wished that had come out differently. You chanced a look at Spencer, realizing that you’d been staring down at the faded carpet pattern while you spoke. 

The look on his face was one you hadn’t seen before, and you almost couldn't place it. He seemed sort of disappointed. Disappointed that he had to share a bed with you? Or that you'd made it sound like you didn't want to share a bed with him? Nope, you could not go down that road tonight. You shook your head once as if it would clear the thoughts from your tired mind. 

“I’m okay with that," he said, casually enough that you could almost convince yourself that you’d just imagined the look on his face before. "So, do you want the shower first, or...?" Spencer asked.

"No, I can wait, you go ahead," you said. You desperately needed the moment to yourself anyway.  

You started rifling through your bag for pajamas, toiletries, and your charger as an excuse to look busy while Spencer made his way into the bathroom with his things. As soon as the door closed behind him, you flopped back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as if it might hold all the answers. 

Spencer couldn't know about your feelings. For one thing, you were pretty sure there was a rule against dating your colleagues in the BAU. If not, there probably should be. You were such a close knit team, and if anything went wrong… you couldn’t imagine how difficult that would be. But then, the evil and uncooperative part of you also couldn’t help but think that things might go right. 

From the beginning of your time at the BAU, you’d been drawn to Spencer. It just kind of made sense. You’d gotten through school at an accelerated pace– though not as quickly as him, the man was on another fucking level when it came to academics– and you were one of the only people who found his fact dropping actually interesting, often asking him follow up questions. He’d looked adorably shocked the first few times you’d done that. 

He listened intently to your passionate rants about your favorite films and tv shows, even though he hadn’t seen any of them. When the two of you had discovered a shared interest in mythology and folklore, Hotch nearly had to separate you so you would actually get some work done. It was like you were a kid in school again, and you might’ve been embarrassed if you didn’t find it so funny, if you weren’t so giddy at the idea of a friendship that could make you feel like a kid again. 

Spencer understood you in a way that other people didn’t, laughing at your jokes even when they didn’t land for anybody else. When people interrupted or spoke over you, he always paid attention, and in situations where you were trying to add details to the profile he’d bring the conversation back around to you. 

Throughout your life you’d learned– through painstaking trial and error– to fit in pretty well in most any group you found yourself in, but you’d always considered yourself to be a little weird. A little too different. But when you were with Spencer, you felt like you didn’t have to try so hard. You could both be a little different, together. 

Spencer opened the bathroom door then, startling you. You’d been so lost in thought you hadn’t even noticed the water turn off. You looked over to see him wearing a loose white t-shirt and pajama pants, his hair still damp. And now you knew what Spencer looked like fresh out of a shower. And of course it was endearing as hell. 

“If that’s how you’re planning to sleep,” Spencer began, referencing how you were laid out in the dead center of the bed, your arms fully outstretched and hands hanging off the mattress, “then I think we might have a slight problem after all.”  

You walked out of the bathroom a short while later, dressed in your usual sleepwear of shorts and an oversized shirt. You’d put your hair up in a bun to protect it while you showered, and now it hung loose around your shoulders. You simultaneously wished your outfit was cuter and uglier; knowing your giant t-shirt wasn’t flattering your figure while also feeling like you had too much skin exposed. Not that it mattered. You were just going to get some sleep and then wake up in the morning and head home. Everything would be back to normal. 

Spencer’s in bed already. He’d turned off the big light while you were showering, the lamps on either side of the bed casting him in a softer, warmer glow. He looked up from his book to find you standing there, and the soft, familiar look in his big brown eyes had you rooted to the spot. 

“Hey,” he said softly, patting the space next to him in invitation. 

You conceded, finding your legs again and sliding into bed beside him. “Hey.” 

He fidgeted with the pages of his book, ultimately shutting it closed on his index finger to mark the page. “So, uh, are we okay?” 

“Yeah, of course,” you answered genuinely, feeling bad that your internal struggle had manifested in a way that worried him. 

“Okay, cool,” he said. He paused long enough to let you explain if you wanted to, another invitation. You knew he wouldn’t push it if you didn’t offer something up. You wanted to give him an explanation, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. 

“Sorry,” you managed. 

“For what?” 

“I don’t know… acting weird, I guess. It’s just been a long day.” 

“Oh, well, you don’t need to be sorry about that. You’re always weird.” 

Your mouth dropped open as you looked at him. “Look who’s fucking talking,” you scoffed. Some of the tension dropped from your shoulders, glad he hadn’t questioned you further. 

“Language, please,” he held up a hand to stop you. “I’m delicate.” 

“Wha–?” you let out a surprised little laugh. “You’re an idiot!” 

“Yeah okay, tell that to my I–.” 

“Oh, my IQ of 187,” you finished for him, rolling your eyes. Even that was full of endearment. “God, you are so annoying.” 

“Hm. Y’know, this might be a long night for you. I’d hate to keep you up with my annoyingness.” 

“I feel like you could’ve come up with a better word than annoyingness, Mr. 187,” you tilted your head where it rested against the headboard, looking up at him. 

“Oh, she’s being a smartass now!” he split into a surprised grin, and you could swear your heart skipped a beat. 

“You just said ass.” 

“Wow. How quickly you’ve corrupted me.” 

“Right, of course. It’s my fault.” 

“I knew you’d agree.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” you laughed. 

Things felt a little bit more normal after that, joking around with Spencer like you normally did made the rest of the night feel less daunting. 

Shortly after that, the two of you agreed that you should get some sleep, each reaching over to turn out the light on your respective sides of the bed. 

You let yourself sink into your pillow, the exhaustion you had been feeling giving way to a hyper awareness of Reid’s body next to you. You were kept awake, completely overcome by the foot of space between you and Spencer; the consequences of crossing that space, the way it might feel, the curiosity over whether he was laying awake too, thinking the same thoughts as you. Even with that foot of space separating you, you could feel his body heat. You longed to move closer to him, to touch him, to let his warmth seep into you and lull you to sleep. 

But you didn’t, and you wouldn’t, because this was just an unfortunate booking mishap. It didn’t mean anything. Tomorrow it would be over, and you could more easily go back to hiding your feelings from everyone else and yourself. 

Eventually, exhaustion won out. 

You woke what could’ve been a few minutes or a few hours later, the sky still dark. You couldn’t tell what exactly had woken you up, only the sense that you’d moved, almost like you’d fallen. But fallen from what? 

You blinked in the dark, the street lamps in the parking lot providing enough residual light to keep the room from being pitch black. 

Reid was sitting up. He must’ve bolted upright, you thought. Had that been what moved you? Were you lying on him?! 

“Hey, you okay?” 

“Sorry. Just a nightmare,” he said as if it was nothing. “Sorry to wake you.” 

“What was it about?” you ignored his apologies, sitting up as well. 

“I don't really even remember,” he breathed, almost like it was funny. “Just having a physiological reaction to whatever it was, I guess.” 

You had nightmares too, of course. You all did. You hated remembering them, but you also hated the times when you woke up in the dark, dazed and inexplicably scared. Without thinking, you reached for his hand. 

He turned to look at you then. “I really didn't mean to wake you,” he reiterated. 

“I figured,” you smiled slightly. You noticed his breathing was just a bit too fast. You rubbed your thumb over the back of his hand, leaning over to rest your weight against his side, your head on his shoulder. His nervous system would regulate itself quicker this way. 

“You were on my pillow, by the way.” 

“What?” you ask, your head jerking back from him. 

“I totally called it. You rolled right into the center of the bed in your sleep. Total bed hog.” 

“Hey!” you protested, pulling your hand back from his in embarrassment. So you had been lying on top of him. Or at least really close to him. His hand chased after yours, finding you again. 

“That wasn’t me complaining about it.” 

“Oh,” was all you could think to say back. 

It was quiet for a minute. You let your head fall back onto Spencer’s shoulder, but your heart raced in your chest. 

“Can I ask you something?” he questioned, his tone becoming more serious. 

“Oh– of course,” you answered, your brow creasing. 

“What did you mean when you said ‘it’s not ideal’ and ‘nobody has to know about it’?” 

“Wh– I– Spencer, come on.” 

He didn’t give you an out this time. Just waited for an answer. 

“I don’t even really know,” you sighed.  

“I believe you’re being partially truthful about that.” 

“Don’t profile me.” 

“I’m not. I just know you.” 

You sighed. “You know, sometimes I hate that stupid memory of yours.” 

“I don’t need an eidetic memory to remember that. It was a weird thing to say, and it happened like four hours ago.” 

“You’re guesstimating. And it wasn’t that weird.” 

“Maybe not, but the way you said it was. And you’re avoiding my question.” 

You continued to avoid it, biting down on your bottom lip. 

“And you stuttered when I brought it up.” 

“I told you to stop profiling me.” 

This time, he just hummed in response. 

“And so what if I stuttered?” 

“Stuttering is usually more my thing. A nervousness thing.” 

Maybe this was actually your nightmare. Maybe you’d wake up soon and none of this would’ve been real, and you wouldn’t have had to explain to Spencer that the reason you’d had an attitude was because the situation tonight had made it harder to hide your feelings for him. Big feelings that became a lot harder to ignore when he was this close to you, still holding your hand, the mix of scents from his detergent and deodorant clouding your judgment. Of all the embarrassing scenarios that you could’ve imagined playing out tonight, this was very high up on the list. 

“I said ‘it’s not ideal’ because it’s not, just by definition. We were supposed to get a double room and we didn’t. Not ideal. And I said no one has to find out because I can already see Morgan having a field day with it and I know the exact expression that’ll be on his face–” 

“The eyebrows,” he nodded, lips pursed. 

“And then everyone else will get in on it and I just figured…” you sighed. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to deal with that.” 

“That all makes total sense.” 

“Good,” you breathed. Too relieved. 

“Now tell me the rest of it.” 

“God, Spencer–” you huffed out, frustrated. He knew you too well. 

You wanted to run. Maybe you could go sleep in the car after all. And then ignore Spencer for the rest of the day, and then the year, and your life, and– 

“Don’t make me say it,” you breathed. This had to be a dream. 

“But there is something to be said?” he questioned, his tone hushed, almost reverent. 

It was just vague enough. You could pretend it was nothing. 

“Yes.” 

You felt like you’d just blown your life up with one word. 

Spencer took a deep breath, your body cresting and falling with the movement of it. 

“You make me feel better about being myself,” he confessed.  

You shut your eyes. You had a constricting feeling in your throat suddenly, and the awful realization that you might cry. 

He spoke again, because you couldn’t. “I haven’t always felt good about it, you know? And then you joined the team, and, well– you changed a lot of things for me. And you’re beautiful, obviously, and I was scared to mess up what we have, because it’s special, I think–” 

“It is.” 

“–and then you started freaking out when you saw the bed,” he was smiling now, you could hear it, “and I thought, maybe it wouldn’t be so crazy… maybe I could make you feel that way too.” 

“You do. Of course you do. I feel like I can be my full self with you. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt like that before.” 

Spencer laughed, a little delirious giggle, and squeezed your hand in his. You’d managed to avoid crying, thankfully, and you grinned along with him, looking down at your joined hands as you squeezed him back. 

Things seemed to still for a beat, the two of you sitting with this moment and letting it stretch out. You still couldn’t really believe this was happening. You might have to tell Spencer to pinch you. 

“So what does that mean for us now?” you asked. 

“Well, for right now at least, I think it just means that we can go back to sleep without overthinking things into oblivion.” 

“I was not–”

“Okay, this time I am profiling you, and you’re lying,” he cut you off, his smile still evident.  

“Oh, this was such a mistake.”

He continued like you hadn’t spoken, laughing a little as he went. “I could practically hear it. It’s like, you know when a computer is trying to use too much processing power and the fan starts whirring really loud? Like that but just like right next to me, like tangible—“  

“Okay! Thank you so much, I actually totally got it, you can stop now.” 

He laughed, and your cheeks warmed. 

“For the record, I meant we could both stop overthinking.” Then he shifted a little, facing you a bit more. With the hand that wasn’t holding yours, he brushed a strand of hair from your face, a fake pout on his lips. “Sorry I make you nervous.” 

You cackled at that, if it was possible to cackle in hushed tones. “Oh, I bet you are. Besides, I know you like me now, so you’ve lost that card.” 

“Are you certain of that?” 

“Certain that you like me or certain that you can’t make me nervous?” 

“The latter. I do like you, if that was unclear.” 

Your heart sped up, contradicting you as you answered, “Then I’m certain you can’t make me nervous.” 

He titled your face up to his then, using his index finger underneath your chin to make you look at him. “You’re an awful liar.” 

You just shrugged, watching triumphantly as Spencer’s gaze fell to your lips.“It’s been working out pretty well for me so far.” 

“I guess it has,” he murmured, closing the distance between you and finally kissing you. 

After so many months of imagining (and berating yourself for imagining) what Spencer’s lips might feel like on yours, you weren’t disappointed. 

For once you didn’t have to think at all, the chemistry between you and him drowning out everything else. His hand fell to your waist, and yours moved to the curve of his jaw, pulling him closer as his mouth moved against yours. Your teeth grazed his bottom lip and he gasped, and your skin felt like it was lit up from the inside. 

You pulled away to breathe, and to process, and to try and stop your head from swimming. You were rewarded with the awestruck look in Spencer’s eyes as he opened them again. 

“Okay, was it just me, or–” 

“That was crazy,” you breathed.

“Crazy,” he agreed. 

“Spence?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I don’t think we’re getting back to sleep tonight.” Your eyes widened at the implication of saying those words at that time. “Not, like, in the sex way, though,” you hurried to correct yourself. “I need like, 4-5 business days to process things first, and I– well, I just meant, like– you know?” 

Spencer was nodding at you even as his eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “Can I still kiss you during those 4-5 business days?” 

“Oh, yeah,” you said, sounding breathless. 

“Cool,” he agreed. “You seem really nervous, by the way.” 

“Well, you kissed me.” 

“I did.”  

“How were you not nervous?” you breathed. 

“Oh, I was. Your reaction is making me feel a whole lot better about it though.” 

You scoffed half-heartedly. “I do so much for you.” 

“You do,” he replied earnestly, letting go of your hand to wrap his arm around your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “We could lie back down, if you want. Like we were before I so rudely woke you up.” 

“Yeah, I’m super mad about that,” you joked. “Anyway, I was asleep for that, so you’ll have to show me what I was doing.” 

He seemed all too pleased to do so. “Okay, so you were basically like,” he leaned back against the pillows, pulling you down with him, moving his hand to the side of your head to guide you to the place where his shoulder met his chest, “Like that, and then your arm was over here,” he picked up your arm and guided it around his waist. 

“Oh god, that’s so embarrassing,” you said, realizing that he must’ve been awake when you’d done it. 

“Yeah, I know. Really terrible time for me.” 

“I can imagine. I can scoot back over to my side of the bed, just say the word.” 

“Don’t you dare,” he said, squeezing you closer. 

You trailed your fingers up and down his waist, feeling more content than you had in ages. 

“I can’t believe you’d suggest that I would have sex with you right after confessing my feelings. Like, take me to dinner first at least.” 

“Oh my god,” you half-exclaimed, half-laughed. You felt your cheeks heat up again, grateful it was still too dark in the room to be noticeable. “You’re right, I’m so sorry. How’s next Friday?” 

“Hmm, I don’t know. My work schedule is kind of unpredictable. I’ll have to get back to you.” 

“You’re such an ass.” 

A few short hours later, you were back on the jet with the rest of the team. You were lying on the couch while Spencer sat in a seat one row up and across from you, both to avoid suspicion and so you could try to catch up on sleep. He sat facing away from you, but with the angle you were at you could still see one side of his face if you tilted your head up. 

You were just beginning to fade when your phone buzzed next to you. 

Spencer: I have to tell you something, coworker to coworker. 

You looked up to see him blank faced, looking down at the book in his right hand, holding his phone in the left. 

You text back: okay? 

Spencer: My crush asked me out last night. 

You’re exceptionally glad no one was sitting close enough to see you. Spencer had caught you off guard, and you felt an infatuated grin spreading across your face. 

You: what did u say? 

Spencer: Wanted to get your opinion first. 

You: i think u should say yes, obviously. 

Spencer: Idk, I’m kinda nervous. I think she’s trying to jump me on the first date.

You just barely managed to refrain from laughing out loud. You looked up at Spencer again, and he’s looking at his phone as if it contained nothing more than a weather report. You’re astounded. 

You: one could argue that technically you’ve already slept together, so there’s less to be nervous abt

You saw his eyebrows raise just slightly. Success. 

Spencer: You’re trouble, you know that? See you Friday night

You: i promise i won’t try to jump you 

Spencer: Oh

Spencer: I fear I may have shot myself in the foot here

You: i wouldn’t worry about it too much

Spencer: That’s rich coming from you 

You rolled your eyes even though he couldn't see you. 

You: whatever. wear something sexy ;) 

You heard him blow air out of his nose, an almost laugh. 

“Something funny?” you heard Derek ask. 

Shit. 

“This book contains a historical inaccuracy that was proven incorrect eight years before its publishing date,” Spencer replied without missing a beat. 

Unbelievable.

You: you’re unhinged :*

Spencer: Go to sleep already, would you? 

You: coworker to coworker? my crush keeps interrupting my beauty sleep 

Spencer: He’s probably worried about the worldwide implications of you becoming any more beautiful 

You: i guess that’s why the universe gave you insomnia :( too pretty 

Spencer: Stop flirting with me

You: bc you’re too delicate?? 

Spencer: Yes 

You snapped your phone shut, feeling dazed. You watched the clouds go by in the window across from you, and you couldn’t help letting your gaze slide over to Spencer. He’d put his phone down as well, concentrating on his book. Or pretending to concentrate. He was turning the pages much too slowly for his actual pace. 

You: you have got to do a better job of fake reading than that

You heard a page turn. 

You looked up again to see the ghost of a smile threatening the corner of his mouth. 

This was going to be fun. And also, you were so screwed. 

#so they have flip phones but i didnt want to write everything in shorthand so theyre just really fast at it. go with it #spencer texts with perfect grammar bc of course he does #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #my fics

[sukunasteeth]

Wrestle Me

Tokyo had reached record temperatures that day. The sun was roasting the city, every street was a mirage from the bending light of its shine. The weather recently had been sending everyone either inside or to the nearest water source.

Yuji had gone to the beach with Megumi and Nobara in a futile attempt to escape the heat that had Japan in the sweaty palm of its hand. They had offered you and Sukuna a spot on the railway car there, but you knew that Sukuna was too exhausted from his recent missions to do any sort of going out. Not to mention the draining effect of the heat stacked on top of that. You were in the mood to just enjoy each other's presence.

The two of you were sheltered away in the darkness of his bedroom, lying sprawled out across the floor in front of his small rotating fan. Sukuna and Yuji never turned the A/C on. Since they had moved into their own apartment, the brothers had become rather stingy when it came to the bills. The air didn't start up until the room felt like a sauna, and it turned off much too soon to give relief.

Sweat continued to drip down the both of your spines, but Sukuna didn't seem to mind it. He was enjoying the peace of his day off, dressed against the heat in nothing but his boxer briefs and a tank top. He had his head resting in the cushion of your lap, his eyes were transfixed on an old leather notebook that he had stolen from one of the professors a few days ago. It was in a language you hadn't taken at the academy yet, but Sukuna tells you it was early notes on jujutsu from the old world.

You had been scrolling through your phone, occasionally showing him something you found amusing or anything that reminded you of him. He only gave you a reaction to maybe 10% of the material, but it was fun to see him roll his eyes, or scoff and wave your phone away.

The longer you remained in the same spot,however, the sweatier you felt and the more frustrated with the heat. You tried not to squirm under Sukuna's head, remaining as still as possible as though he were a sleeping animal taking refuge on your lap. Boredom, however, eventually pulls the last straw that has you stirring.

An idea comes to mind.

Sukuna glances up at you, as though he expects you to show him something else on your phone, but instead his attention is caught by the mischievous glint you feel twinkling in your eye.

"Wrestle me." You beam at him.

It was somewhat of a joke.

Compared to your boyfriend, it was clear who would win in a pinning tournament between the two of you.

 Sukuna, who enjoys kickboxing in his spare time. Sukuna, who has never missed an opportunity for a fight in the decade that you've known him, who could dead-lift your torso with ease if he so desired.

Sukuna, who has never touched you with anything but heart wrenching gentleness.

His eyes widen at your command, the notebook he had previously found so interesting has been completely forgotten. He seems to catch the drift of your lack of entertainment, and quickly plays along. His surprise melts into an amused little smile.

"Oh yeah? Think you got a chance, kid?" He taunts, placing the book beside him. His attention now fully focused on you.

You snort, you were only a year younger than he was, but he loved to emphasize it when he could. Sukuna mistakes your noise as a scoff and cocks a daring brow at you.

You love when he’s in a playful mood.

"I could take you any day." You tease. Part of you is running for the hills inside, but another part is having fun with the big bad wolf. That was the constant state you were in with him. Sukuna didn't even have to try and he always had your heart racing.

Sukuna makes an impressed noise, "That, I'm well aware of. I don't know about in a fight, though."

You groan at his joke, shaking your head in disappointment, but Sukuna grabs onto your chin before you can get even one turn of your head out.

"Let's find out."  

~

Ten minutes later, you're drenched in twice the amount of sweat as you were before, but Sukuna has barely lost a drop. He's got you twisted like a pretzel beneath him, holding your limbs in just the right way so that you're completely incapacitated in his hands.

Your first mistake was thinking Sukuna knew how to play-fight. The only person he had been remotely close with in your childhood was his twin brother, and the two of them had often "wrestled", but it only ended when one of them had blood dripping out of their noses. You learned early on not to question it. Having two boys as your childhood best friends had you turning your gaze from a lot of things, in fact.

The only thing you questioned now, was how you were going to get out of your current predicament. You were sure Sukuna was having a blast practically hogtying you with his hands, and now he knew how easy it was to get you in this position. It was a double whammy that would surely effect you in the future. 

"Did you really think I'd go easy on you?" The weight of his chest presses into your back as he leans over you, sending hot breath over your neck. "How cute."

"Okay, okay! I give!" You whine, trying to wriggle out from beneath him. You had to admit that it was getting slightly painful, but Sukuna was well aware of your pressure points and where to stay away from. You still had one last trick up your sleeve, however.

Satisfied with your surrender, he nips at your ear with his teeth before he slides off of you and relinquishes his effortless grip. Before he can fully turn away, however, you're leaping onto his back like a monkey and tackling him into his mattress. It was a dirty tactic, but you had been wrestling your childhood best friend Yuji since the two of you were in elementary school, so you were no stranger to tricks of the trade. Especially the feign defeat card.

He blinks up at you. It was a difficult task to take Sukuna off guard, but you had accomplished it.

"Sucker." You playfully stick your tongue out at him, blowing a raspberry. Inside your chest, your heart is racing like a hummingbird’s wings. It’s almost like Sukuna knows this, because even though you’re the one on top of him, he’s still looking at you with an amused grin- unaffected by your change of position. 

"You have a higher pain tolerance than I thought you did." He notes, tilting his head to the side like he's considering something. "What can we do with that new information, I wonder?" 

It was another intimidation tactic. A good one. It had chills running down your spine. But, you weren’t going to let him win so easily this time. Suddenly, you were interested in how far you could push him, as well. 

"Come on 'Kuna," You chide, your nose is practically touching his- a rabbit pressing against the snout of a hungry wolf. "Can't take defeat, my love?"

"Oh doll," His voice is a husky drawl, rough hands slide their way from their resting places on your hips to slip under the hem of your shirt and brush the skin of your waist. You try to contain your shiver. "You're playing a very dangerous game."

One last wave of confidence sweeps through you as you lean down, just like he always did, to murmur lowly into his ear. "And you're losing."

That did it.

Sukuna grabs onto your waist so quickly, you barely have time to register it before he loops his leg around your knee and easily flips the two of you back to your original position. You're giggling beneath him as he gathers your face into his hands, pressing calloused fingers into your cheeks. You've gotten under his impenetrable skin. You didn't know it, but you always did.

No matter how strong a man is, he will always lose to the woman he loves.

Sukuna was slowly starting to accept that.

#jjk #sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #fluff #little something something #is it obvious how obsessed I am with the thought of him pinning someone down? #makes my heart go bingabangdingdang #also can we talk about this manga panel #my writing

[luveline]

𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

You worry your boyfriend is ashamed of you. This is very much not the case. Or, 5 times Hotch hid your relationship (+1 time he didn’t).

7k words, new-ish established relationship, lots of fluff between angst, hurt/comfort, fem!reader, civilian!reader, reader calls him aaron mostly

༺༻

The security for Aaron's building is weird. Weird as in extensive, intimidating, and extremely intricate. 

You'd really wanted to minimise his stress — the whole reason you're here is to bring him a forgotten sheet of paper that must've slipped out at your kitchen table from one of his case files because you don't want him to have to make up a new copy — but you're too scared to go in. 

You pull your phone out reluctantly and dial in his number, eager to hear his voice even if the security detail a few feet away are freaking you out. 

"Hotchner." 

"Hi, handsome," you say softly. 

There's a small pause. For a split-second a nightmare situation runs through your head, his low voice asking, Who is this?

"Hi, honey." 

You beam so wide it aches, forcing a pleased little breath from your mouth. 

"What do you need?" he asks. 

"I'm outside of your building but I'm too afraid to come in. I'm not sure they'll let me. I need a badge, right?" 

"You're outside." 

You pick at the hem of your sweater, a loose thread marring your otherwise pretty outfit. You'll admit to dressing up unnecessarily to see him. Nice clothes, your most subtle perfume. 

"I found something confidential this morning, a piece of paper. I didn't read it, I promise."

"You really shouldn't be here," he says. 

Your smile abruptly drops. You press the phone closer to your face and wait, hoping he's not talking to you. When it's clear that he is you cringe, the silence pervasive and the most awkward it's ever been with him. 

"Sorry." Your apology is quick, quiet. "I thought it would be easier for you. I didn't mean to… overstep." 

"It's not that. It's busy. Would you hang on to it for me? Maybe I can come and get it tonight, bring dinner." 

You love how he says it. It's not a question, not an assumption. And it's a relief. If he wants to see you on a night where you hadn't planned to get together, he can't be mad at you for being here. 

"Yeah, please. If you want to." 

"I want to. Okay?"

Not for confirmation, it's shorthand. You okay? 

"Yeah. Okay. Have a good rest of your day, handsome." 

"Bye." 

You like to think you can hear the sound of his phone clicking shut, imagining him at his desk in one of his neat suits with a case file open in front of him. You're not sure on the specifics of his job but you know he looks good doing it, and you also know he's very, very busy. You don't take his clipped goodbye as anything but efficiency. 

Maybe you should. 

—

The next time Aaron inadvertently hurts your feelings is in person. 

Compared to him, you wouldn't say you're an incredibly exciting character. Your day job is tame, your hobbies are invaried. You like to watch TV, see movies, you enjoy people-watching. When you hold that stuff up to his job, his profiling, and his hobbies (seriously, who likes triathlon?) you feel rather immature. 

You know deep down that hobbies are hobbies and that your job doesn't define how special you are, but when you're with someone like Aaron who lives and breathes his profession it can play with your head. 

"Is there something interesting about my shirt?" he asks, a murmur under the sound of the TV. 

You look up from the hem of his nice button down and smile, a half-smile. You want it to be more genuine than it is. "Don't you already know?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"You can tell I'm…" You frown, dropping the starched material of his shirt from between your fingers. "I've given myself up, haven't I?" 

"A little," he concedes sympathetically. 

You huff your defeat and let your cheek fall into his chest. Nice to seek comfort from him, nicer for him to give it to you, his arm rising from behind your shoulders to hook around your neck. 

"I'm not profiling you," he says, voice close to the top of your head, "I'm wondering what you're thinking."

You relax under his touch, his big hand settling in the curve of your neck. A semi-hug. It doesn't take long for you to melt into his front completely, your unhappy thoughts dissolving with any tension and leaving only a want to kiss his stupidly nice neck.

"It doesn't matter," you say. 

"You sure?" 

You lift your head from his chest. He has to lean back to meet your eyes and he does it unflinchingly, a bemused smile playing on his lips. 

"I'm good. Better, if you would…" 

"Yeah?" he asks quietly, leaning down, down. 

You can't withstand his charms. He knows exactly how to get you, his smile and his eyes, his lashes kissing in the corners as they close. 

He's imposing in the best way, a heavy presence that overwhelms you. All you can think about is the way he nudges his nose with yours to encourage your head back and the heat of his lips as they touch your own. His arm tightens behind your head.

You try to rise onto your knees, hands vying for his neck and his pitch dark hair. You're doubly pleased when you feel his mouth turning up into a smile, a mirror of your own. 

"Slow down," he chides gently. 

You're about to say something unlike yourself, something loud and brash. Speed up, Hotchner. You're hopped up on the giddiness that comes with being close to him. You're just about to say it when his phone rings. 

He gives you a short, hard kiss. 

"Hotchner." 

You sit back in his lap, his hand sliding to the small of your back to keep you close as his face clouds with confusion. You attempt to climb off of him because you're not a sack of sugar — you're probably giving him numb thighs — but he won't let you.

"Garcia," he says eventually, "is this an emergency?" His tone makes it clear to you that whatever it is Garcia is saying, it's far from an emergency. 

His hand climbs up, over your shoulder. You shudder as he tugs your earlobe, a mild and thoughtless gesture. You're so busy shivering you almost miss his playful eye roll. 

"I haven't changed my mind. Yeah. Thanks for the invitation, but I'm perfectly happy where I am tonight." 

Whatever Garcia says makes him laugh. If you weren't sitting as close to him as you are you wouldn't have heard it. 

"Have fun. Bye," he says succinctly. He snaps his phone closed in one hand, the other dropping from your ear to your shoulder. It's heavy with a remorse you can't allow. "Sorry."

"Doesn't matter," you assure, tilting your head toward his hand and pretending to size him up. You don't know how to profile, but you're a good guess. 

"You're not telling me something." 

"No?" He blinks in surprise.

"No. You've been invited somewhere with your work friends, and you usually go. Why not tonight?" 

"I think that's obvious." 

"You don't have to flake on your friends for me, Aaron." 

He smiles as you say his name. "Like I told Garcia, I am perfectly happy where I am." 

You hide your face in his neck lest he see your doped up smile. "You have nice friends," you murmur, working your hands under the hem of his shirt. 

"I think you'd love Garcia after the infinitial terror." 

"I think I would too. She's good to you, after all. Makes me like her… Maybe one day we can all go out for drinks." 

You don't have to be a profiler to feel the way he tenses. 

"Yeah," he says. It sounds very much like Probably not. 

That's a strumming hurt. Aaron is so nice, so so nice, and he treats you like you're gold dust. He does all the movie boyfriend stuff like flowers, silver earrings on your birthday (with tiny diamonds!), dinner reservations at dauntingly fancy restaurants. And he does stuff you didn't know men did, like calling you near every night to make sure you had a good day, and praising even your smallest achievements, and leaving notes in places he knows you'll find them on hard days. You don't know how he knows when days are hard, he just does. 

You'd figured all of this stuff meant he must really like you, might even love you though he's yet to say it, and that's why his lack of enthusiasm stings. 

Why doesn't he want you to meet his friends? He's obviously very proud of what they do at the BAU. They're not the issue. 

It's you. 

You cuddle him as a pit forms in your chest. 

"You're tired?" he asks.

Funny how it's his comfort you crave when he's the one who's hurt your feelings. You're a little lopsided being upset with him, and you know if you tell him how you feel he'll try to make it up to you, but you're too afraid of the other alternative — a fight. Right now his arms are a sanctity you wouldn't trade for anything. You hope he feels the same. 

You're not sure anymore. 

"Yeah," you say roughly. 

Your eyes burn as he pats your back. "Let's go to bed, honey." 

You'll just… have to prove you're someone worth showing off. 

—

Your plan, loosely titled 'Get Aaron Hotchner to Show Me Off,' is going about as well as you'd thought it would. 

If Aaron doesn't want me to meet his friends there must be a reason. You've been thinking about it and it can't be a coincidence that he hadn't wanted you to return his paperwork a few weeks ago. That must've been something significant. 

But what? 

You start with your hair. Aaron has expressed a lovely and heaping handful of times that he thinks you have pretty hair. He plays with it often, usually when he's limp and tired from a long day. You've always taken care of it. Now you're going to the extreme — hair masks, hair appointments you can't afford, anything to make it look perfect. 

It doesn't work toward the plan, though your boyfriend certainly notices. 

"Your hair," is the very first thing he says when he sees you, stopping only in his smiling assessment to kiss your cheek in greeting. 

"Is it okay?" you ask, turning your face to one side. 

"More than okay. Do you want to go in?" 

So it's kind of a bust. But that's okay, you weren't expecting to get a haircut and magically be invited to team dinners. You persevere, and eventually you forget the plan for the night when Aaron promises to show you how much he likes your new look with a hand at the small of your back. 

Phase two, your clothes. 

You dress as nicely as you can but you're no fashion guru and you can't afford an entirely new wardrobe. You get a bunch of magazines and look for fall staples. What's in this year, and how do you style it? You buy a couple of pieces that fit your budget and try to work around them. 

Aaron's favourite are the new corduroy pants. They aren't a great fit. 

"They're too tight," you lament, pulling the fabric from your thighs where they hug snugly. They're a desaturated sort of burgundy, not bright by any means but a good 'pop of colour'. 

"I know," he says. 

You gawp at him, and when he gets his fingers on the buttons afterward, you break. 

"You like them?" you ask worriedly. 

"What makes you think I don't?" 

"Besides how eager you are to get them off of me?" 

He hooks two fingers in your belt loops and holds your gaze as he tugs them down. "I like them." 

A good time, but still no dice. You suppose a new look, besides looking smarter, doesn't actually prove your merit as a girlfriend. Maybe he wants something a little more concrete before he introduces you to people. Maybe things aren't as good for him as they are for you, and he doesn't see the point. 

That particular thought sparks a wave of panicked tears. 

The next time you see him, it's like he can tell. You wonder if he has x-ray vision, some sixth sense for tear stains that he has yet to tell you about. He's been gone for a few days in St. Louis, and when he'd come back he'd spent the weekend with Jack, so it's a whole seven days since the last time you saw him and your worries have festered. Not even his doting phone calls had kept the thought at bay. 

Maybe I'm not a good girlfriend. 

You open your door and there he is in a quarter zip with an overnight bag, matte suit cover draped over one arm. 

"Hi," you say, unsure. 

"Did I get uglier while I was away?" he asks seriously. 

You startle. "No, of course not." 

He smiles and meets you in the doorway, your head dipping back to accommodate. "I think I've had it too good," he says lightly, bringing a tentative hand to your cheek. "Are you okay?" 

You're trying to work out what he means, and when you do your heart skips. "Handsome!" you say urgently. "Hi, handsome. No, you didn't get uglier, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking, and-" 

He kisses you. It's malaligned because of your parted lips, but it's good. You'd really missed him. 

"You're definitely still handsome," you murmur. 

"Doesn't count. I begged for it-" 

"No!" you deny, lifting on tiptoes to give him another kiss and stop his slander. "It does count because you're always handsome, I promise. I think I slept too much and miswired my brain when I woke up." 

"I don't mind that you didn't call me handsome," he says firmly, "now let me in. We have dinner to make." 

"Right, sorry."

Aaron frowns at you, then. It's weird. He frowns at his phone, at the TV, at nothing, but he doesn't frown at you. 

"Is something wrong?" he asks as you traverse down the hall. You hold your hands out for his suit and bag to take to your room and hang up, ignoring his question. He doesn't give them to you. "Is there?" 

"No." You smile as you say it. 

You're an awful liar, especially with him. He makes you more nervous than anyone because he's your boyfriend and because he's a literal human lie detector. 

"You didn't even try." 

You cover your face with both hands and groan dramatically, spinning around and away from him. You don't want him to see how flustered you are. 

"Don't make fun," you beg. 

"You're embarrassed." 

"Teach you that at the Bureau, do they?"  

You stop in the doorway of the kitchen, distracted by your own racing thoughts when suddenly there are two long arms needling around your waist and pulling you backward. You gasp a laugh and squirm uselessly to escape. 

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. 

You tip your head back, hands falling from your face in surprise. "What for, handsome?" 

His laugh fans out over your face but when he speaks again there's no humour there, only sincerity, "For being gone so long." 

"Well don't be. You can't exactly help it, Agent Hotchner," you hum. 

"Oh, don't." 

"Going out and saving the world takes time. I knew that when I met you, 'n I know it now. You don't have to say sorry." 

"I'm not apologising for my work. I'm apologising that we've," — his nose presses into the highest point of your cheek — "been apart." 

"I did miss you," you relent. 

He presses his lips to your cheek. "I missed you too." 

It's a nice distraction. You'd missed one another, and now you're together. You forget for a while what you'd worried, and only when he leaves again do you remember. 

Maybe I'm not a good girlfriend. 

You're not stupid enough to think Hotch is using you for anything, or that he's insincere. You're level-headed, though. His affection for you isn't necessarily permanent no matter how genuine. 

You don't want to be overbearing. The offers start slow. 

I can wash that for you. Of course I'm sure, I'm great with whites. 

Maybe I could make you lunch tomorrow. You can take it in, spare yourself the federal cafeteria. 

Yeah, I got them shined for you. They were looking a little dull at the toes. 

"Do you want me to press these?" you ask. 

Aaron looks up from where he's sitting in bed. You'd been out on a foray to the bathroom and have come to a stop by his bedroom door where a pair of black slacks hang in wait for the morning. 

He pushes a darling pair of reading glasses up the bridge of his nose. "No." 

"Are you sure? It won't take five minutes." 

"I'll do it in the morning." 

"I can do it for you, then. Just wake me up," you say, pushing back the sheets on the empty side of his bed. Your socked foot bumps his thigh as you pull up your legs. "What are you reading?" 

He puts his book on the nightstand, takes off his glasses. It's too bad. He really suits them.

"I want to talk to you about something." 

You laugh and slide down onto the flat of your back. 

"What?" he asks, confused, the tiniest hint of amusement in his eyes. 

"It's unlike you to start that way. You always cut around the fat." You bring his bed sheets up to your nose and squint at him. "'M I in trouble?" 

"Depends." 

"On what?" 

"You know I care about you." 

Your heart somersaults. That feels very much like a break-up opener, and he must see your anxiety on your face. He wrangles your hand from under the sheets and leans over you, his face in your eyeline, his fingers massaging yours until they ache in the good way. 

"Do you know how much?" he asks. 

"Is that a trick?" 

"No." 

You wait in case there's something he's going to add. When there's nothing, you pull the sheets to your chin and tamp down your perplexed pouting. 

"Yeah, I know how much." 

"I'd like to tell you how much." He pulls your joined hands toward his jaw. "I know I'm not always here, but I'm always thinking of you. In roundabout ways." 

"What ways?" you ask. Self-indulgence.

Aaron Hotchner indulges you. 

"I see," — he kisses your hand — "trees. I've seen a thousand trees, but when I see the bigger ones I wish you could see them too." 

It's a dropping sensation, near uncomfortable, that's how gutted his confession makes you feel. "You do?" 

"Sometimes women walk past me and I swear that it's you because they smell like your perfume. Flowers growing through cracks in the sidewalk. Lights through the jet window." It's the kind of stuff you like to point out to him when you're together. 

He stares at you, a long, reassuring look. 

He deserves a better reply, but all you can say is, "I think of you all the time, too." 

"I love that you want to take care of me, but you don't need to wear yourself out." 

You bite the inside of your bottom lip. So that's what this is about. Aaron has profiled you, and now he's being the gentleman that he is and assuaging your fears. 

"I'm not," you say quickly. 

He understands that you're saying I'm not wearing myself out rather than I'm not taking care of you. You are taking care of him, the best that you can, the best that he'll allow. 

"I can press my own pants," he says, leaning down for a kiss. "I can shine my own shoes." He kisses you again. You screw your eyes closed as the warmth of his breath heats your cupid's bow. "I can do my own laundry." He pulls back, dropping your hand in favour of your neck. His thumb pushes against your windpipe gently, palm hot over your skin. "I'll accept the lunches, if you're sure you don't mind making them." 

You feel as excited as you did the very first time he touched you, chest full of a dizzying pleasure, heart bump-bump-bumping a racing rhythm. His thumb strokes a lazy quarter circle into your neck. He can probably feel your pulse, see the way your eyes have blown. 

"I love making them," you say, breathless in earnest.

"The team think I'm spoiled." 

"You aren't spoiled." You're adored, you want to say. You cup his cheek instead. "You'd be spoiled if I brought them by everyday." 

Aaron doesn't stay with you and you don't stay with him enough to make him lunch everyday. He might get one or two a week, and that's when he's home. 

"Wouldn't that be nice," he mutters, his fingers pushing between your neck and the pillow underneath. 

You hike up on to your elbows slowly to avoid headbutting him. "Well, I could." 

His easy, loving smile flattens. "No." 

"I wouldn't mind. My lunch break is super long and it only takes me ten minutes to get there. We could have lunch together." 

"That's not going to work." 

"Okay." You wish you could take it as calmly as he says it. You sound choked up. You are choked up. 

"Sweetheart, the office is a war zone. Half the time I'm not there." 

"I get it," you say, dropping flat onto your back again. 

"Sweetheart." 

"Handsome," you mirror, putting on your best unaffected smile. 

You can't hold it very long, his concerned brows too much to deal with. You turn your head to the left and turn off the lamp on the nightstand, throwing at least half of your expression into darkness. 

Aaron doesn't give up. Does he ever? He cups your cheek and pulls you back to face him. 

"I can't promise any lunch dates. But I was thinking we'd go out for dinner next week, Friday," he begins hopefully, "somewhere nice." 

It feels like an apology and you're desperate to take it. 

"I don't need somewhere nice, s'long as you're there 'n not in Kansas, or Colorado, or Idaho, or New Jersey-" 

He hums and drops his head until his nose lies against your own. "Gonna go through all fifty?" 

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Hotchner?" 

"I love your voice," he says agreeably. 

Disarmed, you let him charm you, and you let him push it all out of your mind. Plan foiled, your fears fall on the backburner for a third time. 

—

His fourth rejection is the first that feels entirely intentional, though you won't know until later. 

Mostly because Aaron pushes you. 

Far from cruel, the two of you are actually out walking in the city when he forces you into an alleyway, your fancy drink sloshing down the front of your sweater. 

You laugh in surprise and almost roll your ankle, hands clinging to his coat to stop an unfortunate fall. 

"Holy shit, Hotchner, learn to be a gentleman," you say as he presses up against you. "What are you doing? I'm soaked, you're gonna ruin your sleeves." 

He kisses you hard. It's a surprise, your head jumping back against the wall to find his hand already there to protect it. 

It's worth noting that Aaron is a sweetheart in practically every aspect of life. He once apologised after having walked in on you changing, which is ridiculous because most of the nights where you're together he insists on getting you some sort of undressed (even if it's just to help you into your pyjamas).

Needless to say, he's never kissed you like this. Your emotions spike so suddenly you laugh into his mouth, a girlish peel of giggles that you'll regret afterward but can't stop for the life of you. 

He shushes you. "Sorry," he whispers, as ill-composed as you've ever heard him. "Sorry, just-" He cuts you both off with another bruising kiss. 

Your laughter fades into sighs and little gasps for air. Somewhere near the alleyway opening a group of people pass by, a jovial series of cheers and friendly laughter trailing behind them. Aaron presses you further into the wall behind, and slowly, slowly winds down. Weirdly, you think his last couple of pecks feel sorry, softer and sweeter. 

Your lips buzz. 

"Why'd you buy me that fancy drink if you were gonna tip it all over me?" you ask good-naturedly when he finally pulls back. 

"You looked too nice today." His deadpan voice wars with the smile on his face. "I'm sorry. We'll go find you something to change into." 

"Was it really that important that you kiss me right then?" you ask, feigning disdain. 

He looks out toward the main street again. "Yes. Where do you want to go? There's a Nordstrom." 

You take a sip of your drink, unsurprised when he takes your hand and starts to lead you toward the department stores. "Have you ever been inside of a Nordstrom?" 

"I'm sure I'll figure it out."

— 

The fifth time is the straw that breaks the camel's back. Or the brick. It feels heavier than a strand of straw. It's technically already come to pass, so it's an invisible brick. 

You're out for coffee by yourself which really means you're out for something sweet, bundled up in a coat and scarf to fight the night-time chill. 

"Thank you," you tell the barista, accepting your drink and receipt with a smile. 

You turn around and almost walk straight into a pretty dark-haired woman with really nice hair. You make a note to tell Aaron about it when you see him next, not because he'll care but because he likes to hear what you've been thinking about. And right now, all you can think about is her feathered bangs. 

I want nice bangs, you think offhandedly. 

"I'm sorry," you say, trying to move around her. 

She steps into your path. 

"Sorry," you say again. 

She's squinting at you, thin eyebrows peeking out from behind her hair. "Sorry, have we met?" she asks. 

You try not to be too hasty, but you're not sure you've ever seen her. You stare at her as she stares at you, and you get a tiny inkling of familiarity, but it's gone as quick as it comes. 

"I'm really sorry, I don't think so," you murmur, tilting your head to one side. 

She bites her lip, let's it go. "Oh!" she says excitedly, voice bright with triumph. "Oh oh oh! I know who you are, you're Hotch's mysterious girlfriend!" 

Your smile turns quizzical. You know nearly everybody calls Aaron 'Hotch'. Whenever you try it he either gives you the silent treatment or covers your mouth with his hand. 

"I'm Emily Prentiss, I work in the BAU," she explains rapidly, shoving her purse under her hand to offer it for a handshake. 

You do the same and shake her hand. Introducing yourself feels awkward. She knows you. You don't have a clue who she is. Only- 

"Oh, I know who you are now, I'm sorry I didn't recognise you before!" you say contritely. "I've seen photos of you and the team together. It's really nice to meet you." 

She nods. "It's nice to meet you too. I have to say, we've been dying to meet you. We even have a betting pool on what you're like, because Hotch barely says a thing about you." 

You try not to look as devastated as you feel, re-wrapping your fingers around your cup. "No?" 

"We didn't even know what you looked like until we saw you the other day. We came looking to say hi and you'd disappeared." 

You lick your dry lips. "The other day?" 

"Yeah, last Friday. We were out for impromptu drinks, celebrating a case. You know, you should come with sometime. It would be fun." 

Emily talks each word with an undertone of good humour. She's stunning, bubbly, and her hair flows around her face with every movement. 

"He really doesn't talk about me?" 

Emily drops into girl code niceties, backtracking. "I mean, not too often. We catch him smiling at his phone and hear your voice sometimes when you call. He seems happy. Well, happy as Hotch can seem." She swallows. "He's a private creature."

He doesn't talk about me. 

You pretend to check your watch. 

"It was really good to meet you," you say, voice airy with a feigned nonchalance. 

"Yeah, of course. Super nice," Emily says. 

You smile at her. It's more like a grimace. By the time you're outside of the coffee shop you're too upset to care, a humiliated shock of tears brewing behind your achy eyes. 

You hold your cup to your chest and unzip your purse to tuck the receipt inside, trying to maintain some control. There's a folded note inside, thick cardstock quartered. 

You take it out. Your fingers tremble with offended adrenaline. 

You're beautiful. 

Short, sweet, extremely Aaron Hotchner. Too bad you can't believe it. 

Emily Prentiss being out and about means the BAU are done for the night, though whether your workaholic boyfriend got the memo is anyone's best guess. You're not sure if it's better or worse if he's in work when you call. You're so upset that you can't help yourself. 

"Hi, honey." 

"Do you really think I'm beautiful?" you ask, staving off tears with all your willpower. 

"I wouldn't write it if I didn't mean it. That one took you a while to find, I was-" 

"Are you sure?" 

"...Are you okay?" 

You glare up at the dark sky rather than answer, blinking hard to force down your tears. You really don't wanna cry, but it's been a bad day and meeting Emily has made it worse. No matter how hard you try to think otherwise, all signs point to Aaron being ashamed of you. Embarrassed to be with you. He's hiding your relationship from everybody. 

"Am I- Is it my clothes? My job?" 

"What's wrong with your clothes?" 

"You tell me, detective." 

You're getting angry. He's- he's lying, or he's messing with you. He's making fun of you. At least that's how it feels. 

"Where are you right now?" he asks. You can picture him shrugging on his suit jacket, putting his files in order to come and meet you. 

You don't want to see him. "I'm at the coffee shop by your apartment. I actually ran into somebody, and I'm feeling very well-informed." A first tear bumps down your cheek. You ignore it. 

"I don't understand." 

"I don't understand! What am I doing wrong?" You bite your tongue in last ditch efforts to remain intact, but the tears won't hold off any longer. You swallow a sob. "What's wrong with me?" 

"Nothing. Nothing, honey, nothing is wrong with you." 

You wipe your wet face with mean hands. 

"Stay where you are. I'll come and meet you." 

"No. I don't wanna see you." 

"Honey-" 

"Leave me alone, Aaron." 

You hang up. You walk for a while, feeling as though steam is rising off of your flushed skin with every clumsy step. It had been a short phone call and already you can't remember what you said, all you can feel is angry, and then that runs out and all you can do is cry. 

You've never felt incredibly attractive. Aaron makes you feel better than that — he has the uncanny ability to inspire self-confidence with a loaded look alone. He can smile at you and your skin feels like it's glowing. 

So why doesn't that translate? If he thinks you're so pretty, why does he insist on hiding you away?

Because that day, he'd seen his friends. He could've introduced you but he took you down the alley and kissed you so you wouldn't be seen. That's not too busy: That's secretive. 

That kiss. You fooled yourself into thinking you must've looked irresistible. Fuck. You went home that night thinking you were the best thing since sliced bread. 

"I'm so stupid," you mutter, sniffling. 

Your self deprecation is muffled by the sound of a slowing car. You don't look up. There are two possibilities for who it is, and you don't want to deal with either. 

The car parks and then you do look up. Despite how mad you are you're not suicidal, and Aaron's given you extensive coaching on sex trafficking. 

It's him. Shocker. 

You're half-expecting him to reprimand you. You didn't look up until I parked. You know it takes five seconds to snatch and incapacitate someone? 

He looks haphazardly put together. Suit jacket on but tie loosened, he rounds the hood of his car and joins you on the sidewalk. You don't want to play games with him. He really doesn't need it, he didn't sign up for it, and drama isn't your style, but you're sick of this. 

"You want to tell me what you're thinking?" he asks, standing an amicable two feet away, hands at his hips.

"I'm really mad." 

"What else?" 

"I'm thinking," you say, looking down at your cold hands, "that you… That you're…" You rub your cheek into your shoulder to hide a fresh tear. "I don't know, Aaron. I'm thinking lots of things." 

"Do you want to think about them in the car?" he asks. 

Do you want to talk about it?

You don't want to talk about it. You don't like crying in front of him on a good day. 

You're pretty sure he'll combust on the spot if he knows you're walking home alone in the dark and distracted. 

You get in the car. He has the good sense not to touch your shoulders like he normally would. 

You buckle as soon as you've closed the passenger side door. "I'm sorry," you mumble, looking down at your knees. 

"Let's forget that, for now." He turns the key but doesn't pull out. "Tell me what's upset you and I'll explain." 

"I met Emily Prentiss." 

He looks at you out of the corner of his eye.

"She told me that you don't talk about me. Ever. That they didn't even know what I looked like." 

You know he's listening but he keeps his eyes on the road, and you chance a look at the side of his face. He doesn't seem mad. 

"I don't talk about you often," he says. "But that doesn't mean never… It's true that they didn't know what you look like." 

"Until last week, when they saw us together and you pulled me into an alley so they couldn't see me." 

"Yes." 

Your lower lip trembles. "Do you see why that would upset me?" You're asking genuinely. 

"Yeah, honey." 

Your head jolts up. He's diverting his gaze from the road to you intermittently, offering up a regretful grimace. The oncoming headlights splash over his work worn face. 

"Then why are you doing this? What's so wrong with me that you won't even admit we're together?" 

"Nothing is wrong with you. I'm not ashamed of you," he says firmly, volume rising. 

"Then why?" 

His eyebrows pull together. "You're the best person I've ever met that isn't my son, and I selfishly don't want to share you yet. I also don't want to scare you off." 

You pull your sleeves over your hands and turn in your seat, wiping your damp cheeks as he continues. 

"My job is hard, and it's dangerous. It has jeopardised the safety and wellbeing of people I love before. So no, I'm not eager to introduce you to my world. The more intertwined with my life that you become, the more danger I put you in, and…" The car slows down again. He turns to look at you. "And I like that I'm the only one who knows you like this.

"I have been hiding you. I have. But it was a," — his tone turns wry — "misguided attempt at keeping you all to myself. Safe, and to myself." 

You're finding it difficult to be mad with him. 

He's finding it difficult to maintain his poker face. A fat tear rolls down your cheek and you're not sure what it's made of, fatigue or relief or plain hurt, whatever it is he doesn't like it. He pulls over. 

You hold still as he pinches the tear off of your chin. 

"How long have you felt like this?" 

"Like what?" you ask wetly. 

"Like this." He opens his hand against your cheek. It encompasses your face; you lean in, hungry for reassurance. 

"I don't know." 

"This is why you changed your hair. Your clothes. And started making my lunch." 

You cover his hand with your own. "I actually really like making your lunches." 

You stare at each other until suddenly you're laughing, sniffly, short of breath. Aaron joins in soon after. He always sounds so surprised to be laughing.

"I'm glad," he says when your laughter has abated, pinky and ring finger caressing down the slope of your cheek. "I really like having them. Rossi can't hide how jealous he is." 

"They know about the lunches?" 

His mindless petting pauses. "They know about the lunches. You're not a secret. I'm… selfish with the details. I'm selfish." Aaron takes back his hand. "I'm sorry." 

You take as deep a breath as you can. "Okay." 

"Yeah?" 

"Mm. Can we go home?" 

His eyebrows jump and swiftly smooth again. "Yeah, we can go home." He chucks your chin and gets the car moving again. 

You watch him drive. 

When you get home, he doesn't mind reassuring you some more. Actually, it's like he needs to do it. You'd love to say that it's overkill and that his low murmurings of praise are unnecessary, but you can't. 

"You're lovely," he says seriously across two plates of pasta. Again through the mirror when you're brushing your teeth, and again when you've curled into his chest for the night. You're lovely. Nothing that needs hiding. 

You hear him on the phone early in the morning, half asleep. 

"Hey, Dave. Yeah. Okay. Uh… No, that's fine." He laughs under his breath. "Yeah, if she was awake I'd ask her to make you one. I think she would… Okay. See you in forty." 

You bury your tired face into his pillows and beam. 

—

+1 

Aaron's office is terrifyingly hectic. You can see already that the bullpen is full to bursting with agents, including but not limited to his special team of profilers. There's the distinct smell of coffee, sharp and burning, and then the underlay of printer ink, new paper. 

You can't believe you're here. 

You're not brave enough to introduce yourself to his team, and half aren't at their desks anyways. You hover in the doorway until somebody needs to get past you, taking a reluctant step inside.

You shouldn't wait for Aaron. You should be brave. You're a grown up, and you're bringing your grown up partner his very grown up lunch. You'd wanted desperately to do this. The least that you can do is do it by yourself. 

You've scrapped most of the fall staples but kept the burgundy pants Aaron likes so much at his request. They feel insanely tight on your thighs, as does your collar. In fact, the room has definitely shrunk since you got here. 

Like an idiot, Aaron says your name loud and clear, standing with a hand on the railings at the top of the instep. You hadn't even noticed him emerging from his office.

His voice demands — commands — attention. People turn in their seats, first toward him, and then toward you. 

All eyes on me. 

You don't run but you don't walk either, weaving through desk chairs and people looking a mix of busy and curious.

"You're being cruel," you say as you approach him, a brown paper bag held close to your abdomen. 

"Hi, honey," he says. He wears a knowing smile, all dark and tall and handsome as he starts down the stairs to meet you. 

"Don't punish me." 

"Is that what you'd call this?" he asks, hand quick to clasp your shoulder, glueing you in place so he can kiss your forehead.

And yes, this is what you'd wanted. The doting boyfriend not just at home but at work, too.

That doesn't mean it isn't really, really embarrassing. 

"Is everyone looking at me?" you murmur. 

He slips his arm behind your shoulders to walk you up the stairs. "Yes." His voice drops lower. "At one place specifically, I imagine." 

"What part is that, Agent?" 

He laughs and opens his office door to beckon you inside. "Don't start." 

༺༻

my first hotch fic omg. i did a big character study beforehand but i doubt it's entirely in character, hotch is a difficult character to write for! (and im only at season 4). but this was so fun and he's hot so it's worth it. if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging! i promise it makes a difference to me (and also i love seeing what people thought). thank you for reading!! ♥

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner reader insert #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner hurt/comfort #if this feels ooc thats not my fault (it is) i tried very hard (some effort was made) and he's really hard to write (he's fit)

[rodolfoparras]

Thinking about being the second option’s second option.

Pairing: Male Character x Top Male reader

cw: 18+, power dynamics, age gaps, blowjobs, riding, dom!male reader, sub!male character, unrequited love, love triangles, jealousy, possessiveness

You wouldn’t otherwise be on his radar, maybe you were much younger than him, maybe he was your superior and you his subordinates and anything beyond a professional relationship would be highly inappropriate or maybe you just weren’t his type.

But God you had tried to approach him and many times at a - a subtle comment here and there that could mean more if he just followed up on it, a longing gaze or a light touch that he promptly ignored or played off, you’d even mustered up the courage to fess up your feelings one time only to get rejected immediately.

He was interested in someone else, or at least that’s what he had said when you confessed and that had been enough for you to completely back off.

A week later or so and you saw him with that very same someone in tow. However you’d quickly realized he’d been tasked with patching up wounds he himself didn’t cause because it was so blatantly obvious that the person in question was in love with someone that wasn’t him. He’d been blind to see or didn’t want to see and even though you had in mind to tell him you’d stuck to the promise you made yourself, and stayed away from him.

However it hadn’t been long before you’d been assigned the very same task- patching up wounds you didn’t cause for the man that had rejected you once.

He showed up with tears in his eyes and a couple of drinks in his system begging you to make him forget. You rejected him at the spot told him to come back when his lips didn’t taste like gin and tonic.

You didn’t think he would come back but he did and soon you had your all too good superior down on his knees, warm wet mouth eagerly sucking you in like he’s been waiting for this opportunity

But you weren’t easily fooled you knew the eagerness wasn’t for you.

Although his eyes were locked with yours you could see the distant look on his face, clearly imagining someone else in your place but none of that mattered not when his lips were stretched taut around your cock, not when he’s got his nose buried in your sweat damp fringe of curls and your cockhead is hitting the back of his throat, and not when you could taste yourself on his mouth when you finally slotted your lips together

But it didn’t end there because he’d continue to show up whenever the wounds reopened which was rather often. Not that you minded , not when you had the older man bent in ways that had all the joints in his body aching in protest, one hand fisting his salt and pepper hair the other clawing the sheets while fucking himself harder, deeper onto your dick

Harder faster more please he sobs into the sheets, a name that isn’t your own neatly tucked in between the begs and pleas, eyes squeezed shut as if he’s imagining someone else in front of him

But you couldn’t care less not when you’re the one who gets to feel his walls clenching down onto your dick, not when you’re the one who gets to lick the tears away from his cheek not when you’re the reason he’s cumming in such way he hasn’t done in years.

And while you lay there wrapped up in white sheets basking in the afterglow of your release, you watch the way he hastily puts the clothes back on his body, ever so determined not to spend the night.

You were no fool, you knew what type of relationship you had, you were just here to patch up his wounds and nothing more than that.

Besides you were nowhere near his type at least if you were to compare yourself to the men he approached at bars yet you were the one to have the bigger man pinned beneath your frame, strong body bent in half and practically skewed onto your cock, deep baritone voice reduced to wails and whines as he begs and pleads for you to let him cum.

#top male reader #dom male reader #x male reader #male reader #John price x reader #John price x male reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x male reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x male reader #tommy kinard #Tommy kinard x male reader #Tommy kinard x reader #top reader #dom reader #sub male character #bottom male character

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Yandere DILF! Reaction to You Having a Boyfriend

Warnings: Yandere Behaviour, Obsessive Behaviour, Possessive Behaviour, Age Gap, Suggestive Themes, Stalking, Monitoring, Implied Yandere MILF, Implicit Threats, Implied Blackmail, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except ‘You’.

♡ There is no measure of fury capable of being held or produced by Hell and Earth that can rival that which fires through Dominic’s veins.

♡ At first, he didn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it. That his (Y/N) would sever his heart from his chest and run it into the ground.

♡ He thinks – knows – that you’re being held against your will. That’s the only reasonable explanation for this…lapse in judgement, as he sees it.

♡ However, when he watches you from his window leaping into your male friend’s arms, being swung in a display of greatest enthusiasm, Dominic knows he’s being delusional. A rare instance of self-awareness.

♡ Initially, he considers this a curse; the fact that your heart lay in the hands of another. But, the longer he stewed over this development, considered any and every point that would grant him vantage, he began to see it as liberation. A cover beneath which he could operate until he struck from the bushes, his viperous intent strengthening.

♡ He is still amidst the throws of fury, but his wrath is not directed towards you. Rather, that juvenile sack of meat and electricity you donated your time to.

♡ Dominic knows that your ‘boyfriend’ will never love you like he does; that you won’t understand how boys are interested in one thing only. Dominic should know; he’d been a young man once. His psychology was his greatest burden and insight.

♡ He starts taking note of your new, adjusted schedule; the days you reserve for your dates – a long-dead excursion in Dominic’s eyes, not having felt any excitement on a ‘date’ aside from his chance encounters with you.

♡ He follows you, sees which restaurants, cinemas, arcades, shopping centres you enter. And, when the moment is right, when he sees the two of you at the pinnacle of happiness, he acts.

♡ In whatever way he can, he breaks up your dates, saying how it’s “Crazy that you’re here, (Y/N) – what a coincidence,”

♡ When you introduce him to your boyfriend, he flashes a smile only he can see is disingenuous. Grabbing your boyfriend’s hand and shaking it with enough force to give the impression that your boyfriend is weak – boneless – compared to Dominic, the former of the two taken off-balance.

♡ “Better watch your step there, Kid,” he says. There’s grit in the road of his voice, but you’re  piloting an aircraft. Your boyfriend is on a bicycle.

♡ “You’re no use to (Y/N) broken,” he jokes. Something flashes behind his eyes. “Or dead.”

♡ He insists that he drop the two of you home. He knows neither of you drove here.

♡ You can’t say no to your favourite neighbour, who lets you sit in the front seat while he makes your tag-along sit in the back like an animal. An outcast.

♡ Anything to make him look weak. Undesirable. The runt of the proverbial litter.

♡ Dominic drops you home. Tells you he’ll be back soon. And, without asking for directions, begins his embarkation to your boyfriend’s home.

♡ Neither say a word to each other. Seemingly aware of their position in each other’s world.

♡ Pulling up outside your third wheel’s house, Dominic leaves him with only a parting phrase.

♡ “Imagine what else I know about you. What little secrets you’ve been keeping.” He serves a frozen stare in the rearview mirror. “If you leave (Y/N) alone, you’ll never have to find out.”

♡ You never saw your boyfriend again after that. Never heard a peep from him over text, never received a call, never even saw him walk down the street.

♡ Of course, you were confused. But more so, you felt uprooted. Forcibly extracted from the life of someone you cared deeply about. Someone who, evidently, didn’t care as much about you.

♡ Eventually, after monitoring you for those first three weeks, those three, long weeks where every inch was laden with shattered glass and stretched on into infinity, Dominic came to you.

♡ Offered you comfort.

♡ He only wished he could have come sooner, but he knew you’d just react with anger. An emotion he couldn’t risk you feeling towards him, even for a second.

♡ And, just as he’d rehearsed a million times, just as he’d lay in bed, sat in his office losing himself to the phantom of your fleeting warmth he’d patchworked together into a blanket from your previous encounters, he came to your door. Knocked. Entered your home. Opened his arms to you.

♡ And the collective euphoria from his every vivid daydream couldn’t compare to the electric joy which made his heart stop. Resuscitated him.

♡ Your head was to his chest before he could encase you in his embrace. He lay his arms upon you, the snake to your Eve, and held you.

♡ “It’s okay, Darling,” he said, his voice low, as if his wife could hear from across the street. Or from the camera she’d implanted into that new vase she’d bought you last week.

♡ You twitched in his arms with every sob. Dominic could feel your tears soaking through his shirt. His now-favourite shirt. One which he’d never wash again.

♡ In his languid daydreams, he’d imagined you thanking him thoroughly for his kindness, his empathy, professing how you’d been so blind to his love before submitting to him entirely.

♡ But, for now, this victory was enough. To have you as close as you’d ever been, your body curled into his chest as he ran a hand through your hair, your warmth leaking into him.

♡ His warmth that he wanted to see leaking out of you.

♡ His lips to your hair, he resisted the tempestuous temptation to take you now. At your most vulnerable, most suggestible. Your most submissive.

♡ To show you that he can please you in ways no mere boy can.

♡ Instead, he took to trying not to inhale your scent, replace one vice with another, to not replenish his memory of you anew.

♡ “I’m here. I’m here.”

♡ His voice is soft, feather-light. It belies all he has done to get to where he is now.

♡ And all he will do to get to where he needs to be.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Yandere AI Masterlist Masterpost

AO3 Wattpad

#yandere #yandere male #male yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere smut #tw yandere #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere blog #yancore #yanderecore #reader insert #original yandere #yandere drabble

[popopretty]

[Translation] Asagiri Kafka's afterwords for The Day I Picked up Dazai novel

Normally, afterwords would be the last thing I read in a novel, but as there are not many changes to the published novel this time compared to the movie bonus version, I was able to skim through the text quickly and get to this. And to be honest, despite not being a writer myself, I was so moved by Asagiri's views about writing and his characters that he shared in the afterwords, that I had to sit down and translate it right away.

This is just my crappy translation, as usual, but I hope it gave you a short, interesting look into the author and the characters. And please do not forget to buy the novel if you have the chance.

The translation is under the cut, thank you!

It has been a while. This is Asagiri Kafka.

Have you been enjoying Bungou Stray Dogs?

This novel, “The Day I Picked up Dazai”, is a compilation of the first week’s bonus novel “The Day I Picked up Dazai – Side A” and the second week’s bonus novel “The Day I Picked up Dazai – Side B” for the screening of “Bungou Stray Dogs BEAST” movie (hereinafter referred to as “BEAST”).

Normally, it is difficult to publish a bonus like this, but since "BEAST” and “Fifteen” that were published earlier by BEANS Bunko were originally bonus novels too, "The Day I Picked up Dazai” was also published in the same way, thanks to the efforts of all parties involved in the Bungou Stray Dogs series.

It is the story of Dazai and Odasaku’s first meeting, where Dazai who wants to die, collapsed in front of Odasaku’s place, who is neither a mafioso nor a hit man.

Why are there two different stores, Side A and Sode B? Regarding this question, please read the novel and see for yourself. If you keep in mind that this is the bonus for the BEAST movie, I think you will be able to understand it better.

Let me reminisce a little bit here.

This story was actually suggested to me by Igarashi Takuya, Director of the Bungou Stray Dogs anime.

Shortly before BEAST movie premiered, I was struggling. It was because I was asked to write a bonus novel for movie-goers again. I said “again” because, as I mentioned earlier, BEAST itself was a bonus novel for the Bungou Stray Dogs DEAD APPLE movie. I remembered having a hard time writing it, because I let myself run wild and wrote a total of 190 pages instead of 50 pages as requested.

But I had learnt my lesson after the last rampage. I can’t just write whatever I want anymore. I have to wrap the story in a reasonable length, like a pro should do.

A proper, professional story.

Huh?

My pen stopped right there. I stopped, looked around, feeling lost.

What is a proper story?

The act of writing novel is quite different in character compared to other types of media such as writing manga, anime scripts, or game scenarios. You can say it is almost a different thing. Writing novels, rather than narrating an event, is more like putting the flow of emotions into specific sentences. You use the sequence of letters to create rhythms, create flows, and create emotions. If anything, it might be closer to composing a song than writing a story.

Therefore, you have to decide “what kind of emotion will be put in this novel” from the very beginning, or you can’t start writing. That is the only and absolute rule.

Now, however, that is where the condition of a “proper story” hung over me.

A proper novel, of a proper volume, with a proper content for a bonus.

In other words, a proper emotion.

I searched through the drawers inside my head. For a proper emotion that is waiting to be brought out.

There was nothing but emptiness there.

A professional story teller is one with the skill to move the readers’ emotions. When people find the chance to move their own emotions, they will happily be paying for it. Human-being is that kind of creature.

And writers are ones who create and sell those kinds of emotions: the fear, the excitement, the heart throb etc., those that make you think. It is that kind of job.

It is supposed to be that kind of job.

Yet I became unable to move forward.

A good story is a story that moves people. I know that. Then what kind of emotion I should put in the story to make it "proper"?

How do I find that emotion?

I mean, how did I even write novels until now?

I stood still. My legs stiffened, my knees froze, unable to take even a step forward.

I then tried to at least pretend that I was moving forward, by listening to music, by taking a walk around the neighborhood at night. But as good as the night breeze felt, I didn’t manage to reach a single story that I needed to write.

What if I stayed like this forever, what would I do?

I felt a chill plunging into my back.

Then I realized, that stories, or probably emotions too, are not things you can search for or come up with. You have no choice but to patiently wait for it to come your way. You have no choice but to humbly and earnestly sit and wait for the story’s visit.

I got that, but the "proper 50-page story” still refused to come.

It was not long before one week passed. Then two weeks.

I was doing other work, while keeping my heart’s door open, waiting for the story to come to me.

At that time, I had an online meeting with the anime staff. I casually asked Director Igarashi, “Do you have any story you want to see?”

The Director gave it a little thought then told me, "I want to see the story of Dazai and Oda’s encounter”.

At that very moment, the story rushed in through my door, like a bang. I could hear that sound very clearly.

Two stories. Odasaku, and the two Dazais. A story where they met, and a story where they couldn’t meet. A story of gain and a story of loss. If I can portray the gain and loss side by side, the amplitude of the heart will be doubled and rise up in front of us.

That was a momentary event. Rather than pushing my way forward, I felt as if something was pulling my hand. Before I noticed, I have already finished the stories.

I came to realize.

It is not the writer who searches for the story. It is the story that chooses its writer, and at some point it will come our way. A professional writer is no more than someone with the ability to catch that call.

Also, this is the most important thing: there is no such thing as a “proper emotion”. Because after all, the feelings of other people belong to them only. That is why there is no guarantee that a novel can move others “properly”. However, you can move your own emotions. You know what kind of novel can and how it will move you. If you do, you can write just that. That’s the only way. That is the truly professional attitude. That’s what I thought.

Well then.

It is a little bit off topic, but as we are talking about “stories that come our way”, let’s talk about Odasaku’s first-person narrative.

Odasaku is a special character. For me, he is exclusively a novel character, and I have never portrayed him in the manga.

He first appeared as the narrator in “Dazai Osamu and The Dark Era”, then “BEAST” and now this “The Day I Picked up Dazai”. All are novels. That’s why for me, Odasaku doesn’t live inside the pictures, he lives inside the first-person narrative passages.

He is an eccentric guy. Even if you prepare the place and tell him to speak, he won’t speak to you that easily. His way of thinking is rather unique, that if I write his narrative after writing other characters’ first-person narrative, I would stumble for sure. Odasaku doesn’t speak. He just sits there in silence, while I can do nothing but sitting in front of my blank manuscript paper, trying to talk to him, like “What’s up?”, “Here, here”. However, he is a guy who won’t speak when it is not necessary. Sometimes it goes days or even weeks without him saying a word. Why did such a character come to me...?

During such time, there is only one thing I can do. That is, of course, to stay with him, sit patiently, and simply wait.

Finally he will start speaking. In his unique rhythm, word by word. His words have the power to cut through the world from a certain angle. That special cross-section is full of things I have never seen before and it never fails to surprise me.

And then when he finishes telling his story, he will swiftly disappear. To a dark and quiet place somewhere – probably, I can only imagine, somewhere like a bar. He will sit there calmly and keep his own time to himself. After that, it will be hard to call him again. It is a backbreaking task to me, but in the end, that is the type of guy Odasaku is, and if I am allowed to sound self-conscious, that is Odasaku's charm.

This story was written in such a way. There is a chance that he will come back again. And when he does, I will patiently listen to his voice again.

This story was completed and published thanks to the help of many people: in the Bungou Stray Dogs BEAST movie’s Production Committee, the anime staff, Young Ace’s Editorial Department, BEANS Bunko’s Editorial Department, and the many people who were involved in the publication of the book. Thank you very much. It is all thanks to you that the book was published without any problem this time as well.

Well then, see you in the next story.

Asagiri Kafka.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #the day i picked up dazai #traánlation

[angelltheninth]

Jing Yuan NSFW Alphabet

Pairing: Jing Yuan x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, rough sex, aftercare, cunnilingus, marking, cum eating, toy use, masturbation, boob appreciation, kissing, cuddles, wall sex, blowjob, hallways sex, begging, quickie

A/N: This is so damn long lmao. Written for @hellolavendarsky.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Jing Yuan lets you have a few minutes to settle down before he pulls his cock out of you. His aftercare usually includes carrying you to the bath to help you wash yourself and wrapping you up in a really thick, soft and fluffy towel afterwards, making you feel safe and comfy. He loves to lay you on his chest, letting you be on top while you talk to him about the things you enjoyed.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On you his favorite is your stomach, he's a big enjoyer of that, no matter what your body type if. As long as there's enough of you to kiss, maybe nibble and lay his head on to rest he really couldn't care less. One of his favorite body parts are his shoulders. They're always like a place for his badges of honor, and by that he means all the bites and nail marks you leave on him while's fucking you into the surface you're having sex on.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Almost addicted to the taste of your cum. His doesn't really interest him that much unless it's inside your holes. But your cum needs to be on his tongue at least once every time he has sex with you. Drinking it down, lapping it up like he hasn't drank anything all day and making a show of licking it off his lips and swallowing it, humming at your taste right before he goes in for more.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He keeps sex toys in a secret box in his office. They're not always for him to use on you, sometimes he's feeling so pent up and he needs the release to function normally for the rest of the day. Thank god he's never been caught using them or that no one has found his stash cause he's been slowly adding onto it since he met you.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Could find his way around your body with his eyes closed. There aren't many things he hasn't tried yet in his many years. He's hot, famous, a good person, very well respected so he's had many partners in his time. Not one to compare the experience levels unless it's necessary to do so, like if you're hesitant to try something and he's tried it before, he'll tell you all about it, how to be safe during it.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Anything that can give him a nice view of your tits or ass jiggling is great. If he's within boob grabbing or sucking reach that's even better. Reverse cowgirl is really good when he wants to feel and see your ass smacking against his abs but in this position he can't see your face so he would rather have you on your side, one leg over his shoulder and fucking his cock in you that way. He can see your face, touch your boobs and your ass all in one.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Keeps things pretty lighthearted even when he's playing up the more dominant aspect of his personality. Is serious only if he needs to reassure you of something or explain something to you. Otherwise he would much rather keep things cheerful and teasing for the both of you.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Jing Yuan is extremely well groomed and keeps all his body hair neatly trimmed at all times. His hair is of course one of his selling points so he would be stupid not to maintain it. Actually has more hair-care products then you do and thought it was hilarious when you asked if you could borrow his shampoo. Sure you can, he likes smelling his scent on you.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Intimacy is a big deal to him. Even when you were only having sex in his office and weren't official yet he always put a lot of emphasis on intimacy. Touching your face, kissing your fingers, keeping your bodies close so you can feel each other's orgasm everywhere, inside and out, kissing you until your lungs hurt, it was always, always a big part of sex for him.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Masturbates in the morning and in the noon when he's at work. Doing it at work always brought a bit of a risk with it but when he's got to do it he's just got to do it. He's been caught by you before, with his pants fully down and your picture in his hand. Who else would he think about while handling his cock? Always tries to be quick about it, but is slow when it comes to making love.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Very much into ropes and leashes, specifically on you. He would love to treat you as his little pet, his bitch that's always, always in heat and ready to suck his cock the moment he feels him tug on your leash. It's also good for control, when you're riding him, no matter of you're facing him or not he can pull you back, control your pace. He can also tie you up, completely or partially, or if you want you can tie him up and only have him able to thrust into you and endure your mouth edging him until he can break free.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

The hallway. Any kind of a hallway will do. When he fucks you in the hallway it's a dead give away that you're both so god damn horny for each other that you can't possibly wait to be in a proper enclosed space. Hell lift you up, pin you to the wall, hold you by your thighs and watch as his cock plummets in and out of your pussy, your panties held to the side by you.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Usually when you're being shy about it. He needs to coax it out of you, he needs to make you say you want him or else he's not doing it. It's such a fun game of cat and mouse, you have no idea how much he likes it. When you can't say it and he denies you, when he's almost out the door and you yell at him to wait and throw your arms around him, your voice barely above a whisper as you beg, pretty please can he fuck you, can he make you come.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Really rough play. Slapping you and manhandling you from time to time is okay but he is very away of how strong he is. He would never want to risk making you bleed or seeing you in tears from the pain he's caused. Painplay is a huge no for him.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Ideally he would like both at the same time. He likes giving a little more because that way he can hear your moans a little more clearly but having you struggling to talk while choking on his cock is a good sound too. Oral sex is almost always part of your love making session, weather before or after penetration for clean up.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Really depends on the amount of time you have. He likes taking it slow but whenever he does he prolongs the foreplay a little too long and ends up overstimulating your poor pussy before his cock even gets in. And he can lose control very easily when it comes to his speed, when you give him the green light he will fuck you so hard you're scared he's gonna break you. Never, but he can get you close, as long as you're enjoying it.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

At least a few times a week, most often when you visit him in his office. There have been many meetings delayed by him because visited unexpectedly and instead of going over papers he ended up balls deep inside of you while you're bent over his desk. Good thing that he's the boss so no one can fire him for it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He wouldn't be nearly as experianced if he didn't take risks in his sex life. If there's something, anything that you would like to try with him please tell him. He'll try anything once, as long as he can ensure your safety during it. If it's something really risky then he'll make sure to talk to someone who's already tried it to make it the safest it can be.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

What you would call a stamina monster. The recovery period is also a bit shorter then most men, which he doesn't attribute to his stamina but rather having sex with such a hot woman with a great pussy. How could his cock stay soft when there are so many more orgasms to give you and more holes of yours to fill? But he can also use his fingers and mouth too, until he's hard again. Keep moaning, it helps a lot.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Owns a lot of toys and his collection only grows. For his pleasure he always keeps a cocksleeve in his office, which can vibrate and suck. Vibrators can be for you both, and bullet vibrators too. He really likes keeping a tiny one against your clit while you suck him off so you have constant stimulation.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

It's one of his favorite types of foreplay. Teasing has also been a big part of him winning you over and making you fall in love with him. There's never a bad time to lean in and bite on your ear or give you a little slap on the ass. He's not nearly as easy to tease back, almost impossible, the only time you can do so is if he's drunk.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Depends on if you're at home or somewhere more public. He's pretty vocal either way but the volume will vary. You swear he was raised by lions because he's always growling and humming and grunting and sighing against you. It's hot when you're alone and he floods your pussy with hot cum, screaming, roaring his release into the heavens but when you could get caught you have to be kissing him almost all the time to stop all of his noises.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Insanely turned on when you call him 'sir' or 'boss'. Thankfully this only happens when you call him these things and not the people that actually work for him cause that would be really awkward. If you say these things as a joke he'll get really pouty because his brain associates them with sex, and therefore he will get an erection. Which is why you use these words when you have sex or when you want to have sex with him.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

No surprise that he's is in very, very good shape. Muscles all over his body, a six pact that you can grind and come all over, legs for days and a cock to match. His cock is both long and girthy, which took a lot out of you the first time you had sex. He's pretty veiny as well but that ads a little bit to the texture and the pressure, not to mention you can always feel him pulsing nicely in your hand or mouth.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Jing Yuan has a pretty high sex drive, which is hard to match with most of his previous partners. You had some trouble too, at first but he's never put any pressure on you to match him. He can control himself just fine and if he's really pent up there's always his hand and the toy collection he has.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He never falls asleep right after sex, nor do you because he always has a bath ready for the two of you to properly relax in. Only after that is he ready to sleep and even then it takes him a while. He really likes to watch your eyes close, your body press against his and your breathing slow down. When he's sure you're in a deep sleep he can finally let himself sleep too.

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #jing yuan x reader #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail headcanon #hsr imagine #hsr headcanon #jing yuan imagine #jing yuan headcanons #honkai star rail smut #hsr smut #jing yuan smut #honkai star rail x female reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x female reader #hsr x you #jing yuan x female reader #jing yuan x you #hsr jing yuan #x female reader #nsft alphabet

[rassicas]

my general Side Order thoughts:

I don't have much of anything groundbreaking to say. I haven't publicly said much in relation to side order in the first place, i don't want to build up crazy expectations, and I've seen much of the fanbase making solid theories anyways. also there has been a lot less information compared to ROTM which is great, I don't want to be able to predict the whole story before the game comes out. I'd rather be surprised like i was with octo expansion! here I just want to put out my thoughts real quick so people know where I stand and that yes i am aware of the Hints and Foreshadowing

Marina's quote at the end of her interview in Splatune 3 is relevant of course, gives us a sense of what this whole world of order is. But did she build it this whole digital simulation, or was it something she found? (mix of both perhaps? found it, contributed to parts of it and it went out of her control?)

Mem cakes, agent 8, cerebral theming...very interested where this all goes. love all the references to OE keep em coming

People have been talking about this already, and the foreshadowing was acknowledged back in haikara walker in 2018. the hat logos on dedf1sh and paul gotta be connected to this thing.

It'd be a huge waste for a more grown-up paul to not show up in s3, either as someone mentioned by Acht or for him to make some sort of musical return post side order.

Glen fiddler has always been interesting to me (in that i anticipated he would become plot relevant somehow) with how he was fully 3d modeled in his sunken scroll. im not 100% on if hes gonna be in side order but the copy machine connections in side order (the fish skeletons in splatoween, also the recent poster?) are sus

^has to be agent 4. of course. seeing enemy inklings instead of enemy octolings sounds awesome btw

I'm expecting the inkopolis square hub to come back as a thing you can access post-game. pearl and marina splatfest concerts

iso padre please come back to me (maybe in said inkopolis square hub world)

who the fuck are you. not a mantis shrimp, looks too soft to be a crustacean to me. closest thing i can compare this to is a black dragonfish nymph but i kind of doubt it. maybe it is some guy who was created to manage things, like CQ to the deepsea metro?

#side order #splatoon

[chocmarss]

One of my favourite hcs I like from the Tolkein fandom is when the dwarves would insist that Bilbo is, in fact, a prince. A lord, at the very least. That is taking into account that they’re comparing with Middle Earth’s standards of who rules what in a country, and Bilbo Baggins of Bag End of Underhill, grandson of ‘Old Took’ Thain —who is essentially a chief hobbits would seek counsel from— is (the dwarves can’t stress this enough) in some matter, a prince. Which also means Bilbo’s more or less a royalty of the hobbits.

Thorin, very interested in this but would rather have Smaug burn off what’s left of his beard than admit it: Oh?

Bilbo tries to wave it off by saying the hobbits don’t have the same kind of monarchy most species would have (i.e. men and dwarves), and that their ways are much simpler in that sense. Sure, they have a council, and the Thain would usually elect his heir to take over, but that’s just how leadership is, lads, honestly, there’s no fuss of royalty, or whatsover in the Shire.

Fíli: Bilbo, you own several lands. All of which had been passed down in your family name

Bilbo: Well, that’s because I’m a landlord, and those lands once belonged to my father, so I can’t possibly abandon them—

Kíli: You’re also a grandson to the Thain, who is, might I remind you, a leader of your people, and is someone respected the hobbits would look up to when making decisions for the best of internal or external matters

Bilbo: Well, yes, I know that—

Fíli: We heard you’re also richer and have the best and fanciest smial out of everyone else here. You’re also someone people have considered in high regard, from the look of things

Bilbo: Ye—

Both of them: So, you’re royalty!

Anytime one of the company dares to address him as ‘Your Highness’ or anything just as redundant, Bilbo threatens to U-turn back and abandon them to Smaug. Absolutely none of that nonsense, thank you very much, and good evening.

Dwalin, muttering to Balin: He has the royal audacity down to pat

Bilbo squawks and Thorin, who Dwalin had been looking at while he put out that insult, only glowers at him from under his broody slouch.

#very mild #bagginshield #bilbo baggins #thorin oakenshield #dwalin #fili #kili #the hobbit #lotr #lord of the rings #marswrites #marsrb

[matrixbearer2024]

Blips In My Routine

Vox x CollegeStudent!Reader

A/N: A slight interlude in the "Get Off My Screen!" Series to keep you guys entertained while I write it's continuation. I apologize that it's taking so long! School's kind of been kicking my ass recently and I've had to focus more on work than my fanfics. Don't worry though, I'll still be writing more Vox content(Lord knows we don't have enough /j) as long as you guys want to see it!

A/N: I love 🥭 Anon's idea and tbh I don't put it beyond Vox to do it either, I'm not sure if this is as good as the other installments but I hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless. Btw, reader is in college so she's somewhere in her mid to late twenties. Happy reading!

You glanced at the ticking clock above the whiteboard.

It was just five more minutes before the bell would ring and free you from this boring lecture.

You fought to keep your eyes open as your gaze wandered back to the teacher's PowerPoint.

You hated this subject the most, not even because of the topic itself.

Rather, the professor could be kind of an old-timey asshole.

Thankfully though, it wasn't all that bad.

Not when you had to deal with an equally irritating digital companion anyhow.

Somehow you'd rather take Vox's bullshit over your professor's-

Speaking of, you both had fallen into a somewhat odd routine in the following months.

From greeting each other when you woke up or went to sleep-

To checking up on the other every so often within the day.

Not to mention spilling gossip when anything remotely interesting happened.

Either on his end or yours.

Like that time you saw someone's skirt snag in their locker door and just rip.

You could only snicker at their panic and shame.

The bitch highkey deserved it anyway.

Vox couldn't stop laughing when you eagerly told him all about it.

He knew you could be vicious if you wanted to.

Even if he was aware how much more inherently kind you were compared to the likes of him.

Sometimes the fact you found his companionship worth maintaining-

Or at least tolerable enough to keep-

Genuinely surprised the tech overlord.

Especially because you'd both been communicating for a little over a year by now.

It was nice interacting with someone else that weren't Velvette or Valentino.

Not that he'd ever openly admit to it.

It wasn't like Vox hadn't seen or heard you either, despite the fact he couldn't directly mess with the microphone or camera on your devices.

Your photos and files had more than enough stuff.

You often left him imagining your reactions and voice whenever the both of you chatted.

After all, most of your interactions were practically texting.

Sometimes you even wondered if Vox was constantly bored to end up finding companionship with you.

Or maybe he was lonely, who knows.

You genuinely couldn't be fucked.

He was an interesting guy and that was all that kind of mattered to you at the moment.

Your notepad window popping up snapped you out of that train of thought.

Glancing over at your laptop screen, the small desktop pet Vox gave you merely sat in the corner pointing at the notepad.

Oh it could do angry emotes too-

A slurry of words started pouring into the blank open text window, you figured Vox was probably having another shitty day.

Geez, who would've thought that hell would actually be absolutely crappy?

Well, let's see what he's complaining about this time...

This man was really typing way faster than you could read-

You were able to garner pretty quick what he was bitching about though.

Even if you kind of found the source of his irritation quite childish and kinda stupid.

"It's so dumb! The fact I can only talk to you with this goddamn thing is driving me insane!"

"Aaaand? What's wrong with the notepad? You also have the desktop companion."

You definitely started calling it that only because Vox was getting pissy that you were referring to it as a 'pet'-

"It can only do so much dollface, it's just glorified texting at this point. Besides, the tiny version of me is just an animated emoji keyboard."

"Well you already mess with my software regardless of what I tell you, what's stopping the great 'Technology Overlord' from hacking my camera and microphone?"

"Haha, very funny doll. Don't you think I would've done it already if I could?"

At this point you kinda just wanted to laugh at the whole situation.

Vox, a demon, one who could control electronics to his every whim-

Or so he claims.

Was being pissy about not being able to talk to you properly.

You couldn't tell if that was supposed to be endearing or hilarious.

He always got worked up over the smallest inconveniences.

You saw it as him being just very observant-

But it could also highkey be from his captain control freak tendencies.

"Then just make an app or something, you'll figure it out. Mess with the software settings or whatever."

That was the last message you wrote before the school bell suddenly rang out loud and clear.

You didn't even read his reply before shutting your laptop down and arranging your belongings.

Soon enough, you were the first one out of the classroom and more than ready to go home.

Vox knew you'd shut down your laptop after he got hit with his custom Voxtech screensaver.

Similarly to the wallpaper, he'd changed your screensaver to something more on brand.

While he did take your suggestion into account, a part of him wondered why he didn't bother trying in the first place.

But given the issues with him trying to access the built-in camera and microphone-

Vox felt a little concerned that modifying your devices too much could corrupt them.

That alongside all of your files and the data you had stored.

Wait...

Concern?!

He didn't actually care about your shit did he?

Oh fuck it!

He'll do whatever he wants to!

He was still careful not to really change much, he knows how annoying file corruption is and he didn't want to actually damage your data in case it had stuff you needed.

You weren't surprised that he'd taken your words literally-

You noticed a peculiar looking app appeared on all of your devices when you had arrived home.

That's a really fancy looking V design, was this Vox's doing?

Upon opening the app, you were greeted to a slightly odd looking interface.

It looked kind of like a more... sci-fi-esque styled chat room?

You wanted to say it lowkey looked like an Omegle room-

Before you could really nitpick at the design though, a text notification popped up on your phone.

You had just set everything up too, it seems like it came from the new app.

"Testing, testing. Are you getting this (Y/N)?"

To say you were amazed at what Vox had done was an understatement.

He was able to do so much in just so little time-

Just- how???

Oh, right- you should probably reply to that-

"Yeah yeah, I gotchu."

"Fucking finally! Working around your firewalls and antivirus was an absolute nightmare!"

Aaaaaaaand here came the usual ranting and bitching-

You just threw your phone on the bed and left to take a shower and freshen up while he kept at it.

Vox was actually quite proud he got the app to work.

Especially without affecting the existing system on your computer much.

If anything, it wasn't any different from the games or social media applications that already existed on your computer.

Granted, when he first booted the app to try it- the darn thing kept crashing and glitching.

But that was easily and swiftly dealt with.

Well, after much frustration and screaming but yes- taken care of.

By the time you came back, you saw an animated version of your wallpaper appear windowed in the app.

Right... that was supposed to be his face.

"Hello? (Y/N)? Can you hear me?"

What-

What the fucking FUCK-

Apparently, the thing you thought that was just a gif or an emoticon was actually a livestream of Vox's face.

And that was how he sounded like?

Okay that seemed pretty on brand for a telecasting television now that you think about it-

But how the hell did he manage to do this-

"Vox?! What the hell!"

You yelled out in retaliation, only growing more confused when Vox didn't reply or just kept repeating if you could hear him.

So he couldn't hear you, but he found a way to sort of project himself into your device.

What kind of upside-down thing is this?

Picking up the phone, you quickly used the chat-box to reply.

"I can hear you, but I don't think you can hear me?"

Vox just audibly cursed from what you could guess was frustration, staying silent and presumably typing out a reply.

Just how long had he been trying to fix this problem?

"I can't access your cameras or microphone whatever I do dollface, this was my last resort."

Seeing his live reactions allowed you to notice the genuine frustration and exasperation he had with the situation.

It kind of made you feel a little guilty for just brushing him off all the time now.

You always thought it was quite... old-timey for Vox to want to talk to you face to face.

Hold a "proper" conversation as he put it.

But maybe that was just because he grew that fond of your company.

Geez, what a sap.

"It's fine dude, I'm glad you made a specially designated space for our conversations though. My notes were starting to get cluttered with our conversations stuck in there with my school stuff anyway."

You could swear the small smile you saw on his face made saying all that worth it.

There really wasn't any reason for you two to switch mediums, but the new app wasn't unwelcome.

You were really starting to care more about this dumb TV head.

As you and Vox went back into comfortable regular conversation, you found solace as both you and your companion once again fell back into the odd routine you grew used to.

Come morning however, you were seriously reconsidering giving Vox the idea about making that custom application.

It was a stupidly large can of worms that you didn't even realize existed-

Notification after notification, you wondered just how much time the technology demon had on his hands to constantly bother you.

"Vox, I know you're happy about your app but can you stop spam sending me memes for five seconds?"

"Eh, not feeling it."

"Go to hell you dumb picturebox."

"Already here dollface, already here."

You facepalmed.

What an idiot.

Well, he was your idiot.

A/N: I'm leaning towards this being more than a just friends thing, dunno if I'll make it romantic or not in the continuation but I'd reckon that Vox and reader would get pretty close by now sooooo hahaha have fun y'all :D

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #vox #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin vox x reader #vox x you #x reader #Get Off My Screen Series

[mypoisonedvine]

𝓹𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮 | laszlo kreizler x reader

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 | being a traditional, well-behaved woman, you saved yourself for marriage. but the things your new husband has planned for you are... less than traditional, and might just show how poorly behaved you can be.

𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽 | over 9k

𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 | SMUT (18+ only!!), virginity loss, age gap (unspecific; laszlo is in his 40s, reader is probably 20-25), multiple orgasms/overstimulation, fingering, oral f receiving, squirting, shy/innocent reader, religious reader (but nothing tooo shame-y or anything), some innocence kink, a hint of medical kink?, slightly pervy laszlo?!?! (moreso he's just a wee bit of a weirdo and says some cringe stuff but like. that's just his vibe sorry)

Laszlo was such an impossible paradox of a man.  Especially compared to the sort of man you always thought you’d marry— what you’d been raised for, even.

An accomplished doctor, a successful and wealthy man of high social standing— a kind, sensitive, intelligent, and patient partner who made you feel beautiful and special and, for lack of a better word, fancy.  That part was exactly as you’d always imagined for yourself, though you had never really believed you could find someone so wonderful.

And then there was the other half of him, the pieces that even in your wildest dreams you would’ve never thought would make up your future husband.  First of all, he was quite a bit older than you.  Even your parents, who had always preferred for you to marry someone already established (as they put it) rather than your own age, were a little concerned that he was in his mid-forties, and only a year younger than your father.  Of course, that was nothing compared to their offense at his profession, and the subsequent open-mindedness he had towards people your parents would rather pretend didn’t exist.  Then again, Laszlo himself having his disability made him the sort of person they would rather pretend didn’t exist, though he’d managed to hide it relatively well.

Maybe they could’ve forgiven any of that.  It was the atheism that put the final nail in the coffin, unfortunately… and someone as brash and unapologetic as Laszlo had no interest in hiding his beliefs to appease your parents.  He hadn’t brought it up, of course, or protested to the crucifixes and cross-stitched scriptures on the walls; but when they’d asked if he was Catholic or Protestant, he told them directly that he was a man of science and didn’t entertain any metaphysical notions or, as he’d so thoughtfully put it, fantasies.

They instantly forbade the courtship and warned you never to see him again.  And maybe that was when he surprised you most— he was so romantic, so… dashing.  He took a carriage to your home and literally threw pebbles at your window, daring you to climb down the lattice and join him for a midnight adventure.  It was then he suggested that you marry him anyways— he had more than enough to take care of you after a disownment from your parents.  He promised to give you anything you wanted, to treat you perfectly, to spend every day trying to keep you as happy as you made him without even trying.

There it was again, the contradictory enigma of Laszlo Kreizler.  A serious, even stern man, proposing to you like a lovestruck teenager.  He had eschewed fantasies a few evenings ago only to turn around and ask you to jump headfirst into a fairytale.

You said yes, though.  You really didn’t think twice about it— you knew he would be good to you.  And you knew you’d never loved someone like you’d loved him before.

You wanted to run away right then and there, but he told you to go home for a few more days, to gather your things— he would send for them while your parents were out, and you could move in with him as soon as you were ready.

When you did move in, though, he seemed a little surprised that you asked for your things to be moved to a spare bedroom.

“Is everything alright?” he asked you softly, stepping closer to you as you crossed your arms over yourself nervously; you waited until you were sure Cyrus was out of earshot, carrying your bags away, before you answered.

“Yes,” you replied quietly, “everything’s fine.”

“It’s understandable if you’re feeling conflicted now,” Laszlo assured.  “Having just left your parents, and not knowing if you’ll see them again—”

“It’s not that,” you promised.  “Well— of course, I feel something about that, but I’m happy to be here with you.  That’s not my issue at all.”

“Then what is?” he pressed.  “I hope you feel that you can tell me.”

You sighed as he reached up to brush your cheek; his touch always soothed you, though it felt a bit different here, in his home.  Your new home.  “I just… wouldn’t feel right about being in your room, until we’re married.”

He nodded.  “Of course.  I shouldn’t have presumed.”

You smiled a little, though it was more out of nervousness than anything.  “I… I wondered if you thought my parents were the only reason that we never— that nothing had—”

“Shh,” he soothed, pushing your hair back from your face until you looked up at him.  “I don’t expect anything from you now.  Well, only that you do whatever you like to make yourself feel at home here.”

“And what… what will you expect from me once I am your wife, Dr. Kreizler?” 

Though you were a little afraid to, you met his gaze; his brown eyes seemed deeper than ever, and you were powerless to look away from them.  “What do you think is right to give me, when you are my wife?”

You sighed a little, feeling his hand on your cheek move carefully down to your neck, his gentle fingers brushing along the smallest part of your collarbone exposed by your dress.  Words escaped you; you wanted him to know that just because you wanted to wait for him didn’t mean you didn’t want him.  Even before, even when you first met him, your mind had supplied you with thoughts that sent you straight to the confession booth.

You wanted to be one with him in every way you could think of… you just needed some to come before others, to feel right with your own beliefs.  Even if you loved an atheist, and felt surprisingly little guilt for it, you were still religious yourself and wanted to honor God’s intention for marriage.  

Didn’t mean you couldn’t yearn for your soon-to-be husband, right?  It certainly didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy the full benefits of physical intimacy when the time came.

But obviously, you were far from brave enough to say all that.  Instead, you found your hands wandering to his chest, following the pattern of his suit coat up to his shoulders, biting your lip without even realizing it.  He simply continued to watch you, and you got the feeling that he understood you better than you could explain it yourself.  One of the bonuses of being loved by an expert on the human mind, perhaps.

You were almost in a trance, not noticing how long you were spending just gently touching and holding him in this simple way— until you looked up and met his gaze again, and felt a little weak.  “Can we marry soon?” you asked softly, almost under your breath.  You hoped he wouldn’t tease you, you weren’t secure enough for him to mock your obvious eagerness, to call attention to your desire for him.  Thankfully, he stayed perfectly serious, because he was just as affected as you were.

“As soon as you like,” he replied earnestly.

It was probably for the best that Cyrus walked in to the parlor at that moment, and you instinctively pulled back from Laszlo, crossing your arms again.  “Your bags are in the downstairs bedroom, madam,” he informed you, “down the hallway under the stairs.”

You nodded at him as Laszlo responded, “Thank you, Cyrus.  That will be all.”

He left, and you looked at your fiance again, feeling a bit silly for what he’d seen in you a moment before.  But he smiled at you, and you figured he’d be the last person to judge you for any of that.  “I’ll give you a little time to unpack and freshen up, if you like,” he offered.  “I hope you’ll join me for dinner at seven this evening.  I believe we’ll be having quail.”

“Of course— thank you,” you smiled, watching him begin to turn to depart.  But for a second, he hesitated— like he didn’t want to leave you— and you prayed he wouldn’t kiss you.  It’s not that you didn’t want him to… you wanted him to more than anything.  He’d only kissed you once before, at the end of a particularly exhilarating night out together, and you hadn’t stopped thinking about it for a moment since.

So no, it wasn’t that you didn’t want him to kiss you.  It was only that, if he did, you knew you’d have trouble letting it be just a kiss.

Therefore, you were just as relieved as you were disappointed when he departed without incident.

///

A few days later, you eloped.  You hadn’t felt much urge to have a ‘proper’ wedding when no one you knew approved of the marriage anyway— they were all too deep in your parents’ pocket, unfortunately.  And even if anyone cared enough to come, Laszlo refused to be wed in a church (you thought maybe he would bend on it if you really begged, he was overall quite accommodating to you, but it wasn’t worth your trouble) and so it would’ve just been another scandal.  

Truly, you were just as happy this way— it was the happiest day of your life, really.  You left the courthouse as Mrs. Kreizler, wearing a stunning silver band he’d had engraved with your new initials and flowering vines all around in a swirling, whimsical pattern.  His band was simpler, but you loved it even more— just because it was his, and seeing him wearing it made your heart skip all day.

Anticipation for your wedding night only grew with every passing moment.  Laszlo himself was in the bathroom with the door shut— you heard the sink running, the various sounds of him preparing for bed.  You were just trying to get your heart to slow down, trying not to have any specific goals or expectations for the evening.  Today had already been perfect.

But, of course, it was hard not to imagine what was next for the two of you— your things had already been moved into his room.  A vanity had been placed in it as well, a wedding gift from Sara Howard (a friend of Laszlo’s you had become acquainted with during this whirlwind romance), and you were using it now as you prepared yourself for bed.  You were already in your nightgown, having changed after Laszlo left the room (not that you had to, but it felt more natural that way), and you were carefully unpinning your hair from its meticulous style.

As you concluded the final steps of your evening routine, you saw the bathroom door open behind you in your reflection; your husband emerged, wearing an embroidered silk robe that offered a view of a sliver of his chest— not very much, but more than you’d ever seen.  You didn’t notice the way your thighs pressed against each other more tightly; he approached you slowly, and you eventually turned to look at him directly.  With you still sitting on the vanity’s padded stool, he towered over you when he stood close… and as you lifted your head to look up at him, his hand brushed softly along your jaw.  You tilted into his touch just a bit, smiling at him while your heart fluttered.

“You’re so beautiful, mein Schatz,” he whispered, and you felt a little giddy when he talked like that— he’d only ever indulged you in his German after having a few drinks, so this instance caught you off-guard in the best way.  Not to mention he’d called you Schatz before— treasure, apparently, and a common term of endearment— but he’d never tagged it with mein before.  And you were his, truly.  You were glad he’d waited to say it until it was actually true (even if, in a certain sense, it was already true before).

He motioned, rather subtly, for you to stand up.  It seemed simple enough, but you felt a little shaky as you did it— a nervous excitement, like the kind you would feel before a piano recital or debutante ball.  Except those were all public engagements, and this was as private as anything could be.

Touching your face again, he wove his fingers back around your neck, his thumb cradling your jaw right in front of your ear.  And he kissed you— just like that, quick at first but then slowing down as you both sighed a bit.

You admired how easily he’d done it, and thank god for it, because you would’ve spent quite a while working up the courage.  This was different from the night you’d kissed him after a few weeks of seeing each other— it was very different from the kiss you’d shared at the courthouse earlier that day.  It would’ve made sense if there was a sense of neediness to it, as if he were making up for lost time or relieving all the anticipation for this night.  But really, it was all rather relaxed, at least on his part.  Like he had all the time in the world: which, you know, he did.

You, on the other hand… you were feeling a bit more out of your element.  Not that you weren’t enjoying this new one so far, it was just a little unfamiliar.

His hand floated lower and traced down your back— delicately, with the tips of his fingers brushing your skin through the thin fabric until chills started to run over you.  You gasped a little into the kiss, and put your hands on the patterned lapels of his robe; you didn’t actually push him away, but he pulled back as if you had, examining your face carefully for a moment.

You hadn’t needed him to stop, but you were a little glad he did: just a moment’s break from it all before it became overwhelming.  His fingers still traced gentle shapes on your lower back through the nightgown, and you found your gaze drifting to his chest, to your hands resting on it— and your own fingertips ventured into the exposed piece of his chest.  His skin was paler here, with a reddish-blondish patch of hair just starting to be visible.  You touched it, taking a quick and shaky breath, and wondered why something inside you tightened as you pet him here.  He was so… masculine.  His looks weren’t sweet and boyish, no: he was broad and strong (he would deny that one if you said it, but to you he was) and sharp around the edges, and it was something you never expected to excite you so much.

But you loved that you could still feel a bit of friction from his beard after he’d kissed you.  You loved the subtle scent of his cologne, how sturdy he felt under your touch.

Your hands drifted up to his face, fingers brushing through his hair slowly, and he smiled at you.  His hair was just a bit long for what was typical of men these days, and you enjoyed combing through the dark brown locks and noticing the little golden highlights in the dimmed light of the room.

The hand on your hip pulled you closer, pressing your body against his, and you tried your best to relax into the warm strength of his form while your heart kept racing.

When he kissed you again, he moved in slowly, watching your face before his own eventually met with it, and you fluttered your eyes shut as his lips gently pressed to yours.  This time, you found yourself leaning in for more, kissing him back with more passion; you let out a little dampened moan when his tongue brushed against your bottom lip, taking the next opportunity to gently move further into your mouth.  

He broke away all too soon, embracing you even tighter, pressing his cheek to yours.  And when you, in turn, wrapped your arms around him and pressed yourself against him everywhere you could… you felt it.

Even if you had very little knowledge about this sort of thing, you understood what that hard, curved shape was, pressed just above where your hip met your stomach.  You knew what it was, and your body did too— heat pooled at your core, every touch awakening you even more.

“Oh,” you sighed shakily, holding tighter onto him to just have something to hold onto.

“It's alright,” he whispered, soft words floating on his breath which tickled under your ear.  “It's alright, my darling, I won't hurt you.”

You hummed softly in return, nodding as his lips brushed over your cheek, then moved to your neck.  “I know,” you replied.  “I trust you, Laszlo.”

But you couldn't help but gasp when his tongue teased your pulse, his teeth gently grazing the most delicate places they could find.  His grip at your waist tightened when you whimpered.  “Is this pleasurable to you?” he asked softly; even such a formal statement made you shudder when he said it in that low, buttery voice…

You nodded, your back arching slightly to press yourself against him, but you felt him smile against you suddenly.

“I'd like for you to say it,” he explained, an unfamiliar darkness to his voice.

“It's… pleasurable,” you panted.  “When you kiss me there… it's like I feel every touch s-somewhere else—”

“Where, my love?”

“Here,” you sighed, grabbing his hand from your back and moving it between your legs.  He instantly cupped and rubbed your mound, and your knees nearly buckled from the pleasure.

“Mein Gott, you're so sensitive,” he observed, his own voice sounding a little strained, “I've hardly touched you.”

“L-Laszlo, just touch me more,” you pleaded.

Though he’d been so careful until that moment, he suddenly started to pull up the skirt of your nightgown rather hastily, nostrils flaring as he bent down slightly and worked to hoist the fabric up.  Finally, he got under it, but teased you by rubbing and groping at your thighs instead; under his breath, you just barely heard a growl before he began to kiss your neck again.

“Even if both my hands were strong, I'd wish for more to touch you with,” he mumbled against your skin.  “I'd still want to cover you entirely, reach every part of you at once.”

Well, you liked the sound of that, but one hand was doing you plenty of good already— especially when it slid back up to cup you again, making you sigh and moan as his fingers slipped through your folds, spreading your abundant wetness all around.

Desperate to return even a portion of the sensation he was giving to you, you placed your hand against the bulge in his trousers.  Though the shape and firmness of him made you gasp excitedly, he only let you rub it for a few moments before sighing and moving your hand away.  “Not yet, my darling,” he instructed.  “It's best if we take this one step at a time, for now.”

You felt a little silly, having to be held back like that, but you nodded.  He obviously knew better than you about all this.

It was almost too much, the way he was touching you: you had your arms wrapped tight around his shoulders to try to keep yourself upright, frankly.  And yet, for how overwhelming it was, you heard yourself saying—

“More, please,” you begged, “I-I need you, just give me more, please—”

“I will,” he promised roughly, “but not here.  I think it’s only right that I take you to bed, hm?”

If you weren’t all worked up, you might’ve made some witty comment about how at least the bed’s not too far or whatever— but no, you just let him guide you the few steps to the mattress, and you sat on it as you simply awaited further orders.  So little that he’d done to you, and you’d already do whatever he asked in exchange for continued attention.

You watched him roll up his sleeve— it took him a little while with the weaker hand, but you didn’t mind letting this moment last— and didn’t even notice the way your mouth had gone slack, you were nearly salivating.  “Lay back, darling,” he instructed simply, still looking at his sleeve as he finally folded it up to his elbow, “and open your legs.”

You obeyed, of course, and bit absent-mindedly on your lip as you slowly lifted your knees and parted your thighs.  There was no point being shy now, of course— and you were more than eager for him to get back to doing what he had been before— but you still felt a nervous hesitance that made your hands (and heart) shake slightly.  Something about stopping to get in the bed had brought a bit of sobriety to the moment, and you realized in retrospect how desperate you must have looked.  Surely he wouldn’t hold that against you…

He lifted your skirt again, up to your hips, and hummed lowly at the sight of your sex.  Your face burned hotter; you liked the way he touched it, but you didn’t feel entirely comfortable with him… staring at it.

Still, it was the sort of slight discomfort that felt oddly… good?  Yes, you were a bit embarrassed and exposed at the moment, but it felt wrong in that fun, naughty sort of way; it made your hips shift a little, presumably in hopes of some friction.  Thankfully, their wish was answered: his hand was on you again, pulling your lips apart, slowly exploring you until your eyes fluttered shut.

“May I touch you inside as well?” he asked— as if there was any risk of you turning that offer down.

“Y-yes, Laszlo, please,” you whispered, whimpering as you felt the tip of his pointer finger— suddenly it seemed a little thicker than you remembered— press up to your entrance and ever so gently slide inside.

“Just one to start,” he narrated softly as that one finger made your toes curl, only one finger making your hips twist and your back arch.  How could he do that to you so easily?  “And my thumb can help with this lovely little organ you have…”

His thumb circled your bud, and you shuddered all over— even inside— and instantly struggled to catch your breath.  “Laszlo, what… what is that…” you breathed, whimpering when he rubbed it again.

“Your clitoris, my love— you’ve never touched here before?”

He should’ve known you hadn’t— even if you had… explored yourself out of childish curiosity probably a decade ago, you would’ve remembered if it felt like this.  Shaking your head, you were surprised by his little growl.

“Your poor girl,” he cooed, something a little attractive about the slight condescension of it.  “You have so much to learn.  I can’t even imagine the things you’ve never felt before…”

He slowly moved the pad of his thumb up and down over the flesh, which only grew firmer as he continued.  “Oh!” you whimpered, hips rocking back against his touch— it was so wild of you, you thought, but you couldn’t really stop yourself.  He pressed harder and your whole body jumped.  “Fuck!”

He laughed a little, and your face got warmer.  “I’ve never heard you use language like that, Schatz, but it sounds impossibly adorable when you say it.”

“I-I’m sorry,” you began, “I couldn’t help it—”

“No, don’t apologize,” he insisted, “I’d rather you said it again.  Whenever you can’t help it, of course.”

You knew that Laszlo knew more than you about many topics, being a highly-educated man of great intellect, but you hadn’t expected him to introduce you to an entirely new body part that you’d been carrying with you this whole time.  If you’d figured out how to do anything like this to yourself, you might have spent your entire adolescence trapped in your room, so maybe it was for the best that you never put it together.

You weren't sure how any woman was meant to learn these things— you figured she wasn't meant to, unfortunately— but if she had a choice, you'd certainly recommend this method, provided she could find her own husband to try it with rather than borrowing yours.  What a visceral and beautiful way to learn how much that little organ could really do: Laszlo rubbing it with his thumb, with just the right amount of pressure to make a loud moan crawl out of you.

“The noises you make are just delightful, my darling,” he praised.  “Keep going, so I know what I should do.”

“Just do that,” you begged, “just keep doing that.”

“Only this?” he pressed.  “I shouldn't even add another finger?”

Of course, that was when he did— gently pressing his middle finger to your opening until it accommodated it, and you heard your own high-pitched whine in disbelief that you'd made the sound.  “F-fuck, that feels… Laszlo, you're so—”

But you interrupted yourself, because he did something so diabolical with his fingers just then.  He'd only twisted and scissored them inside you for a moment before curling them up, rubbing the most delicate place you never knew you had— just as he pushed down harder on your poor clit.  You felt ravenous all of a sudden, terribly overwhelmed but greedy for more.

“Please, oh god, please—” you started to beg before you even knew what you wanted.  He knew what you wanted, and he gave it to you: more.  It wasn't even very significant of a movement, and yet it turned your whole body into his plaything as you started to shake all over.

“You react more than I ever expected, my darling,” he cooed.  “I never dreamed how well you would respond to my touch.  I've only just begun and I think you're already nearly there.”

Before you could wonder where he was talking about, he pulled his fingers out of you carefully.  You heard yourself whimper a little, opening your eyes and looking at him worriedly.  He smiled, seeming to enjoy how much his interruption seemed to bother you; “Take off your nightgown, my love,” he requested plainly.  “I think I’d like to get a good look at you before I go on.”

Sitting up (and finding your head a bit more dizzy than you expected), you started by unbuttoning from your neck halfway down to your chest, before lifting the thin garment up over your head slowly.  You felt so strange doing this— undressing in front of a man— but your heart pounded with hope that he would enjoy what he saw.  Tossing the dress aside, you sheepishly bit your lip and waited for his assessment as his dark brown eyes grazed over your nude form.

He moved a little closer, his hand running up your leg and then around your side, reaching up to carefully cup one of your breasts.  You breathed deeply but unevenly, your chest rising and falling against his touch.  You were almost nervous that he hadn’t said anything yet, but the look in his eyes just became more and more clear; you whimpered under your breath when his fingers brushed over your hardened nipple, ever-so-delicately pinching it until your hips shifted a bit in response.  “How beautiful you are, my love,” he whispered, making you squirm again with just his words.  “Is it true you’re really my wife?  This lovely, delicate body that only I can touch and caress, laying next to me every night… I don’t know when I’ll really believe it.”

You had to shut your eyes for a second— you might be too brash if he kept on like that, praising you so tenderly.  “You could’ve been a poet,” you told him with a little smirk, blinking open your eyes again as he guided you to lay back once more, “if medicine didn’t suit you.”

“Oh, I’m no poet, Schatz,” he smiled in return, taking one more careful squeeze of your other breast before moving down to pet inside your legs again.  “All I am is painfully honest.”

His fingers slid inside you again, and you could’ve sworn he was rubbing inside you a bit more firmly than he had been before— thrusting a little faster, pushing a little deeper.  And all the while he was staring down at you, back and forth between your face and your hole, with a delicious darkness in his eyes.

It was still a patient endeavor, so much so that you never really noticed that he was getting a little quicker and rougher with it.  You really didn’t figure it out until you heard yourself choking out his name, groaning and gasping louder than you meant to— but you couldn’t suppress it very well, either.

You soon began to realize what he meant before with that nearly there comment, without even having any prior knowledge of what it could be… there was something instinctive about it, something totally natural.  You didn’t know what was coming, but you understood it; you knew you were on the edge of something and that if you could just get there it would be perfect.

Still, you couldn’t have known how much you would enjoy it.

You couldn’t stop moaning— it was this all-surrounding, ecstatic feeling, like… sinking into something.  Relaxing into something… something warm and soft and good.  Even a lifetime of religious repression couldn’t convince you this was anything but perfect.  Actually, nothing had ever felt right quite the way this did.

Your back arched rather dramatically, until you had a good view of the headboard upside-down; and he gave you few more fast, rough pumps of his fingers into your shaking body before slowing down to a stop and letting you rest.

Suddenly drained, you melted back down onto the bed with a long whine.  “How did that feel?” he asked, sounding a little formal about it, and you only could muster a little, exhausted laugh because what did he think you were going to say?  ‘It was alright, tickled a little bit, but I didn’t mind it.’

“That was… you… you’re so—” you began a few times, giving up to open your eyes wide when his fingers pet up and down over the seam of your lips, gently exploring you, making you quiver from how sensitive you’d become.  You weren’t even done recovering from the stimulation and he was giving you more; he seemed sort of absent-minded about it, the way he gently and repetitively slid up and down and up and down through your slick and swollen folds… but it was deliberate, you knew it was, because he smiled when you moaned weakly.

One finger pressed inside you again, and he watched your face closely and you shuddered.  You were just the slightest bit sore, and it felt like that one finger was more of a stretch than before… which seemed impossible, but with the erratic pulsing of your walls, it was a little hard to keep track.

You gasped sharply when he put the second finger in you once more, almost snarling a bit as he watched you react so strongly.  “Laszlo, I— I don't think I can do that again—”

“You can, I'm sure of it,” he encouraged, curling his fingers inside of you, which required a bit more force with your channel bearing down against him in response.  “It might even come faster this time, that little spot is all swollen now—”

Before he could finish that sentence, he proved it by circling the place, making your hips jump up as another whine eked out of you.  “O-oh, I— fuck…”

He smirked a bit, a delicious smugness to his expression, and the emotion looked much too good on him.  “See?  Just let me take control, my love.  I think you'll like what I do, if you simply let me do what I like with you.”

Fuck, that had to be the most beautiful thing you'd ever heard.  You were biting your lip to try to keep back the flood of terribly embarrassing things your pleasure wanted to say for you: you can do whatever you like with me; I'm yours; I'd do anything for you; don't ever stop, but also if you don't fuck me soon I might lose my mind, you know, things of that nature.  Instead you let out a muffled moan, and nodded to make sure he knew that he had your permission for whatever he thought was best.

And, of course, he’d been right about you: that you’d be even more sensitive after coming, and would be able to go through it all over again.  It only took probably a minute or two of dedicated, precise stimulation for the feeling to grow again… except it felt a little stronger this time, like it was building past the point that it had broken at before.  Maybe your tolerance was higher, or something?  You really weren’t qualified to say— all you could think about was this sensation, this tension, and the way he looked at you as you started to shake all over.

Your eyes fell shut instinctively, your shaking hands clutching at the bed under you; you felt sort of numb all over, except instead of everything being dulled and distant, it was only heightened.

“O-oh, oh, Laszlo, I—” you tried to warn him, words escaping you as the heavy, almost sharp feeling gathered tighter and tighter…

“Give into it,” he insisted, “it’s alright— I want to see it.  I want to hear you, I want to feel you when you come—”

His voice was getting darker, rougher, more demanding as he went on; and in the same way, his fingers’ thrusts into you became more aggressive.  “Fuck, I— I think I’ll— oh god!” you yelped.

“Yes,” he encouraged, “let go, darling!”

Your arms flailed around for a second before finding a lump in the sheets to grab onto tightly, your hips rocking against his hand, your head falling back in a scream; it was so intense, and so sudden, and you felt like the pressure that had been building broke so violently that it would’ve been painful without all the ecstasy running through your veins, numbing you inside and out.

You could tell that this one was different— hotter, warmer, wetter— but you had no idea what you’d done until the high had started to fade just a bit.

His hand slowed down to a stop, you heard him quietly catching his breath, and you blinked your eyes open… that’s when you noticed small wet stains on his rolled-up sleeve, and shiny fluid along his forearm— and a very proud grin on his face.

You felt your eyes go wide and your cheeks start baking.  He spoke up before you could even try to process what to say: “That was excellent, my love— I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so magnificent,” he praised.  “You’re incredible.”

You wanted to believe him, but it didn’t really offer much explanation.  “Laszlo, I… did I—?”

“No, darling, don’t worry,” he cooed, scooting a little closer on the bed as he pet the inside of your thigh.  “It’s natural— one of the… rarer ways that a woman’s body can respond to stimulation.  I’ve always found the concept fascinating, but until now, my knowledge was… purely theoretical.  Actually, I’d love to gather your perspective on the experience, possibly for a future research paper on the topic— but that’s an issue for another time.  There’s a more pressing matter I need to discuss with you.”

You raised an eyebrow, curious what matter could be discussed in a time like this.

“I… I'd like to try something else,” he announced, and you dropped your head back on the bed in a sort of defeat.

“Something else?!” you whimpered, still catching your breath from the last thing he had “tried”.  “What else could there be but making love?”

“That will be soon, I promise, I just… I can't resist such an opportunity,” he explained.  “Your scent is so erotic, and it's only grown stronger now that you’ve so generously covered my arm in your ecstasy.  And with anything that smells so delectable, one can't help but crave to taste it.”

You'd only heard about this before— sort of a dirty schoolyard secret, almost an urban legend.  The whole thing had always sounded odd to you, if maybe not as icky as you thought it was when you first had the concept whispered to you as a child.  You didn't realize it was actually something you might experience someday, assuming it was a practice reserved to the especially perverted.  Now that he was offering it, you found yourself biting your lip as you tried to imagine what it would be like.

“I'd like to pleasure you with my mouth,” he concluded, really spelling it out for you.  “Would that be alright?”

You weren't sure what to think of that, and yet you were already nodding yes.  This was your husband, after all— who else could you trust to do something like this?  Most of all, you did it because you wanted to please him.  Because he'd asked you for it.

He smiled a little when you agreed, and began to lean down between your legs.  Those deep brown eyes seemed to sparkle more than ever when he looked up at you, but his gaze couldn't stay with yours for long before he had to give a closer look to your cunt.  He carefully spread the lips with his fingers, humming at the sight.  “I wonder if it's even possible for you to be as delicious as you look,” he spoke quietly, and a needy whine caught in your throat.

It was just a gentle kiss to your clit first… then another, with his lips parted.  Then he started to ever-so-gently suckle at it, tongue softly petting it; he wasn't doing too much, physically, but you never could catch your breath while he was doing it.

You whined a bit when he broke away, looking down at him in search of an explanation but finding instead him looking back up at you with an indescribable look in his eye.

“How does that feel?” he asked, his voice rougher and darker than you'd ever heard it before, making you shiver gleefully.

“Wet,” you blurted out, making him smile a little, a small laugh on an exhale through his nose that made you feel a bit foolish in an unexpectedly pleasurable way.  “A-and warm… please don't stop, Laszlo, it felt so nice…”

He got back to it, a little more intensely than before, and your eyes rolled back when he really started to lap at you with his tongue— harder and wider each time, making you writhe from the intensity of it.

You couldn't even describe the sound you made when he pushed his tongue inside you.  He moaned against you in response to it, though, and thank God, he kept going.

He kept petting your thighs, even encouraging you when your legs clamped down around his head unintentionally; presumably that was his way of saying it wasn’t giving him any pain, which you were a bit concerned about, even if you couldn’t really stop yourself.  Sometimes you had the strength to meet his gaze, but most of the time you felt like you’d melt if you looked back at him— the way he was staring up at you was just too fiery, too intense, too beautiful.  

Just when you thought you were getting used to the pattern of his tongue’s movements on your clit, he gently pushed his two fingers back into your pulsing channel.  You were all tingly and sore inside, but a long, deep moan fell from your mouth as your back arched.

“Beautiful,” he praised, the word muffled by what he was doing— which he got back to more urgently than ever, twisting and thrusting his fingers inside you carefully at first.

“J-just like that,” you pleaded.  “Oh, Laszlo, I— I didn't know anything could… feel like this…”

You could feel the smallest smirk on his lips as he continued; even just being able to feel his smug smile there was such a lovely, erotic, totally novel concept to you.  

When he really buried his face in your legs, you could feel the roughness of his beard against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs and buttocks, and god was it the most beautifully filthy feeling.  It was really an excellent metaphor for the whole thing: the symbol of his maturity, the well-kempt facial hair itself a balance between his wildness and his meticulous self-control, rubbing raw your delicate and untouched skin in such an intimate place.  If you weren’t too busy shaking and crying and seeing stars on this bed, you might have appreciated the beauty in those parallels, but clearly you weren’t capable of thinking about it to that level of depth.

The stream of helpless praises you'd been trying to hold back earlier?  There was absolutely nothing stopping it from spilling forward now.  “You're incredible,” you blurted out, your hand holding tighter to the sheets beneath you.  “Laszlo— my husband— you… you must be the devil, o-or an angel or prophet— or something. You make me feel things, such incredible things, that I didn't even know—”

He opened his mouth wide around you, breaking the seal of his lips so he could speak against your skin.  “I'm just a man,” he promised, “I'm just a husband becoming addicted to his new wife's pleasure, that's all, my dear.”

As he started to do it again so suddenly, you reacted suddenly as well: your hand found his hair and grabbed it, and your mind was too far gone to worry about it being too aggressive.  Not that he gave any signs of annoyance— if anything it was the opposite, as he lapped at you harder in response.  

This, of course made your hips jump up— until his hand slipped out of you, grabbing them and pulling them down, keeping you still as he continued.  The simple show of dominance affected you greatly, another heavy pulse of pleasure hitting you suddenly.

“I-I'm close,” you whispered.  “Laszlo, I'm so close— and it feels so different than before— I swear, nothing's ever felt so— fuck!”

He hummed encouragingly, and your whole body rocked in time with the growing pressure.  His fingers sliding back inside you, seeming to curl even more than before, certainly added to the sensation.

Just as you were teetering on the edge, his teeth grazed impossibly-carefully over you, a sharp and raw sort of pleasure jolting your entire body.  Of course, you couldn't fight against that, and the feeling inside you snapped as yet another flood of pleasure ripped through your body.  Your ears were ringing but you still heard how loud you must have been, how totally wrecked and helpless your moans had become.  

It wasn’t as… aggressive of a feeling as the one that had made you… you know… but it was probably the most powerful in its own way.  The highest, the heaviest, the most whole.  You couldn't hear him moaning against you through all that, but you could feel it: a deep and bassy vibration that only heightened the feeling even more.  Your moans turned to cries and then sobs; it was too much, the feeling was spilling over inside you— you weren't sure how much longer you could take it all before you broke.

It seemed, however, that he broke first; he pulled away and sat up, leaving you both panting, sweaty messes.  

“God, you're so beautiful,” he sighed, grabbing you by the neck to pull you up into a filthy, heated kiss.  You surrendered instantly, grabbing into his shoulders with hands that were still pricked with pins and needles as your high dissipated slowly.  “I can't wait anymore,” he mumbled against your lips, “I need to be inside you.”

“Please,” you gasped softly— you'd been waiting for this all night, at least.  You'd never imagined yourself so eager, so desperate for it, though…

He made quick work untying his robe, leaning over you as he held tightly onto his cock and guided the swollen, leaking head between your lips.  Yes, even with desire coursing through your veins, a touch of anxiety was still present.  You just couldn’t imagine what this was going to be like, you could still hardly believe it was happening to you— and, though it was a bit crass to think, you were a bit surprised by the brief glance of his cock that you’d gotten.  You wouldn’t really know what was big or small or normal or abnormal when it came to that… you had nothing to compare it to.  What you did know was that it seemed much… thicker, than seemed appropriate to go inside you.  Of course you knew that a young woman’s first experience could be painful, you’d heard that bleeding was normal (if not expected, but that seemed a bit barbaric and certainly not what a progressive man like Laszlo was after) — yet, you still weren’t properly scared.  It was just the sort of anticipation that made you shiver and let out a long breath to compose yourself.

He groaned a little as he continued to rub against you, and you noticed the arm that held him up over you was shaking.  You could only imagine how frustrating it must have been to be giving you all that attention and not getting any in return for so long, and you could only hope he might take a little of that frustration out on you…

“Please,” you said again, quieter, as you looked up at him.  Thankfully, that was enough to make him press forward and slide into you all at once.

While his fingers had stretched you in such strange, sometimes overwhelming ways, his cock… it just fit.  It filled you exactly the way you needed— not too wide or too deep… though you suspected it would've been had he not prepared you so incredibly thoroughly.  And while his tongue has made you feel such unimaginable things, though his lips had effortlessly sucked ecstasy from your shaking body, having him inside you felt so simple and natural and easy.  

He hissed in his breaths as he moved— slow at first, but each one just a bit faster than the last.  Every movement stimulated all the places he'd already awoken inside you, and your legs moved on their own to latch around his hips while your head fell back with a satisfied sigh.

“My angel,” he groaned, staring down at you as each of his thrusts rocked you under him.  “I knew I— fuck, darling— I knew I'd have trouble keeping myself together when I was finally inside you.  Yet you're… you're even more perfect than I imagined.”

You smiled proudly, reaching up to hold his shoulders; he seemed encouraged by that, becoming just a bit rougher in his movements until your nails accidentally dug into his skin just a bit.

“I won't be able to last much longer,” he grunted, “but I-I can't stop.  I can't even slow down, I never… I've never lost control like this before.”

A shiver ran up your whole body, even seeming to make you clench inside— and he moaned in return, a beautifully pitiful sound.  

“I'm sorry,” he offered between panting breaths, and you barely mustered the energy to laugh. 

“Beloved, what do you have to apologize for?” you teased through a grin.  “Surely you're not worried that I will be left unsatisfied.”

“I would rather bring you to orgasm again,” he explained, “but I'm so desperate for you, I'm afraid I lack the patience for it.”

“I would rather pleasure my husband, for once,” you replied, “but you couldn't possibly feel what I felt, I don't think I'll ever be able to really return the favor—”

“It's no favor,” he insisted.  “Your pleasure is what I desire.  And a good wife gives her husband what he desires, no?”

You whimpered desperately, pathetically even.  “I'll be good for you, Laszlo,” you promised weakly, “I want to be a good wife to you…”

“You're a very good wife, my dear,” he assured.  “Look how much pleasure you've let me take from you, look how you've soaked our bed with your lovely nectar…”

You weren't sure which part of that aroused you the most… but our bed was a serious contender.

“And you taste absolutely divine,” he added, before kissing you again to let you taste it, too.  It was a sloppy and needy kiss, not precise and careful like basically everything else he'd done to you so far, but you loved it.  You loved any sign that he might be just as desperate as you.

Once again his speed and intensity picked up, until you could hear his skin hitting against yours loudly, and your back arched a bit at how perfectly dirty it felt.  His cock hit a spot deep inside you, and you sucked in a sharp breath.  “Laszlo,” you blurted out, and he groaned as he moved his kiss to your neck.  

“Keep saying my name,” he demanded.  “Tell me who your husband is— who makes you feel this way you've never felt before.”

“Laszlo,” you said again, “I'm yours.  Anything you want from me, it's yours.”

“Yes,” he agreed with a heavy sigh.

“Your wife, always,” you continued, and it made your own heart swell along with encouraging him: he moved faster, rocked deeper into you, and breathed heavy against your ear as your back arched from the erotic perfection of the moment.

“My wife,” he repeated, making you whine and nod and bear down on him with your walls.

“Yes,” you gasped, “yes— yours, I’m yours—”

“I-I can't hold back anymore,” he moaned, “I don't… I don't even know if I can bring myself to pull out before—”

“Don't,” you begged.  “I want it inside, Laszlo.  I want all of you inside me.”

“Oh, darling, mein Schatz, I—” he choked, but he never finished his sentence.  He just moaned louder and louder and fucked you faster and faster— until you were nearly screaming from how hard he hammered into you.

It stopped all at once; he pressed himself as deep inside you as he could, so deep you felt like you were struggling to breathe, and hid his face in the curve of your neck as he came inside you.

And for a long, beautiful moment, you just laid together; you were sort of halfway between awake and asleep, your whole body thrummed with emotions and sensations you never thought you could fit within yourself.  Time passed, surely, but you wouldn’t have known the difference.  His weight on top of you wasn’t too heavy, though it did keep you pressed into the mattress and sheets— not that you were going anywhere anyways.

You only really came back to reality when you felt small kisses trailing your neck; you hummed and squirmed a little beneath him, making you both groan as it stirred where you were connected.  He must have been a bit sore, too, though you felt like you’d been through quite a lot more and had a better excuse.

He moved again, just barely, and you winced as you held onto his back.  “Don’t go,” you whispered, afraid of the pain if he didn’t just stay still inside you.

“I have to, sometime,” he breathed in return.

“But—”

“I know, my love,” he cooed, “I’d stay inside you forever if I could.  But I’ll hurt you more if I don’t give you time to rest.”

Resigning yourself with a sigh, you nodded a little and scrunched up your face as he pulled his hips back.  It did sting, but it faded quickly once he was out— and the feeling was replaced with a warm, wet feeling that you realized must have been his seed leaking out of you.  It made you feel a bit dirty, but wonderful, too.

He laid beside you with a deep breath, his hand coming up to your face and turning it so you would look back at him.  You had to blink a few times to really see clearly, and even still, everything seemed a bit blurry around the edges.  The whole world seemed a bit softer, really.  “I love you, darling wife,” he told you simply, his voice soft but no longer a whisper, and he pet your cheek as he leaned in to kiss the bridge of your nose.

“I love you too, husband,” you cooed in reply.  “You’re so wonderful— a-and you’re nothing like I imagined, sometimes.”

“Perhaps I should have been more careful,” he offered nervously.

“No— that was perfect,” you promised.

“I meant the very end, there,” he clarified, his hand running down over your body and resting on your stomach.  “You might have wanted to wait longer… if you had a child so soon, you might wish we had more time just the two of us.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you realized what he meant.  “Oh, that…” you mumbled, smiling a bit to yourself.

“I fully intended to have my finish elsewhere, to lower the chances— I didn’t think I would become so… impulsive,” he sighed.  “I hoped to still control myself, but I’m afraid I wasn’t quite able to, once I was within you.  But I couldn’t help it, with the way you feel…”

“It’s alright,” you laughed weakly, “it’s not as if I were acting rationally.  I never… I didn’t think I could be so… so—”

A thousand words came to mind.  Unladylike.  Animalistic.  Desperate.  Insatiable.

“I didn’t think I’d ever act like that,” you said instead, voice getting a little softer as you felt a bit shy again.

“I knew you would,” he responded, making you look at him with wide eyes and warming cheeks.

“You— but I— I was always—!”

“Yes, you behaved very well each time I met you” he recalled with a proud smile, “always so sweet and well-mannered.  But I knew you had so much need within you, so much hunger… a being of pure instinct just waiting to take over when the time was right.”

Your heart skipped a beat— you felt a bit… accused by that statement, yet you couldn’t really deny it.  Even if you hadn’t known it before, it was clearly true now.  “How… how could you have sensed that?” you wondered.

He raised an eyebrow as he looked at you again; you loved the way he looked in that moment.  His expression was familiar, but the total lack of composure— flushed cheeks, sweat on his brow, messed hair— was totally new and quite pleasant.  “If you didn’t have any desire to misbehave, my darling, you wouldn’t have been going out with me.”

#laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler smut

[jarofstyles]

Blurb request from h pov!!

Lovesick H who used to have a terribly big crush on y/n but was too silly to realise she felt the same way and he’s reminiscing because now he’s got the girl of his dreams asleep on top of him and she’s his best friend now!! and he finds it hilarious he still acts lovesick and clumsy around her 😫 😫😫😫😫😫

Wait that’s so cute here’s a shorty little thing

Patreon

——-

It all came full circle eventually. If life had taught him anything, that would be the lesson.

Soft breaths puffed against the side of his neck as he laid still on the sofa. A mess of hair narrowly avoided his mouth, but he wouldn’t mind fishing a few strands from his lips if it meant getting to have her on top of him. Her weight a grounding comfort to him, something he used to dream about.

He’d had lectures with her and missed notes because he was too busy looking at her. When they’d studied together he had to redo it at home because he spent the majority of his time trying to memorize the marks on her face and the little traits that no one else paid attention to. She was an all encompassing beauty, her appearance, personality, treatment towards people- everything about her was beautiful.

Her fingers curled into his shirt as she adjusted slightly in her sleep, his heart growing when she nuzzled closer into his neck and he felt her eyelashes brush the skin there. His fingers ran up and down her spine as she slept, unable to get up. It wasn’t a concern, despite his phone dying and nothing interesting to find on the streaming service. She was comfortable and these were the moments he had been dying for. Dreaming about.

He was completely and utterly gone for her. He’d thought that his first girlfriend would have ruined him, but when he met her in their final year of uni there was no comparison. Y/N had made him see that that relationship and his emotions in it were child’s play compared to this feeling. This need. He loved simply being with her. Especially with her asleep, peaceful and warm on top of his body. There was nowhere else he’d rather be in the world.

He felt a little flustered just thinking about how insane she made his stomach feel. The butterflies that people described felt more like a buzzing nest of bees, the soft bumblebees, the flutter of little wings and buzzing making him heat from his neck to his face. He remembered the first time she had fallen asleep on him when they were at a friends house to watch horror films. She’d claimed to be terrified and sat curled up next to him insisting they share a blanket, but halfway through The Exorcist she was puffing away sleepily against his bicep. He’d never felt so giddy over being stuck somewhere before.

There had been nights he sat in bed wondering what her lips tasted like. What she liked in her coffee. If she liked to be tickled or not. Was she someone who hated her hair being touched? Would she let him stroke it out of her face more often so he could see the full expanse of beauty it curtained? The thoughts had been endless.

It never fully went away, the awe and yearning and fondness. If anything it was growing stronger, day by day. Y/N was the love of his life in every way possible and he wouldn’t do a thing to change it.

#jarofstyles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry styles imagine #harry drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #harry fluff #harry styles fluff #harry styles fluff blurb #harry fanfic #harry styles fanfics #harry styles fic #harry angst #harry smut #harry styles angst #harry styles au

[storiesfromafan]

Antisocial Bookworm

A/N: I haven't written anything in like 3-4 years, but then I ended up down the Mattheo Riddle rabbit hole on TikTok. And here I am lol. Please be kind, as I haven’t written about him before, this is my first go at it.

Part 2 😊

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Fem!Reader

Summary: you didn’t think of yourself of a main character, but rather a background character. Though the Slytherin heart throb thought otherwise.

                                  Antisocial Bookworm

The afternoon was on the sunny side, but there was a cool breeze that had students wearing jumpers and cardigans. You were no different. You were sitting under a tree in the courtyard, legs stretched out in front with ankles crossed, and engrossed in a book. The students around you made noise that you barely took note of, for the book in your hand being far too interesting then the real world. You didn’t really have any friends, nor did you socialize. Books were better company than people.

But hearing the voice of the one and only Mattheo Riddle, you took your gaze from the book before you and looked at Slytherin heart throb that was joking around with his friends. Watching the smile upon his face as he laughed at whatever one of them had said, seeing the brightness in his deep brown eyes. Not to mention how the breeze tousled his curly brown locks. Mattheo was so appealing to the eye that he could easily be the physical form of a character from a book.

You sighed. Like you had a chance with Mattheo. You weren’t in any way like a main girl from a book. You didn't think you were that bad looking, but you weren’t no great beauty. You would say you are average. You chose clothing that was comfortable over fashionable. Your hair was tied up out of your way, though bangs framed your eyes. You were more aimed as a background character then the main female of any book you read.

Turning your gaze from the no chance in hell of a male before you, you went back to your book and enjoyed the afternoon of peace. Book’s may take you on a rollercoaster of emotions; but they would never let you down, never hurt you. They were safe, they were comfort to an antisocial body like you.

If you believed you couldn't be the main girl from any of the books you read, Mattheo thought the opposite. To him you were the central character. You may not have noticed but the Slytherin male noticed you and how you were always reading. Studying you he knew when you had reached a rather fascinating part of a book, for you would draw the book closer to your face, eyes moving slightly faster than normal taking in the words from the pages. Or when you had reached a more romantic moment, for you would have a soft smile upon your face while playing with the necklace around your neck. Or when you came to a sad moment, you would frown and look like you were ready to put the book down, but force yourself to read on.

Compared to the other girls that flirted, threw themselves at him or he could tell they were interested in him, you were a breath of fresh air. Mattheo knew you chose to keep your distance from people. He knew you didn't really have friends, but rather acquaintances. And it wasn’t a bad thing. Sometimes having to put time and effort into relationships was tiresome, and he had thought about taking a page from your book - no pun intended - sometimes.

Soon time passed and students began to head back inside and to their common rooms or dorm rooms, to discard their bags and get ready for dinner in the Great Hall. You finally stopped after a rather thrilling chapter, putting in your bookmark you put the book in your bag before getting up off the ground. After a quick stretch, you slung the strap of your messenger bag over your shoulder and headed back into the castle. The whole time not realizing the deep brown eyes that followed your every more. Or when the owner of the gaze followed you inside, his friends in tow.

There had been a few times Mattheo had had a chance to talk to you, but his nerves would always get the best of him and he would chicken out. Which was very unlike him. Everyone had this image about him. Confident, a little cocky, smartass, chaotic and a tad mysterious. But he honestly was far from most of those words. For the guy couldnt work up the courage to actually talk to you!

Eventually he lost sight of you when Draco Malfoy had called him over. Reluctantly Mattheo stopped and turned from you, though it was very hard to. The fellow Slytherin had informed him that the party in their common room was going ahead. The finer details had been sorted out, and Mattheo was advised to spread the word to anyone from the other houses. Part of Mattheo hoped you would show up to the party, but he wouldn’t hold his breath. For you hadn’t shown up to any recent parties, or really any of the parties thrown.

                                                          ~~~

Later that night in the Slytherin common room, the planned party was in full swing. Student’s were dancing to the loud music, and smuggled alcohol was being consumed. All in all it looked to be talked about for weeks to come. Everyone knew every house threw parties to try and outdo the other houses. And no one was complaining.

Mattheo was standing around with his friends, drink in hand while listening to a story he’d heard Merlin know’s how many times. But get alcohol in anyone’s system and they will say just about anything, all depending on their level of intoxication. He scanned the room, noting all the girls that were eyeing him off and smiling when his gaze rolled over them. But none of them were his little antisocial bookworm.

Though unbeknownst to Mattheo; you had been dragged to the party by none other than Pansy Parkinson. You may not call her a friend, but to her you were. As you were the only brutally honest girl in your year. And Pansy respected you for it. So she had pushed you to come to the party, attempted to get you out of your shell and try to make human contact and conversation. Besides being in a classroom and maybe the brief pass in a hall or meal breaks in the Great Hall, Pansy barely heard you speak. Many thought you were mute because of your lack of speaking.

“Pansy, really I was fine staying in my dorm” you said as the mentioned female held your arm and led you through the dancing bodies. “And did you really have to pick my clothes and do my hair!?”

Ah yes she had to give you a small makeover. Pansy not only wanted to do something nice for you, she also wanted to entice one Mattheo Riddle. Pansy may come off a tad vapid and self centered, but she could see the looks both you and Mattheo gave each other. So she thought a small push might be good for you both.

“You need to socialize. Books are good, but they can’t be everything Y/N/N” Pansy said, giving you a pointed look. “And it's a party, you need to wear something a little more out there”. You rolled your eyes at Pansy’s words.

You looked down at the long sleeved, slightly low cut v-neck top Pansy had picked, and matched with a simple corduroy mini skirt that had buttons down the front. Both clothing items paired with black ankle boots. It was more fashion forward then you are used to. But you decided to humor Pansy, throw her a bone. And with your hair out, cute pins holding the hair back from your face, you felt somewhat like the main girl from your books. Though you could laugh at that notion. You weren’t meant to be the lead.

“Hello boy’s” Pansy said after you both made it through the dancing students, and over to the Slytherin boy’s she hung out with.

Deep brown orbs looked up, shock shining in his eyes upon seeing the creature at Pansy’s side. Mattheo blinked a few times, making sure it wasn't the alcohol that had him seeing you before him. And dressed in something that wasn’t the school’s uniform or lackluster clothing he had seen you in around the castle or at Hogsmeade.

Then his deep brown eyes were met with soft Y/E/C eyes, and his breath hitched before taking it away completely. Never had your eyes met this close before. Sure across the hall or class room. But here you were standing before him, allowing him to see how crystal clear your eyes are. Let’s not forget that the reaction’s Mattheo was having was exactly the same as yourself. You had run over this kind of scenario in your mind, a small moment of fantasy to get you through the afternoon or night. But you had never thought it would ever happen, till this moment.

“Y/L/N? I almost didn't recognize you!” Draco said with a surprised laugh. Which made you shrink into yourself, that self conscious feeling creeping up.

“Oh Draco, be nice” Pansy said, wrapping her arm around you, making you stiffen up from the contact. “Y/N/N is a friend. Play nice”.

‘Friend…how foreign’ you thought, observing Draco and Pansy as they continue to converse.

Mattheo was doing his best to sit back at Draco’s comments. He might have been his friend, but the guy had no ability to read a room or a person. Right from you arriving at the group he could see how uncomfortable you were, how you moved from foot to foot with uncertainty that you should be there. How fish out of water you were.

The group continued to talk, Mattheo speaking only when spoken too. You not talking, keeping to yourself like always. You had moved to sit on the armrest of the couch, once Blaise Zabini said you could and he didn’t bite. Pansy saw the pointed glare Mattheo had given the male for that comment, and she couldn't help the smirk that crept on her face.

“Y/L/N, this is the first party you've come to this year, right?” Draco asked, and you nodded. “I’m surprised you’ve stayed in your room so much. But with your head in a book, it happens”. He laughed.

Mattheo’s fist clenched. He did not like anyone making fun of his bookworm. Downing the last of his drink, Mattheo did his best to keep down what he’d like to say to his friend. He rose from his seat, he decided to get you away from this situation, fueled by the alcohol in his system giving him the courage to do so.

“Y/N” he said, a strange but exciting word leaving his tongue, getting your attention. “Why don’t we get some drinks?” Mattheo asked, holding up his empty cup and silently saying let’s take a break from them.

“Okay…” you finally spoke, not hesitating to get up from the armrest, and moving to follow Mattheo. All the while Pansy watched on, the smile on her face growing with every passing moment.

You both moved over to a corner where the drink’s were situated. Putting down his own cup, Mattheo grabbed a clean cup for you, and proceeded to pour you both a drink. You stood beside him. Not sure what to do or say, just moving from foot to foot. Handing you a cup, Mattheo clinked your cups together before taking a sip from is, not once taking his eyes off you. You followed his lead and took a large gulp of the liquid, hoping it would help with your nerves from the fine specimen before you.

“Don’t listen to Draco” Mattheo started after swallowing his sip. “The guy doesn’t understand how to read a room. He’s full of himself” he finished with a small smile.

You felt your heart skip a beat at Mattheo's small smile, brown eyes focused on you and messy brown curls that were begging to have a hand run through, ever so enticing. The temptation to pinch yourself to make sure this was real, was strong but went against it. If this was a dream you didn't want to wake up. So far tonight was female lead level, not background character. Has the world finally gone mad? This didn’t seem plausible. But here you were. At a Slytherin party. Dressed like a cool kid, drinking and standing before the leading male character. Yeah, if this was a dream you didn't want to wake up.

“It’s hard to not listen to him,” you said looking at your drink. “I’m not exactly known for my social skills” you looked back at Mattheo with a small smile, that did a number on him.

He nodded, “still...don’t take it to heart”. It was your turn to nod your head. “Is your drink alright?”

You looked down at the cup of liquor before back up to the brunet before you. “Yeah, it's fine. Thanks”.

With drink in hand, you both reluctantly went back to Pansy, Draco and Blaise. Upon your arrival, you took to sitting on the couch next to Pansy, as Blaise had moved to sit next to Draco and converse. Mattheo took to sitting on the armrest next to you. You all sat there, conversation being made by the Slytherin friends. You sat there and observed them, being so close to people you had observed from afar was strange. Going from the onlooker, to the insider was new.

After a few more drinks, consumed by you and Pansy, said girl dragged you to dance. You had tried to dig your heels in and protest, but she didn't take no for an answer. You moved with the uncertainty and grace of a baby animal learning to walk. A total train wreck. But Mattheo thought it added to your quirky, cuteness. He watched as you slowly loosen up, and soon moved more freely, feeling the music. The liquor in your system was finally taking effect. You felt like you were floating as you moved around with Pansy, a small smile on your lips and an occasional laugh escaping your mouth.

Once you and Pansy started to get out of breath and tired, both made it back over to the boys. By now their group had gained three other people; two Ravenclaw girls and one Hufflepuff boy. You perched yourself on an armrest catching your breath and fanning yourself. All the while Mattheo never taking his eyes off you, unless entirely necessary.

“How about we play a party game” Pansy said, suddenly looking around the group. “Has anyone ever played suck and blow?”

A few answered they had, Mattheo being one of them. You on the other hand had not, nor any idea of what the game was. Thankfully both Ravenclaw girl’s didn't know what the game was either. So Pansy explained the game. Using a playing card, you had to pass the card around to another player only using your mouth, hence suck and blow. The goal is to make it around the circle without dropping the card; if it's one person or two that drops the card, they need to take a drink from their cup before trying again.

“Everyone understand?” Pansy asked, getting a playing card. Everyone nodded their heads. “Wonderful! Now let's move to sit in a circle.

You all moved to a decent space away from the dance floor. Pansy took charge and made sure it went boy, girl, boy, girl, etc. And making sure to put you and Mattheo next to each other, and sadly one of the Ravenclaw girls on his other side. When everyone was sitting, cups in front and ready to go. Pansy started it off going right, placing the card to her lips she sucked to hold the card in place before getting close to Draco to hand the card off to his mouth. As he came in and sucked, Pansy blew just enough so the card was passed off perfectly. Draco turned and handed off to the other Ravenclaw girl, who then passed off to Blaise. From there he passed onto the next Ravenclaw girl, she just managed to save the card from dropping, making everyone watch with bated breath. She passed the card onto Mattheo, who took it with ease. Then he turned to you, eyes looking directly into yours. He moved close and brought his card covered lips to yours. Thankfully you managed to somehow function and take the card from him. Though his scent, cigarettes and cologne hit you, dulling your sensors for a moment.

The first round would have been successful if the Hufflepuff guy, after getting the card from you, had been able to off load to Pansy. But their timing at pass over faltered, the card falling from them. And they both had to drink from their cups, all the while everyone else laughed. Draco commented she was lucky he didn't kiss her. Which sent your and Mattheo’s minds into thought. That could have been them. How close they would be to kissing. Mattheo had wished he had been tempted and dropped the card, his lips coming in contact with your own. He had always wondered what it would be like, what your lips felt like. He knew he had to do it, the liquor encouraging him to do so.

Draco started this time, passing the card onto Pansy, who then passed it to the Hufflepuff. The Hufflepuff guy looked to be struggling, and Mattheo prayed his pass to you either was successful or it dropped and no lips touching. They were his lips, and only he would get your kiss. The hand off failed and the card fell, thankfully no lip colliding. Both you and the Hufflepuff guy took a drink. But when he tried again, he failed again and had no lip touch. Another drink from the alcohol before you both. Your head was starting to swim, you weren’t sure if you liked it or not. This time the hand off was successful, the group cheering with a laugh. Now you had to pass it to Mattheo. Your heart skipped a beat when his eyes met yours, the pointed gaze he gave you, it sent a shiver down your spine.

You moved in towards Mattheo, just as he moved towards you. You moved your arm, hand on the ground to brace yourself, and it brushed his leg just as you both came in close to pass the card to the other. Feeling your arm brush his leg caused Mattheo to lose his breath. The playing card falling from between you both, as you had just blown the card. Mattheo’s lips came into contact with your lips. Realization flashed across your eyes, that continued to look into the brown pools of Mattheo's. He noted your lips were soft, fitting perfectly with his own. Hearing the laughter and whistles from those around you, you pulled away from Mattheo, saying sorry and avoiding his gaze. He never took his eyes off you, more interested in watching you then playing the game or those around you both.

Pansy was grinning like the cat that got the cream. But then told you both to drink up, which you did, and then had to try again. This time you managed to hand off the card, making sure to avoid Mattheo’s gaze. Afraid that you’d falter and the card would fall, but would you both kiss again? You shook the thought from your head. The thought of kissing him made your stomach flutter with butterflies. Yes, you had fantasized kissing Mattheo. You never thought you would get too. But you did. Truly an experience that no imagination could get right.

After that round a few more people came over wanting to join the game so you opted out, a Gryfindor girl taking your place. You headed over to the drinks table and made yourself another drink, slightly on the stronger side. After kissing Mattheo you needed the drink. You drank your drink watching the group you had just been a part of. You watched Mattheo. He was laughing and enjoying himself. You watched as the Ravenclaw passed him the playing card, she was so close you know she'd gladly get in his lap. Then he turned, now passing the card to the Gryffindor girl, who you saw place her hand on his knee.

Reality washed over you in a harsh wave as you watched those before you. They were laughing, drinking and having fun. The dancing bodies across the room, lost in the music. It was all another life, part of the social scene. One which you knew you didn't fit into. The role of the observer, the outcast screaming in your mind. Part of you telling you that you didn't belong, that Pansy, Mattheo and their friends were humoring you, maybe you were some sick joke for their amusement.

Your breathing began to pick up with the thoughts running through your mind. Maybe you were a joke, a social experiment. Slytherins were known to be cruel. But a small part of you didnt believe Pansy would do that. You both had a mutual respect for the other after one time being in the girls bathroom after Potions class. Two Gyrffindor girls were making fun of Pansy. Unfortunately neither realized that said girl was in the stall next to you. Pansy casually opened the door while one of the girls was mid insult, upon seeing the Slytherin girl all words were lost and silence followed. Next there was the turn of a tap and running water, you gathered Pansy was washing her hands. As she dried her hands, that's when the Slytherin bared her fangs before striking, Pany's retort to what the gossiping girls was the brutalest you had ever heard. Without a word both Gyrffindor's hightailed it out the bathroom. You heard her sigh in frustration. And that was the moment you bumped the cubicle door.

"Who's there!? Come out!" She said in anger.

You exited the stall with hands up, showing no ill intention. Upon seeing you Pansy relaxed, leaning back against the sink. You slowly moved to the sink next to her, when you were sure she wasn't going to verbally abuse you, and washed your hands.

"I know everyone talks about me" Pansy said offhandedly. "I shouldn't play into their hands. But sometimes you have to stand up for yourself".

You nodded your head drying your hands. "I understand. If people are going to paint you as a villain, you might as well give them what they want" and with that you left the bathroom and Pansy.

You downed what was left in your cup before placing it on the table, that was it for the night. It was time to leave, time to take yourself back to your dorm room, where you could finally feel safe and secure. Time to discard the clothing that you wore and put on that that was familiar, trustworthy. You could take refuge in your bed, wrap yourself up in your blankets where no one would judge you, mock you. It was time to crawl back into the background, hide from the main stage and go back to being nothing more.

Mattheo had been playing the tedious game, making his friends happy. But he had been keeping an eye on you. Watching and gauging your every movement. He wondered what was going through your mind. Were you thinking about him, the kiss? Because he had been. It was just about consuming him. And fueled by alcohol he wanted to kiss you again, feeling the courage to do it. When both Ravenclaw and Gryfindor girls had got bold during that round of suck and blow, Mattheo decided to step away from the game, saying he was getting a drink.

Looking back to the drink table and you once he was up on his feet, Mattheo was confused when you werent there any more. He looked around, surely you couldn't have gone far. He spotted your back as you made your way towards the dancing students. Without another thought he went after you. He needed to check on you, make sure you were okay. Coming to a hallway he saw you slowly making your way from the common room.

"Y/N" Matheo called out to you. You stopped upon hearing your name but never turned to face him. "You okay?" He asked, walking closer to you.

You took a deep breath, trying to get your head to focus and form words. You were shocked someone had come after you, but you were in disbelief it was Mattheo. Said male came to your side, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"Ah...yeah!" You said a little flustered. "Just heading to my room...all partied out…"

Mattheo nodded his head, though he didn't fully buy your answer. But he did not push it. He was grateful for this moment, for tonight. And wasn't going to ruin it in any way. Mattheo moved to lean against the wall of the hall, his eyes never leaving you. Maybe he was afraid if he looked away you'd be gone.

"You look good" Mattheo suddenly said, eyes roaming over you. "Not that you don't look good everyday! It's just nice to see you in something different!" He'd kick himself if he could. Tripping over his words.

You could feel the blush on your face from his words. Hearing what he had to say made your stomach flip. "Thank you…" you said softly.

Mattheo smiled at your words. "Did you have a good time tonight? Hopefully the party wasn't too boring" he laughed softly rubbing the back of his neck.

You looked up at Mattheo, your eyes meeting yet again. "It wasn't bad…" you started, pausing to think over your next choice of words. "It wasn't bad...just not something I'm used to. After all; I'm the recluse, antisocial bookworm haha".

He nodded. "I get it. But I'm glad you came" he said with a soft smile.

Those butterflies coming back in full force. Pushing off the wall, liquid courage taking over, Mattheo moved to stand before you. He pushed back your hair so it fell over your shoulder and down you back, his finger moving softly along your shoulder, softly caressing the small chain around your neck and finger tips running over the pendant of your necklace.

"I hope you'll come to the next party" he said breathlessly, his brown orbs drowning in your own. "Maybe you could even come to The Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer with us?" Neither of you were sure if he meant just the two of you or with him and his friends. But there was no clearing that up on his part.

"Sounds...good" you replied with a shaking breath.

Flashing you a bright smile Mattheo reluctantly dropped his hand and stepped back from you, allowing you both a chance to breathe. "I will say good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow. That I shall say good night till it be morrow", and finished with a slightly dramatic bow.

At first you were stunned. Letting his words and actions compute in your brain. Once it registered you blushed and laughed softly at his ode to a classic play that you read often.

"Goodnight Mattheo…" you said softly before turning from the Slytherin before you, and finally heading back to your room for the night.

                                                             ~~~

A/N: I’m open to constructive criticism haha. I’m thinking of doing a follow up one-shot, let me know what you think.

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x fem!reader

[saint--claire]

When I was a little child, there was a particular library book I checked out week after week, endlessly renewing it as much as I was able. The book, How to Raise and Keep a Dragon by John Topsell was a quasi-nonfiction guide to, as you guessed, rearing different species of dragons. I loved it. Tiny-me had plans.

As an adult, I tried to buy it a few times. No dice. The book was so old that no mainstream bookseller stocked it. Even when I tried niche websites recommended by various booksellers and librarians, I still couldn't find it. It was sadly lost to time, apparently not popular enough to make it into the archives.

But.

My best friend had a copy of that book. We're going to call her G, for several reasons not relevant at the moment. I was discussing my search with G one day, for some reason I can't remember now. She got a funny look on her face, asked me a few questions about the cover, listened to me do a very poor job of explaining with my hands how the hardcover copy had included a real gemstone in the dragon's forehead, and then went off to fish it out of her bookcase.

I was Gobsmacked.

I should not have been, given that the history of shared childhood books between us both would have made a circle with ragged edges, more so than a venn diagram, but I digress. The book came home to live in my house for a few months, and I was delighted by the chance to read it again.

Do people remember those type of books? Dragonology, Egyptology, The Stone Age - a way of introducing children to non fiction. They very earnestly spoke about the responsibilities needed to raise dragons, the practicalities involved. There was a record of registration you could fill out, if you had carefully considered the information to your self and felt you were responsible enough to to go through with adopting a dragon.

I vaguely remember filling out some of the riddle and puzzle questions in the Dragonology books. I would never have written in John Topsell's book, it was a library book.

But.

When I re-read G's copy at home, smiling over the familiar artwork, I was surprised to turn the page and find the painstaking, somewhat-wonky handwriting staring back at at me. Baby G, with her name spelled out in freshly-joined but still-not-quite-got-the-hang-of-this-yet cursive lettering. Baby G had filled the registration out in her best handwriting, in glittery green gel pen to denote the importance of the document. This was compared to the earlier, less important checklists done in plain black ink.

I read the registration certificate. Smiled. Smiled some more at the names listed for G's dragon, her dam, and her sire - Eragon was also a great book. Go off, Christopher Paolini.

Breed; standard Western Dragon. The box 'miniture' was ticked, to show that G's dragon was of the minature specic variety, rather than a full size dragon. This was, as she would later explain to me, chosen on the basis that baby-G felt it was the more financially responsible choice. Also so she could keep her dragon in her house with her, but we're not there yet.

I looked at that certificate. Looked at it again. Looked at the calendar, and then looked at the sewing machine I had just been given for Christmas.

G celebrates her birthday in January.

The template came first. I studied the different images of the standard western dragon through the book, picked my favourite, and re-drew it to a significantly larger scale.

Inking the design to the fabric, four times over probably took the longest.

I very subtly asked G the next time she was over (after hurling all dragon-related materials in a panic into the depths of my wardrobe) what type of colour dragon she would have, should it come up. As G later said, that type of question from me truly did not register as anything other than a question asked from theoretical interest. I transitioned the topic as discreetly as I could after she answered, and delightfully, my sneakiness went in one ear, out the other, and she forgot I had ever asked until several weeks later.

I enjoyed painting them.

Don't ask me how many mistakes I made through this process. So many. I do already know how to sew, but it's been a long time. I'd been meaning to get back into it for a while.

Given that various aunts and grandmothers and my mother had a knack for calling when I was up to my elbows in either paint or pins, it became a family affair. Each of them peered at the project through face time and offered their advice.

Some of the advice I took, some I didn't. No regrets about sewing it in pink thread. Considerable regrets about accidentally slicing one of the feet in half and having to fix that.

In the end though, she was finished.

I carefully pinned on her name tag, with the name baby-G had chosen with a little blue ribbon. A collar was unacceptable, this is a dragon, people, come on. Dragon's don't wear collars.

I put the book in the box, open to the registration certificate, and put the dragon on top. Wrapped the whole thing up with a bow and then refused to touch it before I sent myself mad trying to fix details that didn't really need to be fixed.

A bit late for her birthday, sure, but there we are. We'd gone for a trip off to nowhere for a weekend, to go try wine made out of blueberries and hike up a waterfall. (And climb on it. And swim in it. It was a very good waterfall).

I gave her the box, informed her she wasn't allowed to keep the box, just the contents (it was the only thing I had that was big enough for me to keep all of my A3 portfolios in, it had only been temporarily-repurposed as dragon housing), and then left the next bit up to the gods.

A surprise, sitting un-awaited for some 15 years in amber, to catch up to baby G and adult G together.

Happy Birthday, baby and adult G.

#StClaire speaks #How to Raise & Keep A Dragon #John Topsell #Joe Nigg #the thing about problems hammers and nails #except in this case it was childhood wishes and sewing machines #and as someone said #you were relearning to sew and you started with THAT? #well no #I started with a scrub hat #which kept the hair out of my face while I painted this #and then also that apron my aunt gave me the pieces to years ago that I refused point blank to do by hand #but yeah #101 mistakes later #and one re-attached foot #pretty happy with her #dragons