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nmjoo-n · 2 years

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SUGAR MOON 🥐 kim taehyung.

pair. art student! taehyung x fem! reader | genre. paris in the 50’s, arranged marriage, angst, romance, smut | warnings. profanity, smoking, possessiveness, pet names, jealousy, unprotected intercourse, oral sex, masturbation, fingering, age gap, breeding kink, virgin mc | word count. 7.1k

synopsis. “tell me, sweetheart, what will your boyfriend say about me being here in the middle of the night?” or kim taehyung won’t let anyone else have you. you’ve been promised to him, after all.

A small life, a small happiness.

These were the things that had been promised to you by your parents, Taehyung didn’t doubt it one fucking bit. Nothing had been shown to you, nothing he could use, nothing to stimulate that pretty little mind of yours. You were a blank canvas.

Someone he could taint. His womanizer ways had done their rounds across Paris, but no one ever actually thought there would come a time where Kim Taehyung, successor of the Kim’s and their jewelry empire, a business booming since the early 20’s, would settle down. They were wrong, of course.

Taehyung wasn’t planning on getting married and staying married, especially to such an inexperienced girl such as yourself, fresh out of her private academy, and working under her daddy as a typist, a receptionist. At least not at first. Not until he met with you in person.

Then, he couldn’t wait. After that first meeting, witnessing your shaking hands and soft voice as you greeted him—you had his cock leaking in seconds. No other woman had elicited such a reaction out of him, none that mattered. None he could remember the name of. So, naturally, he was attracted. Challenged. Interested.

It was a brief brunch, and an extremely pretentious one. Taehyung’s fingers had been itching for a cigarette the entire time, as your mother went on and on about your excellent grades and general impression. His father, an always serious man, all about his money and good name, had managed to snick cognac in his coffee without anyone noticing—anyone except you.

Taehyung’s eyes had caught your amused ones, as you rose a satin gloved hand to your red lips, pressing two digits against that beautiful mouth to keep you from laughing. He fell back on his chair then, manspreading even further, playing with the serviette in his hand, watching you closely.

You hadn’t touched your food. Out of nervousness, perhaps. He liked his women to eat, to indulge themselves in whatever pleases them most. You’d learn that. What else, then… your pinned hair, perfectly styled to fit the shape of your face, your cute nose, and rosy cheeks. The modest neckline of your dress. Hiding just enough, leaving the rest up to the imagination. Carefully chosen he concludes. By the mother. For this engagement.

What a fucking joke. He hated pretending the most. He was an artist; a free mind, someone that couldn’t be caged, someone that did not do well in circumstances as preposterous as these, so staged, so rehearsed, so—fake. If he had it his way, and his father knows this the best, he’d take you away from this table, away from all this boring talk between parents, a bidding war he’s afraid, for what price you’d be sold to him for. Well, that can’t have you feeling comfortable, and no one would want his fiancée to be dreading her own wedding day, would they?

He’s doing it for your future, he reasons.

“Excuse us, esteemed relatives,” he cuts his mother off, and stands up, mischievous gaze piercing through you. “We have greater matters to attend, don’t we sweetheart?”

You blushed immediately under the attention, clearly never having gone against anything in your life. A rule player, staying inside the box. Taehyung wanted to cut that box open, tear through it like a Christmas present, and pick you up, play with you for hours, steal that virginity, that innocence away.

It was at that first meeting, that he took you to his favorite bakery, bought you pain au chocolat, and watched you eat as he smoked, hot chocolate staining your top lip a delicious dark color. Taehyung chuckled at your child like reaction upon noticing your new bittersweet mustache, and decided he’d kiss you that day. Not then, you’d probably run off on him if he’d done it then.

“Have you no decency to tell me of my state?” You smack him playfully on the arm, and his smirk only deepens.

“And miss that adorable look on your face? Not a chance, sweetheart.”

Later. At his house, maybe, after he’s certain of your hold on him, and wants to explore it more. Explore you more. The fabric of your dress was hugging your waist exquisitely, dangerously, those heels doing nothing for you next to him. Eight years of a difference, yet he’s known of you for so long. Has seen you from afar, a mere girl with pigtails, no one he’d pay any mind to, just a shadowy figure in the background of his life, but always the promise hung; the promise between your families, the inevitable elopement.

But you were a tough woman, weren’t you? You made him fight for you. There had been a shy goodbye and then your back, walking away from him in a hurry, afraid to stick around for any more that you’d already have. That had been for the better, Taehyung mused to himself over another of many, many a cigarette. Tobacco had been a friend of his since the young age of seventeen, a way to fit in with the other teenagers and their self destructing tendencies. He had those too, he convinced himself. He had those too, but he also had his pencils and papers.

Taehyung had his art, and his music, and he was never alone. He’d witnessed no death, no poverty, no war, and so for that reason he was an insufferable dreamer, a delicate person. But he tried to see those things, tried to be a part of it all, to help, or to imitate—naturally, those people had taken and taken and taken from him, had used him for his warmth, his money, and reassured future, as they had to, at some point, unfortunately return back to their tiny, freezing apartments to starve and work minimum wage industrial jobs as he remained free to parade around Paris, wearing his expensive tailored suits and leather boots, studying art, not a care in the fucking world.

He was aware of this, too. It made no difference. He came from a family of immigrants, people who put in a great deal of effort to their endeavors. His father alongside his uncle had opened their first jewelry shop in 1922, amidst terrible, dark times, catering exclusively to the rich folk of Paris, investing every last penny they had to them, until the favor was returned. Now, boutiques across France, across Europe. Thirty-four years later.

All the whorehouses in Paris could not have prepared him for what he was about find out. For he’s never been truly jealous of anyone, has had no insecurities, no doubt of who he was. Taehyung was wanted by both men and women, divulged in sexual acts with all who interested him, never particularly caring for gender or class. People were all the same to him—everyone had a price, a reason. But not you, not to him. The more he was away from you, the stronger his feelings grew.

You had a little boyfriend; he learns from the driver he had ordered to follow you around. Someone insignificant, an electrician—so it was honest work you were looking for. A small life, a small happiness. Oh, to see your parents’ faces when they found out about this; how their words had backfired. Kim Taehyung came second to no one, and especially not a country boy trying to make it in the big, scary world. He had his ways of getting exactly what he wanted. That is to say, he hired a friend of his fathers to scare him off, to warn him against you. And if that didn’t work, if there was love involved—well, he couldn’t have that, could he?

You were promised to him first. He wouldn’t let anyone else have you. Especially that tight cunt, those cherry red lips. It went without fucking saying—he had to see you again. Unsupervised. Preferably, naked, underneath him.

So, he goes to your house. Picks up a few pebbles and tries for several windows, cigarette in mouth, dark brown curls falling over his eyes. You’re bound to answer to one. He persists, until he sees light coming from the last window at the corner of the stone building, a familiar shadow through the curtains.

Taehyung waits. It’s well past midnight, and you look terrified, but so, so beautiful. Fuckable, in your pink robe and loose hair. He wants to climb up the wall and fuck you right there, against that very window. He wonders if you’d let him, if you’d let go for him.

“My goodness, what are you doing here, Taehyung?” A protective hand over your chest, you look down at him perplexed, but—excited.

He takes the cig out his mouth, flicks the ashes off. “I can’t stop thinking about you, darling.”

He sees your eyes widen, those kissable lips part in an inaudible gasp. He smiles fondly, the thought of you half asleep, still warm from dreams, stirring because of him and his uncontrollable desires—oh, he’d marry you right then if he could. Such were his feelings for you.

“But you can’t be here! My parents—wait, are you drunk?”

Oops. He stumbled forward, discarding his suit jacket, rolling the sleeves of his white shirt up to his forearms, stick between his lopsided lips.

“Guilty as charged, sweetheart,” he mumbles into the night. “I’m coming up.”

“Good lord, you’re not.”

“I am.”

A pause, as he begins his ascend up the front wall of your house. “You are a lunatic, Kim Taehyung. Absolutely.”

For you, perhaps. He’s climbed before, countless times actually, all involving rebellion and illegal activities, but no matter. This time he’s climbing for love, for a chance to get to know the real you, not the timid girl you are during the day, but the hidden side, the moon of you. He’d get it out of you, he’s good at that. And when he does, Taehyung will have his way with you. His cock stirs in the mere thought of it.

You make way for him to jump inside your bedroom, still shaken from the fact he can even do something like that. To see you. You must be dreaming. But no, that can’t be, because there he stands, in all his handsomeness, smelling of cigarettes and expensive cologne, curls bouncing with his every move. And he’s moving towards you.

“How is my favorite girl doing?”

Taehyung sees the flush on your bare neck, rising higher. He sees your hands coming together in front of you, as you instinctively step back from him, a prey in front of a hunter.

“This is inappropriate,” you mutter to yourself, blinking fast.

His lips curve slightly. “Yet, you let me in.”

Your eyes snap back at his. “I had no choice!”

He ignores this, instead familiarizes himself with your bedroom, the pastel colors, the minimal furniture, the piles of books. Your hairbrush, your mirror. Things you’ve used, things that smell like you. You were killing him, playing with the heartstrings of his goddamn heart. How can a girl so perfect as you, his promised fiancée, have someone else? Be touched by another man, loved by another man?

Jealousy has never felt uglier inside him.

“Tell me, sweetheart, what will your boyfriend say about me being here in the middle of the night?”

Your hip hits the corner of your desk, and you hiss quietly. You’re shocked by his words, and he doesn’t fault you. How could he know, after all. Right?

“Who told you this?” You question, and he grabs the end of your robe’s belt, feeling the lace of it.

“Confidential,” he replies simply. “You should know now, darling, I don’t share well. The woman that I’ll love will be my woman only.”

“Is that right?” You test him, he can see. A look of defiance so different from the submissive girl he met at that restaurant all those weeks ago.

He hums, enjoying your little power play. “That is exactly right, pretty thing. Care to elaborate on this secret of yours?” He kisses two fingers, places them on top of the place where his heart rests. “I promise it will stay with me.”

You don’t look convinced. You squirm and touch your hair. Another habit. You’re transparent to him, so easy to read, to decipher. Honest. Your ways do not betray you. To have someone to trust… it was incredibly valuable to Taehyung. Unheard of in the circles he ran, the family he was raised in. A salvation, then. You came to him as a small bird—what if he taught you how to fly?

“You don’t want to see me angry, sweetheart. Use your words,” he threatened, leaning against your closet, all the way on the other side of your bed, unmade and slept in.

In the dim light of your nightstand lamp, you looked dreamt up. Like a wet dream designed by his subconscious to haunt him, a personal Hell. To look but not to touch. Forbidden fruit, and everyone knows the story…

“I met him a year ago. He came for a routine check up on the power lines,” you started to explain, not moving an inch, afraid that if you did Taehyung would move as well. “I… He was kind to me. I’ve been seeing him secretly ever since.”

“Has he touched you?”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a simple question, darling, isn’t it? Has.he.touched.you?”

You huffed an incredulous laugh, as if offended. You answer anyway. “We’ve only kissed, not that it’s any of your business.”

Taehyung nods his head slowly, pointing at the pack he took out of his trousers’ pocket. “May I?” But he doesn’t wait. Lighter on the edge of the cigarette, he inhales the smoke deeply, blowing it towards the ceiling, pondering over the information in his head.

“Kindness,” he says. “Is a tricky thing, isn’t it? Makes you feel guilty if you don’t give it back, if you don’t return it.”

Closing the distance between your bodies, he sees you cowering in the corner, but those eyes are anything but scared. You have a bite, it’s in there. Taehyung wonders how he can bring it out, test it.

“He loves me,” you retort, and you’re trying to sound convincing.

The question is to whom?

“Sweetheart, I do not doubt for one fucking minute that a man could have a pretty little thing like you and not be completely enamored. Only a fool would waste the opportunity.” You stay quiet, watching him stop by the foot of your bed, nothing but a mere two steps separating you now.

“Maybe he does, chances are he doesn’t. It matters little to me,” he pins you down with a strict look. “You’re to stop seeing him. I’m not a charitable person—you belong to me now. Am I making myself clear?”

The mask crumbles, the wounded girl appears. Tears glisten in the faint warm glow of the room, and Taehyung finds himself wanting to wipe them away, make them disappear. He didn’t mean to hurt you, to make you cry. He’s drunk, and he’s jealous, and he’s falling in love.

He’s the bird in the cage, flapping its wings, terrified, starved of genuine affection. His deflecting can only camouflage this truth for so long. It will shoot out like a slap in the face to render him speechless, and it will be soon. But for right now, as he stands in front of you, all he wants is to taste those lips, to try molding them into his own.

“You are cruel, Kim Taehyung. Marrying you would be a tragedy and a punishment,” you mutter, fighting back sobs, chin quivering.

He smiles, but it’s all teeth, he’s a wolf, and it’s fake, it’s forced, and his hands are shoved deep in his pockets, fingers clenching into fists, cigarette butt bitten into to keep from lashing out. Not going after the engagement earlier had been a tragedy, having to deal with the aftermath of not trying to get to know his own fiancée the punishment. But you had been young, and he had been too preoccupied with easy pussy and pretentious art to care. Now you hate him, and it feels unfair.

“What if I told you this person was only after your money, darling? Would that make you see?”

“Lies.”

Taehyung exhales through his nose, nostrils flaring. “I don’t lie, sweetheart, if there’s one thing to know about me it’s this. I have proof. He’s been stealing from this family and has been feeding you fairytales.”

You attack then, heading straight for his face. He grabs both your wrists, and immobilizes you instantly, spitting the cigarette out in fear of burning you. You stare at each other for what feels like ages, both panting, neither backing down.

“You’re trying to poison me,” you spit at him, pure hatred spread across your beautiful face. “Lock me up.”

He softens immediately, blinking down at you, snapping out of it. “I fed you hot chocolate, ordered flowers to your house every single day since I met you,” he whispers, trying to make you see reason. “I’ve known you since you were playing hide and seek with my younger sister, a girl no older than nine years of age—I’ve never had a reason to lie to you, to trick you. All I’m doing is trying to protect you. Neither of us had any control over our relationship, (Y/N), and I am truly sorry for that. Be it as it may, I now have a responsibility to you, to keep you out of harm’s way, to be truthful.”

Tears roll down your cheeks, and you look so confused, so fucking split into what you want to believe and what is real, that Taehyung can only pull you into his arms, let you come to terms with the fact. You don’t fight, you don’t even say anything, you just sob into his shirt quietly, overtaken by heartbreak. He sits you both down on the bed, and you fall into his lap—so easily, like you’ve done this a thousand times. His thoughts drift further, and he chastises himself; you’re in a vulnerable position, it’s late. He should leave you alone.

For the life of him, he can’t find the will to do it.

“What I said still stands,” he mumbles into your hair. “I will not apologize for the way I am. For as long as you’re mine, no one else will have you. I will kill anyone who dares to attempt messing with you.”

You sniffle and sigh, tear-stained bloodshot eyes looking back at him. “I had no idea you were like this.”

One side of his mouth curves slightly, hands coming to push hair back from your face. “You’ll get used to me. Give it some time.”

Your gaze moves across his features, studying him. A breath away. If he leaned in just a bit, he could take your mouth in his, devour you whole. He almost does. The hope that you might want anything to do with him is holding him back from doing so.

“Okay,” you say, and he exhales.

“What?”

“Okay,” you repeat, fingers coming to wipe at the wetness on your cheeks. “I’ll give you a chance. Please don’t make me regret it.”

His body physically aches from the effort he puts not to pounce on your right then and there, so instead he settles for a kiss on the forehead, short and painful. Taehyung squeezes his eyes shut, begs for you to stop wiggling on him.

“I fucking swear, darling. I’ll be good to you.”

He’s never promised anything to any woman before. He finds himself wanting to keep good on his words this time.

It’s exactly two weeks after his little break and entering fiasco that the preparations for the engagement party begin.

Your mother seemed to know Taehyung had spent majority of that night with you, if he were to judge by her inquisitive looks and overall effort to never leave her daughter unattended around him. That was well enough—he was a creative and innovative man, he always seemed to find a way around rules and indiscreet eyes.

He takes you to a movie screening one afternoon, and stares at your animated expressions the entire time. He smokes twice as much to resist the urge of putting his hands on you. He desperately wants to; he craves having you in his arms again, yearns for that sweet scent, those soft thighs rubbing against his erection, your breasts against his firm chest. Taehyung dreams of you often, dreams of those untouched folds he’s never seen, never tasted—he’s a savage diving headfirst into them, licking every last drop of your wetness, inhaling the smell of your virgin cunt, and imagines your desire to be touched by a man, him, your soon to be husband.

He comes into his hand every morning, wishing his palm was you around his raw cock, allowing him to invade you, to ravage you. He weaves his time, reassuring himself—all in good time. He’ll have you for eternity soon, and no forever will be enough for all he’s planned on doing with you.

“Tell me, sweetheart, do you drink?”

You look at him, eyelashes flattering innocently. “No, not really,” you confess, and you appear so cute to him, then, that he must make a move, it cannot be helped.

Taehyung kisses your temple affectionately, stopping you both in your tracks in the bustling streets of the 7th Arrondissement. You lean in for just a moment, overtaken, and he considers it a triumph, a step towards the right direction. He’ll spend the rest of his life proving himself to you, if that’s what it takes, just so he can kiss you like this.

“We can’t have that, can we?” He rhetorically asks, and takes your hand in his, draping it over his forearm. “You’re with me, now, you must divulge in the few pleasures that life has to offer, my darling.”

“No one has offered to show me,” you confess shyly.

Show you he does. He takes you to the restaurant he frequents at and orders the bottle of wine he loves the most, along with dinner. Taehyung fills your glass and cuts your steak in bite sized pieces when it arrives. He advices you to sniff at the red colored alcohol first, before closing your eyes and having a taste.

You’re the most special kind of angel doing exactly as you’re told, taking a small sip of the aged wine. He watches, breath bated. When you open your eyes, the fascination on your face makes him smile brightly, proudly.

“Oh, it’s wonderful!”

“That’s my girl.”

Your fiancée leans back in his chair and lights a cigarette as you contently chew your food, drink your wine. He stares in awe, mesmerized by your genuine nature. You blush under his intense gaze.

“Won’t you eat?” You ask, biting your pink lips.

Taehyung can’t help but smirk at that. “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I’ll eat later, trust me.”

“You say it with such innuendo, I don’t understand—”

“Have you ever touched yourself, (Y/N)? Be honest with me.”

You choke on your food, eyes widening, coughing into your hand. Taehyung chuckles, offering you some water. You take it gratefully, chugging half the glass. He waits, amused, curious. A few people turn to look. He ignores them.

“That is not a proper question to ask a lady, Taehyung,” you scold him after you recover, fingers playing with your pearl necklace.

“You are to be my wife. I believe I can ask whatever I want,” he responds calmly.

You take a while to answer, instead turning to the wine for bravery.

“Why the interest?”

“Purely out of curiosity. I want to know what makes you feel good, sweetheart, for when I go down on that sweet cunt of yours.”

Your knife falls out of your hand and hits the floor at once. More people begin to tune into your conversation, intrigued. You look around, embarrassed and crouch to pick up your utensil. Taehyung turns his head to the side to blow smoke on the nosy woman on the table next to yours. She heaves, waving her hand and quickly minds her business.

“Did I say something to upset you?” He presses.

“You’re ridiculous and vulgar!” You half whisper, urging him to stop his teasing. “No one has ever spoken to me in this way.”

“Your boyfriend must’ve been a bore then, darling. I’m only stating my intentions. I would never dare to offend you.”

“It’s just as so.”

“Don’t be shy with me.”

“Yes!” You exclaim, and down the entire glass of wine. “Of course I have, who hasn’t? Now no more of this or I’m leaving.”

Taehyung shuts the fuck up at once.

He wishes he can say he was nothing but a total gentleman the entire evening, but that would a blatant fucking lie, wouldn’t it, because as soon as you get off the car to go into your house, he grabs you by the arm and kisses you deeply, hands ruining your hair. You moan and refute against his lips, but he holds you tighter, attempts to bruise your mouth so that you’d feel him there for a good fucking while.

He wishes he can say that had been all, but it wasn’t, because he takes you on the side of the building, covering you in shadows, and slips his hand under your dress, feeling your garters, touching the lace of your underwear. He rises your skirts, and fingers you right there, your parents just through the wall, wondering where their sweet little girl is.

You gasp and cling to him, bodies pressed together as he leaves you no room to think, to second guess, to breathe, even. He’s ruthless in his taking, selfish in his ambition to make you come for him, and so his digits curl in your slick, finding out the pleasure spots of you, desperate to have you screaming his name. You’re moving your hips towards his hand in no time, overwhelmed by how good it feels to have something inside you, fucking into you. Taehyung flattens his palm, and rubs your clit with the heel of it, long fingers edging you.

“Please, Taehyung… that feels too good, what are you doing to me?”

Your head falls on his shoulder, just as he hikes one of your thighs up his torso. He has half a mind to slam you down on his cock, fuck you in public, unashamed, outside your own fucking house, but he doesn’t, he won’t, because you’re important; because you matter, because he only wants to give you a little taste of what he can do for you.

“I’m stretching that little hole of yours, sweetheart. You’re so fucking wet for me, baby, so eager for my hand.”

Cupping you jaw, his tongue pushes past your lips in an open-mouthed kiss, eliciting more sounds from you, growing hotter, whinier, broken. Your pussy is making sounds too, all wet and filthy, and you seem to hear them as well, trying to pull away from his kiss, hide your face in his chest. He doesn’t let you, opens his eyes to see the pleasure written clearly on your features.

“You’ll come for me, won’t you, darling? All over my fingers? Let me see you, sweet thing, and then let me have a taste of those sweet juices. I bet you taste like pure fucking honey, I wanna bury myself in that cunt, drown in that cream. Won’t you give it to me, baby? C’mon, let go for me, let me see.”

When you come, you don’t seem to understand what you just did, what happened, and Taehyung is truly and completely awestruck by your innocence. He rubs circles on your clit until your body stops convulsing, and when he’s sure you’re okay to stand on your own, he kneels down in front of you on the dewy grass, gripping your hips, and diving in your folds, tongue lapping your slickness, so velvety, so goddamn tasty, before going for your clit, flicking the small bundle of nerves. You jerk away from him, the sensation unfamiliar. He brings you back, growls, grips tighter and does it again. And again. And again.

“Oh my God, I can’t, I can’t, I’m gonna—”

He moans against your cunt, uses his hand again to provide more friction for you to rub against. You do immediately, your pussy on fire, aching like never before, your stomach in knots. Then he starts mumbling like a mad man—I can feel it, sweetheart, let me have it, come in my mouth, give it to me my filthy fucking girl, my little slut, Heaven on earth on my tongue, I swear, one more, one more baby, come on.

You come again, and this time you see stars; your vision blurs, and you almost collapse on top of him, but Taehyung holds you up whilst not missing a single drop of your release, licking all over, chin coated in your juices, running down his neck. He fucking loves it all, loves you, loves your cunt. Then, he hears it.

Your dad calling out for you. While he’s still buried between your thighs, erection pressing against his trousers, his daughter fucked out and half naked for everyone to see. You panic immediately, pushing your skirt down, looking at the direction of the voice worried, dizzy still from your orgasms.

Taehyung pulls your panties over your core, and gets up quickly, giving you one last kiss before slapping your ass. You hit his chest alarmed, anxiety ridden.

“Go first, darling. I’ll see you later.”

“But—”

He fixes you with a stern look. “Be a good girl.”

You hesitantly go, your hand dropping from his. He hates having to let go of you like this but doesn’t want to get you in trouble with your father, either. He waits a bit for both voices to disappear behind doors, before going back to his car, parked a couple houses back. Taehyung can barely think straight with all the blood rushing to his cock.

He rubs himself like that, with the thought of you coming undone over him, your taste still in his mouth. When he spits into his palm, he imagines your perfect lips wrapping around his shaft, taking his entire length into your small hole, gagging over his girth. He barely cares for anyone passing, or his indecency.

He wants to fuck you raw, fuck you dumb. Put a ring on your finger, and knock some babies in you, then die a happy man.

All in good time.

With guests arriving and gifts piling up, Taehyung hadn’t got a single chance to talk to you. Just a quick hello and peck on the cheek, before your mothers dragged you away to fix your dress and powder your face up to her standards.

You’d grimaced at him as you were taken to the guest room of his house, and he gave you a small smile in return. This day was most important to them, a celebration of two of the most powerful and influential families in all of France, so in that way, you had to look your best, and even then, your best didn’t guarantee perfection.

Taehyung thought you looked fucking stunning in your champagne-colored gown, crystals cascading down your hair. A wish, or a dream, or both. He can only imagine what you’d look like in your wedding dress, walking towards him down the aisle, given to no one but him, his to love, to cherish, to protect, and to fuck. He gets excited with the mere thought, the prospect of having you all to himself, to do whatever he pleases.

His father slaps him on the shoulder once, already more than three glasses of bourbon in; he had a buzz about him, a friendly aura, when he was drunk. It was easier to talk to him, then, in his relaxed state. But Taehyung had nothing to say—not to him, at least. He’d been a pain in the fucking ass all these years, and now when it’s time to do his duty and marry into a good family, all of a sudden, he’s the picture-perfect authority.

Bullshit. He loosens his tie a little, the noose suddenly entirely too tight around his neck, and puts the cigarette back in between his fingers, running a hand through his tidy hair, with the brushed back curls.

At first, greeting people had been easy enough. All he had to do was stand right next to you and shake hands. He doesn’t know when the air got so unbearably stifling, or when the faces all started blurring into each other, smiles melting off as if acid had been thrown onto them. Taehyung squeezes that hand he has around your waist, and you look up in concern. The music is too loud, the lights are too bright, and who the fuck keeps banging on his head?

“Tae?” You ask, delicate hands taking his pale face in them. “You’re overwhelmed,” you conclude, staring into his eyes. Then to your mother, “We’re gonna go get some fresh air.”

“Right now?” She chastises but doesn’t object. Perhaps Taehyung looks worse than he feels. “Be back soon, honey. You need to give your toasts, so we can bring out the cake.”

“Yes, mother.”

Like magic, his migraine disappears the moment you leave the living room. Your soft hand in his, leading him to privacy—all he needed, all he wanted. Your plan is to take him to the garden, have the crispy autumn air hit him, bring him back from his anxiety. But it wasn’t stress that made him unwell; it was those people, the fact that he knew none of them, and yet they got to congratulate him, to stare at his bride as if she’s nothing more than a piece of meat, something with an expiration date.

They think that Kim Taehyung won’t be faithful. That he’ll grow bored, and once he gives you a couple children, will try everything in his power to stay as far away as possible from you. The assumptions of a life he left far behind the moment he bought you that chocolate croissant were haunting him, karma coming to bite him. He was no longer that person they’ve heard so many rumors about it, nor does he wish to ever be, ever again.

You were his future now. His life. He was completely devoted to you. You had to know this.

Before you can reach for the balcony door, he pulls you into the library, locking the door behind him. You let out a gasp as he pushes you against the cold glass of the window that run across the wall, overlooking the majestic garden his mother and housekeepers had built. Taehyung smiles and puts both his arms on either side of you, his thumbs caressing your temples tenderly.

“I thought you weren’t well,” you mutter, blinking up at his handsome face.

“You always make me feel better.” He inches closer.

“Is that so?”

“Mhm.” And then he kisses you.

Gently, softly. Small feathery pecks, admiring the way you bloomed for him, under his touch. The party was gearing up, he could hear the melody change to something more upbeat, so he figured he could steal a few more moments with you, alone. His mind ran a thousand miles per hour.

“I want you to know, sweetheart, I want you to hear it from me directly, and believe me always when I say—I’ll be a good husband to you. I will always put you first, above my own self, whatever you need. Count on me, let me be a man that’s deserving of an angel like you,” he whispers against your lips, watches as your eyes glisten with tears of joy.

He kisses them away, then kisses your brow. You giggle, a sound holier than church bells. He would give you anything, then. His baby, his darling. Anything.

“I’m going to take advantage of you now— I can’t fucking wait any longer, you have me by the fucking balls, sweetheart.”

Your hands instinctively go for his shoulders, as he roughly pulls your dress up your legs, over your hips, those long fingers dipping underneath your silk panties, feeling that smooth pussy with his open palm. Taehyung groans into your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin there. He wanted to mark you, show everyone you’re his, but not now. You’d be too embarrassed to go back out, face all those guests.

Your cunt wasn’t shy, though. It coated his fingers with your slick wetness, opened up for him to have his way. So obedient, so fucking sexy—oh, he’d fuck you. Right against this window, for anyone that was outside to see. He didn’t give a fuck. You drove him crazy with how ready you always seemed to be, your body betraying any sort of rebuttal from you.

“Tell me baby, have you touched yourself since I was in between these legs?” As his middle finger slips inside your tight entrance. “Have you thought of me while rubbing this pretty pussy? Be honest with me, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” a breathy moan against his collarbone, as your hand wraps around the nap of his neck. “Yes.”

He’s a gone man, then. A girl as perfect as you, his promised girl, admitting to pleasuring herself with the thought of him? Taehyung almost wants to apologize for who he was about to become.

“Turn around for me, darling.”

You’re scared, overthinking the position, but with one last flick on your clit, you’re drenching his entire hand, rubbing on his forearm like a starved slut.

“I’ll take care of you, baby, I got you, I promise.”

“Will it hurt?” You ask quietly, and he shushes you, kisses away your worry.

“It might, angel. But you’re my strong girl, aren’t you? Bite on my hand if the pain is too much.”

He holds your hips aligned with his erection and unzips his trousers, pumping himself a few times, using your slick to coat his length. Taehyung then puts a hand over your mouth, and you hold onto it with both of your own, inching your ass closer to his cock absentmindedly, your body obviously wanting this as much as he does.

“Fuck me, you’re a fucking dream like this, darling, let me see you. Do that again.”

You do, the white garters and stockings you have on the sexiest thing he’s ever seen in his goddamn life. He’s seen a lot of pussy, but nothing compares, could ever compare to yours. Sliding his rock-hard length against your folds, he circles an arm around your waist, your knees already giving out. Taehyung chuckles, kisses your shoulder blade softly. What an adorable girl, so innocent in the ways of pleasure, all the different ways your senses can come alive.

“Take a deep breath for me, sweetheart.”

He enters you at once, what little resistance there was giving way. You scream into his hand, and he presses his chest on your back, fingers pressing against your mouth to keep you quiet. Stilling for a second, brows furrowing, aching to pound into you, to fuck you senseless, he then pulls all the way out, and thrusts back in, the tightness feeling incredible against his girth.

“Christ baby, where have you been my entire fucking life?”

You whimper, and push back, wanting to be as close to him as possible. “Faster, Taehyung, please.”

He needn’t be told twice. He stays inside you, picking up his pace, fucking into the deepest part of you, both arms wrapping around your waist, breathing labored, watching as you place two manicured hands on the glass, trying to keep yourself upright. He praises you, tells you how good you’re doing, how fucking perfect you are for him, taking cock so well, a natural, a good little slut, his baby, so proud of you, so fucking proud.

“Look at you, shameless, getting fucked for the whole world to see. You’re a filthy fucking girl, angel, aren’t you? All you want is to come on my cock, don’t you?”

“Please…”

Taehyung wants to grab you by the hair, drill himself into your hole, shape it to fit his dick exactly, to mark his place there so that you could never leave him, never let any other man in that sweet fucking place. Instead, he watched the crystals bounce, your tits smashed against the glass, corset keeping them in place.

“Please? Use your words, darling. What do you want?” He demands, bending you at the waist more, feeling his release getting closer.

“You, please, more, more!”

When his digits drop down to your clit again, you’re a crying mess, begging to be filled with cum, filled by him, to the brim, until you can’t take no more, and he gives it all to you, he’s generous, he slams one, two, three—your head falls in ecstasy, as he shoots his load inside of your insatiable hole, balls emptying all he’s been holding back for you.

He rests his head on your lower back, sweat dripping into his eyes, stinging. He kisses you over the flashy fabric of your dress, hands resting above your womb, thinking about seeing your swollen belly, carrying his child, a beautiful mommy.

Taehyung helped you get decent, tucking himself back in his pants, straightening his suit vest, passing a hand over his combed hair, and turned you around in his arms for a last kiss. Only this one was more intense; unlike any other kiss he’s ever experienced. It was emotional, carrying the trust and love you’ve grown to have for him, the most precious thing he could ever ask for.

“I’ve loved you since I met you, sweetheart,” he whispers sweetly in your ear, pulling back to see your reaction.

You flushed, hiding on his shoulder. He smiles fondly at your action and keeps you there for a while. Some time has passed since you two supposedly went to the gardens, and he didn’t want your mother to start an entire search party for the both of you, so he halfheartedly suggested to return to the living room.

Admittedly, there was no possible way to hide you two had sex. His mother shook her head as he brought you to stand in front of the two-tiered vanilla frosted cake, attached to your hip.

“I’ll love you til the day I die,” he promises later, in front of everyone, slipping a diamond ring on your finger. “Mine to hold, mine to keep.”

#taehyung #bts taehyung #taehyung smut #taehyung scenarios #bts scenarios #bts smut #taehyung fanfics #taehyung imagines #bts fanfics #taehyung fics #bts fics #taehyung imagine #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #bts x reader #taehyung x reader #.mine

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phoward89 · 8 days

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Based on this ask

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is his own warning in and of itself. Cussing, obsession, masterbation (m & f), p in v (alluded to), Dark!Coriolanus, Young Politician!Coriolanus, Secretary!Reader

This one got away from me so it's a bit long. Whoops...

You're at your desk, logging into your computer to start the day whenever the door to the office opens and in walks your boss. Senator Coriolanus Snow. One of the youngest Head Gamemakers and Senators in the history of Panem. He's only 24 years old and he's already so successful.

Crazy, right?

Your older brother was in the same graduating class as him at the Academy. Rein was a slacker that wasn't in the top 24 while Coryo- uh Coriolanus- was the top student, won the Plinth prize, and even did a short stint as a Peacekeeper to serve the greater good of the country (like his father General Crassus Snow did before him) before attending the University as a double major in Political Science and Military Strategies. Oh and while attending the University he interned under Dr. Gaul, became an Assistant Gamemaker, and even became the Head Gamemaker himself when Dr. Gaul died in a tragic lab accident involving her mutts.

And he did all of that by age 20.

Age 20!

After graduating from the Academy, Rein was shoved into the Peacekeepers by your father, retired Colonel Javanis Halvir. Your brother was sent to 8 and he complained in all of his letters about it. Once he was eligible to take the Officer's Aptitude Exam, your father had ordered him to sign up. So, Rein took the test and became an officer. He got assigned to PK Base D-12.

And that's what your older brother accomplished by 20. Oh and he also knocked up a local barmaid from the Hobb, causing your father to have a stroke. Your mother found it very comical.

And then both of your parents told you that you needed to redeem the family name, blah blah blah, and pushed you to be the top student in the Academy. So, of course you ended up in the top 24. And you mentored a tribute, a 17 year old boy from 7, that won. He was very proficient with an ax. You didn't have to do too much mentoring, he basically just hacked everybody to bits…

But you still won the Plinth Prize anyways. And during the ceremony for the prize, instead of Strabo Plinth handing you over the Plinth Prize it was his heir instead.

Head Gamemaker Coriolanus Snow.

After handing you the prize he had asked you to have a glass of posca with him, causing your mother to glare angrily at the interaction. Your father on the other hand was ecstatic that Coryo-uh Coriolanus- wanted to talk to you. He served under General Snow in 12; thought that Coriolanus was a man cut from the same cloth as his father.

Anyways, once you and Coriolanus Snow got to talking he admitted that he was going into politics and would need a personal secretary; an assistant per say to help him with his day to day tasks such as scheduling meetings, etc. and much to your surprise, he offered you the job.

That was a couple of years ago.

So, yes, that's how you got your job. And you really liked your job. It wasn't that hard to do plus it made you feel important that such an accomplished and powerful man trusted you to manage his life.

If you only knew that Coriolanus, who's been insisting that you call him Coryo for roughly a year now, has been lusting after you since he saw you in a cute dress that hugged your body just right when he presented you the Plinth Prize 2 years ago. Also, your boss is a dark soul. A cold man. But he does have a soft spot for you.

And only for you.

Which is why he greets you with a wide, manic smile that makes the corners of his baby blues crinkle. “Good morning, Y/N.” The platinum blonde senator says while crossing the room, heading to your desk.

“Good morning, Senator Snow.” You politely smile, pulling up the excel document in order to print out the day's schedule for your boss. And talk about your boss, he's holding a bouquet of white roses in one hand and a tray of coffee along with a pastry bag in the other as he stops at your desk.

Coriolanus sets everything down, only to grab the vase on the corner of your desk and bring it over to the trash. All the while saying, “I brought you some fresh roses, courtesy of Grandma’am’s rooftop garden, to replace the wilted ones on your desk.”

The blonde politician did that every Monday for you. He brought fresh flowers for your office vase. A vase he gifted you for your one year work anniversary last year.

Dumping the contents of the vase out in the trash can, Coriolanus gestured to the coffees and brown paper bag on your desk, only to explain, “The barista at the coffee shop got my order wrong, so I had to do a second order, but since I already paid for the wrong order I figured I'd give it to you.”

“Oh, thank you, Coriolanus, Sir.” You simply smiled, grateful for the free coffee. You were going to put a pot on in the break room as soon as you printed out Snow's schedule, but getting an unexpected cup of coffee’s always nice.

Perhaps you'll pay it forward and treat him to coffee tomorrow. The gods know that you have his coffee order memorized.

It's black, just like his soul, with a couple of sugar packets. Not Splenda, not Sweet ‘n’ Low, not Truvia, but real sugar made from sugar cane grown down in 11. Oh and he always has a chocolate filled croissant too.

You also know his afternoon tea order by heart along with his dinner orders from a handful of takeout places he prefers. Hell, you even know his liquor order for after hours meetings. But it's your duty to know those things since, after all, you're his personal secretary.

Literally his right hand woman.

“Darling, how many times have I told you to, please, call me Coryo.” Your boss shook his head at you while bringing the empty vase to the nearby bathroom to fill up with water.

It must've been at least a hundred times by now, maybe more. But it felt weird to you calling your boss such a personal sounding nickname. You're both professional adults, if you call him by his name it should be Coriolanus. If not then you'll just refer to him as his title, since he's your boss.

“You know I can't call you Coryo, Coriolanus. It's not proper; you're my boss.” You remind the senator, who's dressed to the nines today in a perfectly tailored three piece black suit- complete with a white dress shirt and striped tie, as he walks out of the bathroom and back into your foyer office with the filled up vase in hand.

A vase that looked dwarfed by his large grip. “We've known each other for a couple of years now, darling. I'd like to think of us as being on friendly terms, wouldn't you?” Coriolanus asked, placing the vase down on your desk and arranging the flowers in them for you.

You clicked the print button on your computer, only to swivel your chair around to reach the ink jet printer behind you. “Yes, we're friendly, but you're still my boss.”

“And as your boss I'm now ordering you to call me Coryo.” He told you, pulling out the coffee that was yours, due to error, and setting it on your desk while you watched the printer spit out the paper with his daily schedule on it.

“Fine, I'll call you Coryo.” You gave in, grabbing the paper and swiveling back around to face your him.

“I got two croissants since I had to get my order remade, so it looks like you'll be getting one this morning, darling.” Coryo told you, opening up the paper bag and pulling out a pastry. He grabbed a napkin that was stuffed into the drink carrier and put it on your desk, next to your coffee, before depositing your croissant on it.

“Thank you.” You simply smile. Handing him over his schedule, you announce, “Here's your schedule for today.”

The platinum blonde gives you a closed lip smile and nods before stretching his hand out for the paper. “You've got a dinner meeting tonight at 7 o’clock sharp with a political sponsor.” You reminded him, your fingertips brushing, while he grabs the outstretched paper from you.

Briefly glancing over the paper in his hand, he asked, “Would you like to go with me?”

“What?”

“Dinner at 7 o’clock sharp. Would you like to go with me?”

Shaking your head, you politely decline his offer. “Oh no, I'm sorry, Coryo, Sir, but I can't go.”

“Why not? Got a boyfriend or something occupying your time?” The senator sharply asks, his baritone heavy with a tingle of jealousy.

Coriolanus prayed to every God he never believed in that you're single. If not, well he's going to go whack some unlucky bastard to free you up to be his girl. He's decided that he's tired of pinning over you; stalking you.

Coryo's ready to take things to the next level. He's ready to fucking corrupt you; make you his forever. He's going to be announcing his bid for the presidential runoff, the first step in becoming one of two candidates to face off for the presidency, and it's time for him to get into a relationship.

A public relationship.

And you're perfect for that. Coriolanus knows, without a doubt, that you'll make a perfect First Lady. That your beauty and slight innocence will be the perfect contrast to his cold, stoic, but regal stature. That you're a perfect fit for him.

Plus he's getting tired of paying for whores. Whores that he has to keep disposing of so that they can't blackmail him about his sexual appetite. Coriolanus prides himself of being from one of the founding families of Panem, from the Old Guard. He even runs on the Old Guard ticket; he can't have some disgruntled whore tarnishing his reputation.

It'd be much cheaper and easier to just get you into bed; fuck you in all the ways that he likes.

But he also has a soft spot for you. Coryo likes you. Okay, that's a lie. He's obsessed with you in such a dark, sick way that if he sees a man smile at you or get too close to you then he's killing that man. Yea, Senator Snow’s in love with you, or at least in his head he's in love with you.

It's more like an obsession.

“No.” You shook your head. “I don't have a boyfriend.” Well, you had an on-again, off-again thing going on with your neighbor across the hall from you, but since it's currently off Coryo doesn't need to know about that.

Coriolanus swore that he heard the heavens singing hymns upon hearing that you're single. Yes, now’s the perfect time for him to make you his.

“Then I'll have my driver pick you up for dinner tonight. Wear something nice.”

Once again, you decline him invitation. “You're my boss, I'm sorry, but I can't go with you tonight.”

Usually Coriolanus appreciates your professionalism and dedication to your job, but right now he loathes it. Why can't you just accept that he's taking you to his dinner meeting tonight. That he's showing you off on his arm for the entire Capitol to see.

Leaning against your desk, he gives you a piercing look with his icy eyes and tells you, “It's a very important business dinner with a political sponsor, Y/N, and you're my assistant.” A calculating look crosses the politician's face as he adds in, “It's actually, you might say, very vital that you attend dinner with me tonight.”

Well…

When he puts it that way.

“Okay, I'll go to dinner with you tonight.” You relent, causing a smug grin to appear on Coryo's face.

“Good.” Coryo grins, making his face light up like sunshine, as he grabs his coffee and pastry bag. “Since dinner's at 7, I'll have my driver pick you up at 6:45. That'll leave a 15 minute window to get to the restaurant.” The platinum blonde told you the plan before pivoting on his heel and striding over to his office. Pausing at his door, with his large hand hovering over the knob, he looked over his shoulder and told you, “Wear either a red or black dress, but preferably red.”, before opening up the door and disappearing inside of his office.

Oh, how did you get into this mess?

Coriolanus sat at his mahogany desk, going over documents for various bills that he could either sponsor or just straight up deny. Honestly, most of the shit that got dumped on his desk he denied. If it didn't pertain to the Capitol and the Capitolites then he just shoved the document in his shredder and made a note to vote no, well in the Senate it was ‘nah’, on it.

And Senator Snow was notorious for voting nah on everything.

As he sat in his office going over mindless matters, he couldn't help but wonder about what you'd look like all dolled up for dinner tonight. He knew that you had a few nice cocktail dresses to pick from, but the mystery of whether you'd listen to him and wear something black or preferably red versus another color altogether made his head spin a mile a minute. He hopes that you're a good little secretary and listen to him about the dress.

But what he really can't help fantasizing about is what you'll be wearing underneath your dress. He can't help picturing you in a bra and panty set that hugs your body in the right ways. The senator's daydreaming about delicate lace molded against your most private parts, that are hidden away only for your lover to see.

And just thinking about becoming your lover, stripping you out of not just your dress, but your soft, delicate lingerie has his pants growing tighter. So tight, in fact, that it was downright uncomfortable.

Letting out a barely audible groan, the platinum blonde stood up from his desk and went over to his door. For just a moment, he leaned his forehead against it and debated on whether or not to call you into his office; have you on your knees underneath his desk for him. But then he decided against it; locked his door instead and went over to his desk chair to take care of himself.

You're not some district whore, you deserve to be properly wined and dined first before he has you on your knees for him- choking on his cock with tears and mascara messily running down your cheeks.

Oh, just the thought of you with your pretty mouth around his large cock had said cock twitching in his pants.

Quickly, Coriolanus makes his way over to the small sofa that's in the corner of his office. He makes quick work of undoing his belt, only to tug his pants and boxer briefs down just enough for his cock to spring free before sitting on the sofa. Spitting in his hand, he leans back into the sofa and wraps his large hand around his cock.

He feels his dick throbbing angrily in his cold hand while sliding his thumb over his tip’s leaky slit. The platinum blonde bites back a moan, and closes his eyes- pretending that it's your hand wrapped around his shaft and your thumb teasing his cockhead. Fuck, how he craves your touch. Using his thumb to spread precum over his tip and down the length of his dick, he started to move his fist up and down in measured glides.

Coriolanus knows he should just rub one out as quick as possible since he's at work, but the fact that you- the object of all his fantasies- is right outside won't let him. Being in such close proximity to you feeds his fantasies and he has to have a proper handjob session.

Coriolanus has to indulge in the make believe notion that you're the one pumping his cock up and down, twisting your wrist slightly every now and then. That it's you playing with his cum heavy balls, making his toes curl in his socks and black floor shines, as the fist around his cock starts to slightly pick up pace.

Gods, he's getting lost in his fantasy of you pleasuring him with your hands, hell even your mouth- that he's sure will be aching from his cock unhinging your jaw when you suck him off- that the loud ringing of his office phone startles him.

“Goddamnit! Can't I fuck my fist in peace?” Coriolanus grumbled.

He's angry that his fantasy was broken; that he has to fist his cock faster than he wanted to.

The phone continued to ring off the hook as he furiously moved his hand up and down his dick. He bit his lip and bucked his hips, spurting his cum into his left hand. The one that he was using on his balls before the damn phone started ringing like crazy.

Letting out an aggravated sigh, he grabbed a few tissues from the box on the side table next to him and wiped off his hand. Standing up to right his boxer briefs and pants, he heard your heels echo down the hall. Great, just great, now you're on your way to his office because the phone’s ringing off the hook.

Quickly, Coriolanus tosses the tissues into the wastebin. Rushing to his desk, he grabs the phone, only to slam it down. Hard.

Hey, he made the excessive ringing stop. Whoever called should just stick to the after 3 rings, hang up and try again later rule. Coriolanus has more important things to do than listen to a phone ring endlessly.

More important things: like jacking off to daydreams and fantasies about his secretary.

His secretary that's knocking on his door and asking him if he's alright.

“I'm fine, my darling.” Coriolanus called out to you while crossing his office. He unlocked his door and opened it, only to give you a manipulative smile while feeding you the bullshit lie of, “I just zoned out reading a grant proposal and didn't realize the phone was ringing.”

“Are you sure you're alright?” You asked, only to follow it up with the offer of, “I can always read some of those grant proposals and take notes on them for you, if you want. That way you won't get so bored to death reading them that you miss important phone calls.”

“You'd do that, for me?” Coriolanus asked, feeling a bit touched by your offer. Oh, how he thinks you're an absolute sweetheart.

A perfect angel sent to him from the Lord above. And he's your golden angel too.

Lucifer, that is.

“Of course, Coryo. It's my job to help you with paperwork.”

And before another word could be shared between you two, his phone started ringing. Again.

“Oh, I'll leave you to your call. Just put whatever you want me to read for you on my desk later.”

“I will, darling.” Coriolanus smiles at you, watching you walk away before closing his door.

Storming over to his phone, he sees that the video option light is blinking. Sitting down, he answered the phone and pressed the button to turn on his video call screen. As soon as the face of the half-assed idiot that was one of the Junior Gamemakers appeared on the screen he immediately felt a migraine coming on.

“Senator Snow, are you neglecting Head Gamemaker duties in favor of politics? You never answered my call.” The redhead man with a bad combover had the audacity to tell his boss via the phone screen.

Poor soul must not value his life…

“There’s 3 fucking months before the games, that I'm designing, so there's no damn reason for you to call me and let the phone ring off the hook. Are you incompetent? If you had the common sense that God gave a mule the. You'd know I was busy with other matters and couldn't answer your ridiculous call.” Coriolanus seethed in a long winded rant. His veins were protruding from his pale neck; a red vein was angrily popping in his forehead too. But it was his eyes that held so much hate in their icy orbs.

The man on the phone screen, despite being a few years older then Senator Snow, was a complete incompetent idiot in Coriolanus' opinion. Age certainly didn't make him any wiser.

“I'm a very busy man; next time you pester me I'll have you thrown into a tank full of rabid mutts.” Coriolanus promised the Junior Gamemaker before hanging up, hard, on him.

Coriolanus pinches the bridge of his nose and slumps into his overstuffed leather office chair. Letting out a heavy sigh, he rubs his temples and tries to calm down by daydreaming about dinner with you tonight.

Your day went on as it usually does. You took calls and made appointments for Senator Snow. You also read and typed up some cliff notes for a few bills that Coryo left for you before he took off for lunch. He didn't say where he was going and you didn't ask.

When he came back from a power lunch, you knew he went somewhere for drinks cause you could smell a hint of whiskey radiating from his pores, he greeted you with a simple thin lipped smile and placed a container of food on your desk. He didn't tell you to take your lunch break, but the way he wordlessly moved his baby blues between you and the doggie bag he just dumped on your desk was more than enough to give you a hint that he wanted you to eat. So, you simply thanked him, before handing him some notes and taking the food he got you to the break room.

After lunch, the remainder of your day was mundane. Or at least it was until Coryo emerged from his office and strutted over to your desk. You didn't pay him any mind, figuring that he prolly just wanted the other bills back along with the notes you just finished up on them. So, when he perches himself on the corner of your desk, all the while suggesting, “Darling, why don't you leave early. You can pamper yourself with, say, a rosewater bubble bath before tonight's dinner. Yea?”, you're taken aback.

You're in total shock.

Your nose scrunched up, reminding Coriolanus of a little bunny rabbit, as you asked incredulously, “Excuse me, Senator Snow? You're sending me home early?” Softly, you trailed off, “To take a bubble bath…”, while tilting up a baffled arched eyebrow.

“A rosewater bubble bath.” The regal platinum man corrected with a long finger high up in the air. Leaning slightly, so that he towers over you as you sit behind your desk (and gets a nice little peek down your v-neck blouse at your modest cleavage), he tells you, “You're such a dedicated employee; I think you deserve to go home early and pamper yourself before I drag you out to a dinner with my potential political sponsor.”

And what he wasn't telling you was that Mr. Feathersworth was bringing his mistress along. Oh yea… So, technically, it's a couples dinner.

Really? He wants you to relax and pamper yourself before a dinner full of political talk? Wow. You weren't expecting that from your boss.

“My bath and beauty products are actually rose-vanilla scented, Coryo, not rosewater.” You told him, before you could even think better of it.

A smirk appears on Coryo's face and desire briefly flashed in his cerulean eyes. The imposing man favored roses; in fact it was his signature, so that fact that you used rose-vanilla scented bath and beauty products had his cold, black heart beating with warmth, life, and daresay love for you.

“Darling, you deserve to pamper yourself in that rose-vanilla bubble bath. We'll be in for quite a long evening; you don't want to be tense beforehand, now so you?”

Well…

When he puts it that way.

Sighing slightly, you gave in with, “Fine, I'll leave early and pamper myself with a bubble bath.”

“Rose-vanilla bubble bath.” Coriolanus corrected with a ghost of a smile tracing his lush lips. Patting your cheek, he tells you, “Go ahead and go, darling. I'll be fine here for a few more hours.”, before pushing himself off of your desk.

“Thank you. I'll see you later for that political dinner.” You genuinely smiled, grabbing your bag out from under your desk and shouldering it before standing up.

“Remember, my driver will be by at 6:45 sharp.”

“Oh, that's right. You need-” You began, intending to give Senator Snow your address, only to be cut off by a raised hand. “I have your address in my employee files, Y/N.” His baritone hung thickly in the air like honey stuck on a honeycomb; slowly dripping down, as he ordered, “Go home and pamper yourself; get all dolled up in something red, my darling rose.”

As you sat neck deep in your tub, surrounded by bubbles, thoughts of your boss floated around your head. You never really thought much about him, or at least you didn't til now. Yes, you always thought that he was easy on the eyes- platinum hair (you always secretly wondered if the carpet matches the drapes), striking crystal blue eyes, a prominent nose, sharp jawline, tall and lanky build. But you never truly fixated your attention on his looks, or at least until now that is.

You can't explain it, but the interaction you had with him before leaving the office had your blood racing. You're flustered with dirty thoughts. Things that you've never truly let yourself imagine about Senator Coriolanus Snow.

But now…

Well, now you find yourself closing your eyes and thinking about your boss while relaxing in your bath; trailing hand over your breasts while your other hand’s rubbing your clit; dipping two fingers in and out of your pussy.

It's best to get this out of your system now, before you're stuck going to dinner with him tonight.

“Coriolanus, I was expecting your driver to pick me up.” You gasp, hand tightly gripping the doorknob of your open door, as you're shocked by the sight of the tall platinum blonde standing in front of you- dressed impeccably in a deep crimson suit with a single red rose in his hand.

“Bentley drove me here.” Coriolanus informed you. “Now, what sort of gentleman would I be if I didn't walk up to your door to get you our dinner date?” He smirks, offering you the rose.

Your eyes widen at his words. “Dinner date…but I thought this was a professional dinner with a potential political backer, Senator Snow.” You tell him as you shakily take the offered rose from his large, outstretched hand.

“Yes, well, my darling, Mr. Feathersworth informed me that he's bringing along his mistress to Mizuna’s so I don't see why we can't mix some business with pleasure as well.”

Before you could utter a word, the door right across the hall and behind Coriolanus opened; out walked your on-off neighbor ex. Bastard was dressed like he's going out somewhere (or going out with someone). His sea-green eyes look over at you and lock Coriolanus back a bit curiously: portraying that he can't believe you're all dolled up and going out with someone so regal looking.

Deciding that you didn't like the look on your ex’s face, you put your hand on Coriolanus' label and press a quick kiss to his lips before telling him, “Let me put up this rose, Coryo, and then you can take me on our date.”

Coryo grabbed your face in one of his hands and kissed you again, this time his lips searing and hungry, before running his hand over your cheekbone and darkly smirking, “You can just take it along with us, darling. I'm taking you home with me tonight; it'd be such a shame for you to leave your rose alone on a side table all night.”

“You're taking me home with you?” You asked, finding this information entirely new to you.

At least your bronze haired ex wasn't standing behind Coryo; gawking at you anymore.

Pulling you out of your apartment and locking your doorknob, only to slam the door shut, he bluntly tells you, “I’d be a fool not to, Y/N, and, frankly, I'm anything, but a fool.” Coryo smoothly tell you while leading you down the hallway; towards the elevator bank.

And of course when you reach the elevator your ex is just stepping into it. Great, now you're going to be riding in an elevator with your on-off neighbor ex and your boss/sudden new fling.

Oh boy…

“After you, darling.” Coryo sweetly tells you, guiding you into the metal box while following right behind you.

You feel your ex’s eyes on you, burning a hole into the side of your face, as Coriolanus hits the buttons to both close the door and go to the lobby.

“Should've known you'd be cozy with Senator Snow, considering you're his personal secretary.” Flew out of your ex’s mouth as soon as he saw Coryo's large hand come to rest on the small of your back.

“Odysseus…” You chastise, nearly hissing at him.

Coriolanus snapped his head around so fast, it was as if it was going to spin off exorcist style, and narrowed his eyes at the bronze haired man next to you. “I can have you turned into an Avox for slander against Miss Y/N, so I’d mind that useless tongue of yours if I were you.”

“Coryo, calm down. My neighbor-”

“Ex” Odysseus supplied at the same time you uttered the word neighbor, causing Coriolanus’ face to turn into hardened stone.

“She doesn't belong to you anymore, Odysseus. My darling seems to have gotten tired of settling for beans and has upgraded to the filet mignon.” The senator told your ex in a smooth, but eerily cold tone. “You ought to consider yourself lucky that I won't be calling for your tongue, but I'm sure I'm we can agree to you not bothering my sweet girl anymore, can't we, Mister-”

“Odair. Name's Odysseus Odair, Senator Snow.” Your ex shot out, his voice fake and sugary, as he played with fire.

Snow melts, but fish fry. And unfortunately for Odysseus Odair he'd learn that the hard way after Senator Coriolanus Snow gets him exhiled to District 4 for the crimes of slander. Coriolanus' cold ass gives Poseidon Odair, Odysseus’ father, an ultimatum- either sign over his assets, investments, and company over to him and go into exhiled on 4 with his son or his son would be turned into an Avox for slander against you, the senator's personal secretary and girlfriend.

Coriolanus Snow was a cold ass to everyone except for you. Something that you'd come to discover in time. But right now it's not important.

No, right now what's important is keeping the senator from tearing your ex apart limb by limb.

Sensing that Coryo was starting to unravel (something that you've never seen and, frankly, didn't want to) you rubbed his shoulder while telling him, “Coryo, please, just let it go. You don't want to be in a bad mood before dinner with your political backer, do you?”

Coriolanus’ jaw twitched for a moment before he gave you a slight smile, “Of course, darling.”

Odysseus found Senator Snow's demanear changing into sweet and loving for you at the drop of a hat very alarming. Honestly, he thought it was downright scary that Snow went from menacing one minute to practically cooing at you the next.

As soon as the elevator came to a stop and the doors dinged open, your ex practically ran out of them. It made Coryo chuckle.

You and Coryo walked out of the elevator together, only to cross the lobby and head out of the building towards his car. His driver, Bentley, was standing by the black luxury sedan that was parked in front of the curb. Upon seeing you with the senator, he quickly opened the back door. You thanked him and let Coryo help you into the backseat.

“Oh, darling, I'm so sorry for not telling you earlier, but you look truly beautiful in your red dress.” Coryo told you, once he was settled in the back seat next to you.

“Thank you, Coryo. You look handsome yourself.” You replied with a smile as the driver took his place behind the wheel and pull the car away from your building.

“And tonight we'll make quite the debate as a stunning political couple.” The platinum blonde confidently told you as you rode to the high end restaurant the meeting with major political endorser Mr. Feathersworth, and his mistress, was taking place at.

Tonight is only the first of many spent at Coryo's side. It's safe to say that you're Senator Snow's darling sectary; that he has a soft spot for you. After all, he charmed you into becoming his girlfriend with the guise of attending a political dinner with him for work related purposes.

But you'd accept that dinner invitation again and again no matter what universe you're in because that dinner ended with Coryo fucking you in the backseat of his car. The poor driver nearly drove the car off a bridge and into the opposite lane of traffic he was so startled by what his boss and you were doing. Yes, the two of you still were clothed (for the most part) but Bentley knew that if he looked into the rearview mirror and saw something he wasn't supposed to then Snow would have his eyeballs pickled in a jar (literally!). And after fucking in the backseat of his car, a life was created with Coryo and you never left his side.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @harvey-malfoy @tian-monique @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons @tempt-ress

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8siangemini · 10 months

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You Sly Cat Pt 2 (Miles Morales x Black Cat!Reader)

part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Summary: After the debut of Black Cat to the public her name begins to rise in the media. ‘Black Cat or something more?’ Spider-Man’s motivation to catch Black Cat becomes something greater than just keeping Brooklyn safe. Meanwhile at school, Miles is falling more and more in love with Visions Academy’s heartthrob.

WARNINGS: VERY suggestive but no smut, (NADA SMUT IS COMING FROM ME ABOUT MILES), choking

Author’s note: This might be my longest thing I’ve ever posted but thank you so much for everyone that liked the last part!! I am so excited that people are now wanting to be part of a tag list!! I hope you all like this too and I am very sorry for the long wait, there has been so much going on but here y’all go <33

You took the notebooks and textbooks from your locker and put them inside of your backpack for the classes you had today. As you reapplied your perfume roller onto your neck you continued to hear the same topic floating around in the hallways.

‘Black Cat really fucked up Spider-Man.’

‘I need to see what Black Cat looks like in person.’

‘I heard Black Cat ripped out one of those security guards throats.’

Black Cat this, Black Cat that. Black Cat was the growing topic that spreaded like wildfire just over the weekened all over Brooklyn. Being the first person to attempt to rob the third most high security jewelry store in Brooklyn and successfully doing so, of course it would be a topic in conversations. And you loved it.

Your alias as Black Cat took the city by storm and you ran Spider-Man up. Gaining the attention of doing something so bad instead of being the image of perfection excited you in a way your perfect life never could. You were starting chaos, you were changing the peace of Brooklyn, your name was being heard by everyone, you lived a life with no rules as Black Cat.

One side of you was the girl of perfection. The girl who brought home good grades, had everything handed to her on a silver plate, never spoke out of line, sat straight up when sitting, not a scratch on your skin, not a hair out of place. This girl was the girl everyone saw and awed at. This girl was untouchable, the golden girl.

The other side was rebellious, flirtatious, took things that she wanted, spoke when she wanted, and got her hands dirty. Yet she was graceful, beautiful as she did her crimes, like a ballerina. Like a beautiful rose but once you go to touch you feel her thorns. She was confident in her abilities and in herself in the world of chaos.

But there is one thing they both hold strongly to their being. They hold their heads up high with confidence. In different ways, they were both untouchable.

You slam your locker close and put the lock on and immediately reveal a face near your locker door. Roxie, of course. She leaned against the other lockers with her arms crossed until she came to your side as you began walking through the halls. You already knew what she was going to be talking about.

“Bruh you hear about Black Cat??” She asked eagerly. A smirk came up to your face slightly, finding it funny everyone was talking about your alias.

“Duh, it’s what everyone has been posting and talking about over the weekened.” You point out.

“Yeah true.” She shrugs.

Just as you chuckle and look ahead you see Miles head bop up and down through the crowded hallway. Roxie bumps your elbow with her’s as she smirks and points at Miles with her eyes. You roll your eyes at her and direct your eyes back to Miles.

He caught your eyes and he gives a soft smile. You return the smile along with a small wave. Just as the crowd clears a little you see him limping, on his left leg.

‘Must be a coincidence.’

As Miles walks past you you turn away from Roxie’s side and jog a little bit to catch up with Miles. You gently tap on his arm and he stops to turn around and look down at you. He gives you another gentle smile, so sweet, so innocent.

“Hey” Miles said.

“Hey,” You respond. You point down to his left leg, curious of what happened. “What happened to your leg?”

Miles looks down at his leg, almost shocked that you noticed it. He then placed one of his hands onto his left thigh to acknowledge it.

“I was playing basketball with some of my friends this weekend and tweaked it.” He explained.

You hummed as a response as your eyes looked down at his leg. You did not believe it at all. A little ‘tweak’ could not have caused Miles to start limping so harshly. You were an acrobat, you knew the difference between tweaking your ankle and doing something much worse. Miles did something much worse to have him limping him throughout school.

But besides that you knew Miles was a person that would get embarrassed if you called him out on it so loudly in front of everyone. So for now you just shrugged off his obvious lie. But you did need to comment on something.

You walk up close to his side so that your shoulders are touching. You didn’t look at him but he turned his head to look down at you.

“If you’re gonna lie at least make it sound believable.” You said quietly enough for you two to just hear it.

Before he could say anything you turned around and headed back to Roxie’s side to walk to class together. As you two take a couple of steps forward Roxie speaks up.

“What you talking about with Morales?” She asked you as looked at you but you kept your face facing forward.

“Asked him why he was limping,” You reply. “He said he tweaked it while playing basketball.”

Roxie nods her head in response contiously. She pulls her eyes off of you and looked ahead of the halls.

“Everyone was staring when you stopped Morales.” Roxie commented as she smirked and looked at you at the corner of her eyes.

From what it looked like you were just looking at the hallways with your head high on your way to class. But in the inside you were combusting and you did not know why. You knew people always stared at your whenever you walked by but the fact that they were staring because you were talking to Miles made you feel…shy.

“Shut up,” You quickly say. “There is nothing between Morales and I.” You say slightly louder so other people could hear.

“Hmm, what did you write on that note on Friday during physics?” Roxie said with a smirk.

You blush out of embarressment and quickly slap her arm which lets out a loud laugh.

——

“So you’re gonna tell me there is absolutely nothing between you and Morales?” Roxie asks as you two begin packing up your acrobat stuff after practice.

You and Roxie have been doing acrobats since you two were kids. You loved it, you felt so graceful doing it, flying through the air accelerated you. Not only that but it was amazing practice for the night.

“Oh my god,” You throw your head back as you head towards the door and Roxie hurries up to catch up to you. “I already told you once there is nothing between Miles and I. We are just friends.”

You and Roxie walk out of the acrobat gym with duffel bags in hand and started walking towards your guys’ regular smoothie place you guys go to.

You began thinking about Miles. You always thought he was handsome but always dismissed the idea of dating him. You dismissed the idea all together because you were suppose to be strong and independent, unreachable. Right? You always thought that but now you recently started to ponder the idea of dating someone. But no one needed to know that.

“Miles hmm?” Roxie calls you out. “First name basis?”

You begin to blush and in the corner of your eye you see Roxie trying to see your face. You turn your face away from her and you knew her eyes widened in shock. She knew now. She began shaking your shoulder as you make it to the smoothie place.

“OH MY GOD YOU DO LIKE HIM!!” Roxie yells quietly as you walk into the smoothie shop and her just right behind her.

You roll your eyes while trying to avoid Roxie’s gaze, hoping to avoid anymore questions. But you knew Roxie was going to have so many more.

You walked up to the register and saw the familiar cashier lady with long blonde hair and gray eyes. You give her a smile and she returns one to you as Roxie tries and gets your attention.

“One mango smoothie,” You order. “And a strawberry banana one for her.” You say as you point to Roxie who was eagerly trying to get your attention like a child.

“Ok that will be $10.75.” The cashier says as she taps on the screen.

You finish paying as you walk over to the stools lined across the window and finally began listening to what Roxie has been asking.

“Miles Morales caught the heart of the (Y/n) (L/n).” Roxie teases loudly as she holds her heart with her hands like she was struck by Cupid.

Just then you both look out the window to see the passing byers. And the topic of discussion comes by both of you to walk into the shop. Your eyes widened in embarrassment and Roxie let’s out an empty ugly laugh as she slams the table lightly with her face in her arm. You slap her arm just as Miles walks in to try and quiet her.

“Girl shut the fuck up!” You say through your teeth.

You look over at Miles and just then Miles looks over at you. He looks surprised to see you and before he goes up to order he heads over to you and Roxie. You swivel in your stool so your body is facing Miles and your back towards Roxie who was still trying to hold in her laughing.

"Hey (Y/n)." Miles greets as he gives you a small wave as he approaches you.

"Hi Miles." You respond as you give him a smile with a slight blush to your face.

He leans over to his side to look behind you to try and see the laughing Roxie. Roxie gains her composure and looks up at Miles with a red face. Miles gives her a wave.

"Hey Roxie." Miles greets.

"Hello Morales." Roxie responds through a breathy voice. Miles looks back at you with all of his undivided attention.

"What are yall doin' here?" He asks you.

"We came back from our practice," You answer as you point to Roxie. "We always come here after practices."

Miles responds with a hum. You two stand there in silence for a little bit, smiling lightly at each other. Until the cashier calls out your name and two drinks are placed on the counter. Roxie gets up from her seat and goes to grab your drinks. You get off of your stool and look up at Miles one more time.

"I'll see you around Miles." You let his name roll off of your tongue.

Before Miles could say anything you walk away with Roxie as she hands you your mango smoothie and you two walk out the door. As you walk pass shop window you look back inside and see Miles staring at you through the window with a smile.

"Someone is falling for golden girl." Roxie teases with a smirk on her face. You look over at her with a pissed expression and continued looking forward. Roxie then looks ahead as well.

"And it seems like golden girl is falling for Morales." Roxie whispers underneath her breath but you were able to hear her remark.

----

You stood in front of your balcony with the window doors closed as you looked over Brooklyn. The lights made Brooklyn feel alive, it made Brooklyn feel like Brooklyn. Brooklyn may seem like it is alive in the day but it really becomes alive during the night. Especially with you.

Your father is just a few steps behind you as you stare out the window of Brooklyn. He knew of the Black Cat alias and was proud of you for continuing on the family business. Why would he not be? Your family's whole fortune was based off of stolen, scammed, and robbed money. But after your father's last heist he had retired and gone back to a normal wealthy life as a businessman.

"Any special requests?" You asked your father as you turned around to face him. He looked at your with a smirk on his face.

"Not for tonight." Your father starts. "But I do have one for next week."

You turn away from the window and give your father's full attention.

"Next Friday," Your school's dance. "Visions is having your school dance at the grand opening of the Museum of Natural History and Historical Art."

You already knew what he was talking about. The Delvadian Spider Idol. A historical relic that is worth millions for its tale told ability to endow powers to those destined for it. It has not been active since early Egytians times but now many criminals want their hands on it for the money it is worth.

"The Delvadian Spider Idol." You state. He goes quiet and he nods.

"You seem like a harmless student and will go in with no question. I want you to steal the Delvadian Spider Idol." Your father instructs.

You already knew of the relic but something about your father trusting you to take on a heist so big made you feel proud, almost prideful.

"This would be the biggest heist in your time as Black Cat so I will form the plan for then." Your father explains.

You nod and you turn away from him. You push open the doors and the cool night breeze hits your face.

"You cannot make a mistake in that heist." Your father warned you. "You know what to do for tonight?" He asks. You look over your shoulder at him.

"Break into the museum, hack into the system, plant our virus, and go." You explain through simplified explanations.

Without giving your father enough time to respond you run out of your room and leap out of the window like a glider. The window blowing through your hair as you are just a few feet before you hit hed first onto the ground, excilerating.

You reach your hand up and activate your small grappling hook from your wrist and catch it on top of the building. You repostition yourself and the grappling hook draws you up to the top of the building.

You make it to the museum and you stay planted at the highest point of the museum. There are a couple of security guards walking the premises of the unopened museum and you knew there were many scoping the area inside. Your stomach was churning inside because this was such a big aspect to the heist but you felt so nervous. You never done anything on a scale this big.

But then you remember, you are not the golden girl. You are Black Cat right now, Black Cat was not scared if she was caught or not because she was never caught.

You place a small compact device on the top of the building right underneath you and you take out your tablet. The device and table connect and it gave you a whole 3d live cam with heat signatures of the whole museum. You munover the screen a little bit and located the security room. Right underneath the first floor in a large basement-like room. You smirked at your tablet screen as it brightened your face.

“Child’s play.” You say to yourself.

You find a route with no guards and tattoo it into your memory. You slip the tablet into your backpack and find a skylight window that had an opening. You crawl over on your hands on feet and unhinge the window. You drop down into the empty room with elegance as the floor hits your toe first. You look around and find a singular pedestal with nothing in it but you read the title for the artifact. The Delvadian Spider.

The podium drew your interest and you took a very important mental note inside of your head for next Friday night. You took your attention off of it and swiftly whisp through the room and halls and stairs. You find the door to the security room and look around to find no one in the hallway.

‘Gotta make this quick.’ You say in your head.

You take out a small device from your bag and place it over the pin pad of the door on the handle. It begans to make small pressing noises and you hear the door unlock in just three seconds. You take off the device and walk down the stairs into the security. It was a long single hallway with many doors, some open and some closed. You walk through the hallway with ease and confidence as you walk pass rooms that had open doors with many men asleep at their desks or on their phones facing away from the doors.

You make it to the end of the hall and the plate on the door read Motherboard.

‘Bingo.’

You open the door silently and close it behind you. There sat one man in front of an array of screens surrounding him. He stared at the screen aimlessly. You reached into your bag and pulled out a needle and syringe with a green substance inside.

You slowly walked towards the man with no sound coming from your steps. You were a predator hunting for its kill. With no sound you covered the man’s mouth and injected the substance into his neck in one swift movement. His body becomes limp into your arms and you smirk at the man’s patheticness. You push him away in his swivel chair until he falls to the ground with a thud.

You go behind the main screen and feel around behind it to find one open USB plug in the back.

“Perfect.”

You take out a small USB drive from your pocket and plug it inside. You pull out your tablet and open it up. An app has been downloaded on it and you press on it. An identical display of the many screens from the monitors were now on the screens. You put the tablet away and look back up at the screens. In front of you sat a keyboard along with a microphone. You smirked and knew what your escape plan is. You press your finger on the microphone a small red dot glowed on it. You drew your mouth to it and spoke, all with a smirk.

“We have a situation at the back of the museum. I need all inside, outside, and security units on cite.” You said through a deep voice.

Just as you spoke you head many men scurring out of their rooms with loud bangs coming from swinging their doors open. After about a minute you heard the whole security room go quiet. You quickly open the door and in less than a minute you are out of the front door and on top of the building across from the museum. You look down at the museum and see it with no security, an open field for anyone to use.

“Now why are you not playing in your playpen you stray?”

You quickly turn your head and get onto your feet. Spider-Man standing right in front of you. You were not sure how long he has been standing there but you knew he was standing there for too long.

“I was waiting for my toy to come.” You say with a smirk and jump at him.

You attempt as slashes at him as he continued to duck them. He threw punches until he finally landed one right at your jaw. The pain went straight to your head and you held your jaw. With the other hand you reach behind onto the nape of his neck and yanked him down. He was surprised by your strength and you finally drew your hand away from your jaw

“What a beautiful sight,” You coo as you look down at Spider-Man.

Your legs on either sides of him with your hands trying to hold down his large wrist. The heat between you two became so hot it felt like it became one. One of your hands drops down, glazes over his muscular suited arm with light touches, and found its way to his face. Your claws gently carress his cheek and jaw until you pull away your hand just far enough until it is only your index finger underneath his chin. His breath quickened as your touches connected to his face. A smirk came to your face as a sinister idea came to your head. You close the space between you two as you put your lips close to his neck, your breaths just kissing his masked neck.

“It would be more beautiful if I knew what handsome face layed under here.” You say on his neck.

His eyes widned and your hand quickly drops from his chin to the end of his mask. You flipped up the hem of the mask and began drawing the mask up. His neck was a beautiful dark color and his lips, full and blush color, like they could be kissed. You began to try and pull the mask over his nose until Spider-Man quickly pulled his arms out of your grip, one hand on your thigh causing a heat in your face to rise, and the other on your hand near his face.

He swiftly turns you over on your back and he is now towering over you. His body planted between yours right inbetween your thighs as he quickly moved both of your hands into his one large hand and pressed it above your head. His body was so close to yours that his chest was squished against yours. His lips were so close to you as you kept on staring at them.

His free hand made its way to your neck and pressed slightly on the sides. It drove you crazy, your whole body was set on fire, you were melting into his touch. You wanted more of him on you if that was even physically possible. You wanted the barrier of hero and villain suits off. His face came close to your neck and he turned your head with his thumb to the right whille still having his grip on your neck. Your neck was exposed to him. This aggressiveness, this domiance from Spider-Man drove you insane.

“Now this is a stunning sight.” He spoke against your neck.

He kept his lips hovering above your neck, the tension driving you nuts. You shut your mouth tightly and your eyelids fall down, trying to not to make a sound. His face pulled away from your neck and without realizing it you were finally able to breath.

“Aww, cat got your tongue?” He asked.

He roughly pulled away and turned your head to face him which caused you to now widened your eyes at the sudden aggression. His face came close to yours with your lips just inches away. You kept looking down at his lips and then connecting back at his white masked eyes.

“Bad girls don’t get rewards.” Spider-Man said through a voice full of venom.

It had turned you on. As much as you wish it didn’t, this whole scenario had turned you on. The initial domiance from you being shattered by Spider-Man’s unknown aggression made you hot.

“I’ve been waiting to catch you since the last time I saw you, you sly cat.” He whispers into your ear.

But then suddenly you snap out of it, you remember you are on a mission. You threw a fast and hard punch to his face that the impact made him fall to his side. You slither out of his grip and threw a small ball from your bag at Spider-Man which contracted into a large net and them compacted around him which constrated him. He began to try and squirm out of the net.

“See you later darling.” You say with a smirk and ran into the night, escaping once again.

Taglist

@sakura-onesan @potato-studez-hungryformore @midnight-fairee @nightshxdex @nana-luvsyu @sukisprettyface @itszzmoon

If anyone wants to be added to the taglist just comment down below <33

#miles morales x reader #miles morales x y/n #spider man #spider man across the spider verse #spiderman #miles morales #across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #spiderman x black cat #miles morales x black cat! reader

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catindabag · 5 months

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Another set of ✨Academy Photos✨ from the 24 OG Mentors in my TBOSAS Crack!AU. (Read THIS and THIS for context)

Drunk!Coryo with the amazing Lucy Gray celebrating and dancing like crazy at the train station to annoy the other Tributes before saying goodbye for the last time after ending the Hunger Games with ✨Ravinstill Nepotism✨. Also, Drunk!Sejanus Plinth took the photo. #supportive #rich #boyfriend

Rich Boy Sejanus Plinth buying his ✨Snow Angel✨😘 another expensive jacket before going on a date for ✨WinterFest✨😏. #Best #Gorgeous #PowerCouple #ofPanem

Class President Felix Ravinstill celebrating with his fellow classmates and joining their ✨End of The Year Class Photo✨ after finally ending the Hunger Games forever through sheer dumb luck and nepotism. #Ravinstillpower #nomoreHungerGames #Goodbye #DrGaul

Clemmie reading Festus Creed’s ✨Secret Diary Entrees for Blackmail Purposes✨about Arachne, Livia, Highbottom and Hilarius Heavensbee’s creepy old man. Fortunately, the contents of Creed’s diary were not released for the greater good of Panem. #dangerous #Tea

Clemmie, Lizzie, Festus, Felix, and Arachne ✨slaying✨ while waiting for Coryo and Sejanus to arrive with the food for their formal ✨TGIF✨ dinner party. #waiting4thefood #foodbyMaPlinth

Drunk!Festus and Drunk!Felix hugging like idiots in the middle of Scholar’s Road. Also, this photo was taken by a very Drunk!Coryo Snow who went shoe shopping with them for the weekend but accidentally ended up in ✨Pluribus Bell’s Night Club✨ instead. #Besties #Forever #LoveMeBoaBell🐱

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anotherhumaninthisworld · 3 months

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Frev friendships — Fouché and the Robespierre siblings

A circumstance relating to one of the most important crises of my life must here be mentioned. By a singular chance, I had been acquainted with Maximilian Robespierre, at the time I was professor of philosophy in the town of Arras, and had even lent him money, to enable him to take up his abode in Paris, when he was appointed deputy to the National Assembly. Memoirs of Fouché (1825), volume 1, page 12. Fouché first arrived in Arras in 1788.

Robespierre didn’t like science, but he thought it useful for his vanity to research Fouché and to annoy him several hours per day in his office in order to acquire the reputation of scholar. Often, in order to appear intelligent, he interrupted his physics demonstrations to reproach him for being a materialist. Note written by Barère, probably shortly after thermidor. Cited in Fouché: les silences de la pieuvre (2014) by Emmanuel de Waresquiel.

Fouché’s first need […] was to tell me his entire life story, a recital that I find in my notes written down that very day as it seemed interesting for me to keep: […] I (Fouché) had known [Robespierre] since our youth, we had belonged to the same academy. I then had occasions to prove to him his inadequacy, a relative insufficiency because he was judged poorly. He had some talent, a strong, persevering will; simplicity, no greed; but he was all puffed up with a pride that I had humiliated. De 1800 à 1812. Un aide de camp de Napoléon. Mémoires du général compte de Ségar (1894), page 438. According to Robespierre (2014) by Hervé Leuwers, it would not appear Fouché joined the arrageois literary society Rosati of which Robespierre was a member, a claim which is nevertheless often invoked.

Fouché had shown the most ardent patriotism, the most sacred devotion since the beginning of the revolution. My brother, who believed him sincere, had accorded him his friendship and his esteem; he spoke to me of him as a proven democrat, and introduced him to me in praising him and asking me to give him my esteem. Fouché, after having been introduced to me by my brother, came to see me assiduously, and had those regards and attentions that one has for a person in whom one is particularly interested. Fouché was not handsome, but he had a charming wit and was extremely amiable. He spoke to me of marriage, and I admit that I felt no repugnance for that bond, and that I was well enough disposed to accord my hand to he whom my brother had introduced to me as a pure democrat and his friend. I did not know that Fouché was only a hypocrite, a swindler, a man without convictions, without morals, and capable of doing anything to satisfy his frenzied ambition. He knew so well how to disguise his vile sentiments and his malicious passions in my eyes as in my brother’s eyes, that I was his dupe as well as Maximilien. I responded to his proposition that I wanted to think about it and consult my brother, and I asked him the time to resolve myself. I spoke of it, effectively, to Robespierre, who showed no opposition to my union with Fouché. Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre sur ses deux frères (1834) page 122-123. Charlotte places the courtship in the midst of the revolution, which can hardly be accurate given the fact Fouché was already married by then, but it does sound likely for it to have happened somewhere between 1788 and 1790, when both of them were unmarried and lived in Arras.

When [Robespierre and I] again met at the Convention, we, at first, saw each other frequently; but the difference of our opinions, and perhaps, the still greater dissimilarity of our dispositions, soon caused a separation. One day, at the conclusion of a dinner given at my house, Robespierre began to declaim with much violence against the Girondins, particularly abusing Vergniaud, who was present. I was much attached to Vergniaud, who was a great orator, and a man of unaffected manners. I went round to him, and advancing towards Robespierre, said to him, "Such violence may assuredly enlist the passions on your side, but will never obtain for you esteem and confidence." Robespierre, offended, left the room; and it will shortly be seen how far this malignant man carried his animosity against me. Memoirs of Fouché (1825), volume 1, page 12

Lamartine, in the first edition of his Girondins, wrote the following: ”A very small number of friends of Robespierre and Duplay were one after another taken into this intimity: sometimes the Lameths; Le Bas, Saint-Just, always; Panis, Sergent, Coffinhal, Fouché, who liked Robespierre’s sister and who Robespierre didn’t like, Taschereau, Legendre, Le Boucher, Merlin de Thionville, Couthon, Pétion, Camille Desmoulins, Buonarotti, roman patriot… […]” On the placard corrected by the widow and son of Philippe Le Bas, these words are replaced by the following ones: ”The Lamenths and Pétion in the early days, quite rarely Legendre, Merlin de Thionville and Fouché, who liked Robespierre’s sister and who Robespierre didn’t like, often Taschereau, Desmoulins and Teault, always Lebas, Saint-Just, David, Couthon and Buonarotti.” Le conventionnel Le Bas: d’après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) page 83-84. This could be read as Élisabeth Le Bas confirming, or at least not denying, that there existed links between Charlotte and Fouché.

…The representatives of the people in Commune-Affranchie, using the powers entrusted to them for the surrounding departments, have already purged several administrations in the department of Allier. So consult with your colleagues by going to Commune-Affranchie. The instructions that Fouché has acquired relative to the department of Allier, where he resided for a long time, will be all the more useful to you since, animated by the same principles, the same effects must result from your common energy. Letter from the CPS to Petitjean, written by Robespierre, January 8 1794

The Committee of Public Safety decides 1, that citizen Reverchon immediately travels to Ville-Affranchie to organise revolutionary government and that he, together with Méaulle, takes all the measures that the interests of the republic need. 2, that the representative Fouché immediately travels to Paris to give to the Committee of Public Safety the neccesary clarifications about the affairs in Ville-Affranchie 3, that all procedurs against the popular society in Ville-Affranchie, and especially against the patriots that were subjected to persecution under the reign of Précy and the federalistes, are suspended. The representative Reverchon and his colleges will severely persecute the enemies of the Republic, protect the true friends of the Republic, help the patriots in need and assure the triumph of liberty through a constant and inflexible energy. Committee of Public Safety decree recalling Fouché from Lyon, written by Robespierre (and signed by him, Collot d’Herbois, Billaud-Varennes, C-A Prieur, Carnot and Barère) on March 27 1794

The Committee of Public Safety, alarmed by the fate of patriots in Commune-Affranchie, considering that the oppression of a single one of them would be a triumph for the enemies of the Revolution and a mortal blow to freedom, orders that all proceedings against the Popular Society of Commune-Affranchie, and particularly against the patriots who were persecuted under the reign of the federalists and Precy, will be suspended: it further orders that the representative of people Fouché immediately travels to Paris to give to the Committee of Public Safety the neccesary clarifications about the affairs in Ville-Affranchie. Committee of Public Safety decree recalling Fouché from Lyon, written by Robespierre (and signed by him, Collot d’Herbois, Billaud-Varennes, C-A Prieur, Carnot, Barère, Saint-Just and Couthon) on March 27 1794 (don’t know why there exists two seperate decrees)

I have since learned that the step I took opposite Robespierre - viz, of calling upon him - was attempted about the same time, and with as little success, by Tallien and Fouché, each of them on his own part. I have learned that their eloquence likewise struck against a determined deaf-mute, and that to all their gentle, forcible, friendly, respectful, and feeling words Robespierre vouchsafed no other answer than an obstinate silence, an expressionless physiognomy, and neither word nor sign. There is in a like silence, on the part of a man wielding the scep tre of death, something more fearful to the imagination than uttered threats. Memoirs of Barras, member of the Directorate (1895) page 206

It is known well enough in what way [Collot and Fouché] conducted themselves [in Lyon]; it is known that they made blood flow in torrents, and plunged the second city of the republic into fright and consternation. Robespierre was outraged by it. […] I was present for the interview that Fouché had with Robespierre upon his return. My brother asked him to account for the bloodshed he had caused, and reproached him for his conduct with such energy of expression that Fouché was pale and trembling. He mumbled a few excuses and blamed the cruel measures he had taken on the gravity of the circumstances. Robespierre replied that nothing could justify the cruelties of which he had been guilty; that Lyon, it was true, had been in insurrection against the National Convention, but that that was no reason to have unarmed enemies gunned down en masse. From that day forth, Fouché was the most irreconcilable enemy of my brother, and joined the faction conspiring his death. I would only learn this later. Fouché never again set foot in my apartment, but I met him from time to time on the Champs-Elysées, where walked almost every day. He addressed me as if nothing had happened between him and my brother. When I learned that he was Maximilien’s declared enemy, I no longer wanted to talk to him. Despicable words have been spoken about me on the subject of that man, some have dared to say that I was his mistress before and after 9 Thermidor; this is an abominable calumny! Never did Fouché cease to have the greatest respect for me; and if in his discourse he had included any words tending to make me neglect my duty, I would have left him that very instant. Besides, Fouché had only sought my hand because my eldest brother occupied premier place on the political stage. That honorific of Robespierre’s brother-in-law flattered his pride and his ambition; to judge by that man’s conduct since, everything was a calculation with him, and, if he pretended to love me, that’s because he saw it was in his interest. What would have become of me if I had married such a being? Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre sur ses deux frères (1834)

Robespierre murmured a lot about the forms that we had established in Lyon for the execution of decrees: he constantly repeated that there was no reason to judge the guilty when they are outlawed. He exclaimed that we had let the families of the condemned go free; and when the commission sent the Convention and the committee the list of its judgments, he was not in control of his anger as he cast his eyes on the column where the names of the citizens who had been acquitted were written. Unable to change anything in the forms of judgment, regulated according to the decrees and approved by the committee, he imagined another system; he questioned whether the patriots of Commune-Affranchie were not vexed and under oppression. They were, he said, because the property of the condemned being specially intended, by article IV of the decree of July 12, to become their patrimony, we had greatly reduced their claims, not only by not judging only a quarter of the number of conspirators identified by Dubois-Crancé on 23 Vendémiare, or designated by previous decrees, but also by establishing a commission which appeared willing to acquit two thirds, as it happened. Through these declamations Robespierre wanted to entertain the patriots of whom he spoke, with the most violent ideas, to throw into their minds a framework of extraordinary measures, and to put them in opposition with the representatives of the people and their closest cooperators: he made them understand that they could count on him, he emboldened them to form all kinds of obstacles, to only follow his indications which he presented as being the intentions of the Committee of Public Safety. Collot d’Herbois’ explanation of Robespierre’s dislike for his and Fouché’s Lyon activities in Défense de J-M. Collot, répresentant du peuple. Éclaircissemens nécessaires sur ce qui s’est passé à Lyon (alors Commune-Affranchie), l’année dernière; pour faire suite aux rapports des Répresentants du peuple, envoyés vers cette commune, avant, pendant et après le siège (1794), somewhat the polar opposite of Charlotte’s version.

Robespierre accused Fouché of having dishonored the Revolution by exaggerating all measures and erecting atheism as a doctrine. ”No, Fouché," he said to him in the hall of the Jacobins, ”death is not an eternal sleep." Besides, to use his own expression, he believed he "held him in his power in the matter of honesty,” as Fouché had been charged with not having been any too strictly faithful on the occasion of his mission to Lyons, where, outstripping his epoch in those early days, he was believed to have enjoyed a foretaste of that corrupt century. Reports, possibly mendacious, had reached Robespierre, according to which Fouché is said to have, in the midst of the demolition of the dwellings in the town doomed to endure his cruelty, behaved somewhat like the incendiaries who carry on their business by the light of the flames. It is that which caused Robespierre to assume so lofty a manner against Fouché, because Fouché was supposed to have begun "to make money" at a time when no one in the Republic had so far dreamed of doing such a thing, either because of the Terror, which was not disposed to indulgence towards thieves, or because of a sentiment of genuine honesty which dominated men whose sole thought was the defence of the Republic. Memoirs of Barras, member of the Directorate (1895) page 208-209

Fouché reads a report regarding Commune-Affranchie, where he was sent. After having brought up the slander repeated against the representatives sent to this commune, he proves by several observations the need of the measures that they took and the punishments that they handed out. He proves that the blood of crime fertilizes the soil of liberty and consolidates its power on unshakeable foundations. He also develops through much reflection the measures he was obliged to take in the last moments.

A citizen demands the floor in order to speak against Fouché.

Robespierre, after having declared that Fouché’s report is incomplete, pays homage to the patriotism of this representative and to the citizen who presented himself to speak against him. He presents some observations on what has gone down in Commune-Affranchie, and announces that the patriots, the friends of Chalier, and the companions of his suffering have been too modest against the schemers who put themselves in their place, and who introduced themselves among the patriots sent from Paris. He protests that without the schemers, the true patriots already would have plunged the whole conspiracy into nothingness. He recognizes that they have legitimate complaints to make, but he assures that the Committee of Public Safety, which is aware of them, has taken all the necessary measures to establish liberty in these unfortunate countries. Consequently, he invites the patriot who wants to speak, to put aside any kind of bitterness, to develop the facts and to give the knowledge that he considers useful.

I recognize, says this citizen, the validity of the principles of Robespierre, you will subsequently know all the facts. The truth will pierce through all the clouds; I’m backing down. (applauds) Robespierre and Fouché at the Jacobins, April 8 1794

Sure of having sown the seed, I had the courage to defy [Robespierre], on the 20th Prairial (June 8 1794), a day on which, actuated with the ridiculous idea of solemnly acknowledging the existence of the Supreme Being, he dared to proclaim himself both his will and agent, in presence of all the people assembled at the Tuileries. As he was ascending the steps of his lofty tribune, whence he was to proclaim his manifesto in favour of God, I predicted to him aloud (twenty of my colleagues heard it) that his fall was near. Memoirs of Fouché (1825) page 20

A deputation from the Society of Nevers presents itself at the tribune in order to repel charges directed against it. After having summarized the things done for the public sake by the Society which has sent him, the orator announces that the patriots have their souls broken and compromised in Nevers, because of atrocious persecutions of which they are every day the unfortunate victims.

Fouché (currently serving as president of the Jacobins): Your society deserves severe reproaches. If it is true to say that the impure breath of Chaumette could not exert its disastrous influence there during his stay in Nevers, it seems at least certain that the shadow of this conspirator hovers there today. Imprisoned suspects were released, and your Society made no complaint. Ardent and pure patriots, true sans-culottes, were slandered by federalist lawyers, and your Society remained silent. Finally, its correspondence is insignificant, it is null. As the Jacobins do not know how to disguise any truth, I make it my duty, on their behalf, to point out some false and very weak ideas that you have just expressed. The patriots, you say, have their souls compromised at this moment in Nevers. Citizens, strong hearts can never be compromised; Republicans know how to die for the truth as well as for liberty, and the perfidious person who tells you that he is not free to express his thoughts is a coward; the crime is in his heart, he complains of not being able to produce it. You hand us, as proof of your opposition to the maxims of the conspirators, the celebration that you are preparing for the Supreme Being; but in this you are only obeying the impulse given to nature. Add to this natural impulse the strength and courage to dedicate yourself to the defense of patriots and the annihilation of their oppressors; the exercise of democratic virtues. Brutus paid homage worthy of the Supreme Being by bringing the blade into the heart of the one who conspired against the liberty of his homeland.

I don't know, says Robespierre immediately, if the Society understood the motive and the object of the approach of the members of the Society of Nevers; I ask if the president's response can shed some light on this point. For my part, I assure you that I don't understand anything about it. If the president knows everything that concerns morals, it is his duty to explain. Everyone knows that Nevers was one of the main centers of the conspiracies hatched by Chaumette, in concert with the supporters of the foreign faction. We must remember that he abandoned his post as national agent, near the Paris Commune where he appeared to play a major role, to go, under a frivolous pretext, to plot in the commune of Nevers: it is important that we learn from what we were able to discover on such a journey. I ask that the president explain his response to us, and tell us frankly what he thinks.

Fouché takes the floor to give clarifications. He announces that, having served as representative of the people in the department of Nièvre at the time when the scoundrel Chaumette arrived in Nevers under the pretext of enjoying the native air, he didn’t hear from his mouth any counterrevolutionary expression; that he only saw him while in public, that, the popular society believing this Chaumette to be a zealous defender of liberty, it took him in without difficulty and without defiance. Fouché thinks that this immoral man hid away, because he saw the constitutional authorities strongly attached to good principles, and that he conspired in secret, and then returned to Paris to there continue his execrable profession of assassin of all public and private morality. As for the deputation that has just been heard, Fouché declares that, as the Society of Nevers has been indirectly attacked, it will send a deputation of its members to respond to the imputations that have been made against it, that there was a time when suspicious people, arrested, then released, and finally imprisoned again, managed to obtain an arrest order against the patriots. “This,” he says, “is all I know; I reproached the deputation on the weakness of the letters written by the Society of Nevers, and on the insignificance of its correspondence. The deputation presented its address to me when it entered, and it is on that I’m basing my answer.

Robespierre is surprised that the president and the delegation only say insignificant things that cannot enlighten the Society. He declares that Chaumette having hatched his plots in Nevers, it is impossible that neither the representative nor the Société populaire had knowledge of some of the maneuvers he employed. He recalls that at the moment when the Convention took a vigorous decision against the infernal plot of Chaumette, the Society of Nevers sent the Convention an address in which the decree was faulted.

Fouché observes that this adress wasn’t from the Society of Nevers, but from that of Moulins.

Robespierre replies that the latter is right next to to the other, that both corresponded to each other and that the information must have been the same; he continues by maintaining that the Society is isn’t instructed by the details that have just been given to it, and one has not sufficiently characterized the men who are called patriots, and those who are declared triumphant aristocrats. He is surprised to hear congratulations on the decree issued yesterday, mixed with observations presented by the Society of Nevers, as if this society could be aware of this decree. It is not by sentences, as he observes, but by conduct and facts that one must judge men: instead of stopping at the language of the deputation, one must ask the Society of Nevers if it fought Chaumette and foiled his horrible schemes? Very often the greatest enemies of the people use republican expressions, to better deceive unsuspecting citizens. It is not a question, he says, of throwing mud on the grave of Chaumette, when this monster has already perished on the scaffold. For a long time people have done evil while speaking the language of republicans. Today someone is spewing imprecations against Danton, who until recently was his accomplice. There are others who appear all fired up to defend the Committee of Public Safety, and who then sharpen daggers against it. The enemies of liberty have retained the same audacity, they have not changed their system; they do not want to appear to separate themselves from the patriots; they praise and flatter them; they even make vague imprecations against tyrants, and at the same time they conspire for their cause! It is to their friends the conspirators that they give the name of patriots; and it is the latter that they designate by the name of aristocrats: they surround the Committee of Public Safety and the representatives of the people only to intrigue, to lead them astray and thus destroy the Revolution. There are still two parties within the Republic: on the one hand patriotism and probity; on the other, the counter-revolutionary spirit, the crookedness and the improbity which are bent on the ruin of empires and the virtue of humankind. Patriots, you who in the career of the Revolution have only sought the public good, you who did nor go into it to serve a criminal faction, be more than ever on your guard; evil men use all imaginable artifices to destroy the Convention and slaughter the defenders of the homeland. Do not fall asleep in a false security, do not abandon the Convention and the government of which it is the center: let courageous voices be raised to make the truth known, stifle the clamors of the intriguers who surround us daily, who change patriotism into aristocracy, and reciprocally aristocracy into patriotism. Do not tire of instructing us, rest assured that the wish to sacrifice ourselves for all patriots is always deeply engraved in our hearts, that we are resolved to defend persecuted virtue with all our power, and to fight with strength and constancy the enemies of liberty and patriotism. This is the wish that I address, on behalf of the representatives, to the oppressed patriots; it is not natural that we remain indifferent on their account: the first of the republican virtues is to watch over innocence. Pure patriots, one is waging a war to the death against you, save yourselves, save with you all the friends of liberty.

Robespierre’s speech is followed by the liveliest applause.

Fouché observes that he hasn’t wanted to reproach the Society of Nevers for not having denounced Chaumette. This society didn’t know him as a conspirator, it wouldn’t have been late to accuse him warmly, had it suspected him of this. Robespierre and Fouché at the Jacobins, June 11 1794

Five days after (June 12) in full committee, [Robespierre] demanded my head and that of eight of my friends, reserving to himself the destruction of twenty more at a later period. How great was his astonishment, and what was his rage, upon finding amongst the members of the committee an invincible opposition to his sanguinary designs against the national representation! It has already been too much mutilated, said they to him, and it is high time to put a stop to a deliberate and progressive cutting-down, which at last will include ourselves. Finding himself in a minority, he withdrew, choked with rage and disappointment, swearing never to set foot again in the committee, so long as his will should be opposed. He immediately sent for St. Just, who was with the army, rallied Couthon under his sanguinary banner, and by his influence over the revolutionary tribunal, still made the Convention, and all those who were operated on by fear, to tremble. Memoirs of Fouché (1825), volume 1, page 20

Robespierre: The example of Commune-Affranchie can explain a theory that I have already noted. The patriots defend the patriots with all their means; they give no rest to the intriguers and traitors, they constantly badger and fight them; aristocrats do precisely the opposite. I knew Chalier at a time when the patriotic representatives of the people were themselves persecuted. It was he who first discovered Roland's perfidy, and denounced him to me for keeping an immense store of libels at his home, directed against the Mountain and against me. Chalier had no sooner known this conspiring minister than he abandoned him and renounced the justice he had come to demand from him, not wanting to owe anything to a traitor who sought to ignite civil war in France.

[Robespierre] adds that since this moment he has only known Chalier through the acts of heroism and virtue which immortalized his name. The enemies of the people were only able to establish their triumph through the assassination of this man, as patriotic as he was intrepid. He recalls the courage of this republican at the time of his torture, prolonged by the villainy of the aristocrats of Lyon who brought the ax down on his head four times, which he raised each time, crying out in a dying voice: Long live the Republic, attach the cockade to me.

After this touching story, Robespierre goes into detail about the services rendered by Chalier's friends; he knows them all, he also knows their persecutors. The fate of the former was to be oppressed by all the factions that succeeded one another. They opposed these tyrannical and unprecedented vexations with a calm and patience of which it is impossible to find an example in the history of any people.

When the overly prolonged siege of Lyon was over, and this commune had been returned to the power of the Republic, the friends of Chalier were not restored to the goodness that they had so well deserved by their constant virtue. One took care to make sure Précy and all the other conspirators escaped, although one went so far as to making the trick of the Committee the supposed remains of this monster. The gate of Lyon was opened to them at the very moment when the Republican army entered, and they left through the gate where the army corps commanded by Dubois-Crancé was, which remained motionless.

Another cause of the impunity of the conspirators is that national justice has not been exercised with the degree of force and action that the interests of a great people require and command. The temporary commission initially displayed energy, but soon it gave way to human weakness which too soon tires of serving the homeland, and it lost with all its courage, its devotion and its purity. After having given in to the insinuations of the perverse aristocrats, the persecution was established against the patriots themselves: the cause of this criminal change can be found in the seduction of certain women, and it is to these terrible maneuvers that we can attribute the despair that led Gaillard to kill himself.

Reduced to escape, the patriots come to submit their complaints to the Committee of Public Safety, which rescues them from persecution, and suppresses their odious persecutors with fear. Thus, virtue will be eternally exposed to the traits of two factions which, opposed in apperance, always rally to sacrifice the patriots. Here [Robespierre] swears to avenge Chalier, Gaillard and all the victims of the infamous aristocracy.

The speaker's principles are to stop the shedding of human blood caused by crime: the authors of the plots denounced, on the contrary, only aspire to immolate all patriots and especially the National Convention, since the Committee indicated the vices from which it must purge itself. Who are those who have constantly distinguished error from crime, and who have defended lost patriots? Isn’t it the members of the Committee? Those who demand justice can only be formidable to the leaders of the factions, and those who want to destroy the members of the Committee in public opinion can have no other intention than to serve the projects of the tyrants interested in the fall of a Committee which disconcerts them and will soon destroy them.

Robespierre ends by denouncing the author of all these maneuvers who is the same one who persecuted the patriots at Commune-Affranchie, with a cunning, a perfidy as cowardly as it is cruel: the Committee of Public Safety was not his dupe. He asks, finally, that justice and virtue triumph, that innocence be peaceful and the people victorious over all their enemies, and that the Convention puts all petty intrigues under its feet.

Couthon, who had interrupted Robespierre in order to cite charges against Dubois-Crancé regarding the siege of Commune-Affranchie, proposes that he be struck from the club’s list of members (adopted).

At the suggestion of Robespierre, Fouché is invited to come and exonerate himself of the reproaches which have been addressed to him before the Society. Robespierre at the Jacobins, July 11 1794

One reads a letter from Fouché, in which he asks the Society to suspend their judgement up until the Committees of Public Safety and General Security have made their report on his private and public conduct.

Robespierre: I begin by making the declaration that I am not interested in the individual Fouché at all. I could be connected to him because I thought him a patriot. When I denounced him here, it was less because of his past crimes than because he hid away in order to commit others, and because I regarded him as the leader of the conspiracy which we have to thwart.

I examine the letter which was just read out, and I see that it is written by a man who, being accused for crimes, refuses to justify himself before his fellow citizens. This is the beginning of a system of tyranny. He who refuses to answer to a Popular Society whose member he is, is a man who attacks the institution of Popular Societies. This contempt for the Society of the Jacobins is all the more inexcusable as Fouché himself has not refused his suffrage when he was denounced by the patriots from Nevers, and as he even took refuge on the [president’s] seat of the Jacobins. He was placed there because he had agents in this Society, who had been at Commune-Affranchie. He delivers a great speech to you on his conduct in the mission with which he had been charged. I will not seek to analyse this speech. The Society has judged that Fouché does not want to say anything, as his reflections are insignificant.

It is surprising that the one who, at the time of which I speak, craved the approval of the Society, neglects it when he is denounced, and that he seems to implore, so to speak, the aid of the Convention against the Jacobins. Does he fear the eyes and ears of the people? Does he fear that his sad face visibly presents crime, that six thousand looks fixed on him discover his entire soul in his eyes, and that, in spite of nature which has hidden them, one reads his thoughts there? Does he fear that his speech reveals the embarrassment and the contradictions of a culprit? A reasonable man has to judge that fear is the only motive of Fouché’s conduct ; well, the man who fears the looks of his fellow citizens is a culprit. He uses [the fact] as a pretext that his denunciation is sent to the Committee of Public Safety ; but is he forgetting that the tribunal of the public conscience is the most infallible? Why does he refuse to present himself here?

The obligation to give an account of his mission to the Committees of Public Safety and of General Security, which are the government, and to the Convention, which is its source or, rather, which is the government by definition, this obligation, I say, does not destroy the one of appearing respectable in the eyes of a Society, and does not excuse appearing to put it in contradiction with the Convention. A representative is responsible for his actions to the Convention; but a good citizen does not discard appearing before his fellow citizens. If the system of Fouché could dominate, it would follow that those who have denounced schemes outside of the Convention have committed a crime. This was the conduct of all conspirators, who, from the moment onwards when one has wanted to judge them, shunned this Society and denounced it to the different National Assemblies as a gathering of factious [persons].

I here call Fouché into judgement. He shall respond and he shall say who, among him and us, has borne the rights of the representatives of the people with more dignity, and struck down all factions with more courage? Was it him who unveiled the Héberts and the Chaumettes, when they hatched assassination plots and wanted to debase the Convention? No! It was us who, on this tribune, when the Hébertists claimed to be more patriotic than us, unmasked them openly. It was us who silenced the false denunciations.

They shall say if they would have been listened to here, these men who had only served the Revolution in order to dishonour it and to make it turn to the benefit of the foreign [powers] and of the aristocracy! All the vile agents who have conspired did not see their likes unveiled and punished sooner than they seemed to abandon their cause ; and, because we had dismissed the perfidiously spread calumnies against the Convention, they extended this principle onto themselves in such a way as to render it tyrannical. The slightest words against this kind of men have been regarded as crimes by them; terror was the means which they used in order to force the patriots into silence. They threw those into prison who had the courage to break it; and this is the crime for which I reproach Fouché!

He will not say that it were the principles of the Convention that he has professed ; the intention of the Convention is not to throw terror into the soul of the patriots, nor to carry out the dissolution of the Popular Societies. Which means would thus remain to us, if, while plotters conspire and prepare daggers in order to assassinate us, we could not speak in the presence of the Friends of Liberty?

Robespierre then declares that Fouché is a vile and despicable impostor ; that his move is the confession of his crimes and that the action which he takes is similar to the one of the Brissots and of the other crooks who slander the Society as soon as they are chased from it. He assures that virtue will never sacrificed to baseness, nor [will] liberty [be sacrificed] to men whose hands are full of rapines and crimes. I do not want to add anything, he says while closing; Fouché himself has characterised himself enough. I have made all these observations, so that the conspirators know once and for all that they must never hope to escape the surveillance of the people.

A citizen from Commune-Affranchie reports some serious facts against Fouché. The Society sends them to the Committee of Public Safety and, upon the motion of a member, Fouché is excluded from the Society.

The citizens Tolède and Dessyrier, who found themselves at Commune-Affranchie in the days of Fouché, and who claim to be accused, mount the tribune.

Robespierre observes that these two citizens divert, without wanting it, the attention away from Fouché, and that his cause must not be common with theirs. He recalls that the conspirators have always sought to save themselves by placing themselves beside pure patriots ; he hence invites Tolède and Dessyrier not to interrupt a discussion wherein they are not involved. – After members did justice to the patriotism of these citizens, they descend from the tribune. Robespierre at the Jacobins, July 14 1794

They are strange accomplices of Robespierre, those who, against his will, made a political report on the religious troubles, sheltered from all research in this matter the representatives of the people sent on mission in the departments, defended Tallien, Dubois-Crance, Fouché, Bourdon de l'Oise, and other representatives whom he relentlessly pursued. Réponse des membres des deux anciens Comités de Salut Public et de sûreté générale aux imputations renouvelées contre eux par Laurent Lecointre, de Versailles, et déclarées calomnieuses par décret du 13 fructidor dernier, à la Convention Nationale (1795) by Barère, Collot d’Herbois, Vadier and Billaud-Varennes

One man alone in the Convention appeared to enjoy an inexpugnable popularity: this was Robespierre, a man full of pride and cunning; an envious and vindictive being, who was never satiated with the blood of his colleagues; and who, by his capacity, steadiness, the clearness of his head, and the obstinacy of his character, surmounted circumstances the most appalling. Availing himself of his preponderance in the Committee of Public Safety, he openly aspired, not only to the tyranny of the decemviri, but to the despotism of the dictatorship of Marius and Sylla. One step more would have given him the masterdom of the revolution, which it was his audacious ambition to govern at his will; but thirty victims more were to be sacrificed, and he had marked them out in the convention.

He well knew that I understood him; and I, therefore, was honoured by being inscribed upon his tablets at the head of those doomed to destruction. I was still on a mission, when he accused me of oppressing the patriots and tampering with the aristocracy. Being recalled to Paris, I dared to call upon him from the tribune, to make good his accusation. He caused me to be expelled from the Jacobins, of whom he was the high-priest; this was for me equivalent to a decree of proscription. I did not trifle in contending for my head, nor in long and secret deliberations with such of my colleagues as were threatened with my own fate. I merely said to them, among others to Legendre, Tallien, Dubois de Crancé, Daunou and Chénier: “You are on the list, you are on the list as well as myself, I am certain of it!” Tallien, Barras, Bourdon de l'Oise and Dubois de Crancé evinced some energy. Tallien contended for two lives, of which one was then dearer to him than his own: he therefore resolved upon assassinating the future dictator, even in the Convention itself. But what a hazardous chance was this! Robespierre’s popularity would have survived him, and we should have been immolated to his manes. I therefore dissuaded Tallien from an isolated enterprise, which would have destroyed the man, but preserved his system.

Convinced that other means must be resorted to, I went straight to those who shared with Robespierre the government of terror, and whom I knew to be envious or fearful of his immense popularity. I revealed to Collot d'Herbois, to Carnot, to Billaud-Varennes, the designs of the modern Appius; and I presented to each of them separately, so lively and so true a picture of the danger of their situation, I urged them with so much address and good fortune, that I insinuated into their breasts more than mistrust, but the courage of henceforth opposing the Tyrant in any further decimating of the Convention. "Count the votes,” said I to them, “in your committee, and you will see, that when you are determined, he will be reduced to the powerless minority of a Couthon and a Saint-Just. Refuse him your votes, and compel him to stand alone by your vis inertiæ.” But what contrivances, what expedients were necessary to avoid exasperating the Jacobin club, the Seides, and the partisans of Robespierre.

My eye was on him; and seeing him reduced to a single faction, I secretly urged such of his enemies who still clung to the committee, at least to remove the artillery from Paris, who were all devoted to Robespierre and the Commune, and to deprive Henriot of his command or at least to suspend him. The first measure I obtained, thanks to the firmness of Carnot, who alleged the necessity of sending reinforcements of artillery to the army. As to depriving Henriot of his command, that appeared too hazardous; Henriot remained, and was near losing all, or rather, to speak the truth, it was he, who on the 9th Thermidor (the 27th July) ruined the cause of Robespierre, the triumph of which was for a short time in his power. But what could be expected from a drunken and stupid ci-devant footman.

What follows is too well known for me to dwell upon it. It is notorious how Maximilian the First perished; a man whom certain authors have compared to the Gracchi, to whom he bore not the slightest resemblance, either in eloquence or elevation of mind. I confess that in the delirium of victory, I said to those who thought that his views tended to the dictatorship: "You do him too much honour; he had neither plan, nor design: far from disposing of futurity, he was drawn along, and did but obey an impulse he could neither oppose nor govern." But at that time I was too near a spectator of events justly to appreciate their history. The sudden overthrow of the dreadful system which suspended the nation between life and death, was doubtless a grand epoch of liberty; but, in this world, good is ever mixed with evil. What took place after Robespierre's fall? that which we have seen to have been the case after a fall still more memorable. Those who had crouched most abjectly before the decemvir, could, after his death, find no expression strong enough to express their detestation of him. Memoirs of Fouché (1825), volume 1, page 18-22

…The fact is that, sent [to Lyon], after the sack of this city, I (Fouché) returned in revolt, with a report against Robespierre, and that, from this moment up until Thermidor, I was his declared rival! Robespierre had established himself at the Jacobins, and I in the Committees, from where I expelled him; you'll see! I was a Jacobin myself, but there were two kinds. As for us, we were not popular; we talked about equality, but deep down we were aristocrats! Yes, more aristocratic than anyone perhaps! The Jacobins of the opposite party, such as Hullin, paved the way; they would shout in the crowd on the floor; we only saw them in the stands. It was Robespierre’s henchmen who flattered this populace; Robespierre was its leader, its soul, attempting to reign through them and crush the Convention! But we were his antagonists there, me at the head! He feared me. […] [The fact that I had humiliated his pride] was enough to be certain that he would be my mortal enemy, his hateful and envious character would never forgive me for it, no more than Lacuée who, if it wasn’t for Carnot, he would have had guillotined! […] I understood that you couldn’t go and fight such a man in his club; that I there would be dominated, crushed, and that to resist it, it was necessary to choose another terrain, that is to say the Convention itself and its Committees. It was therefore there that, on my return from Lyon, I began with a report on what needed to be done to stop the complete disorganization of this province, of which I accused Robespierre. People were surprised and terrified by my audacity, Carnot among others, who in his emotion embraced me, praising my courage, but warning me that it would cost me my head! This did not stop me, I persisted; and, addressing all the enemies of the Dictator, either separately or in meetings that I convened as head of public education, I reassured them, encouraged them, and got the Committee to call Robespierre before it to defend itself. It was putting him in a false position, he did not accept it; he refused to present himself and confined himself to the Jacobins, where I proposed to have him attacked, seized as a rebel and thrown into the river! We were preparing the means when the 9th of Thermidor arrived, the day when Tallien, single-handedly, unexpectedly, without having warned us, without knowing our project, warning us, denounced Robespierre as the tyrant of his colleagues! He cited me in support of this questioning, to which Robespierre replied that this was a duel between him and me! You know the rest. But what we don't know is that, under the Directory, it was again me who destroyed the tail of this party, after having thus fought its head! De 1800 à 1812. Un aide de camp de Napoléon. Mémoires du général compte de Ségar (1894), page 437-438

The primary object of [Robespierre’s] ambition seemed to be to strike, in the first place, what remained or what might spring up again of those he looked upon as his personal enemies, of whom in his hatred he never lost sight. At the head of those he had marked for death stood Fouché, and as, in view of the point his personal quarrel with Robespierre had reached, he could not but succumb within a very short time, it had been concluded therefrom that he was to be one of those who would deal the first blows at Robespierre.

But the arguments brought into play to convince Fouché of his danger were not sufficient to inspire him with courage. He had certainly been at all times an ultra-Revolutionist, and had shown what he was made of in his support of the system of terror; but he had not exactly hit the idea of Robespierre, or rather he had become his rival, and had given him offence by going even further than he did. Fouché's position was therefore not one to afford him opposite his enemy a frank and clearly defined character enabling him to attack him openly. Robespierre had told Fouché that his face was the expression of crime. Fouché, far from replying, took it as a matter of course; expelled from the Jacobins, he had not been able to return to the fold; he no longer dared show himself even in the Convention, but busied himself actively and with a will with intrigues and machinations of the lowest kind. I sent him hither and thither to inform our friends of what we knew of the intentions of Robespierre, Saint-Just, and Couthon. His personal dread of the triumvirs served but to increase in his eyes the idea of their hostile plans. Everything that he already dreaded most sincerely was artfully exaggerated by him when seeking to stimulate those whom he sought to induce to make up their minds to action. Rising at early morning, he would run round till night calling on deputies of all shades of opinion, saying to each and everyone, "You perish tomorrow if he does not.” To those who mourned Danton, and who were threatened with the resentment of his executioners, Fouché said: ”We may, if we see fit, be avenged tomorrow, and tomorrow only will we be safe.”

In order to instil fresh courage into minds so stricken with fright more than one speech was required to place the question before each and every one in such a way that he should see his own interests in it. Hence it cannot be denied that Fouché, gathering together by his clever intriguing all sentiments against Robespierre, was a genuine resource in the midst of the elements extant ready to make a decisive move against the oppressors of the Convention. […] Matters were growing worse apace; no longer was there any possibility of a reconciliation, even under the mask of mutual deceit. Not only had hostilities been declared, but a war to the knife proclaimed. In spite of all Fouché's prudence, a letter written in his own hand had been intercepted, containing particularly the following line addressed to a colleague in the Convention: ”Ere a fortnight has rolled over us either Maximilien or we shall have ceased to exist." Hence the quarrel could end only by the destruction of one side or the other; nothing was left but to conquer or die.

Even at a time when he was brought face to face with the necessity of defending himself, it was not in Fouché to do so aboveboard. Indirect means, those of ceaseless and underground intrigue, in which he had served his apprenticeship at the Oratory, he was familiar with; and just as everything comes handy in a household, so in a conspiracy, which is itself but an intrigue more serious than others, skill and manoeuvring constitute the necessary elements; and it will be seen that Fouché was to be, if not by his courage, at least by his doings, a useful cooperator in what was about to take place. He has, in later days, boasted that he dealt mortal blows to Robespierre; the fact is that in order to flee from his wrath and, if he could have done so; from his relentless memory, Fouché no longer appeared at the National Convention nor slept at home; it was at night alone that, under various disguises, he would go the rounds of such of his colleagues as were busily engaged in preparing means of defence against Robespierre, and bring and carry from one to the other every particular as to what was taking place, and go on the errands it was requisite should be dextrously done in order to cement the alliances we were forming pending the moment, impossible to positively determine, when the decisive blow was to be struck. Memoirs of Barras, member of the Directorate (1895) page 207-214

Legendre: […] I did not see Fouché during his missions, but I saw him at the Jacobins; he surrounded himself with all the men who, before the 9th of Thermidor, were preparing for this great day. There he openly attacked Robespierre who, wanting to manage him or give himself the means to destroy him, had him named president of the Jacobins. Fouché seized this post to attack Robespierre more openly, and in his responses he designated this tyrant whom it was necessary to strike. I declare that I see Fouché as one of the elements of the day of 9 Thermidor. Tallien: On Germinal 12, at the time when I believed I saw in Fouché a man linked to the conspirators, I had the courage to denounce him. Since that time, I have had no relationship with him, but it is my duty to defend him by attesting to the facts that are within my knowledge. Fouché was proscribed by Robespierre, because he had opposed the measures taken by Collot in Lyon. Fouché courageously unmasked Robespierre, and declared that, even if his head fell, he would make this dictator known to the people. Every day Fouché came to report to us what was happening at the Committee of Public Safety, and the day before the 9th of Thermidor he told us: “The division is complete, tomorrow we must strike.” The next day, the tyrant was no more. Fouché, at the same time, wrote to his sister: “In a short time the tyrant shall be punished. Robespierre only have a few days left to reign.” This letter was intercepted by Bô, who sent it to Robespierre. These are the facts I had to make known. Legendre and Tallien at the Convention, August 9 1794

Madame Collot (d’Herbois) Mademoiselle Robespierre (their titles are common as well as their distress) Per month: 200 pounds Per year: 2400 pounds for special help. Collective decree granting Charlotte a pension from Minister of Police Fouché dated February 8 1805, cited in Charlotte Robespierre et ses amis (1961) by Gabriel Pioro and Pierre Labracherie.

#fouché wanting to throw robespierre into the seine😂😭#fouché #robespierre #maximilien robespierre #charlotte robespierre #joseph fouché #frev friendships #frev #french revolution

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thisisnotthenerd · 2 months

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Notes on the Bylaws of the Aguefort Adventuring Academy

We've had some revelations in this episode, so I thought it might be a good time to go back to my Musings on the Greater Solisian School District.

Before this season, we had learned a few things about the Aguefort Adventuring Academy's Bylaws from Fantasy High, Fantasy High: Sophomore Year and the Seven that are ambiguously canon:

Adventuring Parties are established on the first day of freshman year so that the party can graduate together and begin working as an adventuring party. The party is expected to participate in activities together such that they might go forth and be violent lunatics enforcing their will upon the world.

There are a variety of reasons one might leave an adventuring party--the one that applied to the members of the Seven was severe injury, incapacitation, or capture to the point of losing more than a semester of school. By technicality, the Bad Kids circumvent this by virtue of going to jail as a group for ~2 months towards the end of their freshman year--not enough to cause them to repeat the semester or break the party.

The Crowning of a Prom King & Queen was prohibited due to the prophesized return of Kalvaxus, Emperor of the Red Waste, given that Kalvaxus was in fact working as the Vice Principal in the form of a dragonborn named Goldenhoard.

Arthur Aguefort keeps numerous magical artifacts in his office and in various locations around the school, this includes objects like Watches and Wards, an abjurative ward that can only be affected by Arthur Aguefort and the Elven Oracle [Adaine Abernant], the Crown of the Nightmare King, and the Bylaws of the Greater Solisian School District.

Presumably, beginning in sophomore year, an adventuring party attending the Aguefort Adventuring Academy must complete a quest that accounts for 60% of their grade for that year. It is unclear whether this rule is universal or whether it applies to specific parties who have direct involvement in larger quests, i.e. the Bad Kids tracking down the Crown of the Nightmare King, the Seven Maidens going to the Red Waste to eliminate the remainder of the Cult of Kalvaxus. This ties into a later application of the bylaws regarding the Last Stand Exam.

Parties can have members in different grades, however, graduation and further work can cause the disbandment of the party.

To acquire a GED diploma from the Solisian School District, an adventurer/adventuring party must get the signature of the Superintendent of Schools of the Solisian School District and complete a class A, B, or C quest [reference my previous meta for more discussion of this]

Now, at the halfway mark of Junior Year, we have some more bylaws and school rules to consider.

Administrative

In the absence of the Principal of the Aguefort Adventuring Academy [Arthur Aguefort] the Vice Principal [Gilear Faeth] is the Acting Principal of the school and carries out all administrative decisions thereof.

In the absence of both the Principal [Arthur Aguefort] and the Vice Principal [Gilear Faeth], administration of the School falls to the Principal's appointed emergency staff: Principal [Interim Emergency Backup Principal Grix] and Vice Principal [Jace Stardiamond]

The bylaws of the Aguefort Adventuring Academy in particular are based on a combination of written and oral proclamations from Arthur Aguefort; thus some bylaws may be contradictory in their application, given the man's proclivity for bits and exaggerated speech.

The election of a student body president typically occurs around the end of a given school year, with students in their junior year competing to be president in their senior year. There is no indicated option for a vice presidential position, though there are other administrative positions such as treasurer.

Thus, when all options for administrative staff have been exhausted e.g. all appointed candidates have passed or are absent, the role of principal falls to the student body president, who presides over the Academy as a democratically-run educational institution.

Academic

Generally, students are expected to progress in the class in which they first joined the Adventuring Academy. While leveling can differ based on extracurricular achievement as well as background, the existing hypothesis places students in tier 2-3 starting in Junior Year*. Currently the Bad Kids are exceeding the hypothesized levels, but given their extracurricular achievements in adventuring, this is to be expected.

To Multi-class and effectively take both classes in which the student has interest, they are able to utilize the MCAT, upon given the consent of the class instructors for both courses. Reference previous meta for more information on the MCAT.

Measures of success in each class varies significantly; a wizard is not graded on the same curve as a sorcerer. One of the more extreme examples of this is the conditional pass of the rogue class; upon finding the rogue teacher, the student passes the year and no longer has to attend class.

Pass-Fail and Conditional Examinations

If a member of an adventuring party leaves for any given reason: irreconcilable differences, severe injury/incapacitation, capture or other forms of imprisonment, death, etc., the entire party is shifted to pass-fail for the entire year, and is thus prohibited from extracurricular activities.

If the faculty member/instructor of a particular class passes away during the school year, the entire class is shifted into pass-fail. This can have further effects on the adventuring parties of those students, since they are shifted into pass-fail along with their allies in the given class. The most recent example of this is the death of Yolanda Badgood and the shift of the Cleric class to pass-fail.

If a student, for whatever reason, has had difficulty throughout the year with academic success, especially due to systemic barriers, they may be eligible for a exam called the Last Stand, which is taken later in the year, and replaces the student's transcript. This exam can be taken as a party, or individually, depending on the students' needs.

*Tier 1 = Levels 1-5, Tier 2 = Levels 6-10, Tier 3 = Levels 11-15, Tier 4 = Levels 16-20

#dimension 20 #dimension 20 spoilers #fantasy high junior year #fhjy #fhjy spoilers #dimension 20 meta #musings on the solisian school district #dimension 20 speculation

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chaoticsimp · 1 year

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What Could Have Been

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Relationship: Twilight x Reader

Content Warnings: SFW, Fluff, Angst, Angst, Angst, Fem!Reader.

Summary: I love you. Your last words to the agent known as Twilight. It was a love he ran from - for the greater good. He hasn't seen you since, and never expected to see you again until he stumbled upon your new life without him.

Word Count: 1340

Part 2

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A ghost – walking the halls of Eden Academy with a soft smile, surrounded by adoring students. It was a smile that used to greet him in the mornings, accompanied by a quiet goodbye and be safe. It was the smile he thought of when he was backed into a corner, and the smile he often dreamt of even years later.

“Have a good evening, Miss!” A child yelled as they exited the classroom.

“See you tomorrow!” Another said excitedly.

“Don’t forget your permission slips,” You called after them, still unaware of the eyes on you. The last time he had seen you, he left without so much as a goodbye. A final night before returning to your respective realities – a time he allowed himself to linger in for far too long.

He followed you from a distance. His eyes drifted to your hand, the one clutching the strap of your bag and he was relieved to see no ring. Although, what would he have said or done if he had seen one? He was the one who chose the job over you. He knew he had forfeited any place in whatever life you built after the heartbreak he left you with. He noticed you slow your steps as you wandered into the adjacent courtyard, and realized one of your hands had drifted unnoticed into your bag.

“If I have to come to you the next breath you take will be your last.”

“I suppose it was foolish of me to think your senses had dulled,” He sighed, stepping from the shadow of a pillar. That smile you had carried yourself with was replaced by a tight line as he met your gaze.

“After orientation, I knew it was a matter of time.” You noticed him before he had noticed you, sitting next to a beautiful young woman and their little pink-haired child rushing down the steps to join her class. You felt the heartbreak before the fear – what did this mean? Was the slice of paradise you carved out for yourself in danger? When you went home that evening you expected the Handler to be at your door, and every day after you waited for WISE agents that never came. It was the lack of action that kept you curious.

“And you didn’t run?”

“You think too highly of yourself-”

“Loid,” He interrupted.

“Have I lost the privilege of your name?” You asked and noticed his ears redden. You withheld a laugh, amused by how easily flustered you could make Westalis greatest spy.

“I’m only joking, Mr. Forger,” You assured him, and that seemed enough to calm him.

“I’ll admit, I was surprised it took you this long but after seeing your wife, and child I put the pieces together.”

“Yes, well. I would hate for people to get the wrong idea if I was spotted with another woman.” You nodded, and he noticed your lip quiver as you glanced away.

“It’s difficult seeing you live the life I wanted with you, even if it’s just for a mission.” It wasn’t the confession that shook him, it was the tear you tried so hard to hide as you turned your back to him. Twilight took a step, stopping himself before he took another, and your hand left what he assumed was the weapon hidden in your bag as you lifted your sleeve to your cheek.

“You suit the role of husband and father as well as I thought you would,” You continued with a humourless laugh. This wasn’t how you wanted this confrontation to go, you wanted to be mad – to throw the words he had used on you back at him. To remind him of the hurt he caused, but once you were faced with him – you were also faced with the man you knew him to be. A brilliant, wonderful, and handsome man who has spent his entire life protecting others with little thanks.

“Do you remember what you said to me when you left?” You asked.

“Yes," He hesitated, the words still felt heavy on his tongue. "I’m sorry but the world needs Twilight, more than I need you."

“And? Is it the same, is this family you’ve made really just for WISE?” There was the briefest hesitation, a split-second beat before his answer came. Something so insignificant would have gone unnoticed by the average person, but you knew him sometimes better than he knew himself.

“Yes.” You huffed a laugh, shaking your head as you turned back to face him. His blue eyes shone in the evening sun, and he still stood in that single step he had taken towards you. You walked closer, and he didn’t withdraw when your hand touched his arm.

“Don’t hurt them like you did me,” You advised. You stood on your toes. He tensed but didn’t move as you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. The warmth lingered far longer than it should have, his heart sped up so quickly he was sure you’d notice but you simply stepped back. That gentleness faded as your grip returned to the strap of your bag.

“I want no part in whatever you’re doing,” You started. “I want nothing to do with whatever WISE has set up. I won’t get in the way.”

“But?”

“But if you or them move against me I will not hesitate to throw you under the bus,” You warned. Twilight almost laughed, this was the woman he remembered.

“I worked hard to build a life here, and you no longer have a place in it. I love my job, I love my students, and any interference-”

“I understand,” He interrupted with a small smile. “I will leave you be, and I will ask the Handler to do the same.”

“Thank you,” You smiled, relieved that there was no pushback. No threat, no reason to run.

“Well, if that’s all Mr. Forger I really must be going.” He didn’t want you to go, he wanted to ask you about your life here. He wanted to get dinner, he wanted to hear his name – his real name – rolling off your tongue. He missed your shared after-mission routines. He missed you more than he cared to admit, but he knew admitting any of this would be unfair to you. It would hurt you more than he already had, so he put on a smile – his best ‘Loid Forger’ smile and offered his hand.

“Thank you for your time.” You took his hand and felt his grip tighten. Another pause as that fake smile faltered, and his voice lowered.

“You know I did?” He asked, briefly avoiding your gaze.

“I know,” You replied, and Twilight ignored the tremor in your voice – afraid it would shake his resolve. Afraid it would make him question his mission, just like it had years ago.

“I’m glad you’ve found a life without me.” A lie. One that you forced yourself to believe as you shook his hand. Your hands lingered as you pulled them apart, that smile you had carried yourself with returned as you both walked out of the courtyard.

“I suppose, I’ll see you around,” You replied, and he nodded. You finally turned your back to him, and he listened to your retreating steps. Twilight lifted his hand to his cheek. He could still feel the warmth of your lips, and he let himself linger on it. He turned to leave in the opposite direction, ready to return to his own life and leave you in yours until he heard his name – his real name being called. Was this his second chance? But when he looked over his shoulder, he realized it wasn’t him you had called to as a small blonde child ran into your waiting arms. Twilight was sure you felt his gaze, he noticed your hesitation as you stood and kept your back to him. He stopped himself from following, but his eyes never left your back as you disappeared with who could be his reflection in your arms.

#loid x reader #twilight x reader #loid forger #spy x family #sxf #loid forger x reader #loid forger fluff #loid x y/n #loid forger x you #twilight x y/n

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lady-charinette · 4 months

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Breached containment out of discord but-

I HAVE TO SCREAM ABOUT IT NOW: what if Eden isn't as innocent a school as it tries to present itself? What if, by becoming the top imperial scholars in Eden with the most stellas, instead of going to other schools and colleges and furthering their education, Eden Academy sends those students to a facility far removed from civilization.

It's a facility where Project Apple breaks in their new test subjects. It's for the older kids. For the imperial scholars who showed most promise and potential.

Other theory tied into this:

What if, since Donovan used to be an imperial scholar, he got involved with Project Apple at some point in his past? Hence the surgical scars around his head? What if they experimented on him more extensively due to his high achievements in Eden?

If Melinda was somehow connected to Project Apple, either her father being a benefactor or even a scientist, she could've met Donovan there. Or their marriage was not only a political marriage but one of convenience for Melinda: as a woman in that time period, she possessed immense diplomatic and political skills to impact Ostania and Westalis on a greater scale, but not the same opportunities as a man.

So they use Donovan, their number 1 test subject. They combine both of their abilities and in their marriage to control the political climate in the country.

What if the reason why we don't see Demetrius is because he's currently being experimented on by Project Apple after he became an imperial scholar? What if the reason why a couple stuck in a loveless marriage like Melinda and Donovan had two children to see if their talents would naturally merge in them, as a social experiment for Project Apple? To create a "Übermensch"?

Ostania and Westalis remind of communist Germany during the cold war era. The SS is obviously the Stasi, the Stasi and the Gestapo of Nazi Germany often used much of the same intimidation tactics as the other, who's to say they also didn't adopt the Nazi ideology of creating a "super human" aka "Übermensch"?

In Spy x Family, wouldn't a possible goal of Project Apple be creating super humans? Or at least humans with supernatural powers that could turn the tides of the war in either country's favor?

Am I tripping?

#spy x family #sxf #donovan desmond #melinda desmond #demetrius desmond #damian desmond #anya forger #project apple #sxf headcanon #spy x family headcanons #spy x family theory #eden academy

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muse-of-fandoms · 2 years

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What makes me love the umbrella academy more than any other superhero show is the fact that the umbrellas are just fucking idiots who care about themselves.

In all other media involved with superheroes, they're often portrayed as badasses who always win in the end. Sure, they struggle, but ultimately they always win, even if it doesnt seem like it at first.

But in the umbrella academy, we get front row seats about the blantant stupidity of these seven siblings and how they fuck up so badly they manage to destroy the space time continium accidentaly.

If any other hero would go through what any of the umbrellas did, they would probably try to fix what they did wrong and probably sacrifice themselves for what they think is the greater good. Yet the umbrella's always somehow prioritize themselves or family over the world.

I'd argue that five actually cares about saving the world, but if you think about it, the only reason he tries to prevent the apocalypse is to save his family.

Viktor and klaus are considered the kindest members of the hargreeves but klaus was willing to stay in the void if it meant not dealing with the world's bullshit and viktor already killed people as a toddler.

They all grew up in a household where they did everything they could, gave up everything they had just to please a man who barely gave two fucks about them. As adults, they're all emotionaly stunted and barely capable of making connections that dont end up toxic.

The umbrella academy is full of selfish assholes who's only interests are centered around them. And I thank the writers for making them the most realistic take on how being child soldiers affects you bone-deep

#klaus hargreeves #the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #five hargreeves #luther hargreeves #viktor hargreeves #ben hargreeves #reginald hargreeves

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jayaury · 1 year

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Autumn’s Harvest

Another short story from my Patreon archive. I hope you enjoy it!

---

Michael Colter walked by the pumpkin patch every year, and every year he wondered how Old Man Wittig managed to make those pumpkins grow so big.

There were those that said Wittig sold his soul to a spirit of the Wire Woods. And true, there was always some poor sod that seemed to vanish along that road as the years grew long. But Michael put little stock in such tales. There’d not been a witch in the region for eighty years, and the cursed lands had been pushed back far beyond the borders of their village. The wards on the distant posts that separated the fields from the forest glowed hot with power, strung along the distance like a ribbon of stars, and not a devil, sprite, or any other fey thing could cross that boundary.

But when he walked by the patch and saw those orange gourds growing ripe and heavy, and when the wind whistled through trees growing thin of leaves and a sky overcast with a steely grey, he recalled the rumors of the missing, and shivered in the cold.

He was on his way back to his family’s farm that late night, later than he should have been. He’d spent overlong in the town’s library and hadn’t realized the time until the librarian had told him they were closing. The air was growing dark, the moon yet to rise, and even as he walked the night closed in more and more. A time the old folks knew as the Whispering Hours. Back when the forest grew closer, it was said the spirits of the Wire Woods would tempt men and girls of marriageable age to cross beyond the borders of the wards, and find their destiny in the arms of giggly sprites and hungry alraunes.

Michael shrugged off such talk. Superstitions were not for him. He was a man of education. His family did well enough. His brother would inherit the farm. His sisters went off to marry some of the tradesmen in town, and he was to go to the Academy in Morrinton come spring’s breaking. He had the mind of a scholar and no small skill in magic, and life on the farm had given him the build of a workhorse, which stretched his coat comfortably over his chest. He was meant for greater things than to be a farmer. Greater things indeed.

Come to me.

Michael stopped dead and looked out over Wittig’s fields. He noted with some interest that the pumpkins hadn’t been coming in as well as other years. The rinds were still pale and nestled in their vines like eggs waiting for a broody hen. Michael rubbed his chin, wondering, then shrugged and started off again.

Here.

He turned to the patch again, his eyes roaming across the field. He hadn’t imagined that one. He was sure of it. A plaintive whisper hanging in the wind. A woman’s voice that tickled his ear and made pins and needles dance up and down his arms.

“Hello?” he called.

No answer came but the soft sigh of the wind and the rustle of leaves blown across the acres. But as he stood there, he saw something glowing through the gloom. A flicker of a lamp swaying out among the fields. Michael leaned over the fence, trying to see who carried it, but the green flame merely hung in the air, swaying softly.

A new sensation came over Michael as he watched that distant glow. He felt again that tingle in his arms. A strange sense of vertigo gripped him, making him lean against the fence. He shook his head, banishing the momentary befuddlement, and tried to spot who it was that carried the lamp, but the gloom had only grown deeper, and the lamp seemed to recede further.

Michael drummed his fingers on the fence, then climbed over and began to make his way across the patch.

He was careful not to tread on the vines or pumpkins. He knew the labours involved in growing such crop, and it would shame him greatly to damage anything of another man’s harvest. “Hello?” he called again. “Who’s there?”

The flame retreated as he approached. Or perhaps it was further away than he expected. In no time, he found himself moving beyond the pumpkin patches, and towards one of the small shelters of willows that grew in tangles on every farm. The glow of the lamp danced between the trunks, flickering as if through the bars of the cage. As he approached, he spied a trail that wound into the trees.

Come here.

He paused then, uncertain. Uneasiness rose in him. Something was wrong here. Though he was still some distance from the ward posts, something made him wary of what lay before him.

Help me.

The words held such a pleading tone that it made Michael nervous. There were many rumors about Wittig. A man secretive, churlish. Quick to anger and jealous of his lands. Could he have harmed a woman who’d been walking by? Dumped her body among the trees thinking she were dead? Or had she escaped here, and was waiting for a rescuer?

His stomach clenching, but his mind made up, Michael moved down the narrow path through the trees.

Now, at last, the light of the lantern grew closer. The glow grew brighter. Brighter. Its flames fluttered, and Michael swore he could make out a figure among its embers. A feminine form that swayed and danced and spun in dizzying patterns of ragged green. A heat that burned bright and hands that swung and beckoned and-

Michael’s foot hit something, sending him crashing to the ground. He hit it hard, bruising his palms and knees, his brain seeming to rattle in his skull. The shock cleared his head and he shook it, looking back to see what it was he’d tripped on.

His mouth dropped open as he saw the prone figure laying on the ground. Though wearing a heavy brown coat with a high collar, it was near three sizes too big for the body it garbed. Wrists thin as twigs and twisted fingers clawed for the heavens. A face as wizened and wrinkled as the bark of an oak tree stared up, mouth and eye sockets gaping at the world with the dumb idiocy of death. But Michael could still make out, just barely, the familiar features of Old Man Wittig.

It was only then that Michael realized he could see easily despite the dark. He turned back towards the source of the light, and his shock was only compounded by what he saw.

Before him, nestled in the middle of the willows and atop a vast, sprawling tangle of green vines, sat the biggest pumpkin Michael had ever seen. It swelled in a huge orange orb, and several vines grew high around it, their tips curving outward like birdcages, and within them danced the fluttering green light of witchfire.

A creaking groan came from the pumpkin, and from its top leaves rustled and stretched apart. Michael stared, stunned as a figure rose out of the pumpkin. Skin a pale orange. Hair a bright green. A face radiantly beautiful, and breasts as large as the pumpkins in the field yet so much softer. Her hips plugged the pumpkin’s top as she stretched from the peak, her eyes opening, glowing the poisonous green of the witchfire as she looked down on him with a smile.

“Hello,” she crooned.

Michael slammed his jaw shut and scrambled to his feet. An alraune. A dryad! A creature of the forest. Winsome and cunning, he had heard countless tales of the fates that awaited those they tempted into their groves. He reeled back from the figure, only to trip again on the corpse of Old Man Wittig, this time finding himself on his rump.

“Oh dear!” the pumpkin alraune giggled. “You are a clumsy one. Here, let me help.”

“I ah!” Michael gasped as vines pushed against his back, twisting under his arms and hoisting him to his feet.

“There we are. Much better,” she said, then put a coquettish finger to her lip. “Hmm, although we aren’t quite on the same level, are we? Why, you’re just tall enough to talk to my big melons, aren’t you?”

Michael stared as she hefted her impressive bust, giving those plush, orange orbs a bounce in her hands, the shadows of the lanterns fluttering across them in a way that made his head spin. He shook it off, trying to take a step back. “I… who… you can’t be here,” he said.

“Can’t I?” the pumpkin woman said. “But I’ve been here for such a very long time. I am Cucuria. A pleasure to meet you.”

“But… the barrier…”

She giggled again. “Ohhh, I’ve been in place much longer than your silly barrier. But I’m a… seasonal spirit. I only get big… and strong… and jiggly now,” she cooed, giving her breasts another teasing wobble.

Michael swallowed, trying not to look at those impressive tits. “I uh… I don’t…”

“Ohhhh, but let’s not talk about me,” Cucuria said sweetly. “Let’s talk about you. And what we can do together.”

“S-sorry?”

“Oh,” she said, cocking her head. “Didn’t you come here for me?”

“N-no! I thought I heard a woman in… in distress.”

“How fortunate!” Cucuria giggled, sending her melons bouncing with mirth and the lanterns bobbing around her. “Why, that’s exactly what I am. A pretty damsel in distress.”

“You… are?” Michael said dubiously.

“But of course, silly! I’m in ever so much need of a handsome, strong young man. One who loves big… soft… breasts…”

She gave her bust another jiggle, but Michael managed to avoid staring at them this time, focusing instead on her face. Lit by the green lamps, there was something menacing in the light of her eyes and turn of her lip. Something that made his stomach flip and his pants feel tight.

“You…” He cleared his throat. “You needed help?”

“Oh yes! It’s been such a terrible season this year. I fear poor Walter simply didn’t have it in him to help me.”

“Walter? You mean…” Michael looked back at the shriveled corpse and felt another shudder.

“Poor soul,” Cucuria sighed. “He tried to give me his all, truly, but I’m afraid he was just too old now.”

“Y-you mean, you…”

“It was a mutual arrangement,” Cucuria said, touching her impressive chest. “I give him the biggest pumpkins around, and he gives me just a little taste of his lifeforce. Just a quick nibble. And I make the meal… mmm… so very good…”

So that was the secret. Michael knew that alraunes could feed on the essence of their prey, though some preferred to keep their thralls in a permanent state of love-drunk, perfumed submission. But he had never heard of one like Cucuria.

“You killed him,” Michael breathed.

“Oh dear, but I didn’t. He killed himself. Poor thing,” Cucuria sighed, once more fondling the plump orbs of her breasts. “He was just obsessed with pumping into me. Just pumping and pumping his needy cock into my flower. All so he could make these girls even… mmm… bigger.”

“B-bigger?” Michael said, again caught by the bobbing of her breasts.

“Oh yes,” Cucuria murmured. “So much bigger. Do you really think this is as big as I can make them? My breasts can grow so much… mmm… bigger. So heavy. So soft. So big you could bury your head between them and just… mmm… rest…”

Michael blinked. The lanterns were swaying around her again, their glow framing her, illuminating her as her hips began to slowly sway from side to side. He felt a pull towards the alraune. As if the world were bending around her. Twisting and shaping itself to draw him in deeper and deeper towards her.

“I… I sh-should go,” he gasped, turning.

“Are you sure?” Cucuria said, one of her lanterns suddenly dangling before him, the flame within swaying, captivating his eyes. “But I haven’t even made my offer.”

“I uh… I don’t think…” Michael said distantly as he watched the lantern bob, the green flame flickering and dancing. Fluttering and swirling…

“But you haven’t even heard what it is,” Cucuria said, her lantern moving around him, pulling him as if his eyes were tethered to the flame, compelling him to again face the pumpkin girl, her pouty lips filled with a smile, her lidded eyes gleaming with glowing promise. “Shouldn’t you hear my offer first?”

“I don’t… I don’t think…”

“Would it really be so bad?” Cucuria said.

Michael hesitated, his eyes following the lantern as it swayed, the witchfire again vaguely resembling a woman. A woman with big… soft breasts…

Would it be so bad? Just hearing her out surely wouldn’t… wouldn’t be a problem. “I… I suppose I could listen…”

“What a good boy,” Cucuria cooed, her words sending shivers up Michael’s spine. “I knew you would. Such a clever man knows a good deal when he hears one. And it is suuuuch a good deal. I’m sure you’ll absolutely love. It.”

“Uh huh,” he said, watching the flickering green flame sway, her tones rising, falling, like the ticking of a clock with every pendulous sway.

“It’s very simple, my handsome human. You give me some… mmm… of that wonderful lifeforce of yours, and make my breasts… mmm… all big… and soft… and you can do just… anything with them.”

“A-anything?” Michael said breathlessly.

“Anything,” Cucuria crooned.

Michael… Michael knew something was wrong here. And yet… and yet he couldn’t look away from her. From her chest. From her big, soft breasts. And to make them bigger… it stunned him to imagine. Those ripe melons growing heavier. Softer. Big as his head. Bigger than his head. Big enough to bury his head between them.

And yet… and yet…

He forced himself to remember Wittig’s body, because he couldn’t quite seem to move his head and look at it. Not while that lantern flame was swaying above her big orange breasts. Not when the shadows danced and chased each other over those curves with the swing of the lantern. He licked his lips. “I… I can’t… Wittig…”

“Was so veeeeery old,” Cucuria said, her voice like the whisper of an autumn breeze. Dripping with honeyed condescension. “So old and… used up… And it took him ever so many years to get so… drained… And you’re so very young. So very strong. So very…” Her tongue flicked across her lips. “Virile. Not to mention your magic. Why, I bet I won’t even need to touch your lifeforce. I bet I can just drink that sweet magic of yours. Just a quick sip, and you can do anything with my breasts. Why not sample them? Why not see if it’s worth it? Would one try really be so bad?”

Michael knew it would be. Instinctively he realized this. Yet he couldn’t seem to look away. He felt the warmth in his veins. The tingling arousal and heaviness of his balls. Gods he was warm. Gods he was horny. And what was a taste? A sample? Would it be so bad? Wittig had lived for decades. What was one quick try?

“I… I suppose… suppose a taste…” he said softly.

“Attaboy,” Cucuria said, her eyes shining in the glow of the lamps. “Now, take off those silly pants. You don’t need them.”

“Don’t need them…?”

“That’s right.”

Michael’s hands moved slowly, as if still not quite believing he was doing this. But he was. And it was fine. Everything was fine. He’d just get a taste. See what happened. Then he could head home. He could go home and… and forget all this happened.

But only after.

Only after…

He shucked his pants off, his cock tingling in the cool autumn breeze, his balls aching in the fondling of the wind. Cucuria’s eyes lit with anticipation.

“Good boy. My my! That’s a lovely cock. So big and thick. Mmmm. I can’t wait to give it a taste.”

Michael flushed with embarrassment and pleasure. His eyes were caught as a vine twisted up from the base of Cucuria’s pumpkin, the tip ending in a large bulb. As he watched the bulb opened, revealing a slick hole, drooling with sap.

“Come closer,” Cucuria said, her voice a whisper tickling in his ears. “Come closer, and let me show you… some fun…”

Michael nodded, drawn forward by the bobbing lamp. He found himself right before the alraune, her impressive breasts before his eyes, wobbling tantalizingly in the fluttering shadows of the witchfire lamps.

“Good boy,” Cucuria crooned.

“Ah!” Michael gasped as the bulb engulfed his cock, swallowing it in the warm tightness of its embrace. He groaned, his legs wobbling as the bulb gave a hungry suck, rippling around his manhood, sucking him like the most wonderful pair of lips he had ever known.

“Mmmmm. That’s it,” Cucuria breathed. “Goooood boy. Oh, I can feel how virile that big, thick cock of yours is. And those balls!” She giggled as vines slithered around his groin, cupping his balls in their twining grasp. “Mmm. So very full. I can’t wait to get a taste of that cum.”

Michael panted, barely able to process her words. His cock throbbed, needy, desperate. The flutter of the lamps sending shadows spinning around his eyes, their glow washing over his rapturous face as he thrust shamelessly into the hungry bulb, the slick sap making his cock so sensitive. So slick. “Ah!” he gasped. “Ah… ah… nnnnn! G-good. So gooood!”

“I know, stud,” Cucuria said, her hands gently cupping his cheeks, tilting his head back so he was looking into her glowing eyes. “It’s so good. So good for you. I’ll be so very good for you. And all you gotta do is pump. Pump that thick, manly cum for me. Pump for my tits. Pump it, stud. Pump. Pump!”

Michael obeyed. He couldn’t stop. Couldn’t dream of stopping. The feel of her bulb sucking his cock was beyond anything he’d known. The sap oozed down his shaft, warm on his balls. His body ached. He could feel his cum churn. His pleasure grow. His orgasm growing nearer. Nearer. His balls fit to burst! Just a little more. A little more…

“O-oooooooh!” Michael groaned, his body shuddering, his orgasm surging up from his heavy balls, pounding through his veins, rushing into his cock and exploding into the waiting flower. He shuddered as he pumped, as the bulb swallowed, thick bulges working down the vine and feeding into Cucuria’s base. He sagged, eyes fairly rolling back, body shuddering in unspeakable pleasure as her bulb drank down his cum, only remaining standing by the vines supporting his back and her hands on his head.

“Oh yesssss!” Cucuria moaned, her eyelids fluttering, lashes beating like leaves caught on an autumn breeze. “Oh baby yesss! So mmm… so goood! So much better than Wittig’s watery seed. Mmm. And look… ah… look at that.”

She tilted his head down, and Michael gaped as he watched her breasts bulge, swelling with every swallow of her stem, her orange tits growing so big and heavy he could fairly hear them slosh with her sap.

“Oh… Oh g-gods,” he breathed.

“All thanks to you, handsome,” Cucuria cooed. “Quite the taste, hm? And you’re still so hard! So vigorous. Do you want another taste?”

“A-another?” Michael gasped. “B-but…”

“Pleeeease?” Cucuria cooed, easing him forward, burying his face between those swelling orbs. “For meeeee?”

Michael’s eyes rolled back as those massive breasts engulfed his head. Perfect. Flawless. Soft. Firm. A farm boy like him knew the quality of good produce, and the melons engulfing his head were blue ribbon winners for sure. He shivered in the cool autumn night, but not from the cold. Another teasing suck engulfed his cock, and Michael groaned in delight.

“Y-yesssss,” he gasped.

“Good boy,” Cucuria giggled. “We’ll make a wonderful farmer of you yet.”

Michael could only moan as he found himself bending his knees, kneeling against the pumpkin of her lower body, his hips working, pumping him into the milking bulb. His hands cupped her massive breasts, squeezing them around his head, bouncing them, nuzzling them, his lips kissing those orange tits. Adoring them. Entranced by him.

By the witchlight of the pumpkin girl, Michael rutted into her, every spurt of his cum swelling the breasts around his head, yet never blocking out Cucuria’s words. Words that slithered into his helpless mind, wrapping up his thoughts in their dulcet tones and gentle instructions.

After all, there would be no question as to him taking over Wittig’s farm. His family would be delighted he was staying in town. Wittig had no heirs, so there would be no question of his ownership. Most would simply chuckle and shake their heads, saying that to farm was in the blood.

And his pumpkins would be even bigger than Wittig’s ever were. Even heavier. Even plumper.

And with his help, the growing season would last long in the coming years…

#brainwashing #mind control #alraune #plant girl #seduction #hypnotic #hypnotized #brain drain #mind corruption

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skrunksthatwunk · 7 months

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ok sequel post to the it's cool how obvious mako's crush on ryuko is from day one post from a couple hours ago bc I wanna talk about them more

ryuko takes a bit longer to warm up to her, but honestly? not by much. ryuko has a protective streak in her that lets her befriend people who need her pretty easily, and she's endeared to people relatively quickly if they don't piss her off (i.e. the mankanshokus, senketsu, maiko, eventually satsuki). she really does like people, even if she can be a little standoffish at first

ryuko's a little taken aback by mako's immediate strong affection, but she quickly adapts (very clear in how her approach to mako trying to tackle her changes from dodging to catching her and setting her down gently in only a few episodes). she doesn't get mako at first, but figures her out pretty quickly and adjusts. that's just mako, y'know? plus mako's just very kind to her in a way most people aren't. ryuko, too, wants company. she wants a family, she wants friends.

plus, her protective nature is fed a lot by the other students kidnapping mako so much and mako's dependence on her in those moments. mako is something precious to save and ryuko's weakness, but she also gives her strength. her support means a lot to her and mako comes to her rescue often (in the bathroom with tsumugu, de-monsterifying her, standing up to her family and fighting her demons in the fight club episode, etc etc). ryuko's fight against satsuki is one that feels very solitary. it's emphasized a lot just how many people satsuki has willing to fight for her, and there's just one ryuko. she has backup via mikisugi, mako, and senketsu, but what they can do for her is often pretty limited by their circumstances. again, mako's the one who calls her back from the edge multiple times. she's the key to calming her down. she's the one she staggers home to, the one she celebrates with, the one she spends her free time with. she chooses her company because she likes it. a lot.

there's a lot of moments where ryuko's like yep that's mako :) she's sillyyy. she brightens up immediately around her and often sours when other people enter the picture. she's the one good thing about honouji academy, y'know? she gives in to her a lot, letting her come along on her return to the ruins of her house, letting her come to honouji for the cultural festival, etc. she has an "aww i can't say no to you" thing going most of the time. mako's resolve and persistence is what bores through ryuko's walls and lets her get close to her. it's what she mentions when, after the wedding scene (and we'll get to that, trust me) she says mako and senketsu are more than friends. mako's surprised at her inclusion (again, she tends to slot herself as #2 to senketsu, her sunday best) and ryuko cites that persistence. mako was not only there for her, but stuck around, even when ryuko pushed her away, and that means something to ryuko. ryuko who people always misjudged or sent away or avoided or fought. ryuko who was lonely, whom no one fought for but herself. mako was there, and mako feels the same (as she says running in the naked sol's generator very near the end which. the sheer joy with which they say each other's names there is just. waaaaaaa)

ok the wedding scene. the wedding scene. not gonna go too crazy on this bc I don't wanna detail this but I'll say this: junketsu is frequently referred to as a wedding dress, and the fantasy/hallucination it forces upon ryuko (as the kamui itself was forced on her) is one of a normal-girl, average kinda life. one where she has a mother who's always there for her, she grows up normally, and she's happy. and she's happy because she has a family. she's not fighting all the time, she's in her place in society, she's having a wedding. of course, who she's marrying is irrelevant, even to junketsu. the man is faceless and unacting. he's not what makes this fantasy appealing. it's the assimilation, the acceptance of her by a greater society and authority structure (in this case ragyo). when mako and senketsu burst through the door, its handle flies off and knocks over the groom, stiff as a board, and he is forgotten. mako walks down the aisle to her, to call her back to her senses. ryuko says this is what she needs to be happy, that she'll kill mako to get it. mako says this isn't her or what she wants, pulling the "the ryuko i know" thing from before. but she's always been right. she knows her well. ryuko thinks she hurts mako/senketsu, and that realization lets her break out, lets her flay herself ripping junketsu off. she says she's getting out of that damn wedding dress even if it kills her. this is all to say that that scene is one of the most lesbian-coded things I've ever seen. mako's like you don't need to conform or marry a faceless groom or have a normal life to be happy, and i don't think you're truly happy or yourself like this. and ryuko realizes she's right. she doesn't want to marry a faceless groom, she feels trapped and changed by the wedding dress, by its ceremony and expectations. it's something that has a lot of similarity to a lot of lesbians' experiences of the expectations the world puts on them to marry men, to fit into this role. the joy of having a wedding vs the indifference to actually being married to someone. it's something that resonated with me a lot, having figured out i was a lesbian only a few months prior to seeing it for the first time.

it's after this that she says mako and senketsu are something more than friends. the exact nature of her and senketsu's relationship is unclear to me and debatable, but her and mako's take a very definite romantic shape by the end when mako asks her out, her hallelujah moment featuring them kissing and holding hands, with ryuko in a boy's highschool uniform, evoking heterosexual imagery to imply romantic intent ("I want to go on a date like a boy and a girl would go on a date" is kinda the effect). I think ryuko kinda figures it out then. she wants to go out with mako. she wants to be something romantic to her, something romantic with her.

ryuko lets her in. it's clear to everyone that mako's managed a closeness with her that no one else has (they don't acknowledge senketsu as a person/friend for a long time). they'd move mountains for each other. ryuko, who always had to fight everything alone, finally has someone who's willing to wade through all the bullshit life and ryuko herself give her because she believes in ryuko, because she thinks she's worth it.

my point is ryuko's into mako as much as mako's into her, she's just a bit quieter about it

#anyways. i love them very much #i dont tend to think about the ryuko side of it as much so this is partially me doing that #klk #kill la kill #ryumako #ryuko matoi #mako mankanshoku

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cipheramnesia · 11 months

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hello i am giving u an excuse to talk about the chucky TV series because i generally don't like horror but i watched it and it was great

My friend... this goes so much deeper than the TV series.

DATELINE 1988! The horror movie slasher genre is THRIVING in the boom of video and cheap rental stores. Jason. Freddy. Michael. Already household names, nay! Heroes! Enter one Don Mancini, young and queer and ready to share some fear with a little idea knocking around in his head about a killer doll. With little more than a dream and few friends he tackled the enormous task of crafting the next horror legend. On the advice of a lawyer friend, he loaded Chucky up with distinct, trademarked features and made sure copyright on the titular killer doll was his and HIS ALONE.

Child's Play, the original Chucky movie, debuted to instant classic status. To modern eyes it may seem strange that a concept as silly as a killer doll could ascend to the heights of the holy triumvirate, but SIMULTANEOUS to Chucky we found such properties as Cabbage Patch Kids and My Buddy dolls - a virtual BUFFET of saccharine toys just begging for a counterpart with edge, and Chucky edged hard. The My Buddy doll never recovered as millions of children globally cowered from the mere TRAILER of Chucky and his slimeball snarl voice broadcast it's way to hearts and minds. But this wasn't all, no, for you see Chucky had a most peculiar gift, the gift of a soulful heart.

While many other slasher movies focused on a test of wills between survivor girl and unstoppable monster, Child's Play was first and foremost the coming of age story for Andy Barclay and his, Karen. In particular credit must be given to actor Catherine Hicks who never wanted to be in a horror movie, and made the conscious decision to play Karen as a straight dramatic role about a single mother and her son. In a sea of peculiarly good choices, it perhaps was hers more than any other that granted Child's Play a quasi-Spielberg-esque movie magic to transcend the genre stereotypes and absurd premise, to create something unique.

While she would not return for Child's Play 2, the die was cast with Alex Vincent as Andy and Brad Dourif as Chucky. We saw the introduction of street smart older stepsister played by Christine Elise. With a bigger budget, nastier deaths, and a truly grotesque version of Chucky, Child's Play 2 is likely considered the best in the series, as it predates the series' later campiness and had the delightfully rubbery 80s practical effects. Not me though, I love them all except of course Child's Play 3, the military academy one, which rounds out the first arc of Chucky. For a little while.

In 1998, just in time for a ten year anniversary, Chucky would RISE AGAIN, in Bride of Chucky. You see, while Don Mancini no longer had the rights to the Child's Play name, he still owned Chucky. Would this new chapter in the knife wielding minimaniac mean the previous continuity was dispensed with? NO, for this series was and still is violent killer baby of ONE MAN and his found film family. Instead, Bride of Chucky would introduce a new member of the family, Tiffany Valentine, played by the inimitable Jennifer Tilly. In this chapter of Chucky's tale, he and Tiffany took center stage, with no consistent protagonist, and a greater focus on absurd humor. Bride of Chucky and Seed of Chucky are both movies which give the sense of perhaps Mancini himself being more comfortable with his sexuality, more open and free. It was also the turning point where Chucky would go from a by the numbers slasher to a metatexual interrogation of the horror genre itself.

Besides playing with self referential comedy and genre references, Don Mancini introduced an in-universe awareness of Chucky's prior crimes, both as a human and as a doll, including the set of an in-universe movie (Chucky Goes Psycho) starring actress Jennifer Tilly. Hang onto your butts, because we're going in hot. If Bride of Chucky felt like it was going to weird places by having two dolls fucking and working on their romantic matters, Seed of Chucky abandoned all pretense, enjoying the presence of stuntcasting like John Waters and Redman (as himself) in roles specifically for gruesome deaths. But Jennifer Tilly was the central meta tornado.

Try and follow this. Real actress Jennifer Tilly plays Tiffany Valentine, who gets her soul transferred into a doll which is also voiced by Jennifer Tilly. Subsequently Jennifer Tilly also plays fictional actress Jennifer Tilly (who is otherwise identical to real world Jennifer Tilly), cast to play Tiffany Valentine in fictional fictionalized account of the fictional world real events of Child's Play 1 & 2, and also to voice the fictional Tiffany Valentine doll along with fictional Brad Dourif voicing the fictional Chucky doll, both dolls created for the fictional movie Chucky gets lucky. However, the fictional dolls get possessed by the real fictional characters Chucky and Tiffany, still voiced by real actors Brad Dourif and Jennifer Tilly. Eventually, Tiffany is able to transfer her soul into fictional Jennifer Tilly.

So, hang with me, in Chucky this means that fictional actress Jennifer Tilly (played by real Jennifer Tilly) is now possessed by fictional real murderer Tiffany Valentine (played by real Jennifer Tilly) who has to pretend to be fictional actress Jennifer Tilly (as played by Jennifer Tilly).

Beyond all this fuckery, Chucky and Tiff must cope with their new child who vacillates between Glen or Glenda, a kind of bigender or genderfluid character at a time when those ideas weren't very widespread, but which feels deeply informed both my Mancini's experience as a gay man, and also the long history of queers in Hollywood. At the conclusion of these two movies, it seemed like we were done with Chucky, with Tiffany living happily ever after as Tillyception and Glen/Glenda now living as two children, having their soul split into the twins fictional Tilly was pregnant with.

However, it seems that these five movies total instead were a kind of foundation for the next generation, when Chucky returned in Curse of Chucky and Cult of Chucky. Together these movies added a new layer of recursion, and might be called the Nica Pierce chapter. Both films featured less camp, and a more serious tone which, initially seemed to imply an intent to reboot the series. This was, of course, a fake out as Mancini not only revealed the new movies as a direct continuation, but also gave Chucky an illegitimate human daughter in the form of Nica Pierce, played by Fiona Dourif, the real world daughter of Brad Dourif. Not only that, but we would get the reintroduction of a long absent character, Andy Barclay, still played by Alex Vincent.

In the reprisal, Alex Vincent, an actor who was damaged and traumatized by being a child actor in movies like the original Child's Play, plays Andy as an adult damaged and traumatized by his experiences as a child in the original Child's Play.

Now, eventually Chucky gets control of Nica and Fiona Dourif does drag to play young Chucky and there's fucked up lesbians and gay kissing and a priest explodes, but all that happens in the TV series. What I'm really needing everyone to get at here is that from 1988 up to RIGHT NOW Don Mancini has kept continuity of plot AND ACTORS, with two seasons and an upcoming third which incorporates every single movie detail. A series which, while silly at times, always both respects its audience second, but FIRST is itself above all. Every single movie and episode has been something which set out to be its own thing, free from control or demands of conformity and it always has been, like it or not, love it or leave it. Somehow the killer doll movie has turned into a 35 year long and counting love affair, a found extended nuclear family both on screen and off.

And perhaps the best part is how much the queerness has been given a chance to flourish, going from a whisper of an influence in early films, to campy comedy later, to fully realized queer relationships in the series. Not only that, but it's always seemed to treat its atypical protagonists with a humanity and respect few other media properties manage. The young Andy works so well because he's an actual character, not just some kid, treated like a capable and thinking human. Tiff and Glen/Glenda are bizarre but never dehumanized, never treated as undeserving of human kindness. And Nica, a paraplegic, is amazing, with her disabilities informing the plot, but not innately treated as some definitive limit or inspiration porn. It's rare for so many disenfranchised characters to get such a human treatment, and frankly bizarre that the murder doll series is the one to do it. But that's kind of the real beauty of Chucky. Every character is human first, before anything else.

In fact, there is only one character who is genuinely human second, and it's Chucky himself. Now I'm not saying there's no room for complex antagonists, but in all Chucy movies, the one constant is this: Chucky is a total dick. Not evil, not a menace, just a pure all out asshole. Chucky is a piece of shit person first, murderer second, and that's GREAT. You will never be in a position where you hope the evil murder doll succeeds (Tiff excepted). You will never stop and wonder "Gosh maybe Chucky is secretly a good guy deep down." Chucky is always a gaslighting selfish prick who wants to live for ever and kill everyone, full stop. It's beautiful, it frees the mind to dwell on the humanity of other characters because you never once are getting asked to give the lying cheating manipulative little fucker the benefit of the doubt.

I don't know what it is, but Mancini just gets it. He gets the best and the worst of people and that's what makes this whole machine tick. It's huge and overwhelming to think of how many people and plotlines and stories are encompassed by Chucky and then like a falling air-conditioner it just slams into my head: "Oh yeah, this is about a killer doll."

#childs play #chucky #horror movies #queer horror #long post

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 10 months

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hello can you do a xavier thorpe with midnight rain ?please

This has been in my drafts for so long and I did not plan for this to be over 2.7k, but here we are. Midnight rain is one of my favorite on Midnights so I couldn't not write this

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

You've dreamt of writing novels since you could hold a pen.

At nine years old, you wrote your first short story, a dark mystery starring you and your sister Wednesday. Your English teacher was both impressed and horrified when she read it. She sent it to a writing contest for young writers, believing your writing skills deserved to be read by bigger names, but the judges preferred a tooth-rotting romance written by a typical American sweetheart.

You never stopped writing. On the contrary, you were spending more time with your typewriter, perfecting your storytelling and expanding your vocabulary. Those judges were too narrow minded and weak stomached to appreciate your writing.

At eleven years old, you met Stephen King at a book release event. You were the youngest in line and may or may not have skipped school in order to meet him. Sorry, Mrs. Jackson, but Stephen King was of greater importance than your lecture on World War I. You got him to sign your favorite book and dropped a folder with your name on the cover. The horror writer was confused, thinking it was something else you wanted him to sign — it wasn't.

''It's my first novel. I would like you to read it.''

His opinion mattered more to you than those judges from the young writers contest.

Wednesday, the ever so pessimist, kept telling you he would toss your novel in the trash and move on with his day, but a few weeks later, you received a handwritten letter from the man himself. He had read your short story. He called it macabre and at times disturbing, which was a praise coming from him.

Ten years later, you were standing in the very same bookstore you met Stephen King. But this time, you were the one sitting behind the table and signing books.

It felt surreal seeing your name on a book cover.

The New York Times listed you as one of the promising authors under the age of thirty, which made the sales of your novel go up.

You were getting ready for your signing, making sure you had enough pens and that your dark lipstick was not on your teeth when Eleanor, your personal assistant for this book tour, came up to you holding a bouquet of flowers.

''These were sent to you, Ms. Addams,'' she said, placing the bouquet of black dahlias on the table.

You looked at it in confusion. ''Who are they coming from?''

''They aren't addressed to me, I legally cannot check.''

You nodded in understanding and sent her off. Whoever had sent these knew your favorite flowers. Most assumed it was black roses, but you preferred dahlias — like the murder.

You took the small card attached to the bouquet and read it.

Congrats on the novel. I knew you were gonna make it.

A rush of emotions swarmed through you. You had recognized the handwriting, the perfect calligraphy of the boy who once owned your heart.

Sometimes, you catch yourself wondering what your life would be like if you hadn't broken his heart during your last year at Nevermore. You would be lying to say you didn't miss him. Xavier was more than a teenage romance. He was the love of your life, but your and Xavier's vision of the future, life after Nevermore Academy, didn't align. He wanted a comfortable life, away from the spotlights. You wanted the world to know your name.

You tried to make the relationship work, you really did. You thought you could do it, true love can get through the hardest ships, but you started focusing on your writing more and more, and lessening the time you spent with Xavier. He was understanding, knowing how important writing was to you. Sleepovers became less frequent as your nights were spent with your typewriter, weekly dates turned into monthly dates, and the 'I miss you's outnumbered the 'I love you's.

This wasn't fair to Xavier. He deserved someone who wasn't always going to make him second in her priorities. You had always been driven by a greed to succeed, the desire to accomplish your dreams. Love had come to you when you least expected it. It had never been part of your life-plan.

With a heavy heart, you found yourself turning the page on a relationship you thought would last your lifetime, because when you love someone, sometimes you need to let them go. Even if it hurts.

''Madelaine is asking when we'll begin,'' your assistant asked, pulling you out of your mind.

You shifted your eyes away from the card, hiding it in the pocket of your trousers.

Eleanor averted her gaze from you, turning to the beautiful flower instead. She was curious of their provenance, but knew it was none of her business. ''Eh, sorry. I didn't want to interrupt—''

''What is it?'' Your tone was a little rude, but you didn't get to apologize.

''There's a line outside that extends to the café and the owner is complaining that it's blocking the way and interfering with his business. Madelaine is asking when we'll begin.''

You glanced at the large clock on the wall. ''I'm meeting Wednesday and Enid for lunch at 1pm. I need to be finished by then.''

Eleanor nodded. ''I'll tell Madelaine to let the people in, then.'' She gave you a smile, then walked away.

After having dinner with Enid and Wednesday, you returned to your hotel. On the walk there, your heart jumped in your chest when you saw a tall man with his hair tied into a bun waiting to cross the street. Your mind immediately made the connection, the piece of paper in your picked feeling suddenly heavier.

According to Wednesday, Xavier lived in New York. He bought a loft somewhere in Greenwich Village and displays his paintings in a gallery. She and Enid had attended his last exposition a few months back.

It made you happy to know his paintings were displayed in a gallery. You always knew he was talented and could make a living off his art. You wondered what his paintings looked like. He must have improved since high school. Was he still using his nightmares as inspiration? Had he moved on to a more abstract style? Did he still have that painting of you?

Your questions remained unanswered, having reached your hotel.

Eleanor must have come into your room after the signing because the black dahlias were placed on the table along with the few small gifts you had received from your readers. You removed your coat and walked up to the flowers, a feeling of nostalgia filling your heart.

The first time Xavier got you black dahlias was on Valentine's day. While everyone got their significant other roses, he got you a black dahlia. The special attention had touched you. You had only mentioned once that they were your favorite. It was at his shed and he was painting. You thought he wasn't listening to you, but he was. He always listened.

You gave one last lingering glance to the black dahlias on the table, then called your mother through your crystal ball. A phone would have been more practical, but you weren't a big fan of technology.

Shortly after summoning her, Morticia appeared through the crystal ball. ''You look tormented, my little stormcloud.''

You couldn't hide anything from her.

Before you told her anything, she noticed the flowers behind you and immediately understood the provenance of your torments. Fortunately for you, heart matters were Morticia's favorite. She had a preference for those involving cursing a lover who did you wrong, but she was still very pleased to be of help.

''What's stopping you from reaching out to him?''

Flashes of Xavier's teary eyes haunted your thoughts as guilt and regret filled your guts. ''I broke his heart, Mother. I cannot show up at his apartment.''

''If he is the love of your life, why not give it a shot? Love makes us forgive the heaviest mistakes, my darling.'' Morticia paused, thinking about her own past mistakes. ''Besides, he sent you flowers, didn't he?''

The cab ride to Greenwich village felt interminable. You almost told the chauffeur to turn around fifteen times, but when would you be in New York again? This was your chance.

The car stopped in front of Xavier's building. It was tall and most lights were out. Maybe he was asleep? Xavier has always been a night owl, the chances he was asleep at this hour were very slim.

You paid the driver and took the stairs, your heart hammering behind your chest as you got closer to Xavier's door. You paused before knocking, deciding to use the secret knock you and Xavier used at Nevermore when sneaking in each other's dorms. It's been a few years, but you hoped he remembered.

The door opened and you momentarily forgot how to breathe. His green eyes looked down at you and an army of spiders swarmed your stomach, making you feel like a teenage girl.

Xavier stepped back to let you inside, then closed the door, plunging you in the silence of the apartment.

''You don't seem surprised to see me.''

He casted his eyes down and shook his head gently. ''I had a dream about you last night,'' Xavier explained, shifting his gaze back to you. ''You were here, standing by the large window of my apartment, looking absolutely stunning by the moonglow.''

You crossed the large room, your shoes clicking on the wood floors, and stood by the window adorning the street, trying to recreate Xavier's dream picture-perfectly. ''Like this?''

A soft smile spread on your old flame's face.

''I didn't know if it was my mind playing and trying to hurt me or if it was premonitory,'' he said as he walked over to you, his pace slow and calculated.

The moonglow hit his face, making his beautiful eyes glisten.

You wanted to kiss him.

Shaking that thought from your head, you cleared your throat. ''Thank you for the flowers. They're beautiful.''

''I saw a poster with your face at the bookstore last week saying you would be having a signing. I wanted to come, but I didn't know if you would have wanted to see me...'' He got closer to the window, watching the city under.

''I always want to see you, Xavier.''

He scoffed, an ache in his heart. ''That's not what you said a few years ago.'' The wound was old, but it had never healed completely.

Guilt and regret swarmed your guts. You wanted to apologize, but no 'sorry' would be enough to amount how much you regretted those words. You had lied to him, right to his face, that night. You had watched his green eyes fill with tears as his heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

''Would you have thought of me today had I not sent you flowers?''

''Yes,'' you replied with no hesitation. ''Just because I'm a published writer doesn't mean I've forgotten about my past — our past.''

Shaking off the flashes of the past, Xavier blinked back his tears and tightened his jaw to camouflage his emotions. ''Why are you here, Y/N?''

The question was simple, yet you didn't know what to answer. You couldn't exactly blurt out 'because I still love you'. Although it was the truth, you knew this would not work with Xavier. You broke his heart and if you wanted him to let you have it again, you'll have to mend the pieces.

''I want to fix the past.'’

It was naive and silly to say, but you couldn't find anything better.

You continued. ‘’When we’re young, we think we know everything — we don’t. Decisions we think are right at the time sometimes are not and we only realize so when we grow up. I made a tremendous mistake when ending things with you, Xavier. I’m genuinely so sorry for all the hurt I inflicted upon you that night and all the ones that followed.’’

Xavier glanced at you for half a second, then looked away again.

‘’I wish I could say I wish I never pushed you away, but I can’t. If I hadn’t, I would never have realized how important you are to me. How I miss the deep connection we shared, the way we understood each other without words and having someone to share my greatest achievements with. I miss our late nights together, me writing or reading and you painting. I miss Sunday mornings at your dorm and seeing your sleepyhead beside me—’’

‘’Just because you miss these moments doesn’t mean anything. We all miss things from the past, it’s called nostalgia.’’

‘’I know what nostalgia is, and this ain’t it!’’

Frustration was beginning to build inside you and you were starting to think you were fighting for a love that was too far gone. A flame that had been killed and would never ignite again.

Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them away.

‘’Back then, I believed my career was the most important thing. I thought if I made it and became a writer, I would feel fulfilled, but all this time I’ve been away from you made me realize that love is important too. What’s the point of living my dream if the person I want to share it with is not there by my side?’’

When you got the email from a publishing house saying they loved your novel and wanted to publish it, Xavier was the first person you wanted to call and tell your big news to. Your finger had hovered over his name on your phone for several minutes.

Instead, you had called your mother.

‘’When you're young, we make mistakes we thought were right at the time. When you grow up, you realize and come back to what you need. We’ve accepted that our lives grew apart, but what if I don't want our lives to grow apart? What if I want them to meet in the middle?’’

‘’Do you know how different our lives are, Y/N? I live in New York and you…I don’t know where you’re currently living. How are they supposed to meet in the middle?’’

‘’We make them meet in the middle,’’ you answered simply.

‘’We’ve tried that before.’’ Xavier scoffed, shifting his body toward the window. He could see your reflection in the glass, but tried to ignore it and focus on the street below. ‘’It didn’t work.’’

‘’We didn’t try hard enough.’’

The room was filled with a mixture of longing and uncertainty as your words were left pending. Xavier's skepticism was evident, his doubts stemming from the geographical distance that seemed to separate your lives and the flashes of the past. A part of him wanted to jump in and take a chance, but another reminded him of the tough heartbreak he went through when you broke up.

��’I’m ready to give my all into this relationship, if you’re willing to give us another chance. New Jersey is not that far from New York. I…I could move here! I have a computer now, we could video-call. Or you could come spend a few days at the Addams manor?’’

Xavier turned his gaze from the window to meet your eyes. Like your sister, you had always been reluctant to submit to technology. He was surprised that you owned a computer. ‘’It’s called Facetime.’’

You drew your eyebrows together. ‘’What?’’

Xavier couldn't help but chuckle at your response. ‘’Video-calling,’’ he mocked. ‘’It’s called Facetime.’’

Right. Facetime. Enid had told you many times.

You rolled your eyes. ‘’Excuse me for not being a slave to technology for as long as you,’’ you retorted, turning the teasing around.

Accepting defeat, Xavier then shifted back to seriousness. ‘’You really think we can do this?’’ he asked, his voice tinged with a mix of hope and uncertainty.

You took a few strides toward him, raising your eyes to meet his. ‘’If we put our hearts in it.’’ You took his hand in yours, holding it with both hands.

A moment of silence enveloped the room as your words hung in the air. You were trying to be optimistic, but the longer the silence was getting, the less optimistic you were. He was going to push you away...

His green eyes shifted from your hands, distracting himself with the dainty rings on your fingers. You still had the one he gave you for your fifteenth birthday. You were just friends back then, so it didn’t have anything romantic tied to it.

‘’Okay.’’ He covered your hands with his other one, making you look up at him.

‘’Okay?’’ you repeated, making sure you had heard correctly.

Xavier nodded. ‘’Just…don’t break my heart again. Please.’’

You couldn't make that promise. ''I'll try,'' you said instead. ‘’And if you break mine?’’

‘’We’ll say we’re even.’’

—

Wednesday taglist: @sofiaadler @partyfly @hoodforcalum @thelilacmourning @ellessecretobsession @su-alteza-emia @achoo---uu @not-leaprvt @xaviersgf @peterparkerdilf @roadworkaheadisurehopeitdoes @dragon-chica @coldtacozinepanda @wrldofsage @eddiemunsonsluvrrr @capriaura @officialsaturn @babyfiva @maevaomizzolo @kelloggs-world @whosljt @ajpanda181 @belovedrey @emerycrt @elizabitchsshit @heaven-hiding @lilithlikestoread @est-liber @moonisu @dessxoxsworld @parker-nite @bellblake121890 @vesperazhier @kaldurahms-lover @beeebo234 @nephilimsss @mayuphoenix @sweetheartlizzie07 @watermelon-18 @snixx2088 @555stargirl555 @robinscardigan @chumchum19 @lilttblog @aphex2winn @heizenka @mystargirl-interlude @hwrtsiren @babygirljay20 @wildflowerlyss @strangersomeone @openfandoms @charlottelaffin @iheartmaddyperez @starless-starkov @ali-r3n @poppet05 @ell0ra-br3kk3r

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#xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thorpe x you #wednesday imagine #wednesday #wednesday netflix #xavier thorpe x addams!reader

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