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dreamerhideout · 3 years

Text

i love you so

summary: after recovering from a messy break-up with your high school sweetheart, you’d never expect to find happiness in someone who bumped into you on the subway. but that’s where jake sim comes in.

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, office!au

characters: jake x reader, mentions of ex-boyfriend!jay

warnings: partially proofread, but besides that, none

word count: 1946

a/n: this was supposed to be an entry for the “and then we met” @enhypenwriters writing event, but i think i lost the muse for this a bit too fast (plus, school swamped me again.) i literally wanted to base it off this song by the walters until it dawned on me that it was a heartbreak song :/ hence i made a few adjustments. i’m not quite sure if i’m fully satisfied with how this turned out, but i hope you still enjoy it~

more under the cut!

your heels clicked on the platform as you weaved your way through the crowd of people. it was a bustling monday morning, and waking up half an hour late was not how you expected to start your week. bingeing on this one political-drama show the night before began to feel like a regrettable choice, but there was no time to dwell on that when you see your train pulling up at the platform.

“oh damn, i’m so sorry.”

maybe it was because of how distracted you were from your surroundings that you hadn’t realized that someone bumped into you. as a result, you barely noticed that your coat had gotten stained from the coffee in their cup.

you gave them an apologetic smile, too rushed to get pissed. “no worries.” pausing for a second, you registered the culprit to be a man with a head of chocolate-brown hair and slightly frantic eyes before jogging towards the open subway cart door. once you got on the nearly-stuffed train, your eyes peered down towards your coat. sighing, you swiped at your coffee-stained coat with your finger; perhaps you’d be able to get it cleaned at the office later on if you weren’t getting your ear chewed off by your manager.

“we have a new employee joining us today.”

exiting the bathroom door with a slightly-scrubbed coat in hand, you heard your manager call out, then the chatter in the room subsiding. she was standing beside a man that you wouldn’t have vaguely remembered seeing before if it weren’t for the small smile he gave you.

“hi everyone, i’m jake sim. i’ll be working under the research department starting today. it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

you recognized that voice a little too well, then glancing at your dampened coat. who knew that the man you hastily bumped into this morning would be working at your office?

“jake will be occupying the desk next to (y/n)’s, and he’ll also be under my supervision as he’s still on trial for the next two weeks.” almost instantly, your manager turned towards you, who was still standing in front of the bathroom door.

“oh, yes,” you replied, eyes widening slightly. you went towards your cubicle and motioned to the empty desk beside you for jake to put his things, “over here.”

he walked over and placed a box filled with his belongings on top of the table, then unpacking. “well, i never thought i’d see you here,” he chuckled, “really sorry for what happened earlier, by the way.”

“eh, it’s no big deal.” you draped your coat over your chair for it to dry, “i managed to scrub off most of the stain, so it should be fine.”

“are you sure it isn’t ruined?” he turned to face you, slightly quirking an eyebrow.

you grinned in response, “positive."

jake had placed some stationery into a pencil holder before extending out a hand towards you. “i know i’ve introduced myself earlier.” he smiled rather awkwardly, “but for the sake of us being desk-mates, i’ll do it again. i’m jake.”

your hand met his for a quick shake, a knowing smile on your face. “(y/n). nice to meet you.”

if you were sure about one thing, it’d be that time flies by when you’re drowning in deadlines. the sun had already disappeared, yet you still sat hunched over your laptop, fingers typing away at a report due tomorrow assigned a few hours ago. you would have argued with your manager on the matter, but the glare she gave you as you were about to open your mouth was enough to make you shrink back into your seat.

out of habit, you grabbed your phone and unlocked it, expecting to see a message notification from jay, your boyfriend, who’d usually come to pick you up from work. when you didn’t receive one, however, it only dawned on you once again that you weren’t even with him anymore. he was the reason why your routine for the past few months had been working and binge-watching on repeat, with the occasional cry session if you were feeling really out of it. moving on after said breakup had been difficult, especially when it involved the very person who vowed to marry you on the day of your high school graduation.

“working overtime?”

you peered up from your head in your hands to see jake. he had pushed his chair back and was looking at you past the divider. it was way past office hours and you swore that you heard the last of your coworkers’ chatter out the door a few hours ago, but you must have been mistaken.

“yeah.” you gave him a grim smile, “some stupid report i was told to do today.”

“ouch,” he winced, closing his laptop. jake then studied your expression, picking up on how exhausted you looked. “tell you what.” he stood up and began slipping items into his backpack, “what if we went home together? maybe i could grab you something on the way back to make up for earlier.”

you looked up from your screen to see a cheeky smile on his lips. the offer did seem tempting, but you were ways away from actually completing the report. “oh that really isn’t necessary...” you threw him a small smile as you waved a hand rather dismissively, “i might be here for a long while, and i wouldn’t want to hold you back from going home.”

“i insist, (y/n).” jake zipped up his backpack after tossing in a file, “i wouldn’t mind waiting since i have nothing due tomorrow.” he then propped an elbow up on the divider, leaning on it as he carefully took note of the obvious strain on your eyes as well as how you had a slight pout on your lips when you were focused, “and besides... you kinda look like you could use some company.”

a small hum was heard from your mouth until you finally sighed in defeat; he definitely wasn’t wrong about company. “if you say so, then.” you stretched your arms, turning away from your screen, “maybe having you around will make me work faster?”

“how so?”

“you know how sometimes kids won’t work on their homework unless there’s an adult cowering over them like a hawk? yeah, that.”

jake brought a hand to his mouth in an attempt to stifle a laugh, which ended in him snorting instead. you could feel a smile creep up your lips.

the trip home was the most fun you’ve had in months. it didn’t occur to you that jake would be such an avid chatterbox, but you were sorely mistaken. he always had a conversation topic up his sleeve, whether it was about daily adult struggles to his childhood back in australia. you also noticed how he absolutely could not shut up about his beloved dog, layla; it’s a wonder how he had an entire album filled with hundreds of her pictures on his phone. slowly but surely, you also began juggling the conversation; it was as if you had reverted to your bright, happy self pre-breakup. talking with him really felt like reuniting with a long-lost friend, and it was only a matter of minutes until you had reached your apartment's front door.

jake had wanted to use your bathroom for a bit, but it ended with you suggesting for him to stay for dinner which consisted of microwaved pizza and sweet tea. you placed the pizza on the coffee table in front of the tv, then starting up the series you were bingeing on the other night.

“is that designated survivor?” jake sat on your sofa before grabbing a slice of pizza from the plate.

“mhm,” you replied, mouth stuffed. swallowing first, you then replied to him, “the synopsis made me curious.”

your remark was met with silence as you saw jake’s gazed fixed intently upon the screen. it wouldn’t have occurred to you that you’d be having a coworker (who was insanely attractive, nonetheless) over for dinner, but it didn’t bother you at all when jake made offhand comments about the characters and scenes of the series. it also occurred to you quite late that you hadn’t gotten napkins out for the both of you.

“hold on, lemme grab something.” you stood up and went towards your cabinets in search for napkins. jake’s attention broke from the screen to follow your figure before his gaze momentarily landed on a photo frame by the side of your sofa. it was a picture of you and your ex-boyfriend, with his arm wrapped around you as you both smiled brightly for the camera.

“i didn’t know you had a boyfriend?” the man teased as he saw you walk back towards him, napkins in hand. your expression dropped when you realized that throughout the time you’ve been trying to mend your broken heart, you had forgotten to put away that photo.

“we broke up.”

guilt flashed across jake’s face as he realized he had overstepped. “oh wow, i’m sorry... i shouldn’t have brought that up.”

“it’s fine. i guess i must’ve forgotten to put that away.” you smiled at him and placed the napkins on the table before flipping the frame down. taking a seat, you sighed as you tried to focus on the show playing in front of you; you could feel bits of dread wallow in the bottom of your stomach.

there was a moment of awkward pause as neither of you knew what to say. just as you were about to ask jake to leave since you could feel dread clawing at your insides, he suddenly spoke up, “you’re... really strong, though.”

turning to face him, you stared at him quizzically, “really?”

“yeah.” jake could feel your eyes on him, “i mean, if it weren’t for me finding out, i would’ve never guessed that you were going through that.” he grabbed another piece of pizza before meeting your gaze, “you’re a great person, (y/n). i think you should know that. and if you’d need someone to talk to about him... although i don’t really know the guy, i’m all ears.”

the way he gave you a soft smile at the end made your heart slightly flutter. maybe it was because there was this very charming man consoling you on your last breakup, but it was more on the fact that you knew someone had your back in your times of healing. “thanks, jake.” you smiled back, feeling your heart lighten. “i appreciate it. a lot.”

jake felt his heart flip at the sight of your smile. it wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen you smile the entire day; it was a different kind as he could see some weight visibly lifted from you. you were pretty cute when you smiled, the way your eyes crinkled at the sides when you did, and he wondered how he hadn’t realized that sooner.

“uh... jake?” you waved a hand in front of his face to break him away from his stare. he quickly snapped out of his reverie, ears tinting a shade of pink.

“oh, yeah, sorry about that...” he murmured nervously, scratching the back of his head, “guess i got a bit distracted there?”

“i noticed.” you giggled in response, turning your attention back towards the tv. you saw how he stared at you after you spoke, eyes lost in a dream-like trance, and you felt your heart go fuzzy.

perhaps you were still healing, and you might need a little more time before jumping into something new. but rest assured, you knew that jake would be waiting on the other side no matter what.

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypenwriters #sim jaeyun #sim jaeyun imagines #enhypen jake #jake imagines #sim jaeyun x reader #jake sim x reader #jake sim #jake sim imagines #enhypen fluff

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mdawritings · 3 years

Text

Wanna Be Yours: Ch. 10

I.X

Masterlist

Warnings: None. But it is a long chapter.

Song(s): "killer + the sound" by Phoebe Bridgers & "illicit affairs" by Taylor Swift

"Just a reminder! Your final exam will be this Monday, proctored in this room, by me," Hotch paces at the front of the classroom, but your mind is elsewhere. You watch him, a smile growing on your face as he lectures the whole class. It’s finally your birthday, and Hotch set aside some time late in the day to spend with you. He also mentioned a small surprise and though you’re not usually one to get excited about gifts or surprises, you can’t wait to see what he has planned.

"Miss Y/L/N. Focus," Hotch calls out your name and you sit up straighter, attempting to suppress the grin on your face. "I won’t turn away anyone who shows up late for the exam, but you won’t be given the full time. Do I make myself clear? This exam starts at 11:00 sharp. I can promise you will need the full three hours to complete the whole thing. So I mean it. Don’t be late."

"That seems pretty relaxed for Professor Hard-Ass," Charlie leans forward to mumble into your ear and you bite your lip, suppressing a laugh. You want to tell him to thank you, since you’re the one who convinced Hotch that turning people away is cruel. At least let them try to finish the exam. A 50% is better than an actual zero.

Hotch shoots both you and Charlie a side glance which quickly shuts you up. You struggle to stifle small giggles and see Katie shaking her head off to the side, "You’re both children."

"You can’t be mean to me on my birthday," You protest under your breath, hoping Hotch doesn’t see you two goofing off. It’s your birthday and the last day of classes, he can ease up on you. He can cut the hard-ass, bullshit act for one class. It’s established that you’re not his favorite. Well, at least that’s what the class has been thoroughly convinced is the truth. You know, or at least you hope, the truth is the opposite. The semester has been a whirlwind from start to finish. Although you’re not quite at the end of it, you’ve been fundamentally changed since it started.

"Yeah? Watch me," Katie taunts, "Can’t let you get a big ego, Einstein."

"Assholes," You mutter under your breath, faking anger at your friends, but the large smile never leaves your face.

"I wish you all the best of luck. It was a pleasure to have all of you in this class," Hotch nods, putting down the chalk from the board where he’s written his contact information, "Reach out to me if you require anything like a recommendation letter. No promises I’ll do it though." He teases and flashes a cheeky smile to the whole class, "Class dismissed."

As you start to pack up your stuff, your attention flits over to Hotch a few times as a swarm of students begin to crowd around his desk, already shoving cover letters and resumes and job applications in his face. You shoot him a small apologetic look and mouth a ‘sorry’ before Katie and Charlie hook their arms in yours, pulling you to the door.

"We have a million things to do before the party tonight," Katie starts to ramble off the list of things she has planned. Katie, quite dissimilar to you, loves birthdays and planning parties.

"Party?" You glance at her, "I thought we were going to drink a little and then go out to a bar."

"When have we ever showed up to a bar sober?" Charlie rolls his eyes, "Alcohol is expensive. You’ll buy yourself a shot or something small for the significance. And you can buy the alcohol for the pre-party."

"I’m sorry, are you trying to get my stomach pumped tonight?" You laugh and before you even have a second to breathe Charlie pipes in with a ‘yes.’ to which Katie replies with a soft punch to his arm.

"So what time can we get together to organize everything?" Katie gives you a small knowing look, suspecting that you’ll probably disappear for an hour or two to see Hotch.

"Oh god, please don’t tell me you’re spending your birthday studying," Charlie lets out a strained groan, "It’s bad enough I have to meet with Professor Hard-Ass for missing one too many lectures."

"How is that my fault in any way at all?" You roll your eyes and turn back to Katie, "Let’s all meet at our apartment at like 7:30 pm? Gives us time to run errands, pick up liquor, eat some dinner, get ready and then start the party at 10."

"That works perfectly for me," Katie smiles, wrapping an arm tightly around your shoulders. "My little baby is all grown up," She mocks in a dramatic, teary, weepy tone and pretends to wipe tears from her eyes.

"I hate you all," You shake your head as your best friends drag you off to get lunch.

———————

You pull your knees up to your chest and thumb through the pages of the novel you’re currently reading. It’s not your favorite thing you’ve ever read, but it’s managing to maintain your attention for the time being. You’re sitting on the floor a few doors down from Hotch’s office, as you wait for him to get back from his last class of the day. You’ve managed to go all semester without drawing any suspicion or attention, the only person who’s seen through your guise of secrecy is Katie, but you know she would never tell or do anything to possibly endanger you or ruin this.

You hear his deep voice from the down the hall, your eyes shooting up as soon as it rings out. You attempt to play it off, but you can’t peel our eyes off of him. You already saw him this morning, but just the time you’ve spent waiting to see him again this afternoon has made you forget just how good he looks today.

His black polo shirt strains a little against his arm muscles as he carries his books and papers under his arm, a student trailing behind him as he walks down the hall towards his office. You can see the frustration written all over his face as the girl nags him over and over again. He manages to push past the hordes of people in the hallways, the girl occasionally getting lost in the swarms and needing to run to catch up to him.

You start to stand up from the floor but pause when you see her follow him all the way to his office door. "Listen, the grades you receive are final. End of discussion. You could’ve submitted any paper for a regrade, but that deadline was the end of classes. Which for your seminar, was yesterday."

"But—" She starts to speak up. You see him roll his eyes and turn his back on her, digging around in his pocket for his keys and unlocking the office door. He opens it and begins to step in, the girl eager to follow him. He whirls in place and blocks her from following him inside.

"Miss Hunter," His voice is steely and you slowly make your way to the office, still standing a good distance away as you watch the situation unfold in front of you. "I have made the rules abundantly clear. Now I have meetings with a few students who have actually managed to garner my respect. So please, stop wasting my time."

There’s a moment of silence. The girl tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, and you can tell she’s struggling not to cry in front of Hotch, and his harsh focus is unwavering. He just stares her down, waiting for her to leave. After a few seconds, her attempts to fight tears fail and she turns her back on him, rushing away down the hall before disappearing into the bathroom. You watch and turn back, Hotch finally taking note of you standing in the hallway. He shakes his head, rubbing his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. The worry lines in his face leave creases in his skin even after he’s unfurrowed his brow.

You seem to have forgotten how cruel he can be. Every snide remark, snippy comment, insult he’s thrown at you, it’s clear that they’re part of this whole ruse. You try not to think too hard about the comments, but you wonder just how many of them he means or how many are all part of the act. His tongue is biting. He’s impatient and stubborn. He doesn’t play into social niceties. He sees no need to make others feel comfortable.

Hotch nods his head at you and walks back into his office, expecting you to come follow him. You push the interaction to the back of your mind before rushing to follow Hotch. You step into the doorway and see him, one hand on his hip, the other placed firmly on the edge of his desk. His eyes running over the papers he’s just placed down on the surface.

His head looks up, the corners of his mouth pulling at the sight of you. You barely pay attention to anything but him. You give the door a push to close it and drop your stuff onto one of the chairs, rushing to him with a wide smile.

You press your lips to his, kissing him slow but needy. You grip his shirt in your hands, attempting to press as close to him as possible.

His mouth is hot and heavy on yours but he pulls away for a second, those enchanting eyes of his sweeping over every inch of your body, "Happy birthday, pretty girl," He mumbles, one arm wrapped around your back, holding you close to him, the other hand reaching up to push the hair out of your face so he can really look at you.

He pauses. His eyes stay focused on you for awhile, memorizing the details of your face as if it's the first time he’s seeing it, or like it’ll be the last time he sees it. He studies the curve of your lips as if the memory of you will be all he gets.

He soon breaks the pseudo staring contest, pushing his chair out of the way and lifting you up onto his desk, so he can stand between your legs. You arch your back, pressing your plush breasts against his firm chest. You feel his muscles shift and flex under his shirt. He leans in closer to you, one hand tangled into your hair, the other placed firm on the desk next to your body.

His mouth is so warm against yours. You lose yourself in him. Nothing and no one manages to make you feel the way he does. He’s started a fire within you and every moment spent with him, every look, every touch, every smile is tinder for the flames. The fire of the two of you sucks the oxygen out of the room. You’re breathless around him. Who knew suffocating could feel so good?

There’s something innately beautiful about Aaron Hotchner. He’s sexy, he’s confident, but above all there’s something simply enchantingly beautiful about him. He does everything with such purpose, such ease, but those moments of beauty: the tug at the corners of his lips when you talk to him, the shine in his eyes when he gets to discussing something he’s passionate about. There’s no other way to describe him besides utterly beautiful. At least, that’s how you see him.

You wrap a hand around his bicep, gripping it tightly as his mouth travels down from your mouth to your neck, nipping at the skin. Your head falls back, your own mouth gaping open, soft whines erupting from your swollen lips. "I thought you said you were bad at giving gifts." You tease breathlessly. Aaron pulls away from your neck, looking at you with those warm, intelligent eyes, his lips equally plump. The confusion spreads across his features, "You." You mutter and cup his cheeks, "This. You’re enough of a gift. This time with you." You say softly.

An unreadable expression reaches Aaron’s face. As much as you try to understand the man, he remains mysterious and closed off to you. You worry that you’ve said something to offend him, or scare him away. It’s no secret you enjoy spending time with him. It’s no secret you care about him. You assume that much is clear to him. But then again, for as intelligent and perceptive as he seems to be, you wouldn’t be surprised if your admission comes as a shock to him.

Aaron’s hands move to trail up your bare thighs and up under your skirt, fingers hooking in the waistband of your lacy underwear. "I better make it a worthwhile gift then," He leans in, close enough that you think he will kiss you, but instead he rests his forehead against yours, his lips ghosting over your own. You lean forward to press your lips to his. You want to regain the feeling, the tingles it sends down your spine as his hands roam your body.

He evades your kiss, pulling away and bending down as he pulls your underwear all the way down your legs, tossing it off to the side. You smile and laugh at the action, glancing over at how your underwear has landed, draped across the arm of the chair in the corner.

"Something funny?" He grabs your chin, pulling your attention away from your discarded undergarment and back to him. His tone is serious, but the corners of his mouth are upturned in a slight grin.

"No, nothing at all," You tease and push him back into his chair, taking the opportunity to straddle his waist, grinding against him tauntingly.

"What’s this?" He raises his brows at the shift in power dynamic, but it’s clear he’s not complaining from the way his large hands rest just at the bottom of your ribcage, thumbs circling the skin just to the side of your breasts. The little gesture, the feeling of his fingers so close to where you want yet not quite touching you exactly there, drives you crazy. You lean forward, your hair falling in your face as you kiss him.

"Taking what I want," You moan against his skin. He peels the sweater from your body, your black tank top hugging tightly to every curve. He balls the sweater and tosses it over your shoulder onto the floor.

This time, you can’t suppress the loud laugh, "You going to do that with every article of clothing?"

"I just might," He taunts and pushes your hair out of your face with both hands once again, wanting to see your face. As he kisses you, you reach for his belt undoing it and unzipping his jeans, "You’re in a rush. Don’t you want to savor your birthday gift?"

You roll your eyes, "I’m pretty sure since it’s my birthday, I get to decide what I want." You smirk and plunge a hand deep into his briefs, pulling his hardening cock out of his pants. You take his hot flesh in your hands, pumping it a few times, trailing your fingertips over his tip, eliciting an absolutely sinful groan from him.

He throws his head back, and you watch with pride as the man begins to come undone in front of you. You watch as his neck tenses, his jaw clenching as you continue to pleasure him. His chest rises and falls rapidly. You stop your motions, pulling your skirt up a little, just enough for him to plunge deep into you. You sink onto him with a long and loud groan, gripping his shoulders for support. Your skirt falls down around the two of you, seemingly shielding your actions from the world.

Your actions are agonizingly slow, wanting to savor every moment with him, wanting this feeling to last forever. The pure bliss you feel as his head dips, pushing the collar of your tank top down enough to free your breasts. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, sucking harshly and lightly biting, just the way he knows sends your head into a haze. His hands rest on your hips, but they’re not gripping them, he’s letting you take it at your pace.

You’re so caught up in the lustful trance that you almost miss it. A knock at the door.

"Professor Hotchner?" A familiar voice calls from the other side.

You freeze. "Charlie?" You whisper at Hotch.

"Shit," He curses under his breath. "I’ve double booked myself." He shakes his head, trying to swiftly get you off his lap. "I’ll be with you in one minute!" He calls through the door, glancing down at his watch with a small groan.

Hotch tucks himself back into his pants, struggling to zip them up and tuck his shirt in in a timely manner. You scramble to do the same, readjusting your tank top and scooping your sweater from the ground. You run your fingers through your hair and wipe your mouth, knowing that you must look like a flustered, overheated mess.

Hotch gives you a small sideways glance before sitting at his desk more properly before nodding. "Come in." Just as the door opens and Charlie steps in, you realize you’ve forgotten something vitally important: your underwear. It’s too late. He’s already in the office and you have no idea how you can smoothly pluck your black lace panties from the chair without drawing his attention.

"Einstein?" He glances at you confused.

Your mouth falls open but you can’t seem to come up with anything to say, "Charlie." You smile. You glance at Hotch, "Sorry Professor, I didn’t realize you had meetings today." You stare at him a little too long, hoping he can suddenly read your mind in which you’re screaming at him about the underwear hanging off of the chair.

"Why didn’t you mention your meeting earlier?" Charlie asks you but Hotch clears his throat slightly, saving you from needing to come up with a reasonable answer.

"It was a last minute request on my part," Hotch covers for you two, "I apologize for running over time with Miss Y/L/N and into our meeting time."

"No, no I’ll just wait outside," Charlie turns to leave the office and your heart sinks into your stomach.

"No!" You call out a little too forcefully. But it’s too late. The black lace panties catch his eye.

"On second thought I’ll just…" Charlie turns to look at you, tightening his grip on the strap of his bag, glancing between both you and Hotch, "I’ll just leave you two…" He shakes his head and turns, getting out of the office as fast as possible. You groan frustratedly and look over at Hotch as you rush out after Charlie.

"Charlie wait!" You call out, garnering attention from the few students in the hallway. You catch up to him and grab his hand, "Please."

He turns to you, letting out a sickeningly sinister and bitter laugh, "I am such an idiot. I don’t know how I never saw it."

"Please let me explain myself," You beg him, pulling his hand into yours, but he’s quick to yank it away.

"You just had to be the person to get an A in his class, huh? You couldn’t handle the possibility of being anything less than the best." You wrap your arms around yourself as he shakes his head.

"No… that’s not what this is about." You argue back with him, hoping he’ll understand, the same way Katie seemed to.

"Is this how kid genius got to law school at 20? By sleeping your way to the top?" He lowers his voice so that anyone else in the hallway can’t hear you, but his words are just as venomous and biting.

He takes a few steps towards you, pointing back towards Hotch’s office, "He’s using you. You know that, right? He doesn’t love you. He doesn’t care about you. I can’t believe you’d be so fucking naive, so, so… so stupid."

You open your mouth to speak, but Hotch cuts you off, coming up behind the two of you, "I understand you’ll be discreet about what you saw, Mr. Miller."

Charlie’s eyes narrow at Hotch, his chest puffing up in anger. "And if I’m not?"

"You’ll find that it will greatly benefit you and your success in my class if you are." Hotch’s focus on Charlie is unwavering and the harsh demeanor that seems to be so natural and comfortable for Hotch returns. His voice is hushed, "Now I suggest you turn around and forget what you saw, or take this conversation somewhere more private, for everyone’s sake."

Charlie goes silent. His gaze shifts to you. You can’t read what his face is saying but it’s a mixture of disbelief, anger, and what seems to be disappointment. With a small scoff and shake of his head, Charlie turns and disappears down the hallway.

You take a step forward, hoping to go after him and explain yourself, explain everything, including your feelings for Hotch. You want him to know you haven’t done it to get ahead in life but because you genuinely enjoy spending time with Hotch. That you genuinely enjoy his company, but Hotch reaches and grabs your wrist, pulling you with him.

"You have to let me go after him! I have to talk to him. He could ruin your career," You let out frantically as Hotch pulls you by the arm back into his office, "Or my reputation."

"He won’t," Hotch gives you a small tug, causing you to catch your feet on the rug and trip a little as you get through the doorway of his office. He’s careful to move around you to close and lock the door firmly. He turns to you before turning back to the door, jiggling the handle a few times to test the lock, ensuring that there will be no more unwanted interruptions.

"Aaron, you can’t just give him a good grade to shut him up," You argue, "That’s- that’s immoral, that’s wrong." You bite your lip.

"And what we’ve been doing isn’t?" He rubs his face with both hands.

You have no response to that because he’s right. What the two of you have been doing for the past semester is immoral and unethical on every possible level. "How do you know he won’t report you anyway?"

"Because he cares about you," Hotch clarifies, but you find yourself lost. You’re not sure how that means Charlie will definitely keep his mouth shut, "He knows that reporting this will hurt you just as much as me, and the last thing he wants to do is hurt you. He’s in love with you, isn’t that obvious?"

You shake your head, still not entirely convinced that Hotch’s bribery will work on Charlie. "Aaron… You might lose your job. I can’t be the reason that you—" He places a soft slow kiss on your lips. "You know I hate when you kiss me just to shut me up."

He gives a warm smile, "Don’t worry about it. It’ll be okay, I promise." He rubs his thumb over your cheek comfortingly, "I have something to take your mind off it, off of him." He moves away from you, walking around his desk and opening the bottom drawer. He pulls out something but quickly hides it behind his back.

"Something for me?" You grin and try to look around his back to see what it is.

"It is your birthday, isn’t it?" Hotch holds out a small parcel, wrapped with brown paper, tied up with a small string, "I’m not uh— I’m not great at wrapping things. Or giving gifts." You take the package from him, the warm sensation of happiness spreading throughout your entire body.

"No matter what it is, I’ll love it because you gave it to me," You undo the string, and start to tear at the corner. You open the package delicately, as just the gesture of the wrapped parcel is enough for you. You didn’t expect anything from Hotch. Actually, you just expected birthday sex.

You peel back the paper and smile, feeling waves of emotion wash over you as you pull the nice, leather bound book from the wrapping. "You remembered?" You look up at him and a small sheepish grin spreads across Hotch’s face.

"Open it." He nods.

You look down at the book, running your fingers over the gold lettering on the cover that reads "The Great Gatsby." You open the cover flipping through the pages to see them all full of annotations, highlights and small notes. "Are these your annotations?"

He nods, shoving his hands into his pockets, "I gave it a second chance. Tried to look past my initial perception of it. Tried to see it through your eyes."

"And?" You struggle to tear your eyes away from the pages, looking for your favorite quotations, trying to read his notes alongside them.

"And I loved it." He reaches a hand and turns to the front page for you, where he’s written a small note. The note is barely legible in his scrawl, but to you it’s perfectly clear.

Y/N,

The beauty of life is in the grays. Thanks for being the gray in mine.

— A.H.

Your heart swells at the message and you close the book pressing it firmly to your chest. "This is… the best birthday gift I’ve ever gotten." You reassure him. "I wish I could celebrate with you all day."

He places his forefinger under your chin, tilting it up to place one last soft kiss to your lips, "Go. Have fun with your friends. Stay safe, okay?"

"I will," Your eyes stay on his. There’s so much you want to say to him. So much you want to ask him. You want to reveal everything to him. You want to tell him how much he means to you. You want to share how he’s changed your life. You want to tell him you don’t want to spend time with anyone but him. You want to tell him that you’re falling for him. But you stop yourself. You don’t want to rush it all out here standing in his office. You want to tell him in the right moment.

You’ve exposed so much of yourself to him, but to bear your soul in such a rushed manner in his office feels inappropriate and ill-timed. "I’ll see you again this weekend, yeah?" You ask him.

This time, you can tell he’s the one who wants to say more. There’s something bubbling under the surface that he wants to let out to you. You hope that what he is holding inside is the same as what you’re holding back. He hesitates a little before finally nodding.

You don’t want to pull away from him. You don’t want to move out of his grip, out of his warmth, it feels too much like a goodbye. You manage to pull away and grab your bag from the floor, keeping the book close to your heart as you turn and leave his office.

———————

You scan the room for what feels like the hundredth time within an hour, looking for the familiar face in the crowd of people.

"He’ll show up. I’m sure he will," Katie throws her arm around your shoulders, handing you another shot.

"No, K, I don’t think he will," You look around your crowded apartment, filled mostly with faces that you barely recognize from your classes, but there’s one person in particular who has yet to make an appearance: Charlie. You told Katie what had happened, and she was definitely shocked at Hotch’s reaction to the situation, but she hid it well enough, wrapping her arms tightly around your body to comfort you.

"He was so angry, so disappointed in me," You sigh and take a long sip of your beer, "He was so hurt."

"I understand his desire to protect you, I really do, I feel the same way," She nods and settles into the couch right next to you, "But at the end of the day, you are responsible for your own decisions and no one else has a right to tell you what you should and shouldn’t be doing with your life."

"I know," You rub your face, "But I don’t want to make decisions that hurt my best friends."

You worry that this signifies the loss of a friendship. The loss of one of the most important people in your life. A loss that you can withstand if Hotch remains in your life but even that is up in the air. You find yourself wondering whether you’ll be forced to choose: a continued relationship with Hotch, if you can even call it a relationship, or your friendship with Charlie.

"Please, don’t let stupid Charlie ruin what should be a super fun night," Katie pulls you up from your seat, reaching for a shot of her own, "To us, to our friendship, and to kid genius no longer being a kid." She teases and clinks her glass against yours, downing her shot. You mimic her actions, the alcohol sliding down a little bit too easily now that you’re indulging your sorrows.

The small get-together at your apartment only lasts a little while longer, just long enough to get everyone plenty tipsy before you all head out to a bar. You play drinking games and a few of your friends indulge you by taking shots with you, sharing drinks, pouring you drinks. Despite the fact that you’re entirely surrounded by people, you feel devoid of love tonight. Katie is pouring over you, hugging you, teasing, attempting to lighten your quickly souring mood, but Charlie probably isn’t coming at all and you can’t invite the person you want most to spend your birthday with.

Within another hour, the whole group has managed to get you drunk enough to forget about the pain in your chest everytime you think about Charlie. They drag you out of your apartment and you all start the long walk in the cold to the best bar in the city.

You look around the neighborhood, recognizing it as Hotch’s, and the pain in your heart comes back harder than ever. You wonder what he’s doing right now. You can picture him perfectly: hunched over his desk, scribbling away some illegible comments on a student’s paper. You can see yourself perched on the edge of his desk, telling him off for grading every student so harshly.

He would roll his eyes but place a comforting hand on your thigh, leaving it there while he works, occasionally squeezing lightly or rubbing circles into the skin. You flash the bouncer your real ID earning a round of cheers from your group of friends and a small smile from the big muscle man at the door, "Congrats kid." He teases, letting you all slip into the crowded bar.

"First round is on me! Everyone make sure Einstein doesn’t have to pay a dime for her own drinks tonight!" Katie cheers as she drags you to the bar for more drinks.

Everytime your mind wanders to either man, Hotch or Charlie, you finish a drink, take a shot, order a new one. Anything to distract you. You check your phone every few minutes, finally deciding to send Charlie a single text.

We’re at the bar now. If you decide to show up. Please come.

You get no response. You decide to pretend he probably hasn’t seen it. He’s asleep or studying. He’s busy. Something came up. That’s why he’s blown off your birthday. He’s one of your best friends. He’ll show.

Along with desperately checking your phone for a reply from Charlie, some part of you is hoping, praying, even, that Aaron will surprise you. You hope that he’ll come walking through the door, walk up to the bar, and buy you a birthday drink. He’ll ignore the fact that most of his students are present and do it for you, because it would make you happy. However, you know that he can’t. He can’t risk it.

So you keep drinking. A lot. You end up drinking a lot.

——

Hotch finishes off his comments on another student’s suboptimal essay, writing a large B in dark green ink at the top of the page before circling it. He rubs his hand over his forehead tiredly. As much as he attempts to direct all his focus on the work in front of him, he can’t stop thinking about you. It seems to be a common problem recently. You invade his every waking thought, hell, you’ve even seemed to invade his dreams as of late.

Everything reminds him of you. He looks over the collection of novels on the walls of his home office, wondering what your opinions of his favorite titles are. He wonders what books would draw your attention. He can picture you in here perfectly, telling him that he should be focused on his work when he can’t take his eyes off of you. You would tell him to focus but do just about a million things that he finds all together way too charming and endearing to ignore.

Your scent invades his mind. It’s utterly intoxicating. The way he can tell when you’ve freshly showered, your shampoo smelling of lavender and vanilla. He thinks about the way his fingers feel all tangled up in that hair of yours.

He thinks of how soft your skin is, in contrast with his rough calloused hands. He thinks about how beautiful you look when you’re focused on something. He wishes you were here with him. He wishes he could give you the birthday you deserve.

He wouldn’t let you leave his clutches all night. He’d keep you tangled up in the sheets of his bed, moaning, laughing, talking, smiling, whatever you wanted to do, he’d do it with you.

It’s a troubling position he’s in. He can’t say he’s ever felt this way about anyone before. He’s been a solitary man most of his life. He had friends throughout schooling, but he always much preferred his own company. He’s never wanted to be around someone as much as you.

You seem to comprehend exactly how his mind works. He questions whether you can truly read minds because you always manage to say exactly the right thing at the right time. He knows he’s gotten himself in too deep. He realized when he found himself speeding through the pages of the Great Gatsby, a novel he had never been fond of, purely because he was picturing the way your face would light up when he handed it to you.

He knows he’s getting too emotionally involved. It’s not a sustainable relationship.

His phone vibrates on the desk next to him and when he picks it up, he’s shocked to see your name on the screen. "Y/N?" He picks up, expecting a drunk dial.

"Professor Hotchner— Aaron," Katie’s voice rings through the phone, "I need… you need to come pick her up." Her words are slurred together.

"Kaitlin?" He asks confused, "Katie," He corrects himself, "Is she okay? What’s wrong?" He stands up grabbing his keys and wallet, shoving them into the pocket of his joggers, rushing to slip his sneakers on.

"She’s had too much to drink and I don’t think I can get her home myself." Katie sighs out and Hotch can faintly hear your voice on the other end, slurring and yelling something about letting Katie take your phone.

"What bar? I’ll be there as fast as I can," Hotch takes note of the address, which, thankfully, is just two blocks away from his apartment. "Get her water. Get her outside into the fresh air. If she gets really bad, don’t hesitate to call 911." He hangs up the phone. What he really wants to do is scold Katie for letting you drink so wildly. Just because it’s your 21st birthday, doesn’t mean that you need to drink yourself to death. At the same time, he feels the deep sting of guilt, knowing that your strained relationship with Charlie probably encouraged more drinking than usual.

He makes his walking pace brisk, rushing the two blocks to get to you. He feels responsible for letting this happen to you. It’s not as if he could’ve been at the bar with you, it would’ve drawn an intense amount of scrutiny and suspicion, but he could've made plans with you, told you to ditch your friends for him.

As soon as Katie catches sight of him from down the street, she struggles to hold you up, trying to walk you over to him, "I’m sorry to call you, I hope I didn’t wake you up, Professor, I just didn’t know who else to call for help. Everyone else is equally drunk and normally I’d trust Charlie with her but—" She glances down at you, as you clutch at her shoulders for support, eyelids half closed, "He isn’t here to help."

"Fuck Charlie. I mean I don’t want to fuck Charlie, I mean like fuck him for not coming," You slur slightly and Katie hoists you up, holding you out for Hotch to help keep you steady.

"No I’m glad you called," Hotch replies with a nod. Katie’s focus lingers on him for a while and he can sense the judgment behind her eyes. She wants to say something to him. The drinking has lowered her inhibitions and he’s sure that as your best friend she probably has a few choice words for him. But right now, he can't take the time to listen to her or even argue with her. Right now, he just wants to get you to his home and get you to safety.

"Take care of her, okay?" Katie finally lets out before digging around in her purse for a pen and grabbing Hotch’s hand. She scribbles her number, a little messily due to her elevated blood alcohol level but legible enough, "Call me if anything happens to her."

Hotch nods, "I will." He turns all his attention onto you and starts to walk you back towards his apartment, knowing that the 5 minutes it took him to jog to the bar will turn into a 10 minute endeavor, carrying you to his apartment.

"I’m sorry, Aaron," You mumble into his shoulder, "I shouldn’t have drank so much I just…"

Hotch shushes you softly, rubbing his hands on your upper arm as he holds your trembling shoulders. "You should’ve brought a jacket." Your foot catches on the pavement, and for a second, it looks as if your face is going to collide with the sidewalk, but Hotch’s grip is so tight that he keeps you from falling.

"Didn’t go with the outfit." You laugh and weakly gesture over your body with your hand.

Seeing you like this, it stirs something inside him. Anger and frustration build like wildfire deep in the pit of his stomach. How could you act so irresponsibly? How could your friends be so careless with you? If he was out with you on your birthday, you never would’ve gotten so dangerously drunk.

"My apartment isn’t far from here, remember?" He’s practically holding up your entire body weight at this point.

"I remember," You nod, "Charlie, he didn’t come."

"I know." He slows down your walking pace as you struggle to keep up, your feet dragging along the ground, "Katie told me."

"Katie is mad at you, you know?" You regain a bit of your balance and strength, walking on your own, but hardly walking in a straight line. "I’m not mad at you. She’s just worried about me. I guess Charlie is worried about me, but he sure has a silly way of showing it, right?"

"It’s important to have people that care about you like they do," He’s choosing his words diplomatically, knowing that he can’t let on how much he’s been thinking about you, how much it angers him to see you so dangerously drunk. He’s not sure why he’s so careful of his words choice, as if you will remember his exact wording tomorrow.

After an eternity of practically carrying you for two blocks, you reach the steps of Hotch’s apartment. The steps are a complete other task. In which Hotch is tempted multiple times to simply pick you up entirely and carry you upstairs, but he worries that will just make you sick and the last thing he wants to do is clean your vomit off of his apartment building’s staircase.

"I’m sorry you have to take care of me," You whine, holding onto his shirt as he helps you into his apartment. "But I’m 21!"

"I know," Hotch’s heart races as you stumble along in your heels. It’s terrifying to see you like this. He realizes just how fragile you are, how easily you can slip through his fingers.

It should make him want to sink his fingers into you, dig his heels into the ground, hold you close and never let you go, but he’s motivated to do the opposite. He wants to run and hide from you. If he sinks himself too deep into you, he can never get out and if he loses you once he’s in too deep, what will happen when you get hurt? What happens when he’s the one to hurt you?

He’ll inevitably disappoint you. He knows you expect a lot from him. He can see it in the way you look at him, with those warm, intelligent eyes, so full of adoration.

"You think you can get yourself up the stairs to bed while I get you water?" Hotch walks you carefully to the bottom of the stairs. You nod, reaching for the wall next to the stairs, to help balance.

Hotch watches you with a close eye, making sure that you make it all the way up before going to the kitchen. He reaches up into the cabinet for a glass and some ibuprofen that you will inevitably need by tomorrow.

He puts both down on the counter, taking a minute to place both palms on the surface firmly, taking a deep, steadying breath. It’s almost the end of the semester. After Monday, he’s no longer your professor. That should be a relief. He doesn’t have to feel this internal conflict. The morality of his actions has never concerned him before. That was before you.

When he’s with you, he’s more conscious of the imbalance of power. He’s aware of what it looks like from the outside. The way Charlie looked at the two of you today was confirmation of that. Confirmation of the perception that he used to never care so much about until he met you. Reducing you to just another student fling feels wrong. But that’s what you are, right? There's been no confession of feelings, no grand gestures, no romantic dates or picture-perfect movie moments.

Despite the lack of relationship structure, everything with you feels different. It feels so intensely genuine. That’s the only way Hotch knows how to describe it to himself. Being with you makes him feel alive.

But if being with you is living, why does he feel this growing dread in the pit of the stomach as he walks up the stairs? He steps into his bedroom expecting to see you draped across his bed or struggling with the zipper on your dress, but he doesn’t see you anywhere, "Einstein?" He calls and then he sees the light coming from under the bathroom door and the distinct sounds of you sick in the bathroom.

He pushes open the door to see your arms on the toilet, your face hovering over the bowl. He lets out a small breath, bending down to your level so he can pull your hair out of your face. He pulls the hair tie off your wrist and messily ties your hair into the best ponytail he can manage. You groan in pain and he rubs your back gently. "Shh, you’re okay. I’ve got you," He presses a small kiss to your temple.

"I don’t want to have to choose," You let out a strangled cry and a small hiccup, lying your head on your forearms on the seat of the toilet. Hotch’s heart sinks at your words, "I can’t choose between falling for you and keeping my friendships."

"You won’t have to," He gets to his feet, reaching for a washcloth and dampening it in the sink. He bends back down to your level, gently lifting your head from your forearms, wiping your face and mouth, "Let’s get you up off the floor, okay?"

"Make the world stop spinning, please," You hold your arms up so he can lift you off the floor.

He sits you down on the edge of the bed, bending down to unzip your heels, placing them on the floor.

"He didn’t come. He’s my best friend and he didn’t come to my birthday," You chew at the skin on your lip, holding back tears, not wanting to turn into a weepy drunk. Especially in front of Hotch. He reaches around unzipping your dress, helping you out of it.

"I’m sorry," The apology is soft but Hotch knows it's partially his fault Charlie never showed. You’re right, you shouldn’t have to choose between him and your friends. He can already tell the way you’re pushing them away for time with him.

He helps pull one of his shirts over your head and pulls back the covers for you to crawl into his bed. "Please hold me," You mutter softly, "At least until the room stops spinning." Looking down at you, the way your eyes are threatening to spill over with tears, the mascara smudged, your hair tied back messily, pieces falling out of the ponytail, you look so helpless, so pure, so innocent and loving. He can’t stop himself from nodding and sitting next to you on the bed. He puts his arm behind your head, wrapping it around your shoulders.

"I don’t want to lose him to keep you," You lay your head against Hotch’s chest, gripping at his shirt tightly. Your tears fall against his dark green shirt, leaving small wet splotches. "I can’t let you go." You sniffle and shut your eyes in an attempt to get some rest and ease the sick feeling in your stomach.

"You won’t lose him." He shushes and gently plays with the ends of your hair, wrapping his other arm around the front of you, holding you tight against him. Your sniffles start to die down as you drift off to sleep, Hotch listening closely to your steady breathing.

He knows he’s not being fair with you. Every affair, every relationship he’s had, has been so simple, so uncomplicated. The semester is coming to an end soon and he knows exactly what he has to do. But sitting here staring down at you, the way your face is scrunched up in your sleep. He doesn’t want to let you go. It’s not just your body, it’s not the sex. It’s your biting wit, your intelligence, your humor.

It’s not how you look. It’s not the way that he knows your body better than he knows himself. It’s your heart and mind that captivate him. He’s so used to being and feeling alone, but you always make sure he never feels that way. It’s not in the obvious things. It’s in the subtleties. It’s in the small smiles you give him in passing. It’s in the way you always ask him about his day. It’s in your reassuring eye contact. When he speaks, he knows you’re listening. And you’re not just listening when he’s teaching or tutoring or sharing new information, you’re listening when he talks about himself.

Like today in his office. There was a palpable difference in the energy between you two. He knows that gift was personal, but he wanted to give it to you, and the way your face lit up when he did, tells him it was worth it. He wants to be selfish and hold onto you forever. He wants to spend every minute with you, but he knows that the more he draws you to him, the more he draws you away from your friends, from the world, from everything you want to achieve in life.

And that’s why, staring down at your sleeping form, he knows this must end.

Chapter 11: I.XI →

#aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #wanna be yours fanfic #hotch #hotchner #hotch x reader

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thadelightfulone · 3 years

Text

All I Want... 25 Days of Christmas Challenge, Day 11

November 30th

Thanksgiving came and went, yet Erik and DeeDee stayed in touch as much as possible. DeeDee was focused on wrapping up the semester and preparing for a new life outside of the classroom. While Erik was completely emerged in the current expansion project and meeting end of the year deadlines.

It was always a great time whenever they could find the time to talk with one another. Erik continued to relentlessly flirt with a not-so-innocent DeeDee who gave just as good as she got.

The more Erik got to know about her, the more he was certain of his growing feelings towards her. He only hoped that she reciprocated them and on the same level.

He decided to take Monday off since he had been working over the weekend and wanted to make himself available to talk to DeeDee. It had been about two days since they spoke and he missed her, which felt normal to him these days.

Prince Erik: Good morning Miss DeeDee.

DeeDee 💜: Good afternoon Mr. Erik.

Prince Erik: I wanted to know if you might have time to talk this evening.

DeeDee 💜: Yes, I do since I am not working tonight. Just call me when you are available.

Prince Erik: Great. I’ll talk to you later. Have a wonderful day.

DeeDee 💜: I look forward to it. Thank you, and same to you.

DeeDee smiled as she put her phone away and adjusted herself on the stool. She was in one of Dr. O’s Organic Chemistry classes, helping out with the day’s lab. She waved bye as the students walked past her and left their lab reports on the back counter. Without fail, Brandon stopped in front of her, dangling his paper.

“So, when are you gonna let me take you out Miss DeeDee?”

DeeDee cringed and tried to keep the pleasant smile on her face. She had gotten so used to Erik calling her that, and hearing someone else address her by that name gave her pause. She grabbed paper and put it on the growing pile.

“We’ve been over this, Brandon. I’m not interested.”

“Why not? Look at me.” He splayed his hands out, presenting himself to her. “I am a great catch.”

DeeDee rubbed her temples. She hated coming to this class for this reason. Brandon was the little brother of one of the students in her doctoral cohort. They all started their journey together and unfortunately, she gained his attention after a late night study group session.

“I’m not doing this today. Thank you for turning in your lab report.”

“You know I’m not gonna stop until you say yes, right?”

“I wish you would stop because I hate to break it to you, but you will be waiting indefinitely. It’s not happening.”

“Why not? We all know you aren’t dating anyone.”

“Excuse me? How is that any of your business?” DeeDee whisper-yelled to him; she grabbed her backpack and headed to the front of the room. “Dr. O. I’ll see you later. I need to go.”

Brandon rushed out after her. “Hey, Hey. Wait a second, I didn’t mean to offend you or anything, DeeDee.”

“Brandon, please leave me alone.”

“DeeDee -”

A phone started to ring.

She reached for her cell from her back pocket. Grateful for the interruption, she immediately answered, “Hello.”

“Hello Miss DeeDee.”

“Erik,” She swooned. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“You knew I was gonna call.”

“Yeah, but not this early. Can you hold for just a moment?” DeeDee barely covered the phone when she turned her attention back to Brandon, “We are done here.”

“But Miss DeeDee -”

“Please do not call me that.” She snapped at him.

“My bad. Look DeeDee, maybe we got off on the wrong foot here.”

“No, we did not. You just won’t accept no for an answer, and that’s very disrespectful to me.”

Brandon opened his mouth to speak when Dr. O walked by and looked between the two of them.

“Everything good here?” No one said anything or moved. Dr. O sighed, “Brandon, what did I tell you about hitting on my GAs? No one comes to my class anymore because of you.”

Brandon stared at the ground while DeeDee stood with her phone in her hand.

“I gotta go. You two have a good day.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow for our weekly, DeeDee.” Dr. O glanced at Brandon, “Follow me to my office, we need to talk. NOW.”

DeeDee ran-walked down the hall and out onto the patio of the lab building.

“Erik?” She spoke into the phone, “You still there?”

“I am. Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Sorry, you had to hear that.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. I’m definitely glad I called when I did. Sounds like you needed the distraction.”

“I did, I do. Thank you,” she rambled.

“Hey, why don’t you find a place to sit and we can just chill until you are ready to go.”

“I’m outside of the Engineering building now.”

“Do they still have those benches in the corner near the wall?”

“They do. That’s actually my favorite place to chill when I am here.”

“Then let’s go have a seat.”

DeeDee walked over to the bench and put her backpack on the wall. She sat against her backpack and pulled her legs up and crossed them.

“You settled?”

“Yeah.”

“I want to share something with you. And then whenever you are ready to talk, just let me know.”

“Ok.”

“So, remember the program I was telling you about, where we would be working with grad students from nearby schools?”

“Yeah, your mentorship program for students in advanced science classes.”

“That’s the one. We received notice today that 3 local universities accepted the offers to work with us.”

“Erik, that’s great news! I am so happy for you and the Center.” DeeDee yelled into the phone and then pulled away. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no it’s ok. Your excitement matched mine when I first heard the news.” Erik told her. “It was a great way to start my day. I mean, outside of knowing that I would talk to you.”

“Awwww, you are just saying that.” DeeDee said and bit her lip, but the smile came through anyway.

“Why don’t you believe me when I say that?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you. I am just not used to hearing that.”

“Uh huh. This coming from the woman who has students chasing after her.”

“First of all, Brandon, is a whole entire mess.” DeeDee rolled her eyes and laughed, “And he doesn’t count.”

“Okay, if you say so.” He paused. “But, is it ok for me to still call you Miss DeeDee?”

“Shut up! You are the reason, I don’t want to hear him call me that anymore.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, it is.” DeeDee jumped up from the bench, “Care to keep me company, while I head home?”

“Do you really have to ask?”

“I didn’t want to impose, Mr. Erik.”

“Trust me. You will never have that problem, Miss DeeDee.”

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#25 days of christmas challenge #erik killmonger x oc #black panther fanfiction #bp christmas #all i want #thadelightfulone

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fractallogic · 2 years

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here are Some Thoughts™ that are mostly reminders of things I got done since 4 PM, since I feel like I haven't done shit today other than sit on the couch:

1. I did not have dice in my mailbox today. in fact, I only got the mail that USPS said they were mailing to me yesterday. sigh.

2. I am REALLY happy to say that Butch Turtle is well lit for the first time in a very long time. he has his warm light, which I fucked up and knocked over and broke a few days ago and needed to get a whole new lamp for because the bottom of the bulb is stuck in the socket, and he also has his UV light for Shell Health (which I replaced ??? ago, but the lamp didn't work, so I had to get a new lamp, which I got right before I moved so I didn't do anything, and then it still didn't work, so I needed to get a new bulb, which I hadn't done until today, and it turned out the previous lamp worked all along, which meant I got a dud bulb, which SUCKS because now I can't return it because god only knows where that receipt and packaging are and they are EXPENSIVE at ~$25 each)

3. I finally filled out the authorization to release medical records to the new doctor, and hopefully they get it before my appointment next thursday

4. I also found a new practice right next to my house (basically) that gets very good reviews and is also taking new patients, in case I can't make it clear to the previous doc that she made me feel bad about myself and her team fucked up and was rude to me instead of apologizing for their mistake

5. I also requested study credits for next term so that I can run participants through the human subjects pool. the deadline to request is sunday(?), so cutting it close, as usual

6. This means I have some extra motivation to finish up the pilot study and my stuff for the main study, since I think the credits can be reallocated to someone else if I don't use them by like, week 5 or something

7. today should be a full shower day because my hair is kind of gross, but I am also kind of tired and don't want to. but I also feel better after I wash my hair and it doesn't actually take that much effort.

8. goal for tomorrow is to buy next year's health insurance, put the final touches on the contract critique for this one kid I've been working on for literally three weeks because I can't just fucking sit down and do it, read through my student's statement of purpose, do one pomodoro of work on another contract, and do two pomodoros of work on the book. I'm pretty sure that's going to amount to about two hours of work. I'm telling that to my brain right now because before I sit down to do it I'll feel like it's the worst thing in the world, but when I actually get started, I'll feel MUCH better about it and be able to power through a lot

9. also we must wash the dishes on the counter tomorrow. we have to. we have no clean pots and we want to make puttanesca sauce, and also no counter space to do fucking anything.

10. this weekend it would be nice if we returned the cans and bottles to the recycling thing by the grocery store. we need to get groceries and plan the meals for next week anyway, so do it then. (puttanesca recipe makes four servings, so we don't really even have to plan much or get many groceries.)

11. don't forget to go to campus on Monday for the undergrad event. also don't forget about the lab gathering on Monday night. also don't forget to send New Collaborator your grant.

12. my neighbor asked me to spend a few hours hanging out with her partner's elderly cat while they're away on a ~romantic mountain retreat~ (or sth) this weekend, but hasn't gotten me a key to their place and they leave tomorrow. I feel concerned for the cat.

13. I am going to get in bed before midnight tonight because my revenge bedtime procrastination hasn't even been interesting lately, and if I continue getting up at 8 AM after sleeping enough, there actually is enough time in the day to a) work, b) wash dishes, c) take a walk, d) make dinner, and e) play video games in a very comfortable, non-rushed kind of way without having to also stay up late to do any of them

14. don't let the SAD win. fuck you, SAD. I know it's dark outside. I don't care. sitting on the couch doesn't help.

3 notes · View notes

xbaepsae · 4 years

Text

prove it (m)

“How could he not see how this was all affecting you? Why didn’t he realize you needed him to be present in your life? But as much as you needed him to be one hundred percent here for you, a part of you would just rather have him one hundred percent gone.”

[boyfriend!jeongguk x girlfriend!reader]

genre: estranged relationship!au, smut, some angst

word count: 4.9k

rating: mature

warnings: mutual masturbation, jealousy, language

a/n: this is another reupload! i went back and reread this and, honestly, it’s not too shabby. granted, it’s not that complex, but i enjoyed writing this estranged relationship between jk and the reader. kind of want to write a follow up. let me know lol. xoxo

Long distance relationships suck.

Even for the strongest of people, separation is never easy. Ideally, everyone wants to believe that not being with the person they love all the time isn’t a big deal. However, after a while, there are different factors that cause major stress in a relationship.

There’s a lack of communication sometimes; you can’t physically see them often, so you resort to the basic text and phone call. Still, it’s not the same. Seeing someone through a phone is vastly different than physically being with them. There’s a lack of intimacy too; no holding hands, late night cuddles. Your toys and hands can only do so much, unfortunately.

Being long distance wasn’t always the case for you and Jeongguk, but it became a reality when you both decided to attend different universities.

Early in your relationship, you both avoided talks about the future. In the back of your mind, you already knew that you both had different plans for college. But you didn’t want to admit it out loud—not even to him.

A part of you was afraid about the longevity of your relationship. Most long-distance relationships, and even more so with high school relationships, don’t really make it. But you loved Jeongguk; you don’t think you’ll ever be able to love anyone else as much. As cheesy as it may sound, he’s your other half. You knew that there were others out there, but you didn’t want anyone else.

“You’ll call me every day, yeah?” you asked him the day you both graduated.

“Of course,” he caressed your arm. “Every day.”

The first semester at college, you both talked nearly every day. And you were happy; so happy that despite the distance, not much had changed. Even with your different schedules, you both still made time for each other. You both even visited each other—you went to see him during Halloween, and he surprised you before your finals.

But of course, life gets in the way.

After the first winter break, the communication between you two dwindled. And after that first summer, everything changed. Even when you both did happen to be home, you barely had the time to talk let alone hang out. You found out more about Jeongguk’s life from his Instagram account than you did directly from him. Every time you scrolled onto his page, countless pictures of him partying and hanging out with his friends filled your screen—and yet, no time to give you a quick phone call. It was frustrating.

You considered calling it quits multiple times—what is the use of being with someone if you both don’t act like a couple? It was so bad; you couldn’t even remember the last time you two were in the same room. But every time you brought up the issue, Jeongguk did some redeemable act and you forgave him instantly.

It seemed to be a never-ending cycle.

And now, even though you both were well into your third year in college, Jeongguk was still tethering you on a string. How could he not see how this was all affecting you? Why didn’t he realize you needed him to be present in your life? But as much as you needed him to be one hundred percent here for you, a part of you would just rather have him one hundred percent gone.

***

3:14 PM | Jeongguk: I’ll call you later

3:15 PM | You: for real?

You watched the text bubble pop up for a few seconds before disappearing. And when it disappears, it doesn’t pop up again. A sigh leaves your mouth as you drop your phone onto the table.

“Are you texting him?”

Looking up, you make eye contact with your friend Taehyung. “Yeah…”

“And?” Taehyung prompts you to finish your sentence.

“And…he said he’ll call me later,” you say, “but these types of texts from Jeongguk are pointless and disappointing.”

You met Taehyung your first year at college, and immediately hit it off. You helped him with his math homework, and he paid you back by listening to all of your Jeongguk drama. Sometimes you wished you could fall for Taehyung—a relationship with him was bound to be easier than the one you had right now—but he was already in a deeply committed relationship with the cute librarian assistant, Jimin.

“I mean, at least he texted you, right?” your friend attempts to make you feel better, but you feel anything but that.

“I guess.”

“Well don’t be too hard on yourself, buttercup,” Taehyung smiles, “because today is not the day to be down in the dumps!”

Half the time, you have no idea what the words that came out of his mouth even mean. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you remember?” You have no idea. “It’s Hoseok’s birthday tonight!”

After a few moments, the gears in your head begin moving and you remember Taehyung mentioning something about it last week. You aren’t really close with Hoseok though; he’s Taehyung’s friend and a member of the soccer team, so it slipped your mind.

You have only chatted with Hoseok twice; once was at a party freshman year and you were wasted, and the second was in line for coffee at Starbucks; but you were pretty sure he had no idea who you were. “But I don’t really even know him.”

“Y/n, he doesn’t care who comes; hell, I think he invited the entire school. Besides, I already told him that you’re my plus one since Jimin can’t make it.”

Even though it was a Friday, you were not in the mood to do anything. All you wanted was to return back to your apartment and sleep until Monday rolled around. “Tae…”

“It’ll take your mind off of Jeongguk,” he says in a sing-song voice.

And he’s right—it will be a distraction from your issues in the love department. You think about it for a moment before deciding to hell with it; you’re going to allow yourself to enjoy tonight. “Okay fine, I’ll go.”

Taehyung gets up in that moment and engulfs you in a hug, which attracts the stares of many people in the room. “Thanks y/n!”

“I think you can let me go now,” you pat his back and he lets you go with an airy oh.

“Okay, well, I’ll swing by your place at around seven and then we’ll goooooo!”

You laugh at his enthusiasm and bid your friend goodbye as you both leave. You’re pretty sure Taehyung has a class, but he’s going the opposite direction…so you’re not sure what he’s doing. But you don’t think too much about it and make it back to your apartment. There, you greet your roommate, Nana.

“Hey, girl hey,” she smiles, and you’re struck once again by how pretty she is.

You and Nana have been roommates since you both started going to school here. Most people don’t end up living with their first roommate their entire stay at college, but you both got along well and there has never been a problem. Also, you two just knew too much about each other’s living habits at this point to live with other people.

“Hi,” you smile back, setting your things down before falling down onto the couch beside her.

“So, how was your day?”

Since you both are juniors and have busy schedules, it seems like you never really get to see each other. Which sucks because you honestly consider Nana to be your best friend, besides Taehyung of course.

“It’s been okay,” you begin, “I barely passed my exam in history and managed to turn in my paper for lit right before the deadline…and Jeongguk texted me.”

“Jeongguk texted you?” she only seems to pick up the last bit you said.

“Yep,” you pop the end of the word.

“How’d that go?”

You give her a look, “Horrible.”

Nana gives you a sympathetic smile, “Sorry boo that you have such a shitty boyfriend.”

“He’s not shitty…he’s just…” you try to get the words out about how loving Jeongguk really is, but your mind fails you. Maybe she’s right. “Okay, maybe he is being a little shit right now.”

“You know, I really liked Jeongguk when I first met him,” your roommate says. “But then he just stopped coming to see you.”

You sigh and burry your head into a pillow, “I know.”

“What did he even text you about?”

“He said that he’ll call or whatever—but I’m not even sure if he’s serious, or just messing with me,” you lift your head up. “Do you know that we haven’t talked since school started again?”

Nana gasps, “That was almost two months ago.”

“Exactly.”

“Y/n!” she screams your name. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m actually going crazy, Nana,” you feel defeated; what kind of relationship is this? “But maybe tonight will get this shit off my mind.”

“What are you doing tonight?” she asks.

You explain how Taehyung has basically dragged you to Hoseok’s birthday party and even though you don’t want to go that much, you need to forget about Jeongguk for one night. Nana thankfully agrees with you. She even says that you can borrow one of her dresses since you don’t, in her words, own anything nice.

“Wow are you saying I have no style?” you pretend to be hurt.

“I’m saying you don’t have clothes appropriate for nights like these,” Nana laughs and tells you to follow her to her closet.

When you walk into her room and open her closet—you let her have the bigger closet because she has more clothes than you anyway—you’re not surprised to see a variety of mini skirts and dresses. Nana definitely goes out more than you ever do and proclaims that she can never wear the same outfit twice. “What shall we put you in?”

You shrug, “I’m down to wear anything.”

But maybe you’re giving Nana too much free reign because as she begins to dig through her closet, she pulls out the most revealing dress you’ve ever seen. She tosses it you before you can blink and demands that you have to wear it.

You nearly fall over from the force of the dress, but somehow manage to catch it. Pulling it away from your body, you immediately begin to shake your head. There was no way in hell you can go out in public like this—you don’t even want to wear it in the safety of your apartment. The dress is black with a plunging back and an equally plunging front. And with its short length, it leaves nothing to the imagination. “Hell no.”

“Come on, y/n!” Nana whines, mouth dropping when you fling the dress onto the floor. “This dress will look so good on you!”

“I don’t think anyone can wear this dress,” you frown as she hands you the dress again.

Your roommate rolls her eyes, “Please—I wore this! And I got a ton of male attention that night…you will too.”

But you don’t want the attention of multiple guys, just want the attention of one. “I don’t know, Nana. I’m not one to wear this kind of stuff…”

“Just this one time! Trust me.”

And even though you’re completely out of your element, you succumb to Nana’s demands and trudge into the closet to try the dress on. You let your clothes fall onto the carpeted floor and slip the revealing dress on. Surprisingly, even though you and Nana aren’t necessarily the same size, the dress seems to fit; you just hope all your precious body parts aren’t hanging out on full display.

When you step out for your roommate to see the dress, her jaw drops, and she lets out the loudest ear piercing scream you’ve ever heard. It’s so loud, you’re positive the neighbors heard it.

“Oh my god, y/n! You look so fucking good,” she pushes you towards her full-length mirror and the air seems to leave your lungs.

“I…” you’re at a loss for words, “I…actually like it?”

Nana screams again and proceeds to hug you, but you can’t stop staring at the mirror. You hated the way the dress looked on the hanger; now, is it crazy for you to say it makes you feel like a bad bitch? It feels like you can conquer the world.

“I told you!” Nana exclaims. “God—you look so good; you can just keep the dress after this. I don’t think I could ever wear it again after you just slayed my existence.”

“Okay, you’re just being dramatic at this point.”

“But no seriously, you look amazing and fucking Jeon Jeongguk is missing out,” she says hugging you again. “Can I do your hair and makeup?”

A few hours later, the doorbell rings as you slip your shoes on. Nana runs to answer the door and you smile as Taehyung walks in. The moment his eyes land on you, he stops in his tracks and brings a hand up to his mouth. “Y/n?”

“Don’t look so shocked,” you roll your eyes.

“Who are you and what did you do with y/n?” he runs up to you, inspecting your body from head to toe. “Who knew you had this side in you?”

“You can thank me for that,” Nana slides beside you, offering a bright smile.

After a little convincing, you managed to bribe Nana in coming out tonight too. Your main argument for making her go out too is that you needed someone to last the night with. Even though you are technically Taehyung’s date, he never stays out long and you didn’t want to be left alone with Hoseok and his friends. And you promised that all the drinks were on you, which made her agree in a heartbeat.

“I’m actually blown away,” Taehyung rubs his eyes.

You feel a bit of pride flare up inside of you; if your friends were already so blown away, you can only imagine the reactions from other people.

“You guys are so nice,” you smile before Taehyung makes it known that you all have to go before the party begins.

The three of you hop into his car as he drives to the place where Hoseok’s hosting his party. It’s at a local bar just down the street from school and when you get there, you see a huge sign with the words ‘Happy Birthday Hoseok’ in bold letters. Well, that’s one way to let everyone know. As Taehyung parks, you realize just how many people are here; birthday boy must’ve really invited everyone.

Walking inside the bar, Hoseok stands front and center and immediately greets you guys.

“Taehyung!” he excitedly says, a bright smile om his face. “Glad you could make it.”

The two of them shake hands before Taehyung wishes him a happy birthday and points to you, “You know y/n and Nana, right?”

“Of course,” Hoseok turns to you and immediately takes in your appearance. You notice his eyes widen at your dress before they meet your gaze. “Glad you guys could make it.”

You redden under his heated look as he reaches a hand out and you return the favor by extending your own too. Taehyung quickly suggests that you all take a picture together before the night gets too crazy and Nana forces you beside Hoseok. You give her a wide-eyed look, but she just smiles. You offer your phone to someone nearby and they tell you four to get into position.

The phone camera flashes while you offer your biggest smile. A few more flashes go off before the phone gets passed back in your direction. You swipe through the pictures, because one is simply not sufficient, and are pleasantly pleased with yourself. You have to admit it, you look pretty good.

“Damn, y/n!” Nana brings the attention to you and everyone begins to ask to see the pictures. But before Nana can pass your phone around, Hoseok tells you that he has to attend to the rest of his guests. At that, you quickly send everyone the pictures.

“I’ll catch you later?” he asks, and you realize he’s talking to you. Heat creeps up your face as you reply with a tentative sure and watch Hoseok walk away.

The moment he’s out of sight, Taehyung and Nana turn to you simultaneously saying that he definitely likes you. And while you’re flattered by the attention, you’re not interested. So you just brush your friends off and walk deeper into the bar. You order the three of you drinks and look at the pictures again.

“I think you should post the pictures,” Nana says sipping her drink.

You raise a brow, “Why?”

“Because you look good,” she talks like it’s the most obvious thing ever.

“Isn’t it a bit scandalous?”

“No?” Taehyung’s words come out like a question. “I’m posting one of these too.”

“Yeah but it’s normal for you to post stuff like this.” You honestly aren’t one to post suggestive pictures. Your feed is rather plain and simple. Also, you don’t party much either so might just look weird, or are you thinking way too much about this?

“Maybe it will elicit a reaction from that boyfriend of yours.”

Your ears perk up at Nana’s words. “I don’t think he even checks my social media…”

She raises a brow, “Girl, all men check their girls social accounts whether they like to admit it or not. Besides, he posted up pics with his boys earlier…why can’t you?”

She has a point. As the two of you were getting ready before, you scrolled through Jeongguk’s profile and saw that he posted a picture from last night. And it was the same pictures he was always posting—him and his friends with those damn red solo cups. If Jeongguk can post pictures of him at parties, why can’t you?

And at the end of the day, they are just pictures—completely harmless. You quickly scroll through the pictures again and pick the one that you look best in. After editing the picture and adding a witty caption, you press post. As you watch the page load, your heart races. Soon, a text bubble pops up signaling that the picture has been posted and you internally scream.

“Did you do it?” Nana asks, looking over your shoulder.

All you can do is nod and shove your phone away from you. “Can we just forget I did that?”

Taehyung and Nana don’t need to be told twice before ordering a round of shots for you, which you down without a fight.

***

As the night progresses, you actually do forget that you posted the picture.

With your phone on silent and your body a little more than slightly buzzed, you let the music and atmosphere of the bar take you away. By this point, you aren’t sure what time it is or where Taehyung went. You’re betting that he already left, but you’re too absentminded to really care right now. Beside you is Nana, but she’s rather preoccupied with a guy.

You try to grab her attention, to let her know that you need to run to the bathroom, but it’s fruitless so you just leave. In the bathroom, you push open a stall and let out a cry when your phone falls and narrowly misses the toilet. Thank god. Picking up the phone, you suddenly realize how many unread messages and missed phones you actually have…and they’re all from Jeongguk. You briefly run over the messages and see that he’s been leaving message after message for you to call him.

As if the ten missed calls weren’t enough.

Quickly doing your business, you run out of the bathroom and tell Nana that you need to go back to the apartment. But instead of the both of you leaving, she tells you that she’s more than likely not coming back tonight, and you catch the look in her eyes. Before calling an Uber back, you make her promise to text you and then you’re off.

The moment you step through the threshold of your place, you call him. And surprisingly enough, he answers on the first ring.

“Y/n.” As much as you hate to admit it, you’ve missed his voice.

“Hello to you, too,” you dismiss such defeating thoughts and try to remember your anger towards him.

On the other side of the phone, he sighs, “Where are you?”

“At home,” you tell him, kicking off your heels and walking into your bedroom.

“I see…” he says. “So, you’re not out at a party? I saw the picture you posted.”

You release a deep breath. So that’s what this phone call is about.

“Did you just call to chew me out?” you fall onto your bed. “Because if that’s the case, I don’t want to hear it.”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Why the fuck do even you care?” you retort. “I see you partying every week too, and do I make a big deal out of it? No. You’re such a hypocrite.”

Jeongguk is quiet for a moment. He’s so quiet you almost think he’s hung up on you, but before you can say anything else, he asks, “Are you still at the party?”

You roll your eyes, “I told you I’m at home already.”

“Prove it,” he says.

You don’t even know what he’s asking for. How are you supposed to prove you were at your apartment? “What?”

“Skype me.” Oh.

“Isn’t it a little late,” you say, peering at the clock on your wall that reads a little after midnight. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Even though you’re angry at Jeongguk ninety-five percent of the time, that doesn’t mean you don’t care to know what goes on in his life. You know that he has practice every Saturday morning and if he doesn’t sleep, he’ll be a cranky little baby.

“Practice is cancelled tomorrow.” It’s like he’s read your mind or something. And after much contemplating, you tell him you’ll skype him.

Grabbing your laptop from the floor, you can’t deny the anxious excitement you feel. You also can’t deny the fact that you miss Jeongguk desperately, even though he can be an asshole. It’s honestly been so long and you want nothing more than to see his face again. Logging onto your skype account, you click on his little icon and watch as the screen begins to make a call. As it loads and connects, you situate your laptop away from you.

And the moment Jeongguk appears on your screen, you feel an array of emotions. He’s in his room, you can tell from his blue pillows and the posters that line the wall behind him. A part of you wants to cry as dumb as it sounds; it just feels like you haven’t seen him in so long. Your eyes run over the softness of his features before meeting his piercing gaze.

“Hey,” you offer a half-smile.

“Hey.”

“So,” you clear your throat, “as you can see, I am at home…in my room.”

He nods, not looking away from you, “Sorry for doubting you. That picture…just really fucked me up.”

“Why?” you question, shifting your position.

“First of all, you look fucking amazing in that dress,” Jeongguk smirks and you remember that you’re still in Nana’s revealing dress, face heating up. “Second, that guy’s hand on your body was literally too much.”

You’re not sure what he’s talking about, so you look back at the picture and notice that Hoseok’s hand was wrapped rather tightly your waist. “I didn’t even realize.”

“Sure.”

“No, I’m serious,” you look back at Jeongguk. “I barely know the guy. It was his birthday tonight and Taehyung invited me.”

“And you still let him put his hands all over you?” he asks.

Why is he getting so angry about the picture? It was just a photo. Never in all the years you two have been together has he ever been like this. Is he jealous? You haven’t thought to pin him as the jealous type, but perhaps it’s finally showing.

“Are you jealous?” you narrow your eyes as his own widen.

“Of course not,” he brushes you off. “I just don’t like it when guys put their hands all over other people’s girlfriends.”

He’s totally jealous and your heart begins to warm at his words. “I’m your girlfriend?”

You’re teasing him and he doesn’t seem to catch on. “Are you not?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “Doesn’t really seem like it sometimes. I mean, you never call me. Aren’t people supposed to call their girlfriends? And I just feel neglected, you know? Like you’re living a completely different life from me—like we’re not even dating.”

“I’m sorry,” he immediately says, wetting his bottom lip. “I just—I’ve gotten caught up with life lately. I mean it when I say I’m going to call, because I really want to, but it doesn’t always happen.”

You’re a bit shocked at his apologetic confession because you were not expecting it. Jeongguk is not usually the one in your relationship to cave in first; you’re usually the one who comes running to him. Maybe he does still care about you in the same way he did all those years ago.

“You’re sorry?” you ask. “Prove it.”

His eyebrows raise at your repeated phrase. “What?”

“If you’re so sorry…show me.”

Where these words are coming from, you literally have no idea. While you cave in first, Jeongguk is way more forward about his intentions. It’s like your roles have switched and you strangely love it. His eyes stare into yours with so much intensity, it almost feels like he’s right here with you and not just on your laptop screen.

You wait for him to say something—do something; the anticipation of his actions have you squirming on your bed.

“Take off the dress,” he suddenly says, voice much lower than before.

Your insides clench as you raise your body to kneel on the bed and unzip the dress, letting it fall into a pile around your knees. Jeongguk lets out a deep breath as he takes in your smooth skin, body only covered by your flimsy underwear.

“I couldn’t wear a bra with the dress,” you smile at his reaction.

“Fuck, y/n,” he swears. “Take off the underwear and sit back on the bed. I want to see you.”

You oblige and fling your last item of clothing onto the floor. You’re about to do as Jeongguk wishes and lay back, but you stop. “I want to see you, too.”

His eyes darken as he pushes his laptop forward to reveal more of himself and peels the white t-shirt off his body. Your eyes drink in the muscles that adorns his body—god, it’s been so long since you’ve seen him like this. You’ve missed this all terribly. After chucking his skirt to the side, he pushes the waistband of his sweats down and reveals his already hard cock.

“Commando?” you smile, body heating up with desire. As you say this, he begins to slowly stroke himself and you swear that nothing hotter has ever graced your eyes.

“Lay back for me baby,” he whispers, and you follow his instructions, leaning back onto your headboard so you can still see him. “Touch that pretty pussy of yours for me.”

And you begin touching yourself, hands rubbing your sensitive clit. The first touch already has you moaning Jeongguk’s name. Fuck; you wish he was here with you right now. You wish it was him whose hands were touching you instead of your own. So you imagine his hands on your body instead and your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head.

“It feels so good,” you moan, watching your boyfriend as he moves his hand up and down his hard shaft. You can see the bit of pre-cum that has already leaked out of his head and you want nothing more than to lick it off. “Jeongguk…”

“You’re so hot,” he forces through clenched teeth. “Stick a finger inside baby. I want to see you fuck yourself.”

You do—you stick one and then another, pretending Jeongguk is actually entering you instead of your fingers. You start with a steady rhythm, slowly moving in and out before going a little faster. Jeongguk begins to match his pace with you and you feel yourself getting close. Your hips begin to buck up into your hands and your palm rubs against your sweet spot.

Sweat begins to bead along your forehead and you use your other hand to rub little circles into your clit again. “I’m so close.”

Jeongguk groans at the image he’s seeing, you desperate for relief. “Cum for me baby; I need you to cum, okay?”

And you can’t help it, you cry as your orgasm hits. It sends waves of pleasure throughout your body, causing your legs to shake. The entire time you ride the high, you’re saying Jeongguk’s name and it isn’t long before his own orgasm arrives. You watch as his face contorts, brows furrowed together and mouth slightly parted, and his load shoots onto his abdomen.

His dark hair is drenched in sweat, and chest rises and falls with each heavy breath. Jeongguk brushes his hair back and grabs his discarded t-shirt to wipe himself. You sit back up on the bed after you catch your own breath and brush your hair to the side.

“Thanks for that,” you tell him, and he laughs.

“Thank you, too,” Jeongguk smiles. “I needed that.”

“Same,” your eyes bore into his and silence passes between the two of you. You know this moment doesn’t change much; there is still a lot of work that needs to be done in your relationship. However, what you do know is that Jeongguk still cares and that give you hope. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you more.”

#armiesnet #btsbookclub #bangtan bookclub #bts fic #jungkook fic #jeongguk fic #kpop fic #bts smut #kpop smut #bts #bangtan #jungkook #jeongguk #smut #angst #prove it #xbaepsae

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hobidreams · 5 years

Text

The Early Shift | Second Taste {M}

determined to find the truth, you pay yoongi a visit at his apartment and get more than what you bargained for.

pairing: barista!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst (well, more like anger) words: 7k contains: coffee shop au, enemies to lovers, lots of banter & sarcasm, face f*cking aka oral (m), dirty talk, yoongi continues to be an ass index: first sip - second taste - last cup

“Hmm. I think we should give Yoongi a call.” This is what Sooah suggests, fifteen minutes before the end of your shift. Her full lips are downturned as she cocks a hand beneath her chin, bats you those doe eyes.

The glorious freedom you were fantasizing about disappears in an instant. “Why?”

“Maybe he got into some trouble and needs help.”

You decide she’s much nicer than you. “Or maybe, hear me out, just maybe, he’s decided to skip work today and continue being the inconsiderate jerk he is.” You have no such patience for him, but that might be because you still remember the heat of his lips nipping at yours. Or maybe it’s because the marks he left on your thighs still remain in faint traces of dark pink.

“Hmm.” Sooah doesn’t look convinced. “Still, just in case. We have his number already. It’ll just take a minute.”

You let your nails sink into your palm. “Fine. I guess there’s a .0001% chance that something actually tragic is happening.” You make for the shop’s landline, where all the employees’ numbers are saved. You fully intend on handing Sooah the phone. But when you whirl back, she’s busy taking an order, with another customer in line behind the current. “Fine,” you mutter to yourself. “I’ll do it.” You hit the call button.

There are a few long rings, by the end of which you’re certain that voicemail will pick up. You tune out, listening instead to the bop released a few months ago that Sooah insists on playing at least three times an hour over the speakers. Your foot absently taps along to the catchy beat.

Click. There’s some fumbling, and you, only half-paying attention, wait for the robotic voice. Except what you get instead is a hurried, low-toned “yeah.”

You blink in surprise, pausing as your brain processes.

“Hello?” The voice is more annoyed now.

“It’s me.” You say your name.

A sigh. “What do you want?” Translation: why the hell are you calling me?

That tone has the magic ability to spark irritation in you like no other. You’re actually thankful for your visceral reaction to it; it squashes any unnecessary nerves that might want to flutter in your stomach. “Hmm, let me think. What do you have every Monday morning? Why might your coworker be calling you?”

There’s some more rustling, perhaps a whisper of a curse that you don’t quite catch. “Uhh... I’m sick.”

“Really. Sick.” You enunciate every thick syllable. “Why didn’t you tell Mina?”

“Too sick to.” The fake cough he manages is the worst excuse you’ve ever heard. “Can I go now?”

“Yeah, whatever.” Your thumb grinds the end call button for a few seconds longer than necessary before you set the phone back into its cradle.

Sooah hands a warmed muffin over before she turns to you. “So? How is he?”

“He says he’s ‘sick’.” You make air quotes, just as the backroom door creaks open.

“Who’s sick? Yoongi?” Namjoon, who’s scheduled to take over for you, comes out looking concerned. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’s completely fine.”

Sooah frowns. “Hmm, but I don’t think he’d just not show up unless something was really going on.”

“When he’s sick, he tends to forget everything and just stay in bed.” Namjoon turns to you. “You’re off soon. Do you mind just swinging by his place with some porridge?” That’s his go-to; you know because he once did the same for you when you had an awful fever. Remembering that day reminds you that you still owe him one for it. Damn it.

You scratch absently at the back of your neck. “I guess not...” You really can’t come up with a single excuse, because you don’t have any homework to do tonight nor do you have classes. Plus, if Yoongi’s truly ill, you’re not about to let him starve to death.

“Great.” Namjoon’s dimples flash as he pulls out his phone. “His place isn’t too far. Here’s the address.”

That’s how you wind up in front of Yoongi’s apartment door nearly an hour later, a tasty bowl of chicken porridge in hand. It’s a quaint building, small but cozy in its own way. Humble is the word that comes to mind as you take in the older, yellowed wallpaper, the slightly crooked number on his door. You shuffle your weight from foot to foot, feeling somewhat awkward. Like you’re intruding somewhere you shouldn’t be.

But you’re here to get the truth.

Some part of you hopes he’s actually sick. That, or he was just being a dick for the hell of it. Anything works, as long as the reason is not you.

You raise your hand and knock thrice. There is no sound, not even after the first minute passes. So, you knock again. One more minute, you tell yourself. If he doesn’t answer in one more minute, then I’m going to go home and eat all the porridge myself.

Finally, the door opens a crack. Bleary eyes with heavy purple bags behold you from beneath tangled, dilapidated blonde hair. Behind this disfigured creature that was once your coworker, all you can see is darkness even though it’s noon o’clock.

“Yoongi?” You ask, a little incredulously. “Are you okay?”

He frowns. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, you said you were sick, so...” You hold up the takeout container. “Namjoon made me check up on you.”

“I’m fine. You can go now.” He’s about to shut the door on you but you push your palm insistently against the wood.

“No way. You look like shit, Yoongi.” You sigh. “Look, I don’t want your death on my conscience, so at least let me heat this up for you. Namjoon’ll never let me live it down if I don’t.”

“Ugh…” He contemplates, but ultimately seems to recognize the combative fire in your eyes. “Promise to leave right after.” He turns, leaving the door open for you to follow. “I hate letting people in here,” he mutters as he walks.

“Trust me, I don’t want to stay any longer than I have to either.”

You step inside, and your nose instantly wrinkles. Everything just smells kind of stale, in need of a good airing out. Empty ramen containers litter the kitchen counter while scattered papers decorate the carpet. But what’s worse is when you behold Yoongi in all his glory – stained sweatpants, ratty t-shirt, and all.

“Is your hair allergic to brushing or something? God.” You gingerly set the bag on the table, wondering if he even has clean bowls to use. You’ll find out. Curse you and your empathy. “Go take a shower or something. Please. For your own sake.”

“You’re not my mother,” Yoongi mutters, but he seems to know you’re right. He drags his shirt off, and instead of admiring his slim physique, you cringe as he tosses the top carelessly onto the already messy couch. “Don’t mess with anything while I’m gone.”

“What, afraid I’ll fuck around and make it all cleaner?” You shoot back, but he’s already disappeared into the bathroom. “Jerk. Wouldn’t want to snoop in this place anyway.” Grumbling, you rifle through the cabinets and manage to fish out a single bowl that doesn’t look too suspicious.

Despite what you said just minutes before, while the porridge spins away in the microwave, you lean against the counter and take a good look at your surroundings. It’s a studio apartment, already tiny but made even smaller by the clothes strewn around. The bulk of the mess seems to be centered around the electronic set up shoved against a wall, consisting of two huge monitors, a lit-up keyboard, and something that you’ve only seen on TV, usually for a stereotypical depiction of a DJ. What the heck is Yoongi doing with something like that?

The roar of the shower is still going, so you take a few steps towards the desk. The screen is locked, asking for a password but you’re more fascinated by this soundboard with all its knobs and controls. Does Yoongi make... music?

Your first instinct is to think that it doesn’t fit your perception of him. But then it strikes you that your perception of him is incredibly limited. You suppose you’ve never asked about his hobbies or anything about him. You feel a little guilty now. You’ve never tried to understand him, just gotten pissed off at him time and time again.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Yoongi walks out of the bathroom, towelling off his hair. Wet droplets are still rolling down his bare chest. A second wimpy towel hangs off his hips, looking seconds away from falling. He’s already glaring. “Get away from my shit before you break something.” He walks towards his bed, lifting a pair of sweatpants off the mattress.

“Please. I’m not as clumsy as you think.” You roll your eyes as you move to fetch the congee from the microwave. You set the bowl in front of him as he finds a spoon. “You’re welcome.”

“Thanks,” Yoongi mutters as he slips a spoonful into his mouth. “For checking on me too, I guess.” The bags beneath his eyes have gotten even more obvious and gaunt after the shower, as if he hasn’t slept in days. And hasn’t eaten either, judging by the way he goes at the congee as if it’s his last meal on this planet.

“Geez, you’re gonna get indigestion like that,” you say with a wince. “Do you live like this all the time?” Is this why he’s always late?

“Kind of.” Yoongi barely stops eating to breathe. “But this week is especially busy.”“With what? You should at least get some sleep...”

Yoongi’s already almost done his food, meaning your time with him is running towards its end too. “With important things.”

“Nothing’s more important than taking care of yourself.”

“God, please stop talking. Don’t you think I know that?” Yoongi squeezes his eyes together, rubbing fatigue from the corners. “But certain things have deadlines that have to be met.”

“You can’t make deadlines from the grave. Can’t you get an extension or something? What’s it even for?”

“Contest. Song writing contest. Only runs once a year.” His spoon gives a final clatter before resting against the empty bowl. “So, no. No extensions.”

So he does make music. “You should have just started earlier instead of being late, as per usual,” you tease, hoping to lighten the sour look on his face.

Bad choice. “Don’t you think I did?” Yoongi surges to his feet. His palm slams into the counter, rattling the bowl. “You don’t understand how it feels when everything just comes out shitty and not good enough!”

You face his fury, swallow it to fuel your own irritation at how absolutely careless and ridiculous he’s being. “So, you’re just going to not sleep or eat or come to work until its done?”

“That’s the plan.”

Yoongi turns away, trying to end this conversation as he heads towards his computer. You don’t let him escape, because you’ll be damned if you work your next shift alone. “Why don’t you just wait for the contest next year?”

“Well I was going to.” He swivels his head back, “but aren’t you the one who said to fight for what you believe in?” He snaps it, exasperation in his tone. Then he instantly looks away again as if he’s said something embarrassing.

That makes you stop, your jaw slackened in half-surprise, half-amusement. “Wait… You actually listen when I talk? You’re doing all this because of what I said?

“No. Shut up. Just, ugh, get out.” You wonder if he’s turned away so you can’t see the expression on his face.

Okay, now you feel a little proud that some of your words finally made their way into Min Yoongi’s thick skull. A task you once thought impossible. But that makes you a bit responsible for his predicament, doesn’t it? Plus, you’ve never seen this (perhaps a bit overly) dedicated side of him before. It fascinates you.

“Show me something you’ve made, Yoongi. I’m sure it’s not all shitty.”

He snorts as he drops into his groaning chair. “What do you know about music?”

“Well, I listen to it. A lot.” You may not be Beethoven, but you love music and consider yourself pretty well-versed in several different genres. You’re so curious: what kind of music does Yoongi write? “Seriously! Just show me something.”

Yoongi still looks unconvinced.

“Hey, I brought you food. And covered your ass at work. So you owe me one.”

“And this is what you want to use it on.”

“Yup.”

He shrugs. “Dumb choice, but I wouldn’t have expected anything else from you.” But he starts to click through folders. He ultimately pulls up a file named TRASH. Interesting choice, you think as you gingerly perch yourself on his messy bed. Yoongi fiddles with the volume knob on his speakers. Seconds later, the music begins to flow.

You’re already tapping your foot along by the time the tenth bar hits. You don’t know what you were expecting, but this is good! Like, actually good! Instead of vocals, a keyboard plays out the main tune. It’s sounds rather bare, but you assume that’s because it’s unfinished.

But wait… The melody sounds familiar.

Once you realize it, the more obvious it becomes. Yes, some elements have been changed: this version is much more R&B influenced, the song dips in slightly different ways, and the opening has synth elements that the finished piece you know lacks, but…

“Hey, isn’t this…?” You trail off when the chorus hits, and the similarities become undeniable. “We don’t talk together—” you sing, the lyrics going perfectly with the tune. It’s the very same song Sooah’s been playing relentlessly at work.

Yoongi is staring intensely at the screen with something so unfathomably sad in his eyes. He doesn’t speak.

“It’s different than the final version, but similar enough. You wrote this?” You whip out your phone from your pocket. “Wow, you’re amazing, Yoongi!” You hum the song beneath your breath as you pull up the song’s production page; you’ve looked at it before, but you never noticed Yoongi’s name under the credits. Why the hell is he still working at the café? Shouldn’t he be off writing the next big hit? Wasting talent, really.

On the page, three names appear. The singer, then the rapper. Then final name you don’t recognize and assume to be the producer. He doesn’t have an artist page yet, no image or real name revealed on the website. “You’re DJ ALEX?”

Yoongi shakes to life at the sound of your voice. He lunges out, almost breaks the knob as he forces the volume to zero. “No. I’m not.” The words feel strange in the sudden silence. Uncomfortable.

“...But this is the same song, isn’t it? ‘We Don’t Talk Together’?”

“It used to be.” He whirls towards you. “Look, you heard something I wrote. I ate the food. You can get out now. I have work to do.”

You don’t move from the bed, knowing you’re pissing him off by the tensing of his jaw. “What do you mean? Who’s this Alex guy then?”

“Just drop it.”

“Yoongi, what happened?” You push him despite the way his hands have curled into fists. “There’s no way this is a coincidence because—"

“Tch! You want to know so badly? Fine! He stole it from me, alright?” His piercing glare forces goosebumps on your skin. “We wrote it together. He took the original and deleted my copy and passed the song off as his own. Now he’s the one getting all the record deals while I can’t write shit and stuck making coffee with an annoying ass coworker. Happy? Good enough of an explanation for you?”

You shake your head. “You just let him take it?!”

“What the fuck else was I supposed to do?” Yoongi’s voice is dangerously guttural, as if on the verge of breaking altogether. “He blocked me. Dodged me when I went to see him. Before I knew it, he was signing contracts and the song was being produced.” Yoongi sets his fists back on the table with not much strength at all, as if he’s just so exhausted of it all. “It was half a goddamn year ago. It’s too late now.”

Before you can stop yourself, you’re standing. “No, no, you can’t just let it go like this!” Not when it puts that look into his eyes. “You can fight it! You can, uhh, report him or show some proof that you wrote it together or something!” When he doesn’t respond, you step towards him, intending to put a hand on his shoulder. “C’mon Yoongi, you’re better than this!”

He knocks your hand away as he surges to his feet too. “Shut up. Just shut. Up.” He rounds on you, fury’s fire back in his eyes, worse than you’ve ever seen it since hurt is what stokes the flames to blazing. “You don’t know anything about me. You think just because we fucked once you have some insight into who I am or what I should do?”

His words hit you like bullets as you stagger back but the bed prevents you from moving too far, caging you in. “Yoongi, no, that’s not—”

“Or what? Are you gonna tell me you came here today because you missed my cock that much?”

Thoughts seem to fly clear out of your mind at the dip in his voice. Your heart thuds in your ears as Yoongi takes a step. Then another. Breaking every boundary of personal space until his lips are aside your ear. Breath curves around your lobe, coming hot, much too hot as he growls, “didn’t get enough in that pretty little pussy of yours, did you?”

“I... Uh...”

“That’s why you’re running your mouth, huh?” He captures your bottom lip, tracing it with a calloused thumb. “When you should be choking on my cock instead.” Yoongi pulls back enough for you to see how his mouth curls into that damn smirk, and you remember. God, you remember how he stole what he wanted from your body and left you stuffed full of his pleasure. But this time, there’s a desperation behind his words that was absent before. As if right now, he’s the one that needs you despite the lewdness rolling off his tongue.

So you drop to your knees.

Yoongi’s eyes widen, then narrow with deep pleasure as he thumbs your cheek with more tenderness than you would have expected. That thought is shattered when he harshly tugs your chin up, forces you to stare into the gaze that you can only find predatory. His other hand works the waistband of his sweats, tugging it down to spring his stiff cock so violently it smacks you in the face. “Open wide, baby,” he snarls, the word not sweet but condescending, the way he enunciates the syllables.

You let your mouth unhinge, but you don’t move to engulf his dick in your heat. Instead, you drag your gaze across the few beads of pre-cum are already gathered on the tip, just waiting to be slathered all over the smooth head by your fingers. He groans when you curl your hand on his shaft, bucking his hips into your touch whether he wants to or not. He can’t control himself when you pressure his frenulum, squeezing to coax another moan from him. You love that you can drive him this wild with need, put that look on his face as if he’s seeing the bright lights of heaven behind those half-closed eyelids.

But he’s not about to let you take control.

“Don’t be a fucking tease.” He shoves his hips forward, sliding himself between your parted lips and onto your awaiting tongue. You taste the saltiness of arousal leaking from his swollen cock, swiping along the head to gather every last drop of sin. He stiffens even more under your touch and the slippery texture of your agile tongue; you take it all in stride, swirling saliva around while your fingers use the excess spit to work his shaft.

“Unh, your tongue feels so damn good.” Yoongi moans like his stresses are melting away with every lick you slather across his taut skin. You trace the fat vein running along the side, carving the curves into memory. Which spots make him shiver, which ones make him moan. “Fuck, almost as good as that tight cunt of yours.” Said cunt gives a pulse of wanton need and you have to squeeze your walls around air, feeling so damn empty when you know how full you could be.

Without a single regard to your wants, he continues to urge his hips forward, mercilessly plunging in thick inches of dick until the head prods at the back of your throat. You’re trying your best to breathe through your nose but he makes that impossible when he tests your gag reflex with two brutal thrusts. Only after does he bring himself back, let you suck in much-needed oxygen before you’re bobbing your head again to his groans.

Yoongi seems torn between squeezing his eyes shut and keeping them trained on you, mired to the sight of your lips stretched and wrapped so obscenely around his cock. “How much of me can you take with that filthy mouth?” It’s a challenge he issues despite his tense, sweaty thighs and the unassailable glaze in his eyes that says he’s closer to the end than he’d like to admit.

“All of it,” you say as best you can with your mouth stuffed full. You’re not afraid of him, of any attempts he’s made to scare you off. You prove so by supressing your instincts and easing him into the slick of your throat. You push on despite the protests of your body, spurred by the painful fist in your hair that keeps you speared on him. His fine pubic hair tickles your nose, smelling like soap and his natural musk that is somehow more intoxicating than it should be. You’re so close; if you strained, you could give his crotch a sloppy French kiss.

“Then take it.”

You choke when he fucks in the last few inches, forcing his bulging cock down your throat. He pulls back only to repeat the action, earning himself a fresh gag. He seems to love that lewd squelch, imprinting it in his mind along with the tears coalescing at the corners of your eyes. Spit flies everywhere as he rocks his hips like a machine made solely for this purpose, abusing your aching mouth but even that turns you on. You don’t think you’ve never been this aroused by sucking a dick but Yoongi just has that effect on you, for better or worse.

You can barely hold onto his skinny thighs as the muscles ripple beneath your grasp in name of erratic, orgasm-seeking thrusts. They make him occasionally jerk his dick but if he grazes your teeth, he doesn’t show it. Just keeps pumping like a madman, getting himself off on how you take him so well – his good girl. Your jaw aches from his girth but you don’t dare pull away; not when he’s slamming into you like you’re the only thing in his world that matters right here, right now.

Now Yoongi’s the one choking when you lift your hand, cupping the sensitive skin of his balls. His lust-drenched eyes have flown open with surprise. Then he’s grinning, impressed with your eagerness. “Just like that—god—yeah, use your tongue, fuck…!” His moans are becoming increasingly broken, interrupted by gasps when you work your throat in tandem with fingers. “I’m gonna cum down your throat, baby,” he promises. “You better drink every fucking drop.”

You suck him harder as agreement, slurping with noisy abandon as if there’s nothing you want more than his seed coating your throat. Messy spit bubbles beside your lips but there’s no stopping you, not when his knees are buckling and he’s moaning your name in a hoarse voice that should be illegal.

“C-Cummin...!” Yoongi doesn’t even get to finish the word. Two hands on the back of your head force you all the way down. His shaft pulses and the first shot of cream hits your throat, followed by several hot strands that you automatically swallow down. He’s still gasping when he pulls back, tip profusely spilling the last remnants of bliss onto the tongue you leave exposed for his viewing pleasure. Then you gulp it down while you hold his heated stare.

With something like a growl, Yoongi yanks you up off the floor, crashing his mouth on yours to tangle your rather-numbed tongue with his own. One hand is still arrested in your hair but the other finds your waist, dragging you close to his body as he brutally sucks, bruises your bottom lip. You let yourself believe he needs to feel you, that he wants you even while his cock softens and carnal lust slips away.

“Y-Yoongi,” is the only thing you can exhale when he finally lets you go. The kisses only add to the arousal pooling between your thighs, demanding attention. But Yoongi makes no moves to take care of your need.

Instead, he wipes his lips of spit with the back of his hand. “Damn. That mouth of yours is something else.” He’s still panting, clearly having left most of his sanity on your tongue.

“I know.” You’re the one smirking now, feeling rather pleased with yourself. Looking around, you find a tissue and use it to clean yourself off. Yoongi does the same, and for a moment, it all just feels normal between you two.

“Thanks. That really cleared my head.” It only takes Yoongi a minute to get his pants back on. Then he’s planted himself in his chair again. Wait. Is that it? Your smile twists, droops into a frown as you watch him pull up the complicated software with all the soundbites back onto his screen, typing away as if inspiration has struck.

“Yo—”

“Looks like you’re not the worst coworker after all.”

…Right. How could you have forgotten? That word sends you crashing down into reality like an icy bath. You stare at the side of his face, focused squarely on his screen as if you’re nothing more than a houseplant. Not even giving you the title of fuck buddy, or friends with benefits. But, then again, you’re not friends in the first place.

“You can stay if you want, but I have to keep working on this.” That just sounds like an afterthought, a consolation prize that’s more bitter than the taste of his cum still lingering in your mouth.

You’re already moving towards the bag you left near the door. “No thanks.” You pull the strap onto your shoulder, twisting the icy doorknob. “Bye, I guess.”

Yoongi doesn’t even look back.

To set the record straight – you are not a coward. You are a rational adult making rational decisions that fit into your adult schedule. Begging Namjoon to switch shifts with you for the next month is just part of your regular plans, in no way influenced by the mixed, confusing, dizzying feelings that pop their heads up like groundhogs every time Yoongi crosses into your line of sight. Or your thoughts. Or really in any way whatsoever.

Okay... Maybe you’re a little bit of a coward.

But you can’t seem to help it. He’s too distracting, now that you’ve had a second taste of his poison. A poison that, instead of stealing your life, seems to have claimed your rationality as victim instead. You experienced the consequences of this robbery for the first time on Friday morning, when Yoongi showed up on time (shocker!) for his shift. Instead of being absolutely delighted, all you could think about was that he should have slept in a bit more because of the bruised bags beneath his eyes.

Friday was the first time you’d seen him at all since that visit to his apartment four days prior. Namjoon and Hoseok had taken Yoongi’s shifts throughout the rest of the week, you assumed to give Yoongi time to finish his song. You couldn’t muster up the courage to ask Yoongi about the piece; it felt like you were prying into a world that he wanted you to stay firmly out of. You still don’t understand why you’re so interested in the first place, when you should be hating him.

The rest of that shift had been a hodgepodge of awkwardness, what with the flinching every time Yoongi brushed past your arm reaching for the syrup, then the weird high-pitched tone your voice went to when he addressed you. By the time you left work on Friday, you were determined never to repeat that again.

So here you are. Today. Monday night. Except this time, you’re not spending it knelt on a musty apartment floor, swallowing Yoongi’s anger. That’s probably a good thing, you tell yourself. You need the time and the space to sort out your own emotions. To think about why the hell you keep replaying the sadness in his eyes, then corrupting that image with the coldness of his back in that chair and—

“Hellooo? Anybody home?”

A hand abruptly appears in front of your face and you jolt back to reality, whipping your gaze to find Hoseok grinning brightly at you. “There we go. I’ve been calling your name for ages.”

“Oops, sorry Hobi. I just spaced out. What did you say?”

“I said that I’m leaving soon, silly.” Hoseok leans against the counter, playful curiosity in his expression. “What’re you thinking so hard about?”

“...Nothing important.”

“Well, guess I can’t blame you. All the downtime will do that to ya. And you’re staying for the next month?”

“That’s the plan.” A customer approaches the bar, bringing you their empty plate. “Thanks, have a good night!”

Hoseok chuckles. “I thought you had night classes. Don’t tell me you dropped out of college to avoid working with Yoongi.”

The plate you were holding clatters as you drop it, smack the porcelain against the counter. “W-Why would I want to avoid working with Yoongi?” How did he know? Oh god, did Yoongi tell him what happened?

“Because he’s always late?”

“Oh! Oh. Right. Yeah. Well, no, no, it’s not because of him…” You don’t sound convincing in the slightest, yet you have no choice but to plow on. “I’m just taking an online course this term. So why not take an easier shift because I have the time, you know?” To be fair, you were planning on taking the course anyway. It was just a matter of physically going into class or not.

“Makes sense.” Hoseok grins. “And I’ll always be on time.”

“Yup. I can always count on you, Hobi.”

He stares at his watch, watching the second hand tick the seconds away. “Aaaand I’m off. You’ll have to count on me next time because I have a hot date!”

You wiggle your eyebrows. “Hope it goes well!”

Hoseok is out like a whirlwind in the matter of minutes. Left alone in the shop, you run a hand through your hair, surveying the little café. One customer taps furiously away on their laptop. Another devours what remains of their quiche. A third jots down notes while they parse through War and Peace. You’re expecting no one else tonight, certainly not Yoongi to come bursting in like he had the last time you had a night shift. You’d better get started on cleaning.

As you wipe down the counters, remove the leftover food from the display case, the customers leave one by one. You hum a song beneath your breath, distracting yourself from any errant thoughts of a certain person that might be wanting to poke their head through. You’re not having any of that. Not today.

Time speeds by, and soon you only have thirty minutes left to go. You’re now alone in the shop, working quickly enough to ensure you’ll be finished right as your shift ends and not a second more.

Then the door chime goes off. Your head snaps up, and for a moment, for an infuriating moment, you hope it’s Yoongi.

Instead, another familiar face appears, that same, smooth, self-assured smile painted across his lips. Jiwon. This time dressed in a fitted suit, one that makes him look like he just stepped out of a magazine photoshoot. Still one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen. Still not Yoongi.

“Hi. Hi!” You correct yourself, realizing you should sound less disappointed. “Welcome.”

“Hi.” His easy smile widens as he approaches the counter, devastating with those melting chocolate eyes. “Wishing I was someone else?” He asks with a laugh as he pulls out his wallet.

Oops. Your face must have given you away earlier. “No! Of course not.” You force on a grin to match his, wiping your damp hands on your apron.

“Good. Because I was hoping for you. That you’d be working tonight.”

“Oh...” Your face automatically heats up. There’s no way he’s flirting with you, right? Him, who is so far out of your league you’re not even playing the same game. “I don’t normally work night shifts.”

“I noticed.”

“I. Um. Ahem.” You clear your throat out of sheer nerves. “What, uh, what can I get for you?”

“Just a black coffee this time, please.”

“Got it. Go ahead and tap.”

When you hand over the hot cup, Jiwon takes it leisurely. This time, there’s no denying how he lets his fingers graze past yours for that extra half-second, how his eyes hold yours with something unfathomable and exciting.

“I’m working every weeknight for the next month!” You blurt out before you can stop yourself, not even knowing what the hell you’re hoping for. Shooting your shot with this incredibly good-looking man. Making a fool of yourself, apparently. “So, uh, yeah.”

To your great relief, Jiwon nods his head. He raises his coffee like a toast. “Then I’ll see you soon. Goodnight.” The way his voice lilts around and teases the parting word remains in your mind through the rest of your shift and even after when you get home, still thinking about how he’d smiled at you like a promise.

Maybe forgetting Min Yoongi won’t be so hard after all.

The weeks come and go. Before you know it, half the month has sped by, and you’re having more fun than you ever could have expected at work. You haven’t seen hide nor hair of Yoongi, working so well with Hoseok and a newly hired college kid Jungkook that you’ve barely had the time to think about him. Sure, it’s a bit odd not to have someone to bicker with every shift, but that’s more than made up for by the presence of Jiwon.

True to his word, Jiwon comes in practically every night, with that same casual smile that makes your heart unfairly quicken and flipflop. He always asks about your day, listening intently as you rattle on about what mundane thing has occurred like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. Still, he hasn’t asked for your number in all this time, nor has he offered much information about himself. So, tonight, you’ve decided, after two weeks of this flirtation, you’re going to ask him on a proper date. Tonight is Friday night, one of the busier nights. So, to compensate, you’ll be closing together with Jungkook.

With that in mind, it’s no wonder that you walk though the doors of the café feeling nervous but excited. You love working with Jungkook though, and know he’ll dispel your nerves before too long with one of those wildly hilarious stories of his various exploits. The door chimes tinkle behind you as you take note that the place is rather busy. Gross. Then you sweep your eyes to the counter, expecting to see Jungkook’s bright smile.

It’s not Jungkook handing over a green tea Frappuccino, stacked high with whip cream to a young woman. It’s Yoongi.

“Yoongi?!” You exclaim, voice carrying across the café.

He turns his head, finds your surprised eyes. “That’s me.” His voice is as dry as ever, but he’s looking better than he did two weeks ago. Much better. You try to ignore the squeeze of your heart at the casual mess of his bangs, the falsely sweet smile that still lingers on his lips from interaction with the customer.

Just a coworker, you remind yourself. “What are you doing here?”

Yoongi’s gaze follows you as you move behind the counter. “Working.”

“Well, gee, I can see that. But you never work the night shift. You hate it.” He had said very vehemently so before, when you suggested he switch shifts if he couldn’t wake up in the morning.

“Yeah, well...” The floor suddenly becomes quite fascinating to him. “It’s just this once.”

Hoseok appears out of nowhere, his jacket already on. He swings his arm over Yoongi’s shoulder. “Nah, he doesn’t hate it! I heard him begging Jungkook to switch shifts with him a few days ago.”

“Hoseok, shut up,” Yoongi spits, spinning around pointedly to face the customer approaching the counter.

You giggle as Hoseok rolls his eyes quite dramatically behind Yoongi’s back. “You’re on your way out, Hobi?”

“Yup. Just you and Yoongi tonight.”

You nod, licking your dry lips. “Okay, got it. Have a good night!”

Yoongi may not be Jungkook, but that doesn’t mean that your plans have changed. You’re asking Jiwon out. You’re moving on from the unaddressed, oddly in-between relationship you and Yoongi have, and you’re hopefully going to have a date by the end of the night. You slip an apron on, determination in your veins.

Whatever downtime you usually have on Friday night (that you were worried would give you time to be pensive about Jiwon’s impending arrival) soon becomes a long-lost dream as the customers just start pouring in. It seems there’s a big event at the theatre across the street, causing an enormous boom in caffeine and snack needs that keep you and Yoongi on your toes, a fact which Yoongi looks especially irritated by. That might be because he looks like he has something to say to you every time you have a minute of break; but he can’t get out anything substantial past a ‘hey’ before he’s drowned out by another group of people.

It’s hours before the crowd finally dies down, leaving the shop sparse and you exhausted. As glad as you are for the break, it also means you have to face whatever Yoongi wants to say. You can’t fathom what he could possibly want, but it looks like he’s about to tell you as he turns in your direction.

“Hey.”

You take a sip of your water. “Hi.”

“Uh…” You say nothing, just stare at him. Yoongi looks decidedly uncomfortable, and you’re starting to worry he’s about to drop that he has an STD or something. “I, err, just wanted to thank you.”

“For what?” Bringing you food or sucking your dick?

Yoongi sighs, raking his hair back with a hand. “I finished my song because of you.”

“Oh. Oh.” Okay… You can’t deny it; that actually makes you pretty happy. It makes you drop the frown and walls you thought you had to put up around him, replacing it with a genuine smile. “Congrats, Yoongi! When do you hear back about the results?”

“Not for a few weeks. But without you, I think I wouldn’t have entered at all this year. I just couldn’t write anything decent after…” Yoongi cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Look. Even though the song’s still not perfect and I’m still not too happy with it, it’s done. So. Thanks.”

Your heart threatens to pound at the sincerity in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. “Anytime.”

Yoongi coughs, cutting off the moment prematurely. “Anyway, I’m gonna do inventory in the back.” You hate inventory, thinking it a mindless task that you would rather make a hundred lattes than do. You don’t know if Yoongi knows this, but you appreciate him all the same. You’re smiling faintly as you watch him disappear into the backroom.

Seconds later, the front door clatters, chime going off. You look up, customer-service smile already painted on, but it becomes that much wider when you find Jiwon’s friendly face grinning right back at you.

“Jiwon!”

“Hey! Can’t stay long today, but had to stop by for my coffee fix. And to see my favorite barista.” He winks, way too smooth for your health.

You fight the automatic flush of your cheeks. “No problem. Iced macchiato? Skim milk and light ice?”

“Yup. You get me.”

Your hands begin to tremble as you turn to make the drink, thinking about how best to ask him those difficult words. Oh god, you’ve never been good at this, but you’ll be kicking yourself forever if you never try. Do you want to go on a date? Nope. Too direct. Are you free on Saturday? Or maybe you should go with a simple do you like pasta? But what if he doesn’t? Oh gooood.

The drink is finished all too soon. You hand it to him, watching him take a sip. “Mm, you always make the best coffee.” The compliments come too easily to him, you swear.

“Haha, I try my best!” Okay. Now or never. “Oh, um, by the way…”

The door of the backroom swings open, interrupting you. Yoongi’s voice can be clearly heard over the music. “Hey, do you know where th—” He stops. His gaze rakes across the scene, taking in your silly, flustered grin, your faintly flushed cheeks. Then his eyes fall on who you’re talking to. His jaw slackens. “...Hyung?”

a/n: so uh,,, i’m sorry to end it like this again haha. what do you think is up? 👀 inbox is open; let’s chat! also the song i reference is “We Don’t Talk Together” by Heize and Giriboy, produced by Yoongi!

thank you to my beta readers: @sweetlyseokjin, @jiminspjm, @mypurplelamp, @hoseoksdior, @bigtiddiejoon 💞

and as always, a fat shoutout to my best girl @jeonshome for helping me brainstorm & hyping me up like always when i was struggling. don’t know what i’d do without you!! ♡

want to be on the tag list? the link is in my navi! (or send an ask!)

#btssmutclub #bts smut #bts imagines #bts reactions #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #coffeehouse au #e2l #college au #enemies to lovers #min yoongi #the early shift #rain writes #enjoy!!! <3

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neednothavehappenedtobetrue · 3 years

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(Hello I have typed everything else that is in this post and now I am putting a parenthetical at the top. this post is very long, so you don’t have to read it, and if you do read it, you don’t have to Experience Concern, I’m usually fine and probably will be, but! If you do read it, and you do experience concern, would you mind telling me? Normally I do not require that, and I do not actually require that you read this long post, but if you do, it might be helpful to tell me)

(Also I can’t do cuts on mobile, so, sorry) (aha I am on desktop now and have added a cut, though this post is now from the past)

So! the good news:

-every homework I have ever had is done! all of it! the two classes I needed to finish after Big Cascading Extensive Sickness are fully completed! I have taken five classes of my grad program which is eight regular classes and then a semester where you do your thesis, so like ten classes altogether! Halfway there! Woo!

-I do not acquire more classes until not tomorrow but next Monday after that, so I have a week with some downtime in it! in which to do ADLs and write and listen to podcasts!

-my health situation has been back-and-forth this past… time period, but today I do not feel sick, nauseous, panicky, brain-stuck or sad!!! I will gladly take the current Mood Situation over any of those, and double-especially over nausea!!!

now for the part that’s not a complaint but also not not a complaint

-so I still cannot lately focus for shit until the very last minute where I realize there will be immediate bad consequences of not doing the thing right exactly now

-(this is an intermittent Mood Disorder problem for me, we are tweaking my meds, I am not going to be experiencing this brain forever)

-the final project was originally due Monday, and then “Sunday if possible” and then “can you turn it in Saturday night so I can grade it early Sunday?”

-it was not his fault about the moved deadline he is expecting a big hurricane and wanted to get it done pre-power-outage and the registrar would have been a big stickler for anything after Monday

-I figured that anything before 6:AM Sunday counted for these purposes, as he seemed unlikely to be doing grading any earlier than that

-I spaced out very badly most of Saturday

-I opened my laptop around 10PM

-my brain refused to let me do literally anything until like 1AM, at which point the assignment was due sometime between “an hour ago” and “five hours from now”

-then I unlocked the ability to focus for about five to fifteen minute increments at random a few times an hour

-it turns out that “literally after the assignment is due by the most generous definition, it’s already late and can only get later, someone is this minute waiting for you,” the point at which I regain my normal ability to just like, sit down, do a thing, and then have it be done.

-I worked pretty much straight through 7-noon, proofread, formatted, attached the document to an email with some made up personal problems in it

-not because I’m not having real life problems, I just didn’t want to explain the real ones

-turned it in at 12:35

-G submitted my final grade to the registrar already and will email me final comments post-hurricane

-if he secretly hates me he still gave me an A in the class, so who cares.

-the assignment took somewhere around 8 hours of focus work, most of which I did in the six and a half hours after it was (again, by the most generous estimate) definitely due and already late

-I guess it’s good to know I can Enter The Zone if I place enough consequences on myself

-I miss The Zone, it used to be comparatively much easier for me to go there

-I very much do hope the meds adjustment fixes my brain a bit, and soon

-I just did a casual assessment of my feelings about things and got “unusually limited emotions, somewhat flat inside,” about it, so I’m jotting that down.

-I don’t remember how I’ve been feeling, exactly, but I do remember telling my therapist that I’ve been feeling a bit flat lately, so that does check out!

-alex, if you were doing homework for fourteen hours, when did you sleep last?

-first of all, I was doing homework for eight hours, interspersed with six hours of genuinely nothing, I truly don’t even know

-that’s not even a terrible ratio for lately, there were entire calendar days last week where I had a brain for about two decent hours out of twenty-four

-there has been a lot of Mindless Scrolling lately, but also yesterday I put my phone away and genuinely did not even glance at anything but schoolwork on the computer

-what did I do for six hours? my guy, I truly do not know

-that wasn’t the question, was it? I’m kidding, I remember the question, it was about sleeping

-I slept from around 6-9PM last night, for some reason, and then haven’t since! lately I’ve been very nocturnal as much as I’ve been anything, so I am trying to reset my sleep schedule by going to bed, very tired, around 9PM tonight.

-assuming I will feel tired later, not sure body sensations are things I still experience very often, including tiredness.

-I’ve been very verbose today, and my voice on the phone sounded a bit manic earlier, so maybe that’s a thing, but in a distant and far away way, even that.

-huh. I feel like that would be concerning if I was closer to normal today. might edit this post a bit and then share it with my therapist.

-hey Alex, if you’re not doing any body feelings, what have you eaten and drank lately?

-more than nothing, technically

-I mean what are you, a cop?

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5-secondsofcolor · 4 years

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Much Ado About Nothing || A.I

Prompt: office!Ashton, ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have no idea what I’m doing. I almost never do.’

Length: 1.4k word

Warning: reference to body image issues. Swearing(?)

Event Masterlist

A/N: I want to close this out by saying a thank you and to @h0tsos and @maluminspace who put this all together! I love you both.

———

“You’re still here?,” standing in the doorway, Beatrice is unsure if she’s bothering Ashton a moment. His smile beacons her in. Letting her know the distraction is appreciated.

“Yeah I’ve got this deadline and I don’t think my coworker would appreciate me missing it.”

“No. Something tells me she really needs you to finish,” she jokes.

“Want to check out what I’ve got so far?”

With that she commits to entering the makeshift office he makes himself when he visits Messina headquarters. His visits becoming more and more frequent even as a freelance hire for them. She didn’t think he’s stay as long as he did. Especially with the start of a rocky professional relationship.

It’s insane to her to remember the days when she was up to her throat with his bullshit. His lack of email responses giving her heartburn as she tried to pin down the odd graphic designer they’d hired. It took a few visits over a before there was an understanding of peace and even more before there was an understanding of friendship.

Her emails were care. Her way to show support for the one employee far away. The one who she could never offer a cup of coffee to or a quick walking break. Meanwhile his silence was as necessary to him as air. He needed his space for work and for self care that he held ever sacred.

She sits in the chair closest to his, looking over the endless sketches he’s produced since settling into his seat. Picking out one in particular, “This one’s amazing. I like that you incorporated more colors. It catches the eye really well.”

Ashton's eye is caught by her arm instead, a small trio of leaves tattooed there first caught his attention the night they met. A simple outline of an olive brand, it felt ironic on someone who seemed to always be fighting. He reaches out, expecting her to recoil but instead she lends him her hand, holding the poster in the other as she feels his fingers trace the tattoo.

“I still don’t understand how you pick a color pallet.” She mulls over the balance in his work. His talent, however late and stressful to her, was the one thing she could never argue against.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have no idea what I’m doing. I almost never do,” as usual it’s nearly impossible to tell how serious he is. Instead she puts down the sheet, picking up his notes scribbled onto sketching papers. “Honestly, I let the colors tell a story. Can I color these in?”

“Sure?” With that Ashton grabs a few green markers off the desk, she can feel the cold marker as he slowly adds colors into the outlines. She’s too focused on his notes, seeing the progression of his sketches until he begins to reach a final illustration for the magazine and accompanying video.

“Don’t you have anyone to get home to?”

“No. Not much has changed in a while,” She admits. “I try sometimes but other times it’s just insecurity taking me out.”

His brows furrow in confusion, “What do you mean?”

He looks up a moment, his face much closer than she expected. From this angle, she can’t help but see how long his eyelashes are, the light freckles settling on his nose, the steep shape of his Cupid’s bow. They are silent as he looks on, still confused. She exhales heavily realizing she needs to spell it out for him.

“It hasn’t always been the easiest to be confident in my body. Of course now, it’s better. I just wear the clothes I like and I learned to say fuck it but that wasn’t the easiest.”

“Is that why you got an olive branch?”

“Yeah actually. It’s a little olive branch to my body,” she’s taken aback by his understanding. It feels silly saying it out loud, to admit she’s hated her most basic self, and that she’s learning to make peace. Some of her time spent wishing it didn’t feel so necessary yet she stares at the proof she needs a reminder.

“Took more work than I’d like to admit to get to neutral ground.” She admits. “Why am I telling you this?”

“Because you care very little what I think. Which is good.” He says pulling out a second marker. It’s blue this time, he layers it on her skin with green before picking up a black black marker again and connecting the branch further down to a freckle on her forearm. The liberty he takes on his sketch only growing her tattoo.

He takes in what she said. He doesn’t argue or try to tell her she’s wrong. He won’t try to explain how he sees her. Instead he sits in silence a moment, absorbing her reality and understanding what she said. “Thank you for sharing with me.”

“Can I ask you something?” something in her tone tells him she’s serious. This isn’t a guise to be smart with him or a stupid rebutal.

He answers with a short nod, too focused on filling in the leaves he’s added.

“Do you ever think you’ll stay? If Leon offered you a perminant position here?”

“Maybe. I like working with you and Nova too. I loved the first few articles you put out and was sad I just kinda had to hope we crossed paths again after we met at those conferences. I don’t know. I love being my own business. Working as I please but I do miss having office mates and the job protection this provides,” he says as he inspects the last of his work on her arm, running a thumb over his final addition before capping his pen. “When you have your own company, you’ll understand, a lot of them just use you to get on top.”

The smirk is immediate. She can’t help but till her eyes at him as he dramatically feigns heartache.

“I’m sure it’s not hard to get on top of you,” the joke lightens the odd mood, shaking off some of the seriousness that’s befallen them. It halfway works as she gives him a quick one over glance before she walks out of the conference room. He can’t help but watch the easy sway of her hips as she walks away, only turning his attention back to his work once she turns the corner into her own office.

She stares down at her little leaf, expecting him to have drawn something inappropriate. Instead there’s now a full olive branch to stare at. She packs her bag with a smile plastered on her face, enamored with the way he’s filled in all the leaves with blues and greens and extended the branch further, and for a moment she thinks, maybe there will be peace. With a sigh, she collects the last of her things from her office for the weekend.

“Have a nice night.” He shouts when she finally walks past the door again.

“I’ll see you Monday.” she shouts back. She watches the elevator numbers change slowly. Counting up to her floor slowly but she’s gone by the time the doors open.

In another circumstantial, maybe they’d have gotten along but Beatrice adjust. They get along. For now. That’s all she needed anyways and Tuesday, he’s gone just the same.

____

Beatrice comes back into the office on Monday, her weekend gone all too quickly. First order of business stays the same— check on Leon’s weekly update, usually a drag, today there’s a thing of sadness as she thinks about the end. Leon gave the same goodbye to all visitors ‘Our warmest goodbye and best wishes to our visitors Ashton and Luke.’

The subject line alone brings her joy “Leon’s Monday Update. Delivered 7:23 AM” She skims the opening, well aware of everything at the company. Her eye’s don’t stop until she sees, “Thank you for welcoming our visitors Luke and Ashton. As you know we’re pushing for a revitalized marketing strategy and in bringing them in, we’ve learned a lot and will continue to learn a lot. I’m very pleased to say our partnership will continue. As both Luke and Ashton have agreed to stay on board as advisors.

It has been a great time having them collaborating with our lovely marketing team. So much so that we’ve decided to extend their stay through the end of the month to explore additional projects.

Best wishes,

Leon”

Before Beatrice can get a word out, finishing processing what his email says, Nova’s response comes through, “Thank you for the update, Leon. We’re over the moon to have them here for the rest of the month. We’ll confirm that an office is set aside for the remainder of their stay. Thank you.”

Beatrice slowly puts her head down on her desk. Unsure why there’s a twinge of excitement in her heart with the extension of their stay.

#5 sos writing collab #5sos writing collab #ashton irwin #5sos #luke hemmings #5 seconds of summer

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canaryatlaw · 3 years

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okay tired. today was all over the place. Up at 7:15 to catch the bus and head to the office. today was expected to be mass chaos based on all of the back and forth with the court about staying remote or going back to in person. today was supposed to be the day everything went back to in person, before the order was vacated (without telling anyone) and then another one entered late last week, so everyone was in a MOOD today, and I mean everybody. Of course we had our own chaos to deal with, since we just got permission to use our office space for clients starting today, and of course all of our summer interns had their last day on Friday, and we currently have 1 intern who had done basically nothing before, so that was a bit of an adventure. She's a law school grad though so she's pretty competent thankfully. so we were able to get an in person client done for the first time in 17 months, so that was a big celebration. At 2 I had to hop on Zoom for the hearing that I knew wasn't going to be a hearing, but didn't know what was gonna end up happening. the other side ended up not showing up, so we got a default order, which was definitely the best possible outcome, because the client was stressed and wanted it all to be done already. thankfully that didn't take too long, and we were able to file the in person case shortly before the 3 pm deadline (and by shortly I mean like, 2:56). so we then sat out in the lobby with the client waiting for her case to get called. I randomly got pulled aside for a few random things, one being that apparently the chief judge didn't tell anyone else he was giving us permission to have clients back in our space, so I had to explain he told my boss on Friday, and they were just like "well I wish he told me" like....you do realize I had zero control over this situation, right? lol. we eventually got called for the hearing, they only had one chair set up so I just kind of awkwardly hovered in the background without my face actually visible. the EOP got granted though and we're going to consider her case for rep, so I'm pleased with that outcome. While we were waiting for her paperwork, I ran up to the courtroom from my hearing to grab a copy of the order, since I said I'd come get it since I was in the courthouse. The judge was still doing remote hearings, so I chatted with the clerks and after a few minutes they were like "oh hey, you're Rachel! we see you in here all the time!" which made me laugh because the court managers never have their cameras on, so I never have any clue who I'm speaking to haha and the one clerk was just like to the other "It's Rachel (last name)!" and it was just such an amusing experience. the sheriff that really likes me (I'm not entirely sure why but I'm not complaining) that's usually assigned to that courtroom was there too, and was ridiculously nice to me and said a lot of sweet things, so that made me happy. when I returned to the first floor, one of the front desk people was like, loudly chewing out the chief judge in the middle of a client area, she had been super unhappy all day and at one point I thought she was legit going to cry, which just made me sad because she is a really nice lady, but seeing her chewing out the chief judge kinda made me laugh, I passed them and she just looked at me and was like "yeah keep walking" which amused me more. we were finally able to get the client a copy of her order and wrap things up shortly before 5, so good time. I headed out shortly after 5 and made pretty good time getting home. I made dinner, which we ate on the balcony, then we watched Luca, which was a ridiculously adorable movie, and if you haven't seen it yet, I highly recommend it. from there roommate went to bed, and I stayed up a while longer playing my game mostly before showering and getting ready for bed. It's only like 12:22 am but I am dead tired for some reason, so I'm gonna go to bed now. Goodnight my friends. Hope your Monday didn't suck.

#daily journal #August 2021

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warsofasoiaf · 4 years

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The Celtic Tiger - A Kaiserreich Ireland AAR Chapter 2: An American Tragedy

12 February 1937 - Home of Michael Collins, Cork, Ireland

“The United States of America has faced challenges since its founding, but it is an enduring republic. When we were invaded, we fought off our attackers. When the Great Storm hit Galveston, we built cottages from the storm lumber. When Black Monday reached our shores, we passed the Garner-Wagner Act to deliver our people relief. The American people, through this election, have made their will clear. They do not want the empty promises of Jack Reed. They demand more than the sayings of Huey Long. Words are not enough, action is required. That is what I shall promise: action. We will stand firm against the threat of populism and syndicalism.”

Benjamin Franklin, after the Constitutional Convention, was asked whether the United States was a democracy or a republic. His words were: ‘a republic, if you can keep it.’ That was not mere wit, but a charge; a sacred duty given to every citizen. Today we say: it is our republic, and we shall keep it.” -US President John Garner, Excerpt from Inaugural Address

In Michael Collins’s case, war never seemed to have a countdown, but sure enough, the war looked like it would begin in 30 days. Just the thing to ruin his vacation; he had hoped to spend a few days in Cork to recharge his batteries, and ended up having indigestion and headaches the entire trip.

The United States had been a roiling mass of discontent since 1925, but it had only gotten worse during Black Monday. President Garner had won a lot of support in his campaign, which had focused on trumpeting the successes of the Garner-Wagner Act and touting the President’s willingness to fight any who threatened democracy. “A snake is a snake is a snake,” Garner had been fond of quoting on the campaign trail, swaggering with a pair of revolvers. “I plan on working to fix the mess that we’ve found ourselves in. If Jack Reed and Huey Long want their voices heard, I’ll listen to them. If they want prosperity for America, they’ll listen to me. And if they want to fight, they’ll get one. I don’t plan on striking first, but as God is my witness, I’ll be striking last!”

That had been enough for the Presidency. Jack Reed’s Socialist Party of America and Huey Long’s America First Party had strong regional support, but neither movement received enough votes to beat the Republican candidate Alf Landon, let alone Garner. Yet the victory was narrow, and both candidates claimed voting irregularities arranged at the polling places by supporters within the state voting commissions, along with other accusations of beatings and intimidation campaigns. Herbert Hoover endorsed Garner in a show of cross-party American solidarity, and Landon himself was a guest of honor at Garner’s inauguration. Garner had already promised the Republicans some Cabinet appointments in the hopes of building a coalition government strong enough to stop Long and Reed. It was an uphill battle; the 1936 voting season had been marred by political demonstrations turning violent, they had even called it the Red Summer, and now Long and Reed were railing against the legitimacy of the vote.

When the populists had made their accusations, the governors in their regional strongholds had backed Long and Reed. The populists, it seemed, had called President Garner’s bluff. The governors demanded a “national reconciliation council” under their talking head, and both had made it plain that the other would not be welcome on it, making it all but certain that war would come, and it would not be small. Jack Reed was popular in the Steel Belt and Huey Long had an almost religious appeal in Louisiana and in the rest of the Southern United States. Reed had much of the industrial heartland, but Long had far more pull among the military including high ranking officers. It wouldn’t be an easy fight, no matter what Texans had to say. In both ways, it was bad for the United States.

Collins had hoped it wouldn’t be war, but he was sure that it would be. If Jack Reed was able to successfully overthrow Garner, the Internationale would be emboldened. The Communards might still be reluctant to face Germany, given how large such a war would be, but Mosley would almost certainly want to snap up Ireland to carry forth syndicalist momentum. Anti-Irish rhetoric had only intensified in the months following Ireland’s meteoric 1936 rise, with Mosley claiming that Michael Collins had become “every inch the oppressive king he fought against.” Collins laughed when he was first told it, but as the days went on he seethed against the man, wishing he could have five minutes alone in a room with him. He was sure his sainted ma would not look fondly on him for beating on a man with a limp, but she’d forgive him.

When the reporters asked for a quote, Collins was sure to give them one. “Look at Mosley in the war. Gallivanting around in an aeroplane like war was just boys at camp, crashing trying to be a showboat. I suppose I must be kind, he tried to prove he was a brave man, I’m sure it’s not his fault he ran behind a desk before a year was out. That’s where he’s most comfortable, hiding and sipping his gin while he sends young boys to do the fighting and dying.”

Collins had a good laugh, but he made sure to tell his diplomatic service to make sure that Ireland would have plenty of friends on both sides of the Atlantic, just in case the Union tried anything. Laugh in public, but service your pistol in private.

---

14 March 1937 - Áras an Uachtaráin, Dublin, Ireland

It was war. The entire world was aflutter with the news that the United States had descended into a civil war. President Garner’s deadline had come and went, and both Jack Reed and Huey Long had declared war on the United States. In response, Garner had appointed General George Marshall as Chief of Staff of the Army. The Internationale had already voiced its support for Jack Reed, with Chilean, Communard, and Union supporters already on their way to support the newly-formed Combined Syndicates of America. The German Empire was far more reserved in its support. German-Americans primarily lived in areas controlled by the Combined Syndicates, and the United States government had primarily conducted a pro-Entente policy during the Weltkrieg, leading the Kaiser to support Huey Long out of pure pragmatism. Canada had fallen into debate within the Houses of Parliament on who they were supporting.

Collins had no such reservations about debating who to support in the Dail. Collins had sent out a call for a volunteer division, the 1st Thunderbolts, and had placed them under the command of Daniel McKenna. The East Coast was dense with urban areas, and McKenna was just the man to fight in that difficult urban war, having fought the English in the cities before. The Thunderbolts had been training for months in preparation for the outbreak of hostilities. Most were young men, too young to have seen the Independence War, but their officers and senior NCO’s had. That would carry them, fighting in unfamiliar territory would mean they would have to adapt quickly and rely on the experience of the leaders. Other IRA volunteers, particularly those with families in the United States, had opted to go there themselves, fight in the American army, and return later.

The first target would have to be the syndicalists. With their position in the American industrial heartland, they’d have the manufacturing prowess and the civilian manpower to build and repair war materiel far faster than the mostly rural southern states. They would have to trust in their greater manpower and equipment to hold the southern front against the aggressive generals of the American Union State. The United States had begun mobilizing forces on the West Coast to get them to move east, and requisitioned several rail lines for exclusive military use, but it would be hard fought. America was going to need all the help it could get.

---

13 April 1937 - Northern Maryland, United States of America

“We have traitors to our left, and traitors to our right

Our Congress and our president have long since taken flight

No ammo, no armor, no pills, no cargo

No prayers, no chance, no hope of tomorrow

Just you and me and a hell of a lot of fight.” -Frank McHewlitt

Pennsylvania had become a battlefield for the Second American Civil War just as it had for the first. The Pennsylvania governor had declared for Jack Reed, but the Federals had made a march into central Pennsylvania, seizing York to Fulton counties, but lack of manpower, difficult terrain, and Communard volunteer tank brigades had ensured any excursion was short-lived. From New York to the Midwest was controlled by the Syndicalists. Fearing being overrun, Joseph Kennedy Sr. had asked Canada to send an occupation force to protect them from the Syndicalists. This had infuriated President Garner, but pragmatists in his Cabinet had argued that the region was indefensible since the Syndicalists held New York, and better that the Canadians occupy it, and the Combined Syndicates risk a war with the Entente, than the factories be taken over by Jack Reed. Further south, Canada had sent a force to occupy the Panama Canal after the Americans had withdrawn their garrison force. The Canadians had said their mission was to protect trade, but had banned ships flying Communard, Union, or Chilean flags.

Further south, Texas to the Carolinas, and everything south, had pledged loyalty to Huey Long’s vision. Several companies had even signed on to the “Share Our Wealth” program. His men were heavily-armed and competently led, and they had already made significant inroads pushing north into Kentucky from Tennessee, even making contact with and fighting Jack Reed. George Patton had been named the overall commander of the American Union State, and on land the America First Party had shown themselves to be exceptional fighters pound-for-pound. Their goal had been to push and seize whatever territory they could, to turn the factories over to Longist control and get their war materiel production up to match the Federals and the Syndicalists. It had been remarkably successful, Patton’s armor techniques had run circles against disorganized Kentucky militia and revolutionary syndicalists alike. Already there were unconfirmed reports of mass shootings of CSA prisoners by AUS irregulars. The Federals were hard-pressed, often surrounded and potentially encircled by hostile forces in Kentucky. Only the chaos of the war and the close proximity of all three forces, kept them from being killed outright. Desertions, particularly from militia unfortunate enough to be in the encircled regions, were high.

Washington was no longer the capital. With Maryland under fire and the Firsters pushing from the south into Virginia, Garner had decided to temporarily move the capital to Denver, where he could oversee the political business of state. MacArthur had elected to remain in place as the commander of the East Coast Enclave, suggesting that Dwight Eisenhower take command of the main Federal forces in the Midwest. “He’s a Kansas man, there’s no man better in command from the Midwest. The troops will fight tougher and harder if they know we haven’t abandoned them. Don’t worry, Mr. President. Those bastard traitors won’t set a foot in D.C.” With his trademark corn cob pipe and a wave to the press, MacArthur took a ride on a Vultee V-1 to take up command, with Eisenhower being named the overall commander of Army Group West, with the goal of pushing east from Kansas into Missouri.

MacArthur welcomed the service of the volunteers sailing and landing on the Chesapeake, no traitor forces had been able to ensure naval supremacy on the East Coast and none were willing to risk firing upon a flagged vessel and invite any nation’s full-blown entrance into the conflict. Lavr Kornilov, eager to project strength and stability after the assassination of President Kerensky. Hirohito had also dispatched volunteers citing the strong relationship between the United States and Japan and the need for legitimate government to be re-established in the United States to project stability in the Americas. Calles in Argentina, eager to re-establish the Monroe Doctrine to act as a bulwark against the Patagonian Worker’s Front, and always eager to fight syndicalists. Brazil likewise had ordered troops to support the United States. Mexico, eager to avoid any war spilling over their borders, had closed the borders to the American Union State and had sent divisions through the Gulf of Mexico before the Longist navy could seize control of the waters and potentially cut off trade and transit. MacArthur ensured that each division had several bilingual Americans to serve as liaisons and communications personnel. He couldn’t command the volunteers, but he did demand adherence to military law and that any abuse of US civilians or military personnel would be dealt with by firing squad. Similarly, MacArthur promised his own men that they would be punished harshly if they stole from or fought with Federal volunteers. Regular correspondence was mandatory, and passwords changed regularly to allow foreign soldiers to identify themselves quickly to friendlies, passed via radio operators who had signed up with the Federals in record numbers when President Garner forced a bill and executive order expanding the civil rights of Native Americans to shore himself up for the upcoming emergency. The Navajo Nation, who provided one of the largest units, dispatched signals operators to coordinate with the volunteer brigades, providing exceptional communications security and coordination between the Federals on both fronts.

Yet things were not going well. MacArthur had enforced military law within the East Coast enclave, and garrison forces frequently looked to seize supplies and materiel for their war effort. Oftentimes, a token effort at compensation or promise of restitution to come later was the only balm in Gilead; it did not help those who starved.

The volunteer forces moved north to the Mason-Dixon line, where the Combined Syndicate militia were threatening to move south into Maryland from their regional headquarters in Philadelphia. The Russians opted to secure themselves in Baltimore, while the Argentine and Mexican forces moved to Cecil County to secure Delmarva from the syndicalists seizing the east bank and potentially cutting off vital access to the Chesapeake. McKenna and the Irish 1st Thunderbolt, acting aggressively, crossed into Pennsylvania and secured themselves in York. Not willing to pass up a fight, Russian and Irish volunteer brigades pushed into Lancaster County, threatening Philadelphia and forcing the Communards to reinforce their position lest Philadelphia fall and the road to New York be pushed wide open.

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17 April 1937 - Economic Committee of the Dail, Dublin, Ireland

It had been a constant flurry of activity in the new year. The Dail was debating loosening immigration restrictions to help bring in new blood to help support Ireland’s effort to modernize. Even if good policy and hard work had led Ireland out of the depression following Black Monday, manpower was still the hard limit on everything they could do. Once unemployment fell, there would be no new employees for businesses, and they’d turn away from Irish investment.

There had been two major sources of pushback against immigration reform. The Unionists in Ulster had been vocal opponents, calling the efforts part of a planned demographic shift to stock the north with people that would sideline their concerns as Unionists. Their proposal had instead suggested an increase in immigration from select countries, notably Canada, Australasia, and the British Dominion of India. Gearóid Ó Cuinneagáin was far more hostile to immigration overall, demanding no immigration save from Celtic-majority countries, particularly those who wished to depart the Union of Britain from Scotland and Wales. Some of the measures proposed had truly been radical, such as instituting a Gaelic language entrance exam to new immigrants. The hAiséirghe crowd had always been a touchy subject, they had enough support in Munster that they couldn’t be ignored as much as Collins wanted to throw the bastards into the ocean.

Collins had been lucky, his Dublin financial capital idea had already been receiving positive responses. The German Kaiserreich, still deep within the throes of Black Monday, had debated whether or not to permit German businesses to invest in Ireland. The protectionists in their government had argued that the last thing that they needed to do was open up subsidiary companies in Ireland and send work away from Germans. The market liberals were far more enthusiastic, suggesting that the profits made could be reinvested in Germany; an influx of cash that wouldn’t increase the money supply and devalue the Mark. In the end, Wilhelm II had agreed to the proposal. He had known that the Irish Republican Army had been looking to re-equip their forces, and Krupp could easily manufacture rifles and mortars with a sizable government contract. Krupp opened Krupp Rüstungsbetriebe Irland, redesigning the Krupp Radreifen into the shape of a shamrock.

The Kingdom of Spain had also looked to establish an arms company in Ireland, eager to arm those who were also hostile to the syndicalists, and quite isolated on the European continent, with France and the German Protectorate of Morocco making an uneasy set of neighbors. Having a well-armed Irish Republic was a benefit to King Alfonso, who agreed to set up a subsidiary of Llama-Gabilondo y Cia SA, taking the name Dóiteáin-Gabilondo Incorporated, and selling their famous pistols to the Irish Republican Army. With regular army drills, and now a larger armaments industry within Ireland itself, a more significant and professional Irish Republican Army was starting to take shape.

The Italian Republic, floundering in the wake of massive German and Austrian stock selloffs, were eager to find ways to bring in cash and stabilize their own economy. Seeing a pressing need, the Italian Republic opted to establish a naval manufacturing dockyard in Dublin as Gio Ansaldo Irish Sea Shipwright, Ltd, to help produce submarines for the Naval Service. Italian engineers could work in Ireland, the revenue would flow into Italy, and the Irish would receive a powerful deterrent against the Union of Britain’s navy. Working in the choppier northern waters was different from the warmer and calmer Mediterranean, but the Italians proved up to the challenge, christening the first Irish U-Boat the new Fenian Ram.

The rush of European activity to invest in Ireland had not gone unnoticed in the Netherlands. After a fierce and competitive bidding war, the Dutch government, very busy with their preparations for the upcoming elections in May, had given the go-ahead for Royal Dutch Airlines KLM to do business within Ireland. Rather than operating a strict subsidiary, as the government was still facing the worst of Black Monday, Royal Dutch instead opened a joint venture with Aer Lingus, operating a civilian airfield that would bring in much needed tax revenue, and providing expertise for the construction of a military airfield in Leinster. The Union of Britain had lodged a formal complaint against the move in the Netherlands, but the ambassador had been dismissed out of hand, the official response being “Ireland has a right to the sky, and Britain has no right to dictate policy to the Netherlands.”

The United States had been considered highly unlikely to invest in Ireland. Even with the positive relationship that had existed between the two countries, the USA had been facing an existential crisis. To Collin’s great surprise, Garner had actually encouraged American companies to open subsidiaries in Ireland before hostilities broke out. In a diplomatic message to the Irish President, Garner had written: “I am certain there will be war. American industry will certainly not be spared. This initiative may save American lives and enrich both our countries. If the worst comes to pass, may God protect us both.” General Irish Electric, as the company titled itself, designed a logo incorporating the Irish harp in the signature “G” of the GE logo. The company received a grant from the National Industrial Investment Fund and purchased a factory abandoned during the Black Monday fallout, bringing up to speed in record time to produce civilian and industrial-grade electronics. Almost immediately, GIE had orders tasked almost to capacity for factories across Ireland to upgrade their own operations, throwing itself into the greater industrialization efforts that Michael Collins had championed the previous year.

The Dominion of Canada was a much more difficult beast to wrangle. Edward VIII had made no secret that he wished to reacquire not just the British Home Isles, but the British Empire as well; he would not be a second-fiddle to the Kaiser. That would mean the Six Counties, surely, perhaps even re-establishing the Free State as a Dominion. Collins had debated even making the offer to Canada, but a good relationship with Canada was, putting Edward aside, a sound policy. Canada needed money to support their war efforts, and a friendly relationship with Ireland would mean less problems when launching their operation to take back the Home Islands. Collins privately feared that they would want to use Ireland as a staging ground. Ireland had situated itself as a prominent financial hub, and since Dublin was designated a Special Economic Zone, it could potentially be very lucrative and offer a way to sell to the rest of Mitteleuropa without dealing with the Kaiser. The Canadian government had assented to Canadian Arsenals, a crown corporation to open a subsidiary in Dublin named North Atlantic Arms. Collins made sure that it acted in all things as a private company, insisting that King Edward appoint an executive staff the same as any other business. That had been a headache in the Dail, with Eamon de Valera angrily demanding not to sell Irish land to King Edward. Collins had countered that Ireland was a free and independent republic, and that the King had to obey Irish law rather than dictating laws to Ireland.When rumors came around that Jim Larkin had supported Dev’s objections, the Fianna Fail politician withdrew his opposition in favor of a more moderate compromise, asking only that the Dail be presented the terms of the contract in open session so that they could vote on them. Dev’s desire not to give Larkin more ammunition had rapidly diminished opposition to the measure within Fianna Fail, and Sinn Fein offered only a token dissent, permitting the venture to go forward.

With the outbreak of war in the United States and Ireland’s rapid industrialization, Sweden had sensed an opportunity to open a subsidiary business in Ireland as well. AB Landsverk had originally sought to open a tank manufacturing plant, since the Irish tanks were largely outdated and the Irish Republican Army was going to need to modernize its arsenal. Fierce protest erupted from the social democrats within Sweden’s Parliament, opposing the idea of arming Ireland and facilitating a possible war between Ireland and the Union. The hawks within Sweden had supported the venture, but military arms, even support equipment, could not secure a large enough coalition for the Economic, Defense, and Foreign Ministers to agree to the venture. Not wanting to lose out on the potentially lucrative deal and already facing their own problems with syndicalist unrest, Sweden’s market liberals had offered a compromise within the Riksdag, allowing Landsverk to open Landsverk Inneal, specializing in tractors and harvesting equipment to support the modernization of the Irish agricultural sector. Several prominent military analysts noted that the new Inneal tractors, with a few modifications, looked suspiciously similar to a light tank with the turret removed, but these were dismissed as products of an overactive imagination by both Swedish and Irish military analysts.

The Austrian Empire was in a difficult position in 1937. Emperor Karl I had been making significant plans for his Ausgleich Federation plans, and saw the Irish initiative not simply as a means to support his economy, but as a means to demonstrate both Austrian power and his willingness and initiative to support cooperation efforts for mutual gain. The Emperor had made his commitment to pluralism plain within his proposed federative model, he had hoped that participating in Collin’s economic initiative would help sway skeptics and naysayers to his side to give him greater support against Hungary. If it could help his economy and put neutral voters who cared more about their own personal livelihood than the greater plans of Austria-Hungary, that was fine as well. Daimler founded Irish-Daimler and focused on developing automobiles and lorries. While the Emperor could not be there in person, he had prepared a statement for the opening of the plant in Dublin. “Irish-Daimler is in the business of Irish business. Her success is our success, and our success is her success. May we both prosper in the days ahead.”

Eight nations had opted to do business with Ireland in such a short period of time, and there had already been murmurs for other nations to do likewise. The success of Irish Black Monday reforms had been the talk of the European financial sector. Even distant Japan had expressed an interest in perhaps opening a branch of one of their zaibatsus in Ireland to sell to Western markets, though such a discussion was in the planning stages. When interviewed by The Financial Times, Lemass had made the quote that had made the headlines. “Ireland is the Emerald Isle. She always sparkled in our hearts, now everyone can see it.”

When Michael Collins had heard that, he smiled. The man had the head of a businessman but the heart of a poet. The head and the heart needed to complement each other if he wanted to see Ireland through.

---

8 May 1937 - Áras an Uachtaráin, Dublin, Ireland

As the war passed into its third month, Collins started to wonder about the upcoming elections in the fall. America had been on his mind a lot lately. An emergency act by the Oirechtas called the Díodean initiative had allowed Americans seeking refuge to come to Ireland, and plenty had taken Collins up on his offer. Many immigrants came with much of their wealth with them, which had provided an influx of capital. Even more valuable, however, was the technical knowledge. Many of the immigrants had been factory managers or entrepreneurs, and they had knowledge which made them highly valuable in the industrial sector. Not every tale was so fortunate, however. Some culture shock was perhaps inevitable, but it had been incredibly slow going. Collins had remembered the first time he saw a new settler to Ireland drive on the wrong side of the road and cause a car accident. This felt like seeing that unfold in slow motion on a national scale. The poor Americans had felt the Irish were cheating them out of wages and exploiting their desperate circumstances, while the wealthy felt their standard of living drop precipitously.

The hAiséirghe crowd again troubled him. Reports of nativist gang uprisings in the poorer parts of cities and rural areas were on the rise. There were demonstrations that the new arrivals were stealing all of the good-paying jobs; this had been going on since the new immigration reform but now was reaching a fever pitch. The Unionists again rallied against Collins, accusing him of colonizing the north with people opposed to King Edward under the guise of humanitarian aid to defeat the Ulster Unionists at the ballot box. They demanded a series of refugee and work permits that did not confer voting rights as opposed to outright immigration and naturalization. That had caused a firestorm on the debate floor, causing no shortage of headaches for Collins.

To alleviate the shortages, Collins had organized refugee brigades in the Republican Army, where young men could earn a wage and provide a livelihood for their families. The Yanks were excellent shots, and Collins had hoped that seeing immigrants wearing a uniform would cause the locals’ respect for the military to undermine nativist tendencies. It was a mild success at best, mostly in Leinster where there had already been fewer problems overall. Collins had weighed outright banning the Ailtirí na hAiséirghe, but that would just send them underground like the Labour Party had. He had to settle for punishing assaults when they were reported, and increasing Gardaí patrols to keep the peace.

In the leadup to the elections, Collins had seen cracks start to form in his ironclad voting bloc. While syndicalism had little popularity in Ireland itself, Sinn Fein had seen an upsurge in popularity with Black Monday despite Collins’s efforts. The Irish Christian Front and the Ailtirí na hAiséirghe had campaigned against him thanks to his immigration policies. Fianna Fail had campaigned on greater liberalization, and the National Centre Party had wanted to re-orient foreign policy to a more pro-Entente position. Sinn Fein and Fianna Fail had opted to engage in tactical voting, with candidates withdrawing from ballot races in order not to split the vote. Jim Larkin had endorsed the move, promising to work with Sinn Fein to provide greater relief to the Irish working class. The Irish Christian Front opted to boycott the elections and both they and the Ailtirí na hAiséirghe accused Collins of bringing in foreign refugees to ensure he had the votes needed to win.

At a closed door meeting, Collins was asked a simple question. “Sir, what should we do about the election?”

Collins, his hands shaking, had only one response. “Whatever it takes.”

---

15 July 1937 - West Virginia, United States of America

“We’re in the right thick of it now, ain’t we?” Daniel McKenna shouted over the din of battle.

The East Coast Enclave had stabilized its borders after the early initial push, but still faced the difficulties of being surrounded by the enemy. Food and water shortages, irregular supply shipments, and losses from attrition were starting to take their toll on the beleaguered Federals. The Appalachian mountains had stymied Syndicalists pushing in from Ohio and Illinois, and the hilly and forested terrain had helped somewhat slow the push by Long’s forces, but only barely. Eisenhower had more success on the west, where the greater manpower has really started to pressure the American Union State on their Texas front.

The Federals still controlled the air though. That had made securing their defenses much easier. Flying over the Great Plains was effectively a death sentence, and few had the nerve to establish air cover on the east coast. That was a small comfort to Dan McKenna, who had gone to the Applachians in response to a new Syndie push. The Federals had retaken Charleston in June, but their position was tenuous there, and with new militia units being sent into battle, someone had needed to defend this key western outpost.

American militia units had stayed to defend the city, but McKenna had looked to secure the hills to the northeast. The Applachian plateau looked to give a good vantage point for artillery if any could succeed in the arduous task of towing them up to that position. Loyalist civilians had offered to do it on their own, pulling the units with their own work trucks, but that would be a dangerous undertaking without escort. McKenna took his Thunderbolts, with their own artillery pieces, to secure the hills first, while the militia guns could follow second when the way had been cleared. The Syndicates, tipped off by sympathetic informants, launched a massive push with their own 45th Thunderbirds, supplemented by local revolutionary forces, to prevent bombardment. The battle plan called for an overwhelming attack to break the dug-in mountain entrenchments, attacking from multiple directions in an attempt to dislodge the stubborn Irish defenders and find a weak spot.

McKenna demanded that the forces hold, using high-explosive burst shells over the heads of the enemy to maximize effect on the enemy. The engineers had dug in extensively, and had used dynamite to blast further fortifications and built entrenchments. The Thunderbolts only had a few guns, which were primarily pointed toward the northwest against the more highly-trained Thunderbirds. At such high elevation, and with such difficult terrain, evacuating casualties was difficult on the mountain, and men sometimes collapsed where they stood due to a combination of fatigue and high elevation.

That had been days ago, and the Thunderbolts were in tatters. The less wounded had even taken up shifts at night, or taking over service positions so able-bodied men could shoot and spot for the artillery. They had been holding, but just barely so. If it hadn’t been a mountain, they would have already been overrun. “I’ll be damned if I die on some cold rock half the world away from home.” McKenna defiantly continued to stand, hoping to wear down the superior numbers with artillery shells. He was the Wall of West Virginia, and he wouldn’t let the bastards through.

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10 September 1937 - Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

It had been months of hard fighting. Charleston had remained in Federal hands, and the front had stabilized, but all hopes of recovering the Federals in Kentucky were lost. The loyalists could only hope that the army groups had disbanded to make their way back to Federal territory in smaller numbers rather than being shot en masse, or worse, deserting to fall in with the enemy for their own salvation.

MacArthur had relied on the volunteers to fight a great deal of battles, more than he had preferred. The states under his control were tapped out for manpower resources, and if he started poaching from the factory floors for more able bodies he’d run out of supplies. Supply was irregular, especially for fuel, which he needed to keep the planes in the sky and the troops moving across the front. Olds and Tunner were able to airlift a lot of supplies, but demand always outstripped supply, and the more supplies he lifted the more danger there was for explosions in the cargo holds.

Ultimately, MacArthur decided that he needed to attack, to keep the pressure on the east so that the Syndicalists did not pull more men to prevent Eisenhower from marching toward Chicago from Kansas and the Dakotas. The Syndicates had been attacking south against the American Union State and fortifying out of New York City, and MacArthur had theorized that they would be weak in between those two strongpoints. The Brazilian and Argentine volunteers offered to push toward Philadelphia, with the hopes of breaking the regional command post and sending Syndicalist forces into disarray, while the Irish opted to push into Pittsburgh to seize the valuable steel mills and threaten a push into Ohio. The Mexican volunteers opted to remain in Virginia to help guard the line against the Longists; they had feared if the American Union State won, there may have been calls to expand further south to seize valuable oil and mining territories; fears of the Golden Circle expansion as it was dubbed in Mexico had been a hot button issue for the Mexican volunteers. If the Irish could secure Pittsburgh, that would give them control of the railroad junctions and the rivers, and allow MacArthur to bring in militia units to bring the territory under control with little fighting. With that, they could push further north toward Erie, splitting the Syndicalists and isolating them in New York. With Canada closing the border to the Combined Syndicates, even to the point of having the Royal Canadian Mounted Police arrest suspected border crossers and turning them over to the Federal government in Denver, that would render a similar fate to the lost Federals in Kentucky. MacArthur just hoped that his south could hold against the Firsters. Trading Virginia for Pennsylvania was not a winning proposition.

The B&O Line had been cut early, forcing McKenna and the Thunderbolts to march for most of the trip. Even in September, Pennsylvania was still hot, to help with water and the unfamiliar terrain McKenna had largely followed the Mononghaela river. To the east, he had Federal troops supplemented by Maryland militia moving north to take Harrisburg. McKenna force-marched his troops into Syndicate territory, hoping to secure a clear pathway along the rail lines for American repair crews to fix the B&O.

McKenna had been fortunate, western Pennsylvania had been defended by irregular militia units, poorly armed and lacking artillery support. In many cases, McKenna found that they didn’t have enough rifles for every man and only a few machine guns, some had taken to using shotguns better suited for partridge than men. When he was lucky, a few barrages from the field guns was enough to send them packing, but even without that, a dedicated attack usually was able to force back the disorganized units. A pity he didn’t have tanks, even a couple of old Weltkrieg landships would simply be able to drive to Pittsburgh unimpeded as long as it was gassed up.

The locals were fiercely divided. A few times McKenna had gone near towns, he had been welcomed and told where the Syndicates had kept their ammunition depot. Most of the time, however, the homes were ransacked, the supplies taken. Horror stories came to McKenna about “war syndicalism,” Reed’s name for the efforts taken to ensure his fighting men had the food they needed to fight. Sometimes it was the Combined Syndicates directly, but more often it seemed to be neighbors seizing on old grudges, summarily beating those they suspected of disloyalty and stealing their possessions, donating them to Reed as an act of solidarity. Worse still was what happened to those suspected of disloyalty. The Combined Syndicates offered a bounty on saboteurs and informants, and that had led to hastily-convened People’s Courts, serviced by hanging judges. Even so, there were plenty of people loyal to the Combined Syndicates, shouting their approval at finally destroying the brutal oppressors of Wall Street and their puppets in the Federal government. For a moment, McKenna thought of Ulster, and remembered everything he had heard 15 years before, and then he remembered the refugees from the British Isles after their revolution.

Pittsburgh had been hastily-fortified, with burned out hulks of cars blocking the bridges into town, forcing McKenna to navigate the crude fortifications with great care. The civilian population had largely huddled in buildings with boarded-up windows. The large buildings had been long ago hit by artillery fire or bombings from aircraft. Rail tunnels had been places of safety, McKenna’s scouts had found a few brave souls trading for various materials on picnic blankets. The mayor, who had thrown in his lot with the Syndicalists, had fled the city with the rest of the CSA, and they had thrown those city councilmen loyal to the Federal government into the Ohio. Coordination was largely infrequent, done by amateur radio. The civilians largely wanted to be left alone, out of the civil war, but the war had come to them despite their best wishes.

McKenna set to work, ordering his engineering corps to get the guns into firing positions. He positioned men near the Alleghany to prevent any CSA attack using the river to bypass his fortifications, and fortified the major exits with sandbags and machine guns. He had barely gone through half of his fortifications when he had heard the bad news: The Syndies were on the march along the Alleghany, and they would attack the city soon.

Yet, McKenna was not alone. The 12th Hohei Shidan, volunteer forces from far-off Japan, had come to support the Irish forces, and they had brought with them their Type 90’s, doubling McKenna’s supply of artillery. The Japanese and Irish soldiers met on the south side, and drew up plans for an attack. McKenna was given overall command, and elected to put his Irish veterans in the more dangerous forward position while the Japanese would fire on the CSA to draw them in under a battery of withering artillery fire. Once the enemy had descended past Lower Lincoln and could no longer enjoy visibility from Upper Lincoln, the Irish would ambush them in close quarters.

The CSA announced their attack with a radio command ordering all civilians to remain indoors, and all “foreign invaders” to surrender to the 2nd New York Revolutionary Guard, for handling by the legitimate United States government for repatriation. The 12th Hohei Shidan responded with a cannon barrage, thus commencing the Battle of Pittsburgh at 0900 on 10 September. McKenna’s Thunderbolts fought in ambush-and-retreat tactics, dividing themselves into seven-man fireteams. McKenna would fire on advancing CSA forces, retreat into a building, then have a second fireteam flank the New York Revolutionaries from across the street. Casualties were high on both sides, especially among the Irish who often refused to fight until in incredibly close combat, hoping the shock of the ambush would carry the day. Friendly fire incidents were high, especially as the day went into night, both from accidental fire on friendly troops and sympathetic civilians accidentally firing on who they believed were enemy soldiers. Yet the day stood. On 14 September, his squads battered and American troops pushing through central Pennsylvania, Oliver Law reluctantly ordered a retreat to the northeast. Western Pennsylvania stood liberated, but the war was not over yet.

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20 December 1937 - Welfare Island, New York City, United States of America

The icy winds of winter were howling, but the pit in Daniel McKenna’s stomach wasn’t from the cold. He had hoped to warm himself with a cigarette as he surveyed the successful conquest of New York City, but that had all left him. Naught but a short time ago, the celebration had been high. The Syndies had lost both a major symbol and, perhaps more pragmatically, their eastern command center. The Dominion of Canada had officially supported the Federal Government, and there had been Canadian, Indian, and French Republican volunteers sailing to Maryland to join MacArthur and the Volunteer Brigades, along with massive shipments of weapons from the Entente. Manhattan had surrendered rather than risk a massive urban brawl amongst the skyscrapers. That too, had seemed like a cause for celebration, but there was little sense of Christmas cheer among those who were picking through the ruins of New York City, for they had finally come to Welfare Island.

Inside, McKenna had found cell after cell of prisoners, skin stretched and hair falling out from starvation and malnutrition, their bodies broken from months of hard labor. When New York had fallen to the Syndicalists, they had imprisoned anyone who had worked in the financial sector, any who rented an apartment to another, or any who they considered to be bourgeoise, and demanded that they atone for the crimes of their previous lives with new, honest labor for the Syndicalist cause. They had been forced into the most dangerous jobs of the arms industry, like manufacturing artillery shells to the point where their skin had turned to a greasy yellow. Bleeding gums and fingers, limbs lost in machinery or explosive accidents were routine, each prisoner was a laundry list of atrocities written out upon their bodies.

Each horror that McKenna heard made him feel numb. He had nearly torn his gloves in two after listening, but he had made sure that he had heard it all, and that his staff heard it as well. A patriotic young woman, formerly a social columnist for the New York Tribune who had signed on to help with the support staff, volunteered to transcribe every word. “Be damned, lass, you’re a damn sight braver than any fella. Write it down, every bloody word, and know that ye’ve got a ironclad heart three times larger than any bastard who tells ye different.”

McKenna had dispatched three messages from New York. The first was to General MacArthur, who had said: “Am pleased to deliver to you New York as an early Christmas present.” The second was to Michael Collins, relaying a request for more reinforcement of men and materiel. The third, a private correspondence, bemoaned what he had seen. “The brutality of what I’ve seen is beyond words, and the only thing that breaks me more is the thought that this is not some singularly unique moment of malice, that we’ll find another Welfare Island in the South run by those America First bastards. God help me, is this what we left the English to in ‘25? Did we look at an Englishman for all those years and see the English and not the man?”

“Private. Bring all the Syndie prisoners we’ve got, make them see what went on here, make ‘em stare at each one. If they look away, hit ‘em. Then find the officers, and see which ones knew about it. And if ye find one that did...hang ‘em from the Brooklyn Bridge.”

---

Alright, that’s the second chapter, with the Syndicates on the ropes and the Firsters being slowly ground down in the western theater. The third chapter will handle the defeat of the Syndicalists and the Firsters and Mosley’s opening shots for his invasion of Ireland. Let me know what you think. And yes, I know some of the pictures are from 0.12, I’ve already mentioned that in my first post on the topic, and I know the battle map is crude; I suck at art. Also, what do you think about cropping the screenshots to make them easier to read? I think it looks fine, not too pixelated or zoomed in, but it does lose the sort of authentic “AAR screenshot” feeling. Which do you prefer, readers?

Images

Cactus Jack Becomes President

Standoff in America

Second American Civil War Begins

Battle of Baltimore

Encircled Federal Troops in Kentucky

US Moves the Capital to Denver

Germany Approves the Irish Business Initiative

Spain Approves the Irish Business Initiative

Italy Approves the Irish Business Initiative

The Netherlands Approves the Irish Business Initiative

The United States Approves the Irish Business Initiative

Canada Approves the Irish Business Initiative

Sweden Approves the Irish Business Initiative

Austria Approves the Irish Business Initiative

Rigged 1937 Election

The Wall of West Virigina

The Battle of Pittsburgh

Pittsburgh Battle Map

The Fall of New York

-SLAL

#creative #kaiserreich #celtic tiger

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unwiltingblossom · 3 years

Text

Queen's Favor (Mysme Jumin/MC AU 11/?)

Summary: Being a maid would be much easier if the cat would just let her do her job.

AU - Instead of joining the RFA via random text, MC is hired on as one of the maids assigned to Jumin Han’s penthouse. Nothing else about the setting has changed, the messenger and the RFA still exist, only the MC’s position has been altered.

Arguably, she was too distracted to do her job properly...but 'I'm too distracted thinking about the wallet I lost and then found again' wasn't really a valid excuse for leave no matter who she spoke to about it. Even she wouldn't approve of it.

"Ow-!" She hissed as she yanked her hand back and immediately stuck her finger into her mouth - as if she hadn't just stuck the handle of her duster there five minutes before and her mouth was a sanitary sanctuary untouched by bacteria.

Maybe it was her own fault for losing focus, but she still glared at the previously jammed vacuum anyway. The blood sacrifice of biting her finger had apparently sated it, and this time when she put it back together it started and spun its brushes freely. "I'm not resetting the calendar for you, we're not counting this one."

No one was in the room to hear her admonish the equipment, but that worked just fine for her: it meant no one was in the room to see the injury, so she could claim she slipped going up the stairs before she got into the penthouse at all. If anyone asked. Though the bigger concern was that she couldn't exactly bleed all over Elizabeth, and her boss didn't want her to handle the cat with latex on her hands. Technically that probably applied mostly to the dish gloves and other things she wore, not a simple band-aid, but there was always the chance that the cat was just so pampered it'd never encountered latex before and might even have an allergy. Or maybe Mr. Han did?

Well, the important thing was, she'd have to handle the cat with one hand today.

"Next time don't sit around fantasizing about pretty boys while you work, and you won't make it harder on yourself, now will you?" She scoffed at herself, shaking her head as she turned and made her way to her equipment back to dig out the necessary bandage.

Really, though. It wasn't the first time she'd messed up something that day, just the first time she'd injured herself. Arguably, she was too distracted to do her job properly...but 'I'm too distracted thinking about the wallet I lost and then found again' wasn't really a valid excuse for leave no matter who she spoke to about it. Even she wouldn't approve of it.

It's just...

Why had her wallet been in the middle of the floor? She never carried her purse over there, so how did it even get there? Between going to the convenience store for a late night snack a couple of nights before that and her near-death walletless encounter, how had it moved from the purse she kept by the door to the floor several feet away from it? It was even in the open, and sure she wasn't getting that great sleep but did she really miss it that many days without even looking at the floor? Was she becoming a slob in her own house as a consequence of being a hyper-vigilant maid elsewhere?

But she never took her wallet out of her purse in her home, and she always took her purse with her...

A rolling 'mrew' broke through her thoughts and she blinked, looking up at the still sealed bandage in her hand. "Ah-"

Elizabeth sat next to her, blinking up at her with those curious blue eyes. Rather ominously close to her cut hand. Before the cat could get any ideas - and she find a way to end up in the hospital for something even more embarrassing than last time - she quickly pulled her injured hand up out of reach of the cat. "Don't look at me like that. You know, I have fifteen more minutes of me time before it's your turn."

She blinked, and then gingerly reached out to pat the cat on the head with her uninjured hand before standing up. "Don't tell you father about what I just said." As far as she was concerned 'focus on work, not cat' counted as 'her time', but she doubted her employer would feel quite the same about her referring to her actual job as something like 'me time' - especially while she failed to actually do the job properly.

She managed not to drift off into pointless thoughts through the rest of the day, and therefore not injure herself further or mess up entertaining Elizabeth with just one hand. Still, she'd wasted some precious time early on and had to hustle to catch up to her schedule. Rather than have a decent chunk of time left before the owner of the penthouse got back, she was left with only a few minutes before her deadline when she was finally done. She'd blame it on the fact that it was Monday...but she knew full well Mina did the penthouse on Sunday. She had no one to blame the rough day on but herself and her own ridiculous imagination.

At the end of the day, there really wasn't any other answer to how her wallet got to the middle of the floor from her purse than that she somehow spilled it out of the purse at some point. Maybe when she was tired and frazzled on Saturday night after she'd walked all over creation chasing that one street jerk. It was possible, at least, and that was better than literally any other idea that came to her.

She flumped over onto the couch in the most dramatic way possible - knees on the rug, face and arm buried into the leather cushion. She could technically leave right now, but she didn't have to, and if she was going to catch her breath after a harrowing day of being her own worst enemy, it was much more comfortable to borrow the penthouse to do that than wait until she could lay on her own threadbare bed to do it.

A soft thump and shift of the cushion told her the cat followed her.

She peeked up from her arm to the cloud of white and two bright blue eyes looking down at her. Ordinarily, she'd use the hand her face wasn't pinning to the couch to pet the cat with, but that one happened to be the no-no latex one, so staring contest it was. "I know, he'll be here any minute, but I think we both can agree this isn't the weirdest position hes walked in on me in."

Elizabeth meowed directly in her face. It smelled of fish.

"Yes, well, you'll have to pet yourself with my hand, because I'm not getting up yet."

The cat flopped to the side, head on her wrist.

"That's just lazy."

Elizabeth huffed and twisted onto her back. And bapped a cat paw directly to her cheek. All pad and no claw, at least.

"That isn't a counter argu-"

The door choose precisely then to open. Which didn't mean Elizabeth won. They could continue the conversation next time. The cat rolled itself right off of the bed and sprinted over to the legs of the penthouse's owner, and she spared a glance over her shoulder up to meet his. She didn't know if she should feel ashamed over the complete lack of surprise or intrigue in his eyes, considering she hadn't moved at all from where she'd been.

One day she'd get him to look surprised at what he walked in on, and on that day she'd probably die from whatever it was she'd have gotten herself into.

She really was tempted to just put her face back into the couch and stay there for a while, but while her employer gave no sign of disapproval that she'd yet to leave - she was pretty sure they'd long ago crossed the line to where her being literally present in the penthouse at the same time as him wasn't really a concern - that wasn't exactly an open invitation for her to remain, either. She was the help, not a guest. Alas, she had to bid farewell to the comfortable sofa and rug, and go collect her things. She brushed off her pants - no matter how much effort she put in, there was always cat hair to be brushed off - and gave her employer a small nod as she strode across the room to get her bag of stuff.

"I'm already finished, so I'll be off."

"I won't be working tomorrow." His voice was smooth and matter of fact, but still somehow managed to startle her.

"Huh-? But my schedule said-"

He nodded, casually undoing the buttons of his overcoat, before reaching down to collect the cat in his arms. He didn't even bother to take the coat off before picking her up. The words his dry-cleaner must have had about him... "It is uninterrupted, yes." He tilted his head slightly, and the rare flicker of a smile passed over his lips. "I believe...I may be able to avoid getting in the way for one day, at least."

She wasn't even sure herself if her brief laugh was out of amusement or disbelief.

"I'll be sure to report any unruly disturbances to you immediately."

His eyes squinted, just slightly, in what she chose to assume was amusement, rather than disbelief. "Do so."

–

The springs of her bed - which doubled as her couch - squeaked in protest when she settled down on it, and...yes, it really wasn't anywhere near as comfortable as the one in the penthouse. Somehow, the apartment wasn't that big and yet the remote for the television was still out of reach from where she sat. Did she really toss it that far away last night, or had she turned into such a zombie in the mornings that she kicked it across the room just getting ready and hadn't noticed it?

Really, it wasn't that strange to work with the owner present. Many times that was just part of the job, actually. Only Jumin Han's own eccentricities made it feel like something strange to work in the house when he was present. Well, that, or she still nursed some suppressed trauma over the time she got a concussion. One of those, anyway. Though it did make her wonder if she'd walk in on him doing something strange for once this time.

Granted, if she did, she couldn't help but expect there'd be an immediate NDA or something slapped down right in front of her face immediately after. Somehow he'd still manage to be the one who came out on top, even if she walked in on him half dressed and covered in strange tattoos, hunched over a pile of burning books and eating half of a rabbit or something.

Wait, no...

That image was just terrifying.

The phone lit up as she shuddered.

She glanced down immediately, train of thought broken from the sudden burst of light in the darkness of her apartment. That actor, Zen, had sent her a friendly text the night before to test whether her number actually worked, so if he put in that much effort he probably hadn't done it just out of some kind of weird sense of politeness. Follow up texts were always possible.

-No, it was just some unknown number. Really, who gave her number away to some spam company? She just kept getting random phonecalls from weird numbers recently! And they were mostly late at night, too, so probably some foreign based companies.

I bet it was that glasses jerk...

She clicked her tongue and tossed the phone to the nightstand next to her bed, flopping back onto the mattress lengthwise. "I didn't almost die today." That was an improvement over the weekend. If she managed not to injure herself in front of her boss tomorrow, she might actually be set for a completely normal day - nay, perhaps a week even.

Her own laughter cut through the rare quiet of her room. "Thinking about attractive men at work and then about your employer at home, really? You really are a mess."

Ah, yes. Her thoughts were full of a random man who rescued her from death, a ridiculous self-created mystery about her own wallet, and about her work. And she talked to herself when she wasn't talking to a cat. Her social life was in shambles.

#mysme #mystic messenger #mysme fic #jumin x mc #elizabeth 3rd #mystic messenger fic #ooc

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redbeardace · 5 years

Text

The Equality Act

What is the Equality Act?

If you’ve paid attention to politics (in the US) over the past few weeks, the Equality Act has been name-checked quite frequently. It was listed as a Day One priority of virtually every major Democratic presidential candidate at a recent town hall. It was brought up in response to a recent pair of Supreme Court employment discrimination cases, one involving a gay man, the other involving a trans woman, both of whom were fired after coming out. But what is it?

The Equality Act is an update to a number of federal anti-discrimination laws, primarily the Civil Rights Act of 1964. This act explicitly provides anti-discrimination protection on the basis of sexual orientation and gender identity. You can read the full text of it here, but if you don’t feel like it, the basic summary is that it’s mostly a Find-And-Replace job, substituting “sex (including sexual orientation and gender identity)” for the word “sex” in existing anti-discrimination laws.

Why is the Equality Act important?

Right now, across the entire US, it is illegal for someone to be fired due to their sexual orientation or gender identity. In many states, there is a specific state law prohibiting this form of discrimination. However, in the rest of the states, where there isn’t an explicitly state law, it’s prohibited because of an interpretation of the word “sex” in existing anti-discrimination laws.

These existing laws prohibit discrimination on the basis of sex. For a plain, simple example, that means that you can’t reject a qualified candidate for a job, simply because she’s a woman. Sex cannot be the deciding factor.

And that’s where the interpretation comes in. Over the years, guidance of federal agencies and findings in court cases have held that this protection on the basis of sex extends to sexual orientation and gender identity. Let me tell a quick pair of stories to illustrate:

1: You have a hardworking, recently promoted employee named Alex. One Monday morning, Alex comes into the office, sporting a shiny new ring. Intrigued, you ask about it. “I got married to Elizabeth on Saturday!”, comes the excited reply. You congratulate Alex and wish him a happy life.

2. You have a hardworking, recently promoted employee named Alex. One Monday morning, Alex comes into the office, sporting a shiny new ring. Intrigued, you ask about it. “I got married to Elizabeth on Saturday!”, comes the excited reply. You fire Alex and throw the contents of her desk on the street.

In this scenario, the only difference between Alex and Alex is their sex. Their sexual orientation is effectively irrelevant. You fired Alexandra for doing something you would have been fine with Alexander doing, therefore you have illegally discriminated against Alexandra on the basis of sex.

Or so says the interpretation.

The thing about an interpretation of this kind is that it’s fragile. It’s great when you have LGBTQ-friendly people at the wheel. But all it takes is one fascist dictator wannabe to tell the federal agencies to change their mind. All it takes is five people in black robes with a lean to the right to say “Nah, I think it means this”.

And that’s where we are today.

The court cases heard last month will be decided next June, and there is a very real possibility that the Supreme Court will reject the interpretation that sexual orientation and gender identity are protected on the basis of sex. If that happens, it will immediately become legal to fire people or refuse housing or kick someone off a bus for being gay or being trans in more than half of the states in this country.

So that’s bad.

The Equality Act, by explicitly including protection for sexual orientation and gender identity, will make it clear that kind of discrimination is illegal. It won’t be open to interpretation, and will be far more resistant to the direction of the wind in DC.

What else should I know about the Equality Act?

It explicitly provides protection for intersex people. When I did a survey of state-level anti-discrimination laws earlier this year, I found that intersex people were largely ignored. That leaves them in legal limbo land where maybe they’re protected and maybe not. The Equality Act includes “sex characteristics, including intersex traits” under the definition of “sex”, and would thereby unambiguously include that in all of the protections provided. However, while the Equality Act is a step in the right direction, but it does not address specific intersex issues.

It covers the “perception or belief, even if inaccurate” case, which plugs some potential loopholes in protection.

It is worded vaguely enough to protect agender and non-binary people, but it does not explicitly mention them.

Unfortunately, sexual orientation is defined as a specific, enumerated list: “homosexuality, heterosexuality, or bisexuality”. Asexual and pansexual, etc., are not included. This is a common failure of many anti-discrimination laws. I doubt it’s born of malice. Instead, it’s a combination of ignorance and inertia. So many existing laws define it this way, it’s easy to copy and paste without thinking. I prefer the language in New York City’s ordinance: “A continuum of sexual orientation exists and includes, but is not limited to, heterosexuality, homosexuality, bisexuality, asexuality and pansexuality.”

There is no mention of romantic or affectional orientation in the Equality Act. This strikes me as a huge hole. Not only does this mean it completely leave out protection for aromantic people, it opens a loophole for discrimination based on romantic orientation of all types.

Nothing in the Equality Act tries to fix unnecessarily gendered language that exists in the law. That would be a far more involved undertaking.

So where does the Equality Act stand?

The Equality Act has been passed in the House of Representatives, where it was a priority of the Democratic majority there. After passage, it was sent to the Senate, where it will die, because the Republican majority there wants nothing to do with it. And the President wouldn’t have signed it anyway. There is no chance in hell that it will be passed before 2021, and even that would require Democrats holding the House, taking the Senate, and getting the White House.

So, you see, that’s a bit of a problem. The Supreme Court’s ruling on these cases will come out in June 2020...

What you can do about it!

VOTE.

And vote for the Democrat where applicable. Republicans are actively opposed to this issue. You have seen what happens when Republicans have control over the government and it is up to you to make sure that doesn’t happen again. Yeah, sure, Democrats aren’t perfect, but they’re a hell of a lot better than this fascist clown show and homophobic sidekick we have now, so vote Democrat and then keep the pressure on to force them to get better. (And while you’re at it, push them for Ranked Choice Voting so we can maybe get rid of the two party stranglehold...)

Find out about your local anti-discrimination laws. Local anti-discrimination laws won’t be overturned by the court decision in these cases. So, if your state or city does not already have LGBTQ protections in its anti-discrimination laws (or doesn’t even have any anti-discrimination laws at all) band together and make noise. Get them to pass one.

Tell everyone you can about this. Be loud. Silence will let them get away with it.

Fight back. If it all goes to hell in your state next June, boycott any business that fires someone for being trans, picket any apartment complex who evicts a gay couple. Broadcast their bigotry, shame them publicly. Make noise.

Reach out to your lawmakers and tell them that you support the Equality Act and think it needs to be improved and passed. And “improved” is key. Since it hasn’t passed yet, there’s still time to make it better. So tell them they need to make it better. (At the same time, don’t let perfect be the enemy of the good. As it stands today, it’s a vast improvement over existing law, so work to get the Equality Act passed, even if they don’t fix it.)

But Wait... There’s More!

Another interesting (and unexpected) side story related to this which came up after I’d written most of this post is that ratification of the ERA is now within reach, thanks to Virginia going fully blue. While it’s very likely that VA will vote to ratify in one of their first actions in January, there’s some haziness about whether or not it will count. That means it will be a fascinating backdrop for the presidential election, with one side fully supporting ratification, maybe even with a woman carrying the flag for the second time in a row, and the other side being forced to explain why they don’t think women are equal, while they run a disgusting misogynist and/or someone who refuses to even eat with women. Popcorn time!

But... What’s the ERA, you ask? That’s a fair question, because it hasn’t been talked about much since it was killed by a pack of anti-feminists back in the 70s. It’s the Equal Rights Amendment, a constitutional amendment that reads “Equality of rights under the law shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of sex.”

The haziness surrounding ratification is twofold: First, the original congressional language had a deadline, which has long since passed. Second, some states which ratified it early on have since rescinded their ratification. Proponents of ratification will note that the original deadline was extended once, and can be extended again, if needed, and beyond that, a deadline may not even be valid. As for rescinding the ratification, it’s not clear whether or not a state can even do that. At any rate, it’s bound to head to court and make a lot of noise along the way.

As you may have noticed, the language is very similar to the vague meaning of “sex” that the Equality Act is trying to fix. Will the ERA protect gender identity and sexual orientation? That’s unclear. It’s open to the same interpretation and court opinions that come up in the Civil Rights Act. In fact, the Supreme Court decision in those cases I mentioned above, whichever way it goes, will probably be the precedent at work, should the ERA actually get ratified and take effect.

So you know what that means, right?

Once the ERA is ratified, we're going to need the ERA 2 to explicitly include what the original ERA leaves out.

We have a lot of work to do. Time to get busy.

#equality #equality act #era #equal rights amendment

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