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writingwithcolor · 3 years

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Jurassic period alien interacting with key cultures and historical figures in Middle East & Asia throughout history

@ketchupmaster400 said:

Hello, so my question is for a character I’ve been working on for quite a while but wasn’t sure about a few things. So basically at the beginning of the universe there was this for less being made up of dark matter and dark energy. Long story short it ends up on earth during the Jurassic Period. It has the ability to adapt and assimilate into other life animals except it’s hair is always black and it’s skin is always white and it’s eyes are always red. It lives like this going from animal to animal until it finally becomes human and gains true sentience and self awareness. As a human it lives within the Middle East and Asia wondering around trying to figure out its purpose and meaning. So what I initially wanted to do with it was have small interactions with the dark matter human and other native humans that kinda helped push humanity into the direction it is now. For example, Mehndhi came about when the dark matter human was drawing on their skin because it felt insecure about having such white skin compared to other people. And ancient Indians saw it and thought it was cool so they adopted it and developed it into Mehndi. Minor and small interactions though early history leading to grander events. Like they would be protecting Jerusalem and it’s people agains the Crusaders later on. I also had the idea of the the dark matter human later on interacting with the prophets Jesus Christ and Muhammad. With Jesus they couldn’t understand why he would sacrifice himself even though the people weren’t deserving. And then Jesus taught them that you have to put other before yourself and protecting people is life’s greatest reward. And then with the prophet Muhammad, I had the idea that their interaction was a simple conversation that mirrors the one he had with the angel Jibril, that lead to the principles of Islam. Now with these ideas I understand the great importance of how not to convey Islam and I’ve been doing reasearch, but I am white and I can understand how that may look trying to write about a different religion than my own. So I guess ultimate my question is, is this ok to do? Is it ok to have an alien creature interact with religious people and historical events as important as they were? Like I said I would try to be as accurate and as respectable as possible but I know that Islam can be a touchy subject and the last thing I would want is to disrespect anyone. The main reason I wanted the dark matter being in the Middle East was because I wanted to do something different because so much has been done with European and American stuff I wanted to explore the eastern side of the world because it’s very beau and very rich with so many cultures that I want to try and represent. I’m sorry for the long post but I wanted you guys to fully understand what my idea was. Thank you for your time and hope you stay safe.

Disclaimer:

The consensus from the moderators was that the proposed character and story is disrespectful from multiple cultural perspectives. However, we can’t ignore the reality that this is a commonly deployed trope in many popular science fiction/ thriller narratives. Stories that seek to take religious descriptions of events at face value from an areligious perspective particularly favor this approach. Thus, we have two responses:

Where we explain why we don’t believe this should be attempted.

Where we accept the possibility of our advice being ignored.

1) No - Why You Shouldn’t Do This:

Hi! I’ll give you the short answer first, and then the extended one.

Short answer: no, this is not okay.

Extended answer. I’ll divide it into three parts.

1) Prophet Muhammad as a character:

Almost every aspect of Islam, particularly Allah (and the Qur’an), the Prophet(s) and the companions at the time of Muhammad ﷺ, are strictly kept within the boundaries of real life/reality. I’ll assume this comes from a good place, and I can understand that from one side, but seriously, just avoid it. It is extremely disrespectful and something that is not even up to debate for Muslims to do, let alone for non-Muslims. Using Prophet Muhammad as a character will only bring you problems. There is no issue with mentioning the Prophet during his lifetime when talking about his attributes, personality, sayings or teachings, but in no way, we introduce fictional aspects in a domain that Muslims worked, and still work, hard to keep free from any doubtful event or incident. Let’s call it a closed period: we don’t add anything that was not actually there.

Reiterating then, don’t do this. There is a good reason why Muslims don’t have any pictures of Prophet Muhammad. We know nothing besides what history conveyed from him.

After this being said, there is another factor you missed – Jesus is also an important figure in Islam and his story from the Islamic perspective differs (a lot) from that of the Christian perspective. And given what you said in your ask, you would be taking the Christian narrative of Jesus. If it was okay to use Prophet Muhammad as a character (reminder: it’s not) and you have had your dark matter human interacting with the biblical Jesus, it will result in a complete mess; you would be conflating two religions.

2) Crusaders and Jerusalem:

You said this dark matter human will be defending Jerusalem against the Crusaders. At first, there is really no problem with this. However, ask yourself: is this interaction a result of your character meeting with both Jesus and Prophet Muhammed? If yes, please refer to the previous point. If not, or even if you just want to maintain this part of the story, your dark matter human can interact with the important historical figures of the time. For example, if you want a Muslim in your story, you can use Salah-Ad-Din Al-Ayoubi (Saladin in the latinized version) that took back Jerusalem during the Third Crusade. Particularly, this crusade has plenty of potential characters.

Also, featuring Muslim characters post Prophet Muhammad and his companions’ time, is completely fine, just do a thorough research.

3) Middle Eastern/South Asian settings and Orientalism:

The last point I want to remark is with the setting you chose for your story. Many times, when we explore the SWANA or South Asian regions it’s done through an orientalist lens. Nobody is really safe from falling into orientalism, not even the people from those regions. My suggestion is educating yourself in what orientalism is and how it’s still prevalent in today’s narrative. Research orientalism in entertainment, history... and every other area you can think of. Edward Said coined this term for the first time in history, so he is a good start. There are multiple articles online that touch this subject too. For further information, I defer to middle eastern mods.

- Asmaa

Racism and Pseudo-Archaeology:

A gigantic, unequivocal and absolute no to all of it, lmao.

I will stick to the bit about the proposed origin of mehendi in your WIP, it’s the arc I feel I’m qualified to speak on, Asmaa has pretty much touched upon the religious and orientalism complications.

Let me throw out one more word: pseudoarchaeology. That is, taking the cultural/spiritual/historical legacies of ancient civilizations, primarily when it involves people of colour, and crediting said legacies to be the handiwork of not just your average Outsider/White Saviour but aliens. I’ll need you to think carefully about this: why is it that in so much of media and literature pertaining to the so-called “conspiracy theories” dealing with any kind of extraterrestrial life, it’s always Non-Western civilizations like the Aztec, the ancient Egyptians, the Harappans etc who are targeted? Why is it that the achievements of the non West are so unbelievable that it’s more feasible to construct an idea of non-human, magical beings from another planet who just conveniently swooped in to build our monuments and teach us how to dress and what to believe in? If the answer makes you uncomfortable, it’s because it should: denying the Non-West agency of their own feats is not an innocent exercise in sci-fi worldbuilding, it comes loaded with implications of racial superiority and condescension towards the intellect and prowess of Non-European cultures.

Now, turning to specifics:

Contrary to what Sarah J. Maas might believe- mehendi designs are neither mundane, purely aesthetic tattoos nor can they be co-opted by random Western fantasy characters. While henna has existed as an art form in various cultures, I’m limiting my answer to the Indian context, (specifying since you mention ancient India). Mehendi is considered one of the tenets of the Solah Shringar- sixteen ceremonial adornments for Hindu brides, one for each phase of the moon, as sanctioned by the Vedic texts. The shade of the mehendi is a signifier for the strength of the matrimonial bond: the darker the former, the stronger the latter. Each of the adornments carries significant cosmological/religious symbolism for Hindus. To put it bluntly, when you claim this to be an invention of the aliens, you are basically taking a very sacred cultural and artistic motif of our religion and going “Well actually….extraterrestrials taught them all this.”

In terms of Ayurveda (Traditional holistic South Asian medicine) , mehendi was used for its medicinal properties. It works as a cooling agent on the skin and helps to alleviate stress, particularly for the bride-to-be. Not really nice to think that aliens lent us the secrets of Ayurvedic science (pseudoarchaeology all over again).

I’m just not feeling this arc at all. The closest possible alternative I could see to this is the ancient Indian characters incorporating some specific stylistic motifs in their mehendi in acknowledgement to this entity, in the same vein of characters incorporating motifs of tribute into their armour or house insignia, but even so, I’m not sure how well that would play out. If you do go ahead with this idea, I cannot affirm that it will not receive backlash.

-Mimi

These articles might help:

Pseudoarchaeology and the Racism Behind Ancient Aliens

A History of Indian Henna (this studies mehendi origins mostly with reference to Mughal history)

Solah Shringar

2) Not Yes, But If Ignoring the Above:

I will be the dissenting voice of “Not No, But Here Are The Big Caveats.” Given that there is no way to make the story you want to tell palatable to certain interpretations of Islam and Christianity, here is my advice if the above arguments did not sufficiently deter you.

1. Admiration ≠ Research: It is not enough to just admire cultures for their richness and beauty. You need to actually do the research and learn about them to determine if the story you want to tell is a good fit for the values and principles these cultures prioritize. You need to understand the significance of historical figures and events to understand the issues with attributing the genesis of certain cultural accomplishments to an otherworldly influence. 1.

2. Give Less Offense When Possible and Think Empathetically: You should try to imagine the mindsets of those you will offend and think about to what degree you can soften or ameliorate certain aspects of your plot, the creature’s characteristics, and the creature’s interactions with historical figures to make your narrative more compatible. There is no point pretending that much of areligious science fiction is incompatible with monotheist, particularly non-henotheistic, religious interpretations as well as the cultural items and rituals derived from those religious interpretations. One can’t take “There is no god, just a lonely alien” and make that compatible with “There is god, and only in this particular circumstance.” Thus:

As stated above by Asmaa and Mimi, there is no escaping the reality the story you propose is offensive to some. Expect their outcry to be directed towards you. Can you tolerate that?

Think about how you would feel if someone made a story where key components of your interpretation of reality are singled out as false. How does this make you feel? Are you comfortable doing that to others?

3. Is Pseudoarchaeology Appropriate Here?: Mimi makes a good point about the racial biases of pseudoarchaeology. Pseudoarchaeology is a particular weakness of Western-centric atheist sci-fi. Your proposed story is the equivalent of a vaguely non-descript Maya/Aztec/Egyptian pyramid or Hindu/ Buddhist-esque statue being the source for a Resident Evil bio weapon/ Predator nest/ Assassin’s Creed Isu relic.

Is this how you wish to draw attention to these cultures you admire? While there is no denying their ubiquity in pop-culture, such plots trivialize broad swathes of non-white history and diminish the accomplishments of associated ethnic groups. The series listed above all lean heavily into these tropes either because the authors couldn’t bother to figure out something more creative or because they are intentionally telling a story the audience isn’t supposed to take seriously.*

More importantly, I detect a lot of sincerity in your ask, so I imagine such trivialization runs counter to your expressed desire to depict Eastern cultures in a positive and accurate manner.

4. Freedom to Write ≠ Freedom from Consequence: Once again, as a reminder, it’s not our job to reassure you as to whether or not what you are proposing is ok. Asmaa and Mimi have put a lot of effort into explaining who you will offend and why. We are here to provide context, but the person who bears the ultimate responsibility for how you choose to shape this narrative, particularly if you share this story with a wide audience, is you. Speaking as one writer to another, I personally do not have a strong opinion one way or the other, but I think it is important to be face reality head-on.

- Marika.

* This is likely why the AC series always includes that disclaimer stating the games are a product of a multicultural, inter-religious team and why they undermine Western cultures and Western religious interpretations as often (if not moreso) than those for their non-Western counterparts.

Note: Most WWC asks see ~ 5 hours of work from moderators before they go live. Even then, this ask took an unusually long amount of time in terms of research, emotional labor and discussion. If you found this ask (and others) useful, please consider tipping the moderators (link here), Asmaa (coming eventually) and Mimi (here). I also like money - Marika.

#alien character #historical fiction #science fiction #pseudoarchaeology #Middle-Eastern cultures #South-Asian cultures #Islam #writing with Islam #mehendi #cultural appropriation #areligious perspectives in writing #asks #WWC

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jungshookz · 4 years

Text

kiss me at midnight; myg

➺ pairing; min yoongi x reader

➺ genre; ceo!y/n x secretary!yoongiverse!! sfw!! fluff!! the title says it all!! this is the moment we’ve all been waiting for!!

➺ wordcount; 8.1k

➺ summary; y/n finally musters up enough courage to tell yoongi about her i-know-i’m-your-boss-but-i-have-non-boss-feelings-for-you feelings.

➺ what to expect; “careful, secretary min… i might have to give you a raise if you keep sweet-talking me like that.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“let’s see… the decorators are coming at 2, the caterers are coming at 6:30, the DJ is coming at 7…” yoongi reads out loud as he goes down his checklist, “the bartender sent over the special drinks menu which i emailed to you this morning, and- ah, right, the caterers mentioned that they were able to switch the mini hot dogs to sliders instead-”

“oh, that’s great! mini hot dogs just don’t carry the same level of class as teeny little hamburgers…” you narrow your eyes slightly as you clasp your hands in front of your face, tapping your fingers against each other, “what about the chocolate lava cakes?”

“mhm, don’t worry, those are on the menu as well, as per your request,” yoongi pauses, “ah- the people bringing the photo-booths are coming to set them up at 5 - we’ve already cleared out the space for them, so that should be good to go… also, are we putting a limit on photos?”

“a limit?”

“yes, a limit,” yoongi looks up at you and shrugs, “there’s only so much film and it wouldn’t be fair for one person to take ten photos and for another person to not have any at all.”

you immediately scoff before dismissing yoongi with a flick of your wrist, “silly yoongi, you can’t put a limit on fun. just tell them we’re willing to pay for extra film and for one of their workers to hang out at the party and wait until the booths need refilling.”

“there.. is no limit… on fun…” yoongi mutters to himself as he continues to scribble notes down in his notebook, “and… that’s it!” he clicks his pen before tucking it back into his shirt pocket, “pretty much everything has been taken care of. if all goes well, this’ll be a fantastic new year’s eve party.”

“yay!” you throw your hands up into the air before leaning back against your chair with a giggle, “this is so exciting. i love throwing parties!”

“and i love planning parties...” yoongi hums absentmindedly, looking back down at his list, “so i guess we make a pretty good team...”

“teamwork makes the dream work, right?”

“mm.”

a couple seconds of silence ticks by as you scour through your brain for a new topic of discussion

you could... talk about the weather?

or maybe ask him what he did over the weekend?

ask him about what he did on christmas day??

“so…” you clear your throat, smoothing your skirt down before folding your arms on your desk and leaning forward slightly, “you bringin’ any... hot dates to the party tonight?”

wow

that was... not an ideal topic of discussion

also, way to sound like a creep!

“me?” yoongi glances up at you and tilts his head slightly, “well, i’ll be with you.” he pauses, dark brows knitting together, “did you… want me to bring a date?” he shifts in his seat, “i’m sure i can arrange for someone to accompany me if that’s what you want.”

“no!” your eyes widen and you shake your head quickly, “i mean- no, i was just- you know, i just- usually you have a plus-one that you bring to parties and, like, i’m sure that you probably had other new year’s plans that didn’t involve being at the party your boss is throwing- i’m just saying that perhaps, if you were planning on actually bringing someone, i just wouldn’t want to be a cock-block-”

you’re cut off (thankfully) when yoongi’s phone suddenly starts to buzz on your desk

he extends his arm and catches it right as it’s about to fall off (which, admittedly, shouldn’t have been as hot as it was, but yoongi could be sitting there doing nothing and you’d still find it attractive)

he holds a finger up pardon himself and you nod before leaning back a little

“hello? …oh, perfect. yes, i can come and pick them up now…” yoongi trails off, sandwiching his phone in between his ear and his shoulder before pushing his sleeve up a little to check the time on his watch, “i can be there in… roughly half an hour? yes. alright. perfect. see you soon.”

he hangs up with a beep before looking back over at you, “sorry about that! your dress and heels are ready for pick-up. what were you saying before my phone went off?”

“hm?” you clear your throat, “oh! uh… nothing. i was just- you know, small talk. but you can go now if you want to- i mean, obviously you need to go and pick up my outfit for tonight so i’ll just let you go-”

“alright, perfect-” yoongi nods and gets up from his seat, “i shouldn’t take too long but if anything comes up, just call me-”

“yep! you got it, homie-” you shoot finger guns at yoongi before quickly forcing your arms down and shoving both your hands in between your knees so that they won’t do anything like that again

your face flushes bright red as soon as the door shuts behind yoongi and a quiet groan slips past your lips before you smack your forehead down on your desk

jesus

that... was rough, to say the least!

sure, you fumble over your words whenever you talk to yoongi on a regular basis, but it’s never usually this bad...

what’s gotten into you today?!

maybe it’s just the pre-party jitters!

“get it together, y/l/n.” you mutter to yourself, patting your cheeks lightly before pulling your laptop towards you and opening it up

if there’s anyone who can get you get your shit together, it’s hoseok

Y/N Y/L/N (10:12AM): help me

you perk up when hoseok responds almost immediately, your laptop letting out a little ping! from his message

you have half a mind to scold him for not doing work and being on the company’s messaging system but you dO need to talk to him right now so

Jung Hoseok (10:12AM): What did you do this time

Y/N Y/L/N (10:12AM): nothing!! idk what’s wrong with my mouth today i’ve never called anyone homie in my entire life

Jung Hoseok (10:13AM): ?

Y/N Y/L/N (10:13AM): you had to be here to understand :-//

Jung Hoseok (10:13AM): Okay well

Jung Hoseok (10:13AM): I don’t know what I’m supposed to say now

Y/N Y/L/N (10:13AM): can you just come to my office because it’s too much to type out

Y/N Y/L/N (10:13AM): and bring me an iced coffee from the vending machine while you’re at it because yoongi left to pick my dress up

Jung Hoseok (10:14AM): Let me get this straight

Jung Hoseok (10:14AM): You want me to stop working and you want me to go to your office so we can gossip about Yoongi

Y/N Y/L/N (10:14AM): gossip sounds bad

Y/N Y/L/N (10:14AM): ‘discuss’ sounds more professional

Jung Hoseok (10:14AM): …

Jung Hoseok (10:15AM): See you in ten minutes lmao

»»————-　♡　————-««

“you asked him if he was planning on bringing a date to the party?!” hoseok laughs, leaning back against the chair before folding his arms over his chest and shaking his head, “wow. what, are you going to help him plan his wedding too?”

“don’t say that!” you groan, rubbing your fingers against your temples in tight circles, “i was just trying to start a conversation… i don’t know...”

“start a conversation? about what? about encouraging yoongi to be with someone who isn’t you?”

“keep up the attitude and i’ll reduce your lunch break from one hour and fifteen minutes to one hour and fourteen minutes.” you raise a brow in warning, hoseok gawking before wagging a finger at you

“i’ll report you to HR for abuse of power!” he jokes, his smile faltering when he notices that you still have that mopey, kicked-in-the-gut look on your face, “okay, think about it this way: this party couldn’t have come at a better time, you know? because now you know exactly what you have to do!”

“huh? oh, right.” you nod slowly, “yeah, of course i know what i have to do at tonight’s party.” you snort, pulling away from your desk and sitting up straight, “but... you know, just to make sure that you know what it is that i have to do, would you mind telling me what exactly we’re saying i have to do?”

“y/n. come on.” hoseok presses his lips together before leaning forward, “what do people usually do at new year’s eve parties?” he asks gently, in that infuriatingly condescending tone that people usually use when they’re talking to children

“people share their new year’s resolutions with each other?” you hum, thinking back to the new year’s eve party you were at last year where you ended up talking to a very friendly bartender about all the plans you had in mind for the new year

you can’t help but wonder how he’s doing

“well, yeah, but not quite what i had in mind-” hoseok shakes his head, “what else do they do?”

“they... sing karaoke really loudly?” you frown before letting out a gasp, “oh no! i didn’t think of that! do you think it’s too late to rent a karaoke machi-”

“wow, i really have to spoon-feed this to you-” hoseok slaps his hands against his thighs before letting out a huff, “a new year’s kiss, y/n. does that ring any bells?”

“oh, right! i forgot about that part,” you chuckle lightly, tilting your head back against the top of your chair to look up at the ceiling, “but what does that have to do with-” you pause, head snapping back down to look at hoseok with wide eyes, “oh, you’re saying that i should- with yoongi- hoseok, i can barely look at yoongi for five seconds without breaking eye contact-”

“why not?! its new years! you have to have someone to smooch when it’s midnight. even i have someone to kiss!”

“wait, who are you kiss-”

“and you know what the best part is?” hoseok grins, “you have an excuse to get super drunk tonight! and a drunk y/n is a slightly more confident y/n-”

“oh, i can’t- i can’t ask him, no.” you chuckle nervously, your hands suddenly feeling a little clammy at the thought of asking yoongi to kiss you, “because then he’s going to feel like he has to kiss me because i’m his boss, and the next thing you know, i’m being called up to HR-”

“you’re overthinking this again, y/n,” hoseok sighs, “don’t forget the fact that i caught him checking you out at the halloween party. you have to admit that he’s slightly interested in you.”

“that’s different!” you argue, your brows furrowing, “i was dressed as a sexy friggin’ bunny, for god’s sake!”

“and tonight, you’ll be dressed as a sexy friggin’ boss! the only difference is that you won’t have a little cotton tail and two bunny ears-”

“i don’t know…”

hoseok rolls his eyes at your doubt and resists the urge to get up and slap you across the face to get you to come to your senses

you can’t expect anything to happen between you and yoongi if you’re not willing to do something about it in the first place

he can’t even list out how many times you guys have had similar conversations that always end in you chickening out and changing your mind

you were supposed to make a move at the halloween party but you ended up bailing on the plan at the last minute and hoseok had to listen to half an hour of you whining about it over the phone

he adores you but sometimes he just wants to grab you and yell at you for being such a wimp when it comes to yoongi

“okay, you know what? forget yoongi. i’ll be your new year’s kiss!” hoseok teases, leaning forward before wiggling his eyebrows enticingly, “maybe if people see me canoodling with the boss i’ll finally get the street cred i deserve-”

“you know, i don’t know if i’ve reached that level of desperation quite yet-”

“i’m a great kisser, so it’s your loss...” hoseok kisses his teeth, raising his hands in defense, “anyways, just try not to overthink it. take a deep breath, relax, and hopefully you won’t point any more lame finger guns at yoo-”

“-ooou’re fired!” you stand up and slam your fist down on the desk the moment yoongi steps into the room, hoseok jolting at the sudden announcement, “you are fired, my good sir! you heard me loud and clear!”

yoongi’s eyes widen slightly and he presses his lips together before stepping aside and lowering his head

“what the hell are yo-” hoseok glances over his shoulder and it dawns over him when he spots yoongi standing by the door, “oh! oh. uh, okay. yes... i am... devastated...” he clears his throat as he rises from the chair slowly, “please... give me a second chance? i... won’t do it again?”

you blink, pulling down your blazer slightly before giving him a curt nod

“...okay, but this is your last chance. next time, you’re really fired.” you clear your throat, sitting back down before gesturing towards the door, “you may leave now, mr. jung.”

yoongi nods in acknowledgement when hoseok walks past him and he waits a couple of seconds before speaking up

“sorry. i didn’t realize you were busy because the door wasn’t closed all the way.” he smiles sheepishly, raising the garment bag in his hand, “i just wanted to put your dress in the closet for you.”

“yes! go ahead.” you smile, gesturing towards the closet before sitting back down in your chair

“by the way, i passed by that breakfast place on the way to the laundromat-” yoongi pauses, glancing over at you on his way to the closet, “you know, the place that makes those BLT bagels you like so much?”

“ooh, with the spicy mayo and the avocado?”

“mhm-” yoongi smiles, shutting the closet door gently and turning to face you, “they do chocolate chip waffles now and i thought maybe that’d be something you’d be interested in for future breakfasts.”

“oh, no way!” your eyes widen in excitement, “i’m very interested in chocolate chip waffles for future breakfasts!”

“that’s what i thought.” he chuckles, making his way back towards the doors, “anyway- i’ll be out there if you need me, boss.”

“mhm!”

you immediately get up from your chair as soon as yoongi leaves the room

you told yourself that you were going to wait until tonight but you’ve been thinking about your dress all week and you wanna see it now!!

“dress, dress, dress-” you murmur to yourself like a maniac, your heels clicking against the floor as you jog over to the closet

you push down a squeal of excitement after unzipping the garment bag and getting a good look at your outfit for tonight

you spent hours searching for the perfect dress and it was totally worth it now that you’re looking at it

it’s a navy blue midi-length dress that sort of cinches in at the waist but the skirt itself is relaxed so you don’t need to worry about your legs being constricted

there’s also a high slit in the skirt which is exciting (you had to shave your legs yesterday which wasn’t as exciting)

and it’s a long sleeve dress but the sleeves and sheer and billowy but cap around your wrists

it’s classy but also a little sexy but not like your halloween playboy costume level of sexy

you’re still not sure what possessed you to dress up as a playboy bunny but even you have to admit that that little black dress looked great on you

you zip the bag back up before pushing it aside to sneak a peek at the suit that yoongi will be wearing to the party

he asked if he could keep his suit in your closet and obviously you said yes because it’s yoongi

your eyes light up when you notice something peculiar about his outfit

it’s navy blue as well!!

the corners of your mouth lift in a wide grin, your heart skipping a beat at the thought of you and yoongi (unintentionally, but still) wearing matching colours tonight

heh

»»————-　♡　————-««

“c’mon, stupid thing...” yoongi frowns to himself as he struggles to tie his tie

he’s been at it for the last ten minutes and it seems like his gummy worm fingers aren’t going to be useful anytime soon

and it probably doesn’t help that he’s using his phone camera as a mirror instead of going to the bathroom to use the actual mirror

he doesn’t know if it showed this morning but he’s been a nervous wreck all day!

he practically zipped out of your office as soon as he had the chance to and he just hopes that you’re not suspecting anything

it’s just that as each day goes by, he gets more and more conflicted over what to do about his feelings for you

this wasn’t supposed to happen!

when he first realized that you liked him, he was flattered and admittedly it was a nice stroke to his ego knowing that his boss was interested in him, but he didn’t know it’d turn into this

he didn’t know he’d end up liking you back

this is a disaster!

he’s not supposed to like you back!

he already tried forcing himself to stop liking you but if anything it’s made things worse

he thought your schoolgirl crush was sweet at first and then one day he found your poor excuse of asking him to stay after hours to help you re-organize your pens was cute and ever since then it’s gone downhill

like the other day when he was eating lunch with you - you took the paper sleeve that holds the chopsticks and you folded it into a makeshift chopstick rest and gave it to him to use and,,. he’d have to be crazy to not find that wildly endearing

yoongi lets out a huff and leans back against his chair as he looks at himself on his phone screen

“good going, moron.” he grumbles to himself before lifting his hand and flipping himself off, “you and your feelings.”

of course, it’s not technically a... bad thing that he likes you back, right?

...but what’s everyone going to think?

he knows that he’s on the list of people getting the christmas bonus (because he helped you type it out) but what if people think he just slept his way to the money??

oh, god

that’s not who he is!

this is too much to think about right now

he just had this suit pressed and he’s not about to ruin it by nervously sweating in it

he’s just going to enjoy this party with you and then deal with his feelings later!

future yoongi can handle it

present yoongi is just going to enjoy the ride B-)

“whatcha up to?”

“-!” yoongi jumps and scrambles up from his seat when he hears your voice all of a sudden, “y/n! sorry, i didn’t hear you come out of... your... office...” he trails off, voice softening slightly as he takes in how beautiful you look in your dress

obviously he already knew what you were going to wear because he was the one who picked up your outfit from the dry cleaner’s but... it’s a different experience actually seeing you in it

beautiful

there’s really no other way to describe it

you look... beautiful.

“i don’t know why on earth you’re wearing a tie to a party.” you snort, eyes flicking down to the tie hanging loosely around his neck, “this isn’t a business meeting, yoongi.” (you decided it’d be best to take hoseok’s advice. no overthinking - just relaxing! and it seems to be going well...)

“oh.” yoongi snaps himself out of his daze before shaking his head, “i… i don’t know why, either. i guess i’m just used to wearing a tie.”

“well, i say ditch it - you know, let loose a little! it’s new year’s eve, after all.”

before yoongi even knows it, you’re stepping towards him and sliding the tie from his neck in one swift movement before tossing it onto his desk

ᵒ ᵍᵒᵈ

you even smell pretty

he freezes when you reach up to undo a couple of buttons on his shirt, his hands gripping the edge of his desk so tightly that his knuckles are stark white

“there we go!” you smile, fixing yoongi’s collar before nodding to yourself, “much better. also, do you think you can help me with my heels? i put them on already but the little buckles are flimsy and i can’t do them because of my nails.” you raise both your hands before wiggling your fingers

“mhm, of course.” yoongi steps aside and gestures towards his chair, “take a seat and i’ll take care of them for you.”

yoongi’s chair squeaks slightly as you sit down on it and you make a mental note to get him a new one

...maybe you should get everyone in the office new chairs to make your crush on yoongi less obvious

lots to think about

“so, do you think anyone’s going to have fun tonight?” you ask quietly, leaning back against the chair, “i’m nervous.”

“i’m sure everyone’s going to have fun, y/n,” yoongi lowers himself onto the ground so that he’s down on one knee before raising your leg so that your foot is pressed against his chest, “they get free food, free alcohol, and there are fun 2021 party hats and stupid 2021 glasses to match. what’s not to love?”

“me. i’m the part they don’t love.” you snort, propping your elbow up on yoongi’s desk before leaning against your fist, “i’m gonna take one step onto the rooftop and immediately ruin the party somehow. i bet the dj will stop playing music and his records will make that awkward scratchy sound.”

“don’t be so harsh on yourself…” yoongi scolds, tucking the thin strap into the buckle and giving it a little tug to make sure it’s nice and secure before lowering your foot gently, “besides, if anyone looks at you weirdly, i can just call security and have them escorted out of the party.” he tuts, smiling up at you as he lifts your other foot

“ooh. careful, secretary min… i might have to give you a raise if you keep sweet-talking me like that.” you joke, pushing the ball of your foot gently against yoongi’s chest teasingly

“oh, yeah? i wouldn’t be opposed to that, boss…” the corner of yoongi’s mouth twitches in a side smirk as he slips the other strap into place, “alright, there we go! heels are nice and secure.”

he gets up from the ground, dusting his knee off before extending his hand to help you get up from his chair, “ready?”

“as ready as i’ll ever be...” you reach for his hand only to pause, your nose scrunching slightly as you pull away, “i don’t know. let’s think this through. do we have to go to the party?”

“well, you are the host.” yoongi points out, “and i planned the whole thing! do you know how hard it was to arrange for a karaoke machine on new year’s eve?” he frowns playfully, “you can’t bail on me like this.”

“i guess...”

“listen- whenever you want to leave, just let me know and i’ll grab the entire plate of sliders, a crisp bottle of champagne, and then we’ll head back down here to eat, drink, and watch the fireworks from your office window.” yoongi tilts his head, his hand still out for you to take, “deal?”

“...throw in the chocolate lava cakes as well and we have a deal.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“wow! you really outdid yourself, yoongi.” you nod in approval as you look around, “look at this place!”

you never even knew the rooftop had the ability to look like some trendy upscale bar that sells cocktails for $30 each

“hey, if this secretary thing doesn’t work out, maybe i could become a party planner.” yoongi jokes, lifting his glass up with a smile

“you know, i really think you could.” you clink your glass against his before taking a sip of the bubbly champagne, “by the way, you don’t have to hang out with me all night. you’re allowed to go and mingle with your coworkers.”

“i know.” yoongi hums before his nose scrunches slightly, “but every time i talk to them, they’re always gossiping about something and i think gossiping is unproductive.”

“wha-” you gawk, your lashes fluttering, “you’re telling me that you’ve had access to juicy office gossip this whole time and not once have i ever heard any of it??”

“i mean...”

“you have to tell me something. i’ll take anything!”

you grin excitedly when yoongi gestures for you to come in closer

“jungkook and tzuyu had sex on the photocopier by the supplies room.” he blurts out quickly, clearing his throat before taking a sip of his own champagne, “but you didn’t hear it from me!”

“they- what?!” you gasp in shock, jaw practically dropping to the floor, “they did?? during work??”

“no, it was after work!” yoongi shakes his head, “i think you had a meeting across town that night which is why we weren’t here... otherwise we... probably would’ve heard it but- it’s on the CCTV security cameras and everything. of course, since the photocopier is kind of out of frame, you can only see their lower halves-”

“well, then how do you know it was jungkook and tzuyu??”

“their shoes! and jungkook’s socks. he’s the only one who wears bright purple rubber-duckie socks to work.”

the two of you turn to look at jungkook across the rooftop and you blink before looking back over at yoongi with a pout

“that’s my favourite photocopier.” you mutter, “i hope they didn’t get any... fluids inside of it-”

“gross! why would it be inside of the machine?!”

“i don’t know! people go crazy during sex sometimes!” you raise your hands in defense before clearing your throat quietly, “okay, but seriously, i feel like having vigorous sex on a piece of office equipment is definitely violating something so i might have to bring them in for a little chat-”

“ooh, can i be there when you scold them?”

“absolutely-”

“miss y/n?” you jump in surprise when someone taps your shoulder gently from behind

you glance over your shoulder to see joy before smiling politely, turning around fully to face her, “joy! what’s up?”

“i’d like to talk to you about something, if that’s alright - do you have a moment?”

“oh! um, of course-” you pause, turning to hand yoongi your glass, “let’s head over there for some privacy. what’s on your mind?”

“it’s just... you know, regarding past comments i may or may not have made about you-” she chuckles uneasily, “seeing as you still have to figure out who’s getting christmas bonuses this year, i thought that-”

yoongi bites back a grin when you turn back to look at him with pleading eyes and he shrugs helplessly before raising his own glass at you and downing the rest of the champagne

»»————-　♡　————-««

yoongi’s never been a huge fan of parties mainly because he’d much rather enjoy a bottle of champagne and full-sized burgers in the comfort of his own home

he really only started going to parties once you became CEO of the company and he wasn’t left with a choice because he was worried that you’d fire him if he didn’t attend any of these festive celebrations

he likes to think that you’ve opened him up to new experiences, helping him become a better human being overall

:-)

“hey!” yoongi chokes on his tiny burger patty when someone gives his back a hearty slap, “i’ve been looking for you everywhere! i have a bone to pick with you, min yoongi.”

yoongi’s brows furrow in confusion when it’s hoseok that plops down on the bar stool next to him

“what-” yoongi swallows his bite before giving his chest a couple of pats to help get the masticated chunks of meat down smoother, “what did i do??”

hoseok opens his mouth to say something before pausing, eyes flickering to the side as he reconsiders what he’s about to say

he’s a little tipsy thanks to the open bar so he didn’t really think this decision through but he’s here now so it’s a little late to back out

you explicitly asked him not to meddle but he feels like if he doesn’t do anything, then you’ll never do anything and you’ll just go to the grave keeping your feelings for yoongi a secret

does this count as meddling?

he just has to find a way to steer the conversation towards the topic of you and yoongi and romance

this might be meddling, now that he’s thinking about it

...

it’s fine!

he’ll do it in such a subtle way that yoongi won’t even notice!

“it’s not something that you’ve done. it’s something that you haven’t done.” hoseok clears his throat, narrowing his eyes at yoongi suspiciously, “do you like y/n? because she likes you.”

(not very subtle, but hoseok never likes to beat around the bush.)

“woah-” yoongi’s eyes widen in surprise and he lets out a nervous chuckle before looking around, “ha, i- um- where did you get that idea from?”

“you didn’t deny it.” hoseok grins in success, “so you do?”

“i...” yoongi pokes his tongue against the inside of his cheek before he lets out a huff and his shoulders droop in defeat, “yeah. yeah, i do. ...but what does that have to do with you?”

“oh, it has everything to do with me!” hoseok chirps, clapping his hands together excitedly, “i’m here to give you advice!”

“yeah, okay,” yoongi immediately scoffs and rolls his eyes as he turns back to pick up his drink, “no offense, but i don’t think i should be getting advice from the guy who was almost fired today-”

“oh, please, i wasn’t getting fired when you walked in.” hoseok raises a brow, “we were talking about you before you barged in so y/n obviously panicked and changed the subject to make it look like she wasn’t going all goo-goo-ga-ga over you-”

“what? you were- y/n was talking about me?” yoongi perks up, his interest in the conversation suddenly reigniting, “really?”

“she’s always talking about you,” hoseok points out, “don’t get me wrong - i love going to her office to talk about you instead of doing my work, but it’s exhausting! which is part of the reason as to why i’m willing to give you advice to get this show on the road.”

“i don’t need advice, though.”

“of course you need advice. if one of you finally made a move, i wouldn’t need to give you advice, but here i am.” hoseok gestures to himself before shrugging, “so... what’s wrong with you?”

yoongi scoffs in offense

that’s a little ruDE

“what’s wrong with me?”

“yeah. why haven’t you made a move yet if you like y/n back?” hoseok emphasizes as a reminder that this crush goes two ways and that yoongi can be blamed for the lack of action just as much as you

“because... i can’t! it’s not that easy, man.” yoongi shakes his head, “i can’t just ask her out. she’s... like... she’s miss y/n.”

“yes. and the sky is blue.” hoseok frowns, “i’m sorry, what’s the problem?”

“she’s the boss!” yoongi snaps, glaring over at hoseok, “she’s our boss!”

“exactly! she’s the boss! if you’re going to date someone in the office, it might as well be the person signing off everyone’s paycheques at the end of each month-”

“but you can’t- the rules!”

“what rules??”

“there are no rules! that’s why i’m so confused! i’m used to rules! that’s how the world works in my head! what the hell am i supposed to do now? go rogue?! i’ve never gone rogue before!”

“oh, god, who do you think you are? some secret agent? all you’re doing is asking someone out-”

“i can’t date y/n-”

“give me a legitimate reason as to why you can’t date y/n.”

“i’ll be penalized!”

“who’s going to penalize you?!”

“the boss of our boss!”

“please!” hoseok groans loudly, throwing his head back in frustration, “you don’t think he’s goofed around with any of his secretaries?”

“okay, but this isn’t me goofing around with y/n, this is me... being serious with y/n!” yoongi presses his lips together, unsure of what to say next, “yeah. i wanna be serious with y/n.”

“i promise you that no one cares about relationships as long as work is handed in on time and bags of money are being made.” hoseok hums, gesturing for the bartender to fix up another drink for him

having this conversation about you with yoongi is just as exhausting as having this conversation about yoongi with you

...

he doesn’t know if that sentence made any sense but all this alcohol is making the words jumble up together

“well, okay, but-” yoongi chuckles nervously, turning and setting his glass down on the bar countertop, “then we’d have to make a file with HR declaring the status of our relationship, and then we’d have to talk about whether or not we want to keep things private or let the whole office know- oh, god, and what if it doesn’t work out? what if we break up? it’d be embarrassing after having declared our love for each other in front of everyone! and favouritism! don’t even get me started on favouritism! people are going to bag on y/n if they find out that i’m on the list of people getting a bonus! ...but, in my defense, even if we weren’t together i would probably still be on that list because i’m hardworking-”

“yoongi-” hoseok interrupts, slapping both his hands down on his shoulders before letting out a sigh, “do you like y/n?”

“yes.” yoongi answers without missing a beat, “i like y/n. a lot.”

“okay. then that’s all that matters, right?”

yoongi opens his mouth to respond but he pauses

huh

that... is a fair point...

it shouldn’t matter what anyone else thinks about his relationship with you

what is it about alcohol that makes some people so wise?

“do you know what kind of a person you’d be if you just repressed your feelings and pretended that they didn’t exist at all? a coward, that’s what you’d be. because y/n is a fantastic woman and you need to hurry up and make a damn move before she realises she’s wasting her time on you and moves on to someone else who isn’t afraid to show their true feelings for her.” hoseok shakes his head gently before pulling away from yoongi with a nonchalant shrug and a snort, “but, you know - i’m drunk as hell and i’ve had nothing to eat so all the things coming out of my mouth righ’now could be complete and utter bullshit!” he hiccups, giggling to himself, “who knows!”

“well… what do you suggest i do?”

“what else do you do at a new year’s eve party?” hoseok’s head flops to the side, the over consumption of nothing but champagne suddenly hitting him like a brick wall

“…share new year’s resolutions?”

“wha- god, you guys are truly the perfect pair- no, dumbass, you kiiissss someone at midnight.” hoseok slurs, “you already know she’s into you. and now i know that you’re into her so she’s definitely not going to oppose giving you a big ol smooch!”

“well, it’s-” yoongi pulls his sleeve up to check his watch, anxiety bubbling in his stomach when he realizes there are exactly twelve minutes to midnight, “oh, god.”

okay

that’s fine!

it’s fine, he can work with twelve minutes!

all he has to do is 1) find you, 2) start a casual conversation, 3) somehow transition the casual conversation into a not so casual conversation about his feelings for you, 4) transition from the not so casual conversation to asking if you’d like to be his new year’s kiss, 5)-

“i can’t pull this off in twelve minutes. i don’t know how i’m going to do this!” yoongi swallows thickly, turning to look at hoseok (who’s starting to doze off), “how the hell am i going to do this??”

hoseok picks himself up off the counter, turning to face yoongi before a wide smile spreads on his face and a little gasp of excitement slips past his lips, “hey! i’ve been looking for you everywhere. i have a bone to pick with you, min yoongi-”

“okay, buddy-” yoongi quickly reaches out to keep hoseok from toppling over, “you’ve definitely had one too many-”

»»————-　♡　————-««

ding!

yoongi steps off the elevator with a huff, quickly checking the time on his watch for the millionth time tonight

he spent two minutes running around the rooftop like a headless chicken in case you were still up there somewhere

luckily jungkook told him that he saw you leave the rooftop and there’s really only one other place that you’d be

he makes his way down the hallway towards the double doors of your office, smiling in success when he sees that one of the doors is slightly ajar

bingo!

maybe it’s because he’s now confident about his true feelings for you, but he feels like there’s a spring in his step right now!

(it could also be because of the liquid courage, but that’s neither here nor there.)

he pushes the door open a little to stick his face in, giving himself a mental high five as he sees you leaning against your desk with a flute of champagne in your hand, staring out the window

“hey!” yoongi clears his throat, knocking on the door gently, “there you are.”

“hm?” you turn to glance over your shoulder, “oh, yoongi! yeah, hey.”

“i didn’t realize you’d disappeared... i would’ve brought the sliders with me if i knew you were in here.” he jokes, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click, “everything okay?”

“ah, well. maybe next time.” you smile stiffly, turning away from him to look back out, “yeah, everything’s fine. joy practically talked my ear off up there so i just felt like i needed to get away from the party for a little while.”

“you know, the fireworks are starting soon...” yoongi points out as he makes his way over to you, “you’re probably going to get better pictures of them up there than down here in your office.”

“yeah, i know… but it’s also going to be very loud up on the rooftop and i’d prefer to start the new year off with working eardrums.” your nose wrinkles as you let out a chuckle, “also, i…”

“what?”

“i… i don’t know, i just don’t really want to start the new year awkwardly standing in the middle while everyone else is getting new year’s kisses.” you reach up to scratch the back of your neck before chuckling awkwardly, “that… makes me sound like a very bitter single person and i swear it wasn’t supposed to come off that way-”

“no, i totally get it.” yoongi shakes his head as he wipes his hands on the side of his pants, “as a matter of fact, i kind of wanted to talk to you about something-”

“hold on, hold on- before you say anything, i-” you interrupt him, turning to set your glass down, “i, um- i have something that i wanna say to you as well. can i go first?”

“oh! yes, okay….” yoongi cowers down a little, pressing his lips together tightly, “is... everything alright?”

“yeah!” you nod quickly before pausing, “i mean, sort of. kind of. i’m… not sure if it’s going to be a good idea or not, but i just want to let you know that if you… you know, if you feel uncomfortable or something after i tell you this, you’re free to pack up and leave, you know? i mean, i actually already have a letter of recommendation written for you so if you wanna go off and work for someone else, i’ve already put in a lot of good words for you-”

“woah, woah-” yoongi raises his hands before letting out a chuckle, “i- while i definitely appreciate the gesture, you know i’m… not planning on going anywhere, right?”

“yeah, well… things change!” you clear your throat, gaze averting as you reach up to scratch the back of your neck, “things... change. i… don’t mean to sound so elementary school about it, but i…” you trail off, the little voice in the back of your head reminding you that this is your last chance to back out and not tell yoongi about your feelings for him

you’ve chickened out more than a handful of times, so what’s going to different about this time around?

you look up at yoongi and he blinks twice before offering you a soft smile, “you…?”

how are you supposed to back out when he’s looking at you like that?

and maybe it’s just because he looks particularly handsome tonight in his suit or because you’re all riled up on cocktails, but...

“i like you.” you blurt out, trying your best not to cringe or make any faces, “like… in a… romantic? way?”

yoongi’s eyes widen and the smile fades from his face, though you don’t have much time to process whatever reaction that was before he’s speaking up

“you like me.” yoongi repeats, swallowing thickly before nodding, “in a romantic way.”

“yeah.” you shrug, “and i have for a while, but i just never said or did anything about it because i thought it was inappropriate - you know, because i’m your boss and around the time i started liking you was when we held that seminar for workplace harassment and i didn’t want to make you feel like i was harassing you or creeping on you or anything - a-anyways, at first i thought i was attracted to you solely because you’re hot in that broody, college skater-boyfriend kind of way and i thought it’d go away on its own, but then the feelings never went away, and then i thought that maybe this was just a more serious schoolgirl-type crush that would take time to go away, but then a lot of time went by and it still didn’t go away, so… here we are now, at the end of the year, and i… still have a huge, huge crush on you-”

“-i like you too.”

“okay, cool, but i’m not done talking about-” you pause, your eyes flickering upwards, “wait, what?”

“i like you, y/n.” yoongi breathes out with a smile, his shoulders visibly relaxing, “actually, i’ve known for a long time that you liked me and at first i was just flattered and admittedly i was a little cocky about it but then i... actually started to like you one day and- well, i didn’t want to say anything because- woah-!”

yoongi yelps when suddenly a paperweight is hurled in his direction and nearly whacks him in the face, “what the f-”

“are you kidding me, yoongi?!” you snap, slapping your hands down as you glare at him across your desk, “are you kidding me?!”

“okay, i-i-” yoongi stammers, “i wasn’t expecting this reaction so i’m not entirely sure how i’m supposed to-”

“you knew that i liked you this entire time-” you groan, reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose, “and you knew that you liked me this entire time... and you didn’t say or do anything about it?!”

“well, why didn’t you do anything about it first?” yoongi exasperates, “you- you’re just as much at fault here as i am!”

“because i-” you laugh lightly in disbelief, “because i thought that if i told you that i liked you, that you would feel pressured into saying that you liked me back because i’m your boss! how would i know if your feelings were genuine or if you were just playing along? of course i couldn’t tell you!”

yoongi chews on the inside of his cheek anxiously as you let out a huff before stepping away from your desk and heading over to stand by the window again

“i...” he trails off, bending down to pick up the paperweight before setting it down on your desk gently, “i’m sorry that you... struggled with that... but... i think the important thing is that i do like you, y/n. i genuinely like you, and i was an idiot for not saying anything earlier... i let my doubts get in the way and...” he sighs, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck, “i’m not good at- i’m not good at dealing with this kind of stuff and usually i just brush it aside and hope the problem goes away but i see you almost every single day so i couldn’t just brush it aside-”

“yeah, well-”

both of you freeze up when you suddenly hear the countdown chanting echo from up on the rooftop and yoongi feels his heart plummet to his stomach when he realizes he didn’t even ask if you wanted to be his new year’s kiss

shit

shit!

“i’m just-” yoongi shakes his head furiously, “i get nervous when there are no rules and there certainly isn’t a handbook for what to do when you’re attracted to your boss-”

10!

you let out a scoff as you turn to face him, “-and you think there’s a handbook for what to do when you’re attracted to your secretary?!-”

“i was a total coward for not saying anything sooner and i wish i did! i wish i kissed you at the halloween party!”

“you- you wanted to kiss me at the halloween party?”

“of course i did, dumbass!” the name slips out of yoongi’s mouth before he even realizes it and he smiles sheepishly when you give him a warning look, “...miss dumbass.”

“anyways,” yoongi coughs, “i-if you’re still interested, i’d really like to kiss you tonight if that’s okay-”

“wait, did hoseok put you up to this?” you narrow your eyes in suspicion before pointing to yourself, “because he told me to ask you to kiss me tonight-”

“yeah, he put me up to this because we both know that you certainly weren’t going to make the first move-”

“how dare you?” you scoff, crossing your arms stubbornly, “i could make the first move if i really wanted to-”

“what?! that’s bullsh- oh my god, can we agree now to kiss first and then argue about this later?!” yoongi snaps, eyes full of panic at the thought of not making it on time, “please??”

“fine, but-”

1- HAPPY NEW YEAR!

you don’t get a chance to say anything else before yoongi swoops in swiftly to lean in and kiss you, warm hands quickly reaching up to cup either sides of your face

the sound of people cheering and fireworks going off in the sky is nothing compared to the erratic thumping of your heart and the high-pitched ringing in your ears

oh, wow

your lashes flutter as you feel yourself relax, your fists uncurling against yoongi so that your hands rest on his chest

you can feel his rapid heartbeat through his shirt and that’s all the confirmation you need to know that yoongi really, truly likes you back

yoongi’s hands leave your face so that he can reach down to grasp your hips and pull you towards him, only for his arms to snake around your waist a second later

your hands slide up his chest before your arms wrap loosely around his neck, feeling as though nothing else matters except what’s happening right now

you’ve dreamt about this moment for so long but it’s so much better than you could’ve possibly imagined it to be

and you’re not sure if it’s the copious amount of champagne that you consumed tonight but you just feel so warm inside

yoongi pulls away (far too soon for your liking), his eyes lidded and hazy as he smiles fondly down at you, “happy new year, boss.”

you can’t fight back the wide grin on your face when he leans down to nudge his nose against yours, both of your hearts undoubtedly beating in time

“happy new year, secretary min.”

❄️christmas with cee 2020 masterlist 🎄

help me help you make your wishes come tru (aka send me a request)

why don’t you explore the rest of the library while you’re here?

or perhaps you want something shorter to read?

705 notes · View notes

ellstersmash · 3 years

Text

Not to Keep

Fandom: Mass Effect (Original Trilogy) Pairing: Kaidan x f!Shepard Rating: T for Teen (cw for alcohol use) Words: 2.7k [Read on Ao3]

shep and kaidan go undercover, set early in me1. this was originally a prompt for "fake relationship" from Leather & Lace Romance Week, but then I waited 3.5 years to finish it 🥀

It all seemed so simple. Infiltrate a wedding, extract intel on Benezia, use that to find Saren.

Easy-peasy.

Until Shepard shows up in the shuttle bay looking like that. They've only been working together for a couple of months, and Kaidan has seen her covered in blood spatter, dripping sweat post-PT—hell, even bare naked in a hotel room. But it’s safe to say he never thought he'd see her like this. Full makeup, soft curls, a long red dress that shouldn't fit anyone that perfectly, and, dangling from two fingers, a pair of classy black heels.

Kaidan swallows hard and gives her a curt nod. “Ma’am.”

“Alenko.” He shifts on his feet as her eyes travel the length of his body and back up, her cool stare giving nothing away. “You clean up nice.”

“Ah, thanks. And you look—”

“Oh, I'm dressed to kill.” Lips the same shade as her dress curve into a grin. “Figuratively, for once.”

Kaidan chokes and laughs, caught off guard in a mixture of nerves and surprise. “Was that a joke, Commander?”

Her expression narrows into a pinched, self-deprecating smirk. “If you have to ask, then no. And I definitely haven't been thinking about it since Williams zipped this damn thing up.”

The thought of his CO, this formidable woman, giggling to herself over a stupid joke for an hour is... well, it’s uncharacteristically cute. Kaidan rolls it around in his head for an indulgent minute, trying on the fit before letting the image go.

Just one more thing to jam into that Never Gonna Happen file.

“Right,” she says, back to business. “Let’s get this over with.”

They board the shuttle for the short trip to the venue, and go over the mission brief one final time: intel extraction remains their highest priority—one of their hosts, Polona T’Shan, was rumored to have a close business connection with the matriarch; protecting their cover is important, but heavy security is not expected; their false identity profiles should be enough to get them in the door, and from there the two of them will be responsible for avoiding unwanted attention by appearing as a couple.

Kaidan knows his own limits. He’s a soldier, not an actor. This pretending to be someone else, this lie, it isn't part of his training and it sure as hell isn't part of who he is. But if Shepard’s as nervous as he is, she isn't showing it.

She’s looking at him again, in that intense all-in way she sometimes does. Before her, he had never met someone who was aware of—and pursued—what they wanted with such confidence, such dogged determination, and to have that kind of focus set on him even for just a moment is… terrifying. In a good way, he thinks. It makes him feel warm and cold at the same time. It also makes him want to stare right back, but that way lies only trouble, and none of them need another helping. Not right now.

Kaidan leans back and rests his head on the cool, if slightly unsteady, inner shuttle wall as Shepard drums a rhythmless pattern into the space between their seats.

---

Kyra drains her glass.

As it turns out, Asari weddings aren't all that different from the few human ones she’s attended. Though this reception is a far more extravagant affair than she’s used to: four days of mingling and games and dancing and drinking and food. Really not her cup of tea.

And apparently not Alenko’s, either.

He’d made a beeline for the bar as soon as they’d entered, and returned with an easier stride and a glass full of some bubbling neon sugary shit for her. She’d have preferred something stronger, of course, but they do have a mission to complete. If they can manage to get Polona alone for a moment.

She slips her hand into the crook of his elbow and feels him stiffen, then relax. Quick and conscious. He’s nervous, out of place, on edge, and then completely calm and collected.

No doubt in her mind he was the right pick for this one.

The thought settles her stomach, and just in time. Two asari approach, their hands extended in enthusiastic welcome.

“Greetings!” one of them says, with a voice smooth and sweet as wildflower honey. “Oh, what a lovely pair you two make. Right out of the vids, could be. This one’s even better looking up close, don’t you think so, Liria?” The asari takes Alenko’s hand, sensual and deliberate, then turns her attention to Kyra. “And goddess, that dress is stunning; really, sweetie, it fits you like a glove. You”—she drags one finger down Alenko’s lapel—“are a lucky man, I hope you know.”

Eyes wide, he clears his throat and coughs, then regains his composure with a brief glance in Kyra’s direction.

The second asari offers an apologetic look to each of them in turn. “Rialla, darling, slow down or you’ll scare them off.”

“They certainly look sturdy enough.”

“I am so sorry. She’s had quite a bit to drink, I’m afraid. Never could pace herself at a wedding.” She laughs. “My name is Liria, and my companion’s name is Rialla, and ever since we saw you walk in, we have just been itching to get to know you.”

Kyra plasters what she hopes is a warm smile on her face, mentally pulling up her cover identity as reference. “Emily, and I’m delighted to meet you both. This is John, my um—”

“Her very lucky partner.”

The two matriarchs titter and tease him, both in turn, and once again he’s in control. Kyra can’t help but be impressed by how effortlessly he charms them. And she’s far from immune. It’s her mission, yet she is all too prepared to be led around the room by that firm hand at the small of her back.

Staff Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko: respected Alliance Marine, powerful L2 biotic, all-around stand-up guy, and—apparently—a smooth son-of-a-bitch. It’s an unexpected feature for someone so soft-spoken and unpretentious. Like he has a hidden switch somewhere.

Or a button.

Press For Instant Charisma.

She briefly entertains the idea of hunting for it, then aborts the thought with a twist of her lips and tunes back in to the conversation.

---

The lie is getting easier. Shepard is tucked under Kaidan’s arm, and he’s almost comfortable.

Their new friends are exactly the right sort. Nosy, talkative, well into their cups, and connected. Old friends of their mark, both of them, and Liria has history with Benezia herself. Shepard spins her tale about a chance meeting with the missing matriarch at a charity benefit and their tapering correspondence, followed by a rumor igniting hope for reconnection. And they eat it right up.

All he has to do is act natural and help Shepard keep them talking.

“Well, you know Polona wasn’t only Benezia’s lawyer.” Liria leans in close, her voice not quite as hushed as she probably intended. “They were involved, some centuries back. Quite the scandal at the time, but then Benezia always had... selfish tendencies. Now, I’m not sure why they parted ways, or how serious it was, but—”

Not to be outdone, Rialla’s hands flutter for attention as she pipes in. “It must be more than a passing fling from two hundred years ago, though, because I heard that her Turian lover—or, well, husband now—almost called off this very wedding!”

“Really?” Shepard asks. What’s supposed to be idle curiosity is bordering on serious interest, her voice taking on a firm, interrogative quality to match her narrowed gaze, but a brush of his thumb on her shoulder and she reigns it in. Loosens up with a tilt of her head and a hand to his thigh that has him tensing up instead.

“Oh, yes,” Rialla says. “It was all very tenuous there for a while. And to think, then the four of us would never have met!”

Kaidan raises his glass with a smile as genuine as he can muster. “A tragic loss for us, to be sure.”

With a deep, warm smile, Rialla fans her face and leans in close to Shepard, but speaks for the whole table to hear. “Do let me know when you're finished with him, would you, dear? I think I may be quite in love.”

He's fine until Shepard smirks, then he's far too warm. Suffocating.

He tugs at his collar. “You think their, uh, conflict had something to do with Polona and Benezia’s involvement?”

“I seriously doubt it,” Liria says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “That was ages ago, not yesterday. Beni’s still pining after Aeth—”

Rialla laughs. “Oh, it’s Beni, now? I had no idea you were such intimate friends!”

“I’m 800 years old, my dear.” Liria scoffs. “I have quite a few friends you don’t know about.”

“Is that supposed to make me jealous?”

“Of course not, don’t be silly!”

“Silly? Goddess, must you always be so patronizing?”

“Must you always twist my words?”

“Oh, here we go!”

The situation spirals into chaos before either he or Shepard can recover it, and she stands up from the table, pulling at his elbow.

“I love this song,” she mutters pointedly, and leads him to the dance floor. It’s a slow number, thank god. He’s not nearly drunk enough to dance to something with a beat.

They sway slowly, and she presses close, his neck prickling underneath her palm. His own hands settle on her waist, then more naturally to her hips.

“Damn,” she whispers. “Damn.”

“I know. But hey, we’ve got the rest of the night. And tomorrow night. And the next night. And—”

“The next night, I know.” She groans and drops her head to his shoulder.

Kaidan smiles into her hair.

---

The night is officially over. The band is still playing, but most of the guests are gone, and despite making a number of connections, they’ve learned nothing more about Benezia's whereabouts.

They have, however, made decent use of the open bar.

Kyra downs the last of her champagne and orders a cocktail, dealer's choice. It arrives glowing and smoking and she takes the skyward trajectory of Alenko’s brows as a personal challenge not to hesitate.

A potent combination of peppermint and blueberries and battery acid hits the back of her throat and makes her head swim on contact.

Next to her, Alenko is nursing his third.

“How’s your drink?” he asks.

“Surprising.”

“In a good way or a bad way?”

“Um… Yes.” She clinks her fingernail against his glass. “How’s your whiskey?”

He frowns and takes a sip. “This is not whiskey.”

“Didn’t realize you were such a connoisseur.”

“No, I mean it is literally not whiskey. Didn’t have it, I guess.” He drinks again. “It’s weird, right? Walk into any bar on Earth and they’ll have a dozen to pick from, but soon as you take off…”

“Yeah.” She sighs. “No burgers. No guac. No ice cream.”

The low chuckle he gives is a sound she’d like to hear again. And again, and again, and—

“When you put it like that, this spacer life is a real sorry existence.”

Kyra nods and wonders what he misses most from home. Or who. But that is none of her business, so she empties her glass and tips the bartender in preparation to leave.

“Sorry tonight was a bust, Shepard.”

“It wasn’t a total loss. Decent food, free booze.” She rests her chin on one closed fist. “Good company.”

“By that, I assume you mean our new asari friends.”

“Sure.”

Holding his gaze is harder than it should be. He cradles his nearly-empty glass and taps his fingers in sequence. Up and down, like a zipper.

At last, he looks away. “I was going to say ‘beautiful,’ by the way.”

“Hmm?”

“Earlier, before we left. I was going to tell you how incredible you looked, but then you interrupted me, and I never really got the chance to say it so I figured I might as well say it now.”

Warmth rises in her belly and she rides it like a wave, unscathed and unchanged on the other side. She turns to face him, wriggling in the seat in preparation like he’s about to try and upend her. “All right, Alenko. Hit me. I’m ready.”

He gives a huff of nervous laughter, one hand going straight to the back of his neck. “Well, uh... that was pretty much it.”

“That’s it? You waited all night to tell me that you were going to tell me I looked beautiful, but didn’t?”

His lips roll together, and he cedes the point with a tilt of his head, then meets her eyes again before his take a slow, uncertain wander around the rest of her features.

“Shepard,” he says when he makes it back, and it’s a name so overused it may as well be a title—but not spoken like that. Low and drawn out and a little bit reverent, it becomes almost intimate for the first time in years and she can't help but wonder how her first might sound.

“You look really beautiful tonight.”

Oh. Oh no. Kyra knows she should say thank you, and tell him to finish his drink so they can get out of here, but this next wave won’t subside and the air won’t reach her lungs and all she can do is stare at him.

“I mean, not just tonight, but especially—” he continues, visibly flustered by her silence. “You know, the dress and the lips—ah, make-up! And, and the hair and everything, it’s just very, um, tasteful, and… Um.” He clears his throat and pushes his drink away by inches, folding his hands tight together. "Feel free to stop me anytime.”

Ah. There. That’s the Alenko she knows and can handle.

“Now why would I do a thing like that?” she says, sending a silent prayer of thanks to whichever god kept her voice from breaking.

The smile they exchange is soft and charged and it smooths him over. His eyes are brown. Kyra knew that already, but clinically. On paper. Hair: black. Eyes: brown. Year of birth: 2151.

She didn’t know it like this, tangibly, all wrapped up and swept away in a simple fact.

This time she’s the one to give in. “You know, you should really keep that button pressed, Alenko.”

“What?”

“The charisma button.” She jerks her head toward the door, grabs his hand for the sake of anyone who might still be awake and sober enough to notice, and leads him out. “Push it. More.”

“I— what?”

Kyra chuckles to herself and steps into the elevator. “Forget it.”

The doors close once she chooses a floor and she regrets taking his hand because now she has to let go.

Kiss me. Come on, Alenko. Quick, before we go back. She can’t think it any louder, can’t make it any clearer without crossing a line. Be better if he does it, but he won’t. She knows he wants to just like she knows he never will, because he’s a good soldier and a good soldier doesn’t fuck with the chain of command. Not without a compelling reason, at least, and she can’t give him one.

Their floor lights up and reality pours in. He follows her across the dock, at a distance now that no one who would care might be watching.

Kyra takes a sharp, deep breath. Three more nights of this—unless they can get their intel sooner. Three more nights of flirting and dancing and soft touches all for show and not to keep. Maybe she should have brought Williams after all. Or Garrus. Or anyone else.

Distracted, she nearly trips getting into the shuttle, and somehow he’s right there, a broad hand on her waist to steady her.

A nod and he detaches. Steps back. “Ma’am.”

Ma’am. But he is a terrible liar, and she’s never been good at a long con.

#mass effect #mass effect trilogy #mass effect fic #kaidan alenko #shenko #alcohol #ellster writes #kyra x kaidan #be gentle this is a collaboration with past me #one of us is a much better writer #no i wont tell you which #oh my god wrangling all these rogue italic spaces from before i learned how to format for ao3 is going to send me into a fit of rage #s/o to the 5 story subscribers stubborn enough to hang on

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serendipityjxmn · 3 years

Text

Chapter 12

TW: None

Words Count: 1.4k

Link to Masterlist

Link to Chapter 13

The air is tense that morning. Your brows furrow, thinking that you have to share the ride with Jimin now that everyone knows he’s your husband. Nearing the car, you notice there’s unfamiliar face among Jimin’s security. He usually has two with him, one is his bodyguard and the other being his bodyguard as well as his driver. You never really get the chance to know them apart from their name, considering you’ve never shared the ride with your husband.

He doesn’t say anything through the ride, his eyes glued to his tab, no doubt reading the morning news. You stare outside through the window, lost in your own thoughts.

Once you reach the company, you stand behind your husband but Jimin looks back and grabs your hand in his, startling you. It takes you a moment to process everything but not long for you to realise it’s just for show yet you can’t help having fluttered heart, walking hand in hand in public with your husband for the first time.

Reaching your desk, Irene simply watches the two of you as he speaks several things to Mina who’s at the desk as well, but haven’t yet let go of your hand.

He turns to you then and you stiffen immediately. “See you at lunch.” He says, way too soft and you feel like punching him for how he’s making you feel. His thumb and index finger cups your jaw briefly and gently before he leaves for his room.

It’s just a show, you tell yourself.

Another cons of all this travesty, is that Irene is handing you a lot of things that require you to personally see Jimin. She seems keen to let you handle him entirely.

“What do you think about this?” Jimin’s voice echoes in the whole room.

Huh? You look at him, puzzled. Is he really asking for your opinion? “I- I don’t really know all about- umm, maybe you should ask-“

“If I need a professional’s advice I would’ve asked Jinyoung. Besides, you sat through the meeting with me as well. I need your opinion.” Jimin says firmly.

You look at him hesitantly. You honestly have no idea about business world. But since this relates slightly about art, which you might know an inkling about, you answer him. “I think it’s good if you accept Wangji Co to handle the cover. They’ve been in the industry for long yet they always have fresh ideas. Apart from that, you can ensure you have a good term with Taiwan since you have their company involved.”

He remains silent for a moment, staring at you so deeply you silently pray you’re not flushing. Then he nods. “We will be meeting one of the arts director in charge. You will accompany me.” He glances at the watch. “I’ll be done in 10 minutes.”

He simply says and you take it as a sign you’re dismissed.

You take one last look in the mirror. This is your first time going out in public with your husband. Although it is work related, you’re still nerved out. You’ve never accompanied him to any event. Irene apparently never does too. Sure enough. When you google your husband, he never seems to have pictures taken with other women.

When you head downstairs, you feel your heart skips a beat when you see your husband, dressed smartly in impeccable black suit. His ash grey hair had been styled and he looks so good looking you almost want to cry.

Jimin on the other hand though, has his brows furrowed and lips pursed when he takes in your appearance.

“What on earth are you wearing?” He asks once you’re close enough.

You gulp. You’ve searched through every dress in the huge closet in the limited time Jimin gave you and this was the most modest dress you could find. You’re wearing a long dress that has a huge slit in front from your thigh to bottom. Luckily, the slit is not high enough to reveal scars you have on your upper thigh. To make it worse, the dress has such huge cleavage opening space, you’ve tried bringing your long hair to front in an attempt to cover your cleavage as much as you can. “I- I’m only wearing what’s in the closet.”

He tongues his cheek and you swear he looks so hot. “I’ll speak with Mrs. Lee about your wardrobe,” is all he says before you’re ushered into his car.

Even by looking at his side profile, Jimin looks so stunning you can’t help but stare in awe.

“Take a picture, I think that’ll last longer.” He snaps and you look away immediately. How does he even know without even looking at you, you shake your head.

It’s a launching event as well as exhibition by the director Jimin’s supposed to meet, Mr. Choi.

He speaks with several people and you just obediently follow after him, taking notes of who they are. A while later, you feel the urge to pee but you decided to wait until the main launching event is done before excusing yourself to the washroom.

As soon as you’re done, your eyes seek your husband immediately between the rows of art and crowds of people. As you make your way through the hallway, you find yourself drawn to an art hung on the wall, illuminated with a warm light above it, further enunciating its creativity.

It’s a woman, alone and she’s sitting down hugging her knees.

Something tugs your heart and the more you stare at the painting, the more you feel your eyes are watery.

“It’s called the Isle of Sorrow.” A voice beside you says, making you jump. You turn to see Jimin, his eyes towards the painting in front the both of you.

“They say she lost her will to love again that’s why she’s wallowing in sorrow.”

“It could also be she’s unable to love the person she desires.” You hesitate but continue to say when Jimin remains silent. “The painter.. I think he’s potraying contradiction. She’s in sadness and the background should’ve highlighted that as well, maybe monochrome settings? Yet the brushes are bold and the colors the painter chose are strong. Her love.. is strong. But she can’t give it to the other person. Perhaps because she loves someone who she shouldn’t, like an irony the life is.” You finish. Seconds later, your eyes widen and you bit your lip. What on earth did you just say?

A heavy silence sets between the two of you in the midst of casual conversations and regular laughter heard in the hall.

“Didn’t know you’re into art.” He says after several moments.

You only smile sadly. You don’t know a lot of things about me.

“I think art’s fascinating. I like when I can have control on it. What it can become. How it turns out. I don’t have a lot of it, growing up.” You say softly.

Jimin looks at you. “A lot of what?”

Your eyes find him too and you both lock gazes briefly. “Chance to change things.”

He holds your gaze steady before you look down first. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to hold his gaze for a long time, it’s hard enough to breathe as it is with him around.

“Me too.” He says quietly and you slowly look at him again. You notice his eyes has sorrow in it too, like the ones reflected in the painting before you. “I’ve always had to live the path set for me. Kinda funny, cause I’ve never been close to my parents but they expect me to receive everything blindly. There’s always pressure on my shoulder and I can never let myself fail,” he laughs as if mocking himself. “The moment I show my weakness, everyone flocks around me to take what I have. And anyone close to me can easily turn away from me.”

You stare at him as his expression hardens. You have to say something to comfort him. “Jimin.. I.. I would never.. do that.. to you.”

He looks at you then. Eyes pierced into yours. “You will. Once you know the reason behind this marriage. You’ll hate me too.”

You don’t know what to say to that but the coldness behind his words make shivers run down your spine making you shudder.

Jimin draws his breath before he shrugs his coat out of him. He then pulls you towards him, making you gasp. “It’s okay, you don’t have to-“ you start when he put his coat around your bare shoulder.

“Just stay still.” He says.

His hands are in front of you, fixing his coat snd dangerously close to your breast. You look up and there’s no mistaking his eyes that roam over your curves so you awkwardly struggle to look anywhere else.

He’s your own husband for god’s sake.. why do you have to feel so shy?

A/N: So I actually ended up posting this chapter as scheduled 😂 there’s a sudden surge of things to be done this weekend and it was pretty hectic 🥺 I’m sorry guys I’m a mere human I hope you guys aren’t mad 🥺

Oh and i’m not really the most knowledgeable about art, but art is subjective and it all depends on how one intepret so yeah 😂

anyways, hope you guys enjoy this chapter I thought it ended in a pretty cute way hehehehe

Link to Chapter 13 Posted on 210426 9:00PM

#serendipityjxmn #serendipityjxmnmrpresident #mrpresident #mr president #bts fic #bts au #bts smut #jimin au #park jimin #parkjimin #kpop fic #jimin smut #jimin ceo #jimin mafia #bts mafia #jimin x reader

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tempestsreach-blog · 3 years

Text

Fuck Diet Culture

This is going to be long. It’s going to be rambly. It’s going to be sad. It’s going to be angry. There’s going to be language some people don’t like. I can’t NOT talk about it though.

Fuck diet culture. Let me say that again. Fuck. Diet. Culture. It has taken such a huge chunk out of my life. I have lost pieces of myself I’m not sure I’ll ever get back. The only way to heal is to go through. I can’t go back. I have to move forward. But I can’t do it quietly. I can’t hide. I can’t live in the same shame I’ve spent the last 40 years in. Literally. 40 years of my life wasted to this. I can’t bear to live the back half of my life in the same way. What the hell is the point? I’m not going to write this in any particular order because all of the thoughts and feelings swimming around are snapshots of things in my life that diet culture has broken in me or stolen from me. A lot of you aren’t going to agree with me. That’s okay. Truly. This is about ME. This is to help ME heal. You can talk to me about your struggles, your diets, your ups and downs, your successes and whatnot. I am here for you in all of it. But I won’t diet with you anymore. Never again.

Currently I am having severe knee pain. One knee is worse than the other, but both are bad. I should go to the doctor. I should have gone to the doctor years ago for it. Want to know why I didn’t? My weight. I have injuries from overuse and over exercise and I am terrified that I am going to go to the doctor and the first words they’re going to say are “Well, if you lost 20, 30, 40, 50 pounds, it probably wouldn’t hurt so much.” instead of listening to me, examining me, scanning my knees and HELPING me. I don’t feel this way irrationally. This shit happens. I am in pain. I don’t know how to get help without being told to go on another diet that will not work.

Because diets don’t work. Not long term. I am excellent at losing weight! I’ve done it over and over and over. Then I stop restricting, counting, starving, and pushing myself. Then my body says “What the fuck were you doing?” and puts it back. I lost the ability years ago to know whether I’m actually hungry or not. I eat too fast when I do eat because if I snarf it down super fast I can get it in before my brain says “You’ve had too much. Did you count those calories? How many miles on a treadmill will you do to make up for that? Did you actually earn this meal?”

Every time. Every meal. Every morsel.

I have never been officially diagnosed with an eating disorder. Only been told by therapists and psychiatrists that I definitely engage in disordered eating.

No shit.

Every diet under the sun. Cabbage soup. Phen Fen. Weight watchers (MULTIPLE TIMES), TOPS, Noom, My Fitness Pal calorie counting, intermittent fasting, and every whacky bullshit thing in between promising results. I’ve purchased fancy scales. I’ve even tried one that wouldn’t show you your weight, but the color of your progress in the app. Here’s a hint… if you gain, your color is black like death. I’ve failed a million times and I’ve blamed myself. I am the failure. So I hate my body a little more every day and I stress about how I’m going to NOT pass my disordered eating and my food issues onto my kids. My stress levels are through the roof and 98% of it is diet culture related. What the fuck is that about? Every time I start a program I hit it hard. Last time I tried anything involving tracking or counting I was so starving by the time I got home from work that I almost ripped a child’s head off (not literally OBVIOUSLY) but I screamed at her at the top of my lungs because she hurt my feelings. It wasn’t until after finally allowing myself to eat another morsel of food that I realized I was hangry.

Why is living in a larger body not acceptable? We all talk about diversity and equality as though we believe it with our whole hearts, but that doesn’t cross over to fat. Or skinny if we’re really being honest. How many times have you heard or seen online “Oh my god, she’s so skinny. Feed her a damn cheeseburger! She looks anorexic.” I know I have. I know I’ve said those words. I will punch myself in the gut if I ever say them again.

Every body is different. We are supposed to be. Let’s not BLAME genetics like it’s a bad thing. Let’s realize that it’s what nature has intended. My father is over 6 feet tall and a large man. He’s just a big man. He went on Nutri System when I was young, lost a ton of weight, and put a bunch back on over the years because he is a big man. My mother was not tall, but was always large. I hated her body because HER PARENTS told her all the time she was fat and unworthy and cautioned me not to grow up to be like her in any way. Even when she was poor and homeless she was still large. That was the way her body was. I wonder how different her life might have been if the size of her body hadn’t been a factor in the way she was raised or treated. How might that have made my life different?

I know a lot of you are probably rolling your eyes at me right now about being vocal about another health plan or saying to yourself “just because you have trouble with diets doesn’t mean they don’t work” I know there are people close to me thinking “She just always gets excited when she discovers a new diet, that’s probably what this is.” NO.

This is me finally realizing that I can heal and healing doesn’t mean I need to weigh 157 pounds. (That’s the weight limit for women my height to enter the air force when I did in 1992) This is me finally realizing that I’ve been lying about the weight on my drivers license for 30 years because gods forbid anyone saw my real weight on that document. This is me realizing that I’ve spent my life trying to live up to other people’s ideals of what I should look like because I assumed they wouldn’t like me otherwise. This is me realizing how much unintentional harm I could have been doing when sharing another diet, another idea, another bout of “well this is working really well for me!” with people I care about. This is me realizing how much damage I’ve been doing to myself living with this level of shame for 40 years. Hiding what I’m doing. Suffering in silence. Hiding food. Restricting. Binging. Over exercising to compensate. Spending money on one last diet. Spending emotional energy on one last hope. We were in Las Vegas for what was supposed to be a fun vacation last week and I was so hot and miserable and so steeped in hating my body because my painful knees were betraying me that my internal monologue was a never ending loop of “I’ll hit weight watchers REALLY HARD when we get home and get rid of this weight, then I’ll figure out my knees and work on maintenance” Let me say that again, clearly. I struggled to enjoy my vacation because I was obsessing about restricting food AFTER my vacation. One last time. One last meal.

BULLSHIT.

We walked by shops with weird and pretty fashion dresses. (I freely admit I don’t understand fashion) the husband and I would both point out ones we thought were pretty. My brain would get stuck on “Yeah, but they don’t make them in my size” or “Yeah, that would NOT look good on me. It looks fine on that size 0 mannequin” Pretty on other people. Other people are pretty. Not me. Diet culture is pervasive and all consuming. In big ways and little ways. I’m 5 ft 9. I’m not a tiny person at any weight. I’ve always been told I’m too big. Even when I sit, I slouch a little and/or tuck my legs and feet up under me to try to make myself appear smaller and less invasive. This is subconscious. I don’t always realize I’m doing it until my knees remind me. Most of my life has been things that get in the way of my diets. “I should start the diet today, but it’ll have to wait until next week because so and so’s birthday is this week and I want to be able to enjoy that.” or “It’s late fall, I should just start now but first there’s my birthday, and then Thanksgiving, and December happens and there’s all kinds of treats then. Better wait until January, but not the first because that’s new year’s...maybe the following Monday.” or the ever popular “I already had a bad eating day today, I’m a failure. Why bother? Fuck it. I’ll try again tomorrow.” That one was always followed by binging because of the last supper mentality. If I’m starting a diet tomorrow I better eat EVERYTHING NOW. This is how I’ve lived my whole life. The time not spent dieting was just the time in between diets where I was planning my next diet. So much life wasted. The only time I was not actively dieting or planning the next diet or suffering from “I’m just too exhausting to put effort into food right now” was during my 4 pregnancies. I let myself eat whatever and whenever because I was nauseous all the time anyway and something in my brain made me fuel my body for the babies. When the youngest was born and the on call doctor who delivered her told me I was too fat to have my tubes tied I definitely started planning diets again in that moment. I believe now, years later, that my diet and diet culture ruined mind and body is part of what kept me from being as successful at nursing the kids as I wished I had been. I assumed my body was broken and not good enough for my babies. The last time I lost a LOT of weight it was because I didn’t want to ruin someone’s wedding pictures. True story. This was nothing that person felt or anything they told me. IT’s what my brain said to me. It’s how I de-valued myself. There are very few current pictures of me now because I’ve been stuck in a place where I feel shame when I see them. When I’m dead, memories and pictures are all my kids and grandkids will have, and I hate myself too much to let anyone take them. That’s not okay.

I dream about food. I daydream about food. Food I “shouldn’t” eat. Food I “should” eat. When to eat. When not to eat. Every spare ounce of energy is spent thinking about food or hating myself which leads to more thinking about food. I am not in a place where I can prepare dinner for my family right now because it’s too hard to put that much energy into food. I force myself to pick the recipes from the app and get the shopping done via instacart so all anyone else has to do is pull up the recipe and make the food. If I’m looking at the ingredients or trying to prep anything I stare at every individual thing debating whether or not I “should” eat it. This is going to take me a long time to break free from. Today I finally feel like I CAN break free. There is nothing wrong with being in a large body or a small body. Food is not good or bad. Food is food. I have to say these things. I have to repeat them to myself or I fall down the rabbit hole again. None of this is work anyone can do for me. I have to live it. I have to work through it. I have to figure it out. If you read this far, my statement stands. If you’re on a diet, I will listen to your woes and hold your hand and I will not judge you for it. This was very hard to write because I am certain some of you who believe in diets, ways of life, and wellness eating may block me now because I spoke my mind. I’ve clung so tight to the people I love and refrained from being honest and speaking my mind for fear of abandonment. I’ll have to live with it if that’s the case here, because people sometimes need to do what’s best for them. Airing this out is one of those things for me. It’s a scary thing for sure. I also want to say that I’m happy for this to lead to discussion. I’m not going to shut anyone down for wanting to talk to me about this. I am always open to learn new information and see different perspectives. Just know that if I’m emotional and feeling a lot of strong things about how my life has been up to this point, and I am entitled to believe what I believe just as you all are. I’m happy to share sources and books I’ve been reading on the subject. They are not diet books.

Here’s to doing better from here on out.

Here’s to finally being free.

#intuitive eating #anti diet #mental health #fuck diet culture

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yuzukult · 4 years

Text

i’m bad too 06 (m) || kdy & reader

title: i’m bad too - drabble series pairing: kim doyoung x reader genre: angst, fluff, smut, goodboy!doyoung, nerdy!dy (basically he’s a dork) & badgirl!reader, hitman!au, oc-isn’t-a-hitman-but-she-could-be!au, there’s just a lot of unspoken things happening here lol word count: 1.7k warnings: blowjob/handjob (lucky doyoung), sexual usage of ‘oppa’ lol don’t judge a/n: still tryna learn the correct jargon for warnings but this is a drabble so.... very minimal stuff here lmfao

please let me know if anyone wants to be tagged! taglist: @wownajaemin @crescent-iak @ncttboo @byunbaekby ← previous chapter || next chapter →

Doyoung makes you watch an obscene amount of superhero movies. For clarification: Marvel-Cinematic-Universe-kind-of-movies. However, you barely complain. If it means more time with him, you’d even watch Sesame Street just to be in his arms.

He doesn’t like to watch those movies where there’s a way deeper message hidden behind the plot. He lives for the action, sprinkle of comedy, and occasional love interest. But not a ton. Too much romance might set unrealistic expectations, according to him.

Albeit you sort of think he still has a vastly different depiction of love in comparison to you.

For one, in this alternate universe where there’s villains and superheroes, you, without a doubt, are a villain. You’ve tried explaining to him that you fit the stereotype—the whole leather attire plus motorcycle really takes the cake, but he doesn’t even know what you’re up to half the time. In fact, almost every single event you’ve performed a task, you’d show up at his front doorstep, hands remaining dirty from a mission for the Boss, and he’d welcome you with open arms with no idea.

Doyoung doesn’t even have an ounce of a clue what you do.

He’s such a nice guy. Girls practically eat that shit up when they meet him, often overlooking the fact that he holds so many great boyfriend qualities. When you’re sore from “work,” (he questions what you do all the time but you just shrug nonchalantly) he’d always slip off your socks, massage the soles of your feet and finish off the rest of your body with no resistance. He doesn’t expect anything in return—not even sex. Doyoung just gives and gives, nearly never taking.

On one side, you’re glad that most women don’t recognize how perfect of a significant other he is. It gives you time to figure yourself out; how do you become good enough for Kim Doyoung? You’ve already dropped smoking. You’ve been putting more effort in your studies, granted he is your tutor. And you’ve spent the majority of your free time with him. If you ever needed to review material, you’d do it with him, just to show how much you’re trying.

Even if there isn’t a label for the two of you.

You’re friends—but you’re definitely more than just friends. You fuck, but you’re not just fuck buddies either. You’re exclusive but you’re not straightforwardly dating. Doyoung doesn’t hide the fact that he wants you to officially be his girlfriend, although he never forces the idea upon you. He’s content with the circumstances he’s under even though he hopes to have you be his and his only. Nonetheless, it’s under your terms and he never forgets to remind you that.

Honestly, you thought that you might be okay with this. That is, until a pretty gal with shiny black hair, toned body, and gentle voice named Joy came into the picture.

Joy is a given nickname. Her actual birth name is Park Sooyoung, a name as beautiful as the beholder, but people had gotten into the habit of calling her Joy, since… well, she’s such a joy to be around. She’s part of the school’s cheerleading squad, called the ‘Red Velvet Queens,’ plus extremely involved with other extracurriculars, including the competitive tennis team that Doyoung is on. There’s a lot of bitches on the squad, especially with the encounters you’ve had with them, but Joy isn’t one of them. She’s an angel. She’s the woman version of Doyoung.

Doyoung likes to wait outside in the parking lot, right in the unspoken designated spot where you leave your bike. You’ve offered him a ride to school since he often stands idly, except he politely declines, and you speculate that it’s from fear. He remains cute in your eyes despite being a bit of a wuss.

Today, however, he’s not alone. It’s a daily routine that the view of Doyoung leaves you breathless, heart pumping like you’ve gone running, but today is different. Your blood is boiling, smoke whistling out your ears like a kettle on a stove from the heat that lingers around your neck region. Joy stands beside him, the widest grin smacked across her cheeks, lips stained as red as her cheerleading uniform. You wobble on your bike into the parking spot, shutting off the engine before kicking out the stand, pulling the helmet off your head while obnoxiously chewing on a piece of gum in your mouth.

Joy’s gaze meets yours.

She’s sweet, and none of this is her fault. But you kind of hate her presence right now, just because she’s got all of Doyoung’s attention.

Spitting out the gum on the asphalt, you shuffle through your pockets for a toothpick. This stupid toothpick that you’re stuck with because you quit smoking cigarettes for that charming boy. Popping the wooden stick in your mouth, you rake your fingers through your greasy hair, slinging the backpack over your shoulders before walking past Doyoung.

“Sorry, Joy, I’ll catch up with you later,” You hear faintly before his heavy footsteps are rushed, catching up with yours. “Hey-Hey! Where are you going? We’re supposed to meet here. Why didn’t you wait for me?”

You shrug. He’s not happy with that response.

Hand grasping on your shoulder, he halts you in your steps to turn you to face him. As much as you hate to admit it, but you feel this green-eyed monster gnawing on your insides and you’re not a fan of it. “What’s wrong? What did I do? Talk to me.”

“Nothing. I’m busy. You still wanna tutor me later or are you busy making plans with Joy?” You snarl, munching on the pick. Doyoung’s eyes lighten up; he knows the problem now. “Are you jealous?”

“That word isn’t in my dictionary.” It’s a blunt reply, and your unfazed stare is there to support it. “Why would I be jealous of a nice girl like Joy who wants to get with a good boy like you?”

Doyoung likes you, no matter how hard you try to push him away. Your dilemma before was that you always thought a guy like him, so generous, so kind, could never love someone with a charred heart like yours. And yet, here you are, evidently jealous of a girl practically his equal when he’s done nothing but proven to you that you’re the only one he sees.

You want more, and the longer you continue to deny and swallow these feelings, you’re even more desperate to be held by him. In the midst of a tutoring session, you’ve managed to unbutton his cute sky blue dress shirt, unzip his trousers and suddenly his dick is in your mouth.

“We’re supposed to review l-limits,” He stutters over a moan, fingers reaching to comb back your hair. “S-So I told her I couldn’t hang out with her today.”

“Mm,” You hum against the tip, tongue gliding down his shaft. “I heard you the first time.” His thighs tighten when your mouth envelopes down his dick to the base with his head thrown back in the chair of your bedroom. He’s glad that he noticed you take initiative to lock the door today since you often don’t, and the possibility of one of the staff members entering in while sucking on him is kinky but he’s still scared of your brother.

Doyoung lets out a soft gasp when your tongue swipes over his slit where a pearly bead of precum sits. “S-Shouldn’t we— oh fuck—be reviewing materi—ohh?” He sighs; your hands are everywhere; it’s hard for him to focus on anything when you’re gazing up at him through your pretty long lashes with tinged pink cheeks from his cock hitting the back of your throat. He melts under your touch when you graze over his thighs, claiming the territory that he’s succumbed to you willingly. You kiss the head of his cock and he bucks into it. “We’re reviewing a different kind of material. Have you ever been sucked off by a girl before?”

He shakes his head ‘no’, looking down at you with hooded eyes. With his arousal still in your grip, it twitches, yearning for your attention. You hate to admit it, but you’ve obviously tainted his ‘good boy’ persona with him in your bedroom like this, but Doyoung doesn’t think that. Disheveled hair, mouth gaped open, and sweaty forehead is a view of him you engrain in your memory.

Doyoung is a good boy, but he has a body of a bad boy. There’s no way that tennis is the reason behind those washboard abs, toned thighs, and built arms. He’s not as muscular in comparison to Johnny, nor his friend Lucas, but Doyoung is gorgeous like this, perfect in your eyes.

That’s why when you moan around his girth and he sputters, you think he’s got a halo over his head. He’s so pretty, so gorgeous, and you want to see him in all types of forms. Your hand wraps at the base of his dick, mouth wrapping around the red and angry tip, it’s glistening with your saliva as you start pumping him at a pace that leaves his jaw slack, groans bouncing off your bedroom walls.

“Baby,” He calls out the term of endearment raspily, heart racing and abs tightening. A familiar feeling stirs in his stomach, and he knows he’s about to combust. “I��m about to cum, I need a tissue, I—”

“Cum in my mouth, oppa,” You whisper, quickening your movements but calling him “oppa” is what snaps within him, ropes of cum shooting down your throat along with a string of curses and a breathy moan escapes from his lovely lips.

“So,” Doyoung begins, fiddling with his fingers anxiously across the lunch table from you. “You called me ‘oppa’ the other day. That was uh… new. You’ve never called me that before.”

Tying your hair up in a bun with a bobby pin between your teeth, his cheeks flush pink at the thought of you giving him a blowjob in your bedroom the other day, his fingers streaking through those luscious locks, and him cuming in your mouth. Popping out the pin, you slide in to push back a short piece of hair. “Yeah, well, there was a reason for it. You know why.”

Doyoung blinks blankly, utterly confused. “I… don’t. W-Why’d you call me oppa?”

“So you wouldn’t get nervous and just let me swallow.”

#neosmutcollective #doyoung smut #doyoung x reader #nct smut #doyoung #nct 127 #nct u #gyukultfics

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mdawritings · 3 years

Text

Wanna Be Yours: Ch. 12

II.I

Masterlist

Warnings: References to violence, canon-typical descriptions of violence, crime scenes, and death.

Song(s): "Bruises" by Lewis Capaldi and "I Almost Do" by Taylor Swift

It’s almost eight years until you hear the name Aaron Hotchner again.

You’re anxiously awaiting the call about your reassignment within the FBI. You had completed your year of mandated leave, gone through the required psych evaluations, gone through the training protocols. You’re ready to get back into the action, or, at least, you’re ready enough to get back to work. That’s when you receive the final message.

Your reinstatement was to be within the Quantico headquarters. This way, the brass could keep a close eye on you, while still utilizing your skills in the best possible way. So you flew into Quantico late Saturday night, moving into the cheapest apartment you could find. It was in a terrible area but being out of work for a year leaves you without much spare cash to live lavishly. Without your government-issued weapon, you check the deadlock every time you turn your back to the door for too long.

You have hardly any furniture in the apartment, most of the decor being the piles and piles of boxes in the center of your living room. You’re exhausted, in every possible way, so you settle for a fast shower, during which you’re entirely paranoid someone is going to break into your apartment. You collapse onto your bed, barely having the energy to even put the sheets on the bed to make it. The call comes through your phone shortly after you fall asleep, which means you don’t check your messages until early Sunday.

“This is Erin Strauss of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. I’m calling to inform you that the council has processed your psych evaluation and administered a new gun registration and badge for you. You will now be working under me as a profiler within the BAU. It is my understanding that you’ve taken quite a few profiling classes in your training as a negotiator and you’re well equipped for this job. There will be a slight adjustment period but nothing that I do not believe you are capable of handling. You will start in your new position on Monday. Meet me at my office and I can brief you about the basics and then Agent Aaron Hotchner, BAU Unit Chief, will take it from there.”

You practically drop the phone. Your hands shake slightly, as you click off the phone and place it back onto your bedside table. You write Strauss an email in response, apologizing for missing her call, accepting the position, thanking her for the opportunity, and expressing your immense gratitude for such an esteemed position with such a great team. But that’s a lie. For a split second, you believe it's possible that this Aaron Hotchner is a completely different one than your Aaron Hotchner. You’ve never been a believer in fate or destiny. But for this to be a coincidence is simply unbelievable. Isn’t he supposed to be tormenting more students, torturing more girls, breaking more hearts? How did he end up as the BAU Unit Chief within the FBI?

You’re in shock, Strauss only leaving you about 24 hours to process it all and prepare for a new job. There’s no way you could request reassignment to a different unit. You’ve already been given your second chance. It’s now or never to get back into the FBI.

You’ve been out of work for a year. For a year, you’ve been struggling to cope with the loss of coworkers and innocent people. A loss that’s completely on your shoulders. Blood that’s on your hands. It was enough of an adjustment to get back to normal. Well as close to normal as can be. Your government-issued therapist, as you like to call her, attempted to dismantle this idea. She tried her best to remove the guilt from your mind, but after the government aid for the sessions ran out, you abandoned all hope of restoring yourself to the mental state you were in before. Everything in your life now is the after. You can’t live in the before. It’s too painful.

But now? Now it feels like all the work you’ve done to heal, to move on, to continue your life is rapidly unraveling in front of you. How would you adjust to seeing Aaron Hotchner once again? You hope that by now, he won’t have as much of an impact on you. You’ve experienced so much life, so much living, so much loss since then.

You’ve had other relationships, loved other people, slept with other people, but the impact that Hotch had on your life is permanent. When you think about it too long it feels ridiculous, the fact that a silly little fling in your early 20s has managed to change you so much. So much so, that now, at 29, you can still sense remnants of his impact on your life. They’re small moments, in which you realize that your behavior has changed so drastically over the years because of him. Your tongue is sharper. You stand up for yourself more often, and you never ever let anyone walk all over you the way he did.

You spend the day worrying yourself sick about the new position. You can’t turn it down. This job is your last chance.

Monday morning, your alarm rings wildly next to you in bed, but your eyes are already open. You’ve been staring at the ceiling for the past hour unable to sleep. You’ve been tossing and turning restlessly, unable to focus on anything else but the last few memories you have of Aaron Hotchner. Your mind first goes to that last day of classes, thinking about the way he smiled at you from across his desk. The way that damn leather-bound book felt in your hands. The way that he kissed you. He made you feel so special. Your mind then travels to the rest of that weekend, one in which he managed to rip your heart out of your chest and tear it into a million little pieces.

You think of the last thing you heard from him. Those same words he had spoken to you once before, but spoken to someone else. At that moment, you realized that you were nothing special. You were just another girl Professor Hotchner used for sex.

You’re hopeful that you will be able to move forward with professionalism. There’s a second where you consider the possibility of becoming friends with Aaron Hotchner, but you know that’s impossible. You can’t look at him and ignore all the hurt he caused you. You can, however, be professional. You know you can work with him. It might just tear you up inside, but you can do it. You have to.

However, you wonder what kind of person he’s become in the past eight years. You know you’ve changed dramatically, but what has happened to him? How has his life gone? How did he end up in the FBI?

You wonder if he’s learned to love. The man that you knew was one who was seemingly incapable of ever loving anyone. It’s clear to you that back then he was too selfish, too wrapped up in his own head to dedicate anything real to anyone else. And if he ever did feel anything real for you, he was too emotionally damaged to handle it, work through it, or to tell you about it.

Your alarm rings again. You snooze it again. What will you say to him? What do you want your first words to be to him? Will you tell him off? Should you even acknowledge the past? Or should you just put on your best air of professionalism and approach this as you would any new job? It seems impossible to push aside the past and treat him as a new person. Because he’s not a new person. He’s a man who has shaped every decision you’ve made in your life since knowing him.

You eventually convince yourself to get out of bed, reminding yourself that it’s pointless to fight inevitables. You dig through the moving boxes, pulling out your coffee maker and a thermos, filling it up to the top, already expecting the Quantico office coffee to be bad. You haven’t worked in a year, but you do remember always having to make your own coffee before work.

While the coffee brews, you pack a go-bag, an item that Strauss heavily emphasized the importance of for this job. You would be traveling a lot for each case, and you have to be ready to leave at any moment. You’re not sure why your reassignment is with the BAU. Your therapist emphasized a lifestyle of structure and predictability. If there’s one thing you’ve heard about the life of these profilers, it’s that the hours are irregular.

You get dressed, slipping on a clean pressed, black pair of slacks and a white button-down blouse. You slide on a comfortable pair of boots, ones that look nice and professional but don’t hinder your movement in the event that you get called away on a case.

One benefit of the irregular hours is that your personal time is limited. If you can occupy your mind with work, you can avoid getting sucked up into your own head. Like right now. You grip your bag as it jostles against your side on the bus. You drink your coffee a little too fast, which doesn’t ease the unnatural level of fear coursing through you.

This shouldn’t scare you so much. But the old wounds that you fought so hard to turn to scar tissue are reopening and they hurt just as much as the day Hotch inflicted them upon you.

You get to the Quantico headquarters a few minutes early, giving you enough time to get your new ID from the front desk. You get into the elevator, rocking back and forth on your toes anxiously. He’s here. He could be anywhere. Every time the elevator doors open to a different floor, you fear that you’ll come face to face with him. You’re sure that he’s probably on the sixth floor. The BAU floor. He’s probably in his office waiting to welcome the new agent. Does he know that you’re the new agent? Does he know who you are? Does he know what’s happened to you this past year?

You were assured that most of the details of your ‘leave’ were kept confidential. All that was publicized was a tragic bombing. The bomber sacrificed himself for the cause. Only a few people were able to escape, but all with severe injuries. The FBI didn’t want to admit their involvement. Their failure to save those people. Your failure to save those people.

You get to Strauss’s office, struggling to pay attention as she walks you through the basics, hands you your new badge, and a new gun. You holster the weapon, pulling your go-bag onto your shoulder, fiddling with the straps nervously.

Strauss finishes her introductory speech and takes a moment to look you over, “Agent, are you sure you’re ready to get back to work?” It doesn’t take a profiler to notice your nerves. Ever since the start of your leave, nerves and anxiety aren’t an uncommon occurrence, but this is more than usual. Your body is practically vibrating.

Despite the sick feeling in your stomach, you manage a nod, “I’m sorry.” You apologize for appearing distracted, “Yes ma’am. I’m ready.”

You can tell she’s unconvinced. Strauss leads you through the relatively crowded bullpen. You spot an empty desk across from a woman with long black hair, who is too busy laughing with the blonde sitting on top of her desk to notice that the tall skinny one across from them has just spilled coffee all over himself and his paperwork. You assume that the empty one is to be your desk. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest as you glance up at the two offices on the catwalk. One of them has the blinds tightly drawn and through the other, you can just barely see an older gentleman working on his laptop. David Rossi. You know him. You read just about every single one of his books on Sunday in preparation for this new job.

Your profiling skills are mediocre at best. Strauss argues that out of all possible candidates you had the most office experience and field experience. You’re really not sure how that helps. How could a traumatized and failed crisis negotiator who hasn’t been in the field in nearly a year provide anything helpful for the BAU?

Old habits resurfaced and you buried yourself in published literature and textbooks and research. You weren’t about to walk into a new job feeling unprepared, especially not one in which Aaron Hotchner would be your new boss. Now, at this moment, trailing behind Straus, as your body seems detached from your mind, dreading the moment that she opens that door to Aaron’s office, no amount of studying or preparation seems sufficient.

Rossi steps out of his office just as you and Strauss reach the top of the stairs. You lock eyes with him and despite not even knowing who you are, he gives you a reassuring nod. Damn profilers. Your body language is probably a dead giveaway. Strauss knocks on the door.

“Come in.” That voice. You could never forget it. Strauss reaches for the handle and you’re tempted to run away. Turn around and walk away. At least then you could leave with your sanity semi-intact. However, your curiosity has been piqued at this point. You have to know. You have to see him. You step through the doorway into the office and finally get a good look at the man.

He's hunched over, body turned slightly away from the desk. He has a phone pressed to his ear and he’s speaking in a gentle, hushed tone, "Yeah I know buddy." He glances over at you and Strauss. As if out of a movie, he does a double-take. It’s almost as if it takes a second for his eyes to really process what he’s really seeing. And what he’s really seeing is you. The look on his face tells you that he barely recognizes you, now eight years older, in professional clothes, and a face that’s just a little more weathered from all that you’ve been through.

Your memories of him are not faint as your eyes stay locked with his. They’re not just faded remnants of your moments together. Staring at him, eyes drinking in every inch of him, it all comes back more vivid than ever. You can practically feel his fluffy hair tangled in your fingers. From your position, you can just faintly smell his cologne. That’s a scent that hasn’t changed. The sensory memories are overwhelming. The passion, the secrecy, the pleasure. But that quickly changes, making the sick feeling in the pit of your stomach grow at an all-consuming rate. That night. That night he grabbed you by the front of your shirt, the way he snapped at you, the completely ice-cold manner in which you spoke those last few words to him, I’m done.

That Aaron Hotchner is not the man sitting in front of you. You barely recognize him. His hair is shorter, more strictly gelled in place. His white shirt is buttoned all the way up. He has a suit jacket on. His tie is done up perfectly. You can’t help but take note of the bags under his eyes, the increase of lines on his face. Obviously, he’s aged, but the way his face has changed, it’s not just age. You can see his eyes are dull, glossed over. For as neatly put together he is from the neck down, his face looks tired.

Hotch seems to forget he was just on the phone, entirely taken aback by the fact that you’re actually there, standing in front of him. "I’m sorry I can’t be with you right now but get a lot of rest and I’ll be home before you know it. I have to go. I love you too." He hangs up and you try to hide the shock on your face as those words come out of his mouth. Words you dreamt of him saying. Words that haunted you for months nearly a decade ago.

"Agent Hotchner, this is the crisis negotiation transfer I was discussing with you," Strauss nods at you, and Hotch stands up, smoothing out his tie, placing his hands flat on the desk. "This is Agent—"

"Y/N." His voice is firm. Hearing his name fall from your lips is enough to send you running in the opposite direction. Fear and anxiety overcome you, your legs going weak as he sticks out a hand to shake yours, but you can’t seem to get yourself to move forward to touch his hand, "I’m sorry, Agent Y/L/N." He corrects his mistake.

His hand hovers in the air for a moment, waiting for you to reach forward to shake it. Your shoes drag across the carpet, as you reach forward to shake his hand. His warm, rough hand envelops yours. At one point in your life, just the touch of his skin against yours would send sparks up and down your arm. Just that handshake would’ve been enough to ignite your skin and make you feel alive.

You feel nothing. Just a simple handshake. Your heart is attempting to jump out of your throat, beating rapidly and pounding against your ribcage so hard you think your chest visibly moves. However, his touch no longer thrills you. Maybe you are finally over Aaron Hotchner.

"You two know each other?” Strauss gestures between the two of you.

"No," You reply without missing a beat. You shake your head, finally able to get words out. You have to force your eyes off of Hotch and look at Strauss, "Well, yes. Agent Hotchner lectured at my law school a few times. When he was a federal prosecutor.”

Strauss gives a small nod of acknowledgment, “Agent Hotchner can show you the ropes from here. I expect updates from the field,” Her eyes shoot over to you. Updates about you, she means. In case you manage to fuck up again.

You watch as Strauss leaves the office not turning your eyes to Hotch at the desk in front of you. You look out the window, gesturing to the agents in the bullpen you passed, “I’m assuming the extra desk in the bullpen is mine?”

Hotch tilts his head down, letting out a small breath, “Yes. Agent Y/L/N—”

“And everyone in the bullpen, is that the whole team? I know Agent Rossi’s office is next to yours and I only saw three agents in the bullpen but I assume there are more?”

“Yes. We have a technical analyst and another member of the team. You’ll be introduced to them shortly, however–” that’s not what he really wants to talk to you about. Its clear that there’s so much he wants to say, but you don’t give him a chance to speak. You keep your mind focused on the important questions on there about the job. You know that a conversation with him about anything else just might break you.

“And in terms of training, you can see I passed my gun qualifications again. Are there any other evaluations or training protocols? Or will my time from the academy be sufficient preparation for this position?” You rattle off your questions. His face is a mixture of shock and frustration. He has his arms crossed against his chest. He tucks his bottom lip in, biting at it lightly.

“Y/N,” He places his hands firmly down on the desk. This time he doesn’t answer your questions. He’s tired of your avoidance, “What are you doing here?”

You take a pause at the sound of your first name, swallowing slowly, “I’m here on reassignment from crisis negotiation. I’m supposed to be working as a profiler on your team in the BAU.”

“You know what I mean,” Hotch presses the issue a little further.

“With all due respect, I’m not sure what you are searching for from me but if the implication is that I am here for anything other than the job then you are sorely mistaken,” You huff out and cross your arms against your chest, mirroring his closed-off body language. “Sir.”

“That’s not what I was implying,” Hotch places a hand on his forehead, rubbing roughly, trying to ease his frustration. You’re not quite sure where he gets off being so short and snippy with you. “I’m just… The last time I saw you, you were on track to be a lawyer and now you’re standing in front of me, in my office, joining my team. It just all seems very—”

“Sir?” You turn and see a different blonde standing in the doorway. She has a bright pink floral dress on, two large flowers in her hair, a file in her hands, and a pink fuzzy pen tucked behind her ear. “Sorry to interrupt,” She steps forward, stumbling a little in her high heels, sticking her hand out to shake yours, “Penelope Garcia, technical analyst, computer geek, and all-around wizard of the keyboard.”

You smile at her and stick your hand out to introduce yourself, “It’s great to meet you.”

“Sir, you remember that the Indiana PD contacted us about a possible serial?” She lets out a shaky breath, squinting her eyes and looking away as she opens the file, holding it out to Hotch, “Another body.”

Hotch has to reach past you to take the file and you audibly suck in your breath as his arm glides past your torso. “Same signature?” He looks over the photos.

Garcia lets out a small shudder, “Yeah the victim’s hands… the unsub he… don’t make me say it, sir.” She squeaks out.

“Gather the team,” He gives a nod before finally looking back at you, “You think you’re ready to get back to work?”

“Yes Sir,” You sigh, pull your go-bag further up your shoulder. You start to follow him out the door but he stops short in front of you.

“We’ll talk later,” He stumbles over his words a little. You’re making him nervous. You see his hand at his side. His fingers rubbing against one another. There’s one thing that hasn’t changed in years. He still has the same nervous behaviors.

“I don’t think there’s much to talk about,” You mumble under your breath as you follow him to the conference room. You speak quietly but from the way he tilts his head, stretches his neck, and takes a deep breath, you know your comment was loud enough for him to hear.

You take a seat at the roundtable, watching as the three agents from earlier are now joined by a tall, muscular black man who ruffles the top of the skinny kid’s head, messing up his hair, “I’m just teasing kid, I like the haircut. Makes you look young.”

“Yeah like I need anything to make me look younger. Everyone already thinks I’m a teenager,” The skinny one tries to smooth his hair back into place, but it doesn’t really help, leaving small strands sticking up in the air.

“Everyone this is Agent Y/L/N, she’s joining us from Crisis Negotiation,” Hotch pulls out his chair, right next to yours. You feel your whole body tense up, as the close proximity really allows you to smell his familiar cologne. Eight years and he still hasn’t bought a new one. Great.

“Joining us?” The muscular one stands just a bit behind you, making himself a cup of coffee but turns and walks to take a seat, giving you a slow once over. It’s not a flirtatious one, but a wary scan of your body. You’re becoming acutely aware of how exposed you feel in a room full of professional profilers.

“Strauss thinks we need the extra help, especially with the recent increase in requests for BAU help, and I don’t disagree with her,” Hotch looks around the table at his coworkers before looking to you, “Agents Prentiss, Morgan, Jareau, Rossi, and Dr. Reid.” Hotch points out each member, who all give you small nods and waves of acknowledgment as he introduces them.

“Crisis negotiation, huh?” Morgan continues to push the subject. You can tell he’s not really happy about a new addition to the team. You’re guessing it’s coming from a place of protectiveness of his team. You understand his hesitance. The team probably works well together, a new person is a whole new dynamic. If you could pick any other position you would, you have no specific interest in the BAU, but it’s a second chance and you’re not going to screw it up, no matter how much you wish that anyone else in the world besides Hotch was unit chief.

“I think the job took a small amount of profiling,” You shrug and give Agent Morgan a smile, hoping to get in his good graces soon, “Obviously not as much as this but it did take a level of interpretation of the behavior of criminals who take hostages in addition to a complex understanding of intergroup dynamics and how that might impact a situation.”

“There’ll be time to play nice and get to know each other later,” Hotch cuts the introductions short. “Garcia, the case?”

“Right,” She clicks on the monitor at the front while Hotch slides a tablet over to you. You take it from him, your fingertips just brushing against his. Everything about the interaction feels like eight years ago. He manages to keep his best poker face, all the while you feel the small sparks shoot across your skin. Those damn sparks. Except you’re very quickly realizing that the Hotch in front of you is nothing like eight years ago.

There’s something deeply broken about his eyes. You could never forget those eyes. When you first met him you thought they were deep brown. Then you spent enough time watching him, studying every detail of his face and learned that they were a beautiful light brown. Small golden flecks in his eyes become more pronounced in the sun. His eyes are different now. First of all, the deep undereye bags that frame them make him look years older than his actual age. His brow seems permanently set in that furrowed position. It’s a familiar expression of his. You had the joy of seeing that brow lift when the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile. Smiling seems to be the last thing this current Aaron Hotchner wants to do.

You realize you’re staring a little bit too long and tune back into Garcia’s case briefing, “All three victims were undergraduate students. Indiana’s campus hosts both undergrad and grad students from the law school and med school.”

“Which means a huge suspect pool.” Hotch points out.

“How are we sure that the unsub is from inside the community?” You look around the table. You can see the way that Morgan’s brows raise at the question. How else are you going to learn without asking questions?

Rossi, however, swoops in to save you from embarrassment, “The first victim had mace in her backpack, however, she never used it. The second victim had no defensive wounds on her body. The third victim—”

“Was killed in an office meeting room. To gain access to that building you need a school ID,” You nod, filling in the gaps. “I forget that technology and security have dramatically improved since I was in school.”

“Come on, kid, at least you had cell phones in college,” Rossi gives a small smile, nudging your arm.

“And how do we know these are all connected?” Morgan gestures to his tablet in front of him.

You scoff slightly and look up at Morgan, “I’m sorry, I know it’s important to find common victimology, MO, or signature before connecting the crimes but how many violent crimes occur on college campuses in this short of a time? They have to be connected.”

“Statistically, some of the most dangerous and violent college campuses report that nearly 10 students for every 1000 will be a victim of violent crime. However, that statistic seems to include any form of violent crime meaning murder, negligent manslaughter, aggravated assault, robbery, but most prevalent on most college campuses is rape as a form of violent crime. In terms of how frequent—” The tall skinny one, Reid, rattles off a series of facts at you and you can’t help but smile. He’s cute. He looks about your age, “That was more of a rhetorical question, wasn’t it?”

You fight a smile at Reid’s confused face and nod. “All the victims had the same cuts on their hands,” Prentiss points up at the monitor.

“Weird,” You mumble under your breath.

“What?” JJ turns to you.

“Oh. Nothing it’s just… hands are a weird thing to mutilate. Damage to the face shows high levels of rage and a deep hatred for the victim, removal of eyes or ears or damage to the mouth could symbolize the removal of a sense in order to punish the victims for some misuse of those senses. But hands… hands are different.” You tip your pen back to your mouth, placing the end on your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly as you think. You can feel Hotch’s focus on you. If you turn, you’re sure you’ll just catch him as he looks away.

He’s profiling you. You don’t need to look at him to know that. He was always good at reading you, not that you did much to hide your feelings back then. You felt everything so openly. You were so full of passion, so determined to be the best at everything you set your mind to. Hotch made you realize that feeling everything so deeply, so freely, opens you up to a world of hurt. You put on your best poker face, keeping your body language neutral while you still feel his eyes on you.

“Hands are not inherently symbolic of one thing.” Reid agrees with you.

“So we have to try and decipher why this mutilation is a compulsion for the unsub,” Hotch nods, “Wheels up in 30.” Everyone tucks all their belongings away. Hotch is quick to stand up from his seat at the table, storm down the catwalk back to his office, closing the door loudly. You try to ignore the weird looks from the team as you introduce yourself to all of them.

You watch as Morgan is one of the first to leave the conference room, walking after him, “Hey, Agent Morgan!” You run to catch him at the top of the stairs, “Look I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come off so rude in there.” You shake your head.

“No problem,” He states simply, intending to walk down the stairs.

“I get it, I’m new, I’m throwing off the team dynamic and you don’t seem like the type to trust me immediately.” You stick out a hand to shake his, “But I’m committed to this team and I want to earn your respect in time.”

He nods, giving you one of those judgmental once overs again, “From what I can tell, Hotch doesn’t seem too pleased about you being here. Now just because he’s my boss, doesn’t mean I have to always agree with him, but if he’s wary, then I’m wary.” He avoids shaking your hand. Your suspicions about Morgan seem to be proven before your eyes. He doesn’t trust easily. He’s been burned by someone he trusted in the past. You can relate to that. You’re not a very open or trustworthy person anymore either.

“Agent Hotchner and I knew each other a really long time ago. A lifetime ago. Way before his time at the BAU. I’m sure he’s just not thrilled about his past colliding with his present,” You nod taking a few steps back to let Morgan continue down the stairs, “I just hope… I hope you can learn to trust me, and I, you.” You smile softly. Morgan seems stuck in his place. You can’t tell whether or not he’s surprised by your manners, or if you’ve just driven further the wedge between you two.

“See you on the jet,” He speaks up as he walks down the stairs, scooping his go-bag from under his desk and disappearing around a corner down the hallway.

When you turn to walk back to the conference room, you catch Agent Hotchner’s eyeline through the blinds of his office. He’s watching you, studying you, trying to read you. However, he definitely does not get access to you anymore.

You’re determined to keep your animosity towards Hotch private. No reason for the team to detect that anything is wrong. But throughout the case, there are moments it slips. First, it was on the jet...

You step onto the jet, looking around, taking the entire environment in. You were never blessed with a private jet in your time in crisis negotiation, just stuck with driving from place to place. Morgan reaches across you, taking your bag and stowing it away in the back for you. It’s a simple gesture, but from the look in his eye as he does it, you can tell Morgan is already reevaluating his judgment of you.

You’re one of the last on the jet and you see everyone settled around the table and surrounding seats. The only available seat is the one next to Hotch by the window. You’d have to ask him to get up… or squeeze past him. You try to cover it up but nearly everyone notices the way that you eye the seat before deciding against it. You end up leaning against the arm of the sofa that JJ is sitting on. Once again, Hotch’s gaze lingers on you as you do. He’s taking note of the way you’re actively avoiding him, and he’s right. You’re actively avoiding any alone time with him. Minimize the alone time, minimize the pain.

You run through the facts of the case again, Reid rambling on about the significance of hands throughout different cultures, the importance of sensory neurons on the skin of your hands, and how hand size is an indicator for a lot of things. You share a small smirk with Morgan, who is clearly warming up to you because you both know the one thing that hand size is rumored to correlate with.

Morgan shoots you a small smirk before saying what you were both thinking, “That’s interesting and all kid, but any knowledge in that big brain of yours about whether hand size is related to—”

Hotch cuts off Morgan, “Focus, please.” He gestures with his hand to stop the conversation and you have to hide your smile. It’s nice to smile. You weren’t expecting to feel anything but pain today. Hotch puts a fast end to that feeling of happiness.

“When we land, JJ and Rossi head to the local police and talk to the families of the victims. Prentiss and Morgan, you’ll head to the ME, get a better evaluation of the state of the body,” Hotch pauses for a second. He takes in a slow breath as if preparing himself for what he’s about to say. Once he says what’s coming next, it’s all official. You start your first case. He’s your boss, you’re his subordinate. You’re in each other's lives again whether you like it or not. “Y/L/N, Reid, and I will go to the most recent crime scene,” Hotch nods and you feel the blood drain from your face, that sick and twisty knot growing in the pit of your stomach. You knew you’d have to work with him, that’s part of the job, but he’s already keeping you close to him. Maybe he doesn’t trust you.

From the way he spoke to you in his office, it’s clear he thinks you’re here as some sort of revenge. Some convoluted vindictive scheme to ruin his life.

“You look terrified,” Prentiss tries to tease you.

You look around at the team and shake your head, “College campuses,” You scrunch up your face in disgust and shake your head, “Undergrad sucked because I was younger than everyone, so I missed out on all the fun.”

“Damn, we got another kid genius on our hands, don’t we?” Morgan reaches out a hand to high-five you. “Like our own female Einstein.” Your eyes immediately flick to Hotch. That nickname. No one’s called you any form of that nickname since him. “Watch out Reid, you’ve got competition.”

“I was 14 when I was in college,” Reid states in an attempt to one-up you, but it’s clear that he’s just joking. He knows he’s smart but he doesn’t seem like the cocky type, at least what you can tell so far.

“Don’t worry, brainiac,” You laugh at him, “You are the only genius on this team.”

“And grad school?” JJ pipes up, catching onto the way you dropped the sentence.

“I dropped out of law school after my first year,” You clear your throat uncomfortably, “Wasn’t for me I guess.” The air seems suffocating. Your face is burning hot. You feign extreme interest in the crime scene photos on your tablet, knowing that if you look up, your face will give you away to Hotch. The last thing you want is for him to know how much he affected you.

He said it himself: So in 10 years from now, when you're at the top of your career, know that it's all because of me. He wasn’t entirely wrong. Everything that has happened for the past eight years happened because of his impact on your life.

You remind yourself yet again to try and keep the conversations focused on the case. The team wants to get to know you, but every personal conversation seems to lead back to Hotch.

The second slip-up comes when you arrive at the crime scene...

“She told her roommate she was coming here to study, that she had booked the meeting room just for herself.” Reid lifts up the crime scene tape, holding it up for you to slip under. You give a small smile at the gesture.

“But she told her friends she was meeting with her professor here for extra help.” Hotch shakes his head, pulling on a pair of gloves. You glance over at Reid as he does the same.

He looks at you for a second before he raises his brows in realization, letting out a small ‘oh.’ He digs into his pocket and hands you a pair of gloves. “I usually grab them from the crime scene team,” He nods.

You take them from him, “Thank you.” You like Reid. He’s kind and smart and polite. He’s your age, but you can see that he’s worlds ahead of you in terms of knowledge. You wonder just how much is going on inside that brain of his. When you look at him you can see the gears constantly turning, he’s always working over something in his brain, forming theories, or running through facts.

“She was stabbed in the back and the back of the head, correct?” You glance over at Hotch for confirmation.

“Yes.” He plays with the fingertips of his gloves, paying more attention to you rather than the scene. Without the body, there’s not much to go on, it’s your average office space. You see a log on the wall with the names of who has scheduled the room. They haven’t wiped away the victim’s work from the whiteboard. It looks like some form of math.

“Linear algebra,” Reid speaks up as he sorts through some of the papers left on the table in the center of the room.

You nod and smile, “Math never was my strong suit in school. I was definitely more entranced by a book rather than formulas and numbers.”

Reid’s face lights up with joy, “If you ever want any book recommendations, please do ask. I just finished an absolutely amazing biography about Albert Einstein. It’s not that long of a read. It’s only about 1200 pages. You know I’m sure that I have a copy…” He catches sight of Hotch’s stern expression, stopping himself mid-sentence.

You both go silent as you skim through the pages of work scattered on the floor. You then analyze the writing on the whiteboard, leaning in close. Hotch speaks up again tilting his head to the side, narrowing his eyes in confusion at your behavior, “What are you thinking?”

“It wasn’t random. This was planned out. The unsub specifically sought out her.”

“How do you figure that?” Hotch questions you, but not in the hostile accusatory way you’re expecting.

You hesitate, losing your train of thought the longer you look at Hotch, so you look back to the whiteboard, “When you’re waiting to meet someone, you expect someone to come in, right? So if she had her back turned, writing up equations on this whiteboard, she wouldn’t think twice of the door opening. If you’re not expecting someone and you hear the door open.” You point at the whiteboard.

“You would turn around to see who it is,” Hotch finishes your sentence.

“That’s why all her wounds were to the back,” You fall into a rhythm with Hotch. He’s following your train of thought.

“So the unsub had to know she would be here ahead of time,” Hotch sighs and digs in his pocket for his phone, “Garcia, I need your help.” He clicks his phone onto the speaker and places it down on the table.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Her chipper voice comes through the phone. You can picture her office probably matches her appearance. Probably bright, full of color. For a technical analyst, she probably still has a hefty collection of colorful and funky pens. You remember the octopus mug she was holding when she walked into Hotch’s office this morning.

“This building has a key card access system. Can you access the log of everyone who swiped into this building on the day and around the time of the third murder?”

“Sir, it’s not a matter of can or can’t. You know I can,” Her voice is laced with a smile.

“Check that list for the professor that she claimed she was meeting with,” Hotch adds.

“He…” She trails and you hear the ambient sounds of her rapid typing and clicking. There’s a pause. Her voice grows small, “He accessed the building around the time of her death.”

“He’s our prime suspect. We need to bring him in,” Hotch concludes, “Garcia, you’re the best.”

“Aw I know,” She giggles softly, “PG out!”

“Imagine that,” You chuckle bitterly, “She comes in here to meet her professor, someone she trusts, and she gets stabbed in the back.” You shake your head, the words slipping out before you even realize the weight of what you’ve implied.

Reid doesn’t catch on to the look that you and Hotch exchange. Hotch looks as if he’s seen a ghost. He’s not shocked by what you’ve said, but by the fact that you even said anything. It’s the first sign of hostility towards him. The first crumb or clue into how you feel about him after all these years. The answer is betrayed. You still feel betrayed.

“We should deliver the profile.” Hotch leaves the crime scene at a brisk pace, leaving Reid clueless, and you and that damned twisting knot of anxiety in your stomach.

The rest of your interactions with Hotch are limited for most of the case, restricted to only group discussions that are entirely professional. No more slip-ups, no more sideways glances. What all your interactions were rife in, was that intrusive look of his eyes. Every few minutes you can feel his eyes on you, scanning your posture, your facial expressions, searching for any idea of what you might be thinking or feeling.

You try your best to avoid it, opting to go check out every lead, just for the opportunity to get some space from him. You feel smothered and suffocated. You’re so on edge, you’ve torn your nail beds to shreds. He is seemingly unfazed by your presence. That is if you don’t consider how often you catch him rubbing his fingers at his side or up by his face or biting his bottom lip. Every time you catch him, however, he stops.

You’re having a difficult time reading how he feels about you being here. You just want to know how he feels about you after all these years. Does he still harbor feelings for you? Does he still care about you? The sleep deprivation from working so hard and the excess caffeine you’ve consumed don’t help to slow down your thoughts which seem to be moving at a million miles a minute. At least while you’re working you can put all your energy into solving the case, helping the team, and parsing through evidence.

It gets worse at night when you’re alone in the hotel room. You try to bring the case file back into the room, working on it in bed until you can barely keep your eyes open, but you find that you don’t get any work done, your brain a continuous stream of questions.

You’ve been able to profile every member of the team pretty efficiently. You have a good understanding of how Reid’s brain works. The comfort that he has with numbers and facts. He uses his intelligence to cover up for his social insecurities. Morgan puts on a tough exterior, but really he’s hesitant to let people in and trust them. Prentiss, similar to Morgan, seems to keep everyone at arm's length, preferring to be the confidant rather than the one doing the confiding in someone else. JJ struggles to separate her emotions from the work, a quality that is not in and of itself a flaw, but you can tell it weighs on her heavily. Rossi has the most experience and constantly feels inclined to be a figure, a leader while trying to balance cooperation rather than individualism. He’s used to being a lone wolf, doing the job on his own.

This new Aaron Hotchner is a mystery. He’s closed off. He is entirely business. Even when Garcia cracks a joke or embarrasses herself. You all laugh and smirk at her, but his face never changes. When you all get off track, he sternly reminds you of the importance of the case at hand. That’s his job, but there’s something more to it that you can’t quite figure out. There’s a sense of urgency, as there usually is with these cases, but almost this feeling that he’s constantly running out of time.

Even his office provided you with very little to profile. You remember a few photos from Hotch’s office. One of him and a small boy. A son, possibly? There was another of him and a blonde woman hugging the little boy. Your first guess is wife, but you don’t remember him wearing a ring.

You can’t profile him. He’s closed himself off to that. Yet you find yourself coming back to the same question over and over again, does he still care about you? You get a glimpse at the answer as you and the team track down the location of your unsub, three days into the case.

You lean forward from the backseat of the SUV, looking between Morgan and Hotch in the front, “What does the profile say about this kind of unsub’s behavior once faced with police and authority like us?”

The two men exchange knowing looks. You have your suspicions but you really just want them to vocalize what you’re thinking, “He won’t let us take him in without a fight.”

“Suicide by cop,” You mutter frustratedly, “Great.”

“It’s likely, but that doesn’t mean we don’t try to talk him out of it.” Hotch clarifies, gesturing with an outstretched palm that he takes off the wheel temporarily. He pulls up to the small house, sirens off. “A big show will just scare him into making sudden moves to get us to shoot to kill. Morgan, you head around the back. Y/L/N and I will take the front.”

You nod, knowing the rest of the team isn’t far behind you all, but they’ve all been instructed to try and appear as discreetly as possible. You get out of the SUV, watching as Morgan runs around back. Both you and Hotch approach the door. Hotch kicks the door down. The unsub sits casually in an armchair, holding a gun that he twirls in his fingers. He knew you were coming.

Then Hotch does something that complicates your questions about him. It’s subtle but you notice it immediately. He instinctively moves a little in front of you. He doesn’t block your line of fire, but he blocks the unsubs. He’s shielding you with his body.

Your profile is right, the unsub doesn’t want to be taken in peacefully, resulting in Morgan putting two bullets in him from behind when he raises his gun to you and Hotch. AT first, you think Hotch put his body in front of yours by accident.

It wasn’t an accident. He gave a small look over his shoulder at your location before taking a few steps right, to block you. Then you assume it was purely because of his status as team leader. He doesn’t want the members of his team to get hurt. That also doesn’t seem to make sense to you. No matter how much he wants the team to be protected he wouldn’t do that. He would trust Morgan to get the shot if you two couldn’t.

So why would he shield you?

Almost everyone but you, Rossi, and Hotch are sleeping on the jet home. You have a book out in front of you, but you’re barely reading, just attempting to look deeply enchanted by the novel to avoid any awkward eye contact or conversation with Hotch. The only sounds in the plane are the whirring of the engines, the wind outside, and Hotch’s typing on his computer as he finishes up the report for the case.

Rossi sits down across from you on the jet, placing down a small glass of some amber liquid, which you assume is whiskey, in front of you.

“Trying to get me drunk, Agent Rossi?” You tease him, tearing your eyes away from the book you weren’t reading.

He laughs heartily, taking a sip from his own glass, “I thought I’d welcome you with something from my own personal stash.”

“Where do you keep it hidden in here? You know… just in case I’m curious,” You smirk and reach for the glass. It’s nice of Rossi to sit with you and talk to you.

Rossi just smiles, shaking his head a little, “You did well out there, kid,” He puts the glass down, to roll his ring around his finger. You’ve noticed he does it a lot when he’s thinking. “You can read all the books in the world, but profiling in the field, thinking on your feet, analyzing a crime scene, it’s all much different than the words on a page.”

“I’m realizing that,” You trail your finger around the rim of the glass, “My previous position incorporated a lot of what you guys do here.”

“I’m sure that makes this job a lot harder. You probably want to put the past behind you.” Your head snaps up to look at him. No one told the team where you came from. Even Hotch doesn’t know. “I remember hearing about the incident.”

“The FBI tried to bury their involvement,” You sigh and finish off the glass, noting how smooth the alcohol goes down. You’ve learned how to handle alcohol really well this past year. “They keep all the details top secret. However, that didn’t stop them from throwing me under the bus.”

“What happened in New York was not your fault.” Rossi’s voice drops in volume as he leans closer, keeping your conversation more private, “The brass has a habit of blaming agents instead of criminals. You couldn’t have stopped it. You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”

You exhale loudly, air rushing over your teeth as you give a little shake of your head in disagreement, “Agent Rossi, I’m sure you’re experienced enough to know this, but as reassuring and comforting it is to hear you say those words it doesn’t necessarily—”

“It doesn’t change how you feel. I know. I understand,” He pauses, “Don’t let it consume you. All of us have been where you are right now. Some of us are currently where you are right now, constantly consumed by guilt over something that wasn’t even our fault.” You get the sense that he isn’t talking about himself. You don't need to reply. The both of you sit in silence for a while.

You start up a conversation again, this time about Virginia and DC, where you’re living, when you moved, what you studied in school, where you grew up. Rossi loves to tease you and every few sentences he’ll simply reply, ‘I already knew that’ acting as if he could profile every fact about you.

You like him a lot. You like everyone a lot. Just as the jet lands and you’re all packing up your desks back at Quantico, Rossi offers to drive you home.

“Let me just check in with Agent Hotchner before I leave,” You glance up at the office. You know you have to check in with him, it’s your first case finished, you’re new, he’s your new boss, but so far, you’ve managed to avoid being alone with him and you’d like to keep it that way as long as possible.

You knock lightly on the open door, to which Hotch responds, “Come in.”

“I just wanted to check-in, you know, with it being my first case and everything,” You nod, taking just a few steps into the office, leaving as much distance between you and Hotch. He stands at his desk, focusing intently on your face. You know he’s trying to read your intentions. He’s searching for the hidden meaning behind your words. And for once, in the past few days, you don’t have any meaning behind your words. You have had enough small slip-ups and double meanings. This time, you truly just mean to check-in.

“You did really good work out there, Agent. You’re a fast learner, you pay attention to details, you work well with the team,” He rattles off a series of compliments, “Strauss is going to request a formal evaluation with me and I’ll be sure to report how quickly you’ve adapted.”

“Thank you, sir,” You try your best to function with the utmost composure.

“Hotch,” He corrects you.

You ignore the correction, “Is that all, sir?”

“If you need anything… I mean I’ve read through your psych evaluations and I know the details are classified but–“ Hotch is struggling with his words. You know what he’s trying to say. He wants to tell you he’s here for you. Funny. Really, it is. Funny that he doesn’t realize the one thing that might send you spiraling is being around him. “I just mean if it all gets to be too much, it’s okay to take a step back. I… I understand.”

“You do?” Your words come out more bitter than intended. You promised yourself you wouldn’t do this. You had gone this whole case without snapping. It’s childish and immature. You can be professional. But right now, you can only see one thing: boiling hot rage at Hotch. How could he possibly understand how you feel? You pause to take a breath, “Thank you, but I’m okay. Goodnight, sir.” You walk to the door, wanting to get away from him as fast as possible.

“Y/N—” Hotch calls out, his voice softer, less firm, less professional. “Please,” You beg, finally breaking. Your voice is raw with emotion. You’ve been holding all the pain in for the past three days and your plea comes out sounding more broken than you intend to. You don’t turn around but place a hand on the doorframe. “Please… don’t make this harder than it already is.” You wait for a moment, hoping, praying, that he doesn’t try to talk to you anymore. A moment of silence serves as confirmation that he isn’t going to keep pushing you to talk.

You get down the stairs, meeting Rossi at the elevators. “Thank you… for driving me home.” You try and hide your face from him, hoping he doesn't see the sheen in your eyes as you fight away the tears that have been fighting their way out for the past three days.

“Anytime,” He nods, holding an arm over the elevator doors for you as they open. You think he can sense something is wrong. He’s probably been able to sense something is wrong between you and Hotch since the minute you made eye contact with him your first morning. If he does, however, he also knows not to ask or press the issue.

You flick the lights on in your apartment. You look over the boxes, still left unpacked. Not much of a home yet. You have no place of safety, of comfort yet. You feel like a guest in your own place. However, the thought of unpacking all the boxes right now is way too intimidating.

Deep steady breath in. Shaky breath out. You bite at your lip harshly. You haven’t cried over Aaron Hotchner in years. You drop your bag by the door, kicking your shoes off. You turn to close the door and everything starts to bubble up inside you. The anger, frustration, sadness, heartbreak. It’s all too much. You’ve been through so much these past eight years. This shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. But fuck. It hurts.

You let out a frustrated yell. It’s a scream that feels good to let out but ends up scratching your throat. You slam your fist against the door, ignoring the way it sears your knuckles. You pace your apartment, trying to steady your breathing.

You’ve been suffocating the past three days. Three long days of close quarters with Aaron Hotchner. Even after all these years, he manages to suck all the oxygen out of the room, leaving you breathless. In another life, you remember thinking how much you loved suffocating around him, but now, it tears you up inside. Your chest burns and aches, your head is fuzzy, and his presence is dizzying. It’s not exhilarating. It’s not exciting. It’s not all-consuming in the way you remember. You’re just trying to keep your head above water, but the current is strong and the rapids are relentless. You’re sinking under the surface quickly and you don’t know how to pull yourself up out of it.

You walk over to the stack of boxes, pushing them aside until you find the exact one you’re looking for. You rip open the top, tearing the tape off. The box is full of books, one of many that you brought with you. It’s organized perfectly so that when you unpack it you can set up your personal library just the way you had it back home in New York. So it doesn’t take you long to find that book. That damned book. The cover is faded. The dark brown leather is weathered and much lighter. The spine has lost all structure and the pages have changed color.

You sit down exactly where you stand, cross-legged on the floor, you open to that first page. You look at the all-too-familiar note. You were tempted, over the years, to burn the book, tear that first page out, cross out every one of his notes. But you never could do it. Deep down, no matter how bad he had hurt you, the book seemed to remain separate from that.

Maybe it’s because it’s a constant reminder that you weren’t some naive, foolish, young child. You hadn’t deluded yourself into thinking Hotch cared for you. He did. There was some sense of care and attention to detail. The book is evidence of that. However, it forces you to hold on to an image of Hotch that clearly is not the prevailing personality. Looking at the book reminds you of the bashful, almost embarrassed, man who handed it to you in his office so long ago. The careful way he traced your jawline, the way he tangled his fingers in your hair, pushing it out of the way to really get a good look at your face. That image of him sometimes wins out when you think of Aaron Hotchner. You want to remember him that way, but that only seems to prolong your pain. It makes you want him back.

You lay down on the floor pressing the book close to your heart. You could simply pick up the phone. You could just call him, tell him you want to start all over. But you can’t start all over. Being with Aaron Hotchner was a lifetime ago. That doesn’t change how vividly you can remember being with him. For the first few years, you hated him with every fiber of your being. You thought about what would happen if you ever saw him again. You would scream at him. Tell him off, curse him out. But as the years passed, you stopped hating him. There’s a fine line between love and hate. And as you know, Aaron Hotchner has always been good at keeping lines blurry.

Everything in you is screaming at you to pick up the phone. You’ve dreamed of hearing his voice tell you, “Let’s try again... please.” But you fight the urge. You close your eyes, the cold floor of your apartment sending a chill through you, enough to keep your wits about you.

——

Hotch runs a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes forcing himself to stay awake, forcing his attention back to the case report. His attempts to work fail, his mind always traveling back to you. He knew you would be a different person. It’s been eight years. He’s a different person. What he didn’t expect was how much of you is still the same.

That bright look in your eyes while discussing the case was one he had seen so many times while you poured over a novel in his office. You still talk with your hands, punctuating every sentence with a little shake or gesture of your fingers. You crack your knuckles when you’re thinking.

The differences are clear to him too. You don’t hold your tongue. You’re blunt. Brutally honest, almost to a fault. You seem to have pushed aside any attempt at politeness, or social niceties. You no longer feel so openly. He finds it much harder to read your face and body language. Your thoughts are not as clear to him as they used to be. He used to know exactly what you were thinking. He can tell you’ve practiced your poker face. He tried his best the past three days to get a read on how you feel about him. He doesn’t want to dwell on the past. All of that was before Haley. And indulging in thoughts of before is just simply too painful for him.

He walks to the window, looking out at the city. He wonders where you are tonight. Are you thinking about him? Are you hurting? Or has it been so long that he’s unimportant to you? Is someone holding you close to them, pressing soft kisses to your lips, whispering comforting words?

He could just pick up the phone and call you. He could profusely apologize. Not that his apology would mean anything, but it’s a speech he’s been rehearsing for years. He loved Haley with his whole heart. She was his whole world, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t regret how he treated you. Haley showed him a world of love, yet he managed to ruin that as well. He prioritized the job over her. Look where that got him.

Hotch knows you will never forgive him. He has never forgiven himself, but he can’t help but think about what would happen if he showed up on your doorstep. Would you immediately turn him away? Or would you let him in? Would you hear him out?

He shakes his head, tearing his eyes away from the lights of DC. He walks to the kitchen, pouring a fresh mug of coffee. He can’t call you. Too much has happened. He thinks about the sleeping little boy upstairs. Every night he’s tormented by memories. He can still remember what it felt like to hold Haley’s lifeless body in his arms. When he does get sleep, visions of Haley’s dead eyes, his bloodied clothes, Foyet’s knife, invade his dreams. He frequently wakes up coated in sweat, the scars on his chest and stomach stinging with the same intensity as the day Foyet inflicted the stab wounds.

Which is why he feels immense guilt over the fact that three days ago, he shook your hand to welcome you to the team, and it ignited every nerve in his body. Everything has changed, but your hand in his made him feel alive.

Chapter 13: II.II →

#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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vintagegoddess12 · 4 years

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Lie To Me (2)

[Cordelia Goode x Reader]

A/N: Advanced Happy Holidays, everybody! Thanks for your support in every little crazy work that I put out, even if I give very slow updates. The tag part is very incomplete I feel. All of you that asked to be part of the taglist are scattered in so many post. I have to scroll really deep in my very messy timeline just to see yah names. If I forgot to tag you, please don’t be upset. Just DM. No worries, I love entertaining your requests tho. Part 2 is here with Student!Delia x Student!Reader feels. Hope you enjoy it!

Tags: @ravenforce @cordeliasflowergirl @athenamgh @stevenuniversetanzanite @germansarechill @chonisbestmistake @alurous @coconutlipss @saucy-sapphic @ghiblitearss @emilyprentisswife @thats-my-peach @suckerforsally @worldssocialantisocial @shelby-victoria7 @madamvirgo

Cordelia’s POV

Shit! That was the first thought that crossed Cordelia's mind when she heard [Y/N]'s voice fill the room. She wasn't supposed to be here yet. "Delia," your presence immediately affecting the composure of the young witch, "what are you doing?" She tried to excuse her way out of the situation when no words came out of her. You stood in front of her, waiting for an answer when the unconscious man stirred from the bed. Cordelia's gaze remained fixed on your face, still trying to recover from the shock of being discovered red-handed. "This bitch tried to-" "Oh, shut up, Dan." you immediately cut-off the guy and sent him back to sleep. Your hands found Delia's shoulder, shaking her back to reality. The blonde looked at you, her roommate, and mustered the courage to answer her previous question. "It wasn't supposed to do that." "Do what?" Myrtle's question hung in the air as the two young witches remained silent, watching their instructor stand in their bedroom doorway. The redhead witch glanced at the unconscious body on Delia's bed before returning her attention to her impossibly silent ward. "If you're not going to answer me," Myrtle paused to take a hit from her signature cigarette, " you will answer to the council." She proceeded to walk away. Delia turned to you, fear, and panic present in her eyes. "Why would the council be involved?" You took a deep breath as if summoning all the patience left in you before answering. "There's an unconscious spellbound warlock in our bedroom," Cordelia's eyes went wider as you continued, "who happens to be a Level 2. Of course, the council will be involved." This time, Cordelia no longer had the energy to hide her vulgarity and simply exhaled, "Shit." [Y/N] looked at the body and agreed. "Shit indeed."

As the two young witches are ushered by Myrtle down to the living room, where the Council has convened, Cordelia can't help but remember how everything started.

"You will be happy here," Myrtle whispered in my ear as I watched my mother drive away from the academy. Once Fiona decides that it's time, it is time. You do not question the Supreme, you learn that early in life about her. I flashed a smile to Myrtle after Spalding took my luggage and went ahead of us. The redhead witch ushered me up the stairs as she gives me an introductory lesson about the house and its tenants. "You will be a great addition to this year's class," she remarks after seeing some of her students, dressed in black, pass by. They gave me a double look before fully walking away. I don't think that's welcoming at all. "Do we have to wear black all the time?" I blurted out just as we stopped in front of a bedroom door. Myrtle, who is obviously wearing a gold-themed outfit, looked at me like I just spoke alien. "It's just that I've always seen Mother dressed in black." "Cordelia, darling, don't be ridiculous." She caressed my hair before continuing, "Your mother may be the Supreme but she's not as good as I am when it comes to fashion." I was taken aback by how bold her statement is against Fiona. I never thought anyone had the guts to say something ill of her, especially not one from her council. "You can absolutely wear anything you like, dear." She knocked on the door as she said, "$4,000 per fit is the limit for your age range." I laughed softly at her remarks. I think I'll love her. She looks at me like there's something special in me. That's something you would not get when you stand in front of literally the most powerful witch on Earth. She opened the door and led me inside. The room had two beds, placed on opposite corners, with white sheets covering them. The bed beside the door was unmade while the one near the window had a heap of clothes on it. The sunrays give the room a heavenly feel. It's warm and homey. I think I like it. Suddenly, the bathroom door on our left opened and a woman emerged wearing only a bathroom towel. She had her hair in a bun and droplets of water run down her exposed skin. Her sight made my throat dry and I had to clear my throat just to remain focused. The sound I made did not go unnoticed by the two witches in the room. You glanced at our reflections in the mirror; your eyes showing surprise in an instant. You looked back at us and flashed a smile before saying, "give me a second." You looked back into the mirror and snapped your fingers. In an instant, the bathroom towel was replaced by a black dress with spaghetti straps. The sudden display of magic made me jump a little and I can feel the experienced witch beside me chuckle a little. "[Y/n], why don't you introduce yourself here." You walked towards us and flashed the sweetest smile I've ever seen in my life. You squinted your eyes before introducing yourself. "[Y/N] [Y/L/N]. You held my gaze, as long as I did. "Cordelia." I shifted on my feet under your gaze. "You'll be sharing the room with her, [y/n]," Myrtle pat my back, "for the whole duration of your stay in this coven." Still entranced by your smile, the pat on my back jolt me back to consciousness. "Which bed will I be using?" You pointed at the bed near the window before looking in that direction. "That one," your excited tone turned embarrassed upon seeing the bed situation. You gave me a sheepish smile as you wave your hand to move the clothes on your bed. "[Y/N], what did I say about using magic for trivial things?" You smiled at the reprimand given and mouthed sorry to the older witch. "I'll leave you two to check on our dinner." We both nodded in her way. As she was walking out the door, she turned back and said, "[y/n], behave." "When am I not?" You replied teasingly and closed the door. I walked towards the bed and noticed that my luggage was nowhere to be found. I looked under and near the bed but there was none. You must have noticed my actions. "You looking for your things?" You asked leaning on the door. "Yes." "Yeah, Spalding checks the luggage of newcomers," you sat on the edge of your bed, "to see if anyone brought any illegal items." I mimicked your action and sat on mine, silence blanketing the room for the first time. It didn't last long though. "So Cordelia," my name felt natural coming out of your lips, "where have I heard that name before?" Confusion is evident on your face. "Actually, it's Cordelia Goode." "Oh," your immediate response, "the daughter." It was now my turn to look confusingly, which you picked up easily. "People have been buzzing about you here," you started folding the heap of black clothes. "Supreme's daughter and all." I get this every time I go somewhere she's known. I shook my head and said, "too bad nothing's special about me." You looked like you were personally offended by the statement. "Everyone's special in their own way-" I was about to disagree when you raised your hand, "-trust me." A knock echoed through the room that cut off our conversation. You opened the door, revealing Spalding with my things. I stood from my bed and retrieved my belongings from the butler. You thanked him and closed the door. I started unpacking - looking - for that family heirloom from my grandmother that I tried to take with me here. I opened my jewelry box and discovered that it wasn't there. "Shit," I muttered. "You okay there, Cordy?" My head turned sharply in your direction, surprised by the nickname. I opened my mouth trying to come up with an answer only to have nothing. I don't understand why I get flustered easily in your presence. "If it's okay, I'll call you Cordy." You explained. I nodded. "I don't see any problem with that." I kinda like it actually. "So," your tone concerned, "is anything wrong?" "I think my mother bribed the butler to get a family heirloom that I may have smuggled here," I replied, trying to feign innocence. You let out a chuckle causing you to smile, the kind that I will look forward to in the years to come. "That's an oddly specific request to make, don't you think?" You said in between laughter. "She may have asked me about it before leaving the house," I replied. Somehow, my reply made you laugh even more. At this point, I don't even mind being funny if I can hear that laugh every time. "Oh, honey," the pet name causing goosebumps in my arm for some unknown reason. "You do know that putting 'may haves' in your statement doesn't necessarily make it hypothetical." "I see that now," was all I could say while trying to hide the blush forming on my cheeks. You smiled before giving advice that I should have taken seriously, "Do me a favor and don't try to lie. You're terrible at it." --- [Y/N]’s POV Fleming. Pembroke. Snow. Three respected witches and ally that stands as the Coven's Council. Three sets of eyes that did not hide how displeased they are with what happened. If that wasn't enough, Fiona Goode is in the room to witness all of this. Myrtle, who is seated in the middle, asked the first question to the two young witches in front of them. "Who cast the first spell to Dan Miller?" Her eyes darting between Cordelia and yours. "A Level 2 warlock," Quentin Fleming added. Cecily Pembroke did not miss the chance to speak up after, "who shouldn't even be in the premises;" clearly insinuating something. You and your roommate remained silent. You sense her cowering from the death stare being shot to her by her own mother, who is constantly blowing out smoke from the other side of the room. "I am going to ask again. Who-" "Myrtle, this is a waste of time." The Supreme spoke as she moves towards the both of you. "They're young. They're witches." Her gaze now burning through your skin. "Just because you didn't fool around, doesn't mean they shouldn't." She looked at you like she can read you from head to toe. With the extent of her powers, she probably can. Myrtle huffed. It was no secret that the two older witches have great animosity between them that started since they lived at the academy. For you to see it in action, that was another thing. Their relationship is the total opposite of what you and Cordelia have. You're inseparable. It only has been months but you're pretty sure you found a second home whenever she's around. So you know that whatever she did, it was an accident. "I did it," you confessed. Cordelia sharply turned her head in your direction, not minding that her mother is standing in front of her. You remained looking at the Council of three to gauge their reaction. Fiona, who is now moving away from your periphery, looks so pleased she might- Actually, you don't know. You have no idea what type of kindness the Supreme can show you. The redhead let out an exasperated sigh. As if she expected this kind of behavior from you. "What did you do?" "Dan is my boyfriend," you can feel the raised eyebrows and judgment. "I mean was, probably, because I'm pretty sure we'll break up after all of this." There's no lie to this. Cordelia looked down once again, feeling sorry for what she did. You continued to explain, as you make up the story on the fly. "Which is the point of the spell." Myrtle urged you to go on. "I've been trying to break up with him. I've said it nicely. Politely." Your face now turning sour, "but he just keeps coming back." This is where the fiction begins. "So I thought, maybe I can urge him to break up with me if I use my powers on him." Quentin looked puzzled before asking his question. "What is her power anyway?" Myrtle, who tended to you since birth, replied, "reality alteration." You continued. "I didn't know the spell would fail, terribly. When he started to wake up, he started asking questions, So I sent him back to sleep." You gulped, ready to cement the lie. "That's when Cordelia walked into our room. Followed by Myrtle." "See it was just a lover's quarrel," the Supreme quipped from behind. The redhead looks like she's so close to throwing a vase at her. "If you had relations with a non-witch individual, we wouldn't be here." Myrtle stood up to further emphasize her point. "But you know that any spell used against our brothers and sisters is considered a grave offense." "I never meant to hurt him," you reasoned. "I just want to lead him to the idea of breaking up." The small sobs of Cordelia did not go unnoticed in your hearing. "Besides, this wasn't the first time a spell is used in the course of the relationship." The instant stopping of the typewriter signaled that even Pembroke was surprised. "What do you mean?" She said. "We've used certain spells," you paused thinking if saying this was the right thing. Delia couldn't even look at you whenever you recount your romantic adventures to her. You continued, "to heighten certain experiences." "It still doesn't change the fact-" Myrtle once again was cut off by her archnemesis. "Enough," the commanding voice of the Supreme filled the halls. "She already admitted it. She said she never meant to hurt him. She went as far as to recount a personal memory just so you would understand." The council member did not hide how she tried to bite her tongue before speaking up. "Let me remind you that you are here as Cordelia's mother and not as [y/n]'s lawyer." Delia once told you how sharp her mother's eyes can be when she's mad. If looks could kill, Myrtle would probably be dead now. The sound of her stilettos was crisp against the tiled floor. She situated herself in front of the Council's table, starting the three of them down. If that's even possible. You took this time to see how your Cordy is doing. "Hey," you whispered. She looked up to you, not knowing how puffy her eyes had been. "You didn't have to do this, you know." Her sobs now getting weaker. You send a small smile her way before replying. "Yes, I have to because he's my baggage and you, honey, are still terrible in lying." You reached her hand to give her a squeeze. A little reminder that you're still here, beside her - always. Turning your attention back to the staring contest in front of you. You realized that 2 out of the 3 are already hunkered at the sheer proximity of their Supreme. It's actually a surprise that Myrtle can hold her own against her. "Let me remind you," Fiona's voice laced with poison, "that I am your Supreme." Your mentor clenched her jaw before sitting down - a sign of submission. Cordelia sat on her bed, waiting for you to come back from the Council deliberation. She insisted she wanted to stay but her mother is not the person she would say no to. So here she is, worried for whatever punishment you'll receive that should have been hers. There is no doubt she's beating herself up. She just wanted to help you get rid of Dan. She absolutely did not want it to go this way. Such a stupid, reckless mistake. The door opened to reveal you, with Fiona behind. The young witch jumped from the bed and hugged you like it's second nature. Your hands found her back and relished at the warmth her body emanates. "Hey, everything's fine." You cooed. You can feel her jaw move against your skin before you hear her say, "Are you sure? You're not getting burned at the stake?" The both of you heard Fiona chuckled as you release her daughter from the embrace. "The next time the two of you want to play boner hot potato, can you do it without attracting the Council?" Delia was about to react when she felt your hand stop her from doing so. She leaned into the touch, always welcoming whatever physical affection you give her. "Noted, ma'am." You replied before the Supreme walked away. "I'm really sorry," Cordelia sat you down and never let go of your hand. You sent a soft smile her way before replying. "I know you are but," you pulled her to sit beside you, "why did you use re vera falsum on him?" Cordy fidgeted with her hands, unable to look at you. Your hand reached for hair and caressed it all the way down to her back; a simple action that sent chills down her spine. Still unable to answer, you next asked her, "Do you like him?" Cordelia was obviously shocked by the question because not only did she stop fidgeting, she also looked up to you with wide eyes. "I mean you could have just told him that you wanted a threesome or something, he would probably say yes," you continued. "No," she shook her head. "No, I don't." You looked at her, trying to understand why she did- "Do you not like him..." you paused to put pieces together, "for me?" Once again, Cordelia felt shame inside, and looked down before saying, "I'm really sorry." To be completely honest, you would have settled with a nod as a response to the question.

It's not in her character to meddle in your romantic life and you're pretty sure that her reason runs deeper than simply helping you break it off with him. You shrugged it off and told yourself that this is a conversation for another day or decade. You shot her a smile before replying, "it's okay. Just remember you can't use re vera falsum ever." Her eyes did not hide the curiosity that she instantly tried to bury. "Did Fiona really not tell you anything about our heritage?" "Only that she's the most important part of it," she quipped. "Well, Cordy," you made yourself comfortable on the bed, "let me tell you about the only witch alive who can alter reality."

#cordelia goode x reader #Cordelia Goode #I'm a sarah paulson simp can you tell #sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #sarah paulson imagine #ahs imagine #cordelia goode imagine

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ijustwant2write · 4 years

Text

The Right Treatment-Thomas Shelby x Reader

(GIF credit to @19-9x)

Tags: @captivatedbycillianmurphy @jenepleurepasbaby @amirahiddleston @bloodorangemoonlight

Requested by @randombella: 'Hi, I absolutely love your writing! Could I request a Tommy x reader where she’s a childhood friend of all the Shelbys and then she’s got some kind of illness and keeps getting sicker but tries to hide it. But then Tommy finds out and everyone’s angry at her for hiding it and makes her get treatment. Thank you so much! Xx'

Characters: Tommy Shelby x Reader, John Shelby x Reader (platonic), Arthur Shelby x Reader (platonic), Polly Shelby x Reader (platonic)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Swearing, illness (including pain), injury, arguing, angst, fluff

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Another morning waking up in pain, another morning where I hid that away from my closest friends. I slowly sat up, having to pause for a second as my head was spinning. After a while, I thought I would be used to it. Pushing through it, I forced myself to stand, stumbling my way to the wardrobe. I had to get dressed and ready before going to have breakfast, because I found it harder to make my way back up the stairs again. The pain subsided for a while, my headache disappearing, but my muscles still aching.

The cold nipped at me as I stepped outside, wrapping my coat tighter around me and making sure my hat was secure on my head. We never received good weather, and it made me feel worse every day. It didn't help that I was vulnerable to colds that could keep me in bed for up to a week, and this would be my first day back after having to take some time off, again.

"Here she is!" Arthur bellowed as I stepped into the betting shop."Dunno how we've all survived without your gorgeous face round 'ere."

"Don't get too close Arthur, I'm still not fully recovered."

"No, nothin' is stopping this." he hugged me tightly, not realising how much pain he was causing.

I winced, holding in the whimpering as he let go, smiling as I quickly turned around, heading to my desk outside of John's office. I had been his secretary for many years, I had been there when the business first started. The Shelby's and I were close, we were there for each other throughout everything. And after my parents died, they were the only ones I had left. They were sickly like I was, and I feared that I too would follow suit. But no one else needed to worry about me, especially not my boys.

"What time do you call this? Been slacking off all week and you waltz in fifteen minutes before we open?" John teased as he opened the door to his office, leaning against the door frame.

"It's called being on time. I'm here before all the other workers as you can see." I stated, meaning back in my chair and smirking.

"I'm just messing. You give them lot a bad name."

"I just like being here. It's better than being alone in my house. And I've been stuck there for a whole week."

"Yeah, we meant to visit but-"

"But you had business. Don't worry, I understand."

"Just seems that you've been getting ill quite a lot recently-"

"John, I'm fine. It's just this weather."

He looked me over with concern, nodding his head slowly before going back into his office. The tension in my shoulders dropped, glad that he dropped the topic before any questions were asked. No one else needed to worry about me, and I didn't want anyone else knowing.

As usual, the shop was busy. Everyone was bustling about, and it was getting far too hot already. Men were constantly walking by me, some even bumping into my desk which pissed me off. John was working on the bets too, so my work was limited. It always was with him, Tommy handled more of the paperwork. And speaking of, I hadn't seen Tommy once that day.

However, after another hour, the noise, humidity of the room and generally the people, were getting to me,

"I'm going for my break." I struggled to tell John as he was surrounded by other workers.

I heard him acknowledge me, though I wasn't sure what he had actually said. Taking it as a yes, I left anyway, relieved to be in the fresh air. As I stood in the backyard, I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes as I tried to cool off. My headache was back, and my back hurt from being stuck at the desk. The pain made me want to cry, but I couldn't show that in front of anyone. Save the tears for home.

"(Y/N)?" Tommy appeared, making me jump.

I broke out into a cough as I gasped, turning away as if that would hide me from him. I felt his hand on my back, and I moved away, quickly recovering.

"You shouldn't be back." he simply stated.

"I'm fine. You just made me jump." I breathed out, standing up straight.

He was silent, about to light a cigarette before putting it back in the box."Are you feeling better?"

"Yes."

"You're lying."

"I might not be fully recovered, but I'm completely fine to work."

"If you say so."

I huffed, rolling my eyes."Tommy, I'm capable of working right now. I don't need you all to babysit me."

"We're just looking out for you-"

"Yes, well...I can do that by myself, thank you!"

My anger had come from no where, making me falter slightly, and I had to use the wall for support. Tommy reached out to me to help, but my arm shot out, rejecting it.

"I'm going back inside. I need to get back to my work." I mumbled, trying to ignore the dizziness as I walked away.

"(Y/N), woah, hold on." Polly blocked me from entering the shop, and I groaned at her.

"Polly, I'm fine. Let me get past." I snapped.

"No you're not. I'm not an idiot, anyone can see that you're about to faint at any minute." she directed me to a chair close by.

"Pol-"

Her hands went to her hips."Shut up. Tommy, have you seen the state of her?"

Tommy stood beside her."Yes."

"Well, why haven't you sent her home?"

"She says she's perfectly fine."

"Oh for fucks sake. You are going home, now."

"What? Polly, you can't be serious."

"I fucking am. I'm not going to make you work if you look like you're about to drop."

"But I've been off for a week."

"Doesn't matter. Get home and rest properly." the scowl on her face softened."Please."

I sighed, wanting to retaliate and stubborn, but I could already feel the energy draining from me; glancing at the clock, I saw that I had a long time left, and I knew that I wouldn't last long.

"Fine." I huffed."I'll go."

"I'll walk you." Tommy offered.

I went to say no, but Polly's eyes warned me not to."Go with Tommy. I'll be round at some point to check that you're eating properly too."

This isn't what I wanted. The Shelby's had done so much for me in the past. We were next door neighbours since children, my dad even got involved with the gang side of things because the boys were always able to cut him a good deal, they wanted to help provide for our family. My mum didn't care that he was a blinder, as long as he came home alive and spent time with me. And of course, there was that fucking war, and my boys came back entirely different men. It took a long time to build up our relationships again, to be able to laugh freely.

"Tommy, I'm sorry you have to walk me home. I know you've got better things to do." I said as we left the shop.

"No I don't."

I didn't know what else to add, deciding to say nothing. As I unlocked my house, I didn't expect Tommy to follow inside. I said nothing against it, knowing he would have come in despite my objections.

"Are you here to spoon feed me?" I deadpanned, taking off my coat and setting down my handbag as if he wasn't there.

"Why are you pushing us away?"

"I'm not. I just don't think I need this much fussing over."

I made my way to the kitchen, sitting at the tiny dining table. My body was relieved, relaxing slightly, though the numbing pain was still there.

"(Y/N), look at yourself. You're not like you used to be." he sat opposite me.

"I'm exactly the same."

"No you're not! You don't move around like someone your age. I don't see you interacting with anyone as much as you used to. And...and you don't dance anymore."

I hadn't seen Tommy this upset for years. It was breaking my own heart.

"You used to dance all the time. Any music that played and you were up dancing, didn't matter where we were either. You were always able to get John or Arthur, even Finn to get up with you. Never me though. I haven't danced with you enough."

"Tommy, you make it sound like I'm dying." my voice was shaky, knowing there was truth in my words.

He hadn't broke eye contact, but I saw a change of emotion in his eye."Because you just might be."

"T-Tommy I'm not dying."

"Then why are you so scared? Have you been to a doctor?"

"There wasn't any need-"

"Have you seen yourself?" Tommy was beginning to get angry."Why haven't you been?"

"Because I know that this is just a small illness! I-I haven't fully recovered."

"(Y/N), stop lying to yourself. Please let me take you to a doctor, or get one sent here."

"Tommy! I don't need you to look after me anymore!" I suddenly shouted, silencing the both of us.

Instantly regretting what I said, my heart was telling me to apologise, but my stubborn mind refused to. Tommy sighed, standing up to leave, but before he did, he kissed me on the forehead. I stayed in my seat as he left, laying my head down on my arms to cry. I didn't want to argue with him, I didn't mean to shout. Why hadn't I just talked with him?

Although tears were stilling spilling out of my eyes, I got up and made myself a cup of tea, needing a distraction. But what with the stress and due to how tired I was, I sat back down again, sipping at my tea. I had one of those moments where the time disappeared in an instant, I felt like I blinked and it was suddenly dark outside. Though I hadn't thought about anything, my mind had been blank. Perhaps that was my way of pushing away the situation at hand.

There was a knock at the door, and I knew it was Polly. No doubt she came to feed me, and she would definitely make me eat. Slowly standing, I called out to her, letting her know I was coming, when I felt dizzy again. Holding onto whatever was nearest to me, I struggled to walk to the door, which should have taken me less than ten seconds. Polly's voice was muffled behind the door, but I could hear my breathing ever so loudly in my ears. My upper body wasn't able to hold itself upright, and I fell against the wall. Trying to stand up straight, I swayed backwards, before tipping forwards and collapsing, but not before smashing my head against the stair banister.

The same pounding in my head I usually woke up with was still there, though the throbbing pain throughout my body was more intense. Was Tommy right? Was I getting closer to death? I opened my eyes, preparing myself to face another day, when I realised that I wasn’t at home. The ceiling was white, and much higher than mine in my room. And as I started to gather my surroundings, it was clear that I wasn’t laying in my bed, it was too bright in here to be my room, and the smell was too strong; it smelt too clean in here, too sterile.

“Tommy?” I mumbled as I realised he was sat in a chair next to the bed. He looked rough, it was clear that he had been here all night with me.

His head pricked up when he heard me, rubbing his hand over his face.“You’re alright. You fell yesterday, hit your head badly.”

“I don’t really remember that.”

“It was lucky that Polly was there. She kicked the door in and called us. Drove you here as fast as we could.”

“I’m sorry Tommy. I’m sorry for making you all worry.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does though.” I stretched out my hand towards him, glad when he held it.“I could have easily solved all of this, I could have just gone to the fucking doctors and got all of this sorted before it got worse. But...but I didn’t want to end up like my parents.”

“Why?”

“Because they got sick towards the end of their lives. And although they were old, they were still too young to have died. I just thought...if whatever I have has come from them, and I have it now, I was scared that I would go too. And I couldn’t stand it if I left all of you, and I wouldn’t want to be a distraction from your work. Being a Shelby is hard enough, you didn’t need me to add to that pile of work.”

“You are not a distraction, and you are not another fucking problem I have to deal with. You are my family. I would rather be dealing with another mafia target than seeing you like this, stuck in a fucking hospital. That’s why we all told you to come here, to get better. You’ve got all of us here for you.”

“I know. I’ve been an idiot for not letting you all in.”

“Yeah, you have.”

A small laugh came out of both of us.“Tommy, am I going to be alright?”

“They haven’t gone into too much detail, but they assured me that you are no where near to death.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. It’s going to take a while, but they have the right treatment for you. But they said you have to take it easy, you must rest. So you won’t be coming back into work.”

“What? But Tommy-”

“I’ll cover your funds.”

“I can’t let you-”

“Yes you can, because I already have. And you’re also going to give us all a copy of your key, because I knew you wouldn’t want to be living anywhere else.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?”

My eyes cast down, suddenly embarrassed to say it.“I wouldn’t object to living with you.”

“With me?”

“Yeah. Unless you don’t want me around.”

“No, I do. I think I can cope with you.”

I smiled at him, squeezing his hand.“Thank you Tommy. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You won’t have to wonder anymore.”

930 notes · View notes

badacts · 4 years

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the water is rising/i’m too tired to swim

There was nowhere else on Earth like Smallville. Or, for that matter, off of it.

Of course, little but the high holidays and complete disaster seemed to bring him back here these days. Sometimes he had to wonder whether regular adults felt the same as him, living so far from the places they’d grown up in. That aching wonder at being able to come home, with the overlapping whisper of a sense that that home couldn’t last forever.

Disaster made Clark Kent more introspective than Christmas, it turned out.

Bruce, who had stripped down to the suit baselayer with a pair of Clark’s sweatpants pulled over top, was leaning against the railing of the porch. He appeared to be watching the sunrise, though Clark suspected that was a front for him staring into the middle distance lost in thought. Clark would swear part of the reason the man kept the lenses in his cowl down during League meetings was to disguise the difference between his absent thinking expression and the force of his focus.

“How’s he doing?” Clark asked, voice kept low. Ma and Pa would be up soon anyway, but after the late night they’d caused it was the least he could do.

“Lantern is fine,” Bruce replied. His only tell was a tightening of his knuckles on the railing, there and then gone.

“And you?”

This earned him a look. “Any word from Diana?”

“She’ll be here by tonight with news. But we have our orders.”

“Orders.” Bruce’s expression was one of immense distaste. “We have a round table for a reason.”

“That’s what I’m usually telling you,” Clark replied, just as he normally would, and then winced. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Now Bruce’s face had gone still, an indication either that he was angry or that he genuinely had no idea what Clark meant. Clark, used to treading that particular line on the side of caution - at least in this one respect - felt his eyes becoming inexorably attracted to his feet. Being back home turned him into an ashamed eight-year-old too easily.

“I should have been prepared,” he said.

Because he should have been. He should have known. Of all the temptations and causes, there were few other things Hal Jordan would like to throw his life away for with that particular degree of abandon. This had been Clark’s problem, and he should have been able to solve it without ever involving either of these two men, with their particular idiosyncrasies.

Just - kids were a hotspot for both of them, even kids from far-flung planets being trafficked across a variety of civilisations that just so happened to include the human ones. Bruce had long accepted that it was more reasonable to live for children, not die for them, but Hal hadn’t got that memo yet.

“You can’t possibly imagine that I’m angry with you.”

“I,” Clark began, and then stopped. To be honest, he hadn’t really imagined that Bruce wasn’t.

Bruce turned to look at him more fully, coolly assessing. The huff afterwards was indecipherable.

“Bruce-”

The man had turned back to the horizon. He said, “Clark, have I ever struck you as the type to make excuses for Green Lantern?”

Clark stepped up and leaned against the railing next to him. “There was never any danger of anyone accusing you of favouritism, certainly. Well, not towards Hal.”

The huff this time was definitely shaded with amusement. “Lantern can take responsibility for his own mistakes, Kal. He doesn’t need you falling on your sword for him.”

It wasn’t a mistake, Clark didn’t say, because he didn’t need to. But Bruce’s anger would translate as it liked to - Clark had known him for long enough to know that.

“Well, what’s a mission without the post-mission pervasive guilt,” Clark replied, an attempt at humour. Because it was Bruce, it didn’t fall flat. That was one thing about the man no one who didn’t know him would guess - humourless he may seem, but he was capable of poking fun at himself. Or maybe it was just because he knew Clark well.

It was Hal’s bloody victorious smile that had done it, he thought. Or maybe it was Batman’s sudden anger, alien from beneath the cowl which usually presented only the cold judgement of old god. That fierce protective anger usually reserved for Robins, in a situation where there were no Robins to be found. Or that Clark hadn’t known that Green Lantern might be a focus of it, hadn’t known there was anything there to know.

It wasn’t that it didn’t make sense. It’s that he hadn’t considered it, not once.

“You boys need to get to bed,” Ma said from the door. She was folded warmly into her dressing gown, the one Lois had got her for Christmas a few years back. “Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been up all night.” Her cool hand settled on Clark’s back, like it had from the time he got tall enough she didn’t have to hunch to do it.

“I’m always up all night,” Bruce replied, with a lilt of amusement at himself.

“Well, maybe in those cities that never sleep, that works. Out here, if you don’t sleep with the sun, you won’t get through a day on the farm,” Ma replied. Her other hand pressed to Bruce’s back, there and gone. “You look exhausted.”

“Well, if I need to help milk cows later,” Bruce conceded. It was entirely possible that he had no idea Ma and Pa didn’t keep dairy cows on the property, and hadn’t since their last gentle old house cow had gotten too old to calve. For a man with a seemingly encyclopedic knowledge on many topics, his practical knowledge of farming was limited to desultorily prodding at the inner workings of Pa’s old truck.

“Off you go,” Ma ushered, shooing them into the house like a woman her size shouldn’t have been able to. “I’ll wake you if the world is ending.”

“Not if I hear it first,” Clark said.

Bruce retreated to the guest room, feet soundless on the rugs along the hall floor. Martha was right enough, that he needed sleep. As irritating as it was to need it now in particular, he could concede that there was little place safer than Superman’s family home while Superman was in it.

Hal was curled on his side in the guest bed, though he twitched and roused at the sound of the door opening. “Mmff. Hey, baby.”

“Lantern, it’s me,” Bruce replied brusquely.

“Nothing wrong with my eyes,” Hal said. He moved under the duvet, and then hissed out his breath. “Unlike my ribs, fuck.”

“Give me a pillow.”

One incredulous brown eye focussed on him from amidst said pillows. He seemed to have placed them strategically, though Bruce wasn’t sure when. “Over my suppurating corpse.”

Of course. Bruce picked up his cape from the pile of his gear in the corner and spread it on the floor beside the bed. There was at least a thick rug, some kind of synthetic shag.

“The fuck are you doing?”

“Sleeping,” Bruce replied. “You ought to do the same. You’ll be coherent enough for a strategic meeting later.”

“That’s a funny way to describe you and Clark arguing in the kitchen while Diana watches and laughs internally,” Hal said, “But it does explain a lot about your personal approach to injury recovery.”

“It’s just a concussion.”

“If you could tell yourself from six hours ago that, I’d appreciate it.”

Bruce wore that like the censure it was meant as. He knelt down on the rug, though it made his spine complain and his hip crack audibly. Another shade of embarrassment. At least this one was in front of the team member most likely to understand human fallibility.

Hal heaved a gusty sigh. “Just get in.”

“What?”

The single eye managed to convey challenge as well as the rest of the man tended to. A hand pushed the blankets back.

“It’s a double,” Bruce said. The Kents clearly didn’t have many guests visiting who measured over 5’8”.

“We can snuggle,” Hal replied.

“With those ribs?” Bruce asked, but conceded. The floor had never looked tempting, but it failed to even begin to measure up against a bed with Hal Jordan in it.

“Unbelievable,” Hal muttered as Bruce slipped in beside him. The mattress was body-warm where he’d sprawled across it, and a touch too soft. It rolled them into the centre together, something Hal seemed eager to take advantage of. Wary of bruises, Bruce allowed himself to be nudged onto his back with Hal’s good side belly-down on him, head cupped into his shoulder.

Once settled, Hal let out a momentous sigh. “Nice.”

“I live to serve.”

“Well, that’s not true, but okay,” Hal said into his shirt. “You scared the fuck out of Clark.”

That’s not at all how Bruce remembered the situation, but it seemed cruel to contradict someone with a head injury. Also, Hal’s good arm seemed to be trying to wriggle between Bruce’s back and the mattress, and it was distracting.

“He thought you were going to produce kryptonite from some orifice and rip his stomach out his nose,” Hal continued. “You told him it wasn’t his fault, right?”

“Of course,” Bruce replied. “I told him it was yours.”

Hal huffed a laugh. “Actually, it’s yours, if anything.”

Bruce looked down at him. After a moment, Hal’s head rolled so their eyes met. There was amusement on his sleepy face. “You really shouldn’t’a started going out to fight gods and aliens in leather and kevlar. Or you shouldn’t have slept with me. One of those two things.”

“Guess which one I think it is.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’ve got regrets. Well, so do the rest of us, you’re not special. And, might I just add-”

“I’m not sure I could stop you.”

- you still ended up in bed with me right now.”

Bruce sighed through his nose, looking to the ceiling. “There’s only one spare bed.”

“You could have shared with Clark. It wouldn’t be the first time, right?” The tone was distinctly lascivious. Hal shouldn’t have had the blood content for that quite yet, but it proved his healing capacity if nothing else. Bruce felt an expression of distaste cross over his face, but doubted Hal could see it from his position.

“This is purely for practical reasons,” he said, like there was anything in his life he’d done out of practicality. And like he didn’t have an arm around Hal’s shoulders, curling him close.

“Sure, pull the other one,” Hal said, “It’s got an alternate reality where we somehow managed to only ever fuck once on it.”

“The regret gets stronger every time you open your mouth.”

“As if.” To prove his point, Hal gave him a lazy grope. “Did you share those regrets with your-”

“Shh,” Bruce interrupted. He removed Hal’s hand, though not with any particular degree of firmness.

The truth of the matter was that Bruce was not in the habit of lying to himself - he was firmly of the belief that that particular habit, more than any other, got one killed. And perhaps the best he could expect was dying in a manner of his own choosing, but if he got to pick, being surprised by something he’d willfully ignored was not the way he would go.

He’d known since that night that it was never something that he’d do just the once. Case in point: Hal Jordan wouldn’t let it happen that easily.

He’d also known that it was a problem. A personal problem. One that didn’t start or end in the bedroom. That had also proven true.

In the quiet, Hal had settled. His breath was warm on the skin over Bruce’s heart.

“You feel so good,” he mumbled. “How do you always feel so good?”

Bruce had been wondering the same thing. He just held back tighter.

#batlantern #halbruce #hal jordan #bruce wayne #clark kent #dc #how many times did i CHANGE TENSE y'all #my fic #batman #green lantern #title from drown by martin garrix

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zorya-wellness · 3 years

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Are Tarot Cards Witchcraft, Magic or Evil? Understanding How Does A Tarot Reading Work

Tarot cards seem to be surrounded by the atmosphere of mysticism and often in relation to the “dark” occult practices.

Some claim that trying to find out the future is bad luck or sinful and will certainly bring only misfortunes.

The myth that Tarot (or Runes) are the elements of Witchcraft or “dark” Magic is being shaped by the movie industry, video games and books of a particular genre.

My partner recently was playing this video game called Cyberpunk and mentioned that Tarot cards were part of his quest series. A woman that was “reading cards” in the game looked all mysterious and had those dark “witchy” vibes.

As a result of the game popularity, there is even Cyberpunk Tarot deck now available for sale which has only 22 cards and naturally, has nothing to do with Tarot.

The reason I bring this up is because when we look at the scenes where Tarot cards are used, we see evil witches that gather to perform some kind of a Satanic Ritual or curse someone and, of course, they have a Tarot cards deck, a crystal ball and Runes handy.

In this Blog post I will try to look at Tarot cards from all the different angles.

We will look at Tarot from the view of occultism, psychology and religion. Let’s break it all down.

What the Tarot Cards Really Are?

A simple explanation is that Tarot is a tool for divination. But, of course, Tarot is much more than that.

Tarot is a tool for analysis of a situation, person or action.

Tarot is a work with the subconscious layers and shadow sides, uncovering deepest desires, fears and intentions.

It doesn’t matter what you believe in, the essence of Tarot is taking the energy from a person you are reading cards for to create the best future for them.

Tarot reader is merely a guide. You can call Tarot a weak energy vampire that takes a bit of your energy to transform it into information and give you an answer.

The correct work with Tarot is based on the reader’s ability to help you choose the path that is right and best for you given all current circumstances.

Is Tarot A Form of Black Magic or Witchcraft?

What Is the Difference Between A Ritual Work Divination?

Tarot reading works by the means of receiving information from the Source through the cards and uncoding this information to a client.

It has absolutely nothing to do with ceremonial Magic or any kind of Ritual work.

A ritual is done to shape the reality the way you want to see it. You are influencing an event or a person. And in this post, we only cover the nature of the Ritual working briefly, just so that you understand what is behind the words “Ritual” and “Witchcraft.”

Tarot does not intervene or influence a person, forcing them to do something they may not want to do. It completely allows for the Free Will to be the only natural way of human experiences.

Tarot gives you the information you otherwise may miss or not see, sometimes quite willingly, to make the right choice. This is why sometimes clients say things like: “Well, this is what I expected” or “I have known this all along.” This is because the answers are within us and a Tarot Reader is only guiding you to see them.

Can Tarot Be Used for Ritual or Magical Work?

I hope you can see that this is a completely different question.

Tarot can and is sometimes used as the Ritual tool. It can be a part of spell casing, for good and for bad. When Tarot is used for evil intentions, it is not because Tarot itself is evil but because people misuse it for their nasty intentions.

And the problem is in people, not the cards.

If Tarot Is Not Magic, Where Do Tarot Readers Get the Information From?

There is different information circulating around with regards to “Where Tarot Readers get their answers from?”

Some believe that the source is Akashic Records which is considered to be a universal information “storage”, so to speak, that has a record of all the thoughts, emotions, words and also events.

But those who claim the existence of such records seem to deny the existence of divination. For example, Vadim Zeland, the creator of Transurfing of Reality, states that divination does not exist because there is way too many “paths” and “variations” of future events to be able to predict them.

However, here comes my long-standing point about the different between divination and fortune telling and I briefly touched on this in my Blog Post “What Questions Tarot Can and Cannot Answer”. And this is where people like Vadim Zeland, who by the way created his own “Tarot” despite claiming its limited use, are wrong.

RELATED POSTS: What TAROT CARDS CAN and CANNOT TELL. Questions to ask during a Tarot reading

Tarot does not tell you what you are going to have for lunch tomorrow or give you a straight yes/no answer.

Tarot reviews those possible paths and variations of events and helps you make the RIGHT CHOICE.

Tarot helps you to go to your subconscious mind and from there pull the information about yourself to help you understand what internal challenges are preventing you from growing and becoming, from letting go of the past and from working on your future.

"The Good” In Tarot Cards. Tarot as A Tool for Psychoanalysis.

If you think about it, people do many different things on a daily basis to learn more about themselves. They go to see a psychologist to resolve their personal matters and figure out the roots of their anxiety, fears and phobias.

People try to understand the meaning of their dreams and see the signs of communication from Spirit Guides and Angels.

Modern psychologists use cards, not only Tarot, during their sessions as the tool for a deep analysis and consulting.

Tarot can help a person uncover and understand some moments they were not able to connect with before mentally. These include hidden thoughts, desires and intentions.

Unlike Tarot readers, psychologists use cards for the most part to work on the ISSUES OF THE PAST, deeply analyzing it before making any prognosis or goals for the future.

How do psychologists view Tarot?

In this case, psychologists don’t even think about the “mysterious” aspects of Tarot or their connection to esotericism, paganism or occult, it is simply a tool for them to do their job better.

First and foremost, Tarot is used for symbolisms, associations and imagery.

This system helps a psychologist to connect the dots and figure out what is happening at the subconscious level of their patient. Tarot become a diagnostic method that at some situations becomes quite sufficient for a basic diagnostic.

Finally, Let’s Think TOGETHER. Are Tarot Cards A Sin?

Naturally, the answer to this question depends on your religion and what it says in the scriptures with regards to divination of any kind. But I trust that by the time you are reading this, you can make the right judgement yourself.

For the most part, Sin is a concept of JCI religions. And here we also have two categories of people to address.

If you strictly follow ALL the rules of your religion and live by them, then you shouldn’t seek an answer to this question in the Blog post of a Tarot reader, a witch or anyone who deals with magical and ritual workings.

You should address this question an official representative of your religion who is qualified to answer.

If you follow a religion, using it as a moral compass or it is a cultural part of your life, then the word “Sin” takes on a totally different meaning.

In this case, you need to assess what your religion means for you and what other rules, commandments or dogmas you have broken throughout your life. And if during those times you have at all considered the sinful nature of these acts.

For example, when you saw men cheating on their wives, a person drinking alcohol, lying or being jealous of your new IPhone, did you, even in your head, call them sinners?

Most people don’t think that printing a spiritual development book on their work printer is a sin, and yet it breaks the rules of the 6th Commandment.

Therefore, a factual sin is not a part of a religious-ethical category that is for the most part not used as a guide for our day-to-day actions.

It is rather a culturally created concepts of morals, about right or wrong, that shape the tendencies, and also change and evolve together with humanity.

Another example I want to mention is something you probably would not have even ever considered. And this is my beloved practice of Yoga.

Many of those who practice Yoga, being under the influence of the practices and travels, said they turned to Buddhism or Hinduism (both have Yoga as a part of their religion) for their spiritual and personal growth. And this is not normally being labelled as something sinful, even though looking at it factually, it is a change of Religion.

But quite conveniently, normally such person is described as a healthy and spiritual human being that enjoys travelling, sings Mantra, dresses up exotically, even doesn’t eat meat! What an example to all. A modern, soulful, educated and highly spiritual being. He is not a sinner, well, a hipster at the most.

I believe this will also answer the question “Is Tarot Evil?” because evil and sin go hand in hand with each other.

What is “good” and what is “bad” came from religious and philosophical teachings that are also subject to change based on the shifts, changes and revisions we are going through every day.

Should I not be afraid of Tarot then?

In my opinion, when going for a Tarot reading, you should be afraid not of committing a sin, but of your intentions and actions.

If you are asking a question about your own life, without getting a third party involved, (such as “What is happening in my best friend’s relationship with her boyfriend?) if your questions and life morals don’t contradict each other, then there is no need to be afraid of the consequences of the reading because there are none.

Let it be a reason for you to think what your life position is. What morals and principals do you follow?

If you take time to consider everything said above in this Blog post, you will understand that working on your future using Tarot is neither a sin or an evil. A Tarot reading will not bring you bad luck or misfortunes because it’s not on its own a magical tool.

Tarot is your guide to the better choices, better life and happier future. Use it wisely, use it to help others and don’t forget to always thank the Source.

#tarot basics #tarot blog #tarot witch #tarot cards #tarot lesson #tarot tips #tarot

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plethora-of-imagines · 4 years

Text

Colony in Space: A Pleasant Test

AN: @how-masterful and I have been watching Delgado!Master episodes together and just loving our Soft Dom Master together. So of course this means that I had to write some smut for her involving Delgado!Master. (Also I’m a slut for Delgado!Master myself and have several fics planned for him that I keep reworking because I NEED them to be perfect.) I figured that I would be nice and share with everyone because I wrote a lot.

Masterful, enjoy and try to skip reading the warnings and description to get the full effect of the fic!

Word Count: 2259

Warnings: smut/lemon, masturbating in front of another person, drug use in the form of an aphrodisiac

Description: The Master needs to test a new addition to his TARDIS as well as teach you a lesion about masturbating without permission.

Tag List: @c-s-stars @queerconfusionthings @how-masterful @truthbehindthemysteries

"Just in time, my dear. I was about to go looking for you. I could use your help testing something if you don’t mind."

The Master had approached you the moment you entered the console room. You held back your sigh of relief that you had finished when you did. If he had gone looking for you and caught you in the act it would have been bad.

“Of course, Master. What do you need help with?”

His hand rested lightly on your lower back as he led you towards two clear cylinders on the side of the room. They were new, something you hadn't seen before in the room. You examined them with curiosity. They were small, just big enough for someone to be able to comfortably turn around inside. Other than turning around and perhaps sitting down there was little room to do anything else. As the Master opened the capsule on the left you realized what he would be wanting you to test. Before you could try and run from your fate you were shoved into the capsule and sealed inside.

The Master leaned against the capsule with a smug expression on his face.

"I can tell already that you aren't very fond of being restricted like this my dear. It won't be for long, so long as you behave and obey me."

He pointed to the side where the latch for the capsule was, "I want you to try and free yourself from your current confinement. In other words, I need you to test if this capsule is capable of trapping someone inside with no feasible means of escape from the inside."

You didn't waste time with words, simply starting to search for a way to escape. There was nothing that could be used inside the capsule itself, the smooth plastic-like material flawless and thick enough that no sharp object could be used to cut it. At least not with ease, it would take hours for someone to cut themselves out. Especially with the limited room to maneuver. The latch seemed to be the only possible option to escape quickly enough for someone to avoid being caught by the Master.

"Perhaps with a magnet, someone could get the latch to move," you tried your best to examine the latch's position from inside the capsule. "Oh, never mind. The strip of metal along the capsule where the latch is would keep that idea from working."

"Very clever, my dear. Unfortunately, you are correct, I had already thought of that possibility and have corrected the design with that idea in mind."

"Now will you let me out, Master?"

He crossed his arms as he leaned against the console across from you. His eyes looking deeply into yours. Everything faded away except for him and his hypnotic presence. You felt nervous, why was he not letting you out.

"I will let you out of there. After you strip and masturbate for me, my dear."

Your face heated up, "w-what?", you didn’t understand. Why did he want you to do that?

"You heard me, my dear. Did you really think that I wasn't aware of what you were doing earlier? Your soft little pleases for me as you touched yourself were precious."

"I- why didn't you-"

"Why didn't I come in and stop you,” he meaningfully paused to let it really sink in that you had been caught, “or join you? Well, my dear, if you felt the need to take matters into your own hands who was I to hinder you. It did take you an awfully long time to reach your peak. You must have been thinking frustratedly the whole time about how I know your body better than you do at this point."

Your entire face felt hot, it was likely you were completely red all the way to your ears. You had been a fool to think that you could masturbate without being caught. You broke eye contact with the Master in embarrassment. Looking down at his feet instead. You had found yourself lacking after all the skill with which the Master would make you feel good. You had felt sloppy and slow in comparison to his attention. It was slightly humiliating to have the Master notice it as well when he wasn't even in the room.

"Besides why ruin the moment for you by interrupting when I can simply have you touch yourself for me now. I can watch you make yourself come undone from start to finish. I'm not letting you out of there until I watch you orgasm for me, my dear."

You kept your eyes on the floor as you accepted your fate and slowly undid each button on your shirt. Sliding it off of your body and carefully folding it before placing it on the ground. The Master always preferred your clothes to be taken care of neatly when you took them off. You were already in enough trouble for getting caught, you refused to tempt more reprimands from the Master.

You took your dress pants off next. Unfastening them with shaky hands. You felt so exposed stripping in the capsule, like a specimen to be observed. It was so different from stripping for him in the bedroom. There would be no comforting caresses or touches until you were done this time. Your dress pants joined your nice button-down shirt folded nicely on the ground.

"What a pretty, flustered thing you are, my dear. I want you completely bare for me before you get to work playing with yourself."

You took his words as the command they were. Unhooking your bra and letting it slide down, off your arms and to the floor. Your panties following after. Your hands sliding them from your hips and letting gravity do the rest of the work. Stepping out of them before kneeling on the ground to add them and your bra to the neat pile of your clothes. The whole time your eyes were firmly held on the Master's dress shoes.

"So fascinated with my shoes today. Should I take it as a sign that you want to polish them later with your own slick arousal?"

You wordlessly gasped up at the Master with your red face, making eye contact again for the first time since this had started. His lustful, appreciative look as he took in your exposed, kneeling form made you quickly turn your head to the side to break eye contact again. It was too embarrassing to look at him while he was ordering you to masturbate for him in the console room like this.

"Remember that if you find yourself too uncomfortable with this to use your safeword, my dear. The moment you utter it we stop."

"Yes, Master."

You were embarrassed but also somewhat turned on by this power play of the Master's. You wanted to see where it would go. The reminder that you could stop this at any point helped you to find the courage to stand and start to masturbate in front of the Master.

You started by awkwardly beginning to play with your breasts. Groping and squeezing them. Trying to spark your arousal into something that you could easily work into a quick orgasm.

"Good girl, choosing to not neglect the rest of your body in favor of the main source of pleasure."

You closed your eyes to the Master's praise. Continuing to play with your breasts as you began to give attention to your nipples. Twisting, pulling, and flicking them as they hardened. Small little gasps coming from your parted lips as you started to feel warm in between your legs.

Hands slowly teasing their way down your body until they were settled in between your legs, ready to start really playing with yourself.

"Show me how wet you are, my dear."

You coated your fingers in your own arousal. Presenting them to the Master for approval.

"Already so wet. I think you enjoy being forced to touch yourself for me. Of course I want you dripping before you are allowed your release."

You opened your eyes in panic as a hiss caught your attention. Looking up at the top of the capsule you could see gas starting to enter the capsule. You looked to the Master for reassurance that it was not something going wrong.

"Relax, my dear. It's nothing that will harm you, quite the opposite in fact. Just another feature of the capsule I wanted to test. Of course, what I’m having you experience will be quiet different from what anyone else would experience in your place. Something I’ve been working on for you to try out. Now, keep going," you returned your hands to your clit and started to draw circles with your fingers. "Good girl."

You looked down without really seeing anything. Your mind focused on playing with your clit as you tried to inspire more slickness from your body. Gradually more and more of your arousal started to drip out of you. After several minutes it began to drip onto the floor beneath you. Your body slowly growing more and more aroused. A strong arousal that was foreign to you whenever you masturbated on your own. Feeling Master's eyes on you alone shouldn't be inspiring this level of arousal.

You started to struggle to stay standing. Tipping to the side to lean against the capsule wall in order to support yourself.

"Master?"

Your words were slurred. Eyes open but unseeing. The only thing your mind could focus on was how much you ached to cum. Fingers moving faster as your open mouth drooled and moaned.

"Imagine that your fingers are mine, let them fill you up so nicely, my darling."

Four fingers slipped into you with ease, two from each hand. You wasted no time with teasing, getting straight to work. Your mind flickered between the knowledge that it was your fingers inside and the idea that it was the Master's fingers perfectly coaxing you to orgasm.

It only took a few thrusts for you to be cumming. A startled yelp leaving you as it took you by surprise. Your fingers never faltering as they kept moving. Two more orgasms quickly followed afterward. You didn't even think to ask to be released, instead all you could think about was reaching another orgasm.

You needed to cum for your Master. The pain of overstimulation meant nothing to you now. The only words leaving your lips were pleas for the Master to give you more. Forgetting completely that you were the one fingering yourself. Every breath you took increased your desperation exponentially.

"Cum for Master," rapidly two more orgasms came. Bringing you down onto the floor as your shaking legs could no longer support you. "Good girl. Can you make yourself cum a few more times for your Master?"

Your fingers worked even faster as they tried to obey your Master. You wanted to cum again for Master like a good girl. You came once again with a broken cry. Each orgasm only made you need more. You needed your Master inside of you.

Fingers stilling you begged your Master to help you.

"Please Master, I can't do this anymore. I need you, Master!"

The capsule opened and you fell to the floor. Look up at the Master you could just barely see him through your lust clouded eyes. He grabbed your arm and dragged you fully out of the capsule before bending down to lift you into his arms. He carried you over to a chair, placing you on his lap as he sat down.

He made quick work of freeing his cock from his clothes after the sight of your trembling hands told him you would be incapable of managing to undo his pants on your own. He lifted you up again and settled you down onto his cock as you let out overwhelmed but pleased whimpers. His hands held your hips down as he began to thrust. You felt so wonderfully filled and stretched compared to what your fingers had managed.

Each thrust and gasp cleared your head as your arousal grew. Unlike in the capsule your arousal grew at a normal rate instead of the overwhelming exponential increase of you had experienced before inside the capsule. You bit down onto the Master's shoulder with a scream as you both came together. The feeling of him releasing into you tipping you over the edge. As your orgasm faded your arousal fled your body. Leaving you achingly sore and absolutely exhausted in the Master's lap still impaled deeply on his cock. Lazily you pressed kissed to where you had bitten the Master through his clothes. 7 orgasms, 8 if you included your earlier one. Your body had never managed so many orgasms in quick succession. You felt like you could sleep for days now.

"I trust you've learned your lesson, my dear. That only your Master can fully satisfy you."

You let out a weak, "yes Master," as you tightly clung to him.

He gently rubbed your back as he praised you, "you did such a good job, my dear. You were such a very good girl for Master."

Gentle pats to your face kept you from falling asleep.

"Stay awake for me just a little longer. We need to get some fluids in you before you can sleep, my dear."

"Yes, Master," you sleepily responded.

You would do your best to obey through your exhaustion. For he was your Master and you would always obey him.

#delgado!master x reader #the master x reader

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perseusannabeth · 4 years

Text

blame it on the alcohol

Summary: Elain gets drunk and decides to sleep in Lucien's room. Also, she keeps talking about her boobs.

Elain was drunk. She was very drunk, not even just tipsy, all thanks to Mor who had convinced her to go to Rita’s with the rest of the girls. Her cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, her hair was slightly messy, her eyes were slightly glazed over. It was the drunkest Lucien had ever seen Elain, and it was endearing. Even when Elain was so drunk she could barely stand, she still managed to take Lucien’s breath away. He couldn’t quite believe that she was stood at the entrance of his room, panting like she had run a marathon, grinning from ear to ear.

They had been taking things slow in regards to the mating bond. He spent time in the gardens with Elain, sometimes watching, sometimes helping. They would talk about everything and nothing. They were slowly getting to know each other and were getting more and more comfortable around each other. The physical aspects of their relationship were limited to holding hands, linking arms, Lucien kissing her hands and Elain sometimes kissing Lucien on the cheeks. Although the mating bond tugged and gnawed at Lucien, he found he could easily ignore it, when just thinking of Elain’s face flushed, her beaming with happiness, her eyes shining with fondness and joy, and a happy, content feeling washing over him through the bond. As long as Elain looked and felt like that, Lucien could deal with whatever was thrown at him.

Or so he had foolishly thought, until now. Elain pushed past him and walked into his room, sitting herself down on the foot of his bed clumsily. He closed the door cautiously and turned to look at Elain, who had kicked her shoes off and was sat with her legs crossed on his bed.

“Is everything alright dove?” he asked as he walked towards the shirt he had draped over a chair when he had gotten ready for bed. His sleep-addled brain hadn’t thought to put a shirt on before he answered the incessant knocking at his door.

“Do you usually sleep without a shirt on?” Lucien couldn’t even tell if she was ignoring his question, or whether she didn’t even register that he had spoken.

“Yes, I do, unless it’s very cold.”

“Is it cold now?”

“No.”

“Then don’t put it back on.”

At that, he stilled, his shirt in his hands, hovering mid-air as he was about to put it on. He turned to look at Elain, who was openly staring at his chest. He felt a rush of pride that his mate was staring at him, appreciating his body. He opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t think of what to say. Instead, he watched as Elain stretched out her hand, until she was grasping the shirt, and slowly took it out of his hands, her eyes still roaming his torso.

“I want to sleep here tonight,” she said, snapping herself out of the trance she had been in as she finally met his eyes.

“That’s fine. I’ll sleep on the cha-”

“No! You have to stay with me!” she cut him off before he could even finish his sentence.

“Elain, dove, you’re very drunk right now. You wouldn’t want this if you were sober,” he said softly, trying to reason with her.

“Actually, I would I’m just too scared to ask for it,” she slurred her words but grinned as she spoke. Lucien decided that grin might be the death of him. “If you make me leave, I’ll cry and then tell Nesta you made me cry.”

Lucien’s eyes widened at such a threat coming from Elain. “Now you’re just playing dirty,” he huffed out with a slight laugh. “No need to resort to that, you can stay,” he held his hands up in surrender.

Elain let out a little giggle as she straightened her legs so they dangled in front of her, her dress still bunched up under her as she swung her legs. Lucien quickly looked away, before moving to try to help Elain to fix her dress. Elain was modest, and he knew she would be mortified at her behaviour right now, and Lucien didn’t want that to happen. Drunk Elain, however, had no problem with showing her legs, and tried to wiggle away from Lucien, laughing as she did, and almost kicking Lucien in the face for his efforts.

“Right then dove, why don’t we get you into bed,” he said, giving up on that idea and gesturing to the blanket which was still folded over from when he had gotten out. It was clearly safer when Elain was under the blanket, for both parties involved.

“Okay!” Elain jumped up onto the floor, turning her back to him, and then, to Lucien’s horror, started undoing the laces on her dress.

Lucien grabbed her hands quickly and turned her around to see her brown doe eyes filled with confusion. “What are you doing?” he asked, wishing his voice didn’t sound like he had swallowed sand.

“I can’t sleep in this,” she said slowly, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I especially can’t sleep with my bra on, that would hurt my breasts,” she said, hugging her chest, frowning at the possible pain they might go through. Lucien let out a choked sound but couldn’t speak, which Elain took as a sign to carry on talking about her problems. “They always hurt already, if I slept with my bra on, they would definitely cause trouble.”

Elain shook her head, before continuing to undo her dress. Lucien’s eyes widened, and he quickly turned around, not knowing what else to do. He heard the soft thud of fabric hitting the floor, as well as another smaller fabric, hitting the floor after. Lucien tried to think of something, anything to take his mind off the fact that his mate was stood, almost naked in his room, but it was no use. His face heated, and the heat seemed to run through his veins.

“It must be so easy being a male, you don’t get people staring at your chest,” Elain said with a sigh.

“Who stares at your chest?” He growled, the thought of others ogling at his mate making him feel a simmering rage deep inside.

“Lots of people do. Sometimes I think males forget that females can see that their eyes wander. Still, it was worse when they first started growing. I used to want to rub them because they were so tender and sensitive but then that drew attention to them.” Lucien bit back a groan at the thought of Elain touching her breasts, his mind drifting to her touching herself in other ways before he could stop himself. He cursed silently, as he thought of Tamlin, Eris, Beron, Nesta, anyone to stop his thoughts. His sleeping trousers were already tightening uncomfortably. He quickly adjusted himself, before turning around to see what his mate was doing.

She was covered, thank the cauldron, however, she was wearing the shirt she had insisted he couldn’t wear, and cauldron boil him, the sight of her in his shirt, her cheeks flushed and her hair dishevelled nearly had him on his knees. This was clearly a punishment for all the terrible things he had done, he decided.

“Let’s get you into bed,” he managed to rasp out quickly before she decided to carry on torturing him.

Elain nodded and let him guide her into the space that Lucien had vacated in the bed, and Lucien couldn’t help but watch as those long, smooth legs slid under the covers, which he then pulled up under her chin, hoping it would be enough to stop him from seeing anything he shouldn’t.

As he walked around to the other side of the bed, lying on top of the covers for some semblance of propriety in the situation, Elain decided to continue her torture session.

“I used to wish my breasts weren’t so big. They always cause so much backache, and the men always used to stare. When we were poor it was difficult to buy bras that fit me, because the bigger the breasts the bigger the price for the bra. Then when the bra didn’t fit me they would fall out of the bra, which drew more attention to them, or the bra would dig in and leave bruises and marks. My nipples are always sticking out at the slightest thing too, I think that must mean they're really sensitive.”

Lucien pushed the palm of his hands into his eyes, rubbing them as he wondered what he had done that deserved this much punishment. Perhaps in a previous life, he had human slaves, or maybe he had murdered people in cold blood. Maybe he had drowned baby animals for fun. It had to be something terrible if he had to listen to this.

“Feyre said that males prefer bigger breasts though, is that true?” she asked, turning those big doe eyes on him.

“I, don’t really, I’m not, I don’t know?” he managed to stutter out, his eyes drifting to her chest almost automatically, the blanket had shifted slightly, before berating himself and looking away. Looking at her chest would mean he was no better than the people he just contemplated running his sword through.

“Do you like big breasts? Or my breasts?” Lucien squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that this was just a terrible dream, nobody could give him blue balls this cruelly, surely. “Maybe you can’t comment because you haven’t seen them.”

Lucien’s eyes flew open at Elain's comment as she moved the covers, her hands going to the bottom of his shirt to lift it up. At the flash of black lace, Lucien grabbed her hand and pulled it away, pulling the shirt down as far as it could go and pulling the covers up again.

“I can’t comment yet, but I’m sure they’re lovely dove,” he said, slowly releasing her hand. “However, I think you should show me them another time, not right now,” he said, marvelling at his own self-control when he could feel his dick press against his trousers, the mating bond begging him to touch his mate, to please her, begging to break free. He thought of what Nesta would do if she saw what was happening, and imagined the kind of pain his balls would suffer if she could hear the things he was thinking, and the painful need started to slowly ebb away, thank the Mother.

“I can show you another time?” she asked, yawning slightly.

“Any time you’re sober dove.” he leaned in and kissed her forehead. She sigh, and pressed her body up against him, Lucien managing to angle his hips away as Elain rested her head against his chest and breathing in his scent as she started to drift off slowly.

Lucien held his breath until her breathing slowly evened out, and he was sure that she was asleep. He smiled as he looked down on his sleeping mate. She would be embarrassed in the morning, he knew, but he could enjoy the fact she was here, sleeping in his bed for now. He watched her, the smile not falling from his face until he fell asleep, holding his mate.

♥♥♥

Elain woke up to the sun streaming through the window. She groaned, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, hoping it would help the hangover. As she slowly became more awake, she realised her bed smelt differently, like pumpkins and freshly cut grass. Then she noticed how warm she was, and - oh.

She opened her eyes and saw Lucien’s sleeping form next to her. Her eyes widened with panic as she looked around the room, noticing her dress and bra on the floor. She looked under the covers and saw she was wearing Lucien’s shirt! Her panic subsided slightly as she noticed that Lucien had slept above the covers.

“Good morning dove” Lucien’s voice, raspy from sleep made her jump. She looked up to see him smile as he kissed her forehead.

“I - what am I doing here?” she asked him cautiously.

Lucien grinned. “You decided you wanted to sleep here. But of course, you couldn’t sleep with your bra on, so you decided to start stripping.”

Elain’s face went bright red. “You didn’t end up…” she trailed off, unable to finish her question.

“I saw your lovely legs, but nothing more, although you did try.” he laughed.

Elain gasped, as the memories flooded back, hiding her face in her hands and groaning. “I tried to show you my breasts!” she groaned out, horrified at her behaviour.

“Don’t worry dove, I didn’t mind it. You were drunk, and rather adorable, even if you caused a few problems for me. Still, nothing that couldn’t be fixed by thinking of what Nesta would do to me.”

“I can’t believe it. What came over me?” she said, slowly looking up at her laughing mate.

“I can’t say I know dove, but if you ever need anyone to give an opinion on your breasts, I’m always willing to sacrifice my time for that noble cause,” he teased.

Elain couldn’t stand the teasing and wanted him to be quiet. In fact, she wanted to be the one laughing at him, and so, without letting herself overthink, she leaned in and captured his lips, his laughter quickly dying, as he froze at the feeling of her lips on his. Elain started pulling away when Lucien wrapped his arms around her and kissed her slowly.

Elain pulled away, out of breath from the kissing. She felt her face flush as she looked up at her mate, whose face was frozen in shock, his eyes glazed over slightly. She felt a rise of smug satisfaction as she saw him speechless from a kiss. It gave her the confidence to get up and get her discarded clothes and walk into the bathroom to get dressed.

When she emerged, Lucien was sat up on the bed, smiling at her as she came out. She blushed slightly as her eyes roamed his naked torso, remembering how she had been hypnotised by it last night.

“Well, that’ll teach you to be so smug.”

“El, if that was to stop me from being smug then you’d better think of a better deterrent. That was not a way to deter me,” his eyes drifted to her lips.

“No, but just think of what happens when Nesta finds out that I was almost naked in your bed and I kissed you.”

Lucien’s eyes widened as Elain left the room quickly before she did something else to embarrass herself. The thought of Lucien’s horrified face had her laughing all the way to her own rooms. She decided she didn’t care who found out where she had spent the night and would be able to calm Nesta down easily, but Lucien didn’t need to know that.

#elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elain x lucien #acotar #acotar fanfiction #i figured since i now have a book related blog i might as well post this on here too #this is the first thing i've written that i don't hate tbh #i may come to hate it eventually like i do with all my writing #text #my fic

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