#if I think a work is bad why would I care enough to create something in response to it?
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cent-scratchnsniff ¡ 9 months ago
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it was just going to be a few warmup doodles but then she infected the rest of the page like the ever eternal and spreading spores. hod!!! hod. hod :)
#lobotomy corporation#lobcorp#hod#hod lobcorp#lobotomy corp spoilers#I GUESS i almost forgot i drew her box form#lobcorp spoilers#and michelle actually. ..#both very tiny. itty bitty. microscopic#other sephirah there too as normal. i cant have her alone. and Angelina as well on the top patting her#i have a hard time fully capturing her for some reason. in my mind. maybe its because is the disconnected period!!! mentally#she genuinely wishes to care and be kind yet theres a dissonance with what she does..? or how it ends up being taken or what she does to en#up bringing those actions into reality. she can be forceful? wanting to have employees attend therapy sessions and meetings for suppression#tactics. which i think is also something the safety team is incharge of iirc. so that means shes doing way more that what she needs to on#her job as a sephirah. just for the sake of employees#she really does care as shes one of the only to Directly attempt to change their circumstances and quality of life and health#sure chesed doesnt punish employees when they dont do their work assigned or stress them out with work#but he doesnt actively push to attempt to make changes to aid employees besides the research perks which is to the manager#yesod IS right next to her and does also genuinely care but when it comes to employees hes distant at best when it comes to them and the#way he tries to protect them is by enforcing rules but he doesnt really create or attempt to help them like hod does#yesod is sort of a passive? way of doing it. yes he doesn make a push to enforce said rules but he doesnt make new ones. just follows what#is already there in place. hod tries to make new ways and not just for the safety of people like how yesod's has them physically fine and#not letting them over a certain threshold of mental corruption but she tries to have a program to Directly Address such a thing#its born out of care but the genuine worry of being a good person and her naivety ends up having it do more harm than good#sure there may be some employees that actually like and find it useful but so many are just accepting to their fate of Dying to where#her care seems pointless. shes a sephirah and to them a literal metal box why would they go ahead and feel bad for what an 'ai' is feeling#as she is interrupting their free time in the company#which is rude. and shit. iirc the counseling is compulsory but people go because shes a sephirah and their superior. the thought was there#but again it comes off wrong and ends up not working because shes their superior in the end#EEK!!! yeah... hod. the hod. there is WAY more but i can't fit it all here and i already typed enough
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musical-chick-13 ¡ 2 years ago
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"Truly GOOD works don't have thriving fandoms because people aren't interested in fixing them, so what do they have to write fics/make art about."
Idk about you, but I don't write fic for properties I don't genuinely enjoy and think are, on some level, actually good.
#like I'm here to EXPAND on shit I like is that not a common experience?#if I think a work is bad why would I care enough to create something in response to it?#you think I did all those episode reviews and wrote all that shit about cxgf because I thought it was BAD?????#I have ten (10) wips and ONE of them is a 'rewriting canon to be in line with what I wish happened' fic?#idk if I'd even call it a FIX fic. it's more of a 'slightly less personally depressing resolution' fic#I'm sorry. truly I don't understand this viewpoint#'if a story is well-constructed enough there won't BE any extra dimensions to explore' WRONG. I'LL /ALWAYS/ FIND THINGS. U UNDERESTIMATE ME#I WILL /CREATE/ BLANKS TO FILL IN /BECAUSE/ I LOVE THIS THING SO MUCH#like yes everyone is probably going to have at least one piece of media that they don't think is High Art™ that they get unhinged over#(ctrlz squad sound off)#but I just...I'm sorry I cannot imagine spending all of my time going 'I will create things in honor of something that I believe is Bad™'#or 'this thing made me angry I'll exclusively spend my time fixing it' instead of just. watching/reading something else that I DO enjoy#also like...things that ARE widely-agreed to be genuinely good still have big fandoms sometimes?#tgp is pretty popular on here. csm is MASSIVE. both on and off tumblr.#and some things WOULD be otherwise easily fandomize-able: cxgf is one. dpat is another. but these don't HAVE huge fandoms because the shows#are not popular. like just. we live in a world where people are somehow both elitist and anti-intellectual at the same time#ANYWAY this is in response to that one post I saw about--*I am dragged offstage for my own safety*#In the Vents
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stealingyourbones ¡ 6 months ago
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Danny, being a halfa, falls under the strange category of people who can converse with the dead and act in their names. Most mediums simply convey messages. It was rare for someone to be able to fulfill a ghost’s dying request and have that act tied to the ghost’s core.
Honestly it’s annoying.
He doesn’t get any alone time anymore for homework or hobbies. The dead are constantly pestering Danny to help with their desires - which, sure, it helps them move on which means they’re out of Danny’s hair, but come on!! Give a guy a break! Just because he doesn’t need as much sleep as a fully living person doesn’t mean he can go without entirely!
“No Scott,” Danny repeated for the fifth time, “I am not flying to California tonight. Do you know how far that is? Literally the other coast of this massive continent. Meet me there in August like everyone else on the list.”
Spending the first spring break of college creating a map and calendar for Last Rites was not something Danny expected when he moved to Gotham.
Why did this city have so many ghosts?! It was ridiculous. And he thought Amity Park was bad? At least the ghosts here were mostly Shades. Not visible to anyone unless they were also dead-adjacent or had The Sight or a bloodline curse or a magical amulet… you know what? There were enough of those in this curse ridden city, why couldn’t these ghosts go find one of those people instead? Danny was exhausted.
So exhausted he didn’t notice the vigilante dropping down from the rooftop.
“Hey there kid, you alri-”
“Yeah yeah,” Danny waved a hand dismissively at the voice without looking up. “Wait in line like everyone else. But honestly you’d be better off coming back tomorrow when I’ve had some sleep.”
“Think maybe you outta get started on that sleep now, bud?” the voice behind him spoke in a calm careful tone.
One Danny had heard all too often since dying.
His head jerked sideways to stare wide-eyed at Nightwing, who tensed just a little as if expecting Danny to run or fight. Instead he let out a groan and slumped onto the park bench, rubbing his eyes to ease the burn of fatigue. He’d been coming out to this park at the corner of campus each night to keep the Shades from mobbing him all day long in classes, but they’d spread the word around Gotham that he was here and his precious spring break had become a non-stop line of requests and arguments. Made sense he’d caught the attention of one of the Bats. Should have expected it sooner.
Danny ignored all the voices around him and looked at Nightwing directly as he prattled off his usual list when someone caught him talking to thin air.
“No, I’m not hallucinating. I got all my Rogue Gallery immunizations the day I checked onto campus. I’m not schizophrenic. The only meds I take are for adhd and the occasional Tylenol. I’m not a danger to myself or others. Unless they attack me first.”
Nightwing nodded along, but tilted his head at the end.
“I’m talking to the dead,” Danny answered the unspoken question in a tired monotone, waiting for the usual skepticism or plea for help with lost loved ones.
“Oh. Okay then.”
“What?” That wasn’t expected.
“No yeah, that makes sense.”
Danny was sure his jaw was on the ground. “You… you believe me?”
“Well sure,” the hero shrugged and chuckled. “I can’t see ghosts myself but I know a couple magicians who work with one, and my little brother Robin has a ghost on his team - she’s actually visible most of the time so I don’t know if that’s a special skill or something else going on. But I’m glad you’re okay and don’t need any emergency medication. I know a couple 24 hour pharmacies that would help but it’s nice when they’re not needed. We don’t get a lot of mediums around Gotham holding court at night so you really can’t fault me for checking in.”
Danny was still floating in the relief of not being questioned or doubted. That hadn’t happened since Jazz found out his secret. She’d had plenty of questions about his halfa status, of course, but never called him crazy for talking to things others couldn’t see. Even Sam and Tucker would forget sometimes and give him strange looks before realizing he was dealing with a Shade, Wisp, or Memory.
He didn’t realize he was wobbling until Nightwing’s arms shot out to stabilize him.
Danny blinked up at the pretty face that was trying not to chuckle, held by strong arms, and so far past tired he might be getting delirious after all because his brain seemed to have lost its filter and he said out loud,
“You actually believe me. I think I love you.”
Then the horrifying embarrassment hit at the same time as Nightwing’s laughter. Which… sounded delighted rather than mean spirited?
“Well now it’s your turn to wait in line, cuz that’s the fourth confession I’ve had this week!” They both devolved into snorts and giggles, Danny still relying on those arms for balance, but when they’d caught their breath the vigilante said, “Come on, you’ve really got to get some sleep. I’ll walk you back to your dorm.”
Ignoring the whispers and grumbles of the Shades was easier with someone walking beside him.
This is so incredibly cute oml. It’s so rare to see the bats actually go with the flow and god it isn’t done enough. 12/10 immaculate, glorious.
The entire plot I can see so clearly in my mind dude:
Danny chatting to Nightwing as they walk to his dorm
Nightwing asking some casual questions about ghosts and Danny asking about vigilante work.
Nightwing informs the Bats of Danny as he might be a valuable asset in the future.
Nightwing helps free shades with Danny and he realizes why Danny is so incredibly tired all the time.
Nightwing managing to stumble into Danny every day of his break, slowly getting to know each other more and more and becoming really good friends (perhaps lovers 👀).
Wonderful stuff man ty for the ask!
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posh--bee ¡ 2 months ago
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falling for you (into the deep end) || Aaron Hotchner
pairing → Aaron Hotchner x Reader
summary → One second, you're standing next to your father's pool, ready for a cold drink on a hot summer day, and the next you're suddenly falling into said pool with a man you have never met before in your life. A man who shortly after introduces himself as Aaron Hotchner to you, your father's unit chief and friend. Yep, this is definitely your worst nightmare come to life.
warnings → meet-cute, fem!reader, rossi!reader, reader has rossi's last name, reader wears a bikini, reader is down bad immediately, Aaron is the sweetest guy ever, but also down bad, (unspecified) age gap, a cuss word here and there, short description of a hypothetical crime, no y/n used
author’s note → I wanted to write something for Hotch, preferably with a reader who is Rossi's daughter. Throw in a quirky and slightly awkward meet-cute and voilà—here we are! I'm pretty sure Rossi's mansion doesn't have a pool, but who cares, now it does! This fic kinda developed a life of its own near the end so let me know what you think about it <3
word count → 4.8k
masterlist(s)
series masterlist || ⋆part 1⋆ part 2 - part 3 coming soon-ish :3
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The soft ripple of the pool's aquamarine water rocks you gently, caressing your sun-warmed skin, the smell of chlorine, sunscreen, and what can only be described as summer tickling your nose.
The leaves of the trees surrounding your father's property rustle in a lazy breeze and you open your eyes, the clear sky that greets you as brilliantly blue as the water you're floating in, your arms and legs spread like you're mimicking a very happy and very relaxed starfish.
It's one of the hottest days of this year's summer and you decided to enjoy it thoroughly in the best way you know how: By lazing around your dad's house—sorry, mansion—eating his food and commandeering his pool until you're all wrinkly, while he is at work, catching the worst monsters humanity has created.
You will always be worried about him when he's gone but you've only ever known a world where that is what your father does; hunting down killers, teaching others to do the same, or writing books about understanding and capturing these dangerous people. And making a ton of money in the process.
Naturally, he never wanted you to follow in his footsteps, knowing how dangerous, how grueling, how draining his work can be, hoping that his only daughter would choose a different path for her professional life.
And naturally, you defied his wishes.
Kind of.
Only last week, after years and years of studying and researching and writing papers and pulling all-nighters and drinking enough caffeine to power an aircraft, you graduated with a PhD in Forensic Science and can now proudly announce yourself as Doctor Rossi instead of Miss Rossi.
That's why you're currently back at your father's place, simply enjoying doing absolutely nothing before you're officially joining the workforce, hopefully helping to catch many more of the monsters your father and his team hunt and developing the methods and practices of your field further.
But for the moment, you're content to simply float in the pleasantly cool water, watching a single lonely cloud drift across the endless blue sky before you decide in a stroke of pure genius that a cold and fruity drink is exactly what you need to make this perfectly carefree day even better. You let yourself grow heavy in the water, your body sinking to the tiled bottom of the pool where you remain motionless for a few seconds, admiring the mesmerizing shifting patterns the sunlight paints underwater before you kick off the tiles, your fingers wrapping around the metal bars of the pool's ladder as soon as you reach them.
You climb out of the pool, water cascading down your body and creating a small puddle on the sun-warmed wooden planks of the patio at your feet. You grab your towel from one of the fancy deck chairs and quickly dry yourself enough to go to the kitchen and make yourself a drink before leisurely sipping on it while you lie in the sun, a hopefully good book keeping you company until you decide it's time for another relaxing activity.
With your game plan fully formed, you set it in action, going over to the sliding glass door that leads back into the house when you catch sight of your reflection in it, briefly pausing to fix the top of your—if you might say so yourself—super cute and flattering bikini.
But before you can then reach for the handle, a silhouette of a person appears behind the glass out of nowhere and the door slides open all the way, revealing a man you have never seen before in your life standing in front of you.
In your father's house. That you thought you had to yourself.
Oh hell no.
Immediately, your heart jumps into your throat, your pulse spiking in pure panic and you stare at the stranger fearfully, your brain frantically scrambling to find the best course of action that doesn't lead to your pictures ending up on one of the boards at your father's workplace—one photo showing a candid shot of you smiling, probably from your recent graduation, while the others would document how the killer left your broken and bruised body behind on the patio, your blood painting the wooden planks red, seeping into the cracks between them, maybe even dripping into the pool's clear water and staining it with clouds of diluted blood.
The stranger's dark brows furrow in concern, and when he gently, carefully says your name, it does nothing to calm you—not in the slightest. Your body is stiffly frozen on the spot while your fight-or-flight response is busy flipping a coin and waiting to see which side it will land on.
But then the stranger takes a step towards you and you spring into action, yelping in alarm and instinctively taking one, two, three steps backwards—away from him—which you quickly realize was a big mistake when the terrible feeling of having missed a step makes your stomach drop.
And then time slows down.
With a startled cry you fall backwards, flailing your arms helplessly but without a chance to regain balance when your back foot is already hanging over the edge of the pool. The stranger's eyes widen in surprise and he urgently reaches for you, his warm and strong fingers actually closing around your wrist firmly, trying to pull you back towards him—but it's too late.
Your momentum makes the stranger lose his footing as well and not a fraction of a second later the two of you break the pool's glittering surface in a joint, enormous splash, instantly submerged by the water.
Little drops of it are still raining down on you when you and the stranger come back up at the same time to gasp for air, your pulse ringing in your ears, looking and feeling more than a little disoriented. Your wide eyes find the deep brown ones of the unfamiliar man next to you and he silently stares back at you with an equally befuddled expression.
He's extremely handsome, your brain notes unprompted, even with his previously styled hair now completely wet, the dark strands sticking to his forehead and sending droplets running down his sharp features, some stubbornly clinging to his eyelashes and even the tip of his nose. Naturally, his clothes are completely soaked too, his dress shirt now clinging tightly to his body and it embarrassingly takes you a moment to avert your eyes from this sight, from his chest, and shoulders, and arms, especially when you notice the way he has the sleeves rolled up above his elbows.
With warm cheeks that have nothing to do with you lazing around in the sun all day, your gaze snaps back to his face which looks like he's still trying to comprehend what just happened.
And that's when the horrible realization dawns on you.
That maybe this man who didn't show any signs of aggression towards you and even tried to save you from falling, who knows your name and is dressed in suit pants, a dress shirt and nice shoes might not be a serial killer coming to end your life after all.
And you just made him fall in the pool with you—completely clothed.
Oh no. Not good. Very not good.
"Oh god, I'm so sorry! Are you—are you okay?"
The words tumble out of your mouth franticly, your voice too loud, too shrill, a wholly different kind of panic settling in that makes your hands tremble and your stomach feel slightly sick.
The stranger lets out a high-pitched, breathless laugh, an amused kind of disbelief on his face when he answers, "I am, yes. Are you alright?"
His deep voice is good-humored and kind, the kind that makes your knees go a little weak despite yourself and all you manage in response is a quick little nod, threading your fingers together in front of your body, nervously playing with them under the water.
You watch him brush the hair from his forehead with one large hand, slicking the wet, jet-black strands back, water running down his arm, droplets getting caught in the dark hairs on his forearm and he quickly looks at the probably very expensive and now very drenched watch on his wrist before his kind gaze finds yours again, saying, "I'm sorry I startled you like this. I thought Dave texted you I was coming over. He has some old case files on his desk he asked me to review while he's still at the office."
As soon as these words leave his mouth, your cheeks and ears flame up in shame while your eyes widen in horror. Because that means this man who is currently in the pool with you is an FBI agent, a highly skilled profiler working on the same team as your dad, and it's all your fault that he took a completely involuntary dive with you.
And then, as if you're not already wishing for the bottom of the pool to open up and just swallow you whole to end your misery, he adds the one thing that makes this surreal situation even worse.
"I'm Aaron—Hotchner. It's good to finally meet you. Your father talks a lot about you."
Cool.
Cool cool cool cool.
Because of course, of all the agents your father works with you just made Aaron Hotchner, the BAU's unit chief and your dad's very serious, very important and very no-nonsense FBI boss fall in the pool with, completely clothed, and probably ruining his expensive shoes and watch and wallet and phone in the process.
Sure.
No problem.
Definitely not one of the most humiliating things to ever happen in your life.
You are going to drown yourself in this pool.
With your mind and body locked in a continuous state of distress, you exhale a trembling breath that does nothing to calm you, the words just spilling out of your mouth, your voice cracking pathetically as you try to explain yourself and apologize to him, completely distraught.
"Oh god, I'm so so sorry, I—I didn't know—I left my phone inside and haven't checked it in hours—If I'd known you were coming over, I'd—I'd never—oh my god—"
To make matters even worse you have to realize with renewed horror that tears are welling up in your eyes and you stubbornly press the heels of your hands to your eyes as you gasp for a breath, struggling to keep your emotions under control and regain even the semblance of composure. You refuse to make an even bigger fool out of yourself in front of him than you already have.
But that's nearly impossible when Aaron's voice is so infuriatingly understanding and kind, his tone soft and comforting.
"It's alright, you really don't have to apologize to me. You didn't know and I scared you half to death. It's not your fault, so don't worry about it, okay?"
But how can you not worry about how much you messed up when this is probably the worst first impression you have ever left on someone—and that includes the time you destroyed someone's side mirror with your own car only to learn a few days later that that someone was your then-boyfriend's very unamused mother when you visited his parents for the first time for a very uncomfortable and icy dinner. (Your mind still likes to torture you with this little incident when you're busy trying to fall asleep, basically dooming the relationship from the very beginning, but in the end it was for the best—because that woman would've shown up wearing a white dress to her son's own wedding. So you're pretty sure you dodged a huge bullet there.)
You risk a glance at Aaron through the gaps between your fingers, the reassuring smile on his face making you feel a little silly, a little overdramatic but it also makes you calm down enough to let your hands drop from your face. Not that you had any chance not to, not when he's looking at you like you couldn't do anything wrong in his eyes, ever.
"I mean it, it was just an accident. Don't blame yourself for that."
He says it with so much conviction that you're almost ready to believe him, but the unhappy frown still clings stubbornly to your face, still mentally berating yourself over this whole situation you actually had very little control over.
That's why you jump almost a foot into the air (the water you're still standing in) when a warm and big, big hand gently squeezes your naked shoulder. Aaron is somehow so much closer than before, looking down at you and steadily holding your gaze while all you can do is dumbly stare back into his eyes, captivated by the sparkle of amused patience in them, by the way his dark eyelashes frame them so perfectly, following his sharp features to the slope of his nose, further down to his lips, wondering just how they would feel pressed against yours—
Nope—!
That very attractive and very wet man in the pool with you is still your father's colleague and friend, you remind yourself with burning ears, letting out an involuntarily awkward little giggle that ends in a dramatic sigh, your whole body deflating under the comforting weight and warmth of his hand on your skin.
You manage to smile up at him despite your chest still feeling a little too tight with anxiety while butterflies undeniably start to stir in your stomach.
"Thank you for saying that," you murmur defeatedly as you try and fail to tear your gaze from his eyes. "But I'm still sorry about your clothes and watch, and everything else too."
But he simply shakes his head, easily dismissing your attempt to apologize once more, shutting down your offer to pay for the damages that would surely follow before it could even pass your lips.
"It's fine, really. All of these things can be replaced. I'm just glad you didn't hurt yourself."
How can he just say things like these with that stupidly attractive and smooth voice of his while his hand deliberately rubs up and down your arm and not expect you to fall for him right then and there? Because you're pretty sure that's what's happening right now, without you having the slightest of chances to stop it.
But that's a problem you will have to deal with later, you decide, because right now the two of you are still just standing in the water together, and while your attire is completely pool-approved his very much isn't and you probably should get him at least a towel and some dry clothes to change into.
So you softly tell him as much, nodding your head towards the house, "I could get you some of dad's clothes so you can change, I hope that's okay."
"That would be perfect, thank you," Aaron answers, a grateful smile on his lips and you can't help but notice and appreciate the enticing crow's feet framing his eyes while he does.
You give him a timid smile in return, mumbling, "It's the least I can do."
He only gives your elbow a final tender squeeze in reply before pulling his hand back, his fingers lingering on your heated skin for just a moment longer and you can't find it in you to complain about it, not when a pleasant shiver runs down your spine at that.
Crap. You're in so much trouble already.
Reluctantly, you look away from him and turn around, heading to the pool's ladder, your whole arm tingling with the ghost of his touch but you try to ignore it as best as you can—which isn't all that much.
You climb up the steps first before holding out your hand for Aaron even if it's not strictly necessary. You're delighted when he takes it anyway without hesitation, your whole hand swallowed in his firm grasp, a discovery that makes your stomach do a funny little flip.
"I hope this at least takes the first place of the most memorable ways you ever met someone for the first time," you joke as Aaron emerges from the pool, finding some humor in this absurd situation as you watch his soaked clothes lose probably half of the pool's content on the planks of the patio, the wet fabric sticking to his body unpleasantly. But you don't miss the quick upwards quirk of his lips despite him looking like a pretty miserable, drowned rat now. You try to cover up your amused snort with a cough, but you know he can't have not caught it.
He however takes it in stride and graciously ignores it, instead starting to take off his watch while saying, "It absolutely does. And I can't say I wasn't wishing to cool off all day today, but that wasn't really what I had in mind. Not that I'm mad at all about this spontaneous opportunity to take a swim with you."
He smiles at you, fully, boldly, and you're probably mistaken when you think you saw just a sliver of shyness shining in his eyes because you're too distracted by the rest of his face that looks somehow even more handsome than before.
"Well, in that case, you're very welcome," you play along easily despite your heart slamming almost painfully against your ribcage. "And what can I say, I just love to leave a lasting first impression."
You're blessed with that charming high-pitched laugh of his again while he lays his watch on the patio table before his hands move to the buttons at the top of his shirt—which is not something you should find as enticing as you do.
"You definitely did. I just hope you don't make everyone you meet for the first time fall for you like that."
The words take a moment to fully register in your mind as you're busy admiring his deft fingers working on the first button of the shirt, but when they do something must suddenly take possession of you because your mouth curls into a teasing smile without you really meaning to and you casually hum, "Hm, no. Just you."
Aaron's fingers freeze mid-movement, his gaze so much more intense than just moments before but to your own surprise you don't shy away from it, keeping your eyes locked with his as he carefully utters his next words, his voice just a little rougher.
"That must make me pretty special, then."
You consider his words with a slow tilt of your head, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip to keep the eager smile threatening to overtake your face contained, your heart hammering away in your chest and your head feeling slightly dizzy. The daring and impulsive part currently in control of you makes you step directly into his personal space without hesitation where you can openly admire the small amount of chest hair peeking over the collar of his t-shirt which immediately cancels out the disappointing discovery that even in this heat he's wearing multiple layers.
"It probably does, Mr. Hotchner," you practically purr in reply, your voice almost unrecognizable to your own ears as you bring your hands up to his chest.
Your eyes never stray from his when you nudge his hands away from his shirt and replace them with your own, your fingers shaking visibly as you slowly, deliberately slide another button through its respective hole for him. And he lets you, his lips slightly parted, his gaze so much heavier, so much more heated than before that you have to suppress a full-body shiver.
You know it's not appropriate to do what you're doing right now, not with a man who is easily ten years your senior, who you never met in person before today and—most importantly—who is not only your father's superior but also his friend. And before today you would have never given in to your impulses like that, simply shoving them to the farthest corner of your mind where they would come back to haunt you during sleepless nights, making you wonder what could've been if you had just taken a chance for once in your life.
You don't know why it's different now with Aaron Hotchner of all people, what it is about him that makes you act like this so suddenly, so uncharacteristically bold, but you can't stop yourself—and to your thrilled delight, it doesn't seem like he wants you to either.
Not when you can clearly see the nice blush dusting the apple of his cheeks pink. Or when you notice the anticipation in his eyes, his tongue absentmindedly peeking past his dry lips to wet them. Or when you catch his pupils dilating as his attention snaps down to a droplet of water shining on your collarbone, his eyes following its path utterly transfixed as it slowly runs down between your breasts, the soft swell of your chest on full display for him thanks to your bikini top hugging you so perfectly.
To your astonishment, his gaze doesn't make you uncomfortable or exposed and you don't shy away from his attention—quite the opposite. You let yourself revel in it, a pleasant tingling sensation spreading from the very tips of your fingers to the rest of your body, making you feel confident and desired in a way few, if any, people have in the past.
He makes you feel cherished, the (poorly hidden) want in his eyes only increases this feeling.
But most importantly—he makes you feel safe.
That's what's so different about him.
So it's not surprising that you're lightheaded in the best way possible when your fingers slowly trail further down his shirt, smugly smirking up at him when he realizes he was caught red-handed ogling his friend's daughter's scarcely clad chest.
You see his Adam's apple work uneasily in his throat as he tilts his head slightly, not being able to meet your eyes anymore, his whole posture suddenly uncomfortable and stiff and the look on his face downright terrified. You find everything about this incredibly endearing and equally entertaining, the way his cheeks are now deeply red and probably burning hot to the touch, the tips of his ears very much in the same condition and his hand flexing by the side of his body as if debating whether physically pushing you away and creating some distance between the two of you would somehow remedy the situation.
But he doesn't, instead his gaze guiltily flickers to meet yours for a split second and then his lips part for the first words of a sincere yet deeply embarrassed, stammered apology. Yes, Aaron Hotchner, the ever-serious, ever-composed, big bad FBI agent who stares down serial killers for a living, who doesn't even flinch when the barrel of a gun is pressed against his head, actually stammers, evidently not used to losing control like this, not used to allow himself to give into temptation, anything that would expose that behind his almost perfect mask is simply a man, a human, with tragically repressed wants and needs and desires.
But you smile up at him, kindly, giddily, because you're really not used to someone like him giving you this kind of attention and you refuse to let yourself feel bad about it now and start to overthink it, so you simply say, "It's okay. I don't mind."
And then, because it's the truth, you add, "Not when it's you."
Your words cause a quick succession of emotions to flash across Aaron's face—regret, surprise, doubt, relief—only to finally settle on something so soft, so gentle, so close to adoration that your first, entirely instinctual reaction is to shrink and hide away from gaze.
But he doesn't let you, holds your gaze steadily and brings his hand up to yours still lightly resting against his chest. His fingers curl around your much smaller palm and he has the audacity to smirk at your very obvious, very telling reaction to this as if your roles weren't reversed just moments before. But then he gently presses your hand against his chest, his hand still covering yours and you immediately forgive him.
Because like this, you can feel the heat of his skin slowly bleed through the wet fabric of his shirt and into your own skin. You feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, the low hum forming there when your other hand moves with a mind of its own to rest on his shoulder, anchoring you to him further.
But most importantly, like this, you can clearly feel his heartbeat mirror the almost frantic, thundering pace of your own.
It's as confusing as it is exhilarating, knowing that for some bizarre reason, you and this stranger (because as many times your father has talked about Aaron, you have never met him before today) feel the same magnetic pull towards each other, and without knowing who moved in first you're suddenly breathing the same air, your faces close enough for you to count each individual dark eyelash and admire every single detail and imperfection of his handsome face.
Questions linger unspoken in the small space between you—Is this okay? Should we really be doing this?—but the small impatient noise escaping you is enough to dissipate them immediately.
He moves in even closer and you let your eyelids flutter shut, your heart stuttering in your chest when you feel his breath fan across your face, feel his lips hesitantly brush against your own, the faint touch enough to send a spark of overwhelming pleasure down your spine, the eruption of butterfly wings in your belly like nothing you ever felt before in your life, before finally—
Finally—
—the devastating sound of the front door falling shut echos through the whole house, your father's cheerful voice calling out both your and Aaron's name.
Your eyes snap open in horror, your heartrate spiking alarmingly, and like you were burned you push away from Aaron, desperate to create even the illusion of distance between the two of you. You're lucky you don't fall in the fucking pool again but only because of Aaron's quick reflexes, his arm wrapping around your naked waist and urgently pulling you flush against him, thankfully not losing his footing this time.
Terrified, you stare up at him, both of you frozen in this blatantly incriminating position—entirely too close, too intimate for two strangers, a daughter and her father's friend—his palm burning into your naked skin while your dad's footsteps are coming closer, and closer, and closer—
In a last, desperate attempt to save yourself and Aaron from being discovered like this your tardy fight-or-flight response kicks into gear again, urging you to—albeit reluctantly—exit his hold and rush towards the house, fleeing the scene of the crime and leaving poor Aaron to explain what happened to your father.
You don't stop when you run past your dad, only squeaking something unintelligently about getting some dry clothes when his confused voice calls after you, your wet feet almost causing you to slip and fall on the cold and hard marble floor but somehow you make it to the safety of the upper story, making a beeline to the master bedroom's dressing room.
With your heart beating painfully inside your chest, you curl up into a miserable ball of anxiety and regret in the middle of the room, not caring that you're dripping pool water onto the expensive carpeted floor, your shaking hands coming up to cover your face.
What the hell were you thinking? How will you be able to face your father—or worse, Aaron—ever again?!
You press the heels of your hands hard enough against your eyes that stars and shapes overtake the darkness of your vision, contemplating if staying inside this dressing room for the rest of your life is really that bad of an option.
But you're startled back into action when Aaron's calm but carefully controlled voice followed by your father's boisterous laughter travels up the stairs to you and you pick yourself off the floor before hectically digging through your father's clothes until you find something passable for Aaron to change into.
As you descend the stairs, knees weak and threatening to give out underneath you, your anxiety pressing heavily against your chest, you wonder helplessly how you will survive the rest of this day, how you will ever survive seeing Aaron again after today.
Because this afternoon, while he fell in the pool with you, you fell for Aaron Hotchner.
(And he fell in love with you, too.)
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series masterlist || ⋆ part 1 ⋆ part 2 - part 3 coming soon-ish :3
divider by @/cafekitsune
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dyingswanpavlova ¡ 5 months ago
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Sunshine Of Your Love
Part 1
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Pairing: Cho Sang-woo x Gi-hun's daughter!Reader
Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Age Gap (Reader is in her early to mid-twenties, Sang-woo is in his mid to late-forties), I will mention warnings in each chapter, but I think in this one there are none so far.
Author's note: I'm still working on Chapter 21 of Your girl, but it might take me a little while to figure it out. Until then, this crossed my mind, based on this request. I love you, guys. 🤍
Divider by @saradika-graphics
"Sunshine Of Your Love" - Cho Sang-woo x Gi-hun's daughter!Reader Masterlist
Cho Sang-woo never considered himself a good person, but there are some lines he isn't willing to cross. He wouldn't ever corrupt someone as trusting and loving as you are. And yet, his feelings for you are getting more and more...complicated.
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Cho Sang-woo was many things – a traitor, a liar, sometimes even a coward. But a sleazeball was not one of them.
So, he found himself more than a little troubled, the first time that weird feeling welled up in his chest. Looking back, he had always been a good friend to Seong Gi-hun. During the days of their childhood and their teenage years, he was an honest friend, who more often than not pulled him out of all sorts of complications. He didn’t mind it. He didn’t throw it in his face, either. That’s just not what friends do.
Things went rather smoothly for him, also. He was the darling child after all. Going to university wasn’t exactly something everyone from his neighborhood had managed. But he, he had done it. He finished his studies and he became someone.
What never changed though, was his firm politeness. He respected everyone. His elders, his mother, his old friend Gi-hun.
It didn’t matter how jealous he got of him at times. Not everyone was sought out for a happy family life. He knew that now.
Whenever he watched Gi-hun interact with his wife, every time he met them somewhere or he visited them for a nice, relaxed dinner, he found himself staring. And dreaming.
What could have been?
The way his wife would lightly scold him or nudge him, laugh at his jokes even though they weren’t anything close to funny. The way he got to cradle his little daughter in his arms.
They were fairly young when they had their first and only child. A beautiful little girl, with sparkling eyes and lips twisted in either mischief or kindness. There was no in-between.
The visits, however, became less and less frequent by the time he turned twenty-five. He was close to finishing his studies and his friend, anyhow, seemed caught in his own world. He didn’t need him, right? He had his own perfection created around him, a vision of tranquility and peace.
Until the divorce came.
Sang-woo wasn’t exactly happy about it. It was more a quiet kind of relief. And whenever he caught himself having that feeling, he immediately felt awful afterwards. Like he was the world’s greatest scum. Which he, kind of, was. He knew that. He admitted it to himself. And he hated himself, just the same.
Of course he was there for Gi-hun. He squeezed his shoulder and assured him, he’d get them back. He’d lend him money every so often. Gi-hun even spent quite some time crashing on his couch, before eventually he moved back in with his mother.
Anything to stop the guilt. Anything.
He loved his friend. And he hated himself, because he reveled in his misery.
What kind of friend would do that?
These thoughts were the first of the kind that showed him that he wasn’t really a good person.
There were things he did. He tried to donate money whenever he could, he took care of his mother and overall everything of which he thought a decent man should do.
But it wasn’t enough, was it?
Years passed, almost two decades even, but his guilt stayed firmly in place. With every mean, bad, deranged thought he had, he felt worse. Something was wrong with him. It had to be. He was a man in his prime, he was successful, he wasn’t bad-looking – So, why was he still alone?
He was charming. Every woman he met blinked at him with the same look, mercilessly flirting with him. He could tell when they did, when they swung their hips and smiled over something not quite funny he said.
So, what exactly was stopping him from ever flirting back?
There had been a few embarrassing attempts of course. Returning a smile, a lingering touch. Nothing ever felt right to him, though.
He had relations, physically so. Every now and then and whenever he felt like it. But there wasn’t much to say about that. He didn’t speak with these women, because they all had the same thing in mind. Nothing deep, nothing real, nothing complicated.
It was enough to keep him satisfied for a while. But at some point into his career – the point when everything went to shit, most likely – he wanted more. The release he found did nothing to feed his soul, the encounters not more than a mere exchange of spit and sweat.
It didn’t feel right. He wanted someone to laugh at his jokes. To dab his chin with a napkin, when he was entirely oblivious to the sauce on it and kept making a fool of himself. He wanted them to lean on him, to trust him. He wanted to take care of them. Make someone smile.
Make someone whole.
And for them to make him whole again.
It wasn’t until nineteen years after he finished his studies that he had this chilling encounter. It had been a long day at work, doing God-knows-what, because he was slowly losing count. His life was spiraling upside down and every day he made decisions which might not only cost him his career, but maybe even his life. His integrity was as good as gone.
He wanted nothing more than to see his mother. Something about being close to her, made him feel grounded. She was his conscience in a way. Whenever he felt like he was the worst human alive, she had this way of making him feel like he wasn’t. The kindness in her eyes didn’t vanish, not for him, not for anyone else. The way she spoke of him with such fondness and pride made him equally sad as it made him feel hopeful.
Maybe there was something good to him. Something useful, something kind.
He made his way through the light drizzle. The clouds had made a way of being thick and unyielding, matching his state of mind quite well. He didn’t mind the darkness, he didn’t even mind the cold. He simply pushed his hands deeper into his pockets and hid his face deep in the collar of his coat.
The streets were nearly empty, there wasn’t much going on. Most people preferred warmth and security. He, for one, felt safe in the shadows. Sometimes he felt like he was no more than a shadow himself. It was an odd thought to have, but it summed his entire being up quite well. No one really looked twice at him – at least not, when they didn’t think they could get some gain out of him. But what could he possibly give anyone?
He was polite, yes. Kind, so it seemed. But his mind was a dark place, tormented by years of guilt-ridden thoughts and loneliness.
His head perked up when, instead of only his mother’s humming and her polite squabble, he heard laughter. Hearty, melodic laughter. Was that his mother?
His mother had always been a rather lovely person to be around. He hadn’t ever met anyone who didn’t immediately adore her quick wit and warm smile. She was everything that he wasn’t.
But still, when he saw the silhouette of someone else beside her behind the counter, babbling out silly jokes, he paused for a moment. His mother worked alone, it had always been like this. She was as diligent as anyone could be, especially for her age. He felt relieved though, maybe she had finally taken his words to heart and hired someone to help her out. Not always. Just a few hours every week.
He approached her little shop with slow, measured steps and a slow smile formed on his face.
“Eomma?”
The elderly woman stilled in her movement, though her chest still heaved in heavy amusement and she had a hard time catching her breath. She spun around and her eyes lit up in affection and warmth.
“Sang-woo-ya, adeul.” She circled the counter within seconds and hugged him in a way that knocked the air out of his lungs. He gently wrapped his arms around her and his smile widened a fraction.
“Mother.” He murmured. “Forgive me. It’s been a while.”
She pulled back and shot him a look that was half teasing, half scolding. “Quite a while!” She then gave his shoulder a gentle nudge and turned to the other person behind the counter.
“Aga-ya, I’m sure you must remember my son.”
He followed her gaze and then suddenly…
You.
His eyes widened impossibly behind his glasses, when he caught sight of you. You were no longer the cheeky little brat he had gifted kilograms of sweets. This was impossible. It was untrue.
He recognized your features – your eyes and the way they shone with a little twinkle of mischief, but there was something else, something far bigger.
Warmth. Kindness.
The warmth radiating off of you was nearly enough to make him stare. You were beautiful, but that was no surprise. It had been years since he had last seen you, but even then he knew, you’d be quite the sight once you grew up. And that you had.
He had never, never looked at you with anything but something akin to fatherly admiration – and the small amount of guilt and jealousy that always lingered in his mind, because he desired what Gi-hun had. A family. A purpose. A life.
Even in that moment he didn’t have any lewd thoughts, God forbid. You were just beautiful.
Painfully much so.
“My God-“
“Samchon!”
The way you rushed forward and hugged him like a storm cloud was almost enough to knock him over. He couldn’t help but laugh, as he wrapped his arms around you and held you just as tightly. The sweet scent of shampoo and perfume filled his nostrils, combined with the faint hint of fish of course. He didn’t mind the fish. He never had.
“What on Earth?” He murmured. “Why aren’t you in the U.S.?”
When you pulled back and looked up at him with those shiny eyes and that wide grin, he felt something odd in his chest. Something fiercely protective.
“I was.” You responded in the sweetest voice. “My mother and step-father are still there. Didn’t Appa tell you? I’m going to SNU.”
His eyes widened even more and he needed a moment to understand the meaning behind your words. “But weren’t you going to Columbia?”
The softness in your smile nearly made him melt. “That’s just not where I belong.”
He stared at you for a moment longer, completely dumbfounded, when his mother’s voice brought him back to reality.
“I know you just came, but I’m sure there’s a storm coming up. Would you take her home?”
He didn’t hesitate to nod. “Of course. But what about you?”
She shook her head. “I need to finish a few things.”
Sang-woo frowned and tilted his head to the side. “No one’s buying anything when there’s a storm outside anyway.”
She tilted her chin up, almost challengingly. “Am I the parent or you?”
That made a fond smile cross his lips. “At least call me when you’re done. I’ll take you home.”
She returned the smile and kissed his cheek. “Go, go! And you – take this for your father and grandmother.”
When his mother handed you a bag with likely fish inside and you took it from her with a grateful nod, he was suddenly reminded that you were still there, still clinging to his one arm like a trusting child.
He watched as you gave his mother a kiss on the cheek and the way she watched you with a fondness which was normally spared for only him – and probably the grandchildren she’d most likely never have.
You slipped into your coat and grasped an umbrella from under the counter. He took it from you and opened it, covering you both with ease.
“Where’d you park?” You called out against the growing storm.
“Just down there.” He pointed to the parking lot. His car was the only one there left. He felt a pang of worry for his mother, but he knew how stubborn she was. He trusted her to call him at least.
You clung to him tightly, troubled to hide yourself away under the umbrella, while the small bag with fish swung around in the wind.
He shot you a concerned glance and made sure to take up as little space as possible. Half his face was getting soaked by the rain, but he didn’t mind, as long as it meant you wouldn’t catch a cold. A few moments later you thankfully got to his car. He unlocked it and held the door open for you, watching as you slid inside with little grace. You were shaking like a leaf and he made quick progress, closing the umbrella and swinging himself behind the steering wheel. He quickly turned the engine on and put the heater on high.
“What a plague.” You murmured as you held your hands up against the warmth.
He regarded you with a warm smile, before he pulled off his glasses and tried to wipe them clean.
You looked up and your face twisted in a mixture of surprise and concern. “You’re wet.”
That made him laugh. “Well, yes.”
Your smirk was contagious. “Don’t be such a smarty-pants, will you?”
“Smarty-pants? Did you learn that in New York?” He raised his brows and shot you a mock-scolding look. The way your smile softened made his heart soften as well. “I still can’t believe you’re back. So, you’re staying with your father?”
When you nodded, he released a soft sigh.
“What, he didn’t tell you?”
He regarded you with a soft look, before he put his glasses back on. “Not, because he wouldn’t care. We just…I haven’t spoken to him in a while.”
A look of concern crossed your face, while you watched him pull out of the parking lot. “But you’re still friends?”
“Yes, darling girl. We’re still friends.”
With a soft sigh, you sank back against the seat and grasped the bag in your hands softly.
“So, SNU.” He kept his gaze firmly locked onto the street. He barely even saw anything through the heavy rain. “What caused that? You always said Columbia is your dream.”
“I thought it was. But the States are…different.” You looked at his profile while you spoke in a softer tone. “The people are different. Their values and beliefs. I just felt like I was losing myself there. My roots. I barely even speak Korean anymore.”
He smirked almost imperceptibly. “Yes, I can hear that.”
You laughed at that. “Everyone always says you’re such a sweetheart, but I can see the menace in you.”
He smiled at your confidence. He had always admired it. Even as a little girl, you had been no less than a Sheriff, demanding respect.
“You didn’t change much.”
You shrugged. “I got older.”
He nearly rolled his eyes, but decided against it. Instead he kept his tone casual and polite. How could he banter with you, when he just now saw you again? “How old are you now? Like twenty-three?”
You nodded. “On the dot.”
He shot you a soft smile. “So, how have you been?”
“Exhausted, mostly. It’s a…demanding country. And you?”
You had never been shy. He loved that.
“Demanding?”
You nodded. “But isn’t every country?”
He shrugged and kept his eyes focused on the street, trying to see something through the haze of rain and darkness. He adjusted his slippery glasses every now and then, before he quickly brought both hands back to the steering wheel. “You’re too clever for your own good.”
“Does that surprise you?”
His brows shot up and he couldn’t hold back a huff of laughter. “You’re insufferable. You were always a brat, but it got far worse, now that you’re Miss America.”
You smiled a gentle smile. “I really missed you.”
You said it with such ease. With such trust. It made his heart ache. Here he was, withholding money and committing all kinds of crimes, while you looked at him with nothing short of warmth in your eyes. He didn’t hesitate to touch your hand, a brief and natural brush of your hands. It didn’t make him feel anything else but…home.
“I missed you, too. Your father was going insane without you.”
He heard the wistful sorrow in your voice when you sighed. “I hope you took good care of him.”
That made his brows rise in surprise and something else. Something softer. “Well, I…” But before he could come up with a response, you continued.
“He’s sillier than ever before.” You spoke with painful love and admiration in your quiet, smiling voice. “But I can see that he’s sad. Heartbroken even. I…I didn’t mean to hurt him like that.”
His forehead creased into a frown and he took his gaze off the street in front of you, to regard you with a careful look. “It wasn’t your choice to leave. He knows that. He knows that you would have stayed if you could have. But you were just a child.”
You nodded. “But still. He needed me. And I wasn’t there.”
He slowly returned his gaze to the road. “You needed him just as much.” He murmured.
After a long, heavy silence, you cleared your throat and glanced at him with the same, soft smile that so-often grazed your lips. “I’ve been talking about myself all the time. What about you? My father said your business has been going greater than ever. Is that true?”
A tight knot formed in his stomach as he tried to think of a response. Lying to you felt like an impossible deed. Not because you would have seen through it, but because you were simply so trusting – and he didn’t want to take advantage of that. You viewed him as nothing but good, as you did everyone…when he was so incredibly far from it.
“Ups and downs here and there, but all in all it’s a steady bet.” He murmured.
“I’m glad.” After a beat, you added: “And how have you been aside from that?”
He exhaled slowly through his nose, thinking about it. The last time someone asked how he was and actually meant it, was so long it the past, it might as well have been a dream.
“I’m good. I’m good, darling girl. Thank you.”
The way your brows crinkled showed your concern and how you saw through his weak lie. But you couldn’t just quite accuse him of lying, right?
“I’m glad.” You said again, softer this time, all the while you never took your eyes off him. “You deserve to be happy.”
The words were so simple and yet they made him feel as though someone had just kicked him right in the chest. His grip tightened ever so slightly on the steering wheel. “You’re always so kind.” He said quietly. “Too kind.”
You frowned in response. “There’s a thing such as too kind?”
He smiled and shot you a soft look, relaxing his grip again. You were so stubborn, so willful, so much trouble at times and yet –
You were good. Undeniable. An undying truth. You were good.
Too good for him or anyone else for that matter. Even too good for your own father. The protectiveness he felt didn’t come quiet and gentle, it was an angry force that dragged him into the abyss of his own thoughts.
He had made so many mistakes in his life. But maybe he could make up for some of them if only he helped you to keep your light.
Without a word, he pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine. He then turned to you with a soft, thoughtful look.
“Do you still like that one band so much?”
Your eyes lit up. “Arctic Monkeys? Oh, yes. I even saw them live at one point.”
His expression softened. He then reached out a hand and fumbled for something in the glove compartment of his car.
“Ah. Here it is.” He pulled out the CD cover and handed it to you. “I bought this for you. The songs are probably too old for your liking now, but well.”
Your fingers closed around the sleeve with a hesitation that was most uncommon in you. Your gaze fixed on the dark grey cover of the band you had adored for what was most of your life.
“You had this in here all this time?” You asked quietly, your eyes lighting up in a way that made his breath catch in his throat. Where did all this warmth come from? And how was it so contagious?
He smiled and shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal. It was supposed to be a gift for your departure, but I didn’t make it in time.”
But your expression didn’t waver. Your gaze flicked from him to the cover and back, your eyes wide in wonder. Just as though no one had ever done anything comparable for you.
That was impossible. Everyone loved you. You were everyone’s sunshine. So, why did this seem like such a great gesture to you?
He observed you quietly, trying to gauge your reaction.
After a moment, a smile tugged at your lips, warm and bright.
“Thank you, Samchon. That means… so much to me.”
He returned the smile.
“Come on. I should get you inside. I bet your father is getting worried already.”
Before he could open the door though, you lunged at him like you had before, wrapping your arms around his neck and tilting your head, resting your cheek on his shoulder. He was caught off-guard for a moment, but he quickly caught himself and wrapped his arms around you again. It felt natural to him. It was natural.
And still it felt as though something had changed, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on it.
After what felt like half a minute, you finally pulled back, the same warm smile on your face and the CD cover pressed against your chest tightly.
“I will think of you when I listen to this.”
It was such a simple thing to say, an innocent phrase like every word that left your mouth.
And yet, it made him feel a certain way – his chest tightened and his fingers curled into a fist, as though he was stopping himself from saying something awkward, as he so often did, when he didn’t keep track.
You wouldn’t mind though.
You never did.
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omgfangirlland ¡ 6 months ago
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The Shadows That Nurture 2
Hii! Here is the second chapter. I will post the chapters when the next one is either 50% or 90-100% ready, based on how long it has been. Hope you enjoy!
previous<< Chapter 2 >>next
Breakfast became awkward as soon as you shyly walked in, hunger beating the desire to stay hidden in your room- in hindsight, maybe you should have. They were chatting so eagerly, laughing. You wanted that too but as soon as you peeked through the door the noise stopped. It was like the first day of kindergarten. Lonely, your palms were sweating with anxiety, and- and you missed your mom.
You tried introducing yourself to Richard, but you were met with a hum and one singular glance, no interest from the older boy, your supposed brother. Bruce- you’d rather him not look at you at all. It was like he was trying to read your mind and dissect it.
By the time you had it in you to speak again, to try and create some bonds, it seemed like they couldn’t get away fast enough. They both looked so tired. You’d think they would have taken their time. Your eyes meet Alfred’s icy blues once the room is empty.
“Do they hate me?... Did I do something wrong?” Alfred’s whole body flinched at the question, unseen by the untrained eye. The old man felt pity, a bit of guilt for the way he, himself, acted. But the mask of indifference he’s been trained for years to keep took its place once more.
With a gentle hand, he did his best to soothe her worries. Bruce could never hate a kid, Alfred was sure… He hoped he was. Alfred shook his head- no, he shouldn’t doubt his child- Master Bruce. He shouldn’t doubt Master Bruce like that. He knows better. The old man cleared his throat. “Here, young miss. Master Bruce wanted you to have this. Just like Master Dick has.” His explanation of what and how to use the little black card and the modern phone came just as quickly as his try at making connections between the two kids.
“Giving a kid unsupervised access to so much money and the internet sounds like a bad idea.” Your mumbling made Alfred’s lip twitch. It was and he said as much, but it was what Master Bruce wanted, and what he wanted he got… usually.
And with that, Alfred left too. You understood why he left; he seemed to be the only employee. Taking care of such a big house all on your own must take all day, and to have to cook as well… Poor man, Bruce mustn’t like him very much either. He was old, ancient to your five-year-old self, maybe you could help with something.
After finishing your meal, you take the dishes and carefully put them in the sink. You wanted to wash them but sadly, the counter was taller than you. Instead, you focused on cleaning the table and pushing the chairs back into their place.
Bruce must have gone to work, and Richard to school. Your brows furrowed and your lips stuck out in a pout. You were supposed to go to kindergarten. Neither of the adults seemed worried about that, and you didn’t know how to get there either, so it must be a deliberate choice. Maybe it was closed. Or maybe they forgot.
Your feet carried you across the manor, from the withered garden to the many floors of the cold house, relying on the whispers from the shadows to know what door you can open, and which way you should go. They were leading you in a specific direction, you knew, but what else could you do but listen? Not like you had anything else to do or anywhere to be.
You stopped as soon as the shadows stopped whispering. The overlapping murmuring going silent made the room feel colder, and yet your amazement at the object before your eyes filled you with the warmth and hope you needed to survive another day. It was a simple thing, a painting.
A couple, a woman sitting on a chair and a man standing tall beside her. The position on any other would seem imposing, controlling even, but the hand on her shoulder wasn’t gripping her. It was a tender caress of care that reflected in the man’s face as a gentle smile and his eyes fixated on the woman, his wife. The painter did a great job of portraying the love and softness the man held for his beloved, as they did for the warmth in her smile and mischievously happy gleam in her eyes.
She was beautiful, full of life. Her dress was silky white. Must have been painted on the day of their wedding. She was the perfect picture of elegance as beautiful, shining pearls adorned her neck and the bottom of her dress, and yet… Her eyes seemed as sad as they were happy. She probably missed her mami too. You couldn’t imagine marrying someone and leaving your mom, but then again, you’re young and idealistic, dreaming of things that cannot be anymore.
You sat there for what felt like hours, taking in every little detail you could. You wanted to do this, to paint, to draw, to have your art hung for generations to see. Maybe you could fix the garden as well. Make it a beautiful background for your art, and a little something to make you feel useful. Now… how do you get back to your room?
The shadows seemed to giggle at how your demeanor soured once you realized how lost you actually were. Nevertheless, once they had their fun, they led you back to where you needed to be, gently nudging your tired little self back into the walls of your room. All that walking exhausted you so much, a nap was long overdue- you were sure they’d wake you up for lunch or dinner.
They never did. You woke up at one in the morning, more tired than when you went to sleep, and ten times hungrier and colder. Maybe they didn’t have dinner? The trash in the bin and half-chopped veggies in the fridge told a different story. It seems you’ll have to fend for yourself once more.
Tag List: @bat1212
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xetlynn ¡ 8 months ago
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Can I ask for claggor x a piltover reader? She was raised in piltover and is very smart but was never ignorant to the condition of zaun and always tried her best to advocate and help the suffering people. I can imagine she would have a strong sense of guilt for loving claggor because she doesn't really understand the struggles he went through but will always try to help. <33 thank youuuu
Of course, I think I made this a little more dramatic than I meant to😭 but I hope this is good!
Arcane Imagines- Claggor
Mysterious
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[arcane] [main page]
Prompt: In which reader is from Piltover and makes a friend in Zaun. Feeling guilty for liking him since she doesn't understand his struggles.
My feet achingly moved seemingly before me. My back hurt as I carried a box full of stuff from Piltover to give to a friend in the undercity.
When I was younger I was so fascinated by the people of Zaun. About the difficulties they’ve been through. My mother was always bitter about them. Going on tangents about how the people from the undercity should be more grateful since everything is better now. And whenever she does that I have to remind her of their struggles to get to this wonderful position they’ve been creating for themselves. Supporting them only pisses her off further than before. She asks what about Piltover’s struggles which is never the point of my argument. 
We’re privileged enough to never know what it’s like going without food, running water and a roof being over our heads. Most of Zaun could or still to this day can not say the same. It’s something I’ve written about in school essays, joining groups to learn more about the undercity. 
As a younger teen I snuck into Zaun, wanting to understand them better, know them rather than read about their history. Hear it from the people themselves. I won’t truly ever know their struggles but I still wish to help them. Advocate for their history and their growth as a community. Help them be one with Piltover eventually without there being discourse of if they deserve it. 
Everyone deserves happiness, love, and a life without ridiculous danger. They deserve peace as much as the next person.
I was reckless when going to Zaun. Sneaking out of my house as a teen and somehow to the undercity without being caught will forever blow my mind. The reason I kept doing it though was after I sat down in this bar. It’s called The Last Drop. I just needed a place to rest after walking for miles. 
Talking with the people there. Not really a scene a young teenager should be in but I didn’t care. I just wanted to listen to their stories. And they always enjoyed having me around. Seeing me as a niece of some sort.  Hearing the first one made me want to hear more. Hence why I kept coming back. And more recently there's a new reason.
I met a new friend. His name I still don’t know. He never properly introduced himself to me. Not by his birth given name but by the first letter. He wanted me to guess. 
It’s been 3 months and he has yet to tell me what it is. Or in his words I didn't guess good enough.
I guess his father was the owner, Vander is his name. I’ve met him a few times but I never sat up at the actual bar. Just in a corner keeping to myself before I went to adventure out into Zaun after hearing random stories.
When I met C he had started working more hours at the bar to help out since it was getting busier and busier after some time with people from the Uppercity decided the place was a hit. I guess he worked earlier shifts so that’s why we never crossed paths when I first started going there. 
C and I hit it off slowly in the beginning.  
It was a rough start since we both had different upcomings. I didn’t know what it was like to have to get my hands dirty and work for things I want or need. I’ve always just… had it. 
Talking about C’s childhood and things he went through as I had nothing bad to say except for the fact that my mother is a witch of a woman. It made me realize how weird I am for being so interested in others' lives. It made me realize I don’t have a life of my own. I want to fix people who don’t need to be fixed. They’re perfect the way they are, no matter what they went through. They don’t need me to stick up for them. I also figured out that I’m falling for a friend, who again… I don’t know the name of and we will never share a similar story. He deserves someone who understands the same livelihood he knows. Someone who can appreciate things more than I ever could.
“[Name]!” A voice shouts, shaking me from my thoughts. “C!” I grin, shimmying the box in my hands. “Is this everything?” He takes it from me with furrowed eyebrows, looking it over. “Mhm, every single thing you asked for.” I place my hands on the back of my hips, stretching to crack my back. Letting out a small sigh of relief afterwards. 
“You alright?” He asks with a chuckle, leading me into his apartment that he and his brother share. “Yeah, I definitely got my exercise in for the day.” I half-heartedly joke, shutting the door behind us and he places the box down on the counter. “What is the food for, exactly?”
When he first requested the stuff from me, he told me it was for an experiment. Not really saying much after that. A few foods and then things you can really only get in Topside. 
“To eat.” He grabs an apple and bites into it. My shoulders fall, not expecting that answer. For some reason I thought it was going to be something cooler. “Oh.” I let out a breathy laugh. “I was hungry when I was putting in that request.” He rubs his stomach sadly. 
I shake my head with a smile. “It’s okay. So can I know what this project is now?” I hop up on the barstool in his kitchen. “It’s a secret.” He says briefly, putting the food away in his counters. I frown. “Dang, keeping another thing from me, C?” I tilt my head. 
“Gotta keep you on your toes, by being a mysterious, interesting man. Don’t want you getting sick of me.” He quipped, now giving me his full attention after placing the box on the ground. I glanced down at it then back to him. “I’ll always find you interesting. Maybe even more if you just tell me your name.” I pout.
Have I mentioned that I don’t know his name? No? Yeah, don’t know it. 
“Soon.” He reaches over and messes up my hair. I smack his hand away. Attempting to fix what he did. “I hope so.” I cross my arms. 
“I wish you could guess it. You didn’t even try hard enough.” He exclaims, my jaw drops at his words. “I can’t think of anything else! It has to be some sort of crazy unique name!” I utter, throwing my hands in the air. He lets out a belly laugh, “It’s not super unique.” He shrugs his shoulders. 
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes, jokingly annoyed. “I told you my name.” I murmur. “That’s because you’re not mysterious like me.” He purses out his lips, doing a little peace sign. “I know almost everything else about you. You are not mysterious.” I point a finger at his chest. “Really? What’s my favorite color?” 
“You tell people it’s blue but it’s actually yellow. Like dandelion yellow.” I raise my brows, making a face that expresses that he should try me. “Okay, pssh, lucky guess. Favorite food?” 
“Halibut, but only when it’s fried because you’re weird.” I tease, his eyes seem to widen at my words. “See, not so mysterious, huh?” I cross my arms. “Two things. That’s all you answered.” He walks away over to the living room. Plopping down on the couch. I stand up, rushing over to him. Bouncing on the cushion beside him. My hands holding his shoulder as I shake him. “Then ask more questions. I have the answers~” I sang out, leaning back. 
“Fine, how old am I?” He raises a brow. I put a finger on my chin, pretending like I was thinking. “21.” I simply say. “Okay, I never told you that. How’d you get that?” He scrunches his nose in confusement. I laugh. “Honestly I truly guessed that time. I’m 21 and I always figured we were the same age.” I snicker. 
“Wow, okay. Next question, how many siblings do I have?” I think back to conversations we’ve had or the time I bumped into his brother Mylo. He always talks about a girl named Powder. I want to say there’s one more though. I just can’t remember…
“... three?” I estimate. “Or two.” I perk up my posture. “Hm, it’s three. You really do listen.” He hums out. “Yeah, it’s Mylo, Powder and I’m sorry but I don’t think I ever got the last one’s name.” I press my lips together, trying to rack it in my head. “Violet. She passed away when we were younger.” He sighs, I look at him through my eyelashes not wanting to make full eye contact as my heart drops.. 
“I’m sorry.” I whisper. “It’s alright, [Name]. You didn’t know.” He gives me a smile. It goes silent between the both of us. “Um… can I ask how? If not I totally understand. I don’t want to push that topic.” I shake my hands at the thought of forcing him to say something he wasn’t comfortable with.
“We were doing a stupid thing in Piltover. Sneaking into someone’s house. Just trying to get a few things for our dad. Extra money in his pocket. Something exploded. The impact unfortunately killed Vi.” He seems spaced out as he tells the story. I reach out and grab his hand.
I remember when that incident happened. It was all anyone talked about for a while. An undercity child passes away in an explosion after breaking into a scientist’s home. My mom… was an ass about the situation. 
“Any more questions?” I make an effort to switch the conversation so he doesn’t get upset due to my questioning of his sister's death like the dumb idiot that I am.
He looks down at my hand that was on top of his. “Claggor.” He suddenly says. I scrunch my eyebrows together. “Claggor?” I question, was that something I had to answer? “My name.” He mutters out. 
My mouth goes into the shape of an 'o.' Claggor... An interesting name for an interesting man like him.
“Hm… cute. It fits you.” I squeeze his hand before letting go. I didn’t even notice the dusty rose color across his cheeks. He mutters out a small thanks before we continue the conversation of me knowing certain things about him.
The entire time I think back to his sister, my chest aching. They were only kids trying to help their father. Not knowing that one of them wasn’t going to make it back home. How devastating. 
“You okay, [Name]?” He sits up, turning his body to face me. I fake a smile, waving him off. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Just thinking. Sorry.” How am I supposed to be his friend if I carry guilt that has nothing to do with me? How can I like him and not be able to understand him? It’s idiotic looking. It makes me look selfish, turning other people's problems into my own. “Thinking about?” 
“Your name. How I never guessed it.” I force out a chuckle that sounds like a high pitched animal making me wince in embarrassment afterwards. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks me again. 
“I’m fine, Claggor.” His name rolls off my tongue easily. Like it was meant to be said from my lips.
“I remembered I have somewhere I need to be. My mom will kill me if I’m late. See you later?” I ask him, blinking tears away as I abruptly get up. “Um, yeah. Tomorrow?” He gets up with me, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah, I can’t. Family thing.” I lied. “Oh, maybe the next night? Mylo wants me to go to this party where his crush is djing. I do not want to go.” He laughs, walking me to his front door. My stomach flips, not knowing how to respond. “Maybe, I’ll let you know the day of.” I swallow down the lump in my throat. “Okay, okay. I don’t mean to cling. I just like spending time with you.” He smiles softly. I avoid eye contact. “Me too, Claggor.” I whisper before pulling him into an embrace. 
He lets out a small yelp of surprise before his hands slowly snake around my waist. “You’re a good friend, [Name].” He mumbles into my shoulder. Tears begin to threaten my eyes once again. “You’re a better one.” I pat his back before letting go. “See you.” I curtly wave before leaving. 
Man, I’m an idiot. 
It’s the day of the party, I haven’t left my bed since I came home after leaving Claggor’s house. My head racing with a million thoughts about how selfish and ridiculous I am. Cringing at all the conversations I’ve had with my friends about the Undercity. How incredibly obnoxious it always sounded. 
How strange I look just being this upset about everything. I wonder if Claggor thought the same about me. How strange it was that a girl was so wrapped up into his struggles. I would never want to tell him that either because I’m overthinking. I know I am. 
He’s my friend. He would tell me if I was being over the top.
Right? 
Right.
Stop it brain. 
A knock at my door echoes in my room. “Yes?” I call out, not bothering to get up. The door creaks open. “[Name] there’s someone here to see you.” A house worker tells me. I sit up, tilting my head confused on who would be here. “Um, tell them I’ll be right down.” I say, climbing out of bed. “Yes, ma’am.”
I grab my robe from my vanity, throwing it on over my pajamas. I slip my feet into my house slippers. I look like a mess but I don't care. It’s probably just a school mate to ask about some homework we have. 
I exit my room, heading down the stairs. I see Claggor and my body freezes in place. Staring down at him. Shit. I look like a mess! And that is not a school mate. 
He was looking around my home before his eyes locked with mine. His face erupts into a smile. “Just wake up or something?” He teases and my face flushes in response. “Uh- yeah, slept in.” I awkwardly chuckle, walking towards him. “How’d you know my address?” I asked him. “Also, why are you here?” 
“Well, first I bumped into one of your friends I met before. She told me you lived here. Second ouch, I can just leave if you want me to.” He points to the front door and I roll my eyes. “Sorry, sorry. I was just wondering, I was gonna come to you.” I cross my arms, and when I do his eyes flicker down to what I’m wearing.
Suddenly I’m extremely aware of how I look. My hair a mess, face puffy, and wearing a fancy robe with slippers. Weird combination. 
“I felt like when you left yesterday it was a bit… off? You seemed like you were about to cry so I thought I’d come here and maybe talk to you about that.” He fidgets with his hands, I observe his demeanor. He seemed extremely anxious. “Oh, I told you I was fine. Might’ve had something in my eye.” I shrug lying straight out of my teeth. 
“You know how I said you are not mysterious like me?” He asks. “Vaguely.” I smile but not understanding why he’s saying that. “It’s because you aren’t a mystery at all. Maybe I’m not either since you seem to know quite a bit about me. Anyways, not the point.” He lets out a heavy breath. “You don’t hide your emotions well. You’re an open book just by looking at you.” He chuckles and I tense up, feeling a little offended. He notices and sighs.
“What I mean is, when I first met you I knew you were a very empathetic person. Your emotions are what drives you to be who you are. I really enjoy that about you. I never thought someone could cry over a bug they killed until I met you.” He laughs at the memory of when we were hanging out one day at the bar and a bug was on the floor by my foot. I stomped on it and immediately felt bad. Thinking about the fact that it could’ve had a family. 
“You care so deeply for people you’ve never met. Wanting them to succeed even if it means you are risking your own happiness to do so.” He says softer than all his other words. “I hope you know that you have never upset me by asking your questions.” His eyes find mine and I open my mouth to say something but nothing comes out. He read me like a book. He practically studied me. I don’t even know how to respond. 
“I know that’s why you got upset. My sister passing away. I don’t mind that you asked. It happened as unfortunate as it is. You didn’t know and you wanted to. Because you care.” He places a hand on my shoulder. I look down at his arm then back to his face. “Please don’t feel bad for caring.” 
My eyes begin to water and I pull him into a hug. “I don’t deserve your friendship.” I mumble into his chest. “I think you do.” He disagrees. 
“I like you, Claggor.” I told him. “Like a lot. I care for you more than anyone else I’ve ever met. I’m scared that I can’t be what you need. I want to be. Everything and more.” I confess, pulling away from him. “Did you know that? Was I not hiding that emotion well either?” I try to uplift the mood. 
“I didn’t have a clue actually.” He grins. “I like you as well. Like a lot. You are everything I need and more. I promise you that.” He pulls me back into his arms, looking down at me as I look up at him. 
He closes the distance between us, his lips landing on mine. It was a short, soft kiss but it was something I never felt before. Shivers sent down my spine. I flutter my eyelids open, both of us smiling ear to ear like giddy little kids. Taking in the moment for a few seconds.
“Does that mean you’re going to join me at this party that I’m soooo excited about?” He sarcastically asks and I giggle in response. “I guess so. I definitely need to clean myself up first though.” I motion to my hot mess of a state that I’m in. “I think you look beautiful in this. Don’t even need to worry about changing.” He jokes and I lightly hit his arm. 
“What a liar.” I fold my arms. “Hm, maybe a little. Want me to come back to pick you up?” 
“You could hang out in my room while I get ready. Maybe choose my outfit?” I propose and his eyes light up. “Yeah, let’s go.” He happily responds. 
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maybefae ¡ 3 months ago
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What's hidden from you?
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Pile 1 - Pile 2 - Pile 3
Remember, this is a general reading and it may not resonate for everyone or completely. Tarot is a tool to help guide but you are responsible for your actions and life, you choose your path.
Tips!
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|Pile 1
Tarot: Temperance, Page of Wands, Ten of Pentacles (sideways), Seven of Cups, Knight of Cups, The World, Eight of Swords (reversed), Four of Swords, Five of Swords, Nine of Wands, Queen of Swords (bottom of the deck)
Advice: III - Growth
Within your arsenal of hobbies or interests, you hold the key to your own success. There is an understandable problem of being the jack of all trades here, pouring water into multiple different cups a little at a time. You may also be good at each one of these interests. And while I don’t think that this is inherently a bad thing, you are spreading yourself too thin and hindering your success. Picking one of these interests to completely invest yourself into to try to build fiscal reward doesn’t mean you have to give up all your other interests. You may have to work around a new schedule. Also, this interest may need to be seen by the world. There is a feeling of building courage, but as soon as you have to dive in and expose your interest, you kinda chicken out. This comes from the care you have for your interest, it’s vulnerable exposing something so near and dear to your heart. The fear of not being accepted and loved. What if your vulnerability isn’t enough? You probably already know of this fear. But must I say, you are doing a terrible disservice to yourself for giving so much power to other people to the point that it controls your life. As my sister says, “we are literally an ant fart in the universe,” and you care about other people’s (negative) opinions? Crazyyyy. You spend all this time creating, forming something purely out of thin air… A past art professor once said, “what you make has never existed before.”
A critique isn’t excluded because they aren’t negative — negative “critiques” are usually people’s hate. You take critiques and decide whether you use them or not. A lot of my past professors’ advice is coming out, so you may be creative. But everything is inherently creative, sciences and arts work together simultaneously. Besides that point, I will say that this group may be a lot harder on themselves. I feel as though I am giving advice to a younger sibling. Do not beat yourself up over letting the opinion of yourself be dictated by other people. You’re just doing more damage to yourself. You shouldn’t feel bad for wanting to be loved and accepted. But, if it is at the expense of your own success.
Or…Is it a fear of succeeding? Your advice here is a card that talks about lack but also having an overabundance of something to the point of it becoming a cancer, a parasite. This could be warning you of burn out. You need to create a balance when it comes to managing that one interest, nursing it to success, and also engaging in your other interests on the side. Create a schedule that would work for you, but don’t cram all of them into one day. Delegate specific days for each hobby and for a set amount of (flexible) time but be diligent to the one you want to succeed. But remember, even though you water a plant, it doesn't mean that it will all happen over night. Don’t overwork yourself. Your success will come with steady, even time.
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|Pile 2
Tarot: The Empress, Temperance, Nine of Pentacles, Five of Wands, Ten of Pentacles, Seven of Swords, Four of Cups, Nine of Cups, The Artist (bottom of the deck)
Advice: IX - Solitude
Your own stubbornness towards advice you’re given is hindering your success. Very similar to pile one with your success hidden, but the messages are completely different. This is my group of stubborn, sassy people — I can tell because the deck I picked for you always has my sassy guides connected to it ❤︎, but also by your energy. Now, pile 2~ Why would you come to a tarot reading if you always hate what a reading has to say? Is it because it isn’t what you want to hear? Your own stubbornness is what is stopping you from reaching your full potential. There is an energy here of wanting advice but getting butt hurt when you get it because it’s either something you don’t want to hear or you want someone to kiss your ass. This could be just an emotional response…You may just get hurt with advice because you could take it as people not caring, when it’s actually the other way around — especially if it comes from genuine people that you hold close. You may actually know that what they say is actually quite helpful, but continue to lie to yourself. You are hiding your own success from yourself. You could also be stuck in a cycle of suffering. It’s a place you feel most comfortable…you are comfortable with the uncomfortable.
Pile two, you have The Empress here…you have the potential to reach your full potential but you refuse to tap into it. It’s not that you can’t see it. But do you feel like you deserve it? I feel like you do think you deserve it but old wounds of not feeling like you do have driven you into repeating cycles.
Your advice card talks about two different perspectives of solitude. You could be withdrawing so much from society that you start to feel like you’re alien, anything but human. But it also mentions a fear of being alone and the act of doing anything to make sure you aren’t alone. Maybe your success will have you outgrowing people in your life. You’re afraid of that change. And a lot of people talk about having to walk away from people you outgrow, but that isn’t always the case. It’s okay to outgrow people and still remain friends or family. You may just have to hold them at a farther arms length than you used to. Where you are growing will also bring in other people as well. If people that you could outgrow are giving you helpful advice, they want to see you grow and succeed.
This pile had put up a very defensive front at the beginning and then muddled out towards the end. I don’t know if you also have a feeling that you want your problems to be magically solved but every time you get a reading or advice, it tells you that you have to put in some work. This issue could also be resolved if you just ask someone for help, if it’s a problem that can be delegated. Maybe the only help you want is someone to just hold your hand while you solve it yourself. But you have to ask. You want to be the main character but are forgetting that main characters work to move the story along (even if that means asking someone for help or support).
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|Pile 3
Tarot: The High Priestess, Knight of Swords, Six of Wands, The Lovers, The Star, Four of Swords, Queen of Swords, Ten of Swords, The Hermit (bottom of the deck)
Advice: Page of Torches
I had a hard time pulling cards for this pile. They wouldn’t come out until I stretched and shifted myself. What is hidden from you has to do with your tunnel vision towards what you’re doing and not being able to see clearly because you could be so tense (I have to continuously relax my shoulders). I also had to make sure that everything was neat and in order, so you may have a very strict way that you want something to pan out which is keeping things hidden. There has been a theme that has risen in all the decks and it was that you are keeping things hidden. You have more control over the situation than you initially believe, but if you are keeping something on the tight leash so it can jump through hoops you have previously set, you don’t get to see what it can do off the leash.
Right off the bat, I want to tell you that communication is key to reveal something that is hidden in your life. Ask the question, communicate your worries, talk to them. There is a problem that has been going on for generations and it’s the fact that people don’t communicate. Things go a lot smoother, most likely in your favor, if you just ask.
Now, what is hidden isn’t really being told to me. I believe that it is different for everyone but I think your guides, here, want you to learn the beautiful tool of communication. Maybe that is what is truly hidden: the tool of communication.
There are a few scenarios that I can kind of pick up on though. If this has to do with a romantic partner or a potential partner, you may have something that you have been worrying about. Whatever you have been thinking can be solved with just asking them. This could be something you already have an inkling about, but to confirm your intuition, it’s best just to ask.
Another scenario could be about a job or scoring a position somewhere (getting an art studio, getting into a certain school, wanting to partner with someone for a business project, etc). Again, it doesn’t hurt to ask. Submit those documents, submit the application, show them your portfolio, tell them about your idea. It doesn’t hurt to ask.
Whatever it is, don’t hide away and continue to torture yourself by spiralling in your own thoughts.
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Dividers: @inklore
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chansdoll ¡ 6 months ago
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방찬 ─── cracks in the mirror 2
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♡ pairing ៸៸ idol!chan x fem!reader genre ៸៸ drama ig, kinda fluff ៸៸ cw ៸៸ mean girl mina , chan is mean but to mina :3 ♡ synopsis ៸៸ chan confronts mina. [ part one ] a/n ๑ i messed up the format please don't laugh at me— this second part is confrontations like requested but if you guys want i’ll write a fluff scene to close the lil series ! [ 1.7k words ] ♡ masterlist
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the next morning, chan walked into the company with a clear mission. mina was sitting inside a practice room, scrolling on her phone, looking as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
“mina,” chan said, his tone calm but unmistakably firm.
she looked up, surprised at the abruptness in his voice. “oh, hey, chan!” she flashed him her usual sweet smile. he didn’t reciprocate, instead crossing his arms. “we need to talk.”
mina’s smile faltered, but she quickly recovered, adjusting her posture. “oh? what about?” he shut the door and turned to face her.
“mina, i’m going to be straight with you. what you said to y/n yesterday was completely out of line.” her brows furrowed in mock confusion. “what do you mean? i didn’t say anything wrong to her. we were just talking.”
chan’s eyes narrowed slightly. “talking? you called her ‘brave’ for being confident with extra weight. do you really think that’s appropriate?”
mina hesitated for a second but then tilted her head, trying to appear innocent. “i didn’t mean it in a bad way! i was just giving her a compliment. if she took it the wrong way, that’s on her.”
“no, mina,” chan interrupted, his tone sharper. “it’s not on her. you’ve been here long enough to know what’s acceptable and what’s not when it comes to how we treat people—especially our colleagues. y/n has done nothing but work hard, and the last thing she needs is passive-aggressive comments or veiled insults.”
mina’s expression hardened slightly, her facade cracking. “i think you’re reading too much into this, chan. maybe you’re just overly sensitive about her.”
“don’t deflect,” he countered, his voice steady but firm. “this isn’t about me being ‘sensitive.’ it’s about respect. and it’s about creating an environment where everyone feels safe and valued, not judged.”
mina crossed her arms, defensive. “fine. if she’s that upset, i’ll apologize.”
chan shook his head. “don’t just apologize to check a box, mina. think about why this behavior is a problem and how it affects the people around you. if this happens again, we’re going to have a much bigger issue to deal with.”
there’s a moment of tense silence before mina finally nodded, though her expression didn’t suggest much remorse. “got it,” she muttered, looking away.
chan sighed, his disappointment evident. “good. i hope this is the last time we have to have this conversation.”
as mina left the room, chan stayed behind for a moment, running a hand through his hair. he knew he couldn’t force someone to change, but he hoped his words would at least make her think twice before targeting you—or anyone else—again.
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later in the day, you were back in the studio, focusing intently on your work. you were determined to push the events of yesterday to the back of your mind. mina’s cruel words still lingered, but chan’s support had given you the strength to move forward, even if only slightly.
the faint sound of voices carried through the hallway as you typed away on your laptop, but you didn’t pay them much attention until the door to the studio opened, and in walked mina. you glanced up briefly, then returned your attention to your work, pretending she wasn’t there.
“hey, y/n,” mina said softly, her tone uncharacteristically subdued.
you didn’t respond immediately, choosing instead to finish typing your thought. then, you leaned back in your chair and gave her a curt nod. “what is it, mina?”
she hesitated, her usual confidence replaced with something resembling awkwardness. “i just… i wanted to say i’m sorry. about yesterday. i think i might have come across the wrong way, and i didn’t mean to upset you.”
you studied her for a moment, trying to decipher whether her apology was genuine or just another act. “is that so?” you asked, your tone as neutral as you could manage.
“yes,” mina said, clasping her hands together and giving you what she probably thought was a sincere look. “i was just trying to make conversation, but i think it came out wrong.”
you let out a soft scoff, turning your attention back to your laptop. “right. making conversation.”
she faltered, clearly not expecting your cold response. “i mean it,” she pressed. “i didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
you gave her a sharp look, your patience wearing thin. “funny, because you seem to be really good at saying things that hurt people, mina. so forgive me if i’m not buying this sudden burst of remorse.”
the door creaked open slightly, and you noticed the reflection of two familiar faces in the glass window—changbin and han. they were leaning against the frame, partially hidden but clearly listening.
mina didn’t seem to notice. her expression shifted instantly, the veneer of sweetness cracking. “well, i was just trying to be nice,” she snapped, her tone defensive. “it’s not my fault you’re so sensitive.”
you smirked, though there was no humor in it. “there she is,” you said, your voice low and pointed. “i was wondering how long you’d keep up the act.”
hans’s low mutter of “oh, hell no” barely registered, but changbin's quiet snort did.
mina’s face reddened, her fake apology dissolving entirely. “you know what? maybe i was wasting my time trying to apologize.”
you leaned forward, meeting her glare with unwavering calm. “then maybe you should do us both a favor and not waste your time next time.”
she huffed, crossing her arms. “whatever,” she muttered before turning on her heel. as she opened the door, she froze, noticing changbin and han standing there, arms crossed and faces set in disapproval.
“oh, don’t mind us,” han said, his tone light but dripping with sarcasm. “we were just passing by.”
mina’s eyes darted between the two of them before she shoved past and stormed down the hallway.
changbin let out a low whistle, shaking his head as he stepped into the studio. “wow. she’s worse than i thought.”
han followed, plopping down onto the couch. “nice work.”
you sighed, leaning back in your chair. “thanks.”
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you sat in the breakroom, nursing your coffee and trying to shake off the encounter with mina earlier. her fake apology and subsequent outburst had left you drained, though you wouldn’t let her know that.
the door swung open, and you glanced up to see chan. his jaw was set, and his usually warm eyes were stormy.
“where is she?” he asked, his tone clipped.
you blinked, startled by the intensity in his voice. “who?”
“mina,” he bit out, already turning to leave. “i heard what happened. she’s not getting away with it this time.”
before you could protest—or warn him—he was out the door, striding down the hallway. you followed hesitantly, curiosity overriding your instinct to stay out of it.
chan found mina sitting in the cafeteria, scrolling on her phone like she didn’t have a care in the world. he didn’t hesitate.
“oi, mina,” he snapped, his voice carrying across the room.
she looked up, startled, and quickly masked her surprise with a saccharine smile. “oh, hey, chan! what’s up?”
he stopped a few feet from her, his posture rigid. “cut it,” he said, his accent thicker than usual, each word sharp enough to cut glass. “what the hell is your problem?”
her smile faltered. “excuse me?” she said, her voice rising indignantly.
“you heard me,” chan said, his tone low and hushed, as if trying not to let anyone hear. “why do you keep goin’ out of your way to be such a goddamned pain in the ass?”
mina’s mouth opened and closed, clearly taken aback. “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stammered.
“oh, don’t play dumb with me,” he shot back, his voice rising. “i’ve heard how you treat y/n. and today? you waltz in with your half-arsed apology, then turn around and throw more shade when it doesn’t go your way. are you serious?”
mina straightened her spine, trying to regain her composure. “i was just trying to be nice—”
“bullshit,” chan interrupted, his accent thick and raw. “you were bein’ a snake, and you know it. nice doesn’t look like what you do, mina. nice doesn’t leave people feelin’ like shit after every conversation. so drop the act, yeah?”
her face reddened, her carefully crafted facade crumbling. “i don’t need this from you,” she snapped. “i was just trying to help, but clearly y/n’s too sensitive to handle a bit of honesty.”
chan took a step closer, his gaze unwavering. “honesty? you call tearing someone down ‘honesty’? nah, mate, that’s just you bein’ a spiteful cow. and if you think i’m gonna let you get away with it, you’ve got another thing comin’.”
mina looked like she wanted to retort, but chan didn’t give her the chance.
“you’re done,” he said firmly. “you don’t get to treat people like that and expect everyone to put up with it. especially not y/n. so unless you’re ready to actually grow the hell up, you can’t work for me, or anyone else here.”
the room was silent, and all eyes were on chan as his chest heaved. mina’s jaw tightened, and without another word, she grabbed her bag and stormed out.
chan let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his hair before turning around to see you standing there. his expression softened when he saw you standing there, half-hidden behind the doorway.
“you heard that?” he asked, his voice gentler now.
you nodded, your chest tight with a mix of gratitude and surprise. “yeah. you didn’t have to–”
he offered a small smile, his eyes warm again. “no, i didn’t, but.. you don’t deserve that from her. no one does.”
you walked over to him, taking in his worked up, flushed state. “are you okay?” you asked him, cautiously inching closer. he nodded, sighing. “yeah. but i already know i’m about to get scolded for talking to her like that.” he looked up at you from his fists, his gaze tender. 
you bit the inside of your cheek, steeling yourself. “do you wanna step outside, and go for a walk or something? to cool off?” 
he stood up straighter, nodding. “sure,” he grinned, showing off his adorable dimple. “after you.”
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tags: @ritsmith @bluesungology @jeonginsleftcheek
Šchansdoll do not repost, translate, or copy my works in any way, shape, or form.
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chatlote ¡ 3 months ago
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Thank you everyone for all your questions. I will be putting an end to this askblog after this post and returning it to its owner. I didn't know what to expect when I created it, certainly not this… but I guess this wasn't such a bad ending.
Without further ado, here's my replies to all the questions I left unanswered. And goodbye.
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During these past few years I had a lot of time to think, and I realized I care about being useful, or meaning something to someone. That's why I kept working at the rehab center after settling my debt with them, though I was never all that good at caring for the people there.
In terms of physical objects, I've come to care about my home and possessions quite a bit. I didn't have many things that were my own when I was the detective prince, but this home is something I worked for and gained all through my own efforts.
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Ten years is a long time. I pride myself in being resourceful but even then I'm unsure if I would survive that long.
… Though in some ways I feel as if I've been lost these past few years too.
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Watch movies, especially the ones that make me think more deeply about myself. I find the journey to find oneself quite inspiring. The original featherman movie trilogy is quite good at that.
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I wasn't miserable in those interviews, but well… I suppose I wasn't quite myself in them either.
In relation to your questions: 1-I have picked up writing, mostly of the mystery genre, I have no plans to publish this, especially since some are inspired by confidential cases, but I enjoy it. 2-I have not travelled outside of Kyoto since moving here, I have not been recognized more than a handful of times, I keep my hair up and dress differently so no one connects the dots. 3-Galaxy Studios Park is just a short train trip away, I loved visiting when they had some special rides and attractions dedicated to last year's featherman movie. (Not that the movie was that good, but it was still fun. The wait for the rides was a nightmare, though.) 4-Yes. I enjoy no longer being in the public eye. It's freeing being allowed to be myself, even if I'm still figuring out who 'myself' is. 5-No pets, but have considered getting them... now that Akira is here (and seems intent on staying) I will have to discuss it with him.
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I'm in a Reddit thread for ARG's, they are intriguing, and harmless, but still exciting to try to solve. Unfortunately, I can't participate in many due to parts of the mysteries being related to real world locations.
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I think they are nonsense, no one's fate should be decided by another, much less by pieces of paper, they are also obviously just vague enough so that it applies to anyone. Still, I know Akira likes that sort of thing, so I try to not...judge too much.
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Taiyaki, I wasn't the biggest fan before, but there's a vendor near where I live, I especially enjoy the matcha flavor since it's not overly sweet.
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Boring. I'm stuck in bed because I have a leech clinging onto me, otherwise, I suppose it's an alright day. If you meant yesterday… it was stressful, but it worked out.
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I saw this ask before deciding to leave because I realized if I left him to his own devices he would blow up half the city trying to find my apartment.
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Thank you, I think. I just wear them when I'm at my laptop, the blue light filter is helpful.
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I got worried of what he would do once he came to the town I've started calling my new home. Can you blame me?
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It was... alright. It still feels a bit surreal, I'm still not sure if this is happening or a dream. But it's nice to know he still cares.
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... Yes. It seems as if you are correct.
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I always recommend the classics of the mystery genre, Conan Doyle and Edogawa Ranpo. But... Well, if you like rivalries between thieves and detectives I recommend checking out Arsène Lupin versus Herlock Sholmes.
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...Not my type of song.
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Turns out he is not as harmless as I previously thought.
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I very much doubt that anyone else from the queer community has a similar relationship to ours. If so, my condolences.
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I don't think I will be waking up alone ever again. But while I was on my own… I just looked for the small things I still cared about. Working on a rehab center helped. You get a lot of coworkers that are constantly mentioning that as long as you keep going, you will find a purpose in your life again.
And so I have.
---
That was all the questions I received. I will be logging off now permanently.
Thank you again. I was angry at first of how several of you got Akira even more pumped up into finding me, but I not understand your intentions were not malicious ones. We have a lot to talk about still, but I am... looking forward to it, I think.
Goodbye. Goro Akechi, former detective prince.
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mrsbarnesxxx ¡ 1 year ago
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Eddie Diaz x reader
Angst but fluff at the end
Where maybe the reader is married to Eddie and she asks him about if he ever wants a kid with her and he takes it the wrong way and says something like I only need Christopher and he’s enough, and the reader gets upset and walks off and maybe drives to Maddie’s and chimneys and while she’s gone he goes to their room and finds a box on the bed and he opens it to see the readers ultrasound and he immediately feels bad and goes to talk to her and happy ending.
Thank you so much for the request! I altered it only slightly (just where Eddie finds the ultrasound) but I loved this concept. I love angst with a happy ending!
It was a pretty normal day all in all. Carla was taking care of Christopher, Eddie was at the station, your boss kept sending hundreds of emails, oh and you had found out you were pregnant. Just an average day. You hadn't planned this by any means. You and Eddie had never talked about having a baby. You had been married for a year and a half, but the subject had never come up and you had never pushed it. Look how well that had gone. After staring at the stick in your hand for what felt like an eternity, you finally pushed yourself up from the floor and left the bathroom.
"Hey, Carla, are you okay if I run out? I have to go do something. It should only be about an hour." You say grabbing your keys.
"Of course, honey. Go right ahead." She says.
"Thanks, Carla. Bye bud," you say kissing Christopher on the top of his head before heading out of your and Eddie's shared house.
You didn't even know what you were doing until you were sitting in the waiting room of the local doctor's office reading a magazine.
It wasn't until one of the nurses had called your name 3 times that you seemed to realize they were calling you.
"Sorry." You apologize sheepishly standing and following her back to a room.
Sure enough, the doctor confirmed you were about 6 weeks pregnant and sent you home with a picture of the tiny baby. You knew you couldn't hide this from Eddie for long since you were likely to start experiencing more symptoms, but a part of you was worried about how he would react. Everything had finally settled down with Christopher and work. Everything was stable per se. And now you were throwing a wrench into the serenity the two of you had worked so hard to create. Finally, you decided you would broach the subject once Christopher had gone to bed. You would just ask him if he ever thought about having more kids. Yeah. That would work.
So, that night after Christopher was in bed and you and Eddie were alone in your room getting ready for bed, you took a deep breath before deciding now was a good time to approach the subject.
"Hey, Eddie?" You asked putting lotion onto your arms. "Have you ever thought about maybe having another kid?"
"What?" He asks brows furrowed as he pulls the covers down and joins you in the bed.
"Have you ever wanted another kid? I mean I love Christopher, but I was just curious." You explain, heart racing.
"Not really. I mean, I'm happy with Chris. He's a handful as it is and with him getting older, I don't know. I'm happy that the diaper changes and waking up to screaming is over." He says.
Anger surges through you at his admission. How could he say that? How could he openly admit to your face that he didn't want the baby growing inside of you...not that he knew about that, but that wasn't important.
"Were you even around for that?" You ask not thinking about what you're saying, just infuriated at him. "I mean didn't you enlist right after Shannon had Chris so didn't you pretty much luck out and miss all of those years?"
"What the hell are you saying?" He asks, confused at why you're attacking him all of a sudden.
"I just mean don't you not even know what it's like to be there for those years, so isn't that not a fair standard to measure it by?" You argue.
"What's going on with you?" He asks, turning to you, trying to contain his anger.
You scoff, "Nothing."
"Something's going on 'cause you're acting like a real bitch to me right now for no reason." He says. Instantly his face drops, realizing what he just said to you. "I-"
"Fuck you, Eddie." You say standing up and grabbing your coat. You don't listen to him as he follows after you, grabbing your keys and walking out of the house. You just get in your car and drive.
Eddie watches as you leave, slamming the door behind you. He really messed up this time. "Fuck!" He exclaims hitting the table. Your purse tips over as his fist makes contact with the table. a paper falling out. The paper catches his attention, the white clashing against the dark oak of the table. He reaches to put it back in your purse when the other side of the paper intrigues him. He turns it over to see a blob in the middle of the page. His face drops instantly, he runs his hand through his hair staring at the blob that is the reason for your outburst a few minutes earlier. He sighs texting Buck asking him to come stay with Christopher. 15 minutes later, a confused Buck shows up at Eddie's door.
"Uh...Everything alright? It's kinda late for a sleepover." He says.
"I messed up." He sighs stepping aside. After a quick explanation to Buck after letting him inside, Eddie is on his way out the door, texting everyone if you're with them. A few minutes into his search, Chimney texts back saying that you're there with Maddie and that he really messed up this time.
20 minutes later he's standing outside of Maddie's apartment, ultrasound in hand as he knocks with his free hand. Maddie answers, hands on her hips, brow raised at him, and sass written all over her face.
"I know, I know. Can I just talk to her?" He sighs. Maddie steps aside and lets him find you on the couch.
"Amor?" He asks cautiously, approaching you carefully.
"What do you want, Eddie?" You ask not looking at him.
"Can we talk?" He asks coming to sit next to you. The picture in his hand is what catches your eye. You look up at him with wide eyes, mouth slightly open. "When you asked me if I wanted more kids, you should have told me you were pregnant."
"I was trying to figure out how you would react." You explain.
"Just because it wasn't in my plan to have more kids doesn't mean I won't love this baby." He sighs.
"Well, when I broached the subject you didn't seem thrilled." You say sadly.
"Well, you started attacking me when I said I didn't want more kids." He says softly.
"I'm sorry." You say.
"Me too." He says taking my hand in his. "Come on, let's go home."
"Okay." You say taking his hand and standing with him. After saying goodbye to Maddie and Chim, you and Eddie make your way to his truck and start back home.
"So, how far along are you?" Eddie asks as we pull out of their driveway.
"6 weeks." You say quietly. He starts laughing and you look at him with amusement.
"Does that mean-" He cuts himself off with a laugh. "That we made a baby-"
"At Bobby and Athena's party, yep." You chime in laughing along with him.
He smiles taking your hand in his and kissing the top of it. Looking into his eyes, you knew that soon, everything would be back to normal and you'd have a new addition to your family.
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blackbirdsblackberries ¡ 11 months ago
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What do you think of a teenage antihero reader?
Readers are the type of people who like to tease others. Of course, they also like to create chaos.
like:
Batman feels sad because his children are estranged from him.
Reader: *deliberately calls Batman papa in front of the Batkids. makes them jealous and fight to get Batman's love.* "Papa, let me join this mission.", "Papa, pocket money?"
Reader: "I wasn't adopted by Batman. Why do I call Batman papa?" *Looks at the Batkids, who look at Reader with bullet-shaped eyes* "Because it's fun and I get to watch them get jealous but can't do anything to me, haha"
Reader: Spend time with your father and I will handle your affairs. Same old account, transfer the money there. *Accepts to stay away from Batman happily because Batkids will pay Reader*
I love this!
I don't know if this is yandere or not so I'll do overall reactions and you can decide whether they end up yandere or not! (If you want proper yandere then don't be afraid to ask)
At first Dick doesn't mind, in fact he finds it odd - who would want to call Batman "Papa" or any type of name like that? Over time however he'll start to feel an odd pang in his chest, he could've been the teenager calling Bruce that, he could have had a good relationship with Bruce like how you seem to (even if you yourself are pretending). So, he gets huffy and irritable whenever he sees you. He'll find some flaw in what you do and immediately tell everyone and try to make you look bad - you don't care clearly but Dick feels like he's doing something so you pretend, kinda.
Jason at first pities you. He thinks you genuinely mean it, that you genuinely see Batman as a father figure. He's so sure that Batman is going to fail you. That is until it starts getting too much. Jason would of spoken to Roy about it over some drinks and despite what Roy would have said Jason would feel bitter and angry - he could have had that! If he didn't fall for that trap, if Joker didn't kill him, if Bruce - no, Batman, got to him in time. Jason would from then on "accidentally" stumble across missions he wasn't supposed to be there for that you and Batman would be on. He'd flip you off before bantering with Batman - you shrug it off, you don't actually have any interest in Batman being your dad.
Tim is automatically suspicious, you're known for causing chaos and judging by how everyone reacts this is probably just one of your ploys. He doesn't pay much mind but slowly gets peeved at your continuance. Haven't you had your fun already? (no, seeing the reactions of the others makes you continue). Tim digs into your civilian life - he and the others found out about it when you first appeared so as to label you as a threat or not. He'll dig up past mistakes and issues then present them to Bruce and you, subtly taunting you with your past so as to convince you to distance yourself. When you don't he gets petty, you approach Batman - he steps in front of you and blocks your path. You yell out to him - he yells louder. You want to go on a mission - oh no.. Looks like you're swamped with work AND injured :(
Damian is immediately pissed. What are you doing? You shouldn't be pretending that Batman is your father! You aren't blood - hell, you aren't even adopted! Damian, though he's gotten better, is very traditionalist (thanks to his grandfather). What you're doing - along with the chaos you cause in general - is against the proper traditional lifestyle. Is he just using that as an excuse and doesn't actually believe it? yes. Is he going to stop? no. Fuck that. Damian dreams of setting his animals on you, the only thing stopping him is that he doesn't want his poor animals to meet such a disgusting person like you. Instead, he'll stand on your toes, ignore you if you need help, stay close to Batman and try and intimidate you away.
Finally they all would of had enough and would corner you, they'd offer to pay you to stay away and you all would sort out a deal.
It'd confuse Batman as to why you're suddenly keeping your distance while his children are constantly around him. Batman has a soft spot for children - you included. He thought he was fixing you but now you're back to your old habits??? Batman would immediately be onto his children and question them. They don't crack easily so Batman checks their accounts, messages, etc until he gets enough proof that they are the reason you keep away. He's obviously disappointed and ends up trying to talk his way into you becoming one of his full allies - you obviously reject it, you don't actually care for him and prefer to not be stuck on just one side.
The others end up being forced to ask you to join back and you reject them, they threaten you that they'd stop paying you and you laugh - they've given you enough money to last a year, maybe more if you're frugal!
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4mrplumi ¡ 5 months ago
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- series : crow choir
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"commitment" and pre-moving out reader is an interesting stich i want to add to the story, and a side trait to think about when reading.
the premise is that after the reader's tough time with their sister is ended by her untimely death, they're shuffled around foster homes with barely enough time to get settled, create meaningful relationships, or even say goodbye properly. they're probably in a dull headspace during the whole agenda, having to navigate through a life without their only pillar of support, and without any support at all.
it would subconsciously create an issue with attachment though, not wanting to trust or love others at all in fear that once they eventually leave, as they always do, you'll be left with a little empty pit in your heart again.
hobbies, similarly, are just quick things to occupy yourself with. not something you're actually interested in, or particularly want to do. just something to fill in the empty gaps in time when you're not with your friends or busy with work or shaking hands with a nameless businessman for mr. wayne.
because of this, everything is just... boring. difficult to do, to finish. with your family it's the exact same. wanting to be with them, trust them, love them, is like your hobbies. quick and done with, depending on your mood. it's somewhat natural to have your social battery correlate with your behavior, but with the headspace provided, it's just another cog in a endless wheel of self-pity and loathing.
you'll think miserably; why don't they want to talk to me? while having tensely excusing yourself from a family get-up with a slight grimace just a few hours ago.
that's just the thing. you're not excluded from anything. well, most things, they do sometimes forget about you, but you're not excluded. you don't involve yourself because you're scared of feeling happy with them, but feel terrible when you're all on your own too.
with an emotionally repressed background clawing it's way up from your past with a mostly-busy, mostly-angsty, tough-loving sister, you can't even identify your emotions clearly.
i imagine maybe asking dick to hang out, and he assures you he'll make time with a smile. yeah, he does forget, remembering out of his own volitation only months later, but he does remember, and asks you about the same. but if you're say, in a bad mood, which you happen to be in very often because of your circumstances, you'll probably decline. moping over it later.
there's no good or bad here. reader is not a bad person for this specifically, so to speak. neither is the family. yes, not following up on particular wishes and then blaming others and kicking yourself up over it isn't healthy, it's unfair too. but you can't be blamed. you're still living on the mindset of a little kid waiting for big sister to come home from work, ask to play, and possibly dodging a fist to your face and scrambling away to your room. you're scared.
the family doesn't exclude you, but they could be doing a better job. yes you sit at the dining table with them when you eat, but you don't join into conversations and they don't seem to care. yes you watch your brothers squabble on video games, but only from a cold distance. but they can't be blamed. they're all a little emotionally stunted, and their reasoning does seem to sometimes overpower them. maybe you're so quiet because you don't like to talk? they wouldn't want to impose themselves on you. besides, they don't know you that well either, and you're doing quite a job to make sure they don't, what would you guys even talk about?
that said, the above thoughts are fleeting. thoughts about you are neglected, and pushed into the corner, like you are. after falling out with your friends over... an incident, you grow harshly distant. you no longer fear them, no, you detest them. you begin to hate again. and that little burst of emotion, that hate, is so refreshing in the face of dull existence that you cling onto it. you get attached. it's their fault. some vigilantes they are. saving everyone but you, but your sister, your siblings, your friends, everybody who had the simplest misfortune of being associated with your unmeaning life. maybe it's unreasonable to think this way, but you don't much care.
you grow unreasonable, but you always have been.
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if you like the story, i encourage interacting and sending asks, but either way, thank you for the support on the series and for reading!!
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morallygreychaoticneutral ¡ 8 months ago
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Astarion prefers monogamy.
Again, simply my cup of thought tea steeped from my game experience. Its not everyone's drink. No shame, no blame, it's your game. Warning for triggers and spoilers.
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*added note due to misunderstandings.
Please notice I said "prefers monogamy" not "is monogamous". He may be up for added partners later on down the line. But definitely not any time before the epilogue in my world.
So, why do I think he prefers monogamy?
Take..
"Iv never had anyone. Not really. Nothing that compares to you."
And mix that with...
"I had nothing for so very long. NOTHING! Not even my own body!"
And add..
"You're you. Nobody is like that."
Plus countless other comments and actions and you get a bowl full of elf who just wants something for himself only for a change.
Centuries of being forced to give up or share everything. His possessions, his person, his own thoughts. Nothing to claim as own that no one else could take or touch at any moment. I'm sure if anything was given to him, he had to fight to keep it.
I think, he would be a bit possessive of anything he could claim as his own.
You are a gift to him. Something rare and special beyond words. I highly doubt he would be willing to share anything you are sharing with him outside of friendship. I could even see him getting fussy about strangers touching you. Moving you away or putting himself physically between you and whomever just touched you without asking.
Hells, even ascended Astarion isn't 100% game to share.
"As much as I wish to sequester you in a deep chamber of my palace and keep you all to myself...there is much to be done."
But, what about Halsin? He says he's fine with it.
Is he? Or is he people pleasing?
If he had said something along the lines of,
"Oh? He wants to share does he? Of course he does. I'm not up for such activities just yet, but you are free to have as much Halsin as you wish. "
I would have gone on that bear hunt, but he doesn't.
He askes you if you are wanting to sleep with Halsin because he has not been able to meet your sexual needs. And I interpreted that as he's vulnerable and worried he's being replaced for not putting out.
Imagine you had asked your lover to not to look to you for sex for reasons you are working out. They agree and you are just relieved as hell about it.
"You were patient. You cared."
Then they come along later down the line and say they are thinking about having sex with a friend. Where would your mind go?
I would bet hard gold he weighed the options in his head. "If I don't let them do this, they might leave me for good. But if I allow it, they wont have an immediate reason to leave. Halsin is the safest option given his experience."
And what's the best way to feel less awful about a situation we cant control? Create a counter situation where we gaslight ourselves into thinking its fine.
Wheeee!
I'm not saying Halsin's offer was bad, it was perfectly fine, it was just poorly placed in the grand scheme of things. If you and Astarion were having fun again before he suggested being an extra, then it would have been easier to believe he was really fine with it.
If they wanted Astarion to be a poly partner they needed to write it better. Shadowheart makes more sense as pro poly than he does.
So for me, Astarion is a one on one elf.
I am not against polyamory. I am not trying to take representation away. I am not shaming anybody for their choices. There is just not enough specific content to support it fully FOR ME. I was actually excited at the idea of having two partners in my fantasy world. Halsin was very clear and very specific about being on board. Astarion was not. And the choice did not feel right. Add a line somewhere for Astarion where he says "Im perfectly fine with sharing, darling. As long as it is discussed and we are in agreement of course." I will happily be on board with it.
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zeyris-daydreams ¡ 6 months ago
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Not a request, but how do you think poly yandere Boothil and Robin would work together
Yandere! Boothill x reader x Yandere!Robin
Omg!! I absolutely love the idea of a Robinhill poly!! The mutual worry goes insane, and I’ll make sure to marinate their experiences in a seasoning of their experiences!
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Boothill is a man who knows what loss is. After all, loss sent him on his journey, and bore a seed of vengeance in him. For Robin, loss was immaterial. It was what she felt to be loss of freedom, and loss of close ties. In that Robin and Boothill understood each other, and their experiences, albeit similar on the surface, shaped them differently.
Boothill is protective from his past experiences; scared that if he doesn’t hold his close ones, they’ll slip to never be seen again. The fear of further loss, embraced by his single-mindedness as a Galaxy Ranger, is quite the shake to deal with. It’s worsened by a sense of posessiveness, creating a similarly determined approach with you.
Robin however knows how it feels to be left with limited options, and so despite her ever-growing affection to you, she is rather reasonable. She can’t stop her feelings, but she can judge things from another perspective as well; Boothill never doubted her abilities or expertise when they combated the monkey-virus, after all. And, despite his possessiveness and jealousy, he knows she can take care of himself. She truly is an angel, in all the meanings of this word.
Then again there’s you, too, fortunate or unfortunate enough to have their gazes on you. Perhaps it is Robin to initiate, and perhaps it is Boothill. Both work out in the end; one way or another, their relationship based on trust and understanding starts to encase you too. Maybe not in the same understanding or trustful way, but still, it is based upon care for your being.
I believe Robin and Boothill may initially find their ideals to crash, it doesn’t lead to an argument. With your person, Boothill believes that the best course of action was to protect what he likes most; you, and Robin. Robin however understands it, and given she likes Boothill too, there is no fuss around the topic. Therefore no extreme measures need to be taken.
In your case… compliance isn’t promised, that’s what Boothill had told “singing queen” when discussing you over lunch. Because in case of you rejecting them, how can they ensure your safety? Robin does not wish to cage you. Boothill believes the only way to ensure safety would be to keep an eye on you, supervised.
And, given your acceptance isn’t promised, Robin is fairly easy to convince. While she doesn’t plan to hold you hostage - goodness, no. She’d never do that to someone else - she can try other ways of conviction. If you understand their care, then you’ll surely choose to stay; that is something that Boothill can get behind.
And, if you choose to stay, then it’s not keeping a bird in a cage.
Their mutual care for each other extends equally to you, really! I mean, Boothill can take care of himself! And, Robin is intelligent, she did well all this time too, dealing with so many things. . .
You have to understand why it’s just different with you. You have to.
Maybe she will have to.. tune you slightly. Slightly, promise, it’s not even going to hurt! Boothill and Robin mutually don’t want anyone’s feelings hurt. And so it’s unacceptable if you offend either of them as well - same as if you were being treated badly.
Obsessive care and being protective of you isn’t bad treatment, however. You simply have different needs from them. That’s it.
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wttcsms ¡ 2 years ago
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balancing act ; satoru gojo.
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pairing satoru gojo x f!reader   word count 3.9k   synopsis gojo bets that he can get you to fall in love in three months, and you bet that he can't go three months with staying committed to one person and not bang them. neither of you plan on losing. content contains modern no curses!au, mentions of sex and vulgar language (but no smut yet), simp gojo <3 author’s notes i plan on wrapping things up quickly this time around, so i have five parts planned for this mini series!
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Satoru Gojo is used to a wide array of reactions to any of his antics: awe (the summer analyst, Miwa, always stares at him like he himself is the one who created the stock market), irritation (Nanami is rarely ever in agreement with the comments Gojo leaves on his work), lust (Gojo gives just as much he receives because he’s benevolent like that — his words, of course). 
But he’s not quite used to being laughed at. 
He’s handsome, and he knows it, a deadly combination for any man because Shoko claims that all men are born with an astonishing amount of audacity and it only ever grows as they get older. Satoru brings up the fact that Shoko technically cheated her way through med school, and that any doctor worth her degree wouldn’t get onto patients while lighting up a cigarette of all things, but Shoko is equally stubborn and audacious as any man, and it just makes her a worthy opponent to get into arguments with. 
Being attractive and arrogant isn’t enough to keep him from suffering mild humiliation from time to time, though. The reason why Satoru doesn’t get embarrassed is because the world is unfair, so he happens to be born rich and smart enough and talented enough to just keep on getting richer. Even he is entirely aware of his privilege, but he’s got the type of personality that would be endearing even if he wasn’t hot, so everyone loves him. 
And you don’t hate him, he knows that. He also knows that you don’t love him, which is fine, because it’s not your love, or awe, or irritation, or lust (okay, maybe some lust would be nice) that Satoru wants from you. He just wants you for you, your honesty and whatever scraps of yourself that you toss to him. 
Today’s scraps are your laughter, which rings through the whole entire office, singing above the noisy clacks of keys being smashed by the analysts and the whirring of the printer shooting out hundreds of pages a minute. He feels a warmth spread from his stomach to his chest and maybe it even rises up to his neck, he’s not so sure. He should feel slightly embarrassed, he thinks, to have said something seriously only for you to find comedy in it, but he doesn’t. He just feels pleased with himself for making you laugh, like he’s done something great.
“You are so full of shit, Gojo.” You’re still smiling, even though you’re not bothering to look at him anymore. Your attention is now focused on the report one of the analysts has turned into you, and from the lack of comments you’re leaving, he assumes it’s Megumi’s work. 
“I was being serious, y’know.” Satoru’s more than tall enough to see over the cubicles, especially when he’s standing up, and he leans over it, his head and upper body leaning into your personal desk space. The cubicles don’t do jack shit for privacy, anyway, so he doesn’t feel bad when you complain that he’s invading your privacy. If it was privacy that you craved, you wouldn’t have three monitors raised, each of them displaying a jumble of numbers and words that Satoru doesn’t care about. 
“So was I.” You tell him.
Just thirty minutes ago, you walked into the office with a quad shot espresso, unceremoniously plopped your Longchamp tote onto the floor, and dramatically sighed to get your desk neighbor’s attention. Utahime is always a good sport when it comes to your antics but doesn’t bother extending the same courtesy to Satoru, which he considers to be very unfair considering that he’s technically everyone’s boss. It is his name that’s displayed on the side of the building, and his private equity firm that he’s built up alongside Suguru. 
“What happened this time?” Utahime asks you, like the good sport she is. Satoru, at that time, was pretending not to eavesdrop even though he is, because he’s a nosy bastard. 
“I hate men.” You say, leaning back in your chair. “He left me for someone nice.”
The way you say it lets him — and Utahime, who is actually the person you’re talking to — know that that nice was a direct quote from your ex.
Utahime furrows her brows, looking confused. “But you are nice.” 
Debatable, is what Satoru wants to say, but he’s remaining silent so he can get the full story out of you first.
“No. I’m a workaholic with no personality outside of my fancy finance job.” 
Ouch. 
Satoru doesn’t see an issue with you, though. So what, you’re hardworking and focused? He thinks it’s kinda hot to see someone with so much ambition and discipline. He wouldn’t have hired you if you were anything less. 
“He’s just insecure.” Utahime says, soft voice trying to soothe you, even though Satoru hears the familiar sound of your manicure typing in your login details to your computer. He knows it’s silly to think he can tell the difference between your typing and anyone else’s, and he doesn’t want to think too hard about what that could possibly mean when it comes to defining his feelings for you.
“You said the same thing about my last three exes, and they all said similar things about me.” Satoru can’t see either of you from this angle, but he’s certain that you’re opening up your emails right about now. The conversation is coming to a close, and he needs to start focusing on his own tasks, but then you say something interesting, practically baiting him to come out of his office.
“I’ve decided that from this point forward, I am swearing off men.” 
Utahime laughs. “You can’t just swear off all men because of a few bad ones.”
“Not forever.” You clarify. “Just for the time being. All the men I’ve dealt with  in Tokyo suck.”
On paper, all your exes are fantastic catches. There’s the surgeon (who found you to be too independent), the professor (who thought you were too busy to give him the attention he needed), the hedge fund associate (who thought that he liked smart girls, but apparently, not ones smarter than him), and your newest ex, the investment banker. The irony isn’t lost on anyone — an investment banker criticizing someone for being a workaholic obsessed with the prestige of their finance career? If he was going to scramble for an excuse to want to see other people, he should have chosen some other cliche line instead of using the same one someone else must have said to him. 
“What’s this about men in Tokyo?” Satoru strolls up to the divider between you and Utahime, hands in his pockets, pretending that he hasn’t been listening to the entirety of your conversation from the very beginning.
“That all of them suck.” You say, with that unwavering confidence he likes. 
“I’m a man in Tokyo.” He’s grinning.
“Yeah. I stand by what I said.” You’re not even being courteous enough to look at him, still focused on whatever email is on your screen.
His grin only grows wider.
“Maybe all the men you’ve been with are subpar, but I bet I could change your mind.” 
“Is this even appropriate for work?” Utahime interjects. 
“If it’ll make my dear employee Utahime happy, I can grab someone from HR to supervise this conversation.” Satoru says.
“It’s a trap.” You tell her, lips curling up in a smile that lets him know you’re going to say something very mean and probably true about him. “He’s already broken protocol with everyone who works there.” 
“You’re very disrespectful to your boss. Anyone else would have fired you on the spot.” Satoru only pretends to be wounded by your comments, but everyone knows that he’s as good at taking it as he is at dishing it out. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that Satoru owns this firm because he’s not very good at professionalism himself. 
Utahime mutters something under her breath, deciding not to engage further in whatever it is the two of you are doing.
“So, whaddya say? Wanna test out your ‘all men in Tokyo suck’ theory with me?” He knows this teasing won’t go anywhere, even if he wants it to. You’re good at your job, and you’re good at being a professional. Somehow, he doesn’t think you would consider fucking your boss as something very professional. 
“I would, but I have standards.” 
Satoru wants to make a snide comment about all the guys who have dumped you, but he can’t, because it’s already been established that they’re not just decent by regular standards, but stellar. Rich, successful, well educated men who could probably make you cum. 
Well, Satoru is richer, more successful, and more educated than all of them combined, he thinks. And he would gladly make you cum like crazy, if you let him. 
“C’mon, what’s wrong with me?” 
“Promise I won’t get fired if I’m being honest?” You turn your desk chair, looking up at him with mock doe eyes, and the sight shouldn’t be both endearing and hot to him, but it is. 
“Give me your worst.” He tells you, both of you smiling at the challenge. 
“I don’t give anything of myself to a man who can’t even bother to commit to anyone.” 
Of course, you have a point. Satoru’s not known for dating anyone. He takes women out on extravagant dates, yes, but he doesn’t actually practice the act of dating. 
He doesn’t see a point to it. Most people, save for his friends (a bit weird to consider some of his closest companions are actually his employees), see beyond his shiny veneer, and dating would just complicate things. Dating means someone seeing the duller, not-so-great parts of himself.  
“I could commit if it’s you.” 
The way he says it, without that familiar teasing lilt of his, makes you burst out laughing. He really is trying to commit… to the bit, that is. For a moment, Satoru almost tricks you into thinking he’s serious. 
“You are so full of shit, Gojo.”
You’re focused on your work, not the momentary hurt look that disappears from his face as quickly as it came. 
“Don’t be such a pessimist.” He tells you. “I bet I could make you believe in love again.” 
“Who said I didn’t believe in love?” You frown at that. “I just don’t believe that the men in this city are capable of it.” 
“Bonus season is upon us.” Satoru says, suddenly having a bright idea. He’s so rich that his wealth seems to be an extension of himself, and like all other parts of his body and mind, he uses it to his advantage. 
“Ugh, don’t tell me this conversation is going to affect my bonus check. I really will go to HR, then.” 
“I’ll double your bonus pay if you let me court you for three months.”
“Court me?” You’re laughing at him again. He eats it up, savors it, lets it settle on his tongue and warm his insides. 
“If you’re so convinced I’d be horrible and only prove you right, wouldn’t you jump at the chance to make some easy money?” 
He’s trying to bait you into accepting; you know it. You also know that nothing from Gojo comes easy. He makes it entirely too convenient to forget that he’s razor sharp and cutthroat, the things he needs to be in order to remain on top of the finance scene, but he’s always joking, always teasing, that it feels like he almost doesn’t like being taken seriously. 
“Like I said, I don’t deal with men with commitment issues.”
There was a brief moment in time where you considered going out with Gojo. The two of you have always been rotating in the same social circles, way back to your high school and university days. You don’t shame him for having casual sex because Gojo is genuinely sweet when he wants to be, and you know that everyone he’s ever fucked has done so more than willingly, probably too eagerly. They all get broken up over the fact that Gojo never wants to actually enter into a relationship with them, and it’s probably because they chose not to take him seriously. He has a bad habit of spitting out the truth but presenting it like some sort of joke. A guy shouldn’t take you out to a nice dinner and make you cum twice before even thinking about himself if he doesn’t want a girl to fall in love with him. 
For as long as you’ve known Gojo, he’s never dated once. Never a high school sweetheart or a tumultuous college relationship bound for disappointment and a messy breakup. Even now, he doesn’t follow the example of the other men in positions of power like him, who pursue doe-eyed college girls to shower with affection and trap into manipulative relationships. 
He’s cute and funny and would treat you right, but you can’t deal with the embarrassment of having someone only for one night or two, only to have them do the same thing they did with you, just with someone else. It would feel like a mockery. Your pride doesn’t give you room to give in to Gojo’s charm.
“Is that really your only stipulation?” He shrugs, like this is something insignificant, and you’re being so silly. “I’ll stay committed to you for the entire duration of the bet.” 
You narrow your eyes. “You need to keep your dick wet at all times. I’m pretty sure you die if you don’t get off at least once a day.” 
Utahime coughs, but it sounds too much like a laugh. 
“True, but I bet you’d be great at keeping me alive.” 
Oh, he is definitely getting sent to HR.
“So you want me to believe in love, and you’re convinced you can do this by the time bonus season rolls around, which is only three months.” You’re entering business mode, rearranging the facts and coming up with strategies in your head. Satoru never thought that someone thinking could be so attractive, but here he is, and here you are. 
“I’ll agree to participate, but only if you can handle what I consider to be proper courting.”
“What does that consist of?” He’s got you, hook, line, and sinker. There’s nothing Satoru Gojo cannot accomplish. He’s built up his own wildly successful private equity firm, doubling his family’s fortune. He graduated top of his class. He gives every girl he’s ever been with consecutive, mind blowing orgasms using just his tongue and two fingers. There’s nothing you could possibly say that his natural talents and money can’t handle. 
“No sex. No kissing. No touching.” You lean back in your chair, looking far too smug. 
“Done.” 
He doesn’t even have to think about agreeing, but you falter, just for a second. 
“Really?”
“Why are you looking at me like that?” 
“It’s not just you saying no to sex with me, but sex in general.” You pause, trying to spot when the realization of the severity of his situation is. When he doesn’t give you a reaction, just still continuing to tilt his head in mild amusement, you continue. “You can’t flirt or take anyone else on a date, and you definitely can’t fuck them, either.” 
“Yes, I’m aware.” 
“You’re going to regret this.” You huff, certain that Gojo is dumber than you thought. He might think this is all fun and games now, but when he’s pent up and unable to get off, you’re certain you’re going to receive a text from him forfeiting the bet altogether. It shouldn’t bother you that he acts like your addition to the bet is easy, because his failure means your pockets get fatter, but it’s no fun playing games when someone isn’t ready to fully play to win.
“Hmm. We’ll see.” He says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Make sure to finish going over all the analysts’ slide decks because I’m taking you out tomorrow night.” 
The timer for the bet starts tomorrow, then.
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Satoru thinks it’s cute that you thought you had him there, dangling sex like he’s some barbarian who can’t survive without it. Sure, fucking is fun, and sure, you’re definitely denying yourself of some of the greatest experiences you could have had, but he uses his brain more than his dick. 
If any girl is worth going celibate for, it’d be you.
Sitting in his office, he can’t concentrate on his work. He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much that you think not having access to your body would be enough to turn him away. Either you really do think he’s a sex addict, or the men you’ve been with aren’t as great as they appear to be. It’s probably a mixture of both, but this conclusion doesn’t make him any happier. 
Neither does having Suguru saunter into his office, without knocking. Just walks in, like he owns the place. And with his fifty-percent ownership of the firm, and his last name right next to Gojo’s on the building, he kind of does.
“HR is going to have a field day with you,” his best friend says in exchange for a greeting. Satoru would have preferred a hello.
“HR is in charge of the payroll that I fund,” is Satoru’s retort. 
“Only you would force an employee into a childish bet instead of asking her out like a normal person.”
“Didn’t force her.” Satoru conveniently doesn’t acknowledge the latter half of his statement.
“Didn’t really give her much choice, either.” Suguru smiles. “Shit, even I’d deal with your ass for two hundred grand more.” 
“Well, unfortunately for you, I’m committed to one woman only.” 
“God help her.” And then, after taking a second to think, Suguru continues. “Actually, if He really cared, He wouldn’t have kept leading her to the same places as you.” 
“Maybe I’m her blessing.” 
No one in the office knows why Suguru is laughing so hard behind Gojo’s closed door.
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“There’s no way this is legal,” Utahime tells you, taking a sip out of her iced matcha latte before continuing on her half-lecture/half-rant. “Gojo needs to be behind bars.”
A bit dramatic, all things considered. It’s not like Gojo’s comments even make the list for sleazy things male coworkers have said to you before, and you’re not entirely innocent, either. You like to poke and prod at him because it’s fun, and you know that Gojo can take it. 
Utahime does not respect Gojo, but she does like him enough to tolerate him. They’re like brother and sister, so much so that one time, someone made an offhand comment about how they should just fuck to get rid of their antagonism towards each other, and they both threw up because they were so disgusted. 
“It is a bit inappropriate,” Nanami comments, and you know he’s right because when has Nanami ever been wrong?
Granted, Nanami must have been wrong sometime in his life. He started out with a similar background as everyone else working in the firm. He landed an internship and then a return offer in investment banking, despised it, pursued academia, and was halfway done with a PhD program in economics before he decided to come back and work for Gojo and Geto. He doesn’t tell anyone why he came back, and no one is close enough with him to ask and expect an honest answer.
Nanami having lunch with you is a treat because he prefers avoiding everyone in the office, so it almost feels like you’ve won a coveted prize, one to show off whenever you get back to the office. He likes to keep to himself, but even he’s only human. The interest in your little bet with Gojo is harbored by him, too, same as everyone else who’s heard about it. 
You should feel embarrassed about having your life so publicly known, but finance is a small, incestual pool. Everyone working within it knows each other, has fucked each other, and will continue to exclusively hate and love only each other. It’s a bit cultish, if you think about it, so you try not to focus on the social aspects of the job. 
“It’s not like I’m on his team or anything. I technically only handle deals managed by Geto.” You say this in defense of yourself, as if it changes the morality and ethics of the whole bet. It doesn’t, but the attempt doesn’t go unnoticed. 
“Geto and Gojo are essentially two halves of the same whole.” Utahime replies. “Geto just has more public decency training.” 
“You’re telling me that you can see Geto betting someone that he can make her fall in love with him in three months?” 
“No. He’s not as audacious. I like Geto, he’s very cautious.” Nanami looks thoughtful for a second. “He would bet six months, just to be safe.” 
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Satoru knows that he’s screwed the moment you’re being introduced as the newest student in his class. School started two weeks ago, so everything’s already been settled. Everything important, that is, so the hottest girl in class has been established, along with who’s going to be relentlessly bullied, and who everyone is going to cheat off of. He has different routes mapped out for getting to class, depending on his mood and who he’s trying to avoid, along with a new secret hiding spot that he’s not going to share with anyone, except for Suguru, and maybe Shoko. 
He likes that he’s already gotten all this shit dealt with so he can spend the rest of the year relaxing, but he’s watching you as you’re standing in front of the class, talking to the teacher and then introducing yourself.
The first thing he notices is that the ugly school uniforms are decidedly not ugly. He comes to this startling conclusion when the boxy, starchy white button-up shirt doesn’t look like cardboard on you, and that the gray wool of your skirt doesn’t wash you out. 
The next thing he notices is that you speak differently than any of the other teenage girls he’s dealt with, save for Utahime and Shoko. Shoko has no issue with speaking her mind, and if Satoru presses enough buttons with enough pressure, he can get Utahime to curse like a sailor. He spaces his aggressions out accordingly, so that way when she does blow up in his face, she does it in the presence of an adult. You introduce yourself confidently; there is nothing shy or meek about you, even though standing in front of a bunch of disinterested teens — your strange new peers for the rest of your high school years — should be anxiety inducing. 
Then, you take the empty seat next to him like it belongs to you, and Satoru is starting to think that maybe it does, that maybe it always has. 
(Well, Suguru is sick today, that’s why the seat was available.)
Anyway, all of his carefully laid out plans are now tossed out the window. He needs to figure out what route you take to get around, and what the rest of your class schedule looks like, and maybe it’s just him, but the former hottest girl in school has now been demoted to second-best. 
He feels a shift in the air, like the universe is trying to signal major change in his life, and rather than run away from it, Satoru settles into his seat, noticing how you’re not even giving him the time of day. 
There’s an unfamiliar feeling rising inside of him; something that says you’re going to constantly knock him off-balance and—
—he kinda likes it.
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