#like... nice victim blaming in the final sentences

[une-sanz-pluis]

Bedford soon came to appreciate his wife at her true worth. Anne might not be beautiful but she had character. Once she had made up her mind that a certain course was right, nothing could turn her from it. Moreover, she was kind-hearted, understanding and utterly unselfish — all qualities which help to make a successful marriage. To Bedford, who was an intensely lonely man, Anne brought the inestimable gifts of companionship and sympathetic insight. Harassed as he was by cares of state and irked by the difficulties of his task, Bedford found in his wife a restful influence. Anne had a lively intelligence coupled with sound judgement, and before long they discovered that they had many interests in common. Both took delight in rich furnishings, interior decoration and music. Bedford had in his household two minstrels, Thomas Clerke and John Fairfield, whose music gave much pleasure. Another mutual bond was their fondness for richly illuminated books, and as a wedding present to his bride Bedford commissioned the famous Book of Hours with portraits of himself and Anne with their patron saints which is now one of the treasures of the British Museum. They had deeper interests, too, in their pity for the poor and their piety. Yet like her brother Philip, Anne's character was a mass of contradictions. She combined delight in the pleasures of this world with deep religious devotion so that once, on hearing the bells of the Celéstine convent at midnight, she exclaimed, 'Wretch that I am, I take my pleasures and delights when the servants of God interrupt their sleep to sing His praises', and hurried across Paris to be in time for Matins. In spite of her love for the people, Anne could act thoughtlessly towards them, as on the occasion when she aroused the anger of the Parisians by riding past a religious procession at a hand-gallop, bespattering them with mud. Moreover, there was a streak of obstinacy in her nature, a determination not to listen to the voice of reason, which led to her premature death. For notwithstanding warnings Anne insisted on visiting the fever-stricken inmates of the Hôtel Dieu where she caught the infection from which she died. 

E. Carleton Williams, My Lord of Bedford, 1389-1435 (Longmans 1963)

[11queensupreme11]

Merry Christmas queen, wishing you all the nice gifts under that tree 😘

i stop a war from happening in the most dramatic way possible

What the fuck are you doing pretty girl? You even know what you doing our just you're falling while screaming.

Oh, I'm nervous and that was only the title

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! NOOOO! NOOOOOO!" THE SOUND of Persephone's gut-wrenching screams

Whoa whoa whoa

I know we kinda didn't like her because of all that drug thing but like, we went from 0 to 10000 really quick, what happened?

Oh, it´s my daddy, never mind, she surely deserves it ❤️😊

There was a sickening crunch sound as Zagreus' body instantly flattened, his body imploding from the underwater pressure. In a nanosecond his body was reduced to nothing, every bit and piece of him just mere atoms. His aquatic prison quickly filled with ichor.

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

QUEEN! I NEED HIM! OMG

I DON'T KNOW WNOUGH ABOUT RoR TO GIVE YOU SO MANY SHIPS

IT'S WAS THE PERFECT MIX OF INCEST AND DARK FANTASY TOO

HE WAS GOING TO BE NICO'S POSEIDON IN MY HEAD! NOW I NEED A NEW ONE

(Also, fuck Pershephone, like, girl, that was quick. I know it was trauma but, GIRL IT WAS QUICK)

(There wasn't an episode in Rick and Morty where Morty's moon chose her daughter over Morty? No more TV for you queen, it's clearly giving you some bad ideas)

Queen

Queen

Queen

✨What the fuck?✨

I´m not shocked, I'm just disappointed in myself that I didn't see his psychotic outbreak coming before.

I genuinely thought the worst was past and the way was up until arch 2

The tags were right there, and I chose to ignore them.

Karma was them hitting my face really hard.

Also, I'm not victim-blaming here, but knowing all of Poseidon's history, why would you choose to mess with him? Girl, just stay far away and be blind, and then maybe he won´t see you.

"When my daughter ascends, she will take Demeter's place," he demanded firmly. "She would make a far better Olympian than that piece of trash anyway." "Hmmm," Zeus stroked his sad excuse of a beard before letting out a boisterous laugh. "Alright! I like it! No worries, brother, it'll be done!"

It's givin´ nepo baby, it's givin' my daddy's going to hear about this

Percy, when she gives up and accepts her destiny:

Yeah, Percy, you're finally getting some child manutention, good for you girl

(Also, rip Demeter, your sin was being a good mother and dumb. Cause again, I wouldn´t mess with FUCKING POSEIDON FIRST CRUSH WHAT THE HELL? YOU WERE HIS SISTER, HOW COME YOU DIDN´T THINK ABOUT IT. I LOVE HIM BUT HE HAS 0 LOGIC AND HE USES HIS TWO HEADS TO THINK, NEVER THE HEART-)

Oh Apollo

You're quickly ascending, your madness and lack of self-control have created a space in my heart dedicated to laughing about you.

Also, that guy isn't surviving, Apollo is going to kill at first sight, no asking just death (yeah, I don't learn his name to stop myself from liking him, I'm self-aware, thanks)

Ra's eyes hardened at that. He already had an inkling that Anubis would be planning this, and he dreaded it because he was right. There was no consent needed for a mating mark—it was permanent and could never be removed. Ever. 

This is so omegaverse, I loveeeeeeeeee it. Have you read Kiss Me Liar? Cause the omega forced the alpha to only be able to have him as an omega but he COULD have more alphas

I love Annubis, make him suffer and comfort him in the sheets, pretty please

A CHAPTER WITH ALL (actual) YANDERE????????'

I'M BEING SPOILED

"I need help," his words would've shocked everyone if they weren't equally as afraid as he was. He looked around, his pupils dilated with fear and panic. Nobody moved. "I NEED HELP!" He screamed at them, anger and desperation laced in his voice. "Somebody do something! Don't just stand there, you fools! My daughter is... is...!" He didn't dare finish the sentence.

...

This actually so sad, why am I smiling? knowing (a little) what's going to happen next...

Anyway, I personally know one more dramatic way to stop a war.

Can I introduce you to our lord and savior Shen Yuan and his act of (literally) dying for dick?

I stan an icon

One of them might piss some of you off ngl lmao

I'm totally not worried

You give my anxiety and half the time it isn't because of Nico

Don't worry queen, we are strong (?) and we love the fic so yeah, I can deal with all of this

Anyway, checking my to-do list, the only thing remaining is telling you how nice Nico looks when suffering, almost as cute as Percy 😘 give me time and I'll come with more ships, I just need more time, don't kill him too soon, a chance please🥹

Bye queen, enjoy Christmas and hope you get some nice updates from that thing you were expecting (an RoR update I think?)

i really love all these nepo baby allegations (not really allegations tho cuz they're all TRUE) cuz like......... percy started off as some poor loser from new york and here is she is now.... married to yan gods with a spot amongst the 12 olympians secured just for her once she ascends like that is the ULTIMATE nepo baby right there, i fear nothing's beating her 😭😭😭😭

not even "rags to riches" fit this, it's more like.... "rags to godhood"???? 😂

[actual-changeling]

On unhealthy relationship dynamics

A little while ago, I stumbled across a post discussing Aziraphale's character on a meta level, and without knowing the content, I was completely unprepared when one single sentence pushed me from 'uncomfortable but doable' into 'triggered and panicking'. The post itself was triggering from start to finish, but that phrase stood out to me.

Why am I telling you this?

After calming down and thinking about it for a few hours, I realised what exactly my brain had reacted to—victim blaming rhetoric repackaged to fit Aziraphale and Crowley's situation. Victim blaming is, to provide a short summary, the act of putting blame for mistreatment on the victim instead of the perpetrator. It's a concept often used in r/pe discussions, but it can be applied to any abusive or non-abusive situation as long as a power imbalance is created, meaning you have at least one person harming another in whatever shape or form.

If you broaden the definition, you can apply it to more situations, including—and this is where we reach the actual topic—their relationship and the Final Fifteen (F15).

That is exactly what some people have been doing—putting all the blame on Crowley and absolving Aziraphale of any and all responsibility as if it were his fault that Aziraphale broke his heart

Before anyone runs to the comments, let me clarify what I assume will be the FAQ.

no, I do not think Aziraphale is abusive

I do not think that their relationship is abusive either

no, I do not hate Aziraphale

yes, I know what I am talking about

everything I will talk about is largely based on what we as the audience actually see and know, combined with interpretations of the intentional subtext Neil wrote into the show.

I have been actively in this fandom since the second season was released, and I have seen a lot of (hopefully accidental) ableist & generally insensitive takes. These are the ones I see the most and what I personally consider to be important topics of discussion, but the same logic I will be applying to these can be applied to many, many more situations.

Since my meta posts get very long very quickly, I will be posting them in parts and always linking back to the others, plus this one as the masterpost.

Part 1—Nice Is A Four Letter Word

The basic pattern is this:

Aziraphale refers to Crowley with a 'nice' term -> Crowley gets upset and tells him to stop -> Aziraphale hears him but continues anyway.

There are reasons behind Crowley's rejection, and I will go into detail, but I want to make one thing very clear: It does not matter why Crowley asked him to stop. He set a boundary, and Aziraphale repeatedly and intentionally overstepped it; this causes understandable anger and frustration.

Crowley does not owe Aziraphale an explanation, just like you would not owe someone an explanation when you don't want to be called x-term. Mutual respect requires the acceptance of personal boundaries like that, and by breaking them over and over again, Aziraphale tells Crowley that his own wants are more important than Crowley's needs.

In the 1827 Edinburgh flashback, we see the consequences of Crowley doing good/being called good (which are usually connected, meaning if they notice someone is calling Crowley good, he most likely did something to cause that) firsthand, and so does Aziraphale. He gets dragged down to hell and tortured for up to thirty years.

Even before that, Crowley expresses numerous times how hell punishes good deeds, and they are 'always listening' in on him. You would assume that Aziraphale would stop to keep him safe—and yet he doesn't because he cannot accept the reality of Crowley's situation and refuses to listen to him.

On top of that, Aziraphale only ever "praises" Crowley when he does something he personally sees as praiseworthy, aka something good/kind/nice/angelic/etc. but never when it is something that CROWLEY would like to be praised for, or at the very least acknowledged. We see it in season 2 over and over and over again: Aziraphale cares for no one's thoughts or plans except his own and has no interest in even hearing Crowley out.

Aziraphale calling him nice is not a sweet little gesture, it is an intentional overstepping of a boundary Crowley has been trying to enforce for centuries, and it reinforces the dichotomy of good angels/bad demons, with angelic existence being the ultimate goal. At the very least, it's disrespectful towards Crowley, and at worst, it is actively keeping Crowley in a trauma response, tugging on his leash whenever he tries to explain reality to Aziraphale.

To have a healthy relationship, Aziraphale needs to stop.

part 2 - part 3

[hanakihan]

my biggest headaches in work life so far (NSFW in a sense of: gross stuff, kidnapping, murder, dismemberment, r*pe, scamming, you get the idea)

- 4 men from different country kidnapping other man from different country on territory of our country and keeping him hostage for 2 days and then pretending they’re victims here because he supposedly scammed them with false registration papers.

- two ex-prisoners meeting around new year for drinks, one calls other a ‘cock’ (aka really insulting thing for those who went to prison, means you’re at bottom (in every sense) of prison hierarchy), so he stabs him in heart and throws his body on balcony where it stays freezing for 2 weeks. Then he takes a saw and dismember him, was able to drag hands and legs on ground floor but was caught by police when dragged wrapped up torso.

- a man breaking other person’s skull open with a brick just because he wanted to see real brain. he saw, then vomited and lost consciousness.

- a drug addict who was caught on scene, had an insane drawback when we were arresting him in court, almost broke my arm and stabbed me with a pen.

- a man coming to court completely wasted and explaining himself by ‘you see your honor, I’m an artist, an artists are either drunkards or gays…’

- Santa Barbara in a form of a married couple having weird ass r*pe(???) because he did force her to some gross shit and she told about it her mom and her mom told to grandma who informed cops but now she asks not to sent him to prison because apparently it was consensual???

- son hitting his mother so bad she almost died so she went to police to write a report on him thinking he’ll be sent to serve 15 days by administrating law, but ended up serving 7 years for attempted murder. she broke down in tears and begged not to jail him.

- my neighborhood growing hallucinogenic mushrooms because he’s ‘an artist and needed a psychological stimulation’ and apparently he had twenty jars full of dried mushrooms and when asked why so many for himself he told ‘it’s winter investment’

- delusional woman blaming delusional man who said he wanted to have children with her. she’s 50, man is 23 and he was terrified of her.

- judge leaving court room for final verdict and defendant pulled out a razor from his mouth and threatened to cut his throat open. police and jailers weren’t able to calm him down, it was 9 at evening, I wanted to go home so I yelled at him to behave because it would’ve been a pain in ass to explain to boss why defendant suicided here. two floors heard me yelling. I had a bottle of champagne after that.

- two men arguing outside of our court room who fucked which wife until I came out and told them that police will fuck them both if they won’t shut the fuck up.

- convicted underage children rapist complimenting me and being disgustingly sweet simply because I look like I’m 16 even though I’m 23 when I enter his jail cell.

- a woman almost stabbing a man to death after he spotted her throwing his food out of fridge to street from window. it all started because of sausages and he himself almost became one.

- a woman being blamed for stabbing her roommate even if said roommate constantly beaten her so badly she resembled a fucking panda and she stabbed him out of stress. everyone was confused while hearing who was who.

- ex prisoner visiting us after he served his sentence, gifting is nice chocolate and a champagne (it’s still in my closet tho) and then smooching my cheek.

- me getting almost stabbed by romani’s mother (whom we jailed) but blocking it by crime law codex (jinchul was right book IS a weapon, both offensive and defensive). me then yelling at her that I’m 1/4 romani too for fucks sake.

- a drunk step father hitting boys’ drunk mother so hard she lost consciousness, he wanted to drag her to bed so he did it by dragging her by hair and having her head hit every corner, ended up giving up on his idea and went to buy more alcohol. returned home to find her cold dead body and two boys an orphans who we ended up to make testify.

- Genshin case. just Genshin case. Man took bank debt through his friend’s card, ended up rolling on Dehya banner to C6 her. Cringe levels were over9000.

[whitehoshizora]

After 10pm thoughts.

I think about unaliving myself 3-4 times a day. I never imagined I'd reach this point—I've always taken pride in my emotional intelligence and my ability to pull myself out of bad situations without needing help. But here I am. I find myself fantasizing about stepping into traffic and letting a car hit me, jumping onto train tracks, cutting my wrists, or just sleep until I cannot wake up anymore.

This post stems from the night I stood at my window, ready to end it all, for real this time. As I imagined people finding me in the morning, I was struck by one fear: no one would truly know me. No one ever had, but you. If I died, i'm dead, gone, without a trace, and nothing of the real me would remain. No one to carry on memories of me, because i never let anyone in, but you. But I chased you away, and you will have to forget me, to make new memory, just as I'm trying to forget you. My real self exists nowhere but in these words. So, I’m writing again after a long time, hoping that if I ever can’t hold on anymore, these words might offer some answers to anyone who might miss me—if anyone does.

My whole life has felt like a fight. I have to fight for everything - the highest score, the smartest kid, the most adorable girl, a seat at the table, for my voice to be heard, to play with the "big boys", to prove myself as strong as them men, or being worthy of mom's pride. Nothing has ever come easily to me. Nothing has ever been effortlessly and unconditionally mine. They say if you love something, set it free, and if it’s meant for you, it’ll come back. But if I set everything I love free, I fear I’d have nothing left. I’m feeling that old, familiar ache again, like being the last kid picked on the playground, standing there, hoping someone will choose me. I was a late bloomer, and i meant it. I was never the popular kid. I was lucky if i was not the most hated or the one bullied. Fear of abandonment always made me choose to leave first rather that getting left behind. So I have never learned to stick around until the end.

And then you taught me to hold on. And for a while I was very good at that. And then I got cocky. I thought I was the glue holding things together, but I realize now I was just coasting on your grace. You kept everything intact, and now that you’re gone, I have no more strength to keep it together, no matter how much I try. I watch as everything I hold dear slips away—our friends, our routines, our life. Or rather, I’ve been chased away. And who could blame them? Who would want me? I ruin everything I touch. I hold on too tight and break the things I love. The shards cut me deeply and I stained the remnants of what you built for me with my own blood.

Without you, I feel like a joke. I wear my real face to the masquerade that is life. I show up while everyone else is putting on a show. I feel like I’m speaking a language no one understands. I feel so inadequate I can barely finish a sentence, hating the sound of my own voice. I feel so out of place that I want to shrink myself into nothing, just so I don’t take up any space. Or maybe I will finally become like everyone else, and the unique me that you loved so much will be gone forever - the price of survival I guess.

But I refuse to be anyone’s charity case. I’m no victim. I made my bed, and now I have to lie in it. I realized that it's all in my head. I don't have to be all that, to fight for all that to be enough. I don't have to be beautiful, or nice, or good at badminton, or billard, or even at holding people together to get you to look at me. After all, hell isn’t just other people—it’s me, around other people. And heaven, perhaps, is being alone. Now, I have to rebuild my life, piece by piece, creating new things to care about. I have to carry my own weight now, make my own connections, hold on to the friends who would pick me just because I am the flawed me, make the decision to let go by myself. And if I end up alone again, at least this time, it’ll be by choice. And I am free to be ugly lonely old me, free from blaming you, or you.

[readerstories]

Tie Reveal - Aaron Hotchner x male!reader

What is it with me and turning short and sweet ideas into long one shots? Yeah so anyway, enjoy (AO3)

Warnings/tags: relationship rreveal, fluff and humor, light angst

Wordcount: 2837

Summary: You come into work wearing the wrong tie

You hate rushing in the morning, preferring to start your day in a calm and relaxed manner. That’s not on the table for today however, as you and Aaron both rush to get dressed.

“You’re going to be late.” You say as you button your shirt, glad you had had the forethought to grab on from your to go bag, as not wake any suspicion or teasing from the team. Aaron glances at the clock as he puts his shoes on.

“It’s still before the time you usually get in.”

“Yeah, but not for you.” You pick up your ties from the floor, giving Aaron’s to him. You’re quick to put yours on, Aaron mirroring you.

“I’ll just say that I got a flat tire.” You nod, stealing a quick kiss from him as you grab your jacket on the way out.

“Okay, see you at work!” You’re out the door before he can respond, making your way quickly down, not even bothering with the elevator in your haste to get to your car.

—-

You make it to work on time, only a few minutes later than usual, but that can be blamed on the fresh coffee in your hand from the coffee shop down the street.

As the elevator plings to announce your arrival on the right floor, you’re met by Garcia, Reid, and Morgan standing right outside, groaning as they spot you.

“Well, good morning to you guys too.” You say with a confused look at them all as you step out.

“It’s not you, we’re just just waiting for Hotch.” Garcia explains and you raise a brow, faking confusion.

“Hotch? Isn’t he here already?”

“No, so I got worried, so I checked his phone and it was pinging on the road just outside his apartment building, which is weird cause he’s normally the first one here-”

“Are you even supposed or allowed to do that outside of a case or emergency?” Garcia hesitates, and you huff and shake your head at them.

“Well, I’m going to go and start work, like you all should.” You leave the team as they go back to watching the elevator doors, quickly shooting off a text to Hotch to let him know that the flat tire excuse won’t work.

A few minutes later you hear a happy Garcia shout Hotch’s name and seconds later he comes in through the glass doors, followed by Garcia, Reid, and Morgan.

“Guys, I’m fine, I just slept trough my alarm this morning.”

“But you never do that.” Garcia responds, hot on his heels.

“So what’s her name?” Morgan quips, Hotch stops in his tracks to give him a withering glare before resuming his path to his office.

“Ohhh, lover boy!” Morgan teases at Hotch’s back.

“Remember we got a briefing in ten minutes sir!” Garcia yells after him before the door to his office is closed behind him. You hide your smile behind your coffee, trying not to bring much attention to yourself. Garcia leaves to prepare a few last things for the briefing, but Reid and Morgan linger next to your desk, still standing.

“Do you really think that’s what made him late?” Reid asks.

“Come on, that man never misses anything and sleeps light, and Jack is away for a week, so what else could it be?” Morgan glances at you. “What do you think?” You take a sip of your coffee, pretending to think.

“Maybe, or maybe he is telling the truth. The man is only human, and with the amount of hours he spends in the office he might actually just have slept trough his alarm.” Morgan nods, but doesn’t seem convinced.

You all make your way into the meeting room. You sit down in the chair next to a standing Garcia as you often do, Reid, Morgan, JJ, and Rossi joining you around the table, Hotch striding in as usual a few minutes later.

“Garcia, please begin.” He stays on his feet, ready to go as soon as he can.

“Look to the screen my mighty crime fighters, because today you’re goi-”

“You’ve switched ties.” Reid cuts Garcia off mid-sentence, making everyone look at Reid, wondering what in the world he is talking about. He points at you.

“You and Hotch, you’ve switched.” Both of you look down, then at each other as the team looks between the two of you. Shit, he’s right.

“When you came in I saw your tie was the same as Hotch wore yesterday, a grey tie with a Gucci pattern. I just thought you had bought the same one, since you both have a similar taste in ties, but Hotch got the same as you wore yesterday, a grey tie with stripes, which still has the small coffee stain from when you spilled some yesterday.” Hotch frowns as lifts up the tie to inspect it, and yes, there’s indeed a small, barely noticeable speck of coffee about halfway up the tie he is wearing. No one says anything for a few seconds, you yourself have turned into a statue, neutral expression on your face. Hotch is much the same, everyone else looking between you two. Garcia is the first one to break the silence, squealing with glee.

“Omg, omg, guys!” She yells as she hugs you from behind, the angle a little awkward with how she leaning over your sitting form. You’re not stone anymore, but you don’t return the hug before she lets you go. Morgan and JJ are both grinning, Rossi is looking at Hotch with smile, Reid is trying not to do the same at you while you glare daggers at him. Hotch sighs.

“Garcia...” His tone is chastising, reminding everyone that there is something else to focus on, which seems to snap her back to work mode. Sort of.

“Right, right, case, lets just brush past that revelation about two of my best friends, so, uhhh, where were we? Or right! Today you’re going to-” She begins to explain the case, both you and Hotch get a few more glances before everyone turns their focus on the case.

----

On the jet you think you’re in the clear, until Rossie settles in the seat next to you. Which is odd, because you’re the only two on the jet so far, and he usually doesn’t sit next to you.

“So you and Hotch huh?” You pretend to read over the case files in front of you, and Rossi chuckles.

“You know, none of us expected a thing. Well done on hiding it from a group of profilers I must say.”

“Rossi, there’s nothing-”

“There’s nothing?” He’s grinning, clearly teasing as he looks down to your tie and taps it with a finger. “Something tells me otherwise.” You sigh, but are saved from answering by the rest of the team joining you on the jet. Everybody buckles down for take off, and not long after you’re in the air, and then all the attention is on the case.

For a little while at least.

You can tell they want to talk about it, but the case keeps everyone occupied, so there’s nothing else before JJ comes back from the hotel with the room cards. Everyone is spread around doing different tasks, so she finds you alone in the conference room the team had been given. You’re reading trough the victims files for some more specifics on victimology when she places a keycard on the table in front of you. You look up, startled as you hadn’t even noticed her entering the room.

“You’ve seen Hotch?” She asks and you furrow a brow.

“I think he’s talking to the police chief in his office, why?”

“His key card, but you can just give it to him when you see him, since you’re sharing a room.”

“I thought we were past the budget cuts-”

“Oh we are, but Garcia made some changes to the booking after this mornings briefing sooo....” JJ grins and you sigh, rubbing your forehead. There’s silence and no movement for a few seconds, then there’s a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, you know we will always support you guys right?” You sigh heavily, resting your own hand on top of JJ’s, looking up at her.

“I know, it’s just... It wasn’t revealed in the best way.” She grimaces.

“Yeah.” She looks uncertain how to respond, but seems to go for light, which you are grateful for. “But I’m surprised none of us caught on until then, it has been going on for at least a couple of months right?” You try to hide your grin as you pretend to go back to reading the files.

“Well, I’m not a ‘kiss and tell’ kinda guy, but it’s a bit more than a couple months.” JJ laughs and pats your shoulder before leaving the room.

You find Hotch not long after, and when you tell him the whole situation around the shared room, he sighs too, but mostly in a ‘oh what can you do’ kind of way, seemingly mostly resigned to everyone knowing now.

Even with sharing the same room and not needing to hide anything from the team, you go back to the hotel without him. The man is a workaholic, and you want a shower and some sleep, but he promises to join you soon. Instead you end up sharing a car with Reid and Morgan, neither of which say anything in the car, but while you’re waiting for the elevator, all bets seems to be off.

“So, you and the bossman huh?” Morgan teases with a grin as you do your best to ignore him, watching the numbers on the display tick down. The elevator door opens and you quickly step inside, hoping to leave them both behind. But alas, no such luck, as they step inside and Reid presses the button to the floor above yours.

“You know, work place relationships aren’t actually that uncommon. Did you know-” Here you tune him out, once again watching the numbers off the elevator. Normally you like when Reid goes on a tangent, but now, not so much.

“Reid, I will strangle you with my tie to shut you up if I have to.”

“Don’t you mean Hotch’s tie?” The grin on his face is shit-eating, which is rare from Spencer, and Morgan laughs loudly. The combination of it makes you curse under your breath as the doors finally open to your floor. You don’t bother saying goodbye, just going straight down the hall towards the door with your room number on it. Sliding the keycard in, it opens with a click. You drop your bag on the floor as soon as the door shuts behind you, and you switch on the lights.

You can’t help it.

You laugh as you take in the big room in front of you.

Or rather, the suite.

The honeymoon suite by the looks of it. Red and white decor, candles, big bed, nicely decorated with towels shaped like a heart, and some champagne in an ice-bucket on the desk in the room. There’s a small white card right next to the champagne, which you quickly read. ‘Have fun ;) -G’. You snort at it, that woman is a menace. (But also very nice, but you do shoot her text to warn her that she should sleep with one eye open. The only response you get is a winking emoji).

A surprisingly short time later you hear the door to the suite unlock, alerting you to Aaron’s arrival where you just stepped out of the shower. He calls your name in a questioning tone, you’re quick to respond as you wrap a towel around your mostly dry form.

“In here, one sec.” You step out of the bathroom, Aaron’s attention going straight to you before pointedly looking around the room. You lean on the door frame of the bathroom.

“Garcia.” You offer as an explanation.

“Ah.” He accepts, looking around once more. “This is going to be a fun expense report.” You snort at that, pushing yourself of the door frame and walking over to him. Putting your arms around his neck, you pull him close for a kiss.

“Certainly, but let us enjoy it for now, I’m sure Garcia has an explanation locked and ready for the report when we need it.” Aaron tries not to smile at that, but is halfway to failing when you catch his lips in a kiss.

----

The next time your relationship is brought up is on the jet back when the case ends well a few days later. Everyone have found their way to pass the time as usual. Reid and Rossi are playing chess in the one of two seaters, Morgan is half asleep, JJ is typing away on her phone next to him, across from them in the aisle seat is Hotch who has started on more paper work already, and you’re laying down on the couch across from them reading a book.

Everybody is in their own little bubble, that’s until Rossi is standing in the aisle and clearing his throat. Everyone looks at him, even Derek who JJ jostles awake with an elbow. Rossi got a bottle of expensive looking whiskey in one hand, several glasses in the other.

“I believe a little celebration is in order.” He starts handing out glasses, you sit up and close your book as you accept yours, just as Garcia pops up on the screen over the couch.

“What for?” You ask, genuinely curious, giving Garcia a look trough the screen, a very grinning and happy looking Garcia.

“Well, the case went well, we saved several people, and ah yes, your not so secret relationship anymore.”

“Rossi-” You and Hotch try to say something at the same time, but Rossi doesn’t let either of you speak another word.

“Oh no no no, neither of you get to Rossi me. Just shut up and listen okay?” He pours a hefty helping of whiskey in everyone’s glass as he speaks, even Garcia got a glass back home somehow, no doubt filled with something similar.

“We just want you both to know that we are very happy for you, both of you. And though the way us knowing came about wasn’t ideal, we will always support and be there for you.” You and Hotch look around at your team, noting the happy faces watching you before making brief eye contact.

“I want you all to know that nothing in this team changes with this, we’re still going to work together and remain professional while on the clock. There will be no preferential treatment here.”

“What he said.” You incline your head towards Hotch as you look around the jet once more.

“Aaron, we know that. Like I said, we just want you both to be happy.” Rossi says, soft smile on his face. You raise your glass, trying to pretend that the slight sting you can feel in your eyes is just tiredness.

“Cheers to that.” Everyone joins in, clinking their glasses together in loud celebration and happy voices, Garcia cheering with her glass against the camera lens back home. Everyone takes a sip of the whiskey, several mentioning the smooth burn of it.

“So, how long have you two love birds been together?” Morgan eyes flicker between you and Aaron.

“See, that right there Morgan is the million dollar question.” Rossi points between you both. “Come on, out with it.” You grin, trying and failing to hide your grin behind taking another sip of the whiskey, Aaron doing the same.

“Do you want to tell them or should I?” You ask, getting up to lean on the chair Aaron is sitting in. He looks up at you, taking your hand and placing it on his shoulder.

“I think you should.”

“Okay.” You say with a shrug, looking at all of the team before settling your gaze on Spencer. “Remember the strangulation serial killer we caught in LA earlier this year?”

“We caught him and finished that case 6 months, 11 days, and 9 hours ago.” Spencer helpfully supplies.

Then it dawns on them all what that means.

Yells of surprise from everyone, and this time neither you or Aaron try to hide your matching grins. Rossi is laughing loudly while slapping his knee, Reid seems to have lost his composure, mumbling that he should have seen something sooner, Garcia is speechless for perhaps the first time since you have known her, Morgan looks frozen in shock, and JJ is trying to hide her laughter behind her hand.

“6 months? How even?!” Morgan exclaims. You shrug, your grin shit-eating by now.

“What can I say, we’re good profilers and now how to hide our tells.” You glance at Aaron and squeezes his shoulder, who in return brings your hand to his lips for a brief kiss on your knuckles. Garcia squeals from her screen, gushing over how cute the two of you are as you smile and laugh in response.

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Psycho Analysis: Suicide Squad Team A

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS! Seriously, as soon as you click that read more, you’re gonna be smacked with SPOILERS! Don’t say I didn’t give you ample warning this time!)

The world’s in danger yet again, and Amanda Waller is in need of some expendable forces to take on some dirty jobs in the name of preserving peace. Last time she did this, it seems like she hired the wrong people. Nice guy Will Smith Deadshot? Bland, boring Killer Croc? El Diablo, who became attached to a bunch of reprobates after spending a couple hours with them? The only one who was useful in that squad was Katana. She had their backs, could cut all of them in half with one sword stroke just like mowing the lawn, and her sword traps the souls of its victims. Unfortunately, she was decidedly not expendable, so what is a girlboss like Waller to do?

Easy: Assemble a brand new squad of criminals to do the dirty work. Harley and Boomerang are the only ones she brought back, because let’s be real, they’re the only ones we give a damn about. Filling out the rest of the squad are the stoic, craggy crackshot Savant; the handsome, German spear-thrower Javelin; the alien warrior Mongal; the frothing, psychotic animal Weasel; the confident and all-powerful TDK; and Blackguard, who is literally just a guy. Together, this team gets deployed to Corto Maltese to do what no one else can do, and with skills like theirs, they are absolutely unstoppable!

They all fucking die before the opening credits.

Motivation/Goals: Considering the goal of the squad is to shave time off their prison sentences by going on the mission, it’s ostensibly the reason every single one of these goons accepted the job. Savant and Weasel are pretty well established in this regard; we get to focus on Savant for much of the opening, so we can get a sense of him, and Weasel is stated to have murdered no less than 27 children. So, yeah, they need to do this mission.

The rest, though? Who knows! Why are Mongal, Javelin, and TDK in prison? How did they even get an alien like Mongal? What did they do to land in the position they’d need to go on a suicide mission? Why doesn’t this movie have flashy, intrusive cards explaining everything to us in a throwaway gag in a montage?!

Blackguard, at least, has some other motivation. He sold out the entire squad to the military of Corto Maltese, which is why they’re ambushed. Now, there’s actually some ambiguity here: Did he do this of his own volition, and was this a complete surprise, or is it, as it is heavily implied, all part of Waller’s plan and she let this happen as a diversion for the other team to get in unnoticed?

Honestly, though, it doesn’t matter what their goals are. They’re all dead within five minutes of the movie starting, with one exception.

Performance: So, the reason these guys are even worth talking about is because, despite their minuscule screentime, all of their actors manage to cram in enough humor and characterization that they’re all pretty fun and likable. Michael Rooker is as stony and stoic as ever as Savant (until he hilariously isn’t), Flula Borg’s Javelin is really sweet and charming in his interactions with Harley, and Pete Davidson’s Blackguard is just amazingly douchey and pathetic. Special mention goes to Nathan Fillion’s TDK, who has an utterly endearing and unwavering faith in his astoundingly crappy ability to… detach his arms. It’s honestly kind of beautiful. Then there’s Weasel as portrayed by Sean Gunn, who is just a hilarious crackhead of an animal man.

Final Fate: Literally every single one of them die horribly thanks to Blackguard’s betrayal. He’s the first to go, because as soon as he walks out saying “Hey guys, it’s me, the one who contacted you!” he literally has his face blasted clean off. The rest go soon after. Mongal, in one of the most astounding moments of idiocy I’ve ever seen, leaps on a helicopter despite Rick Flag telling her specifically not to. Her weight and strength send it careening out of control, which leads to it shredding Captain Boomerang to bits before exploding, burning her alive as she painfully screams and writhes in agony. TDK gets his arms shot into Swiss cheese, leading to him bleeding out since even detached they still are part of him. Javelin is also shot, but gets a dying moment with Harley where he passes her Checkov’s Javelin. Finally, after witnessing all of this carnage, Savant completely loses his shit and tries to swim away, leading to Waller blowing his head up.

You may be wondering what happened to Weasel. He appears to drown as soon as the Squad deploys, because despite being actually smart in this movie, Waller forgot to make sure everyone on the Squad could swim. Thankfully, this lovable child-murdering crackhead rodent was just sleeping, and wakes up in the first credit scene.

Best Scene: Obviously, it’s their one and only scene. It’s a magnificent slaughter that puts the X-Force scene from Deadpool 2 to shame.

Final Thoughts & Score: I’ve gotta hand it to James Gunn. Even though these losers are only onscreen for a few minutes, they all get to cram a lot of charm and personality into that time, to the point it’s actually kind of sad seeing them all die. It’s a beautiful mix of comedy and tragedy. Since their screentime is so limited, though, I’m mostly going to be grading them on style, performance, and so on rather than on villainy like normal. They are all bad guys, as they don’t really get a chance to redeem themselves like the other Squad, so I’m still counting them as villains, which means they could potentially score above an 8 (which is the highest score I’m willing to give heel-face turn villains, because they end up being better as characters in general than as villains).

I’m also not going to talk about Boomerang (I’ll talk about him when I review the original Squad) or Harley (because she not only lives, but deserves her own solo Psycho Analysis). Now here we go, from best to worst:

TDK

If you thought anyone but TDK would get top marks, you’re sadly mistaken. Seeing Nathan Fillion proudly wield the insanely lame power to detach his arms to lightly tap soldiers on the head and gently grab their guns is a sight I never knew I needed to see until this movie. The fact he just seems so darn proud about this power that he doesn’t even bother to use in any way that would be remotely useful is honestly really endearing. Frankly, the sheer fact they adapted Arms-Fall-Off Boy in any way is enough for me to give him a 10/10.

Weasel

Weasel is just disgustingly delightful. He’s just a horrible, nasty, ugly little bastard… But he’s kind of adorable? He clearly has no idea where he is at any given time and is just so goddamn freaky that I can’t help but love him. The fact that, despite being a character who in the comics is noteworthy only for dying on his first mission with the Squad, he manages to survive the entire movie is pretty impressive. Hopefully he comes back in the future, but either way he gets an 8/10 from me.

Javelin

Honestly, aside from Boomerang, his death stung the most. He’s just so cute and charming, and he doesn’t even get to fling his javelin at anyone! Thankfully, he passes it on to Harley, and boy does she ever get to use it! He’s so cute, I have to give him an 8/10. I just wish we got more of him.

Savant

Savant is just an absolutely hilarious bait-and-switch. We follow him through the prologue, with everything seeming to point to him as our main character and the Squad leader. He’s stoic, he’s cranky, and he has impeccable aim… and then we get to the beach and he just freaks the hell out and starts screaming and crying and running away like a little bitch. Seeing Michael Rooker act like he’s shitting his pants after playing a badass like Yondu is just the sort of hilarious subversiveness that James Gunn loves to do when you let him loose. The fact that he looks like, to paraphrase the TVTropes YMMV page for the movie, a “cyberpunk Tommy Wiseau” is the icing on this 7/10 cake.

Blackguard

I was prepared to hate this guy just based on how lame Pete Davidson’s costume was, and you know what? I do hate him. But I love to hate him. He’s just an utterly pathetic scoundrel and a coward, true to his name. The fact he is the first to die, as just about everyone predicted, and is killed absolutely gruesomely makes any annoyance he could provide moot, and his freeakout over being seated next to Weasel on the plane is actually kind of funny. I was originally going to give him a 6, but you know what? He can have a low 7/10. He’s like the only member of this particular Squad to actually do anything evil, so I gotta give him props for that.

Mongal

Let me make this perfectly clear: I do not blame James Gunn or actress Mayling Ng. I’m not actually mad at either of them for what they chose to do, because it is ultimately hilarious and sad. It suited the narrative of the film, and I’m not actually, genuinely mad.

With all that out of the way, Mongal is one hell of a stupid cunt. It is one thing to cause your own death with your stupidity, it is something else entirely to cause the death of a beloved character with your poorly planned attack. The fact she didn’t take into account how her weight and strength would effect an airborne helicopter makes one wonder if she is really supposed to be based on a character who can take on Superman and live to tell about it.

Let’s compare her to two similar characters to really show how bad she is. Like Blackguard, she is directly responsible for a death on the beach, Blackguard being responsible for everyone by selling them out and leading them into an ambush (and yes, I’m including him as well), and Mongal killing Boomerang with the chopper. The difference is, Blackguard’s betrayal was deliberate, he meant to sell the team out, he was actively doing something evil there, while Mongal killed Boomerang out of sheer idiocy.

Now, let’s compare her to Zeitgeist from the similar bloody massacre that occurred during X-Force’s deployment in Deadpool 2. Like Mongal, he accidentally kills a teammate. The difference is, in the case of Zeitgeist, he only accidentally melted Peter, it was a freak accident, and ultimately it does get undone by the end. Meanwhile, Mongal made a conscious, stupid decision and ended up killing her squadmate with her own idiocy. She sucks, hardcore. I don’t do this lightly, but I’m giving her a 1/10. Villains just don’t get much stupider than her.

I will giver her this, though: the makeup work on her is good. She’s lowkey kinda hot if I’m being honest. But being hot and having good makeup does not a good villain make.

[matsbarzal]

for the august prompt list!!! random au 11. prince/princess with andrei svechnikov? :)

au 11. prince/princess

pairing: andrei svechnikov x fem!reader word count: 1.5k warning: alternative universe, mentions of arranged marriage, potentially only part 1 of a series

Andrei knew what was expected of him as the second son, and the younger brother of the Crown Prince. He’s known his entire life what was expected of him, the path he was meant to take, the choices he was meant to make. He was a diligent son, and he loved his brother and his parents, he knew he would do anything to guarantee the success and prosperity of his home.

As the sister to the Crown Prince of your Kingdom, you knew it was inevitable you would one day have to do your duty to guarantee the prosperity and reign of your country. It was something you had been dreading for so long, dreading the inevitable unhappiness that would one day come to guarantee the safety of your country.

“It’ll all be worth it in the end; do you know how many families you’re saving from being ripped apart? How many young men you’re saving from the hardships of a never-ending war?”

It was the sentence you had heard from everyone, everyone telling you that the arrangement was for the best. Not only did it guarantee the end to a decade-long war, but it also instilled that you would do anything to guarantee the success of your Kingdom and its people.

“I’ve heard he’s a real catch, ya know? Heard he’s one of the most sought out bachelor’s in Barnaul. And I’ve heard he’s very handsome, even better looking than the Crown Prince.”

Groaning as you looked at the girl, a cheeky grin flying your way. Lyra had been the one and only lady-in-waiting you had accepted to come on the journey to Barnaul, a tight-knit friendship forming over the years.

“Ly, I don’t care if he’s the most handsome bachelor there is. Do you know how dehumanizing it is having to marry so your younger brother doesn’t have to deal with a war basically caused by a cockfight between my father and my future husbands’ father? It’s pathetic.”

Shrugging her shoulders with a sympathetic smile, the girl smiled tightly in your direction. “Maybe you’ll end up liking him, just because the situation itself isn’t the best, doesn’t mean he’s awful.”

The trip to Barnaul wasn’t a long one, the time flying by and before you knew it, your father and his guards were walking into the throne as you and your mother trailed in behind him, guards flanking both of your sides.

“Ah, King Igor! It has been far too long, my friend.”

You tried to hide the grimace that started to cross your face when you observed your father and your future husband’s father embrace. It was a tense hug, years of animosity floating through the room, everyone on edge as they waited for what was to come.

“Y/N! Come here please, darling,” obliging, the guard’s allowed you to pass by them so you could stand next to your father.

A curtesy was directed towards King Igor, a pleasant smile overtaking your lips as you observed the man in front of you. His accent was strong as he addressed you, the kindness in his eyes the only reassuring measure of his persona.

“Even more beautiful than your father said, you and my son will make a beautiful pair,” gesturing with his hand behind him, you followed his gesture to meet the eyes of a tall man. His hair was gelled back, a maroon suit covering his skin as he made his way forward. It was easy to tell that this was Andrei, your intended, the man you were meant to marry to unite your kingdoms.

At least Lyra was right about one thing… he was incredibly good-looking.

Bowing towards you, a curtesy was met in return before he grabbed your hand to place a gentle kiss on the back of your knuckles. A warmth instantly shot up your neck, your body tingling at the feeling of his lips pressed against your skin.

“Princess Y/N, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Welcome to Barnaul.”

His voice was smooth, but deep and heavily accented. He had a kind and happy exterior, his smile bright and his eyes welcoming.

“The pleasure is mine, Prince Andrei. I’ve seen only a small amount of it, but your home looks incredibly beautiful. I look forward to seeing more of it.”

Your response was met well, a proud smile adorning King Igor’s and your father’s faces, Andrei smiling slightly in your direction. You had forgotten that he too was being forced into a situation, unable to choose his future bride or the person he wanted to marry. He was just as much of a victim as you were, you couldn’t blame him for the actions of his parents, regardless of how much you itched to do so.

The days in between your arrival and your upcoming wedding passed smoothly, there was only minimal interaction between you and your fiancé, as you opted to remain with your parents for the short duration they had planned to stay in Barnaul.

The day of your wedding came quicker than you were expecting, observing yourself in the full-length mirror as the white silk was slowly wrapped around you. You couldn’t deny that you looked beautiful, the dress fitting to your body in all the right ways, the makeup adorning your cheeks a beautiful addition.

You didn’t hear the small tap on the door until Lyra hoisted it open, just to slam it shut immediately.

“You can’t be here! It’s bad luck!”

The knock against the door was heard again, Lyra pushing herself out of the room to confront the person on the other side, who you could only assume to be Andrei if it was bad luck that they were here. Who cared about luck when you were already marrying just to prevent your Kingdom’s from destroying each other more?

The door opened, but instead of Lyra, Andrei popped himself through, gently closing the wood behind him. No point in hiding yourself now.

“You know, it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” quirking an eyebrow at you, all the man did was shrug his shoulders as he grabbed one of the empty champagne flutes from the table.

“We’re getting married so our fathers don’t put each other in an early grave. I don’t think we had much luck to start with, darling fiancé.”

The attempt to hold in the snort that dropped from your lips failed, a grin taking over his face at your reaction. He had a nice smile, you could admit that, realistically you knew that if you had met him under any other circumstances, it probably could have turned out wonderfully, but it was hard to determine how an arranged marriage would come to be.

“I wanted to come and… talk to you before we had to vow our lives to each other. I know you’ve been spending time with your parents before they leave, and I’ve respected that and didn’t want to overstep. I just… I can’t force myself to marry someone I’ve had one conversation with in passing. I don’t want a loveless marriage, Y/N.”

Scoffing slightly at his words, you rested your arm against the couch as you sat down across from him. “Would you like me to be honest, or would you like the diplomatic response I’m sure you’re expecting?”

“I’d prefer the honesty, but if you’d rather the diplomacy than that’s your choice,” shrugging at your words, he pressed the edge of the champagne flute to his lips and sipped at the now-filled cup.

“I’m sure you’re not an unlovable person, you actually seem quite lovely. And maybe… to a certain degree, I have been avoiding you, but I’m not sure what’s expected of me here. I can’t force myself to love someone I barely know, I didn’t even have a choice in this marriage, but I sure as hell have a choice in my own feelings.”

Nodding in understanding, you watched Andrei’s hands shake as he placed the champagne flute back on the table in front of him before he stood up and made his way to the couch you were sitting on, gently occupying the seat beside you.

“I don’t expect you to love me yet, but I hope you’ll at least give me a chance. I promise there’s a little bit of substance behind my pretty face, not much, but some,” rolling your eyes with a small laugh at his words, you shrugged your shoulders slightly.

“I never planned on not giving you a chance, I just hope you don’t expect it to work-out overnight. Unfortunately, it took me two years to even like my younger brother. You’ve got a lot to live up to.”

A mock scoff dropped from his lips as Andrei smiled towards you again. “Good thing we have until death do us part, huh?”

note: ah anon i know you weren't technically asking for a series... but that may be what comes from this. even if it doesn't, i hope you like it!!! thank you for sending one in <3

[morizoras-cave]

Drink (Request)

Ryan Reynolds x teen!daughter!reader

Genre: angst, fluffy ending

Request Description: Could you maybe do a Ryan Reynolds x teen!reader where the reader maybe goes to a party and something gets slipped into her drink but she calls Ryan and says she doesn’t feel well and he gets her and looks after her? Only if this is okay for you to write and you feel comfortable doing it. I love you work so much🥺 Thank you!🤍

Warnings: attempted rape, drugging, language

(A/N): this is my first ryan reynolds post. v excited. reading this back, i realized that this could be taken as victim blaming. the beginning part where ryan is talking about how his daughter “shouldn’t wear that dress out” was more of a “awww look hes a protective and good dad”. i dont believe in victim blaming at all. (off topic here) also i wrote the last part of this drunk af. anyway i hope y’all still enjoy. now smell you later losers!! break begun!

“Y/n, you are not going to a party in that outfit!”

You glared at your dad, who was both shaking his head and wagging his finger in disapproval. 

“What’s so wrong with this dress?” you protested, crossing your arms. 

“The boys and the girls will be after you in seconds! I will not have some sweaty teen thinking something nasty about my daughter!” his voice was high (as always), as he squealed his argument. You rolled your eyes. 

Your mom walked into the room to grab something from the fridge, but stopped and looked at you. “Nice dress, N/n, you going to a party?” 

“Don’t encourage this!” Ryan hissed and you smiled scornfully. Blake’s laughter came throughout the room and she stopped beside you with her glass of milk in her hand. 

“Calm down, Ryan. She’s growing up!” 

“Nuh uh!” your dad looked away, still unsatisfied. You couldn’t help but giggle. 

“Y/n, just go to your party. I’ll deal with the grump lord,” your mom pushed you towards the entrance. Ryan’s face twisted into that of someone betrayed by his closest. 

“Woah, woah, woah! Grump lord? I have a code name? In my own house?” 

You skipped to the entrance room, sliding on your jacket and your shoes, smiling playfully. “Wait!” your dad yelled and footsteps nearing you, as he jogged to the entrance. You looked at him. 

“Just.. Call me if you’re in trouble. Anything at all,” he knew he was defeated. Although, you loved basking in the glory of victory, you couldn’t help but smile at your dad’s kind words.

“I will,” you promised.

The party was loud and booming. Every inch of the house was hot (in an uncomfortable way) and crowded, teenagers rubbing against each other and dancing. You found yourself with your friends in the living room, dancing to the sound of a Nicki Minaj song. 

“I’m gonna go get a drink!” you yelled over the music. Your friends, extremely intoxicated and doing ‘the stanky leg’, gave you a mindless thumbs up, and continued to dance. You giggle was drowned out in the music. 

You squeezed your way past different people, finally making it to the table with all the liquor. The boy who was hosting had miraculously bought enough for there to just be an all-you-can-drink table. 

The unnerving feeling of someone watching you became immediately clear. You looked around, finding the person fairly quickly. It was a boy, maybe a couple of years older than you, with a drunken gaze and tousled hair. He was smirking at you. You rolled your eyes and poured yourself a gin and tonic. 

The moment the drink was finished, someone poked your shoulder. You looked up. It wasn’t the same boy as before. This one was bigger and broader. He had the same knowing smirk on his face. You felt unnerved.

“Hey. Is this your friend over here? They look pretty smashed, you might want to check on them,” he pointed to somewhere behind him, taking all your attention from your drink to your idiot friends. You told them not to drink too much.

“Can you show me where they are?” you mumbled and the boy nodded, pulling you away from your drink. He led you to somewhere entirely different in the house, where a girl you’d never seen in your life was doubled over, puking on the poor host’s carpet. 

“I don’t know this girl,” you explained and the boy’s mouth made an ‘o’ shape. He sighed and then shrugged.

“Sorry, I thought I saw you talking earlier. Sorry to bother you,” then he walked off. You shook your head at the weird incident and walked back to you drink. You started gulping it down hungrily, deciding you were definitely too sober to be at this party.

 Almost immediately, you started feeling extremely drunk. Extremely. Which was weird, you thought, but it was hard to concentrate on it, when the environment was so loud and your thoughts were so blurry. 

Then, slowly, you realised that you didn’t usually feel like this when you were drunk. You tried to rationalise it. Maybe you just put too much gin in your drink? Maybe you had forgotten that you’d drunk something? Whatever the case, you started feeling weird. 

Everything was spinning. You wouldn’t have been able to find your friends if you wanted to. Then, in your chaotic state, your eyes passed someone else’s eyes, and you recognised them. It was the boy from earlier, the broad one, smirking at you. This time, his smirk felt alarming. Chilling. 

That moment was when the penny dropped. Your head snapped to the other boy, the one who’d just watched you. He gave you a grin. 

You were shaking, blinking away tears. You realised the position you were in. You were prey. And you were vulnerable. You took a few shaky steps, trying to make it seem like you hadn’t just realised you’d been roofied. 

When your back was turned to them, and you were stood behind a wall of dancing bodies, you pulled out your phone from your bag. You couldn’t tell if it was your vision, or if your hands were shaking, but everything was buzzing, unable to keep still. 

Your finger hovered over his number. What if you weren’t roofied? What if you were just drunk and silly? How embarrassing would that be? You felt tears prick your eyes. 

His voice echoed in your head. “Call me if you’re in trouble. Anything at all.”

You pressed down on his number, bringing the phone to your ear. You could hardly form a sentence. Everything was moving and it was so loud. 

“Hello?” Your dad’s voice was like cutting open this hellspace to some sort of heaven. It felt safe. You closed your eyes, a tear running down your face. 

“Hi, dad,” you had to yell, “can you- can you come pick me up?” 

There was a moment of silence from the phone, before he said: “Sure, why? You’re at Erik’s house, right?” 

“Yeah, Erik’s house. Let’s talk about this later!” then you hung up. It almost felt like your heart was shaking in your chest. It was too much, all of it. You could hardly walk, but you took a step towards the door, then several more. 

You feverishly grabbed the door handle, trying desperately to open the door, but you weren’t strong enough. It was a chilling realisation, that you weren’t even strong enough to open a door. 

“Do you need a help?” 

You jumped and shrieked, but it was drowned out by the music. No one noticed. You looked up and you had to stand there for a moment, before you realised that it wasn’t any of the boys you’d seen before. 

This boy looked concerned. You couldn’t even process how you must look, tear-streaked face, ruined makeup, shaking and helplessly grasping a door. You didn’t care. 

“Here,” he mumbled and opened the door for you. You whispered a ‘thank you’, and wobbled out on the street. You heard the boy leave, but you kept standing there, waiting uncomfortably for your dad to show up. 

Eventually, you saw his car pulling up in the distance. You breathed out in relief and dashed to his car, opening the door and sitting down beside you dad. He was looking at you, brows furrowed in concern. 

It was a scary thing. He was always afraid of seeing you like that. Seeing you scared and drunk and desperate. As you sat down his hand grasped yours. 

“Are you okay, Y/n? What happened?” 

You shook your head. You felt so unfocused. It was impossible to understand everything that was going on. You missed being sober. “My- My drink,” you mumbled senselessly, unable to speak normally. 

“What about your drink?” Ryan pressed, squeezing your hand. You were his child. He loved you. He was worried. Beyond belief.

“I-I think someone.. I think someone put something in it..” you mumbled, head swinging. You were far from the normal you. Everything was swinging right by you. 

“You think someone..?” Ryan trailed off. You saw his knuckles turn white as he grasped the steering wheel angrily. “Did they- Did they touch you?”

You shook your head. You saw your dad breathe out in relief, his hand never leaving yours. 

“Alright, I’ll just drive you home. It’ll be fine,” he mumbled (mostly to himself) as he started the car and drove away from the booming, partying house. “It’ll be just fine, N/n.”

He kept mumbling to himself, but you fell asleep in the car. Eventually everything was too much for you, so you just decided to close your eyes. It was a good decision. Sleep was so peaceful. 

Ryan drove you home, carrying you into their house and into your room. “What’s wrong with her?” Blake would yell, confused and scared, but Ryan would just focus on getting you to bed. 

“She was roofied. Someone put something in her fucking drink! She could’ve been- She could’ve been fucking raped!” he ranted to his wife, whilst you slept peacefully in the other room. 

Needless to say both your mom and your dad were much more overprotective after that, both with parties and with boys. But it was okay. You woke up safe and sound, and you were happy your dad had gotten you before something awful happened.

Honestly, you didn’t oppose their overprotectiveness, because after that night you felt like you needed it. No matter what way you twisted it, that night fucked you up. You weren’t as reckless or careless after that. And you got help from a professional, but still. It was an awfully traumatising experience. 

You were just happy your dad had been with you that night. And that he cared for you. Of course, he would. He was your dad. He loved you more than anything else in the world. You had no reason to worry, not when you had your dad by your side. 

___________________________

Tag List:

@hera-the-writer @marvel-madness @40srogcrs @whatthefuckimbisexual @snarky–starky @garbage-potato @lozzypoz321 @allthecreativeonesaretaken @missamericana713 @rororo06 @shady80smusicsingercolor @ireadfanficforfun @deephideoutmilkshake @rae-is-typing @sophs-library @herecomesthewriterwitch @alicedanganh @eviemarvel @idk123906

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Intrinsic: Jameson in Therapy

Prompt from Anon:  If you're still taking prompts... "Have you tried NOT doing that?"

CW: Noncon survivor discussing future consensual spice, Jameson’s masochism, frank references to noncon and pet whump, brief internal victim-blaming, world-building detail about WRU

Dr. Berger tucks a bit of graying hair behind one ear, smiling slightly at Jameson from her place in the soft armchair she uses during appointments. “Well,” She says, thoughtful, “have you tried not doing that?”

He looks up at her from where he sits curled up on the long sofa, knees to his chest, picking absently at loose threads across the knee of his baggy blue jeans. As always, she is careful not to let her eyes move to the places where hair is slowly growing back in over bald spots where the straps of a leather muzzle had rubbed, careful not to look at the scars he wears on every inch of exposed skin - she’d made the mistake of being caught looking, however briefly, and had discovered that the newest of her clients was deeply insecure about the visible evidence of his captivity.

She’d apologized, but it had taken time to develop enough trust to come back from her initial mistake. She would not jeopardize that now, after they’ve made so much progress and she’s begun to see a shift in how he talks about and relates to his new life, his world.

He even told her the name he chose for himself, and that he’s been telling the others in the house, one by one. Accepting that it won’t be taken from him like his original name was - that it belongs to him, and is his to share or not. 

She would never, ever admit it, but... Jameson is one of her favorite clients to work with. He’s working so hard, every week that they meet he trusts more and more that the path he’s on is one that will move him forward. 

“What?” 

His voice is slightly rough - someone who has screamed enough to have permanent vocal chord damage, she thinks. She makes a note to speak to Jake Stanton about having a physician check on the potential for nodes or other issues that might pop up later. She’s not a medical doctor, but… well. She’s had a lot of clients with vocal chord damage in the sixteen years she’s been working in the pet lib movement, and you start to pick up on the little signs and symptoms they don’t necessarily declare out loud.

“My question is really just me being a little facetious, I won’t lie, but I do want to talk through the spirit of the question. When you mention feeling guilty that you are having a physical response to your housemate, that you are attracted to them and have been struggling with... well. I’d like to really dig in to where that guilt comes from. Now, I am aware that adjustment houses tend to discourage relationships between household members during their time in residence to cut down on the chance for conflict, but that’s not where your guilt lies, is it?”

He goes back to picking at the hole slowly wearing through his jeans. Dr. Berger waits, giving him the silence and time he needs to think his way through the question and the possible answers. After a long time, he says softly, “No. It’s not. I don’t give a fuck if Stanton wants me to hold somebody’s stupid hand or not.”

She has to force her smile not to widen, wondering if Jameson is aware of just how like Jakob Stanton he really is. No wonder they don’t always get along. “Okay. So can you talk to me about just what you sense of guilt, this worry you feel, is rooted in?” 

She watches with some small surprise as the angry, defiant recovering Box Boy who has spoken frankly and openly to her about being maimed, injured, treated as an object, referred to as an animal... blushes.

“I want-... It’s not the, um, the response. That I hate.” He won’t look at her now, and he’s one who loves to stare her down whenever he thinks she’ll be shocked or disgusted by what he has to tell her. But this… this, he’s ashamed or embarrassed to say. “They’re fucking gorgeous, that’s... anybody would like them. It’s… it’s what I want from them that... scares me.”

“You are accustomed to a certain level of unwanted physical attention, it’s not at all uncommon in Romantic rescues to continue to feel sexual attraction and desire after freedom-”

“No. It’s. It’s not that I-... I know that’s normal. It’s… I want…” He shifts, uneasily. “I want… I want Allyn to hurt me.”

The last sentence is whispered. It’s not sharing a thought, it’s confessing what he feels is some kind of sin he is committing or intending to commit. Dr. Berger sometimes feels like a priest in a confessional booth, although she’s never been one to suggest atonement - no, fear of oneself is where the core of most of her clients’ pain lies, in her experience. Instead, she works on reconstructing the impulse or fear from its foundations, breaking apart the horror of its weight and reconfiguring it so it’s easier to understand. 

To take control of, to direct.

She helps them to own themselves, not to fear the prospect but to see in it freedom they have always deserved. 

Fear is the absolute last thing any of her clients should ever have to feel again. They have been taught to devalue and debase themselves, to fear what their bodies can be made to do. If she does nothing else, Dr. Berger hopes she is able to help them be just a little less afraid of the bodies they live in.

“You want your housemate to hurt you?” She asks, gently. “Do you mean in the sense of a serious injury, or…”

“No. Um. No, I fucking… I think about them, um. Hurting-... like… like they used to do. Biting me, or... or scratching... I th-think sometimes about Allyn h-holding a... never mind. Just. Hurting me. I’m-... made to be hurt.”

“You are made only to be yourself,” Dr. Berger reminds him, her voice low and without any hint of judgement. “We’ve talked about your captors before and how you were held. You believe that you were made into a masochist as part of your training, and so you’re frightened that your mind is thinking about your housemate in ways similar to how you were once forced to think about your captors.”

His nose wrinkles - he’s more dismissive than most of the language she uses, and early on delighted in insisting on using words like owner, handler, master. Things he thought might shock her. But Dr. Berger has heard nearly everything she thinks there might be to hear, by now. She only smiles slightly at his expression, jotting quickly down on her notepad a few notations. 

Finally, he offers hesitantly, “I-I guess. Allyn is… good. They’re soft, and nice, and they’d never-... but I want them to. And it’s-... it would make-... them be like Robert, or… wouldn’t it? It’d be… treating them like… I don’t ever want to be what I was again, so why the fuck can’t I stop thinking about it?” 

He is so rarely vulnerable. Dr. Berger doesn’t take for granted the gift he gives her by letting her see past the wall of anger and derision he has built to keep himself safe. In many ways, he reminds her of when she saw Jake Stanton after his own brush with WRU’s handlers and their methods. Bristling, defensive, and with wounds that cannot be bandaged. They instead need to be exposed to the light.

“Intrusive thoughts that contain elements of your captivity are absolutely normal. You are still in the early stages of making progress, and progress is never linear, Jameson. There is no starting line, no ribbon at the end of the race. There is only moving forward, bit by bit, even if sometimes we move back.”

“You mean I move back,” He says, sullen now. “You don’t do shit. You’re already fine.”

“Mmmn, that’s not… quite accurate. I actually see someone myself, you know.” Dr. Berger smiles at his obvious, visible surprise. “My mentor once told me he never trusted a provider of therapy who did not themselves seek it out. I have my own progress to work towards, just as you have yours.”

“Problems are probably real fucking different, though.”

“Well, that’s true.” She allows herself a warm laugh - and is rewarded when he doesn’t bristle or assume mockery like he used to, but relaxes and even gives her a very small smile in return. “But I would advise you not to compare yourself to others. Your situation, while not unique in some ways, is still unique to you. You’ve been through a kind of horror that no one else has - even if others have experienced some similarities, the traumatic events they experienced will never be entirely like yours.”

He nods.

“But-” She holds up one finger “That doesn’t mean we can’t use what we know as a framework, a foundation you can build your own way on. Think of an ancient Roman road paved into a highway in modern Italy, for instance. The foundation was there, a path laid by people who came through before. But you can take what you need and use it to find your own way. I know that you’re scared of your thoughts, I know that you are frightened of wanting to find gratification or satisfaction in pain because you think it means a return to how you were treated before, or that you are inherently changed in damaging ways by your captivity, but…”

When she trails off, he leans slightly forward “But?”

She chooses her words carefully. “Jameson, would you be willing to consider something that may make you a little uncomfortable?”

He looks at her, depths of feelings in his brown eyes, and slowly nods. “Why not? I’m already fucking uncomfortable. All the time.”

His thin shoulders under the oversized band shirt he wears make angles under the fabric as he shrugs, although in the time she’s been seeing them those sharp edges have already begun to round out, the lines of his jaw and cheekbones are softening.

She’s seen it over and over again, the physical changes reflecting the rebuilding of an entire life. It never ceases to amaze her, how hard each and every one of them works. 

“Okay. This may be hard to hear at first but I think it will help you.”

Eventually he nods. “Yeah,” He half-rasps. “Yeah, okay. Just say it. Everything… everything else you’ve said has helped. Go ahead.”

“Okay. So, what I would like you to consider… perhaps what you see as an enforced flaw, a crack that was put into you, a danger you present to your housemate due to your conditioning and mistreatment… it might be in fact an intrinsic part of your sexual expression, and simply an aspect of your attraction to them, and the wish you stated to me to perhaps escalate your current relationship.”

He swallows. The color drains from his face, except for two spots of bright red high along his cheekbones. “What?” His lips barely move. 

“Jameson…” Her tone dips, reassuring and soothing. “I know what you were told. I know you were likely given a series of half-truths and whole lies designed to engender dependence and teach you to loathe yourself and therefore disconnect from your body. But… that body? It’s very real, and it’s entirely yours. I think that we need to look into the possibility that you already had certain tendencies that were exploited and twisted. Those tendencies are not inherently unhealthy or damaging if you learn to pursue them in a safe environment.”

He blinks, once, twice, his eyes glittering. 

She’s made a misstep and she knows it immediately, clear as the tears Jameson never allows to fall. She didn’t time it quite right. They should have spent more time working up to it…

“Are you saying I’m just-... like this?”

“Not the way you are suggesting,” Dr. Berger says softly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t express myself clearly enough. Please let me elaborate a little.”

“I fucking hope you d-didn’t mean that I’m-... that I’m just fucked up,” He says, looking away from her, down at the floor. She pretends she doesn’t see one hand go up to curve around the side of his neck, recreating some of the weight of the collar they are so often taught to rely on for a sense of safety.

“I absolutely did not mean that. One thing WRU excels at - one of the reasons they have been so successful - is that they utilize very effective techniques that encourage a sense of complicity and responsibility in the people they abuse and violate. I’m going to hazard a guess that you were told that you chose what happened to you.”

“I signed up for this,” Jameson whispers automatically, rote and robotic, without hesitation. At least, Dr. Berger thinks, she’s been doing this job long enough that hearing that no longer gets to her like it used to. “I wanted to be some rich asshole’s-”

“Yes. That. One way I think they are able to convince so many individuals so thoroughly isn’t only because of the standard methods of sleep and nutritional deprivation, the repetition, memorizing, the mistreatment… no, I think one thing WRU does is find in each of its victims a core truth they can exploit and cause you to fear in yourself, making you more vulnerable to the idea that this company is somehow saving or helping you by ‘making use’ of it. They find your weak point and use it to shatter you, but what WRU never realizes is that the very weakness they exploit is also often the same piece of you we can recover, that we can reclaim. In your case… Jameson, have you ever heard of consensual masochism?”

He’s hooked, she thinks, on this line of logic. On the lifeline she’s thrown him, something to grab onto. A way to begin to believe, in some small way, that he isn’t ruined. They all think they’ve been ruined, by the time she meets them.

None of them is.

“No, I-I haven’t. Does this mean… there are people like me who aren’t, you know, fucktoys-”

“Recovering Romantics,” She corrects, gently. “And yes. Masochism is a not-uncommon mode of expression that many people engage in consensually in the context of healthy sexual expression.”

He swallows, hard. She watches his throat move. Sees the look in his eyes, the minute changes in his expression. The hand pushing against the side of his neck slowly drops. She can see the gears turning within him, a shifting point of view maybe. She can see what he doesn’t want to speak out loud.

There’s another silence. This one is more comfortable, and as always she gives him all the time he needs. 

“How-” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat, blinking rapidly again. His knees slowly uncurl and his feet, clad in old hand-me-down sneakers, find their way to flat on the floor. Without his ever-present scowl, he looks years younger. Terrified.

Hopeful.

“How can I-... how do I-...” He takes a deep breath. “If it’s just… part of me… how do I make it safe?”

-

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @moose-teeth @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @vickytokio @whumpfigure @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump

[lvnatiq]

Modern!au Felix Escellun x tattoo artist!gn!reader | Headcanons

a/n: Hey!!! I’m back at it again with my beautifully fucked up request fill. I’m still working on three other things, while I make you wait I took it upon myself to not starve this fandom. So here you have it. Please reblog or comment so that I have a crumb of motivation to keep up.

Should I do a smutty pt. 2 ? Who knows lmao.

Your hand slipped through the pile of designs that your colleague (and your close friend) had sent you to choose and pick apart from.

Unfortunately you were spending the night at the beautiful library of your uni, trying to balance off your school work with your actual work.

You didn’t mind spending your time under the faint scent of books and the mere sound of wood beneath you feet, but what you ‘do’ mind is the fact that the library is way colder than you thought it would be after the midnight.

Good thing that the yearning for finishing your work and leaving as soon as possible made it easier to concentrate on the task at hand.

It also made it easier for you to not notice the presence of an unexpected company.

That was until you felt the warm floral yet musky scent invade your senses as you felt the weight of cotton drape around your shoulders.

You slowly turn your head towards the owner of the coat who’s already making their way out. Desperately trying to find a way to make them stop but failing to raise your voice because of the circumstances.

The last picture of the person buried in your head was their hair caressed by the wind and their quick steps.

Fast forward to a week later, going completely out of luck with finding a place to stay you decide to ask help from your friend whom interestingly has a lot to offer.

With things going a lot smoother than you expected you stopped by the tattoo shop to finish your appointments with couple of customers before you left to meet up with your possible candidate.

“Don’t bother I’ll just call him here so you could talk comfortably.”

Your work seemed to take a lot longer than usual. So you kindly accepted your friends offer as you wrapped up the leftover stuff, finishing up the last customer.

“Hey, oh-“

The sight of your guest tickled your memories as you kept glaring at the glorious figure in front of you.

Felix, completely avoiding eye contact, placed the fallen hair strand behind his ear as he kept his eyes on the table of the tattoo equipments.

You quickly got up as you grabbed his coat from the hanger and walked back where you left him.

“Thank you for the coat, you really saved me back there.”

“Oh- no problem.”

That day you two chatted and melted the ice in between. Deciding to rent the close by apartment and start your roommate era.

Your friend smiled to themselves knowing all too well that felix was completely crazy about you.

Your encounter at the library wasn’t a coincidence either, well don’t think of him as a stalker now, he just dumped a couple of coins in the fountain wishing that you would be there that night. That’s all.

As you two moved in together you realized that there were a lot of things to be ‘caught off guard’ about him but you were most baffled by the tremendous amount of books felix owned.

“Hey Lover boy ! Would you mind recommending me some of them ?”

Felix blushes terribly and you love it so much that you constantly bother him in order to catch a glimpse of his flustered state.

Unbeknownst to you, the pile that felix left on the doorstep of your room was consisted of the books that he thought of you as he read.

Felix, abandoning his night owl habit, decided to fix his sleeping schedule for the better. Definitely not because he wanted to see you at morning before you got off to the work.

Insisting on offering you a ride on your way back home with his nice car.

Nearly every single day.

He knows that it may annoy you but he knows how much you are devoted to your responsibilities so he at least wants for you to save a bit of energy before you dive into the work.

Speaking of his nice car, it tickled your curiosity so you decided to check the price tag on the web and... well...

“Felix... you don’t so some sketchy illegal shit for a living right ?”

“It’s nearly impossible for me to work at the moment because of my studies. Why did you ask ?”

“Your car costs more than the apartment we are living in right now.”

With that, you discover that Felix’s father owns one of the most prominent chains of pharmaceutical companies and that he basically flee from his fathers mansion because he was pressuring Felix to take over his position in the future.

Being his puppet was not a thing to be tolerated in Felix’s book.

That being said, your domestic life with felix was pretty soft to say the least.

Cleaning together, cooking while talking about how your day went or getting to enjoy his expressions while he spilled his frustration against authors that didn’t affect him well.

Occasionally noticing the new cooking books appearing out of nowhere

and the delicious smell of food welcoming you after work, quite often than you expect.

Finally, more skinship.

One day whilst you two got through the gates of your apartment block you noticed the open doors of the elevator so instinctively you held Felix by the hand and ran into the mirrored box.

What you didn’t notice was the fact that you didn’t let go of his hand as you two went up.

From that day on Felix used every single opportunity to sneak his hand into yours.

Don’t blame him, it’s just that your hands are warm and the feeling of security that radiates from your fingertips is his medicine.

You absolutely avoided to tease or point it out to him because you knew that he would never do it again so you went with the flow.

You really enjoyed it though.

Snaking your arms around his waist while he is organizing the bookshelf. Feeling him shutter into your arms.

Nights became more and more enjoyable once he started to accompany you.

Everytime you caught him slacking on the sofa, you used his lap as a pillow.

Felix is extremely easy to figure out, mainly because he can’t hide anything.

Also, well

He is ticklish and you use his weakness against him, a lot.

Diving your fingers down to the sides of his tummy you started to tickle every possible sensitive spot you could catch on.

“Spit it out.”

“I-I wan’t you to- give me my first tattoo.”

Telling his words apart from his adorable giggles, needless to say you were ecstatic.

“Alright. What do I get in return ?”

“Name your price.”

You thoughtfully stared at the ceiling, humming as you blurted out your very obviously well thought out response.

“I want you to show me what keeps you up all night.”

You can’t be serious.

If you asked for an organ, he would’ve been more compliant.

You didn’t know what you got yourself into.

You basically asked for him to show you his ‘masterpieces’ that he showcases on AO3. Something that you were already well aware of.

“Deal ?”

“No !”

“Good ! Let’s see what you got.”

Felix anonymously contributed to the community by writing some of the most famous slow-burn stories on the web.

Just so you know, his author persona blew up thanks to the mind blowing, earth shattering smuts he wrote.

Yeah you heard that right

Smuts

Well he is fucking panicking now.

Nonetheless days kept on going as felix prayed each night to every single deity that you forgot your ‘deal’.

The days go on even if his worries don’t.

Did I say that Felix is a whimpering, whiny mess ? he struggles to stay in one position as the needle drags upon his skin.

“If you plan to keep on moving, I might as well strap you down felix. 5 more minutes and then we are done. Please behave.”

When you put it like that how can he refuse I mean you made things worse he is internally screaming at what you just said but he is not going to refuse a command when it’s given by you.

In exchange for giving him a tattoo you decide to let him give you one even though he’s inexperienced.

He’s terrified because he thinks that something would go wrong, his hand would slip or something and he would scratch that pretty skin of yours with a horrendous tattoo.

But you assured him nevertheless and offered him to draw something very minimal and easy. He accepted eventually.

As it turns out Felix is a natural. His hand is extremely steady and the tattoo turns out great.

Throughout the process he’s constantly asking if you’re hurt because he thinks that he’s doing something wrong but in fact he’s very delicate and gentle with the strokes and his touch.

You decide to be evil and use it against him. After you touch up your tattoo you lean in very closely and turn your cheek towards him.

“What are you doing ?” He stutters.

“I can’t possibly ask you to kiss my freshly made tattoo, so won’t you give me a kiss so that it heals faster.”

If his hands were steady before they weren’t now.

As soon as his lips left your cheek you held him by his wrist and pull him back close again so that you can lean in onto his ear.

“Don’t think that I’ve forgotten our deal. I am excited to see what you have in store for me tonight.” You winked.

Then the worst thing happened

The “tonight” came.

Felix was running in circles around the living room with one hand on his forehead wondering what could get worse after this.

Maybe you’ll be disgusted or scared hell if he knows.

He wanted to do nothing to harm your relationship in anyway because you and what you two have is all he ever wanted.

...and he believes that he has a tendency to ruin things.

But what happened was beyond his expectations.

Your eyes followed every single sentence throughout the screen, the white light traced your expressions as your eyebrows raised up and down and the corners of your lips inched closer to your ears. Your lower lip became a victim of your teeth’s assault.

He was so confused. Still waiting for you to lash out or make fun of him, at least.

“I used to think ‘what am I gonna do with you’ when it comes to you. Mostly out of frustration.”

Yet here you were with the laptop closed shut and your arms behind your head as you closed your eyes and groaned.

Slowly the smile plastered on your face grew.

”Now I know what to with you.”

[marshmallow-phd]

Book of the Dead

Genre: The Mummy AU

Pairing: Junmyeon x Reader

Summary: After traveling to the fabled city of Hamunaptra, you read from the Book of the Dead and accidentally resurrect an ancient mummy with extraordinary powers and quest for revenge. The only thing to do now is try and convince your less-than-traditional guide to help you save the world. 

Part 1 I Part 2

**

“I just said a few sentences!”

“What did you do that for!”

“Well, I didn’t know that that would happen!”

You stared at the aggravating, self-absorbed, cocky Korean soldier and wondered why on earth you had decided to negotiate for this man’s life. 

Alright, you did know why. You needed him to show you to Hamunuptra - the fabled City of the Dead. 

Too many times you had stood in front of the museum curator with pages and pages of references and evidence that the place existed and just needed a small team of archeologists in order to track it down. He’d shot you down every time. And each time he took the liberty of reminding you that while your father was an exceptional explorer who had many successes under his belt, you were a woman whose life had been spent between the shelves, cataloging. Your adventures consisted of the fictional kind, devouring any novel you could when you weren’t archiving the latest crate of artifacts and texts. 

Then your cousin showed up. Your normally useless, hare-brained, erratic, drunkard cousin showed up at your apartment with a “fun new artifact” he found on his latest trip. And suddenly your luck had completely turned around. 

Or so you thought. 

Now you were standing in the middle of Hamunaptra, feet sinking into the unstable sand, with an empty sarcophagus and everyone blaming you because you did what you did best - read.

It was only a book. Albeit, a very heavy, possibly-made-of-painted-solid-gold book that was written in the dead language of ancient Egypt, but still. What harm had ever come from reading a book?

Kim Junmyeon stared at you as if you were the one who had risen from the dead. You were still stunned at how different he looked from when you had first met him in that smelly prison, minutes away from being hanged. His hair had been long and stringy, clumps of dirt clinging to the dark brown strands that brushed his shoulders. Now it was shorter, cut above his ears and gelled back in the current style that almost made him look like a gentleman. The several days’ stubble was long gone to reveal smooth skin and a sharp jawline. He was actually very handsome - when he was cleaned up. 

Stupid, you hissed at yourself. Now was not the time for this. Because right now there seemed to be a reanimated mummy running around here. And by the looks of Barney’s husk of a body lying deep within the temple underground, it was hungry. 

As it should be, given the three thousand years it spent locked up under piles of sand. 

“Really, you should have been more careful!” your cousin, Baekhyun, scolded. 

You scoffed. “You’re one to talk. You were the one who snatched the key off of Mr. Kim here at one of your seedy bars and then proceeded to lie to me and say that you found it on a dig in Thebes which in turn brought us here!”

Baekhyun opened and closed his mouth as he searched for a possible retort. 

“I think this is more your fault,” Kim Junmyeon’s own cousin and traveling partner, Oh Sehun, said. “You told us to go down a level and dig under the statue, which in turn,” he mocked your tone almost precisely, “caused the mummy to be able to get out of his sarcophagus. If we had dug somewhere else entirely, then he’d still be trapped under the statue of Anubis.”

“Despite the fact that it was two layers deep, nothing would have been able to hold a victim of the Hom-Dai.”

“Would have given poor Barney a chance,” Kim Junmyeon muttered under his breath. You shot him a glare that he hardly noticed. 

“I say that we get out of here and to the safety of the city before the mummy finds us.” Oh Sehun swallowed thickly. “Or worse. The beetles find us.” The supposedly brave soldier who had two pistols hanging under each arm was more terrified of the flesh eating bugs than he was the living mummy that was bringing about the ten plagues of Egypt. You’d already lived through the locust infestation, but that was always the most minor of the plagues. In your opinion. 

“We told you to leave,” Ardeth said in that low, monotone voice that made him seem centuries old. You had only known him for a few hours, but you already feared and respected him. Despite the fact that he had attacked your campsite the night before. “Now you have condemned the whole world to the very monster that we have spent three thousand years keeping hidden.”

Kim Junmyeon finally tore his face away from yours. “I told you. I shot him. He went down.”

“Mortal weapons are useless against this creature. None can kill him.” Stepping up, he stood toe to toe with the soldier who led you here. “A gun is nothing more than a fly to him. He will never eat. He will never sleep. And he will never stop. Not until this world is only sand.”

Though still not completely backing down, Kim Junmyeon took hold of your arm. “Come on. We’re going back to Cairo.”

**

The camel ride back to the city was long, tiring, and a bit painful, if you were honest. The inside of your thighs were sore from keeping you up right on the animal’s back for hours on end under the blazing heat. You were used to the comfortable back seat of a car, even if the roads here tended to be on the bumpier side. Kim Junmyeon stayed at your side the entire time, up until you were back in your hotel room. All your things were still in there. That was nice, even if it was to be expected. The desk clerk had sworn he would keep the room reserved for you until you made it back. And now that you had, you were on to the next fight. 

“We’re not going anywhere!” 

Kim Junmyeon pretended not to hear you as he started emptying the dresser drawers of your clothes and stuffing them in your suitcases lying open on the bed.

“Excuse me! I said we’re not going anywhere!” As soon as he stepped away again, you slammed the suitcase shut. A stray white cat that you didn’t have the heart to remove from your room took advantage of the newly available space and laid down on the surface of the luggage. Unbothered by the argument taking place in its presences, it purred as it curled into a ball and closed its eyes. 

“You keep using the word ‘we’ and I’m not sure why,” he said. “I believe you were the one who woke him up in the first place.”

“Yes, I get it!” you shouted. “Everyone can blame me because I read the damn book, but that is why we need to stop him.”

He closed the empty drawer and turned back around to face you. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that? You heard Ardeth. No mortal weapon can kill this guy.”

“That’s why we’re going to find some immortal ones.”

He pulled a pair of rounded glasses from his pocket, wiped the lenses with his shirt, and stuck them on the bridge of his nose. “There goes that ‘we’ business again.”

You huffed, trying not to focus on the newest version of the soldier now being presented in front of you. “Yes, we. Because this curse will continue to get worse until the whole world is destroyed.”

“And that’s my problem?”

“It is everybody’s problem! You live here, too!”

Kim Junmyeon stepped up until he was mere inches away. “Listen. I appreciate you saving my life and all, but when I agreed to this idiotic mission my objective was to show you the way and then bring you back here. I have done that. End of job. End of story. Contract terminated.”

You tried not to show how his last few words affected you. Though you had been a little intoxicated two nights ago, you still very much remembered how sweet he had been, how he had listened to you go on and on about your parents and how much you wanted to be a famous adventurer like your father. And how you almost kissed him. And how he was going to kiss you back. Stupidly, you had thought that there was something growing between you. Apparently, you had been wrong. 

“Is that all I am to you?” you whispered. “A contract?”

Kim Junmyeon blew out haughtily from his nose. His Adam’s Apple bobbed as he swallowed. He opened his mouth and then closed it. You waited in hopes that he would contradict you. That he would say, no that was not all you were to him. And it really seemed like he would be saying something along those lines. But other words came out instead. 

“Look. You can either come with me or you can try and stay here and save the world. So. What’s it going to be?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “I’m staying.”

“Fine.” He headed for the door. 

“Fine,” you bit back, following him. 

“Fine,” he threw at you again as he barely glanced over his shoulder.

“Fine!”

“Fine!” 

He got the last word in before slamming the door to your room shut. 

You huffed as you crossed your arms. Yet, as angry as you were, you still hoped that he would come back. That he wouldn’t let you take this on alone. But the footsteps on the other faded away and you were alone.

Looking around your room, you didn’t think there was much you could do. So, you did what you were best at. You grabbed all the books you thought could help you and got to reading. 

While sitting in the wicker chair in the corner, you skipped around the books and pages, clinging on to any small word that you thought could lead you to a possible solution. There wasn’t much to be found, unfortunately. Most works spoke of how to perform the Hom-Dai and how it should never be performed due to the curse that awaits should the victim ever be awakened. You already knew that. You needed specifics on what to do after the victim came back. 

“(Y/n)!”

Kim Junmyeon came bursting back into your room. You slammed the book in your hands closed, feeling very high and mighty indeed.

“Ah. Mr. Kim. Have you changed your mind?”

“Doesn’t matter now, he’s here!”

“What!”

He didn’t clarify as he hoisted you up out of the chair and pulled you out of the room, and into the hall. Through the windows, you watched in horror as fire fell from the heavens. The balls of flame engulfed anything it touched when it landed, whether it be plant or human life. Turning a corner, Kim Junmyeon ran into a room you knew was occupied by another one of the Americans that you had ran into on your way to Hamunaptra. You gasped. 

In the chair, now nothing more than dried, husky skin and hollow bones was… oh, dear you couldn’t remember his name. You hadn’t bothered to learn them. You and Baekhyun had simply referred to them as the “Bloody Americans”. You were feeling a bit awful about that at the moment. 

But you didn’t have much time to dwell on that. Standing in front of the fireplace was a new version of the mummy. His skin was starting to come together, though patches were still missing, allowing you to see the gray bone and lack of organs underneath. Kim Junmyeon pulled out both of his guns as the mummy stalked forward. 

“We are in deep trouble,” he murmured before opening fire. The loud pops banged on your poor eardrums. You stumbled back a few steps to try and soften their blows. It didn’t work. 

The bullets passed through the mummy as if they didn’t exist at all. Even when Oh Sehun and the other Americans came running into the room and firing off their own guns, the mummy still kept going. He shoved Kim Junmyeon back into the others as if he were nothing more than old wrappings. Then he turned on you. 

Completely unarmed, you stumbled back until you were betrayed by the bookshelf behind you. There was nowhere to run. Instead of sucking out your liver, however, he spoke. 

“You were the one who saved me from the afterlife.” His words were haunting, echoing as if he was speaking in a cavern. And the language he spoke… ancient Egyptian. You weren’t sure why you expected to speak anything else. Coming in closer, he lowered his voice. “I thank you.” 

He leaned in his head, those very human eyes lowering to your lips. You turned your head away to try and avoid the kiss, confused as to why he was trying to seduce you. 

Sharp, unpleasing notes from the piano pierced through the air. The mummy turned and gasped when he saw the white cat from your room walking across the keys. In a whirl of sand, he fled from the room. 

“Oh, thank god,” you said with a heavy breath.

“No kidding,” Kim Junmyeon groaned as he sat up. 

You ran to his side, fearful that he might have been injured. “Are you alright, Mr. Kim?”

“Yes,” he huffed. With a very odd expression, he added, “And I told you to call me Junmyeon.”

To be honest, after your fight, you didn’t think you would be allowed to anymore. A strange silence settled between you. He was trying to say something with his gaze, but you couldn’t interpret it. So, instead, you helped him to his feet. “Come on. I know who we need to talk to about all of this.”

It took a while to get back to the museum that had employed you for the past year or so. Every street was full of panicking people. Flames no longer fell from the heavens, but little fires still raged on homes and carts. The Americans had declared that they were coming along, so your group was slower in moving. Although you didn’t really want the mummy bait to be anywhere near you, Junmyeon and Sehun decided that it would be better to keep an eye on them and - hopefully - keep them out of the mummy’s grasp. 

“Dr. Bey!” You ran into the museum’s main storage room, happy when you saw the curator. But then you skidded to a stop at the sight that he wasn’t alone. 

Ardeth was talking with him in hushed tones that stopped the second you appeared. Both men turned towards you, the curator wearing a very readable expression. It was one that stunk of “I told you so”. The others were only a few steps behind. As soon they, too, saw the unexpected visitor, Junmyeon, Sehun, and the Americans pulled out their guns while Baekhyun simply squeaked in surprise. 

“Gentlemen,” Dr. Bey greeted as if this were any old meeting on a Tuesday. 

“What is he doing here?” Junmyeon demanded. Even with the black tattoos etched under Ardeth’s eyes, you could tell that he was tired, dark circles from lack of sleep bruising his skin. 

Dr. Bey raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you want to know? Or perhaps you would prefer to just shoot us?”

“Either sounds good.” Junmyeon cocked back the hammer of one of his guns for emphasis. 

“Stop it,” you hissed. “Bullets won’t do any good here. Besides, you might damage some of the artifacts.”

Junmyeon failed to suppress a laugh over your concern. Despite the present danger, you still didn’t want to see the carriages or sacred jars damaged because someone got trigger happy. So, Junmyeon holstered his guns and the others soon followed suit. “All right. I’ll give a little faith.”

Dr. Bey motioned for the group to follow him in deeper. “We’re part of a secret society-”

“Aren’t they all?” Baekhyun muttered. Both you and Dr. Bey shot him glares that made him snap his mouth shut. 

“For over three thousand years, we have guarded the City of the Dead. Once we reach manhood, we swear an oath to do anything and everything in our power to stop the high priest Imhotep from rising from the grave.”

“And now we have failed. Thanks to you.” Ardeth gave you a particularly pointed look. 

By now, you were getting very irritated with the constant finger pointing. What was done was done. You were not going to show him any cowardice. “And that justifies the murder of innocent people?” 

“Hm. To stop this creature?” Dr. Bey pretended to think for a moment. “Yes.”

Junmyeon, untroubled by that, raised his hand from the golden seat of a dead royal that he had taken over. “I have a question. Why doesn’t he seem to like cats?”

“Cats are the guardians of the underworld. He will fear them until he reaches full regeneration.”

“Then there will be nothing that he fears.” Worry was very much apparent in the soldier’s voice.

“And you know how he gets regenerated?” one of the Americans asked rhetorically. 

The other one finished. “By tracking those of us down who opened the chest and sucking us dry like a nomad in the desert, that’s how!”

It was completely pointless to go over the things that were already known. Now was the time to try and piece the unused parts together. Two particular moments were sticking out in your head. 

“Back in Hamunaptra, the priest - Imhotep - he called me Ack-Su-Namun. And then just now at the hotel, he….” You cringed at the memory, thankful that you didn’t have to feel the decomposed skin against your own. “He tried to kiss me.”

“It’s because of Anck-Su-Namun and his love for her that he was cursed,” Dr. Bey explained, exchanging a look with Ardeth. “Even after all this time….”

“He’s still in love with her?” Sehun finished with a scoff. 

You appreciated the backstory, however - “As romantic as that is, what does that have to do with me?”

“Perhaps he will try to raise her from the dead once again?” Ardeth guessed. 

“Yes,” Dr. Bey agreed solemnly. “And it would seem that he has already chosen his human sacrifice.”

All eyes in the room turned to you. Wonderful. 

Not only were you the one who read from the book and raised him, but you would also be responsible for the return of his beloved, who was the reason he was cursed in the first place. Absolutely beautiful. 

Baekhuyn came up behind you and patted your shoulder. “That is some rotten luck, dear cousin.”

“Actually, this could work in our favor,” Dr. Bey countered. “It could give us time that we desperately need to kill the creature.”

“We’ll need every second, I think,” Sehun said. He pointed towards the ceiling. “I think he’s getting stronger.”

Through the large window high up on the wall, the sun was in clear view. You all watched in horror as the moon moved too quickly across the sky and blocked the light from reaching Earth. 

“I’m guessing this is the plague of darkness?” Baekhyun said ominously. You nodded slowly. 

“Let’s go,” Junmyeon said softly beside you, his hand coming up protectively behind your back. “We’ve got to get back to the hotel and come up with a plan.”

**

“I’m just saying, it seems very stupid to comdem someone to a curse when the result of that would be for them to come back a supernatural creature who is practically unkillable.”

“The ancient Egyptians believed in balance,” you explained to Baekhyun for the hundredth time in your life. “To curse someone so badly in both this life and the next, there has to be a consequence to balance out the scales. If not, then the whole world could still fall apart, in even worse ways!”

“All of this is kind of pointless now, isn’t it?” Sehun sighed from the small table in the antechamber to your room. His feet were up on the polished surface as he leaned back in his seat. A look of irritation was etched on his face as he stared at your cousin. “What’s done is done. Right now, we need to focus on our next step.”

“Well, I know you two,” you pointed to the Americans, “opened the chest. As well as Barney. Was there anyone else?”

“The Egyptologist that was with us,” the shaggier one answered. “Professor Chamberlain. He has a temporary residence a few blocks over.”

“What about my best friend Beni?” Junmyeon asked. You nearly snorted. You knew the two of them were anything but friends.

“No. He ran out before we took the lid off. Ended up saving his own skin.”

“Sounds like Beni,” Junmyeon said dryly. “Okay. We’re going to go get the Professor. You four,” he pointed to all the men, “come with me. You, stay here.”

Oh, no you weren’t. “Excuse me! I am just as capable as any of them are. I will not- What do you think you’re doing!”

Junmyeon marched over to you, picked you up, and carried you over his shoulder until you were in your room. Then he dropped you on the floor, closed the door, and locked it tight. “This door doesn’t open.”

You didn’t know who he said it to, who he left in charge of watching you like an infant. It didn’t matter. You pounded your fist against the solid wood door. “Baekhyun! Junmyeon! Let me out! Baekhyun, you coward! Help me out here!”

“Sorry, cousin!” Baekhyun yelled on the other side of the door. “But… he’s got a gun.”

“Smart choice,” you heard Junmyeon say. Oh, you were going to kill him. Which “him” was yet to be decided. Perhaps both would be most satisfactory. 

Well, now you were stuck here. 

Crossing your arms, you sat on the edge of the bed and contemplated your choices. Not that you had many. 

A yawn forced its way out. You were tired. Over the past few days, you had hardly been able to get any real sleep. And, well, now seemed to be a time. So, you changed into your nightgown and slipped under the covers. The mattress was soft, like a cloud. The pillows were stuffed into freshly cleaned cotton cases. It was barely a few minutes before you drifted off…

And then abruptly woke up to something moving against your mouth. It started out soft but quickly turned ashen and tough. Your eyes flew open and you screamed, the sound muffled by the kiss of Imhotep!

You tried to shove him off, but he didn’t budge. Your touch meant nothing to him as he continued the unwanted kiss. 

The door to your room burst open, finally taking his attention and allowing your scream to be heard at full volume. Imhotep’s face was half rotten away, his lips completely gone, the cheeks held together by thin strips of jerky-like skin. You scrambled out of reach, to try and get as far away as the tiny room would allow. The movement caused you to fall out of the bed and land hard on the wood floor.

Standing up, Imhotep said something in ancient Egyptian, but your jumbled, still half-asleep brain couldn’t translate it. 

“Oh, really?” Junmyeon mocked. “Here’s my answer.” He held up the poor cat who had saved you earlier, the animal hissing threateningly at the mummy. Just like last time, Imhotep fled in a tornado of sand out the window, terrified of the innocent creature. 

“Are you alright?” Junmyeon asked as he let the cat fall from his hands. The cat landed gracefully on its feet and walked over to the bed with more dignity than you’d ever seen a human radiate. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” Baekhyun answered. After a glare from Junmyeon, he cleared his throat. “Oh. You weren’t- that’s fine. Go… check on her.” Junmyeon did just that. 

Kneeling in front of you, he pushed away a few stray hairs that had fallen in your face. Warm, soft brown eyes searched for any sign of harm. The tips of his fingers brushed against your cheek, setting the skin on fire. Or perhaps that was just the blood rushing up to your face in slight embarrassment. This man made you… nervous in a way. He could be dastardly at times, but… also very sweet. 

Clearing your throat, you pushed yourself up to your feet. “I’m fine. A little disgusted, but I’m fine.”

A smirk and knowing gleam flashed on Junmyeon’s face as he rose. “I’m sure mine was better.”

He was referring to the lip-smash he desperately pulled before he was to be dragged to the hangman’s noose. Not exactly the best first impression. 

You snorted. “No. I wouldn’t say that.” His jaw went slack. Sehun and Baekhyun snickered behind him. “Did you find the professor?” you asked in order to change the subject. 

“Yeah. He stayed out in the sun for a little long by the time we found him.”

“What are you-” Oh. Oh. That was why Imhotep was so far along in his regeneration. He’d found another victim to suck dry. 

“And he has the Book of the Dead,” Sehun added. “According to Beni, that’s what he’s going to use to raise Anacsunmum.”

“Anck-Su-Namun,” you corrected. 

“Yeah, her.”

You rolled your eyes. Why did you even bother?

You started pacing the room, trying to figure out what would be the best next move. You couldn’t keep playing hide and seek with the cat for all eternity. There needed to be a way to end this. Before he read from the book and raised-

The book… 

The book! 

You whirled back to the others. “I have an idea!”

“Care to share?”

“The Black book has always been rumored among scholars to be able to bring people back from the dead. Something I had always thought was nonsense,” you added to yourself. “But since that part is true, that means other rumors must be as well. Such as the Gold Book being able to send a soul back to the afterlife.”

“A balance.” Baekhyun looked awfully proud of himself. At least something finally stuck. 

“Exactly. Now all we have to do is find out where it's hidden.”

Junmyeon frowned. “But I thought it was supposed to be hidden with Anubis?”

“Exactly,” you agreed. “It comes from a translation of an ancient text. A stone that’s at the museum here, actually. It also says where the Black book was supposed to be hidden. I think they got their translations mixed up. So, where the scholars who originally translated it said that the golden Book of Amun-Ra was in the statue of Anubis, it's actually wherever they said the black Book of the Dead was supposed to be.”

“And where is that?”

You swallowed. “I don’t remember. We’ll have to go to the museum so I can read it again.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, Junmyeon checked the barrels of his guns, reloaded the revolvers with bullets from his belt. “Then I guess we’re headed back to the museum. Hopefully we don’t run into Ugly Face before we get to the rock.”

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” you said with the utmost confidence. 

Sehun, who did not share that sentiment, looked up towards the ceiling. “Oh joy. Another book hunt.”

[extravaguk]

santa&prada

part of my opposites attract! series. 

ksj / knj / myg / jhs / kth / jjk

pairing: rich!jimin x reader

summary: Yeah, Park Jimin most likely didn't even realize he was being a rude and disrespectful son of a bitch.

wordcount: 5k

genre: smut - angst(? - fluff (? idk u tell me

rated: m 

warnings: a christmas fic in late november, cursing, a huge misunderstanding lmao, i call jimin ‘park jimin’ too many times bc i felt like it, car sex, oral (f recieving), some good ole spanking, (kinda) rough and unprotected sex, a lil of dirty talk, spit kink. thats about it. just an excuse to write jimin fucking you in a car. jimin is not as bad as oc thinks srsly.

The first time you meet Park Jimin is through mutual friends. On a firday night on December, with white, red and green lights decorating the streets of New York, filled with the typical hustle of the masses doing last minute Christmas shopping, the freezing weather impacting your body temperature, cursing yourself for choosing tights, a skirt and heeled boots that are too pretty but too uncomfortable to wear.

You had never considered yourself a particular enthusiast of Christmas festivities. You guess discovering Santa Claus was, actually, your parents before the rest of the kids in your class was one of the many reasons that made you grow up too soon and therefore, not allowing you to fully enjoy the month of December. Or maybe it had nothing to do with Santa, and more to do with your parents deciding to get a divorce a day before Christmas Eve. A traumatic event for seven year old you, but completely forgotten and overcome by twenty-four year old present you.

Growing up each Christmas suffering the consecuences of a shared custody would have probably had a disastrous effect on anybody else, but not you. Although the separation was a tough reality to accept at first, fortunately your parents were always capable of raising you in an environment full of love and affection, just like any other kid. And you prided yourself on having moved on from those circumstances a long time ago (even if your therapist disagreed and blamed many of your behaviors on it. Whatever.)

To put it simply, December was just not the month for you. It was just another month, like the remaining eleven of the year, except Mariah Carey's voice was heard every five minutes everywhere you'd go and people gave each other presents as if it was only during that time of the year when they remembered their loved ones. 

The only thing you could thank Christmas for were the well deserved two weeks of holidays our work allowed until the new year's arrival. Fifteen days of rest, peace and baking those gingerbread cookies that Seokjin died for and that you sincerely denoted as nauseating.

You truly had no idea what exactly you did wrong that night. You don't know if it was something you said, or something you did, but what you did know was that Park Jimin pursued a silent and personal vendetta against you that continued nowadays.

"Here are your disgusting cookies, you filthy animal." it might have been that very first sentence you said when you entered the bar and reunited with your friends that didn't cause a good impression. "Shit, it's cold as fuck. My nipples are harder than my life." or maybe it was your selection of words while you waved every familiar face hello until you stopped to look at the only (pretty. too pretty, as well) one you had never seen before.

"_____, it's Chrismtas! Santa Clause will only bring you a lump of coal if you keep cursing like that!" Lisa laughed while she kissed your cheek and made space for you to sit next to her. "Oh, by the way, this is Jimin. A friend of Namjoon. He's a newbie!"

Park Jimin was stunning, you had no trouble admitting that. You weren't blind, you weren't stupid, and you could go as far as theorize that his dark eyes, his light and always immaculate styled hair, his sharp jawline and those plump lips as red as cherries must have been sculpted by Satan himself.

Fuck, you were even sure you'd be on your knees in front of Park Jimin in an alternative universe begging for his dick inside your mouth. But in the universe where you and the real Park Jimin reside, he would never come near you unless somebody was aiming a gun into his skull.

You're not precisely sure what it was, but a brief exchange of glances and an evasive and sligh shake of hands with Park Jimin was enough to make you feel ashamed and withdrawn for the rest of the night.

If Jimin wasn't even able to drop a polite "Nice to meet you", he sure as hell wasn't able to pretend you even existed.

Even the small talk you had tried to engaged with him about his shiny pair of shoes went terribly wrong.

"Oh, are those Dolce and Gabbana?"

"Dolce and Gabbana are homphobic, racist and sexist, so no" the grimace on his face should've been enough to make you regret speaking to him in the first place , but the snarky voice of his made you want to run away and hide from him until next Christmas.

In reality, you swore you didn't care. Seriously. Other's opinions were never something that could easily bother you or keep you awake at night. You had always turned a deaf ear to the cruel children that made fun of you due to your parent's divorce, you had always ignored the amount of men that never considered you "ladylike" enough (what the fuck did that even mean, anyway? what exactly made a lady and what didn't?), and you had always disregarded any envous comment surrounding you.

So, fuck Park Jimin! You had said to yourself. He's just a well mannered rich boy. Somebody who didn't resemble you in any aspect. A stupid, pretentious, spoiled boy who's had everything he's ever wanted in the palm of his hand, unlike you. Who the fuck cares what Park Jimin thinks? 

But apparently, you did. 

You would have never placed such importance to whatever it was that roamed inside Jimin's head if his appearances in your group of friends hadn't been so recurrent.

Because each time you were forced to see Jimin's face, you were also forced to experience a strange knot of discomfort and humilliation growing in your stomach in his mere presence. It's not like Jimin did anything specific to make you feel that way. He might not even do it on purpose, or his intentions might not be entirely evil. Maybe he simply didn't realize how he always avoided being by your side like the plague, or how his body immediately tensed and he balled his hands into fists everytime you were less than two feet away from him, or how he would look at you from the corner of his eye everytime you decided you speak, almost as if he was waiting for you to shut up to finally let out the air he was containing inside his lungs in relief.

Yeah, Park Jimin most likely didn't even realize he was being a rude and disrespectful son of a bitch.

And with time, you couldn't help but attribute that disdain and hostility that Park Jimin always directed at you to the many undeniable differences that constituted each of you. Park Jimin, with his impeccable and always well ironed Prada shirts, his spotless trousers, jewelry that probably costed more than three of your annual salaries, and always emanating that Givenchy fragance that screamed "wealth!" every rare occasion you could experiment his presence next to you. Exactly two years after that first meeting with Park Jimin, you hadn't been able to avoid reciprocating that feeling of contempt towards him. Not when you were the only victim of his arrogance. Everybody loved Park Jimin, and Park Jimin loved everyone. 

Except you.

Clinging to your glass of Don Pérignon and finishing the rest of the liquid in one go, you try to snap out of your own thoughts, reminding yourself to return to the conversation you're currently having with Taehyung about a pretty waitress that he's met during one of his art exhibitions (or at least that's what you think you caught him say) and forcing yourself by all means to stop observing the friendly and kind smiles that Park Jimin was shooting to those present from across the room and that you will never be able to achieve. 

"_____? Are you even listening to me, darling?" Taehyung's voice is what makes you finally look away from the dumb blond standing on the opposite side of the room, blinking a few times before clearing your throat. 

"Sorry, Tae." letting out a sigh, you try to brush back and put in place the strand of hair that escaped the intricate hairdo you had tried and so miserably failed to do yourself to try to fit in and hopefully impress such environment of preppy and privilaged people (ahem, Park Jimin)  falling on your forehead as best as you can. "Just been really stressed this week and I'm on another planet. You know how I feel about Christmas. I think I need a new flute of . Or five."

Taehyung sends you a look full of empathy and places one of his hands in your shoulder, squeezing lightly in a comforting way. "I'll get you another one. I'll be right back." You quickly interrupt him though, to prevent him from standing up before you.

"No, really. I'll go. I need some fresh air anyways, if you don't mind." And of course Taehyung doesn't mind, so you get on your feet as graceously as your tipsy state allowed you to (who told you it was a good idea to drink three glasses in less than thirty minutes of the extremely expensive champagne Taehyung had brought to the Christmas party he had organized and why did it convince you it would appease your anxiey?) and make your way towards the table where the rest of the bottles are. A table dangerously close to the conversation Jimin and that friend of Lisa (whose name you don't remember) were having.

Both are with their backs turned and, honestly, you take a silent moment to thank God or whatever is up there because the last thing you need right now is yet another awkward interaction with Jimin, so you try as best as you can to refill your glass of champagne to get out of there as soon as possible, praying to make your exit going unnoticed.

But no. Because the stars and the universe loved to align to make you suffer! They love to play with your karma and they love making you damn that one day you didn't help that lady cross the street. They love making you regret buying those plastic straws. They love making you feel guilty for hacking your neighbour's Wifi when you run out of money to pay for yours. Because the moment you try to take a hold of the bottle in your hands, it slips out of your grasp, and you're watching in slow motion how the sparkling berverage ends up spilling all over the extremely expensive (or so you assume. Balenciaga maybe) suit pants Park Jimin decided to wear that night.

Everything is kind of blurry and you can't even hear anything. You can only watch as Park Jimin turns around, lips parted and eyebrows furrowed, until his eyes find you, the bane of his existance and immediately recognizing the culprit of his now drenched piece of clothing. And you can watch as, once again, his gaze turns almost black and narrow lightly as to reprimend you for what you've caused. But of course he doesn't say a word. He has nothing to say. He doesn't even look surprised. No. Because obviously, Park Jimin knew that if there was somebody in this room willing to ruin his night, it would be you, and only you.

"Shit!" you're the first one to break the strained silence, but that only makes Jimin flinch. "Shit, shit, shit. I'm so fucking dumb! J-Jimin, I'm so sorry, let me just go grab a paper tow-"

"Don't." his voice cuts through you. Literally cuts through you. Because it's not often that Park Jimin decides to aim his words at you, but everytime he does it holds the same frigid tone. Like knives trying to painfully stab your being. "Just, don't."

In reality, you don't know a lot of things and you don't know what causes what happens next. You don't know if it's the specific time of the year, you don't know if it's your internal stress, or if it's Park Jimin, his voice, or the fact that he will never like you. But it's instant. They way something compresses your chest, and suddenly your eyes are not glaced by the alcohol but by something wet that threatens to flow. You would never admit to anyone they're tears.

So, shutting your mouth and swallowing the uncomfortable feeling of anguish in your throat, leaving your flute forgotten on the table and grabbing the bottle instead. Without saying a word, your feet start moving up the stairs of the ridiculously enourmous house Taehyung owns towards the first free and empty balcony you can find. Free of people and free of Park Jimin.

Closing the large window behind you, you allow yourself to close your eyes and take a deep breath; the icy temperature outside immediately welcoming you. Although the hairs on your arm stand up and you know you're probably going to catch a cold (because the dress you've chosen for the dinner is not at all appropiate for such winter climate), at least the tension in your body seems to disappear while oxygen keeps that ugly feeling in your heart at bay from continuing to choke you.

With shaky hands, you take a big gulp straight from the champagne bottle. Fuck Park Jimin. No man will ever have the power to make you feel what you're feeling right now.  Fuck Park Jimin. And fuck his beautiful face and his ability to make you tremble and fear looking like an idiot. Fuck his fancy clothes and his perfect manicured hands and his marvelous but frigthening presence. 

Knock knock.

The sound makes you jump back from the window, hand grasping your chest while you turn around, coming face to face with the man in question.  Your first instinct is to ignore him. But that thought is already out of the way when it's him the one who struggles with the window lock before opening and taking a step towards you. You step back as he steps in, raising your head up high and puffing your chest. Because your second instinct is to tell Park Jimin to go fuck himself.

"_____, I would like to-"

"You would like to what?" Jimin looks taken aback at your harshness. Alcohol has always been a weapon of mass destruction in your system, provoking words to flow too easily and without filter out of your mouth, more than they already do when you're sober. Especially when it's mixed with the frustration you've been harboring inside of you for two years. That's why when the words start to come out, they won't stop. "To make me feel like shit one more time? To look at me with that fucking conceited face trying to make me feel like you're better than me? Or would you like to ignore me once again as you always do everytime we're in the same fucking room to make sure I know you hate my mere existance, even if it's just the two of us right now?"

The steam leaving your lips due to the accelerated beat of your heart blurs his face for an instant while he looks at you dumbfounded. The silence and his expression makes you scoff, an acidic smile adorning your face while you take another sip of your drink because even with such a stupid face, he still looks delectable with his white shirt and ruined pants. You turn around, removing a tear that you hadn't even realized had fallen during your speech and that, frankly, you were hoping he hadn't either. You would blame it on the cold, anyway.

This time, a gust of wind running through you from head to toe, making you forget of Park Jimin's presence looming behind you, reminding you it's still December and the fabric of your dress is doing nothing to conceal you from the cold.

But before you can do anything about it and blame yourself for being dumb and not taking your coat with you before deciding to step into balcony, Park Jimin surprises you once again, this time by placing his navy blue blazer over the naked skin of your arms.

Your back straightens when you feel his warm breath caressing the back of your neck, at the same time that a voice you have never heard Park Jimin use with you echoes in your ears.

"I really don't hate you, _____. I..." Jimin wets his lips. His body trembles, but it's not due to lacking his own coat, while his brain hurriedly searches for words eloquent and adequate enough to explain voice his thoughts. "I like you very much, _____."

Scoffing again while you shake your head, you push down with all your inner strenght the incipent fluttering of butterflies in your stomach that Jimin has managed to cause in just a matter of seconds. It's probably the longest sentence you've heard from him in two years, and you don't exactly understand why your body is reacting the way it is. But you're also not willing to give Park Jimin the satisfaction of knowing that. He doesn't deserve it anyway. So with all the courage you can muster, you turn around with your hands clenching.

And even though being at such short distance from Jimin is a bit overwhelming and unexpected for you, the irritation still making your blood bubble is enough to not let a man as handsome as him derail you from your current circumstances.

"Well, fuck you Park Jimin. You certainly have a funny fucking way to sh-" his hands cradling your jaw that pull you closer to him and his lips that silent you roughly, but with surprising care. Only for a moment. A moment in which your body betrays you and make you melt into hir warmth. But his voice, low and sinfully husky, murmurs against your lips. 

"God, that mouth of yours..." he goes back to attacking your own lips, this time more firm than before, snatching a sigh from you. The sound has his tongue asking for permission into your mouth, and with your body betraying you once again, you part your lips to allow him in. It's him who whimpers this time, while one of his hand moving until it reaches the bottle in your hand and letting it drop carelessly onto the floor, ignoring the sound of glass shattering and the future scolding you'll get from Taehyung. Instead, he sneaks that same hand on your waist, pulling your body flush against his, fingers digging onto your skin. "It's been driving me crazy for two years. Two years, _____."

He mumbles between kisses and swipes his tongue against yours, while he stars walking the both of you until your back meets the nearest concrete wall. 

"Two years of having to hear the incessant filthy words that leave your mouth..." his own stop their movements and you catch yourself before begging him to reattaching his lips to yours, enjoying instead the path of wet kisses and bruises his lips traile from your chin to the pulse of your neck "...and trying my best to hide the painful boners I get whenever you're nearby." 

With your eyes shut, your hands are back in motion, ignoring the voice in your head reminding you he's still an asshole and finding their way between Jimin's soft golden strands of hair. He hums in appreciation, sending goosebumps all over your body. "So, s-so why not do anything about it sooner?" you say, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe properly.

You feel Jimin's body tensing before you and he ceases the movement of his lips against your neck. Breaking away, your heart stops, afraid you might have ruined the moment. But Jimin's in search of your eyes, eyebrows very lighlty raised, the intensity of his gaze pinning you in place. You don't know for how long you stare at each other until Jimin comes out of the trance, eyes descending over your flushed cheeks, the very same color as your lips and the soft flesh of your neck until they reach your cleavage, the glimmering fabric encasing your breasts, taunting him the same way they had been doing all night long.

"You scare me so much..." and then, one of his hands repeats the same journey his eyes just did, until he touches your shoulder, right under his own blazer. "Everytime I look at you, all I can think of why the hell a girl as real as you like you would even glance my way." he slides the strap of your dress slowly tentatively, just enough for you to stop his advances if you chose so. You don't. "You're smart in ways I could never compare, so funny it makes me jealous, and so pretty it leaves me speechless. You're...You're everything I'm not."

His voice resonates in the atmosphere, and you would love to blame it on the cold again for how your body has reacted, but your body heat has increased so much since he started kissing you that it would be stupid not to admit that it's just the effect that Park Jimin has on you tonight. You're sure he would've had the same effect if it had happened before.

Your now uncovered breast doesn't even has to suffer the consequences of the icy wind, because one of Jimin's arms quickly comes around you to hold your body against his, lifting you ever so slighty until your erect nipple is at the same level as his mouth and his lips are enveloping it in their warmth. You gasp his name, and that encourages his teeth to tug softly before his tongue stars moving in circes. 

"My God, you're so perfect." Your head spins while you hold onto his shoulders as tight as you can, the undeniable heat roaming all over your form, hips involuntarily rutting his incipent erection poking your abdomen. "Been thinking about this since that night we first met." Looking for relief, Jimin mirrors your movements without ceasing the administrations on your chest, as one of his hands lifts one of your thighs to wrap around his waist, closing the short gap remaining between the both of you. 

"Ohmygod! F-fuck, Jimin," trying to form coherent phrases is almost impossible, not with Jimin finding a slow and tortuous rythm with his hips, his clothed cock rubbing against your core. Something shifts in the air, because Jimin stops abusing your nipple with a loud pop, and shuts you up by pressing his mouth onto yours in an urgent, dirty and desperate kiss. You could almost hear him swearing, while his hand keeps your jaw in place.

"S-stop talking like that, ______." his voice, inaudible, and his face now hiding in the crook of your neck, the thrusting of his hips speeding up, more and more frantic this time. The hand not holding your thigh against his hipbone reveals your other breast, hand covering it and giving it a light squeeze before tugging at your unattended nipple between his forefinger and his thumb while his tongue and teeth mark the skin on your neck. 

"Hell, I've been dying to stuff your mouth with my cock to prevent you from such foul language," the soft whimpers leacving your mouth coax him into taking the hem of your dress and bunching the fabric until his fingers easily find the place in your body calling to him the most through the lace.  It's immediate, how his fingers dampen at the first touch, surprising the both of you, and how your body jolts and an embarrassing sob escapes your throat. "How-how are you this wet? Holy hell, I could just slide right in..."

And as he says that, one of his fingers pull aside the fabric of your underwear and glide into you, so easy. You insides burning while he fingers you, another finger being added with his thumb rubbing circles on your nub. And fuck, you're not sure if you're just too horny and Park Jimin is a magician with his hands, or maybe it's the way he keeps mouthing at your chest and whispering how soaked you are, but you don't think you've ever been so close to cumming in such a short period of time.

"W-whats stopping you?" you manage with a voice that doesn't even resembles yours, but before your hands can even make work of the zipper of his trousers, he pulls his finger out from your center, causing you to whine in protest.

Jimin licks his lips, eyebrows framing the dark expression that his eyes ooze. Although the desire in his eyes is more than evident, it is also evident the faint hesitation in them. Because Park Jimin doesn't do things this way. Park Jimin was raised in a world of correct manners and conservationism. A world that has taught him when and how to act. And as badly as he is dying to fuck you against the wall of Taehyung's ridiculously inmense house, he also wants to do the right thing. 

"Let me take you on a date." 

Park Jimin has been spoiled his whole life. Being born in a well-off family has always provided him of everything he had ever wanted and more. From the innecessary number of toys Santa Claus left under his Christmas tree every year since he was a baby, to his fisrt extravagant sports car at the age of eighteen. Park Jimin has never been a greedy or needy man. How could he, when he's had everything he's ever wished in the palm of his hands. He has never missed anything in his entire life. Hasn't missed a roof over his head, warm food on his plate or brand new designers clothes each week. 

It has taken him two years to control himself. He still remembers that night he first met you, just like he remembers every single time you both had coincided in the same place at the same time. He remembered your scent, had memorized your figure over your pieces of clothing and had tried as best as he could to keep a distance from you because he knew you would never give him the time of day. How could you? You probably despised everything he was because he was definitely nothing like you, and that thought intimidated the fuck out of him. He was a mess everytime you wear nearby. Never relied on his voice because he knew he would stutter if you ever spoke to him, could never trust his eyes because if he ever looked at you he was afraid he wouldn't be able to look away. 

And everytime you spoke, shit, that voice of yours always cursing here and there left him wondering how would you sound in a different setting and if you would still be that badmouthed. More specifically, between his sheets. So he did everything he could to minimize your interactions as much as possible. He just never thought he would come across as such a jerk. It was never his intention to hurt you, and seeing you cry that night (although you denied you did, over and over again) seriously made him realize he wanted to make things right. 

He was trying really, really hard to keep it in his pants, to be the same well composed and controled Park Jimin he had mastered himself to be. 

But that damn dress.

After seeing that little black dress hugging your figure when you started taking off your coat at the restaurant, the brief flash of thigh tights that you accidentaly (or not so accidentally) had blessed him with by crossing a leg over the other, that exposed collarbone calling his name and those heeled sandals with straps wrapping around your ankles, reminding him of the snake tempting Eve, Park Jimin was sure he needed to dig into that apple more than anything he has ever needed before.

That's why he surprises you right after you both finish the second course meal by telling the waitress you won't be having desert, at which you look at him somewhat indignant. But the look he shoots you is enough to make you understand if somebody was going to have desert tonight, it would be him. In his Mercedes. 

"I'm gonna-" you gasp, fingers tugging at the soft strands of his now ruined blond hair, his head between your thighs and your legs thrown over his shoulders. His hands have a grip of the meaty flesh of your ass, holding you firmly againt his mouth as it works wonders on your clit. You're sure it hasn't even been ten minutes since Jimin had opened your legs in the backseat of his car, not even bothering to take your underwear off, simply moving the fabric aside before diving in, and you already feel yourself on the edge of an orgasm.

"I know." voice vibrating right into your core, he slows down his administrations, tongue carefully and delicately lapping at your folds while he enjoys the feeling of your fingers loosening their grip and fondly brushing his hair back. You meet his eyes as he pushes a finger inside your core and your whole body twists in agony. 

"N-no!" 

Jimin stops immediately, lifting his head and focusing his concerned eyes on you. He's about to ask you if he's done anything wrong, but you're fast to roughly pull him up by his hair until his face is leveled with yours. You answer him by kissing him and he returns the kiss with the same eagerness, and now it's your hands that are looking for his cock, palming him through his pants.

"Your dick. Inside. Right Now." you punctuate each phrase with a kiss and he only stops kissing you to pout.

"But I wanted you to cum on my tongue." but still, he's putty in your hands when you undo the botton and the zipper. "Wouldn't you rather me fucking you in my bed, where we're more comfortable?" you notice the slight quivering of his voice when you slide his trousers and boxers down, just enough to pull him out. 

"You can eat me and fuck me as many times as you want tonight, tomorrow and whenever you'd like, but right now..." none of you contain the moan in unision that leaves each of your mouths when just the head of his lenght comes in contact with your entrance. "I really can't wait anymore." brushing your lips over his, you lower your voice. "Wanna get on my hands and knees for you."

Park Jimin has tried to do things the right and appropiate way throughout all his life. He's been a professional from a very young age on how to be in charge of his emotions, his desires and his impulses. Always well mannered and well composed. 

But it's in this moment that Jimin comes to the realization that the only thing that has ever made him lose his mind and self control, is you. Seeing you like this, ass up, grinding your drenched and still thong clad cunt all over his precum dripping lenght, he can't control the way his hand bunches the fabrick of that damn dress over your waist, then flies to your right cheek, a sharp sound of skin filling the air, tearing a gasp from your throat.

"God, I'm-I'm sorry. Couldn't help mys-"

"Do it again."

And he does, the palm of his hand now leaving a reddenning print on your flesh, making you jolt back involuntarily, aligning yourself to the head of his cock and like he had hoped, he slides right in. Not all the way, because Jimin is sure he would cream inside you too soon and he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he did. He wets his lips, clenching his jaw and dropping his palm one more time, hand more steady and purposeful. 

"You like it rough?" voice hoarse and a hand beside your head holding himself, your back to his chest, twitching beneath him as he soothes the sting with his free one. 

"I like you rough." turning your head slowly to peer at him from the corner of your eye, your hips moving on their own accord trying to take him deeper. Your head is suddenly pulled back harshly, Jimin's fingers tangling in your hair as his own hips close the remaining gap between your bodys in an abrupt thurst. You squeal, Jimin's cock finally filling you up to the hilt just like you wanted him to be, the pleasure making your arms wobble and finding it harder to mantain your balance. 

Jimin's breath fawns over your ear, his tongue darting out to suck on your skin sending chills down your spine. "You're such a dream." he groans, torturously sliding out of your core that's gripping around his shaft for dear life. A whine of protest escapes your lips and he tightens the hold on your hair in response, diving right back in. You fall forward, your arms' strenght betraying you as his thrusts find a new rhythm. With your eyes closed shut, you try to muffle the sound of your voice with the back of your hand as Jimin's lips place soft kisses to your exposed shoulder.

"Don't be quiet." he stands straight, the pull on your hair arching your back in such a enticing way it was Jimin look away for a second, cock buried inside of you and his hips faltering. "Been dying to have you like this for so long."

Another clap of his hand against your right cheek, and a particular stroke of his dick that has you mewling as your climax approached again. "S-so good, Jimin. Oh my god."

"You're gonna cum for me?" his fingertips leave bruises on your skin and the windows of his Mercedes are foggy, just like your mind. You can't concentrate on anything that's not Jimin's cock sliding in and out and how much you wished this had happened way sooner. "Gonna cum for me like a good slut?"

Park Jimin always takes his time. Always does things nice and slow to assure the best outcome possible. 

But he can't contain the acceleration of his hips against yours as your walls clench impossibly tight around his cock, your orgasm finally taking over . Can't contain himself from falling forward again, hand twisting your head in his direction and his mouth searching for yours in a fiery and messy kiss. And he most definitely can't barely contain himself from cumming when your you ask him to spit in your mouth. 

"You're gonna kill me." he breathes, removing himself off you and quickly maneuvering you on your back, his dick finding its way back inside you. Picking up right where he left off, skin slapping against skin in an obscene melody, he collects a considerate amount of saliva in his mouth before dropping it into your welcoming tongue, watching you swallow with a smile he hopes he'll be the only one to see in the future. 

And that's what has the last bit of his self restraint slipping from his fingers. He somehow manages to rip the top of your dress down, fabric tearing until your tits are free and his mouth is attacking your nipples, white strings of his release panting your walls, some of it them oozing out that he fucks back right into you. 

It's between ragged breaths, kisses and tender carresses that Jimin promises you more dates in the future and new dresses that he can't promise not to savage apart again.

[pompousbiscuit]

(Y/N) Meets Zeke Yeager at a Radiohead Concert In the Year 2012 (Yes, It's The King Of Limbs Hour For Sure)

(You-16 Zeke-17 Porco-16 Pieck-17 Colt-16 Yelena- 17)

I don't fucking know why I think of these things, but here I go, this is for all of you Superior-Music-Taste-Thom-Yorke-er- Radiohead-virgins out there B)

The year is 2012, (Y/N) is 16, and the setting is a Radiohead concert almost one year post-King-Of-Limbs-album-drop.

After working for a few months at your first part time job, you were able to save enough cash to buy concert tickets for you and a friend.

The location of the venue is about 2 hours from your hometown, and it's quite the road trip.

Either using your/your friend's car, or public transportation, to make the trip.

Zeke is 17, he's also at this concert with a group of his friends: Colt, Porco, Pieck, Yelena.

You're jamming out to all the hits, swaying your body to the sound of the music just right, and letting yourself go in a way you've only ever done alone in your bedroom.

King Of Limbs wasn't Radiohead's most well received album, but you love almost anything Thom, that droopy eyed bastard, and the other members put out.

Your friend that you came to the concert with is currently on a bathroom break, leaving you to your own devices in the crowded room.

"Separator" plays loudly throughout the concert hall; the drum beat feels like it has made it's way under your skin, and the melodic sound of Thom's voice feels as if it's an instrument in its own right.

Zeke is currently jogging back inside, he had left only for a moment during a run through of "Morning Mr. Magpie" for a smoke break.

(it's not particularly his favorite on the album)

"Separator" is one of Zeke's favorites comparatively, and he might hit himself after if he ends up missing the live rendition.

He sees a familiar slicked back head of blonde hair while peering over the heads of the crowd, and Zeke's relieved to see Porco turn around and wave him over.

Zeke makes a b-line for his friend, trying his best to shove through the crowd as politely, yet firmly, as he can.

Whilst making his way over, Zeke bumps into someone who's almost completely oblivious to his presence, until said person trips over themselves and falls to their feet.

You luckily brace yourself, your palms and wrists making contact with the dirty ground as to protect your face.

Normally, Zeke would most likely brush this off and claim the situation to not be his problem, and most likely continue on his path to his friends.

A change of heart? Guilt for being a catalyst in knocking you over? (as he suspects it would've happened eventually) Or maybe it's because he notices the way your ass looks in your blue jeans.

Zeke can tell a good ass when he sees one, and everybody has an ass to be appreciated after all, no consideration for gender identity or assigned anatomy needed.

Zeke pauses and decides 'ah, what the hell'.

Zeke crouches down and holds his hand out to you, flashing a boyish grin that suits his younger looking face well, as he begins to offer you an apology.

"My mistake for knocking you on your ass, I was trying to get to my friends... Need a hand?"

Zeke half yells this apology, and in the end it's still very muffled sounding due to the loud music.

You are wary of the boy in front of you, being very well versed in all the basic "stranger-danger" rules, the ones your care-taker/parental-figure drilled into you before you left.

But the slight tug of the left side of his mouth, the dimple in his cheek, his shaggy yet soft looking blonde hair, his stupid but admittedly cool glasses that hang low on the bridge of his nose...

He's cute, and you're too aware of the fact to deny his hand that he's offered to you.

You say a "Thanks", only letting yourself look him in the eye for hardly a second, as he accepts your hand into his roughly textured one.

You feel a flush begin on your chest and rise up to your face, ashamed of yourself for practically drooling at the feeling of just a grasp of a hand around your own.

Zeke assists you in rising to your feet, and he can almost feel your eyes tracing his form, taking him in.

He looks rather typical, a dark t-shirt with a faded "Kid A bear" logo printed on it, under a wrinkled rusty-toned flannel with rolled up sleeves, dark denim loosely encompasses his lanky legs that end with damaged and worn low-top skate shoes.

You only realize your hand is still in his own, when you catch the cheeky look in his eye, after scanning back to to his face.

You retract your hand from his, with suspiciously quick retreat, that has him grinning a little wider.

"Name's Zeke, do you have one?"

You can smell his last cigarette on his breath as he talks, you're both in close proximity due to the people around you.

The performance of "Separator" is almost long forgotten at this point, it's now just the background noise to your first conversation with each other.

You shift your weight back and forth to each foot, settling on leaning to your right side, before looking up to answer him.

"It's (Y/N), and it's okay, I was kinda in my own world for a minute there..." You answer honestly, but almost too bashfully, taking the blame for your tumble.

Zeke shakes his head and answers immediately, "No, I wasn't really paying attention to who I was knocking into, but I guess I was kinda lucky that you happened to be my first victim."

His voice has a slight rasp to it, though he's just 17 he admittedly smokes like a chimney.

His words also have an attractive cadence to them, you can already tell he's a smart ass by the way he's immediately putting the moves on, but you find yourself not really caring all too much.

Zeke starts again, "I also get like that though, in my head I mean, 'specially with "Separator"..."

You nod along and begin to talk to him more about your interest for the track, hardly noticing as the minutes roll by, and with the song changing into "Little by Little".

The both of you exchange words and information throughout the next song, like your ages, preferred albums, what other concerts you've been to.

Zeke completely forgets about his friends in the minutes he's conversing with you, and the same happens with you, until Porco loudly appears with Colt behind Zeke.

"Dude! I waved you over like 10 minutes ago! What the hell Zeke? You're dragging your ass and the other's are-" Porco's sentence cuts off as his eyes drift over to you, understanding the hold up.

Porco turns his head to Zeke and receives a glower from the taller boy. Whilst wearing a shit eating grin, Porco gives Zeke a curt nod and a slap on the shoulder.

"Whatever, just shoot me text in a few man,"

Porco's eyes catch your your for second, as he raises a hand for a quick sayonara,

"Nice meeting ya'."

Zeke pushes up his glasses as he shakes his head in annoyance and heaves a sigh.

As Porco gestures for a confused Colt to follow him back to the rest of the group, you catch eyes with your own friend.

They give you an apologetic glance but then notice Zeke near you, they hold up their hand and toggle back and forth between a thumbs up and thumbs down, silently asking if Zeke's presence was a bother.

You give a thumbs up, which they respond with a double thumbs up, as they make their way over to a group of people and easily start to blend in.

You turn back towards Zeke and offer a smile, finally free of interruptions, as the song ends and fades into "Lotus Flower". Commotion erupts throughout the crowd, as the majority cheer for one of the most favored songs.

Zeke offers you a smile as well, and shuffles a step or two closer, before beginning to speak again.

Ending it there! If I make a follow up then that'll be over here when the time comes: Part Two

I actually... I don't even... Why, that's all I have to say, just why???

Thanks so much for the notes on my previous post! That was my first time hitting over 100 notes!

Tbh... "The King of Limbs" is on the same level as "In Rainbows" for me, soz if you're offended by that statement dawg. Lmk your opinions!

I am Zeke Trash #1, and you're watching Disney Channel

EDIT:

OK, IN LIGHT OF THE NEW EPISODE HERE IS SPICY TEENAGER ZEKE

FUCK IT UUUPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!! imagine this bitch ass in some skater slouchy grungy garbage, thank you for coming to my Ted Talk

zeke liking radiohead [zeke playlist] -> MONKE

[fangirlings-things]

Chasin' You

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x reader

Word count: 2.4K

Summary: doesn't matter how much time you spend without seeing each other because of your jobs, whenever you do meet Agent Prentiss will give you a flirtatious smile and one of her many pick up lines

A/N: I may or may not be in love with this woman???? I probably am, actually. Just some cute, flirty stuff with her because she deserves it. Hope you guys like it, let me know what your thoughts are 💖

GIF IS NOT MINE || TAG LIST: @imaginesofyourfandom ; @locke-writes ; @regalbanshee

“Well, if it isn’t the best view in San Francisco” the voice came from behind you, making you stop moving the blue pen you had in your hand across the paper you were signing. You recognized it, of course you did. Turning your chair around, you looked up and met her eyes, like you had already expected to. “Surprised to see me, love?” her smile was bright.

“Not at all, Agent Prentiss” you smiled too, as usual feeling her gaze inspecting all of your face. No matter how many cases her unit got in your city and you worked together, she would still look at you with the fixation she had when you two first met. Moving the pen between your fingers, you got up from your chair. “I was the one who convinced Sheriff Carter that we needed the BAU's help on this one”

“So you did miss me” she said, crossing her arms over her chest and red t-shirt. You were rolling your eyes at her when you heard your name being called.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” both you and Prentiss turned in that direction and watched as her co-worker, Morgan, crossed the police station you worked at and finally approached your desk like she had done before.

“Derek” you shook his hand with your free one while exchanging a friendly smile. “How have you been?”

“Oh, you know me, I’m always living the best life” you laughed at that, letting go of his hand and then turning just slightly around to leave the blue pen you still held at your table. “Come on, the Sheriff is going to properly brief us about this case and Hotch wants all of us in there” he said to Emily and then turned back to you. “The Sheriff wants you there. He said you have been working almost completely alone on this one” he sounded impressed and you smiled. After you nodded in agreement, he walked away.

You were about to follow him when Prentiss suddenly stepped into your way, a thoughtful expression taking a hold of her beautiful features. “Why is he 'Derek' and I’m 'Agent Prentiss'?”

“Because I like keeping things professional with you” you replied, not being able to hide a smile at her apparently jealous questioning.

“Just because you know I don’t want to be professional with you?” she then asked and you nodded before starting to walk towards the briefing room, to where Derek had gone. You could hear Emily’s footsteps following you almost immediately as she mumbled something to herself that made you have to bite your lower lip to hold back a laugh. “Such a tease”

━━━━━━━━━━ × ━━━━━━━━━━

‘(Y/N), you and Prentiss go to the last crime scene and make sure nothing was left unnoticed' Agent Hotchner had said once the briefing about the case was done, with the consent of your Sheriff.

Now you found yourself sitting at the passenger seat of a black SUV, as the FBI brunette drove through the city to get to the place where the last body had been found. Even though you were looking out through your window, through the corner of your eye you could see her staring at you, everytime you stopped at a headlight or when the street was empty.

“You should keep your eyes on the road, Agent” you said when she gave you a particular long stare. Turning your head to look at her, you saw Emily smiling for being caught in the act. She did have a nice smile.

“I only get to look at you maybe twice a year, if I’m lucky and you have a second serial killer around here. If don’t, once a year” she shrugged as she drove the car through a parallel highway. “Can you really blame me for wanting to look at you while I can?”

“Did you really just say that having a serial killer around here makes you lucky?” you returned her question with another and saw how she thought about your words and then sighted, defeated. You smiled, returning your look to your window. “Is not that I mind you looking. I just…” you stopped for a moment and actually laughed. “Forget it”

“None of that. Talk to me” she said, taking her foot out of the accelerator to stop at another red headlight. She turned her head to look at you, completely focused, and as usual, it made you a bit flustered. To know you were desired like that.

You sighted, turning back to her. Eyes meeting hers. “Everytime you come here you flirt with me. Then you flirt with me some more and at the end of the case I do not go out with you and you leave. Then, if you get lucky and another serial killer showed up here in the same year” she rolled her eyes at that, smiling. “you come back and you flirt with me again. We’ve done this four times now and you never give up. You come here, and you flirt. Why?”

“That’s a fair question” she sighted, leaning her head back against the seat. “You see, you never did deny my invites for a date. Not to my face. You just smile and walk away, without saying anything. That says you’re not refusing a date with me, but your avoiding dating at all. I see the way you look at me sometimes too. Something happened that made you make the decision of not dating anytime soon, but I’m a patient woman. I’ll wait until you’re ready. I’ll keep flirting, keep chasin’ you, until someday you accept”

You just stared at her, amazed. She was absolutely right, with every single word and sentence. “I hate profilers” you said, sighting heavily and returning your attention to the window.

“Oh no, you don’t” Emily said, just when the headlight turned green and she set the vehicle in motion again.

“Prentiss?” you called, voice much softer now. You did not dare to look at her in that moment.

“Yes?” the brunette said.

“Thank you for not giving up. I don’t want you to”

Even without looking, you knew she was smiling. “I know you don’t”

━━━━━━━━━━ × ━━━━━━━━━━

“This guy only feels safe once inside the victim’s house” Spencer played with a pen while he spoke, eyes sat on an inexistent point in front of him. The BAU team and you had been together in one of the station room��s for hours now, going through the case and trying to find leads. “He probably has a job that allows him to do so without raising suspicion. Maybe a gardener or a TV technician”

“So he gets invited in to do a job and then he kills the victims. He is organized and confident once inside” Agent Hotchner spoke, as if setting his own thoughts in order. Reid nodded his head in agreement.

“What about a plumber?” you said suddenly, attracting all the attention in the room to you. With your elbows resting on the table where you had been going through the case files, you let the theory develop itself in your mind as you thought more and more about the possibility. “We couldn’t find or identify the murder weapon. It wasn’t something in plain sight. Couldn’t it be a pipe? The head trauma was made with just one single strike. Made with enough force…”

“The pipe could have caused it” Emily completed, smiling at you from the other side of the table. Her eyes were filled with admiration. You felt yourself burn under that stare.

“It would also explain the traces of cleaning products around the house” Agent Hotchner took a few steps around the room, thinking about it. His eyes were squeezed tight and his lips were on a thin line. Everyone could almost hear the sounds of mechanisms working inside his head. “He actually did the job he was called for before doing the killing. He cleaned the mess, then was sat into action”

“Let me call Garcia. I’ll ask her to check if all the victim’s called perhaps the same company for a plumber” Morgan said and then left the room, already taking his phone out of his back pocket.

“Very good job, (Y/L/N)” David Rossi said, his tone filled with approval.

You smiled at the compliment and before you could even think about doing such thing, your eyes averted themselves back to Prentiss. She was still smiling, leaning back on her chair, eyes still on you. In that moment, you felt really proud of yourself and you couldn’t deny that seeing the satisfaction in her face, made everything feel even more right.

━━━━━━━━━━ × ━━━━━━━━━━

“Prentiss, Morgan and Rossi, you get the back” Agent Hotchner said in that commanding tone of his, as you were all reunited close to the SUV you had used to go to the house Garcia had found out the unsub would be going to work in on that day. You all had changed into vests and held your guns firmly in hand. With luck, he had not killed the owner of the house yet. You hoped he hadn’t. “(Y/L/N), Reid and I get the front”

All of you nodded in agreement and after a few more seconds, the leader of the FBI unit motioned for you all to get into action. You all exchanged a reassuring look, your eyes taking a few more moments in Prentiss and then, you all moved.

Agent Hotchner opened the front door at the same time you heard the back door being kicked open, by probably, Derek. That was his style. You three entered the front of the house, guns pointing up at anything that moved.

“Clear” you said, both rooms you checked quickly, were empty. Reid said the same about his checked rooms.

“I got the victim!” Agent Hotchner called out from another spot and both you and Spencer rushed towards there. You got in there just in time to see the FBI agent undoing the knots that had been used to tie up the woman who owned the house. “Are you okay?” he asked her, and she nodded in agreement, tears streaming down her face.

“Drop your weapon! It’s over!” you heard Rossi scream from the back of the house. They had for sure found the unsub on his way out, trying to escape. “No! Don’t do this!” the sound of two shots. And then absolute silence.

Your felt panic fill you whole being. Just shots. No speaking. From any of the others. Reid and Agent Hotchner looked as worried as you for the silence. Prentiss. She was in the back. Where was her voice? Why wasn’t she speaking? Why?

Your desperation set you in movement and you ran towards the back of the house, as fast as you could and as afraid as you could be. When you got there, you almost stumbled on the body of the unsub, laying on the floor with two shots on his chest. Blood soaked the sole of your shoes. You raised your eyes, and saw that Rossi and Morgan were staring at the unsub, sighting heavily. The gun close to his waist made it pretty clear he had probably reached for it and so, had to be stopped. There was no sign of Prentiss. None.

“Where is she?” you snapped, looking at both men with urgency in your eyes and tone, hands moving fast to secure your weapon against your waist. Suddenly it seemed to weight too much. “Where is Emily?”

“I’m here” she appeared through the open door, frowning deeply by seeing the horrified expression on your face. “What is it…?” before she could even finish her sentence you were upon her, throwing your arms around her neck and squeezing her tightly. “Oh, okay” she mumbled surprised, passing her arms around you and hugging you just as tightly.

“Dammit, Emily. I thought…” you sighted heavily and stopped talking, trying to calm yourself down. Everything was okay. She was okay. When you finally felt good enough to pull back, recomposing yourself, you saw she had a smile on her features. “Why are you smiling?”

“You were worried about me” she said, that flirtatious familiar smile curling her lips up. “And” she took a step closer to you, getting into your personal space. Her eyes went to your lips for a brief second before going back to your eyes. “you called me Emily”

You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but no sound came out. She was right. You had just been caught in the act. From the inside of the house, a few feet away, you heard Derek chuckling.

Oh, you could kill him in that moment.

━━━━━━━━━━ × ━━━━━━━━━━

“That was a good ending to this case” Sheriff Carter said, hands on his waist as he watched the BAU team gathered in front of him, in the station. “Thank you for all the support”

“It was our pleasure” Rossi offered him his hand and the Sheriff shook it. Then, the Sheriff walked away after nodding a goodbye to the others. That made Rossi turn his attention to you and offer his hand. “You did amazing work, (Y/N)”

“Thank you, sir” you shook his hand in appreciation and when you retrieved it, you placed both of your hands in the front pockets of your jeans. “Will you be leaving today?” you tried to keep your eyes away from Emily as you spoke, talking to no one in particular.

“No” Agent Hotchner said, which seemed to surprise the others very much. He looked at you, then at Prentiss, and then back at you before answering. “I think we can stay another night” somehow, he knew. He had probably watched the scene when you went to arrest the unsub. You felt your cheeks burning in both embarrassment and excitement.

“So” Emily got closer to you when the others began to leave the station to go back to the hotel they were staying in. There was a sympathetic smile on her lips. “guess I will see you next time you have a serial killer in your hands, huh?” she watched your face, expecting you to say something. You wanted to say something. But should you? Were you ready, after what you had gone through? Seeing your hesitation, her smile faded a bit but she did her best to hide it. “Take care”

“Emily!” you called when she was already at the door of the station, making her turn around to look at you. Seeing your sad expression, the way you seemed to be worrying about having hurt her, she just reassured you with another beautiful smile.

“Don’t worry, love” she checked you out one last time. None of you knew how much time it would be before you were able to come face to face again. “I’m not done chasin’ you just yet”

[giuliafc]

Moonlit Tears

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30020268

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13839874/1/Moonlit-Tears

A confused and heart wrecked Chat Noir finds a Ladybug in tears atop the Eiffel Tower. But when the two heartbroken heroes compare the shattered pieces of their hearts, they realise that those pieces look very similar. In fact, they're right the same. LadyNoir/Adrinette.

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The low humming of sobs was the only sound that reached his ears as he landed gracefully at their usual spot atop the Eiffel tower. He gasped and didn’t move, unsure of what to do. His heart was already heavy with chagrin. He had transformed and ran across the rooftops for the last two hours trying to calm himself down. Trying to avoid being the next akuma victim. He couldn't bear the thought that his Lady could possibly have had her heart broken today too.

He sat with feline elegance next to her. She didn’t even acknowledge him, inwardly looking as she was. He didn’t blame her. She was always so open, so generous, so ready to help everyone. She had the right to be upset for once and to not bother to say hi. He didn't want her to think that he had been there all that time without letting her know, though. That would be plain rude.

“Little kitty on a roof, all alone beside his Lady,” he started singing, changing the words of the song on purpose. He heard her gasping, then she stopped sobbing. She slowly stretched her legs and hung them down from the metallic structure they were sitting on. She straightened her back, trying to wipe her eyes dry with her fingertips, but failing miserably. New tears rolled out, renewing the dampness on her cheeks.

“I thought it was ‘ without his Lady’,” she pointed out, sniffling loudly.

He smirked with a concerned look. “And you’re right, Buginette. But I felt lonely even sitting beside you tonight. I’ve been here for a while and you haven’t even noticed.”

She sniffled again. “Sorry, Chat Noir. I had a really bad evening. I transformed and ran across the rooftops for a good couple of hours, but I still didn’t feel better. I came here to be alone, safe from prying eyes.”

“Oh.” His ears drooped. “Do you want me to leave?”

A shadowed smile popped on her lips. “Not at all. I just didn’t expect you to be patrolling tonight.”

“I wasn’t patrolling,” he said, “I had a bad evening too. A bit like you, I needed to vent, so I ran for a while, ending up here. I was surprised to see you. And even more surprised to hear you crying.”

She wiped her eyes one last time and finally they came dry. “Care to tell me what upset you?” She saw him tense, so added quickly, “If it won’t reveal your identity of course.”

He sighed. “I don’t mind telling you, Buginette, but I think you need to vent more than me. I hate seeing you so upset. Who do I need to beat up?” He faked a scowl and posed like a boxer.

She looked at him in amazement and then erupted into a crystal laugh. “Oh thank you, chaton. I needed it. Thank you so much.” She hugged him tightly and kept laughing. But the more she laughed, the more her laughter lost its light. It darkened, until she sobbed again, clenching her fists against the spandex material of his suit on his chest. He tentatively hugged her. When she didn’t react by rejecting his touch, he tightened his hold and held her closer, patting her hair in a soothing rhythm. A quiet purr began rumbling into his chest; after an initial gasp, Ladybug hugged him back and his purr renewed.

“I told him tonight,” she whispered eventually.

“Him?” he asked, carrying on with his purring and gentle rhythm of his hand over her hair.

She sniffled again. “Yes. The boy that I love. You remember? The one I told you about when we faced Glaciator.” She paused, happily lulling herself in the cathartic feeling of the purr. “I’ve never been able to tell him up to now. And I knew I was setting myself up to fail, because he’s told me before that he loves someone else. But I drank a couple of drinks too many; he was so kind to drive me home, and was being nice with me. So I just... told him.”

A sense of déjà vu hit Chat Noir. He gasped almost too loud, causing Ladybug to look at him with a puzzled frown on her face. He put a hand on her shoulder and with the other, he lifted her chin so she would look into his eyes. “What did he say? Did he reject you? If he made fun of you in any way, tell me his name and I’ll haunt him in his sleep forever.”

Despite the pain that he could read in her eyes, Ladybug genuinely smiled at the remark. “Thank you, Chat Noir,” she said. “But no, he didn’t reject me.”

Now it was his turn to be puzzled. “Then, why are you crying?”

“He didn’t say anything , minou. He just sat there in his car in silence until we reached my house. I even waited a couple of minutes before getting out. I said bye to him and he didn’t respond. I ran inside feeling horrible. I… feel as if I’ve ruined not only my chances of being with him but also our friendship, which I have cherished for the last four years. All because I drank too much. I’m so stupid.” She looked down and moved away from him. Sniffling some more, she stared out at the twinkling lights of the City of Love .

“That’s funny,” he said bitterly. When he said that, she gasped and looked at him shocked.

“What do you find funny, Chat Noir?”

He stretched his arms behind him and leaned back, allowing his gaze to get lost admiring the beautiful full moon that towered in the dark sky. “Today I went to a birthday party organised for one of my friends. We drank a little too much and it had become very late, so I offered one of my friends a lift. God forbid that she walked home as tipsy as she was and someone took advantage of her. She’s too dear to my heart to allow it to happen.”

“Oh,” she said, “o-okay?”

“I was driving her home. Well, my driver was; I was sitting with her in the back.” His hand reached for the nape of his neck and his gaze darted down. “She was telling me how grateful she was that I gave her a lift and suddenly, she told me that she loved me. A-and I didn’t know what to do, or what to say, so I kept my mouth shut.”

She gasped at his words. His gaze darted to her briefly, and the intensity in her eyes made him sweat. She stared at him as if her life depended on his next sentence.

“And…?” she pressed.

Was it getting hot here, or was it only him? He dared another peek at her face; she was still looking at him intensely. “And… nothing. The car stopped in front of her place. I waited until she had gone inside before asking the driver to go. When I got home, I had to transform and get out because I didn’t understand what was going on with my feelings.”

“Why?” she asked in a choked whisper.

He could hardly breathe. “Be-because I was confused. I’d never thought she liked me. She always acted as if I was intimidating her. When we met, we started off on the wrong foot. So I really thought that she hated me, and probably only put up with me because of our friends.” Ladybug gasped loudly and looked up at him, her eyes as big as saucers. “I couldn’t believe that a person as amazing as her would think anything at all of one as insignificant as me.”

He turned around and looked straight into her eyes. “She was my first friend. I didn’t want to ruin that friendship. I messed up badly enough with my first girlfriend, being so indecisive and never letting myself go, until she got fed up and told me she had found someone else. I didn’t want to ruin my friendship with her too, because—” His mouth went dry; he gulped awkwardly and licked his lips.

“Because?” He could hear the breathlessness in her tone. He could see how hopeful her gaze was as it met his, how tense her back was as it straightened. He internally screamed. God, he couldn't believe it. This woman loved him. For real!

“Be-because she was important to me. I didn’t want to lose her.” He grabbed her hand, a tinge of pink dusting her cheeks as he locked his gaze to hers. “The truth is that I love her. I’ve loved her all along. Only, I was too blind to see it. I’m such a fool, Marinette .”

The sound of her gasp resounded in the silence of the night like a slap in the face.

“The girl who didn’t like my jokes, the one I told you about the day we were coming back from the wax museum. That girl was you .” He gulped seeing the tears staining her cheeks once again. She stared straight through to his soul in silence, crying quietly for a time that felt endless. Why wasn’t she talking?

“We’re idiots,” she eventually said, the shadow of a smile curling the corner of her lips.

“No, Buginette. I’m the only idiot I can see.”

The smile that had been curling her lips widened. “Silly chaton. There’s an even bigger idiot sitting right in front of you.” She took a big breath, exhaling slowly. “Be-because the boy I rejected you for the day we fought Glaciator—”

“Yes?” His ears perked up and he couldn’t help but lean towards her.

“Th-that b-boy… was… Adrien Agreste .” She looked up from behind her eyelashes, a deep blush dusting her cheeks when she saw the massive grin that spread on his lips. “I-I’ve loved you from the day you gave me your umbrella. I tried so hard to let go of you, b-but I’ve never been able to.”

His eyes widened as his mouth opened in a small o. “Y-you mean my first day at school?

She nodded, her red cheeks almost glowing in the darkness. He gawked at her beautifully flushed face for a long time, admiring how her porcelain skin shone bright in the pale light of the full moon. The stain of her tears like crystal reflecting the moonlit night. He looked at her for so long that her redness changed to pallor and her eyebrows furrowed into a frown.

“What’s wrong, minou?” she asked.

“Nothing.” He gulped and closed his eyes, taking a shuddering breath as he reminded himself to breathe. “I’m so happy.”

She smiled softly seeing the way his lip trembled. “C-can I kiss you?” she asked.

He nearly jumped out of his skin. His eyes sprang open; he smirked, and his tone turned teasing as he tried to hide his shock. “I always thought I was going to be the one to ask you .”

The soft smile never left her lips; she inched closer to him. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, taking in the soft shaking under her touch. Her hands held his neck by the nape, pulling him in until there were only millimeters between them. They could feel the tickling of each other’s breath on their lips, both hesitating to close the gap.

“And tell me, minou.” Her nose brushed his, his heart clawing against his chest as her whispered words caused wild fluttering in his stomach. “What answer did you expect me to give you?”

His senses were overwhelmed with the scent of hot chocolate and sugary treats in her breath, with only the smallest tinge of alcohol.

He was still pondering on an answer when their lips met, and any residue of coherent thought dissolved from his mind. He would think about what to say later. Right now he was finally kissing the girl he loved.

Nothing else mattered. Nothing at all.

Fin

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Author’s Note:

Hi! I know, I know, I will end up with not one. Not two. But THREE updates today. I’m definitely spoiling you, don’t expect this every week (I would die LOL). But I had written this story a little while back prior to my submission for the New Beginning zine (they were asking for a piece of less than 2000 words and i had never written one before, so I had to see if I could write something that short before committing to a submission!). Unfortunately I wasn’t selected, which means that you get this story now and not in January 2022, are you happy? ^-^

Hope you’ll like it. Again, a bit different from what I’ve ever written, but more my style than the Visiting Hours one. Please let me know your thoughts! Any kind of comment (or kudos, favs, follows, bookmark… anything) is very welcome.

Last but not least, if you read this and you’re not part of our wonderful Discord server already, but you enjoy reading, writing and talking about Miraculous, please join our Discord server, Miraculous Fanworks . See you there soon!