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yutasbellybuttonpiercing · 1 year ago

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slowly, i'm going down

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pairing: song mingi x reader (no pronouns mentioned, reader has female anatomy)

au/genre: college!au, tutor!reader, mingi does not give a shit about studying, smut

word count: 4816 words

warnings: voice kink (AHHHHH), oral and fingering (reader receiving), reader is a little mean, kitchen sex, anime references, cringe, a joke about adhd, dirty talk... um..., oh right Mingi has a big dick (wbk), everyone's a little silly, unprotected sex (boo ‼️👎🏻), premature ejaculation almost, creampie, cum eating... (not reader...), i think that's it. NOT PROOF READ YET!!

synopsis: mingi hates studying, but what he hates way more than that is being perceived as stupid. what mingi loves on the other hand, are pretty people getting flustered about his voice

mingi shows you exactly what he hates and loves.

a/n: i was almost ready when i saw this tiktok and it completely blocked my mind because it's SO FUNNY, but at the same time, it's men being dudes, dudes being bros, and that kind of made it hard for me to continue. i apologize for the 24h delay 😞

taglist: @byuntrash101 @goquokka @ashwoodforest @choisansnotsolegalwife

Mingi is not one to sit there and look at books. Or papers. Or anything that doesn't move and feed his brain with bright colors and his ears with noises, really. He prefers to vibe, and studying is definitely not the vibe. Sadly, studying is a part of his life as a university student. Yes, he chose this path for himself and yes, he was aware that it would involve studying. Still, now that it's really happening and is not just an obstacle to overcome in the far, far future, Mingi kind of wishes he'd chosen something else to do with his life. It's just exhausting, why would he waste the precious time he has left on planet earth on something that doesn't get the serotonin floating? He's pretty sure he has some undiagnosed ADHD simmering up there, but who is he to judge that? He's certainly not studying to become a doctor or whatever.

Anyway, given the fact that Mingi doesn't like to study, he's not had much experience with it in the first place. He's barely gotten his way through school, but uni is a different level. Hence, he needs someone to 1) teach him how to study and 2) make him study, or rather: have a judging eye on him while he is supposed to study, so the fear of being called out on it may light a fire under his ass and force him to bury his nose between the stinky pages of an old library book (on that note: he also needed someone to show him how to check out books from the library).

And that's why you are here, every Thursday afternoon, sitting at the sad excuse of a kitchen counter slash dining table in Mingi's scandalously expensive apartment given its size, growling next to him every time you catch him analyzing the bumps on his wallpapers instead of the letters on the pages.

Mingi generally likes you, even though you are a bit scary, he has to admit, or maybe that's the appeal. You are polite, but you have a way of looking at him that makes him feel like he's getting mansplained by your eyes. Your taunting gaze on him makes him feel small, and he doesn't like that at all. It makes him feel like all these years of drinking milk to make him stand at the 1.84m he is at today were in vain. You always have that one expression on your face, and maybe that's just Mingi's subconsciousness telling him to STUDY HARD FOR GOD'S SAKE, but in the way your eyebrows would scrunch together just the tiniest bit, he reads: God, he is fucking stupid.

He doesn't know which (since he did not pay attention in biology class, nor is he even sure they teach that in biology class) chemical in his brain suffers an allergic reaction every time you look at him like that, but there has to be one. There is nothing that Mingi hates more than being called stupid. Well, except for studying, maybe.

Call him lazy, call him a scalawag, call him witty for being able to get through all of school without reading a single one of the set books if you must, but do not call him stupid.

The only problem is that you haven't, well, called him stupid per se. It's just how Mingi interprets your stares. Also, he desperately needs you because he doubts there will be many other contestants that are okay with getting paid as little as you are (which is all Mingi has left by the end of a month full of Pokémon trading cards). So Mingi just has to sit back and relax and simply take it because, apparently, that's what he gets for not studying his entire life.

A loud ringing wakes Mingi from his peaceful afternoon nap - one that he has really earned this time around, he managed to look through his study notes for a full 20 minutes during his lunch break!

Disoriented, Mingi raises his head to make out his location and what year he is in. It rings again. Slowly, Mingi recognizes the shrill sound as his door bell. He slowly gets up, a quick glance in the mirror tells him that his hair is an absolute mess (which is really a crowning achievement given his buzz cut length) and he has imprint marks from his blanket all over his right cheek, but his sleepy mind doesn't even take it in. Mingi furrows his brows and shakes his head. Who would dare to disturb his peaceful slumber at this ungodly hour (4pm)?

The answer, of course, stands right in front of his door. With your arms crossed and the tip of your shoe drumming a dent into Mingi's "come in if you're a silly baka"-door mat, you raise an unimpressed brow at the sleepy shell of Mingi that blinks one eye after the other.

A few seconds pass until Mingi finally realizes who you are, and his mouth forms an 'o'-shape. Immediately after, he furrows his brows once again, his body slumping forward a bit because: why on God's green earth are you here? Then, it hits him like a truck, the aftermath of the collision blowing the remaining sleep out of his eyes: it's Thursday afternoon!

"Sorry," he says and sheepishly scratches the back of his head, then steps aside to let you enter.

"It's fine, it's only freezing cold outside," you stare at him before stepping in, shudder as you kick your shoes off, slip into Mingi's guest slippers and hurry inside. Mingi's brain does not register the sarcasm drenching your words.

"Let's get to it, shall we?" You ask as Mingi finally manages to follow you into the kitchen. You sit, take out a few sheets of paper from your backpack, then look over questioningly as Mingi has not even moved a millimeter, but instead started yawning like his life depends on it. Your eyes drift down his body. "Or maybe after you've put on some pants?"

Mingi freezes, looks down to confirm that, indeed, he's not wearing pants, but Naruto boxer shorts, then covers his crotch with his hands and buzzes off into his room.

Minutes later, Mingi reenters the kitchen, a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips that, yes, he checked twice if he's wearing them the right way around. As mentioned, he is generally unable to properly focus on his studies, but today, it's exceptionally bad. Of course, you'd notice.

"Mingi, are you okay?" There's worry in your eyes – a sight Mingi has not seen. Ever.

"I'm fine, just tired," he mumbles, eyes unfocusing as he stares ahead.

"Yeah, you are? Why?" Mingi's tired mind cannot question why you suddenly seem so interested in his well-being. He also doesn't put any meaning into why you're scooting closer to him, your forearm accidentally touching his.

"I studied during my lunch break," Mingi informs you, a little, proud smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Something tingles inside his chest as you carefully place your hand on his arm. As he looks over at you, you smile at him, and he notices your gaze flickering down to his lips for a second.

Hold on. Mingi's mind suddenly snaps out of its hazy state and works on overdrive. He might be the type to vibe, the type to just let things play out, but he'd be damned if he didn't notice when someone likes him like that. He suddenly notices the way you started creating skin-on-skin contact with him, the way you want to be closer to him, eyeing him even more than you ever did before. Just... why? Is it because you saw him in his Anime panties?

A few moments pass, and you sit back, then pat your pencil against the book to remind him of the reason why you're actually here. Mingi groans, admittedly a little dramatically and unreasonably erotic, brushing a hand through his hair to flex his biceps right in front of your face. You seem unimpressed.

"Well, fuck me," he chuckles deeply, the rasp in his voice more evident than usual due to his nap. It's then when you tense, he notices from the corner of his eye. Oh. Okay. So it's the voice?

"I'm really glad you're tutoring me, you know?" He purrs, throwing in a little praise to get you extra bothered, and you simply breathe out nervously.

"Heh, no worries," you brush him off. Mingi decides that, for now, he's made you suffer enough and keeps quiet. Instead, he focusses on his studies, although he's already planning his next step to terrorize you with the sultry rasp his vocal cords are gifted with.

"Mingi, focus-"

"No, I get what I have to do, the contents just won't stay in my head." Mingi reasons, his voice unusually, but not by chance, high pitched, eyebrows scrunched as to why the hell he has to do this before doing that only to do whatever next when it wasn't like this for the other exercise he had to do minutes prior. He is not stupid (!), he does understand how this works. It's just that it doesn't make sense, and that is surely not his fault.

"Are you stup-" you start, but shut your mouth before you're even able to call him the dumbest fucker you've ever crossed paths with. Mingi inhales sharply. Oh, oh, you're lucky he is patient, and you're lucky he knows that as soon as he growled a few dirty words into your ear, you'd slam your upper body on the counter without regards of caution, pushing your panties down under your skirt and begging him to take you right there - or at least, that's what he imagines.

Yes, Mingi is super patient, that's just what comes with the entire vibe-personality package, so he does not dump your cute sorry ass on his baka-door mat, but simply closes his pen, lays it on the table and looks at you. A fabulous idea plops into his mind.

"God," he groans as deeply as he can, stretching his arms over his head, "I guess I'm just a little" - he throws in a little moany sigh - "a little distracted today."

"A-are you?" You nod, biting your lip subconsciously. Mingi looks at you without moving his head. "Why?"

"Well, just stuff, you know?" Mingi enjoys how the rumble in his voice makes his throat and - obviously - you feel. "There's just a lot, going on. Like big... big stuff. Stuff that just keeps coming and coming, in and out, just like that. Ugh, I wish I could just let all this frustration out you know, all this pent up stuff." He watches for your reaction.

Unmistakably, your hand holding your own pen in a relaxed manner mere seconds ago now desperately grasps the poor objects until your knuckles turn white, your breathing is uneven and loud as if you'd just ran the entire way from Mingi's place to the next convenience store (seriously, why the fuck is he paying so much for this godforsaken apartment?). And - Mingi's favorite reaction to him ever: you're pressing your thighs together.

Oh, how Mingi loves himself a good reaction like this.

"Big stuff, huh?" Your voice trembles as your nervous eyes search for his. "H-how big?"

"Oh, really big. Just really fucking big," Mingi confirms with a slight smirk. He loves how you just fold easily like that. One second, you're over there feeling superior on your little throne of knowledge that Mingi lacks, and the next, you're making a little mess in your panties just because Mingi so much as spoke. Absolutely incredible. People should start calling him "the rizzler".

"I think-" you clear your throat, "I think I should head home then?"

Mingi smiles to himself as soon as you turn away to pack your stuff into your backpack. His hands automatically reach out to play with his pen, his long, slender fingers toying with the object, inevitably drawing your attention to the movements. "Already?"

"Mhm." You stare a second too long, gulp, then hastily stuff your belongings into the big compartment of the backpack, Mingi listens to the sweet melody of stressed breathing and papers crunching.

As amused as he is, he decides that it is time for the big reveal.

"Keep it in your pants, baby" he looks over, his eyebrow halfway raised, and stops rocking back and forth and fiddling with the pencil as you freeze in your tracks and stop packing. "What?"

Slowly, you turn your head to look at him. "So you know?" You manage to squeak.

Mingi smugly pushes his tongue into his cheek. He loves how you're basically vibrating out of nervousness. "Oh, I know."

You sigh, hands finally letting go of your stuff and motioning defeat. He wonders what's going on in your mind right now. Are you afraid he's going to call you out? That he's going to make fun of you? That he's going to call you a needy slut and send you home? Or are you wondering if he's going to give you what you want? Mingi loves this game.

That's why he decides to make your situation a little more miserable.

"I also know that you think I'm stupid," he explains calmly, trying his best to no longer show any excitement, smugness, or any emotion whatsoever on his sharp facial features to really confuse you. Well, that's what you're getting for (almost) calling The Song Mingi stupid. Just a little payback, is all. He's not going to go so far and make you cry. No, no, Mingi can't handle when people cry, much less so if it's because of him.

Nevertheless, your breath hitches. Oh, you're fully aware that he didn't like you calling him that at all. Oh, how the gears are turning behind your forehead as you're trying to figure out what's going on, and what's going to go on in the next minutes.

"Thought so," Mingi deadpans. Yeah, that's right. Look how smart he is now! Super smart! He's got you all figured out. He knows exactly what to say and how to act to make you feel - and, fuck, does this feel like redemption - stupid.

"I'm sorry-" you start, back facing Mingi's form, but Mingi is not here for it. Mingi has gotten what Mingi wants. Mingi feels as powerful as he imagines a lion to feel, like, every day.

"Dumb fucks good," he simply states, just putting it out there, throwing it into the room for you to do with that statement whatever you like. Mingi's mind is already satisfied, his ego stroked because he's just proven that he isn't dumb. Although... he wouldn't mind a little diddling because, if he's being honest, you're hot as fuck and seeing you react to him in this way- well, he's also just a man!

"What?" You probably think you must've terribly misheard him as you whip your head around to face the confident Mingi smugly leaned back in his chair. Your eyes meet his, and he is sure that you now realize that, no, you definitely did not mishear him. That was exactly what he said.

In the blink of an eye, Mingi feels your presence on his lap, a last final look into his eyes before he feels your lips against his, desperately chewing away the remaining air separating his spit from yours. It's messy, lips colliding, too much teeth and tongue, but it's all raw and desperate. Mingi gets the vibes that you may have had some pent up want for him, but that's honestly the last clear thought he can muster before you grind your hips against his.

A deep groan escapes Mingi's lips, inevitably echoing against your own quiet gasps that just turn louder with every movement of your hips, your hands frantically trying to touch him everywhere at once to the point where he has to grab your arms and pull you back. Your eyes, wide. And confused, but somehow lidded and hazy at the same time struggle to take in Mingi in front of you. Yes, Mingi is aware of the effect of his siren eyes.

For another moment, he simply enjoys seeing how destroyed you look already, but honestly, there is just one thing on his mind.

"I'm gonna eat you out," he informs, waiting for you to nod frantically, whine and scramble off his lap for him to keep his promise. And you do, allowing Mingi to grab your waist with his large hands and lift you onto the counter. Of course, he can't resist getting another taste of your lips, almost losing himself in the soft pillows that frame your pretty mouth, but the hardness creating a tent in his sweatpants reminds him that he should possible attend a little lower.

Hence, he kisses his way over your cheek towards your jaw, then over your neck and down your collarbones. Mingi is not sure what your opinions on love bites are, so he just hopes you can remember him being right here and here and here even without visual proof, he can save that for next time.

Okay, Mingi admittedly was not able to hold himself back completely, his teeth only gently nipping at your skin on his way down. He simply hopes for the best, but your sounds seem to imply that you do not mind him one bit. Instead, you sound as if you wouldn't mind him taking a few bites more.

Impatient as you are, you assist Mingi in pushing your shirt out of the way, the straps of your bra automatically falling down your shoulders to reveal more of you to his hungry eyes.

And as much as Mingi would like to spend hours playing with your chest, he keeps it down to a minimum, kissing the soft flesh while gently pushing the remaining material out of the way for better access. His lips wrap around a nipple, his hands meanwhile busy with massaging the other and carefully holding your waist. God, Mingi loves boobs. But he might love the way your fingers comb through his hair and gently pull on it a bit more even.

Finally, the time has come, and Mingi kneels down on the floor. Pushing your skirt up, hands caressing your thighs, he creates eye contact with your eyes glazed over by lust and want. It doesn't even faze him that he hasn't cleaned these floors in weeks, honestly, he is in so deep he probably wouldn't even realize if the stove was on, lighting his study notes on fire.

He wants to tease you more, make you wait, maybe make you beg even, but he just feels too hungry to keep waiting. His fingers hook into the hem of your panties, pulling them down your legs as quickly as possible before spreading your legs and groaning in anticipation.

Throwing your thighs over his shoulders, he pulls you forward a little further, chuckling as you almost lose balance and smile at him. Okay, maybe Mingi feels a little tingle, and maybe that is not a horny tingle, but that's something to worry about later, if ever. Right now, he has a mission: dive in.

So that's what he does, obviously, planting a careful kiss right on your clit to wait for your reaction. And you do not disappoint, gasping slightly at the first sensation before getting louder and bolder the more Mingi tastes you.

His tongue gently parts your folds, getting a first taste of your juices. You basically cry out as his tongue prods at your hole, carefully easing its way inside to caress your walls.

Automatically, your hands fly to his hair, gently pulling at the roots to find a way to ground yourself, the feeling assumingely overwhelming, Mingi thinks, not to brag, but-

Mingi's eyes roll back at a particularly hard tug at his hair, paired with the way your hips grind closer until you're basically riding his face. Fuck, how are you so hot? Mingi's fingers grab hard at your thighs, loving the way the soft flesh feels in his hands.

To experiment a little more and, first and foremost, to get more rewarding reactions out of you, Mingi lets his mouth wander back up to your clit, gently sucking the nub between his lips, his tongue carefully flicking as not to overwhelm you. At the same time, a fingers sneaks its way over to circle your entrance.

Your throat coughs out a broken moan at this, your eyes switching between looking at Mingi's eyes and his mouth, and closing completely. Mingi loves taking in the pleasure written all over your face. He might not admit it, but he loves this kind of praise much more than verbal praise because your body really can't lie. He can literally taste how good he is at this.

He finally pushes his finger inside, loving how the wetness and muscle contractions are basically pulling him deeper and deeper until past his second knuckle. He feels around a little, trying to find the spots that seem to appeal to you the most, watching carefully how you react to each and every flick of his wrist.

Although, he feels that one finger is not enough to prepare you for the rest of him, so he adds another, massaging them into the spot that seems to be making you see stars with the way you grip his hair even tighter and mutter something he interprets as a warning that you're about to cum.

Keeping his pace, he successfully sends you over the edge, letting you ride out your high on his tongue before removing his lips, only getting his fingers massage the last clenches out of you.

Looking up he realizes you look, respectfully, wrecked, with your chest heaving, your hair a little messy and your eyes hazy and glossy, parted lips asking for his. And who is he to deny them, as he leans in to allow you to taste yourself. You seem to like it.

Pulling back after a while, he looks at you. You look so happy and relaxed like he's never seen before. For some reason, it reminds him of the weight in his pants that he suddenly feels the need to inform you about.

"You make me so hard," Mingi says lowly, carefully taking your hand to prove it to you, "feel." It's more your hand guiding his with how fast you reach down to feel him, eager to touch the outline of him through the sweatpants. And as if you're getting paid to stroke Mingi's ego even more, you gasp at his size.

Mingi can't help but smirk, of course, who wouldn't?

"Big stuff, huh?" You repeat your words from earlier, but this time no longer nervous, but cheeky as you bite your lip playfully. Oh, how Mingi would love to make you choke on his dick right now, just a little, and in a loving matter, but he's honestly waited long enough and he really just needs to be in you right now. And besides, Mingi is more in his giving > receiving era.

Instead, he grins. And he feels like there is something more.

Impatiently, you tug at his pants, successfully moving them a millimeter. Mingi helps you push his pants further down until it pools around his ankles. You giggle.

Damnit, Mingi. Why couldn't you've changed your underwear? Mingi mentally scolds himself, a good amount of his previously earned smugness flying out the window. Instead, he gives you kind of a sheepish look.

"I don't mind," you assure, tugging at his anime boxers next, "it's actually relieving to be reminded that you're still the cute, dorky Mingi and are not possessed by a sex demon."

"Incubus," Mingi points out.

"I don't fucking care. Just get this hideous thing off and have sex with me!"

Mingi does not need to be told twice, although he makes a mental note to scold you later for calling the one and only Naruto printed on a piece of fabric shielding his balls from the outside world hideous.

"God, fuck," you let out, and Mingi chuckles at your reaction to his naked lower half, "come here. Please."

You pull him closer, wrap your legs around him and beg him with your eyes. Mingi wastes not another second, aligning himself with your hole and slowly pushing forwards. Your eyes roll back as he enters you, causing you to hold onto him for dear life as he inches inside, filling you completely.

God, must your walls hug him so perfectly? Must you be so unbelievably wet just for him? Must you make these sounds? Mingi feels like he doesn't want to be inside anyone else ever again.

"I feel like I don't want to inside anything else ever again."

How did that get out there?

You chuckle, and have the nerve to pinch his cheek, as if he wasn't balls deep buried inside you right now. "You're so cute."

Cute?!

Mingi will show you cute. He grabs your jaw, admittedly still gently, and makes you look at him as he pulls almost all the way out until his tip catches at your entrance. "Cute?" And he pushes in all the way all at once. You moan, the feeling too much, too intense for you to still keep your eyes open. Helplessly, you cling to Mingi's body as he repeats the action 4 more times before setting a steady rhythm, angling his hips in a way that should stimulate the spot you liked so much earlier.

With your mouth hanging open and your eyebrows scrunched, you look like the prettiest thing Mingi's ever seen. He wants to see you drool, watch you completely lose your mind over nothing else but his cock. At the same time, he is surprised how good it feels. Well, not surprised that it feels good, but that it feels abnormally good, like he's about to nut in the next minute or so. Hopefully, he's able to coax another high out of you before that.

"What was it that riled you up so much earlier? My voice?" He growls, and you as much as whimper in return. "Yeah, like it that my voice is so deep?" You nod pathetically. "Cute."

"Mingi- 's so good."

"Yeah, am I fucking you good?" Mingi grins and you nod weakly, struggling to keep your eyes open. Mingi really shouldn't be the one talking big because honestly, he feels like if u moan one more time, if ur walls clench around him one more time, he is going to lose it. Something about this entire situation is just super surreal to him, or maybe it's simply you that is the reason for his premature high that is coming for him with fast steps.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, kissing your cheek before whispering, "can I please cum inside?"

"Shit, y-yes," you confirm, nodding quickly as you fight your hardest battle to keep your eyes open, focused and on the man that's currently grinding his tip into your sweet spot. Mingi feels like he loves you.

Mingi also feels like he's loosing his grip on reality, which is why he grabs your hips harder than before, using his strength to really slam his hips into yours with force, drowning his thoughts with the sounds of your moans. There is nothing on his mind except for you, you, you, and the primal need to make you his.

"Please," he groans, not quite sure what he's begging for, but it doesn't really matter in the end, does it? All that matters is that Mingi's ears catch the way you're begging him to cum for you, to fill you up, to please, please finish inside. He is not going to deny you that wish.

His hips stutter, his mind goes numb as he feels his muscles tighten and contract, releasing deep inside you. The feeling spreads in his body, feeling high and happy with such a forceful orgasm like this one.

Everything after is just a blur in his mind, he just remembers realizing that you didn't cum a second time, and he wouldn't be Mingi if he kept it that way. That's why he found himself back on his knees seconds after pulling out, sucking your clit back into his mouth, tasting his own release that's threatening to drip out if it wasn't for his fast fingers pumping in and out of you to push you over the edge.

It doesn't take long until you do, orgasm fueled by the lewd action of Mingi eating his own cum out of you, he assumes. Somehow, you two end up in his bed after, mostly because Mingi is a cuddler, partly because Mingi is not able to let you go yet. Or ever. Who knows.

#mingi smut #ateez mingi smut #song mingi smut #ateez smut #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #ateez mingi #ateez song mingi #kpop #smut #kpop smut #fem reader #ateez x reader #mingi x reader

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raguiras · 5 months ago

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POV: Deuce's very first kiss from his crush

(Click for better quality)

I'm finally officially introducing my Yuu/OC x canon/Yumeship here! (✿◕‿◕) Writing this post took me forever, but I'm super happy with it!

Reblogs are super appreciated hehehe

Please be kind & DO NOT take inspiration from this ship. ^^"

(While Allen isn't me, I'm calling them a Yumeship because he's based on my younger self/me when I first started playing TWST & because the ship gives me a ridiculous amount of comfort!)

Allen x Deuce (aka Spade of Storms) is my ultimate comfort ship and they mean a ton to me.

These two are best friends who become lovers and closely mirror each other. Deuce is the delinquent with rather bad self-control who tries to be a model student, while Allen is a former honor student who's now a very lowkey delinquent with stellar self-control and a mature attitude.

Due to the fact that Allen and Deuce are so similar and yet the opposite of each other, they're able to excellently understand and support the other, and they help each other accept themselves.

Their ship blog: @spade-of-storms (facts, drabbles & more est. May 2024)

Now why exactly are these two perfect for each other? Well...

LONG TEXT AHEAD!

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

Deuce:

Allen supports Deuce with all his heart. Instead of believing that someone "as stupid and temperamental" as Deuce could never become an honor student, Allen fully believes in him and encourages him. In comparison to when other people say it, these words actually have an incredibly strong impact on Deuce and are believable to him because he knows that Allen has similar experiences and speaks from them.

Allen doesn't think that Deuce is stupid in the slightest and views him as genuinely smart. To Allen, intelligence isn't determined by grades or academic abilities, but by morals, attitude, logic, and willingness — all of which Deuce has.

Allen doesn't try to change Deuce. Rather than turning Deuce into a full-on honor student and role model, which he isn't by nature, Allen prefers for Deuce to stay true to himself and work towards his goal while not suppressing any aspect of who he is — Allen knows exactly that forcefully becoming someone you naturally aren't would cause more issues than it would fix. In order to assist Deuce with staying true to himself while working towards his desired self, Allen does several things:

Allen lets Deuce be his 100% authentic self when they're together. Deuce tries extremely hard to always be polite and serious in order to maintain his reputation and not resort to old habits, but Allen, being very impulsive and easily angered himself, knows just too well that suppressing one's feelings and true nature isn't the way to go. When they're together, Deuce can openly rant about topics, use insults towards the people who angered him, and show his emotions without having to worry about how others perceive him or about how it might mess up his reputation — Allen would never judge Deuce nor share his secrets with others. This way, Deuce can be himself without restraints while also maintaining the way he wants others to perceive him.

Allen allows Deuce to be a delinquent in a safe, harmless way. If Deuce ever feels like doing something forbidden without breaking rules or staining his reputation, Allen (a very lowkey delinquent) has just the ideas for him. This provides a comfortable space for Deuce to live out his tendencies without falling back into bad habits.

Allen is able to introduce Deuce to a wide range of healthy coping mechanisms that work for him. Allen is a much angrier person than Deuce and is equally impulsive, but has stellar self-control due to the methods he uses, and passes them down to Deuce. As a result, Deuce doesn't feel the need to immediately lash out at others anymore and manages to become calmer and much more mature, taking steps into his desired direction.

Allen helps Deuce channel his "negative traits" into positive/helpful ones. With Allen's assistance, methods, reassuring words and unique view on things, Deuce learns how to use the qualities that he used to hate about himself to his advantage. Suddenly Deuce's anger is no longer a hindrance, but a source of energy and motivation.

Allen admires the things Deuce hates about himself. While Deuce wishes he wasn't as hot-headed, Allen views it as an amazing trait and sees the passion and longing for justice behind Deuce's fiery attitude. Additionally, Allen is able to help Deuce see the positive side of these traits, and aids him in channelling them into something good to use to his advantage (see above).

Allen is the only person to fully get through to Deuce. Due to them essentially having the same experiences, opinions, wishes and morals, Deuce felt comfortable trusting Allen with every last bit of his heart (in comparison to other friends) — not to mention that the way Allen was able to help Deuce so intensely and actually talked to him the way he needed it also played a role! Allen has his way with words and knew exactly how to talk to Deuce from the beginning.

Deuce can genuinely open up about his self-esteem to Allen. It's been heavily hinted at in the game several times that Deuce thinks incredibly lowly of himself, but this topic is usually cut short and he doesn't talk about it further with the canon Yuu. With Allen, however, Deuce can open up all he wants to. He knows that Allen has similar experiences and struggles with self-worth related issues himself, therefore not only not judging Deuce, but also fully understanding him.

Allen perfectly understands Deuce's past. Having been feared, avoided and known to be a delinquent/bad kid himself, Allen even understands the details extremely well. Neither of the two ever had a proper friend until they met each other on their first day at NRC.

Allen successfully helps Deuce with his studies despite hating school. Seeing how Deuce needs help, Allen (the "gifted kid") gladly volunteers, even though he's no longer interested in class and has sworn to drop the "honor student" facade himself. Due to Allen's easy explanations, methods, photographic memory and capability to catch on quickly, Deuce actually manages to improve his test results by 1-2 grades.

Allen's study methods are unique, which helps Deuce & is necessary for him. Being a slow learner (I also hc him to have some sort of intellectual disability), Deuce requires rather unique approaches to topics. As Allen is well-versed with both studying and psychology and also keeps Deuce's exact issues in mind, he's able to perfectly tailor methods and mnemonic bridges that actually work out for Deuce.

Allen makes sure that Deuce's desire to be a model student is & stays healthy. A fair part of Allen's trauma stems from being an honor student himself and having unrealistically high expectations regarding grades and attitude shoved down his throat by everyone at school (including himself), so he pays a lot of attention that the same doesn't happen to Deuce.

Allen respects Deuce a ton. Not only is Deuce determined, passionate, loyal, honest and eager, but he has the same core values as Allen, too. In Allen's opinion, finding someone with these traits is not only rare, but immediately makes them endearing to him.

Allen is patient with Deuce. He understands that Deuce occasionally has a difficult time processing and understanding things, and he isn't bothered by it in the slightest. This means even more when you consider that Allen is generally a very impatient person and is only able to be patient with those he truly loves and trusts.

Allen fills Deuce in when he doesn't understand something. Due to Allen being able to catch on extremely quickly, he can immediately explain things and situations to Deuce, helping him out and allowing him to get everything right from the beginning.

Allen indirectly protects Deuce. Known for being intimidating (in a good way), quick-witted, sly and a skilled schemer, most people — including those who enjoy picking on Deuce — shy away from Allen and avoid getting in trouble with his friends.

Allen stops Deuce from getting into fights. Whenever Deuce is about to get into a fight anyway, Allen gently but sternly reminds him of both his goal and the healthier coping mechanisms.

Allen understands that Deuce dislikes being picked on. Allen, being a sensitive person, hates it himself, and he actively tells off everyone who dares to make fun of Deuce or call him "Loosey Deucey". At times, Allen even gets snappy because of the inappropriate nicknames or insults directed at Deuce.

Allen inspires Deuce. Him being skilled at a variety of things and just logical in general gives Deuce the motivation to achieve the same. Deuce doesn't compare himself to Allen, either, and views him as an inspiration. If Allen can control himself and get positive things out of his negative traits, so can Deuce, right?! Not to mention that Allen is extremely tough and pulls through no matter what despite his mental and physical state...

Allen's maturity subconsciously wears off on Deuce. Even outside of the fact that Allen helps him grow and improve a lot through all the ways mentioned before, Deuce sometimes also subconsciously copies his boyfriend's mature attitude or asks himself what Allen would do in certain situations.

Allen is an advisor to Deuce. Deuce struggles with planning ahead, and Allen — a big-time overthinker who's extremely competent at scheming — is able to assist him. As a result, Deuce makes less bad decisions.

Allen loves blastcycles. Deuce can rant about them to Allen for hours, and the two often go on blastcycle dates together. Nothing is more fun than clinging onto your partner while driving at full speed!

Allen values Deuce's company like no other. Deuce regularly feels like a nobody, and Allen takes that feeling from him due to how much he connects with him and likes having him around.

BONUS: Allen is not only beautiful but also has an incredibly strong personality, drive, and determination and hasn't given up despite everything that happened to him. Deuce is a massive simp and his humongous crush on Allen has always been obvious due to how Deuce just can't shut up about him.

Allen:

Deuce loves and accepts Allen's body. As we have seen through his interactions with Azul and Epel, Deuce is very protective of people who don't fit the norm, and Allen is another such person — an intersex boy who was bullied for his unconventional body. Deuce has not only sworn to protect Allen from any possible discrimination, but also loves his body dearly and thinks he's super hot.

Deuce gives Allen a sense of stability. Allen's life was all about short-lived fake joys and prevailing negativity prior to coming to Twisted Wonderland, which made him feel disconnected from many things and people and gave him the feeling that everything is temporary anyway. However, Deuce's fierce loyalty and the strength of their relationship prove Allen wrong — yes, there can indeed be things in life that last forever.

Deuce's utter affection warms Allen's empty heart. Allen was never loved by anyone but his parents, who he thinks only love him because he's their son. Other than that, he never experienced love, affection, ... or even mere friendship. He was alone... until he met Deuce, who he somehow immediately connected with. It was as if their friendship was predestined by the universe... and with every day, Deuce's affection for Allen only grew.

Deuce genuinely admires Allen. Seeing how Allen always does his best, works hard, has ambitions and aims to improve impresses Deuce a ton. This is extremely healing for Allen, whose efforts were never properly recognized or rewarded before and who thinks that he needs to perfect at everything in order to be "someone".

Deuce makes Allen feel useful and resourceful. Allen often believes that he has no worth and could never make a change for the better no matter how much he tries, but seeing just how much he's able to help Deuce with a wide range of things proves Allen wrong — he's indeed capable of a lot of things. Not to mention that Deuce even passes some of Allen's tips down to Epel!

Deuce's honesty is refreshing to Allen. After being lied to and tricked by about anyone Allen ever knew before coming to Twisted Wonderland, Deuce's natural honesty and loyalty are an unfamiliar but utterly wonderful experience for Allen.

Deuce makes Allen feel understood. Allen often believes that others would view him as a monster if they were aware of his secret anger and opinions, but Deuce shares many of them. These two can openly talk about their values together and Allen feels extremely understood because of it — a feeling he barely ever experiences with other people.

Deuce helps Allen enjoy the moment. While he has some overthinking tendencies himself, Deuce is much more spontaneous than Allen and tends to act more on impulse. As a result, he can show his ways to Allen, allowing the overthinker to finally relax and think about his problems a little less.

Deuce doesn't hesitate to stand up for Allen. The fact that Allen was bullied for something he can't change in the past saddens and angers Deuce, and he has sworn to himself that he'll always protect his boyfriend. If there should ever be another situation where Allen gets bullied, Deuce won't hesitate to absolutely throw hands — this is not being a bad person and picking fights, it's standing up for an innocent person whose life was ruined by malice. Deuce wouldn't regret it in the slightest anymore, especially since Allen has helped him learn than anger isn't a bad thing.

Deuce helps Allen with becoming a proper mage. When Allen first gains magic during the final quarter of the school year, he has absolutely no control over it and is partially even avoided due to being a "walking health hazard". Deuce, however, sees this as the perfect time to pay Allen back for helping him study theory and decides to assist Allen with practical things. Through Deuce's determination and belief in him, Allen is able to improve much quicker than he would've without Deuce's help.

BONUS: Deuce is the warmth and honesty that Allen needs in his life. The boy's mere presence lights up Allen's day and Deuce's careful physical affection makes him feel like the most cherished person in the universe.

What else is there to them? (examples)

Both are extremely close with their families.

Due to being so similar and sharing many personality traits, loving each other so deeply allowed them to realize that they can easily love and accept themselves, too.

Deuce's previous incarnation had a crush on Allen's, who died way too early. In this life, the regrets of the past are being fixed.

Allen's the brain, Deuce is the brawn.

They're both extremely cuddly with each other.

LOTS OF COMPLIMENTS (from both sides).

Deuce often gifts Allen plushies.

Allen and Deuce are basically inseparable by now.

If you hang out with Deuce, you have to suffer through at least one tiny ramble about Allen.

...and much more that can be found on @spade-of-storms!

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you like the art & ship and are looking forward to more of them! (✿◕‿◕)

EDIT: Please do not take inspiration from this ship. ;-;

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mrs-weasley-reid · 6 months ago

Text

TEN'S A GOOD NUMBER

Aaron Hotchner x psychiatrist!reader

Sypnosis: After Aaron's traumatizing encounter with Peter Lewis, he's sent to you, but who knew a profiler is the worst patient you'll ever have? Warning: enemies to lovers— ish(?) angst. a dash of fluff. light mentions of death and trauma. a few curses. went ballistic— it's lengthy, so pace yourself. A/N: loosely follows Mr. Scratch timeline for three seasons.

Monday, May 4, 8:34 AM

Aaron Hotchner sits across from you.

He studies you in every detail like he's about to take an exam, and you're the topic.

The weight of your scribbles—light, almost featherlike. Ink leaves a soft trail of words, a map of your thoughts, your perception of him.

The speed of your hand. Swift and elegant. Each movement portrays a scene in a movie. As if they're telling a quiet story, your story he is yet to unravel.

The way you deprive him of eye contact.

What are you hiding?

Why can't you look him in the eye?

The occasional nod to remind him that you're listening—not like anything's coming out from his end.

In conclusion, just about everything you do, really.

To Aaron, you're a cheat sheet. His way back to the field, to work—the part of his life that cannot be halted despite the need for a break.

"Your hand is heavier," Aaron vaguely goads.

You silently stare at him, waiting for the rest of his thoughts to spill out of his mouth.

"Usually, you write like you're afraid to puncture the paper, but just right now, your strikes are deeper. Your grip on your pen is also tighter. Am I annoying you?"

Creative.

You think to yourself as he rakes his eyes down the canvas of your face, blank and land of nothing but mirroring eyes.

Although you prefer Aaron's comment about your new lipstick and how it makes your skin glow—something about your prospect of finding a lover—fifteen minutes into your session. You didn't peg him as a man who knows his lipstick shades, but you stand corrected as he says coral with the utmost confidence for a man who wears his tie like a choker.

Aaron does it all the time. Every five minutes, he says one thing he's noticed about you and then proceeds to zip his mouth, denying you details about him like you're some hired criminal paid to torture the King's hidden fortune out of him.

And as per your entertainment, you'd do something out of your character to throw him off. If you can laugh at his gullibility, you would.

His goal is to intimidate you. Pressure you. Make you tick like every other serial killer he's encountered. Because he'd really rather be across an unsub than you. Aaron would rather be the one to ask questions and not you. In his eyes, you're no better than a small-town detective ignorantly interrogating a serial killer for a cheap gas station robbery, unaware of the skeletons in his closet.

At this moment, Aaron ponders why he agreed to meet with you once a week only to sit in almost absolute silence for about an hour, then go about his day like he hadn't just wasted minutes of his—and your—life.

It's always the same.

He arrives, flaunts his profiling skills for an accumulated total of twelve minutes, and then sits across you like a rock for the remaining forty minutes.

Aaron could've talked more, but...

He despises you.

Well, not you, per se. He despises the profession, and you just happen to choose it as your career. Nonetheless, Aaron generalizes and includes you on his list.

He finds it unnecessary and a waste of one's valuable time. Presenting a series of well-thought-out facts that he's sure Spencer Reid will enjoy. A list of reasons why talking to a psychiatrist isn't as helpful as people perceive it to be.

Aaron spits the words 'family' and 'friends' for the sake of ease and comfort as if he doesn't flinch at the words 'your father' and his face hasn't been frozen into a permanent stern. Because why talk to someone who doesn't know you when there are people who know you best? He lies through his teeth. He lies to himself.

Then, there's you.

You don't know him enough to trust his lies.

"Profiling me won't get you cleared," you state out of the blue. "This is our seventh session, and you haven't said anything." You add, finally lifting your gaze.

Aaron feels taken aback. He'd never encountered a shrink with such pride at their job—they managed to infuriate him. You infuriate him.

Now that you've granted him the wish—your eyes meeting his—it's having an effect on him instead. One that he wishes he didn't feel creep under his skin, stimulating the anxiety he's worked hard to ignore.

Still, Aaron squares his shoulder, "Nothing is wrong with me," He claims like he's not feeling the pit of his stomach churn with every word. "I'm only here for the formalities." He says.

"Ahh," You deadpan, pulling your eyes down on your clipboard. Hushed scribbles echo in the room. "Is that what you told, Dr. Briar? Or Dr. McCormick? Stiles doesn't seem to remember you at all—"

"They deemed me fit to go back to work, which you don't seem to realize." Aaron cuts you off. He doesn't notice the slight lilt of his voice. How a vein peeked on his forehead as he furrows his brows.

You have an effect on him, and Aaron's in strong denial.

"How?" You lean a bit, propping against your lap. It's the first time he's ever let himself tear out of his 'I don't break' shell. You consider it a crumb of a breakthrough and a laughable stain on your pride.

Challenging his stability—you raise your brows—makes him tick.

A faux frown draws on your face—patronizing, "Did you play a staring contest, and they lost against you?" You notice the little twitch of his eye masked as a blink.

It's a little unprofessional to provoke your patient, but you do, anyway.

This one's been particularly adamant about manipulating you into permitting him back to work like you were born yesterday. You think it hilarious how smug he's been for the past six sessions. It is as if you didn't spend almost half of your life devoted to the study of behavior. Like you hadn't figured out his plans from the get-go.

Profilers. They catch a criminal out of idea of sorts, and they think they can read everyone. It makes you want to laugh while pointing at him.

Aaron stares at you with his usual stoic expression, intimidating eyes filled with unforeseen horrors, and a straight mouth that's no use in your four walls.

He decides then that he hates you with a passion.

You feel a vibration on your wrist, "Would you look at that? Your time's up, Hotchner." You withdraw, straightening your back as you scribble yet another word Aaron is curious to know.

If he only knew you're not really writing anything new about the nature of his mental state or anything legible at all, you imagine Aaron exploding like a stack of case files blown by harsh wind.

But can he blame you when he's given you nothing to write?

"Agent Hotchner," He corrects with gritted teeth. Aaron's jaw clenches as he pierces his gaze through you. His hands intertwined with each other as if he's preventing himself from clawing at you.

You smile at him, "In this room, you're just Aaron Hotchner. A patient. A case." You know the specific word will piss him off, much less the motherly tone you paired it with.

A tactic. Unlike him, you don't need a team of agents to get a rise out of a culprit. The bare idea of you, a stranger who has access to his life on a piece of paper, is enough a stimuli to get an individual aiming at your neck.

"So, between you and me, I think you should start talking if you ever want to fly to wherever city your team wanders in. The longer you take, the less progress we make, and the less progress you make, the more possible that the bureau will assign a new psychiatrist for you." You say nonchalantly, letting his anger lead him right into your trap.

The words float like small fire specks of dust, both dazzling and dangerous to the eyes. Getting assigned to a new psychiatrist is like getting an easy case directly handed to Aaron. However, it also means he'll have to restart his psych evaluation process, and he knows firsthand how time-consuming that is.

"But, then again, who knows? Maybe the next fella will let you slide like the others did. Or you'll have to attend a series of sessions again for a lengthy psych evaluation. I've got friends too, you know? They might do me a favor and make your life more… difficult." You're bluffing. In no way, shape, or form will you jeopardize his health, even if Aaron's the most stubborn patient you have ever met in your lifetime.

His nose flares as he stands up. You know that he's done and murdered you in his mind at the way he's glaring at you with invisible daggers, but you play it well and act blameless.

Aaron marches out of your office with blazing hatred. You watch as he dulls every vicinity he's stepped into like death taking a stroll. A part of you is apologetic to his colleagues. They'll be having one hell of a day.

Retreating back inside your office, you plop on your chair behind your desk as a heavy sigh escapes your lips.

You stare at Aaron Hotchner's patient chart.

"What am I going to do with you?" You ask rhetorically in the air.

Aaron Hotchner is—for you at least—a special case. A case so intricate you had to be careful how you'd tread the water, wary of its fragile ripples.

When Aaron's chart landed on your desk, you immediately knew that he'd be toilsome. He'd make it his goal to skip the talk and jump back onto another case. The same routine he did with his old therapists and psychologist, anyone that was able to write a note and say he's fine when he's really not—never have been for a long time.

You already had enough patients on your plate, but you just couldn't say no to your favorite Italian patient; you only had one. You're the best bureau-mandated psychiatrist. His words, not yours.

Then, again, you never fail to mentally brag about how easily you read Aaron just from his chart, his image, and the first step he took to get inside your office. You read him like an open toddler's book, a piece of cake.

During the first session, you learn how badly Aaron's last case had affected him. The intonation of his voice. The way he'd shake his hand, your hand. His scorn. His fiddling fingers.

It's amazing how he's managed to divert his anger towards you instead of the man who traumatized him.

Melodic ringing snaps you out of your trance.

Aaron Hotchner might just get what he wants.

Sunday, May 10, 11:51 PM

A sniffle tickles your nose as you lay flat on the carpet floor of your apartment.

Your face stings from tear stains, and you muse how horrid you must look after your makeup runs dry. Your chunky heels were still on. In a minute or two, you expect one of your feet to cramp.

The day has been hostile towards you.

The mind, which used to be an oasis of positive thoughts, has gone draught. Sleep begins to blur your vision, and you don't hesitate to let it take over.

Until a bombarding knock jolts you up.

"I'm here! I'm here! Calm down!" You shout as you swing the door open. A familiar man stands in front of you with a dour face. Your eyebrows narrow tightly, "Mr. Hotchner—"

"What did you write?!" Aaron badgers as he storms inside your apartment like he owns the place. He pivots on the balls of his feet once he's reached your living room, glowering at you with scalding fury. "I was relieved to know that you released me from your care and looked forward to my clearance. So, tell me why a random therapist called me this morning to confirm an appointment I didn't even know I had. What did you write on my report that I have to go through this again for the second time? Is dealing with your sick games not enough? I'm fine. I know I'm fine. I'm straight in the head to go back in the field. I aced the psych evaluation questions. Your sessions are the problem. You're the problem." His ears, face, and neck are burning red. If he's a cartoon character, you imagine he'd be steaming with smoke by now.

Quite surprised; you're standing speechless. You're watching Aaron like he's a crazy old hag yapping about the Revolutionary War and how she hates not having the power to shoot every redcoat for the sake of rage.

You head towards your sofa, taking a seat.

Aaron examines you in confusion, furrowing his brows.

After a moment, you look at him expectantly. "Don't be shy, Mr. Hotchner. By any means—" you nod towards the armchair across you, glancing back and forth between him and the empty space "—continue with your thoughts. You already started. Might as well let it all out."

He only clenches his hands inside his pockets as he bores holes into your head.

What a sad little man.

You scoff in your mind.

You lean against the back of the sofa, tilting your head to meet dagger-like brown eyes aiming at you. "No? Suit yourself, then." You shrug, feeling the soft cushions under your palms.

"Let me remind you that I'm a federal agent, and I can make your life a living hell if I want to." He threatens, glaring at you as if the twitch of his eye is enough to make you combust into thin air.

But all you see is a child on a tantrum, deprived of getting what he wants.

"Answer my question. What. Did. You. Write?" He growls.

Silence coats the two of you.

His heavy breathing fills the deafening air. Your nonchalance fuels his hatred more than ever and the sentiment is beginning to emit from both ends. It takes a lot out of you to think of multiple ways to sprinkle some salty sense onto him without stinging his wounds.

One thing you learned well enough in time is how good Aaron is when pushing someone's buttons. A perk of his prosecutor days and seasoned by his bureau career.

He's just troubled.

He's just in denial of his own pain.

You chant the words in your head—uncertain of its purpose. Detachment ironically detaches from your senses like old velcro.

"You're not the first agent in my office, Mr. Hotchner. And frankly, you should be thanking me for taking you in. Unlike your old therapists, I actually read through your chart and took the time to understand you to the best of my ability. I cared—" Shocked as he is, your eyes subtly widen.

Before you can continue Aaron speaks over you, "I do not care about your pity. What I wanted was for you to do your damn job and clear me back to work. But that's just little to no pay for a shrink, isn't it? You need messed up people to stay messed up so they can continue knocking on your door." A clear hint of a demeaning smirk flashes across his face.

The sheer irreverence makes you dizzy. The calm snaps, banishing kindness and composure out the window. And rage knocks on your door.

"That's the problem. You don't care. You don't care about yourself." Your tone is sharp—stern.

You knew. You knew from the moment his file thudded on your wooden desk. The moment SSA David Rossi charmed his way to get your favor. You know that Aaron Hotchner does what he believes is right. Not because the unit chief title has gotten in his head. No. Not the slightest. But because he only cares about his values and people.

And you're neither.

It's not you to hold grudges. So, you had it down and set before you accepted Rossi's request. You had it tattooed in your mind that no matter how sharp-tongued and insensitive the man before you might be, he's still just a man under the weight of the world's greatest horrors.

You cannot break. You're not allowed to break.

Pieces of you shatter at the realization that some patients under your care inevitably slip away from your fingers. How your promised oath to do no harm did nothing—not enough to stop the monsters that haunt the world. Not enough to stop you, Aaron's psychiatrist, from dumping your own frustration onto him the same way he's currently doing to you.

But you're not Aaron's psychiatrist today. You're not anything today. You're not on the clock. And no one except Aaron—to your demise—will ever witness such an ugly sight. If ever he shuts up about his dilemma, that is.

"I did my job exactly as I should." You declare, licking the bottom of your lips. Damned the Hippocratic Oath. You wonder if the healing gods will forgive you.

You really shouldn't say the words that are about to leave your mouth, but you've been taking whatever hostility he's got for the last two months; the capacity has reached its limit. A little bit of harshness wouldn't hurt, would it?

"When are you going to admit that the reason you can't sleep at night is not because of all the serial killers you claim I prevent you from catching?" You finally stand. You are a few inches shorter, yet you have never felt taller than you do right now.

You grit your teeth as you move closer to Aaron, almost a breath away, tiptoeing. "When will you admit that the mighty SSA Aaron Hotchner, unit chief, doesn't blink, not once, because he's afraid he'd become the very thing he promised to put away." You raise your brows, challenging him.

Aaron's face morphs into bewilderment and perturbation. His brows are sewn shut. His jawline pops out as he grinds his teeth.

Resentment. Fury. Vexation. Chagrin.

All Aaron felt was anger.

Antagonized.

A walking tower of pure acrimony, finger-pointing towards the innocent.

"Don't you dare compare me to those— I'm anything but." He towers over you, losing his words through the stream of lividity flooding all over his senses.

"Do you really believe that?"

Aaron studies your face. It's different. It's raw and maimed. A squeeze of guilt whispers, but he shoves it quickly.

"What did you write?" He asks once more, earning a scoff out of you.

You step back, staring straight into his glare. Crossed arms tight against your chest. Brows rest over your deadpan eyes.

"While SSA Aaron Hotchner is proficient at his skills and rather placid in physically and mentally challenging situations, I strongly recommend further evaluation in psychotherapy as his emotional capacity is at its limits. The stress accumulated from the job itself has given him little to no time to allow himself the indulgence to properly process certain impacts of the stimulus he encounters on the job. Will update after further observation. Is what I wrote… so far."

You pause.

"Aaron Hotchner is an insufferable, pompous idiot who's afraid of nothing but himself. He is incapable of stepping off his pedestal and refuses to cooperate while complaining about the consequences he himself caused. He has been through enormous trauma. It will be torture to try and help him cope properly. I do not want him in my care as he is a danger to his own progress, and I don't want any part of it. Is what I wanted to write."

Silence.

For him to reflect.

For you to breathe.

Aaron's frozen before you. A pale statue bleached under the moon's harsh reality. Words that used to be superficial insecurities float in the wind of truth, forming into a cage he's sentenced for life.

Your fuse still runs—a long time coming from two months of his deliberate disrespect. The silence annoys you, so you break it. "Excuse my hostility. No one's invaded my privacy and barged into my household at such an unreasonable hour before." The impassive smile on your lips can haunt anyone.

Maybe you've gone too far.

Maybe it's evil to say such blunt things to someone fragile.

But Aaron started the countdown. He lit the fuse. Now, you're exploding right before his eyes, reaping what he sowed. And he's forced to eat up all the debris.

His eyes twitch, scanning your face for any sign of bluff, any sign of fallacy. Any sign that he successfully pissed you off and your words were nothing but overwhelmed impulse.

"I—" he closes his mouth, then agape. Any sign. Aaron will take anything besides the forthright expression on your face. He inhales, "I'm sorry." The sound dies before it can roll off his tongue.

It's like watching a bully shrink into the tiniest man who's ever lived.

Okay, maybe you were a little bit brutal.

You gulp as guilt creeps along your veins, wishing that someone out there would just do you both a favor and snipe you out before the embarrassment settles.

Drawing in a gentle breath, you take another step back from Aaron with a delicate voice, "You're not starting a new evaluation, but you're not done either. I transferred you under someone else's care because of personal reasons. My life doesn't revolve around you, Mr. Hotchner. So, if you have nothing else to say, go home." Your eyes drift to the vast selection of objects in your living room to diffuse the growing pity you can't help but harbor.

Only then does Aaron discern his impulsivity. Internally arguing with himself as he allows himself to look at you. One thing he's never done since the moment he met you with screwed brows and unwavering bias. His gaze instantly softens like a thick fog around him finally dissipates. Like he's achieved a clearer vision.

The first thing he notices is the state of your face. The dry mascara that drew faded stripes down your cheeks. Your puffy eyes are now faint pink, but he recalls them being red when he arrived.

Then Aaron brings his attention to your black dress. It's a simple formal, mesh midi dress, but he admits how it elegantly fits you. But he doesn't say it aloud because there's only one reason why you'd wear such an article of depressing clothing.

As if your words and his own realizations aren't enough, he gets a glimpse of the clock on your wall that reads 12:03 AM.

His blood suddenly stops flowing—skin clammy and pale. Aaron's lightheaded from guilt and penitence.

Without another word, you lead him towards the door, swinging it open. The past 24 hours already drained you, and Aaron just about made it fifty times worse. All you wanted was to get a shuteye.

Aaron swallows the shame and makes his way out. Before he leaves, though, he turns to face you once more. Genuine curiosity pinches his brows.

"Why didn't you just clear me out like the others did if I was such a difficult case?" The word tastes bitter in his mouth. What used to be a desired flavor turned rotten on his palette.

He asks with utter softness, leaving you skeptical to respond.

"Same reason why you kept attending my sessions even though you clearly hated it." You slightly close the door, only leaving enough space for the two of you to see each other.

He looks at you like the answer's all over your face but written in some foreign language he's not familiar with. Aaron barely opens his mouth when you answer the question in his mind.

"You needed a place where you can just be."

The door shuts.

Friday, June 19, 11:02 PM

"I didn't know where to go."

You pore at Aaron Hotchner with nothing but a flimsy robe to prevent his imagination from going rampant—and dirty.

It's eleven in the evening. It's been one month since you last saw him. It's been a month since he barged into your apartment like an entitled brat. It's been a month since you let your emotions take over. It's been a month since the two of you revealed parts of yourselves either of you don't dare think of.

A month and no contact.

You didn't wonder; just hoped and prayed that Aaron finally finds it in him to let go of the emotional turmoil that's torturing the soul out of his body.

Sighing, you step aside and let him in, closing the door behind you like it's normal to stop by one's ex-psychiatrist's apartment in the middle of the night without prior notice and, most importantly, without meter to run the minutes he's inconveniencing you.

Aaron walks in, and the heavy humidity of arousal immediately hits him.

Oh.

Well...

If he had something to say, Aaron kept his mouth shut. He is at fault for driving straight to your place like he's your bestest friend. So, he doesn't mention it, ignoring the fact that you're barely clothed.

Besides, after your last interaction with him, Aaron's certain he didn't have any prerogative in how you'd like to spend your Friday evening.

"Take a seat. I'll be with you in a minute." Your steps are light behind him—feet nimbly grazing the wooden floor.

He turns to face you but quickly averts his gaze to avoid the glistening sight of your thighs. "Thank you..." He does his best to sound normal, choking in between syllables.

Aaron begins to regret his decision. Though, not enough to leave your place.

You disappear in the corner of the hallway. Allowing Aaron to finally release the breath he didn't know he was holding.

With you out of sight, his mind deliberately wanders...

What were you doing?

Aaron shakes his head vigorously like a worm under a storm of salt. The thought is undiscovered—untouched territory, forbidden to be exact. Should he form such thoughts, he'll do it somewhere else or rather about someone else.

Just as he caters to the sudden dizziness caused by his action, a man, half-dressed, walks past him, cursing under his breath and buttoning his shirt. Aaron's eyes widen a little, keeping his stoic face.

Oh, that's what you were doing.

Ick—as Aaron would like to call your visitor—had brown and curly, unruly hair. He was tall and definitely had a face, which, Aaron assumes, is nothing like the one he envisioned you're attracted to.

Somehow not a pleasant discovery compared to what he attempted to imagine—you, alone.

Ick looks at Aaron with a scoff echoing out of his throat, "Oh, what a surprise! She's a slut." He states smugly.

"Or she just wants someone better." The words spill out without hesitation, fired on sight. Aaron doesn't know where the boldness came from as he leans against the seat with a cocky smirk on his face. Definitely no more perplexed than the uncertainty of anger boiling inside of him. He glares at the man either way.

The man scoffs again before leaving with a couple more insults that Aaron thinks he's lucky to whisper, or your visitor would've left your apartment in an ambulance.

Ick slams the door, shaking the vase on the accent chest by the entrance.

Where did that come from?

He's questionably not as big of a hater as he was before, but Aaron can't determine the motivation that made him act the way he just did with a person who has business with you, which he should have no interest in.

Moments later, you come back, fully clothed, in an oversized hoodie and a pair of wide-leg linen pants. Comfy and a 180 contrast on how you dress at work, plus the garments you had on minutes ago.

You make a beeline to your kitchen, "Water or scotch?" You holler out, opening cabinets with a creek on their hinges.

The question is rhetorical. You place a glass with brown liquid glinting under the warm ambient light on the coffee table in front of Aaron, then plop on the armchair across from him, catering your own glass.

He stares between you and the glass while you kiss yours, never breaking your gaze. You hum in delight, making a popping sound with your lips.

Aaron opens his mouth and then closes it, falling into a cycle like a fish underwater. How should he explain himself? How does one explain why they're bothering their ex-psychiatrist past working hours? After making a scene a month ago? He swallows the thick void in his throat.

"Don't talk, just drink. Sit here for an hour. Then, go home." You say, opening up a book that's been sitting on the table since he arrived.

Aaron feels a surge of relief. He reaches for the drink and lets the smoky taste trail down his throat without hesitation. He wouldn't have guessed you as a fan of scotch—or anything not clear or fruity. This is the first he's seen you without some sort of filter he can't read through, and the observation prints you under a new light.

The silence comforts him. The occasional scrape of paper against paper with each flip of a page provides him reassurance. The company he finds within your presence gives him solace.

You let him be. Asked no questions, reading in peace like he was just any other friend who needed company.

He does as you said. Indulging in the hour of tranquility and stillness. His nerves tame. And he forgets why he went to you in the first place.

Why did he go to you?

Of all people. Of all the friends he brags about. The family he cherishes. His feet dragged—drove him to you.

The onerous unit chief chose to wander to your front door, sipping scotch as he enjoyed the silence and absence of others' guilting worry and constant craving to make him feel better when all he wanted was peace and letting the ache pass in gradual acceptance.

By the end of the hour, you call him a cab with the instructions for him to pick up his car the next day.

Aaron slept effortlessly that night.

Saturday, October 24, 9:24 PM

Aaron expected some sort of rejection or for you to slam the door close, or worse, ignore him as soon as you see his face through the peephole.

One can only tolerate a couple of unannounced visits from an insufferable ex-patient, right? He's surprised you haven't called the cops on him.

He skims your face for any sign of irritation or annoyance as soon as you reveal yourself behind your door, standing next to it to give him way. Aaron saw nothing but impatience.

You knit your brows, slightly tilting your head at his frozen build outside the frame of your door. "Well? Are you stuck or something? Get in, Hotchner—" You turn before you can even finish talking, disappearing down the small entryway.

He turns deaf for a moment. Your voice rings in his ears as if a bomb had just popped the only working drum he had left.

Hotchner.

Agent.

Mister—

Just Hotchner.

One simple change, and the light above your head suddenly looks brighter.

Like he's found something good. Something he can say he knows. Something he can trust(?)

"Don't forget to take your shoes off and shut the door!" You holler from the living room—unfazed.

Aaron flinches, snapping out of his trance. He wonders where you'd gone to, furrowing his brows, and yet enters your apartment with the permission you'd given him. He closes the door, pivoting on the soles of his dress shoes as he tentatively takes them off per your instructions.

He emerges back in your peripheral while you stare at the screen on your laptop, blue-filtered glasses back on. Your fingers hammer on the keys, soft sighs slipping past your lips every once in a while.

You glance at Aaron when his figure stays at the corner of your eye, cupping a coffee mug between your hands. "There's fresh coffee if you'd like. Are you hungry? I don't usually eat dinner, so I have nothing ready to eat, but I can whip something up." You blow over the surface of caffeine, and steam wafts on the tip of your nose.

"No—" He shakes his head, scoffing in confusion, "I'm sorry—"

"Apology accepted," You muffle into the mug.

Aaron's brows connect tighter, and his forehead creases. He looks at you like he's under an illusion, a hypnotic dream he can't quite distinguish.

"Hold on," He hoists his hand up as if to pause a scene in the movie. "I'm very confused. What is going on? Why are you being… casual and nice?"

"You say it like I'm incapable of human decency." Your back makes contact with the cushion of your sofa, pulling your legs close to your chest while one hand holds the handle of your mug. You roll your eyes when Aaron only stares at you, "Are you uncomfortable? Do you want to leave?"

Aaron shakes his head.

"Problem solved, then?" Confusion is still fresh on his blank face. You mentally smack your forehead. "There are patients who lack temporal sense, but turning them away when they clearly need immediate tending to would be a form of negligence on my part. So, feel at home." You theatrically stretch your arms, offering every corner of your space as his own.

"But I'm not your patient anymore. I've been back on duty for weeks." Aaron informs. Although he finds a place for his go bag on your floor.

If you didn't know any better, you'd assume he's about to stay for a sleepover—coming to your apartment late at night.

You wrinkle your nose, "Okay?" You look around as if someone else is in the room with you two. "Is that why you went here? You wanted to brag?"

Three months.

Aaron's been back to his usual routine for the past three months. And it's been four since he drank scotch on the very couch you're comfortably in.

A chuckle.

The sound tickles your ears, filling you with unexpected pride.

"No," Aaron shakes his head as the chuckle resonates through his chest. "I… I don't really know why I came here, if I'm being honest." He swallows air.

You nod, setting your laptop back on your lap. "Like I said, you're free to feel at home. Scotch is in the third cupboard. Coffee's in the pot. I've got some stuff to take care of, so help yourself." Your eyes are already fixed on the screen, hands jumping from one key to the other.

With your permission, Aaron ventures into your kitchen. Neat. Clean. Cozy. He somehow imagines you cooking as a hobby.

He settles for coffee. Asking you from the kitchen island if you'd like a refill—which you took without a thought, hoisting your cup up—and taking out a couple of his files to get a head start on his paperwork. He wasn't allowed to bring them outside the bureau's building, but it didn't matter at the moment.

Your apartment becomes a haven.

Aaron, for the first time in years, feels comfortable to slouch. He had no collection of when and how, but turns out he'd changed into a quarter-zip and one of his pajamas tucked in his go bag through the hours.

The two of you silently took care of your own thing until 1 AM strikes, and a yawn pulls you back into the earth.

You turn your head towards the kitchen to find Aaron scribbling over your kitchen island. He's sipping coffee—a fresh batch he made not long ago.

Stretching, you make your way past him. After placing the mug into the sink, you lean against it, crossing your arms as you stare at him. "Ten."

"What's that?" Aaron halts on his seat, lifting his head to look at you.

"I'm granting you ten visits," You announce.

"And that means?.."

Your face deadpans, and he does well at stifling a smile. "You can come here whenever you want—need, but only for ten free visits. It doesn't matter if it's late, too early, or unreasonable. I'm allowing you to knock on my door whenever you need. Any more than that, you have to attend my sessions in my office, where I get paid."

"What's the catch?" Aaron entwines his eyebrows, straightening his back as he props on the edge of the counter.

"No catch. Just one condition," You shift your weight on your other leg, "Don't come empty-handed. Food, drink, things, a person, anything. Bring something." Your brows hang on your forehead, anticipating any type of response.

Aaron weighs his choices. Calculated every possible outcome and benefit. He meets your eyes again. Index and thumb rubbing the growing stubble on his chin.

"Ten's a good number," He says as he nods.

Wednesday, March 2, 7:31 PM

Eleven months pass by in the blink of an eye.

It's the seventh time Aaron showed up without warning, and by this point in whatever acquaintance you two had, you aren't fazed or surprised anymore.

The fourth time he knocked on your door, he was carrying a hefty price of whiskey. An odd reason for a psychiatrist and a former patient to bond with, but you had no qualms about sipping neat whiskey that night.

At first, he stayed for an hour. Then, an hour turned into three. One time, a case hit too deep, and three became seven, but that only happened once—all you remember was a Wednesday night.

"Are you okay?"

Gentle sighs escape shivering lips. Tears pooling deep inside sockets.

One sharp sniff breaks it all.

You sob under Aaron's worried eyes as your grip on the knob almost snaps it off the door.

His brows twists and he reflexively yanks you by the back of your head into his chest, bringing you out of your apartment and into the complex's hallway.

"What happened?" He carefully inquires while he rests his chin atop your head.

You're a mess in his arms. Uncontrollable whimpers muffled in his soaked chest.

Aaron suggested that you two step inside for more privacy and heat, but he didn't complain when you two stayed frozen in the end of winter evening.

When it stops. The suffocating ache. You lightly push yourself off him, wiping the leftover tears off your cheeks—half of it already dampened his shirt.

Fifty-three minutes and seventeen seconds.

You cried to the point of dehydration.

"Sorry," you mutter, eyes down. "We should go inside if we don't want to catch hypothermia." You sniffle.

"Oh, we don't want that," Aaron attempts to joke, closely observing whether you'd react to it.

You didn't.

He closes the door behind him, following your figure as you practically drag yourself to your unofficial designated spot on the sofa.

"I know I'm the last person you'd want to hear this from, but would you like to talk about it?" He bites his inner cheek.

Nothing.

You only mold yourself into a ball.

Aaron hesitates whether to stay or leave you alone. It's true that you said he's welcome anytime, but you're definitely in no condition to entertain his own problems when you can't even look him in the eye the way you would, no matter how insufferable he is.

But he can't just leave you by yourself either. Nothing is stopping him, but he's not cold-blooded enough.

"It's not easy," Aaron fractures out of his trance at the sound of your small voice. You look at him with a tight-lipped smile. "This job, I mean."

You inhale a sharp breath, tucking your lower lip between your teeth. "I can be hopeful, positive, supportive… Everything to prove that a better life is possible, but at the end of the day, it's not my choice." You wryly chuckle. "It's the patient's. It's your decision to want to feel better. To want to change. To want to live—" You choke, and the tears flow once more.

"It's not about me, but I can't help feeling like a failure." Sobs spill off your lips, gasping for air. "I was supposed to make everything better. I was supposed to heal everyone and save everyone from whatever monster was hurting them. She said she's never felt so much better. She said it's the first time she felt so peaceful for years, Hotchner. She said she was looking forward to our next session. But she just… I didn't—" You gulp—struggling. "I didn't catch it. I didn't catch her lie. And hours later, I get a call from her mother telling me she— she died." Your hands shakily clasp your mouth to push the sobs back, but you fail.

Aaron doesn't know what to say.

But he knows what to feel.

He knows it well.

The guilt. The shame of never living up to your own promise. The pain of losing someone you swore to keep safe.

Then, it hits him like a wrecking ball.

How difficult of a patient was he before?

Has he ever made you cry before?

It's a stretch that you'd ever shed a tear over his stubbornness, but Aaron hopes you never did.

Because he's never seen anyone care so much despite getting all the hate. Despite taking all the blame. You stood your ground and became other people's foundation. You became their comfort.

You became the only thing that gave him serenity.

With the little time he's known you—a total of 43 genuine friendly hours—Aaron can testify in heaven that they had mistakenly dropped you into the earth. And he's never felt blessed to have someone like you. Never felt lucky enough to find someone with who he could feel broken as much as he could but never needed to save face.

So, he's heartbroken for you. And guilty that more than half of the time you'd known him, he made your passion a miserable experience.

And also guilty of developing feelings for you.

Saturday, August 13, 4:16 PM

"I'm not playing favorites, but your tech analyst definitely deserves better than being cooped up in the bureau's building." You say, plopping on the sofa with a soft bounce and a squeak from the coil spring.

Aaron hands you a glass of bourbon while sipping his own. Eyes fixated on the board on your coffee table. "I have no other choice. It's the only way to keep her safe. Unless you're willing to adopt her, I don't want to hear it." He chuckles, connecting his brows at the sight of your winning streak.

You two are playing Scrabble. It was Monopoly twenty minutes ago, but along the lines, you learned how butt-hurt a six-foot and two-inch man can get. Not an enlightening experience. It would have been two stars if you had to rate it.

So, you switched to Scrabble.

And Aaron is losing again.

Boy, were you so entertained.

He just came back from a fairly short case from Los Angeles. The case is not heavy or mentally draining—according to Aaron, but Jack's at a two-day sleepover, and Aaron has no idea how to spend the rest of his day—turning down Derek Morgan's and David Rossi's invitation to grab a drink at O'Keefe's with you in mind.

Aaron leans on the back of his seat. You don't know when your reclining armchair became his designated seat, but you noticed how lax he is in it and didn't question it further.

Months and months of relaxing stillness in your home—only ever full of bizarre surprises and irresistible joy whenever Aaron knocks at your door. With no means of communication or ever seeing each other at either workplace, Aaron's visits are welcomed but never fully anticipated. Thrilling.

Spelling the word 'loser' on the board with triple points, you bite the tissue inside your lower lip. "Maybe you can play Scrabble with her. Who knows, maybe you'll get lucky and win." You grin smugly at him.

Aaron gapes at you with a mixture of disbelief and merriment. He looks down on the flat entertainment, then back to you as he blinks. "You're cheating." He declares, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

A hearty laugh Aaron's never heard before roars out of you, and it's melodic to his ears. The meringue light spills through the forgotten open blinds of your window, painting your face with a dreamy filter. Aaron feels dizzy at the sight.

Your smile is contagious, and out of nowhere, his heart starts to pick up as if he'd caught whatever illness your radiant lips had by only staring at it. The loose hair over your forehead frames your face differently—different good. Like you'd been glowing, and the watts in your core mysteriously increased, so you're as bright as the sun and as warm as its light.

"You're just a sore loser. Suck it up, Hotchner." You shake with mirth, casually running dainty fingers along the curve of your ear.

"Aaron," He blurts too fast, too soon—too late to take back.

With a nonchalant shrug, you rephrase, "Suck. It. Up. Aaron." Much more emphasis and friskiness.

You tease him more about his lack of greatness in board games compared to his undeniable talent in every case the BAU encountered. But Aaron's already dazed by your lips calling his name.

Without either of you realizing it, 4 PM became AM.

Talk about abusing one's privileges. Aaron's moderately good at that. You conclude he's simply a strutting opportunist.

After the longest winning streak you've ever had in your life, you and Aaron decided to take a much-needed break and fell into silent reading—or, in your case, grooming your schedule for the next five months.

Midnight strikes along the grumble of Aaron's stomach. You two were too quiet. It echoed all over your apartment. Both of you fell into an obstreperous fit of laughter for another hour, stopping for a minute in between only to laugh some more as soon as you met each other's eyes.

Now, it's four in the morning. You're busy munching on Chinese takeout from a 24-hour restaurant Aaron called in. He claims he has handsome privilege courtesy of the owner, which you mockingly laughed at, to his dismay.

"I'm still terrified." He blurts.

The case must've been very difficult, then. He lied yesterday. However, at this point in your friendship, you expect him to do so, even if it's obvious.

You'd long given up on coaxing Aaron to talk about the case that brought him to your office. Or any other cases that got him knocking on your door at the most unreasonable hour. You thought that the best you could offer him was the comfort that no matter how beaten up he looked, you'd ask no questions and let him sort his boggled mind until he was ready to talk about it.

Looks like tonight's the moment. It only took more than a year, so it is not a big deal—to either of you, at least.

He looks at you when you remain quiet, silently asking for your permission. You nod, and he continues, "What Peter Lewis did to me was terrorizing. I always wonder whether I'm making the right decision or sending my agents straight to their deaths. I second guess. I'm scared that a part of him is still in my head, driving me to make a fatal mistake." Aaron starts playing with his food, poking an orange chicken with his chopsticks.

The memory brings a tangy taste to his tongue, and Aaron can't help but cringe. It's the first time he's ever talked about Peter Lewis. Granted, Aaron spoke about the event numerous times but never about how it made him feel. Never how it broke him.

Is it weird to say you're a little proud of Aaron?

Of course, you don't tell him that. Not out loud. You know he knows you're proud of him. And that's enough said.

With a few audible chews—caused by a carrot bit stuck between your teeth—that somehow doesn't piss Aaron off, you swallow the food and draw your lips into a thin line. You place the chopsticks on the side, wiping the rim of your mouth.

You know he's watching you. Anticipatingly waiting for a response for anything other than the silence he's accustomed to.

"Breathe," You gently instruct, clear enough for him to hear but not too loud for Aaron to jump in shock.

And he does.

His shoulder blades rise and fall into a soft rhythm. Aaron was holding his breath, and you knew. Of course, you knew.

"Do you know the purpose of defense mechanisms?" You quiz him, earning a nod from Aaron, and yet no following answer. "You were already mad at me even before we met. And for what? Nothing concrete, I'm sure."

Aaron was about to object, but you raised your hand to stop him, "I'm not trying to attack you. All I'm saying is that rather than being in denial, you displaced your frustration on someone else less threatening—me."

Silence.

"I'm sorry—"

"I'm not done, shush!" You close your fist to mute him, cutting him off.

Aaron subtly rolls his eyes. He started doing so on his fifth visit when Aaron brought Jack and a few video games.

He told you that Jack's heard about your interest in a couple of games and wanted to play with you, but you know damn well Aaron bought the game for himself. Nonetheless, you entertained them by teaming up with Jack and obliterating Aaron. He vowed never to play against you ever again, at least not to your face.

"I would never know the pain and suffering that you went through. And somehow, even with that fact, a part of your life was in the palm of my hand. You had no control, but I did. So, instead of understanding the why, you hated the wrong who. And it's okay."

You take a sip from your straw, and a bubbly sensation fills you. Your tongue glides over your lips as you lean against the counter. "In short, for a man who's been through a lot, you know how to cope." A shrug ends your sentence, grabbing another bite of chow mein on your plate.

"Yeah, right," Aaron scoffs. The sincerity in your voice sparks something in him. It's giddy and tempting. But he can't possibly show the smile that's itching to spread his lips.

But his nonchalance may have triggered something in you because Aaron doesn't expect your next move. His neck felt like a snapped glow stick after you manually turned his head to face you—grabbing him by the space between his neck and chin. Aaron widens his eyes in the process.

"Listen here, you stubborn poopy head." You start, forehead creasing.

Aaron badly wanted to poke fun at your poor, intimidating skills, but he realized you didn't need any pointers just by the glare in your eyes.

"Peter Lewis got to your head, but that doesn't mean you were weak to let him. Yes, you fought through the influence of the drug heroically. Yes, you saved your agents and, most importantly, yourself. But it's still okay to be scared. It's okay that you feel broken. Who says broken things aren't great?"

It might be the sleep deprivation that's hitting Aaron, but he's very much enjoying your little fuse. How your words meant nothing like how you sound.

"That silver watch of yours—" you glance at his wrist "—has been broken for years, but I bet if you pawn it, it'll be more valuable than me. Antiques are expensive because they have unique histories. They survived beaten up, scratched, damaged, but still as beautiful as ever."

You're rambling, explaining more than you need to. Felt obligated to drill in his mind that despite the bad things, Aaron remains good. You're uncertain—clueless—as to why you felt the need to prove his praiseworthy, almost as if you're trying to convince yourself rather than him.

"From my observation, you're a sharper profiler despite all the things you went through. A part of you suffered and died in that house and many houses before. Of course, you'll be broken. You're a human being, Aaron. Act like one for Pete's sake!"

"I don't know whether you're being nice or mean." He chuckles with a mischievous grin, marveling at the way your eyes narrow as you look at him.

"I liked you better when you didn't talk." You tut, rolling your eyes.

For a moment, your senses heighten, and the simple brush of his hand against the skin over your wrist, as he takes your hold off him, sends billions of electricity throughout your body.

Aaron smiles—genuinely. "Thank you," He says softly, clearing his throat. His hand is still tight around your wrist. "You simply could've slammed the door the first time I knocked, but you always let me in. I appreciate you tolerating me."

You laugh, retracting your hands off his skin before you melt in his grasp. "I did not let you in the first time. You barged in like I'm some fugitive." You fix your posture on the stool beneath you, looking away.

His chuckle wakes the butterflies in your stomach, and you shove them right back down by stuffing your mouth with food.

Your eyes catch a glimpse of the time, "Y-you better go home and change before your son wonders why his father smells like Chinese food for Sunday brunch. Jack's a big fan of good 'ole syrupy pancakes, there's a good one by the bureau's building. Better hurry up and pick him up." It's amazing how much you almost choked and stuttered as you spoke, hoping that Aaron wouldn't question the way your demeanor changed.

Aaron takes one last bite before towering next to you, "Let me clean up. It's the least I can do for imposing half of your weekend." He insists, swiping the styrofoam off your hands.

"Glad you got manners," You nod approvingly, earning another chuckle from him, making sure you gave him enough space to move around without brushing any part of your body, or you wouldn't know what the brewing feeling in your chest would make you do.

You mindlessly peer at Aaron's broad shoulders and dark hair that looks so soft you wonder if it'll melt with your touch. You blink, catching yourself mid-swoon.

After a few minutes, Aaron bids you goodbye and you wish him well, asking to relay a short message to Jack.

"I think you're only nice to me because of Jack," He jokes, pivoting on the heel of his shoes to get one last glimpse of you.

You give him a tight smile, raising your brows as you shrug.

One visit left.

Thursday, May 5, 12:51 PM

The news said Mr. Scratch escaped prison. Peter Lewis is out and about, no doubt, planning serious harm against Aaron. You turn the TV off. The image shrinks into a small diamond spark 'til it leaves a dark screen.

Ninety-eight beats per minute are your normal, but you surmise it's about a hundred and twelve at the moment as your mind anxiously ruminates your not-so-favorite-unofficial patient's well-being.

You glance at your phone, debating whether to give him a call, but even if you gain the guts to do so, you don't have his number. Who knew that refusing personal contacts would backfire? Aaron can knock anytime, you said. It doesn't matter whether he texts or calls before, you said.

Now, you have no means of contacting him, and you refuse to resort to his ways—going through his file like he went through yours.

It's a shitty feeling.

You keep your fingers as far away from your mouth as possible, afraid you'll bite your nails to its quick. If Aaron was with you, he'd say something annoyingly witty about how your anxiety's too easy to read, and you'd be bantering back a remark about his tells that not many notice but sure slightly pisses him off that you know him like the back of your hand.

Eyes dart in the direction of your entryway, waiting for any distinctive sound only Aaron makes whenever he closes the door like a teenager coming home past curfew.

"This is driving me crazy!" You ruffle your own hair, rubbing your face in frustration.

Tempted to wait outside your door for Aaron to arrive, in need of a company. A once-in-a-lifetime bone-crushing hug, given by yours truly. Or open up the 1997 Old Forester bourbon on top of your shelf that Aaron's been eyeing for a year.

You need to know if he's okay. You need to see that he's okay. Physically, mentally, and emotionally okay.

No one ever knocked.

Friday, November 18, 2:33 PM

"Aren't you curious?"

You look at Rossi, "About?" Your eyebrows pinch together. You backtrack the entire session in your mind, trying to remember if there is anything you are supposed to be curious about.

There's none.

Rossi turns to face you, a hand emerging out of his pocket. "You're not curious where he's been? I've known him for years, and I've never been more curious about his whereabouts 'til now." The hand waves around as each syllable flows, and slices the air every emphasis he makes like a conductor of his emotions.

He usually talks with his hand whenever he's emotionally troubled, attempting to make a point to himself, justifying that his feelings are reasonable.

David Rossi has been your patient for years; you can write any and everything about him into a best-selling book.

"You said it yourself, Dave," You shrugged with your arms. "You've known him for years. He and I saw each other a couple of times during our physician-patient interaction. Any interaction we had after is just the two of us drowning in silence."

Aaron never knocked that day.

He hasn't redeemed his last visit for the past five months. While it isn't the longest time he's never stopped by, you're bitter about it.

You couldn't sleep for a week after Peter Lewis escaped prison. You were afraid that Aaron's name would flash across any type of screen or mark a headline on every article and newspaper. You had to take anxiety medication to stop your body from trembling whenever the thought of him crossed your mind.

It was hell.

The utter hopelessness and lack of courage teared you apart. The strangeness. The nonexistence. You don't reckon a conversation with Aaron that involves you and him. Only you or him or whatever depressing topic comes up. You're not even sure if you had actual conversations. Always wallowing in silence while sipping either scotch or coffee.

But you two had a deal. No catch. Not even feelings. Developing one for Aaron did not cross your mind when you granted him the power to bother you at any running time.

All of it is to say you wish you had known Aaron's last visit was, in fact, the last.

Rossi squints, "You're telling me the quietness you shared didn't matter? That his company didn't benefit you the same way it did for him?" He stands tall, pleased with his words.

It did.

Of course, it did.

And you loved every second of it.

Even if you realize it too late.

But you won't say that to Rossi. Or to anyone ever.

A sigh drops your shoulders. You give him a blank stare, letting his question hover for a moment. "What do you want me to say?" You continue packing up your things on your desk, breaking eye contact.

If you knew David Rossi like the back of your hand, David Rossi knew you like every family of the victims he managed to save.

Worried.

Heartbroken.

Hurt.

Aaron never told Rossi about any interactions with you after he was released from your care. It's information Rossi's only ever heard a confirmation from you. But he knew it from the moment Aaron came to work after his first session with you and couldn't seem to get the specific idea of you out of his head.

"We're doing everything we can to catch Peter Lewis. Aaron will be back, I promise."

Pause.

You fight your every single sense to remain composed. Hearing Aaron's name instantly made you crumble. The sound of it hitting your chest with such force you had to bite the tissue behind your closed lip. You badly wanted—needed to cry and throw a tantrum.

The inner ends of your brows lift up as you nod, "Good for you... and for him. I'll see you in two weeks, Dave." You dismiss, walking around your desk to push him out of your office.

"Wait, wait! Just listen!" You retract your hands off his back and let him face you. "He's okay. He and Jack are safe somewhere I, unfortunately, don't know." He tries to meet your gaze—successful. "But! But that's a good thing. Not knowing where he is while in protective custody is good. Safe. I just thought you'd want to know."

You nod, "Certainly a good information, Dave. But not really necessary." Your tongue subtly swipes the bottom of your lips. "Aa—Agent Hotchner was a patient. Anything outside of that is not my business." Liar.

Rossi tucks his mouth into a thin line, nodding. "See you in two weeks, kid."

Tuesday, March 27, 6:12 PM

It's a nice Spring.

Your hair dances like the breeze is music as you trudge back to your apartment against the rush hour sidewalk traffic.

A year and a half.

You moved to a different place since then.

Moved on— from something that never existed, but really, your old complex just ran out of business.

You couldn't possibly move on, even if you wanted to.

"Good evening, Mrs. Willows," You smile at the old lady as she steps on the base of the stairs.

Mrs. Willows was old, close to ninety. And she's the best landlady you've ever met.

She smiles back, "Oh, just in time!" She waddles towards you, scraping the soles of her flats against the creaky floorboards.

"Did you need anything, Mrs—"

The old lady doesn't let you finish when she yanks you back up the stairs. Confusion fills you, but if you are being honest, you're more amazed by her speed. You didn't know it was possible for her to have that much energy.

"There's this handsome boy knocking at your door earlier. So, I let him in."

You dig your feet on one of the steps, halting her. "Mrs. Willows, you let a stranger in my house?" Your brows knit.

She looks at you, "Well, I figured it's one of your patients." She shrugs.

"I wasn't expecting any home visit today." You announce, peeking at the top of the stairs. "And I would've been home if there was…"

You excuse yourself, cautiously walking towards your door. The floor plan is different from your old apartment. But everything still felt the same.

The anxiety of a random stranger going through your place left you rushing to the living room. You don't exactly let any random patient inside your home. It's usually the profilers that seem to have a liking to you that lucked the privilege to visit your home at any given time.

"I'm sorry, but you're gonna have to set an appointment at the clinic—" you abruptly stop, blinking.

Aaron Hotchner.

He's sat on the armchair, only lifting his gaze after he'd closed the book you were reading before you decided to step out to run some errands.

He is wearing a navy blue quarter zip sweater and a white shirt, peeking from under. It's paired with loose-fitting gray casual pants. Like his closet had an upset stomach and threw up all over him.

The bags under his eyes are almost invisible. It used to be a tint of greenish purple. A proof of his late nights and stressful days. He's caught up with sleep for a while now.

His hair, a little longer than you're accustomed to, somehow made him look young and boyish. Probably why Mrs. Willows referred to him as a boy.

It's quite an image. Not one you'd expect to see upon opening your front door, but you mentally admit liking it.

He looks refreshing and well-rested.

"I heard you started your own practice?" He didn't mean to form it as a question, tongue-tied by nervousness. He flashes an awkward, subtle smile, dipping his hands into his pockets.

Your lashes flutter like butterflies gliding through the soft wind of Spring, except you're struggling to go against the breeze, winded by the city pollution.

"H-have you eaten?" You ask, snapping out of your trance as you head to the kitchen. Great. A question for a question. You're as nervous as he is, and you don't feel the need to hide it, though you aren't inclined to admit it.

He chuckles, and it still makes you melt after a year of trying to remember how it sounds, "That's your first question? Not 'What are you doing here?' or 'How did you find me?'" He follows you to the kitchen, it's a lot smaller than the one at your old place but you had a dinner table now, which still feels like an upgrade.

You turn and face him, leaning against the counter, "I'll just charge the entire team on their next visit. But I have a feeling David's the culprit." You blurt, earning raised brows from Aaron. "Oh? They didn't tell you? Your team unofficially designated me as their psychiatrist. I guess they also kept an important information from you." You twist on your feet to focus on the produce you carefully picked in hopes someone would join you for dinner.

But you didn't expect Aaron to be that person.

"Are you mad at me?"

"No!" You almost stumble as you spin back to face him. "I'm in no position to be mad. If a patient doesn't need my services, then I have no say." You lick the lower of your lip, biting it as soon as your tongue glides past. Heat pooling in the back of your eyes.

Aaron steps closer, "I didn't mean to—"

"I told you I'm not mad."

"You're really going to lie to an FBI profiler?"

"Former," You correct him, sniffing as you fight the tears from rolling down your cheeks. Your head's tilted up, almost facing the ceiling. Anger and frustration hammer into your chest.

He rolls his eyes, trying to catch yours. "Former, right." He parrots with a little more sarcasm. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you anything... I needed to make sure Jack's safe." He softly speaks, making sure you understand every syllable.

It's your turn to roll your eyes, blinking and letting a tear fall in the process. "You don't have to apologize for protecting your son. I'm not evil, Hotchner. I'll do the same thing for my family. I'm completely indifferent about your disappearance, and i-it's allergy season. I'm fine." You wipe the tear stain off your face.

"I missed hearing you say my name like it's a foul word." Aaron smiles so brightly you thought you were dead and some divine was just using his image to guide you across.

"Seriously? That's what you took from it?" You shake your head, turning your back to him once more. "I feel bad for Jack now that you're a full-time father."

Aaron laughs, and by definition. "Oh, he's had enough of me." His eyebrows jump on his forehead, drifting his eyes aside as if he's replaying every instance Jack's complained to him.

You laugh, too. A full hearty laugh that seems to source from the casualty between the two of you despite the irritation you felt.

It's still the same. The ease. The effortless flow and connection despite anxious nerves. It felt like talking to an old friend you've known longer than you are alive.

You nibble on your lips, "So? You're off protective custody, or do I have to call you Brad?" You quiz airily, back still facing him to hide any form of amusement that's forming on your facial features.

"Brad?" He scoffs, crossing his arms and knitting his brows. He sounds about offended as if you'd disrespected his entire bloodline.

"Yeah, you look like a Brad to me." You remember a story from the women in the BAU. One that they happily shared one evening at Rossi's before they all begged to be added to your list of patients once you start your private practice.

Aaron lets out another scoff. "No, I'm just Aaron. Aaron to everyone. Aaron to you." He grumbles something under his breath that you don't hear, but a clear indication of his disapproval regarding the name.

You stifle a giggle, "Well, just Aaron. Consider yourself lucky that I got a free slot. I would've been with a patient by now." You state.

"Am I really just a patient to you?" Aaron inquires from behind you. He attentively observes for any subtle movement or expression in your voice. There's a longing look in his eyes that you aren't aware of. A frown drops his lips as he adds, "I at least thought we were friends."

"Mm," You hum a chuckle, "More like my stalker. But sure, we'll go with yours... friends—"

He spins you by the waist, and you're not sure if your initial thought of dreaming is ending anytime soon as your body tenses under his hold.

A small yelp squeaks out of you, hands flying behind you on the counter as if to hold yourself up from your wobbly feet. And you're certain both of you can hear the loud pulse on your carotid.

"Hotchner, what the hell?!" You chastise, pulling back, but to no avail. Caged and pinned by his strength, and you're too baffled to react accordingly.

"I'd like to redeem my tenth visit." Aaron smiles from ear to ear. You never thought it possible for a stern-faced man to ever grin this wide. To ever be this bright and bubbly.

Aaron keeps the two of you that way for a few minutes. His face is a few inches from yours. You can hear him calculating in his head.

Only the busy street outside and one of your neighbor's loud TV fills the silence.

"Your pupils are dilated." Aaron grins mischievously. He further scans your face, the same way he did when he used to be your patient, reading you like it's his job to know every micro-movement and expression you make.

Your eyes widen, "Stop—" Your voice barely comes out, breath hitching halfway through your throat. "—profiling me." The space between you and his body feels suffocatingly good. It's making you dizzy.

"Usually, you're composed, but you can barely look me in the eyes." His hands remain on your hips, and every twitch of it makes you stiff like a statue. "Am I making you nervous?" He quips wittily.

Like a switch, your heart rate steadies, and his image becomes clear.

It's Aaron Hotchner.

Just Aaron, he said.

Warmth surges through your veins. You stare at the grin on his face.

Your head tilts, and you blink excruciatingly slow. "Are you trying to ask me out, Hotchner?" You mirror the trail of his eyes like a map.

Aaron beams like he'd won the lottery. Sending you impulsive thoughts such as kissing the smile off his face.

It's tempting and nauseating.

And if he doesn't stop, you just might.

"Ten."

Your eyebrows merge in confusion, "What?"

"Ten dates," He breathes as he looks you in the eye. "Let me take you out on ten dates. Then you can decide if I'm just one of your many stubborn patients or if I can be more. Let me make it up to you in ten dates. Please." He implores, hopeful, or rather knowing that you'd say yes.

And he'd be right.

All you want at that moment is to say yes.

But teasing him won't hurt, at least not you.

"And what's in it for me?" You try your best not to smile as you taunt him.

Aaron rolls his eyes, but his grin tugs the corner of his lips up. "You get unlimited access to me?"

"Wow, that's... very compelling." And you burst out laughing, folding on your stomach as you lean against his chest. You inhale, "Sorry, I expected better negotiation. Uh, any catch?" You say between chuckles.

He shakes his head, "Just one condition," He's chuckling now, too. Not immune from your contagious giggles. "I spend most of my days with you. Even if it's just sitting in silence. I want it to be with you." He lets go of one of your hips and tucks a strand behind your ear.

The giggles die down a bit, gazing at him with reverie. You nod after a few seconds, squeezing his arms. You lift yourself, tiptoeing, closing the gap.

You leave a quick, soft peck on his lips, smiling as you get back on your feet.

Aaron smiles, and you're as ecstatic as he is.

Another nod fills your chest with utter joy as you breathe in euphoria.

"Ten's a good number."

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #ssa aaron hotchner #fem!reader #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner criminal minds #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch #cm #criminalminds #bau team

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sagelasters · 5 months ago

Text

YOU ARE GOD

When I talk about the existence of ‘God’, I don’t mean the supreme-human being that most Christians/catholics believe in. And if you just happen to be a believer of those religions that I listed, I would suggest you scroll away, mainly because what I'm about to say would be considered offensive and ‘blasphemous’.

I had to admit that I was close to giving up on the law until I had the pleasure of stumbling upon one of Bill Donahue’s lectures on Youtube. His teaching is very similar to that of Neville Goddard’s but Bill mainly analyzes the hidden meanings in the bible. He argues that the bible should not be taken literally but rather it is a treasure trove of metaphors and symbolism.

So how are we ‘God’?

For instance, Bill stated that the crucification of Jesus was a symbolization of suffering and long passage of endurance. One must go through the purge before they shall be awakened, similar to how Jesus was revived.

Upon his reading of the bible, it was ‘God’ himself who stated that we were our own Gods and not Satan. Bill also talks about how each of us harbors the Single Eyes of Horus, where you may ask? It’s in the middle of your forehead, what he called the ‘pinnacle’. The pinnacle opens when your eyes close, signifying the detachment from the material world, and embodying a sense of consciousness of the inside realm.

Most of us here embrace the existence of a supreme-human being, a teacher that guides us simply because we feel lost in the way. It’s uncomfortable being alone and that’s why most of us prefer to be followers, rather than our own leader.

So how are you ‘God’? Well most of you are here because you wanted to seek a better life for yourself. You were born into a life you did not ask for, with a fate I know you weren’t meant for. No soul is meant to suffer as long as they are tattered to this Earth, but it is that same hurt that brought you here. Like Jesus, you’ve endured hardships and the moment you learnt about the law, that’s when death follows.

The death of the old story and then…an awakening of who you really are.

The Pinnacle opens now if you allow it, embrace the paradox. Allow yourself to be the observer of your thoughts and let them go.

You are the way (I AM)

You are the truth (I AM)

You are the life (I AM)

You are not the flesh, you are the being in the flesh. You are conscious. You are something perceiving something else. You are always watching. You are pure awareness and stillness.

Be your own leader and teacher.

If you want to watch more of his lectures, I will link a playlist directly to my intro post. Bill has a lot of important source materials as well. I highly advise you to read his published work ‘Hidden Meaning’ if you wish to seek more insights on his analyzation of the bible.

#dividers by fairytopea / credit in tags if used #loa blog #loa tumblr #loassumption #void state #law of assumption #manifesation #neville goddard #shifting community #reality shifter #shifting realities #reality shift #shifting blog #reality shifting #shifting motivation #shifting antis dni

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kitasgloves · 1 month ago

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— ♬ NSFW

Having intense thoughts about fem! FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY, or rather FYODORA DOSTOEVSKAYA. Now, Fyodora is perceived as a maneater because of her reputation for manipulating men for her benefit. She easily captures the hearts of any man who comes across her, and then she'll leave a trail of broken hearts after. With her long raven hair, snow-like complexion, and especially her hypnotizing and alluring dark eyes, it was impossible not to gaze at her mysterious beauty. Paired with that is her unusual intelligence, she seems untouchable. Nobody has ever succeeded in tricking her or gaining her interest. Well...that was before you came into the picture.

Your entrance into Fyodora's life seemed to have answered the question of her 'dislike' for men. In her perspective, she views men as nothing but selfish and gullible creatures. So, you, a fellow woman, seemed like a refreshing breath of air. She kept to herself, but things began to slowly change after you applied for the job as her assistant.

Fyodora was gentle with you, surprisingly. She doesn't treat you with any coldness she usually does with everybody else. And you were naturally welcoming, so she took it as a sign to invite herself into your life. You were stuck by her side almost every hour. You'd serve her favorite tea whenever she's too occupied in her office. You're tasked with cleaning her workplace and constantly playing her favorite classical music. You'd often run errands for her like delivering or fetching packages, sending letters, etc. And when Fyodora feels extra generous (which was considered rare), she'll take you with her to dinner or for drinks.

You took a liking to your boss since she was considerate of you, unaware of her reputation of being a coldhearted woman. You can't help but admire Fyodora from time to time, you were attracted by her beauty. Lately, she has been inviting you to share tea with her and chat. Because of it, you've learned a fair amount about her interests. During the holidays, she would celebrate with you by inviting you to a feast with her alone. On your birthday, she gifted you your favorite book. You were blushing at the idea that Fyodora probably loved spoiling you.

And the woman did. She finds you the most entertaining and captivating compared to her previous male companions. It may be the fact that you're both women, but Fyodora knew it was something more. Your insatiable innocence, your inviting personality, the smell of your cheap perfume, and that wonderous smile on your face, lingered in her mind on a daily.

Women being attracted to women wasn't unheard of, but Fyodora being allured by a woman seems baffling. She would've preferred it if the roles were reversed, alas, it seemed like you have her wrapped around your finger.

Fyodora was sharing her afternoon tea with you, she enjoyed the solace she discovered with you. While you blabbered about your day, she can't help but let her eyes wander to your mouth. You have that soft shade of lipstick on that makes your lips look so plump that it makes her involuntary gulp. Fyodora sighs and settles her teacup down, almost shakily.

"[Name]"

"Yes, Fedya?"

"Come here"

She gestured for you to come near before patting her lap. You raised your brows and carefully put your teacup down. You reluctantly walked over and awkwardly sat on her lap. Fyodora was a tall woman, taller than average and it made you feel small. She runs a soft hand on your face, brushing away the stray hair and fixing your hair. There was a blissful smile on her features.

"You know I view you more than a subordinate, right?"

"You see me as a friend of yours?"

"Hmm, possibly more than that, dearest"

Fyodora whispers wistfully and leans closer. You immediately stopped her by placing your hands against her chest softly. She looks at you with a frown and notices the glimmering jewelry around your finger; an engagement ring. Right, you were talking about your recent engagement earlier with a wealthy man. However, this doesn't stop her from snaking her arms around your waist and pulling you close.

"Why are you flustered? This is merely platonic affection, [Name]"

Your face felt warm with how intimate Fyodora was holding you on her lap. Gently, she buries her face against the crook of your neck and greedily inhales your scent. The thought of you being taken away from her by a man fills her with contempt. She wanted you all to herself and she won't let a man of all creatures get between you and her. Suddenly, she turns to you.

"Would you do me a favor, darling?"

"Of course, what is it, Fedya?"

"Go lie on the couch over there"

And that's how you ended up with your skirt flipped up and your panties discarded while Fyodora ate you out on the couch. The pleasure of her tongue swirling around your clit and even sucking on it made your thighs shudder and your eyes roll back. Fyodora felt intoxicated with how you trapped her head between your thighs and how fucking delicious you tasted. She kept slurping up all your juices, but you kept overflowing to the point it started dripping down to her chin and even staining the couch.

You have came a couple of times by her eating you out but it seemed endless. You kept arching your back and curling your toes with how Fyodora was stealing orgasm after orgasm out of you.

"Fe—Fedya! I can't—ungh—no more, please—!"

"Oh dearest, I know you can handle one more for me"

Fyodora smiles up at you with her dark eyes and glistening mouth, her red lipstick is smudged in a debauched way. Her sharp fingernails were leaving marks on your thighs. You shook your head tiredly as you weakly pushed her head away from your pussy, she chuckles. Her eyes landed on the engagement ring on your finger, to think she had already ruined you before your future husband could fill her with pride.

"I doubt your future husband can make you feel as good as this"

She dives her face again into your cunt making you squeal as she licked a fat stripe.

"Fe—Fedya, th—this feels so wrong—"

"Only I could ever love you better than any man you'll ever meet, [Name]"

"But—nghh fuck!"

"Come on, do the thing. Yes, darling, take off your engagement ring"

With a hazy mind, you discarded your engagement ring on the nearest table. A victorious sensation swallows Fyodora as she eagerly goes to give you a tender kiss on the lips before returning to your pussy. You returned very late at home after being endlessly pleasured by her.

Fyodora smirked to herself as she busied herself with the papers on her desk. Her eyes trailed to your naked ring finger where your engagement ring used to rest in. She knew you'd fall for her and call off the engagement. She wouldn't dare let any man claim you for she felt the worthiest of you. Only she would love you, eternally.

god I really love closeted lesbian Fyofyo

#— ♬ with love; kitasgloves #bungou stray dogs #bsd #fem! fyodor #bungou stray dogs fyodor #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #fyodor bsd #fyodor dostoevsky #bsd fyodor #bsd fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoyevsky x reader #fyodor x reader #fyodor x you #fyodor smut #bsd smut

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theoccultz · 4 months ago

Text

How do your classmates and teachers perceive you ?

Req.

Intuitive chanelling

Thank you for all your likes ,repost and feedbacks, i appreciate it 🫶🏼

Pics and dividers credits to their original owners , i dont own them

Take what resonates, leave what doesn't, the decision is always yours .

ATTENTION : Donate #GAZA #BOOST

Pile l . Pile ll.

Pile ll. Pile lV.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Pile l .

Note : Their perception and your real self are 2 different things so take whate resonates and leave what doesn't , take it as a fun reading.

Students:

Nervous and a little on edge , you give off the impression of someone of a hardworker, someone's who's very attentive and great to work with , most of your classmates feel relieved when you are in their team in group projects , they think you have good ideas and a " unique perspective" you always seem to think outside the box , they think you have your style instead of saying things out and loud to appear more confident you seem to speak softly and explain things from your own interpretation, they think you are here to get work done rather to mess around, yes you will be playful with others but you're also very contemplative during class , its like everyone expects you to not pay attention it looks like you are in your head and you're not focused but when the time comes,suppose there's a surprise test you'll actually perform better than everyone else in teams of understanding the concept, your classmates has an assumption that you like to create your space and its always on the quieter side maybe you put in headphones or before writing or learning something you prefer to organise your table or get comfortable before the lecture starts . They think you'll be successful in life , but you might need to do things in a more textbook way rather than making your own interpretations of things and that way you will perform better . I think this perception has changed because of your professor's, maybe they told you to be more specific in your answer or state points in a systematic manner , to use this method and don't do this sum from this methid and blah blah , so you may feel a little stuck and maybe you have to put in more effort even though what you are doing is not wrong its actually creative, but your subjects might need a lot of mechanical interpretation .....yeah i feel so bad , you guys have really interesting perceptions, if you have seen the movie 3 idiots the guy rancho ig was his name , there was one scene where he was arguing with his professor about mechanical learning and ACTUAL learning. You look laid back and chilled out to most of them, you only speak when spoken too vibes but you know too much and keep quite. They think you are a perfectionist and teachers fav .

Your teachers:

They think you are a kind , compassionate person , they think you are introverted or you have a small circle of friends, they think you should take a stand for yourself, maybe they ask you questions and you just go with whatever they are saying instead of explaining it so they feel a little confused as to why you took that action or why you said that , they think you area little slow in your learning and that you actually think from a bigger picture instead of analysing small things for eg : they tell you to assume there's a person , you'll be assuming their height , their gender and what not ,to , make a mental map so you think a little ahead . They think you look intensely at them , maybe when they are explaining something you will look like you are 100% focused but then you might not actively participate in the discussion they want you to do that more , they think you should kind of relax and not be "THAT" attentive . They sometimes see that you may need to ask something but then they know you wouldn't come and ask them , they might think you are shy and nerdy ,yeah they think you are soft spoken and loves to avoid them lol . They think you have an attractive voice .

You may have these placements or you give off the energy of it :

mars 2h , venus-sun square, aquarius moon/rising, cancer6h , Neptune 8h , uranus square mercury, sun tribe nars , mars4h , medusa3h , aries venus , scorpio moon , gemini 8h/4 , L, loose shirt , heart locket , blue keychain , tomboy , late , wavy hair , Jamie, pet snake , crime books , mean girls , ice cream,baseball , anime ,stickers , skyhigh? glasses , cute smile ,fit , hairband , black bag, crocs .

Your energy felt so nostalgic and great to channel , its watching your favourite show on a Saturday night !!! Keep it up guys .

Thank you for reading!!

Pile ll .

Remember guys their perception and your real self are 2 different things so take whate resonates and leave what doesn't , take it as a fun reading.

Classmates:

They think you look nonchalant , you look disinterested and focused , They think you have a good attention span ,they think you might be rich , you look very confident but of course you have flaws , you are not embarrassed easily like you laugh it off , they think you look good in whatever you wear although you are moody , a lot of people find you charming and would be interested in a romantic relationship, they think you are drop dead gorgeous, you give them cold shoulder most of the times you are an ambivert ,you can work well but you are not that interested in people overall ,you have certain people you hang out with , they think you have a questionable circle , they think you have a lot of qualities they would be interested in learning , you give them the vibes of the student who can learn anything very fast you are kind of quick with the information although you may not be interested in class participation that much you , but you do well on your tests , they think you can be a little assertive like outright put them in their place if they disrespect you , you are also very sweet to some but you're kind of awkward with the new one's or people you dont interact a lot with , instead of asking about their day you get bored after 2mins and get back to your place , you seem to be always doing something and they could be taken back ,they think you're always engaged , i dont think you use phones a lot in class , you do look engaged with your work , maybe you just plug in to avoid Distractions and they're like woahh thats so cool , you come off as cool & cold to them lol ice queen vibes* its like someone who'd wear a hoodie in summers and still look cool instead of stupid, they think you are loud or you have masculine voice , they like your smile , hair and body , you may wear crop tops and big shoes , you look kind of edgy with your fashion like y2k style , i'm seeing a lot of stars for some reason. No bs vibe .

Teachers :

Oh my gosh do you volunteer for fashion shows or are you a fashion student ? Your teachers think you look like a doll now pls hang in there with me 😭✋🏽 they think you look kind of weak like you dont eat properly, they think you would ignore them no matter where they see you , you give them short replies , they think you do well in your tests , they think you area little stuck up and doesn't like attending Events , you make it very evident that you are forced to be here , you are emotionally expressive but also you keep on poker face, yeah they cant get a good read on you they have to spend time to not misread your habits , they also think you have good mannerisms yeah not a lot of opinions , they think you kind of actively go to places , they think you can cause trouble tho but you mostly dont so lol

*this was chaotic lmao*

You may have these placements or you give off the energy of it :

Noble , P, sister , sweet smell , kangaroo, 616 , 9, 47, hearty lips , big eyes , long eyeliner, yes , lets go out , blue jacket ,pink shirt , black eyes , dancer , sean socks ,j, stencil ? Steel? Mango , daisy , m , k ,braids , venus 9h , mars5h ,saturn2h , Uranus Neptune conjunction, Sagittarius moon , taurus n.node , pisces 1h , 11h satellum ,venus-saturn sextile ,pluto on asc ,19° , yod , cap /taurus rising, cancer 12h , aquarius moon.

Thank you for reading!!

Pile lll .

Remember guys their perception and your real self are 2 different things so take whate resonates and leave what doesn't , take it as a fun reading.

Classmates:

Damnn you have competitors, immediately you are someone of high status in your school/uni whatever, you are someone with great potential, you are very talented and smart , you are rebellious and can outsmart the easily , you know things before they do , they think you have a superiority complex , they think you pick up on their manipulation tactics easily , they think you are a tough nut to crack , they feel intimidated by your aura , they think you are very brave and its stupid to get revenge on you , they feel nervous around you but also excited because you look Sophiscated, they think you judge them harshly , they think you dobt care but you also put up an act , they think your friends are scary or there's too many people on your side , they think you have excellent communication skills , you are not afraid to be big , you would 100% interrupt them in their presentations with your smartass questions, they think you challenge the teachers, you play too risky , they think you may have had a tough childhood, they think you smell good and you love pet's and childerens, they think you'll stand up against the bully , they think you are strong willed, they are impresseed by your dedication, they think if your grades drop in next sem you would get it back but more than before , they think you are sporty , bold , and enthusiastic, they think you should show off your talent more , they'd wanna date you cause you're hot but you're too unbothered by their presence , lots of assumptions and nervous energy . They most likely dont show this they prob pretend around you or act too confident, there's sone bitchy ass Lame people here who are insecure and are projecting, they dont like when you act too "cool" or reject their gestures .

Teachers :

Oh wow completely different, they think you have a lot of interests , they think you can bring honour to the school/college , or a lot of people seem to compliment your ethics , they think you are consistent and very strict on discipline, they think you have a lot of opportunities and you are some people's favourite,they kind of wonder when you're not present, they want to talk to you more to get to know you better but you dont give them a Chance lol , you kind of shock them , for some reasons my notifs are on rise with this pile fir the 2nd time * weird * , you're mostly busy ,they think you are good with technology and loves to spend time in nature , they think you are active and you put in efforts in your appearence ,they think you live far , they think you have a different Accent , some teachers may accidently stalk you and they may think you lie a lot or you are very different from your online persona lol , they think you are artistic and you would 100% get their work done , they think you have neat & clean hands?what ... They think you have a lot of achievement certificates or you'll have many , they think you can make a great speaker , they think you learn from faliures , they think you want to be liked by your peers but you failed to do so , they think you lack confidence and need a lot of assurance. If you are mostly absent they'd wanna see you around more , they may mispell your name but they find you sincere and hard-working, someone who'll make it big with their skills & knowledge.

You may have these placements or you give off the energy of it :

Virgo rising, libra 10h , 9h moon ,12 satellum, jupiter sun , sun pluto saturn-pluto , birthday, 16 , funny, online ,stunted , senior , lilith prominent ,text habits are strange, eye bags , heighted , lot of distractions in this pile .

Thank you for reading!!

Pile lV .

Remember guys their perception and your real self are 2 different things so take whate resonates and leave what doesn't , take it as a fun reading.

Classmates:

They think you are smarter than you come across ,they think you take lead most of the times , they think you are a rebel and you dont back down easily , they like your vibe and they think you have right or good opinion on things , they think you are a trouble maker but you are always saved from the trouble, they think you can manifest easily or you can predict things easily , they think you are strong even in tough times you may appear calm , they think they can confide in you and bitch about other people, they think you are disliked by certain people for no reason like there's a lot of rumour which are untrue and stupid , at the first glance they think you have attitude or you look deatched but you're approachable and kind once spoken ,they think you should take care of your health more , they think you study well and you may have healthy habits , they think you stay up late , they dont know a lot about your background but they appreciate you regardless and will continue to do so , they also think you stand out fron the people in your caste , religion etc etc , they think you are really pretty but you get picked on easily for no reason, they like your eyes , they think you are sad but you hide well , they think you work well under pressure although you may not ,they kind of want to comfort you and have you around in the future. They think you go through a lot of transformations and you may also cut your hairs from time to time its like you maintain yourself, they think you have a signature scent you stick too , they always see you exhausted but still holding up , they think you avoid them or they see you first , they can read you well and they may act accordingly to it , they think you are helpfull but not weak and stupid , they think some are jealous of you , they think you are put in leadership positions and you do well , they do not agree with others critism and defend you most of the times . They think you are funny and free to work with , they love your attitude and would love to be friends with you if you would have less boundaries with them lol .

Teachers :

Ahh they feel disappointed in you , they think you dont focus on their class , they think you do the opposite of what they tell you too , they think you mess up on purpose, they dont like to see you around others ? Wtf they are so childish and unprofessional sorry. Most of your teachers dont want you to cross them if they say its zee then its zee not A , i dont think you do tho , their ass is negative af *toxic energy dude sorry * they want you to just obey them , they want you to be more Clear of your goals , they want to see you in competitions and active in activites,they think you can do better , they think you have a tendency to run away if things get hard, they think you are disrespectful and someone who they need to keep an eye on , they think you are exhausted or mentally drained , they think you dont have a balanced life , they'd want to offer you assistance, they think you resist things and you should be more open and free with them , they want to see you share your wisdom with others , they want to see you smile more or be more enthusiastic, they want to see you in an optimist state , they want you to focus on your self and maintain your hygiene. They think you look pretty elegant and influential but you are depressed , instead of guiding you they can get critical . These teachers are passive aggressive and likely on the face, so pls pick a diff pile if its not the same for you .

Ugh they dont know you at all , they seem so bitter and weird , must be stressful to deal with them , They are not all that first of all , second you should maintain your distance, and be more assertive around them . I picked up this energy of humbling you which i dont agree with .

You may have these placements or you give off the energy of it :

Scorpio sun/moon/rising, Sagittarius 12h, Lilith libra4h , sun-saturn , pisces 3h , leo 9h/rising, 2 , 7/11 , brooklyn ,sweeden , biscuits, netflix , captain, red shirt, clumsy umbrella, lost 20$ , frenemy, documentries , songs ,3pm .

Thank you for reading!!

#pick a card #pick a pile #tarot reading #tarotblr #free readings #intuiative reading #spirituality #vd

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inaconstantstateofchange · 10 months ago

Text

Halsin and Silvanus

In the course of my recent research on Bane for a lore request fill, I found myself coming across a lot of very interesting information, previously unknown to me, about the other gods of the Forgotten Realms — in particular Silvanus. There was enough there that it inspired me to direct some extra research hours into this writeup, exploring all the reasons why Halsin is a quintessential Silvanite.

If you would like any more information on anything included here, please feel free to drop a comment or an ask, as there is truly so much that I just don’t have the space to include. (I usually end up with about 12-13 pages of source quotes before I begin one of these meta posts.)

My usual note that, as ever, these writeups will align with current 5e lore, and draw from 3.5e for additional supporting information. On rarer occasions – and always noted – I will reference 1e and 2e, but with the caveats that there is much more in those editions that is tonally dissonant with the modern conception of the Forgotten Realms, and thus generally less applicable.

Silvanus is easily one of the most misunderstood gods of the Faerûnian pantheon. This is even pointed out directly within his section of the 3.5e Faiths & Pantheons (an incredible resource if you are looking for more detailed information on the gods of the Forgotten Realms!):

Nevertheless, most outsiders view the church of Chauntea, as patrons of agriculture, as being favorably inclined toward the expansion of civilization, while the church of Silvanus is the implacable foe of those who would settle new lands. Neither impression is correct, yet the church of the Oak Father is often perceived as little different from those faiths that venerate the Deities of Fury.¹ [emphasis added]

Silvanus is most often perceived as strictly and impassively neutral, and intrinsically opposed to civilization in all its forms. While the former is something close to true – he is a very neutral-aligned deity, albeit not necessarily in a way that matches the popular conception of the term – the latter is certainly not. Humanity (if you’ll forgive the use of the term to designate in broad strokes the non-animal denizens of the Material Plane) is another facet of nature, one given equal consideration to the rest – plant, animal, and other – by Silvanus.²

While as a whole followers of Silvanus have a preference for the wilds and the deep forests, this is by no means a concrete rule. In fact, Silvanite clergy – those known as druids – are not uncommonly found in enclaves in larger cities of the Sword Coast and beyond, including Waterdeep.² Typically these druids will “create gardenlike walled areas of wild forest within the city limits.”¹ Wherever they may find themselves, Silvanite druids work to maintain the Balance of nature around them, through education and direct action both.

Silvanus’s dogma has much to tell us about his philosophy, and that of his followers. I’ll be splitting notable excerpts and their relation to Halsin into sections below.

Hold your distance and take in the total situation, rather than latching on to the popular idea of what is best.¹

Halsin was, from the first moment I met him in-game, so notable for his calm self-possession, and the clear forethought he gave to his actions and those of others. He does not feel bound by the expectations or approval of others – as noted in the dialogue he shares with the player if they compliment his choice of successor – but instead makes his own path following the direction of Silvanus’s wisdom and will.

Resort to violence and open confrontation only when pressured by time or hostile action.¹

This is showcased numerous times throughout the game, but perhaps best evidenced by an in-game note, from an unlikely source: the Priestess Gut. The note that you can find from her, regarding Halsin’s capture, notes the following:

Said he thinks there's somethin' rotten inside us. Inside me. Reckons he can help get rid of the rot. I told him we don't need any help from nobody. Never did. And especially not now the Absolute's taken a shine to us.³

Despite the immediacy of his capture at their hands, and the preceding attack already lodged against himself and Nettie⁴, Halsin’s primary impulse is to attempt diplomacy, and render aid. This only changes when his length of captivity has made it clear that there will be no changing the minds of the cultists, and they must be dissuaded by stronger means.

Banish disease wherever you find it¹

The way Halsin is first introduced to the player is as a healer – and not just any healer, but a masterful one, known throughout the region, who has the best chance of being able to assist with any manner of strange ailment. It is clear in all ways, as well as in the scenario referenced in the preceding section, that this is an aspect of Silvanus that Halsin strives to embody at all times.

Seek out, serve, and befriend the dryads and learn their names.¹

Particularly if we understand the reference to dryads here to extend to all fey spirits of nature, this gives new depth to Halsin’s friendship and devotion to the nature spirit Thaniel. Halsin, as a druid generally, and as an Archdruid in particular, would have a solemn and divinely-ordained responsibility to redress the upheaval of the Balance within the Shadowcursed lands. For that reason alone, it is no surprise that it was his primary motivation and consideration for nigh on a century.

However, even above and beyond that, Halsin had an additional motivator. Even before he became a druid, potentially before he was exposed to the teachings of Silvanus in anything but the most vague and general of terms, he was living them out by befriending the local nature spirit, learning his name, and seeking to understand, serve, and protect him.

Make others see the balance and work against those that would disturb it. Watch, anticipate, and quietly manipulate.¹

The primary source text I am using to draw this connection was written neither by nor about Halsin, yet I believe it still clearly reflects on him, for reasons that will become clear. This text is from a logbook recording activities of the Emerald Grove during the year 1371, 121 years prior to the start of the game’s storyline, and some years before the defining events in the soon-to-be Shadowcursed Lands.

6 Uktar: Sent two druids, some of the newer recruits, up north. Village there has had two years of failed crops and are unlikely to survive the next winter. 9 Uktar: A group from Baldur's Gate arrived. They've set up camp on the edge of the forest. Two bears and a fox came by. Their territory has been burned out. Half the fox's cubs died. Paying this new group a visit tomorrow. 10 Uktar: Visit did not go well. After telling me where to shove it, they said they'd cut down half the forest and burn out any wildlife that dared to stick around. Claimed they were going to 'farm the land and make a new city of their own.' Time to get creative. 12 Uktar: Mudslide did the trick. Buried half their farming equipment and made the rest useless. They won't be back any time soon. Got reports of a Red Wizard in the village south of here. Sending three rangers to investigate. If they catch even a whiff of a red cloak, I'm contacting the House of Silvanus.⁵

Given the timeline, while this is unlikely to have been written by Halsin himself, it seems like a strong possibility that it was written by his master, the previous Archdruid of the Emerald Grove, who perished in the fight against Ketheric Thorm. This is supported by the clear evidence that the author was an individual in a position to give direction and command to those around them, and to make the call for how to deal with various situations. Given too what we know of the druidic leadership structure, Halsin would have been the previous Archdruid’s Second, as Kagha was his.⁶

This man, then, would have greatly influenced Halsin as a druid of Silvanus and as a leader both. We can presume that this watchful duty and deliberation was one that Halsin himself took over, charged with doing his part to maintain the Balance of the region around the grove. This last point especially becomes even more significant in light of the following information, which comes not from Silvanus’s dogma, but rather from a description of his followers and traditions of worship:

Members of the clergy work to redirect development and control populations through covert sponsorship of brigands, breeding and selective placing of predators, and other means. It is essential that such work be as secretive as possible, so that most folk view the servants of Silvanus as essentially benign lovers of trees. Wildlife breeding, nursing sick animals, and replanting trees and wild shrubs are all work that should be done as publicly as possible to support this perception – and as necessary work to redress the slipping Balance, of course.¹ [emphasis added]

It is clear from all preceding evidence, and this excerpt in particular, that the druids as a whole put far more thought and strategy into every aspect of their appearance and the perception of them than they would ever want outsiders to become aware of. Halsin himself corroborates this in-game, noting that, while druids might not like politicking, that certainly does not mean they haven’t the skill for it when called upon.

For the sake of… well. (I have been advised by my legal counsel not to use “brevity” here.) Regardless! For the sake of my sanity and your time, I will refrain from going into further detail on specific instances that show this to be true of Halsin. I will merely encourage you, the reader, to consider the value this brings to his character and druids as a whole, and hope to encourage new appreciation for their refreshing complexity.

In closing, I leave you with one final quote:

Superior patience, natural knowledge, and anticipation are the hallmarks of a worthy servant of Silvanus.¹

¹ Faiths and Pantheons. 2002. p. 63.

² Dragon Magazine #412. June 2012. pp. 22-3.

³ Rancid Note. In-Game Text.

⁴ Halsin’s Journal, Vol I. In-Game Text.

⁵ Logbook XII: 1371. In-Game Text.

⁶ Grove Annals. In-Game Text.

#voidling speaks #my meta #bg3 meta #meta #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #halsin #bg3 halsin #silvanus #realmslore #forgotten realms

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sweet-as-an-angel · 2 years ago

Note

Hii, I was wondering if you could possibly write about what kind of p*rn you think Ghost and König like? (And other characters if you want! )it’s just been floating around my head for days and you’re one of my favorite writers. If not, that’s totally fine! 💛💛💛

MW2 and Their P0rn Preferences

Warnings: 18+, Heavy Mentions of P0rn0graphy (none shown), Mention of Poor Mental Health, P0rn w/ Feelings, P0rn w/o Feelings, BDSM, Knife Play, Breeding Kink, Historical P0rn, Mention of Hardcore Lesbian P0rn, Mentions of Masturbation, University Lecturer/Student Relationship, Body Worship, Daddy Kink, Sadism, Mentions of Torture P0rn, Mention of Sex Tape, Mention of Insecurity, Mention of Alcohol, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’, Profanity, etc.

A/N: Tysm, Anon <3 ! Also, I’ve changed any mentions of the subject material to p0rn as to skirt around any potential censorship issues.

Ghost:

Given the absolute S T A T E of this man’s mental health, I think he secretly watches p0rn for the plot.

No, really. I mean he genuinely watches p0rn for the storyline; though not just any storyline.

It has to have feeling, romance. Love.

Though he’d never, ever, EVER admit it, he watches it to fill an emotional void in his life rather than a sexual one (ejaculation is just a bonus - he sees it as more of a duty to his body’s needs rather than his personal ones).

Definitely favours p0rn where it features a couple who have reunited after a long stretch of time and…well, have at it.

He found that there’s a startling lack of this in the men’s category, though, so he goes and finds it in the women’s because p0rn there is a lot softer, much more sensual, and doesn’t feel as creepy.

Ghost isn’t a fan of typical straight p0rnography; he thinks it’s too violent and unrealistic.

Instead, he watches ones where the couple aren’t just fucking or having sex - they’re making love.

And, really, beneath all the death and decay and bloodshed his life has become buried under, Ghost wants what those couples have.

Maybe if he knows you and likes you, he’ll jack off to the thought of you in those situations with him - absolutely even more so if you’re his partner.

Ghost would NEVER divulge the actual p0rnography he consumes - not even to Soap.

Whenever the guys back at Base would try and draw the truth out of him - Johnny especially - he’d tell them to “Pipe the fuck down” and “Get back to work.”

However, if he were a little loose-lipped via the aid of booze, he’ll cast the 141 a false line.

And when Johnny comes asking him what his preferences are again, Ghost won’t even cast him a second glance as the lie spills between his lips as he, Simon Riley, with all the conviction of a man accused of a false crime, says “Hardcore lesbian.”

And nobody will think to even question it.

König:

If he’s in a dom mood, something hardcore, though nothing outright sadistic; especially if he’s just returned from a mission.

Instead it’ll be, at most, some bondage, maybe some marking here and there - really nothing too wild.

He saves that for when he’s with you.

On the contrary, if he’s feeling a little raw from his time away but still needs to relieve himself, he’ll watch something similar to Ghost in that whatever he chooses to jank himself off to has to have a storyline. And love.

Though, his may be just a smidge more softcore than Ghost’s in that maybe the more dominantly perceived of the couple bottoms on occasion, or there just isn’t as much sex in favour of a richer storyline.

Most of the time, König actually never makes it to the stage of jacking off because he’s so invested in where the protagonists’ relationship is going and starts getting emotional.

This happens if you’re away and not within his immediate vicinity because he can only think of yours and his relationship.

98% of the time, he gets to the end of the video, realises he’s gone half limp, and just decides to go and watch a rom-com instead.

But don’t be fooled.

The second you arrive home, he’ll be on you like a blanket.

And he is not letting you go until both your needs are met.

Soap:

Something conventional yet with a distinct Johnny twist to it.

I can see him reading Playboy mags, for one, though this is more to get himself hard rather than to alleviate himself with.

He goes for something stronger when he wants to get himself off.

Definitely into the whole jealousy/possessiveness trope, so anything where one of the leads gets jealous for one reason or another and just destroys their partner afterwards is his type of media.

Johnny strikes me as a switch with top lean, so he’s much more likely to put himself in the position of the dominant lead instead of the lead receiving punishment.

Soap definitely gets off on some degree of dumbification - more so that, when the dom lead is almost through with their partner, said partner is just a heaving, whimpering, cum-soaked mess beneath them.

That, and body worship.

Soap wants to see a loving relationship wherein the leads truly love each other and find each other physically attractive (reflecting Johnny’s relationship with you), so to see one or the other in these on-screen relationships tell the other what they love about them gets him a little hot under the collar (though the collar may have been long discarded).

That’s the home stretch that gets Johnny off.

He also watches p0rn to improve, in a way.

Occasionally, he gets a little insecure that there may come a day where he can’t meet your needs, so he uses p0rn as a training ground to make sure he’s at the top of his game.

And many practice sessions with you too, of course.

Price:

University professor x Student.

Change my mind.

No clue what brought this on in him; I feel like this may have just been something he experimented with one bored evening and found that it worked, so he just kept consuming it. Or, it phased into his psyche after being so high in the chain of command for so long.

Either way, he usually can only get off to being in a position of dominance and power.

Though, he does have other preferences when it comes to how he asserts this dominance.

Sometimes he’ll watch historic p0rn (stay with me on this) where there’s a couple in the 40’s - one of whom is a soldier, the other the caretaker of their shared house - who are able to return to each other.

And then they…well, what couples who’ve been separated by war and worry usually do in these circumstances.

I feel like Price may have a preference for the couple being straight, but only for the aspect of one of them being a traditional housewife who the soldier wants to start a family with.

Pretty wholesome concept. Pretty unwholesome execution.

Price isn’t a fan of violent p0rnography, so it’s pretty ordinary and vanilla, but it satiates his breeding kink.

And my god, does this man have a breeding kink.

Not that anyone else on Base knows that.

They know literally nothing about his sexual preferences, and, given he’s their superior, they rarely push the issue when he shuts it down.

Alejandro:

Slow and sensual wins the race.

Man loves a good story – especially if it starts with an argument and one of the leads having to comfort the other by…making it up to them.

Alejandro’s an intense, romantic man, so it would stand to reason that his p0rnographic preferences would match his personality.

Definitely into body worship and praising, both giving and receiving.

The top lead has to be attentive to the sub lead’s needs, to the point that there are slivers of tears running down their cheeks because they feel so good.

Alejandro also has an unintentional preference for edging.

He won’t let himself finish until the sub lead has first; out of habit more than anything else.

If you walk in on him watching it, he’ll be absolutely shameless.

Will beckon you over with a dashing smile and say something to the effect of: “Mi amor, come here. My lap is lonely without you in it.”

Only uses p0rn as a last resort; so if you’re asleep, or away, or just don’t feel like having sex that night, Alejandro will excuse himself and do his business in the next room.

Nothing compares to you, though; these encounters with nameless couples on a screen cannot hold a candle’s light to the flaming glory of euphoria Alejandro feels whenever he is near you, never mind inside you.

And he reminds you of this daily.

Man’s a nymphomaniac, what can I say /j.

Gaz:

For him, it changes.

He’s the youngest in the 141 so he’s more likely than the rest to experiment (the least likely being Price because he’s found his genre lol).

So, really, it is very difficult to pin down his preferences.

However, I will say he takes a liking to p0rn that is very much unexpected.

I mean Hollywood-tier movie twists and turns that would have any outside observer assume that Gaz was just watching an action film the perfect cover.

He did take a fancy to skydiving p0rn once (just people doing it in the air while they’re skydiving - don’t ask how).

But when the crippling reality of how that would work logistically crossed Gaz’s 500 IQ mind, he lost his passion for it.

Let’s just say, whipping your ween out at that altitude with that much pressure against you while falling at a solid 130 mph is more likely to result in the appendage being taken by the wind than anything else.

Aside from that, Gaz has the widest range of tastes in the 141 since he experiments the most.

He has found he has the strongest preference for threesomes.

Only because he’s kind of fascinated by the concept and how much coordination it would take to execute the whole operation.

It genuinely actually started when he couldn’t get to sleep one night and had to go online to read up on the logistics – how these throuples worked and the statistics associated with them.

And now, here we are; crippling p0rn addiction.

I am actually joking; Gaz doesn’t even jack off the most out of the 141.

Graves:

Threesomes, orgies, gangbangs - you name it, he’ll enjoy it.

Superiority complex; he needs to feel in control over as many people as possible.

As most CEOs do.

As such, anything where the lead is in control is his go-to, though he won’t watch straight-up torture p0rn.

However, the lead is typically disproportionately stronger than the co-lead, so you can take that to mean that Graves watches generic p0rn targeted towards the male mass market; so usually something rough with a storyline so flimsy and thin that the terrible acting is made ever more transparent. Apparent.

Graves looks to p0rn only to fulfil himself; if he wants to feel loved or worshipped he’ll just go to you.

When you’re unavailable, however, he’ll just jerk off to the infinite stream of p0rn he has.

Or, considering how rich he is, he’ll get you to make a sex tape with him and just watch that.

Man’s got the money to make it happen; he ain’t janking it to a 144p video of low-quality blocks doing it.

Into body worship (as previously mentioned).

Also really into foreplay.

His favourite’s a kidnapping scenario. No clue why, I didn’t wanna ask. But I get the distinct impression it has to do, yet again, with his superiority complex.

(Daddy Kink Enjoyer; don’t tell him I told you that).

Valeria:

H A R D C O R E P O R N

Seriously, the amount of sheer sadism and violence it takes to get her off is concerning.

It comes with the territory; you run a cartel, you lose a bit of humanity; it’s the way of the world.

If you’re not around, Valeria will take to watching some of the most toe-curling, gut-wrenching p0rn you’ve never seen.

I’m talking hard BDSM, knife play, blood play - you name it; if it’s violent, Valeria will most likely have gotten off to it.

Has gotten off to security footage of her torture sessions with her victims before now.

However, she isn’t like that with you (unless you want her to be).

If you prefer her to be more gentle, she’ll simply just go and watch p0rn to satiate her more adventurous needs, saving her soft, loving, tender side for you and you alone.

But, if you want to experiment, Valeria will put all that she has acquired through torturing and p0rn consumption and take you on a one-way trip to pound town.

Big fan of lesbian p0rn, regardless of whether she’s actively in a relationship with a woman or not.

For this specific genre, she loves seeing women in strap-ons.

Just does something to her (call it feminism).

Also a big fan of heavy bondage, marking and intimidation.

She simply enjoys dominion over everyone, regardless of gender, identity – it doesn’t matter to her.

And you are no different.

However, she’d never actually hurt you - not in ways you didn’t want her to.

Because, at the end of the day, she loves you more than life itself and would buy the stars to see them sparkle in your smiling eyes.

Rodolfo:

Accidentally clicked on a pop-up for a free iPad once and it was all over from there.

I'm kidding (mostly).

Rudy doesn't jack off very often, what with his work and physical training taking up so much of his time.

As such, his tastes aren't fully developed as of yet, so he's still at the stage where seeing two people sat on the same sofa is too much for him.

Jkjk. But not too far off the mark.

Rudy will watch whatever's popular at the time, but only because he doesn't know what else he likes, and so doesn't actively go searching for it.

He can't stand bad acting.

He understands that it comes with the territory of consuming p0rn, but he doesn't see it as an excuse to be lax when it comes to the believability of the story and the acting.

When he eventually gets sick and tired of it, he'll just go and read an erotic novel.

Has become somewhat of a connoisseur of the erotic book genre; he has favourite authors, authors he wouldn't touch with a barge pole, preferred genres, etc.

His favourite genre at the moment is friends to enemies to lovers reconciliation novels.

Just loves how, no matter how bad things may seem during the book, everything comes together at the end :-).

Everyone gets a happy ending, everything is resolved.

Secretly, he actually enjoys these novels for the story rather than the sexual content.

Please protect him, he's so wholesome <3.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

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pekoehoneyncream · 2 months ago

Text

König MBTI Type

Quick Run Down: The Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI) personality typing device based on Carl Jung's theory of psychological types. It sorts people into 16 different personality types based on four pairs of opposite traits: Extraversion (E) vs. Introversion (I), Sensing (S) vs. Intuition (N), Thinking (T) vs. Feeling (F), & Judging (J) vs. Perceiving (P)

König is ISTP

Introversion, Sensing, Thinking, Perceiving.

(Fair warning, most of this is ripped straight from mbti sites, w/ minor wording edits from me)

Core Characteristics:

Independent and Self-Reliant: They value their independence and prefer to operate autonomously. ISTPs are often self-sufficient and capable of handling tasks on their own without needing much external support.

Practical and Realistic: They approach challenges with a practical mindset, focusing on finding effective and efficient solutions. They might prefer hands-on methods and immediate fixes rather than theoretical discussions. They favor tangible, factual information over abstract theories. This preference for concrete data helps them feel more grounded.

Practical and Hands-On: ISTPs are highly practical and enjoy working with their hands. They are skilled at understanding how things work and prefer to learn through direct experience rather than theoretical concepts.

Detail-Oriented Focus: When engaging in activities or projects, they pay close attention to the specifics and details. This focus helps them manage tasks effectively but can also lead to heightened stress if things don’t go as planned.

Tendency to Withdraw: When feeling overwhelmed, they may retreat into solitude to process their thoughts and regain composure. This withdrawal helps them recharge and regain a sense of control.

Reserved and Private: They tend to keep their thoughts and feelings to themselves, sharing personal insights only with those they trust deeply. This preference for privacy helps them manage their internal world without external pressures.

In Relationships:

Pros:

Problem-Solving Skills: ISTPs are excellent at tackling problems head-on with a logical and practical approach. In a relationship, this means they often find effective solutions to challenges, making them reliable partners in difficult situations. Their ability to stay calm under pressure can be a grounding force.

Loyalty: Despite their reserved nature, ISTPs are deeply loyal to those they care about. In both romantic and platonic relationships, they’re committed and will go to great lengths to support their loved ones. Their loyalty often creates a strong sense of trust and security.

Adventurous Spirit: ISTPs love new experiences and are often spontaneous, which can make relationships exciting and full of unexpected adventures. They’re the type to surprise you with an impromptu road trip or encourage you to try something new. This keeps the relationship dynamic and engaging.

Self-Reliance: They tend to be very independent and don’t demand constant attention, giving their partners or friends plenty of space. This independence can be refreshing, as they don’t cling to others for validation. It allows for a balanced relationship where both parties can maintain their own identities.

Practical Support: ISTPs are hands-on and often express care through actions rather than words. They’ll fix things, solve problems, or help out in practical ways, making them reliable when it comes to getting things done. This practical support is often appreciated in both romantic and friendship contexts.

Cons:

Emotional Reservedness: ISTPs can struggle to express their emotions, which might leave their partners or friends feeling disconnected or unsure about where they stand. This emotional distance can sometimes be mistaken for a lack of interest or care. It might require patience to navigate their reserved nature.

Difficulty with Open Communication: While ISTPs are great at solving practical problems, they might avoid or downplay issues that involve deeper emotional or relational complexities. This can lead to misunderstandings or unresolved conflicts in the relationship. Partners and friends may find it challenging to get them to open up about their feelings.

Overly Independent: ISTPs often pride themselves on their self-sufficiency, which can make it difficult for them to ask for help or rely on others, even when they need it. This independence can lead to unnecessary struggles, as they might push themselves too hard rather than leaning on their partner or friends. It can also create a sense of distance, as they may not share their challenges, leaving others feeling shut out or unable to support them.

Overly Critical: ISTPs' focus on logic can sometimes make them overly critical or blunt, especially when they feel something isn’t efficient or doesn’t make sense. This can hurt the feelings of those who are more sensitive, even if the ISTP doesn’t intend to cause harm. Their straightforwardness might be misinterpreted as insensitivity.

Need for Alone Time: ISTPs value their alone time highly and might withdraw unexpectedly to recharge, which can be confusing or hurtful to those who don’t understand this need. This withdrawal isn’t a reflection of the relationship’s value but rather a necessity for time alone without any judgment. However, it can create tension if the other person feels neglected.

Risk-Taking Behavior: Their adventurous nature can sometimes lead to impulsive decisions that may cause concern or stress for those around them. This risk-taking behavior can be thrilling but also unpredictable, leading to instability in the relationship. Partners and friends might struggle to keep up with or support their spontaneous actions.

PekoeHoneynCream's Masterlist

#könig #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig headcanons #cod headcanons #PekoeHoneynCream

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roleplaybook · 3 months ago

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ROLEPLAY PSYCHOLOGY: PASSIVE AGGRESSION

Passive aggression harms relationships, causes unnecessary negative feelings all around, and is inefficient. It shows up in many forms, and we’ve all participated in it and have been subjected to it.

UNDER THE CUT:

Strategies to identify when you’re being passive aggressive, and non-scary ways to broach issues directly.

Scripts to tackle issues head on when a writing partner is being passive aggressive toward you.

Examples of passive aggressive behavior between RP partners.

If you’ve been collaboratively writing for any length of time, chances are you’ve met passive aggressive individuals in the Internet wastes. The roleplaying community is rife with them. If you’re not sure, see if any of the following sound familiar:

“It’s fine,” when things are, in fact, not fine. Even through text, the tone can often be perceived as a little flat — a little cool. It’s meant to subtly suggest you make changes/go with their preference without directly communicating that this is what they want. Sometimes, they don’t even communicate what it is they do want; you’re meant to figure it out.

You’ve done something they didn’t like. Maybe you turned down an idea, or maybe you took longer than usual to reply to their post. Now you’re getting the silent treatment OOC, or receiving unusually flat and monosyllabic responses. When you do ask if everything’s okay/what’s wrong, chances are you’re getting, “It’s fine,” and, “nothing.”

They punish you IC after a conversation they disliked happens OOC. For example, a character who was flirting with yours might turn suddenly sour/critical in the very next post after you mention your character being romantically unavailable in an OOC conversation. Alternatively, you shoot down an idea they proposed, so they kill off their character without consulting with you.

Passive aggression comes in many forms, and we’ve all been subjected to it. Surely we have all been passive aggressive at some point, too.

While it can seem easier in many situations to be passive aggressive until the other person’s behavior changes, all it really does is harm relationships and stretch out undue negativity.

When you spot passive aggression, you should call it out. This doesn’t necessarily mean you say, “Hey, I see you being passive aggressive. Cut it out.” It might look more like, “I feel like you’re upset with me. Can we talk about it?”

By the same token, we should be vigilant about our own behaviors and have the self-awareness to catch when we’re inclined to be passive aggressive. It’s an easy behavior to fall into! Who hasn’t gotten short with a friend? Who hasn’t given the silent treatment in hopes of receiving an apology we didn’t have to spell out?

But it’s poor communication, and it does nothing to strengthen your bond with the other person. It doesn’t help build social skills. It’s inefficient.

When you feel inclined to indirectly communicate your annoyance, freeze. It may be wise to step away from the keyboard/put the phone down for a moment and sit with what you’re feeling. Often bad behavior happens when we react too quickly to a stimulus.

After looking at the situation logically, come up with a script to directly broach the topic. You might also realize it’s not worth being angry about in the first place! For example, if a partner turned down an idea you proposed, you might feel disappointed and want to convey it with short, unsatisfying OOC banter. You might put your character in a bad mood or insert angst into the plot abruptly. However, after giving it some time and thought… aren’t they allowed to politely turn down an idea? Haven’t you turned ideas down? Wouldn’t you rather they turn it down than agree to it and half-ass replies because they didn’t want to go that route in the first place?

It’s better for your hindsight, better for your relationship with your writing partner, and better for you to step back and allow yourself to feel disappointed. Deal with it in healthy ways. You can try writing up an ad for an RP with someone who will fulfill that idea. (Slap yourself on the hand if you think to do this as a way to get back at your current partner, or in hopes they’ll see they can be replaced!) Write a one-shot about it, etc.

If you feel they’re in the wrong after taking a moment to reflect — let’s say they always shoot your ideas down, and the RP tends to only be about what they want — you should start a conversation. It is better to be direct, and being direct doesn’t mean being aggressive or hostile.

“Hey, can we talk about the RP for a minute? I appreciate how honest you are with me when you don’t want to go with the ideas I bring up for our story. I also value you as a writing partner, which is why I want to bring this up instead of letting it continue to nag at me: it feels like we always go with your ideas. The last few I’ve had, you’ve turned down. I don’t want you to feel obliged to write things you’re not interested in, but I’m hoping we can come to a compromise on this. Can I get your thoughts?”

Direct, but not hostile. Not accusatory. Not scary! It allows the issue to be handled with no guess-work, and makes it far more likely you’ll see actual changes.

You can use the same strategy when they’re being passive aggressive with you.

“Hey, I notice you’re not being as talkative as you usually are, and you’ve told me everything is fine. I’ll take you at your word, but I just want to make sure you know I welcome you to bring stuff up with me directly. I would rather communicate than continue to upset you without realizing it. If something is wrong, I hope you’ll tell me so I can fix it/stop doing it/come up with a compromise.”

#roleplay resource #roleplay advice #RP #rpc #roleplay community #passive aggression #passive aggressive #rpp #roleplay psychology #conflict resolution #rppsychology

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chronicbeans · 3 months ago

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Hazbin Rewrite - Angel Dust

I've made a few big changes here and made a few early concepts of Angel much more prominent (mainly his drag queen performances). For one, Angel is not under a contract with Valentino, but Val is actively pursuing a contract at the moment. That, and Angel is half Italian half Russian and lived in the USSR, which has an effect on his personality in the afterlife.

TW: Mentions of the USSR and Communism, Period Accurate Homophobia/Internalized Homophobia, Sex Work, VALENTINO, Mentions of Drugs, Brief Mention of Gender Dysphoria, I changed his real name to Anatoly to fit his new home country

In life, Anatoly worked as a drag queen and gay prostitute during the 1940s, sometimes stealing a few extra Russian Rubles from his clients when his family was in hard times. This was dangerous work, considering the USSR banned male homosexuality in the 1930s, and prostitution was already illegal, but he wanted to pursue it. It was his way of trying to make extra income for his family as well as try to express himself. He kept it as secret as he possibly could. He never really saw his homosexuality, sex work, and drag as a problem until he did get caught. He ended up passing away during his "5 years of hard labor". He was ratted out by his father, who got scared the rest of his family would be punished for housing him.

In Hell, his sins are homosexuality and sex work. However, it's important to realize that my rewrite's version of sin is individualized to what the person perceived as wrong or sinful in life. There's many people in Hell for things like sex work, homosexuality, or being transgender not because it is bad, but because they themselves perceived it as such. There's also plenty of of people in Heaven who are transgender, homosexual, or sex workers because they didn't see being those things as bad while they were alive. It just so happens that there's an influx of people during around the 1600's - 1900's who were taught that these things are sinful, so a lot of the people in there for things like homosexuality are from those time periods. In turn, a lot of the never generations or people from around the time period of ancient Greece or the Roman Empire who are a part of the LGBTQ+/sex workers are in Heaven, simply because they didn't get taught those things or never believed them when people tried.

So, while he may be in Hell for homosexuality, it's not because God sees it as a bad thing. God doesn't really care who you're attracted to, since He loves all his children. Angel is in Hell for homosexuality because he, himself, saw it as a bad thing when he died. Due to the horrible treatment given to him once he was ratted out, he began thinking that there must be something wrong with him if he "deserved" such treatment for it.

In Hell, Anatoly has taken on his drag name, Angel Dust, due to preferring to dress in drag rather than casual clothes when he goes outside. He also much prefers to go by "she" while in drag, even though he identifies as a cis man, because he plays up a character while in drag. A lot of people tend to mistake him for a trans woman because of this, but he doesn't mind because it proves to him his drag is good.

Angel Dust is not in a contract with Val currently, but Val is actively trying to get him into one. He's been saying his club is a safe space for all LGBTQ+ folks, saying that the pornographic material is their way of showing off their pride. In actuality, it's Val's way of profiting off of the fear and insecurities of LGBTQ+ people he comes across. Angel Dust, however, hasn't accepted it because of his own idea that he's somehow massively flawed for being gay. He does hang out with Val, though, due to Val making a safe persona and hiding his true colors from Angel Dust. So, Angel Dust doesn't necessarily see any reason to fear or stay away from Valentino.

Angel Dust isn't into any hardcore drugs while in Hell, nor was he while in life. However, he does smoke papirosa cigarettes, which in the USSR smoking was condemned, even if it wasn't necessarily illegal during the 1940s. It's mostly due to his life in the USSR being extremely strict, which has affected his afterlife heavily. He has many internalized fears, which as he overcomes them may spiral into him getting into drugs and accepting Valentino's contract.

Angel Dust is also a communist. He's from the USSR, so it's basically a given. This has a huge effect on his relationships with others in the Hazbin Hotel. Even if Angel Dust did do illegal activities while he was alive, he wasn't immune to any propaganda that the USSR spread to its citizens. So, when he meets actively greedy or capitalistic guests and staff members, he is much more likely to have a distaste for them or their ideals. Due to this, Charlie and/or Rebecca are often trying to diffuse fights between Angel and other members of the hotel, especially Baxter, Alastor, or Husk.

Angel Dust's native tongue is Russian, and due to having never learned English in life and good English classes being hard to come across in Hell, his English is slightly broken at times. In fact, he used the drag name Angel Dust simply because it sounded cool to him, without knowing the fact it was slang for drugs. His thought process was that he knew what angel meant, and he had heard from friends that dusty or dust was sometimes used by English speakers to describe how powdered blush felt. He has a thick accent, as well, making some of the other members have a hard time understanding his words at times. The only one who actively tries to figure out ways to better communicate with him is Husk, even though Angel often fights with him. Since Husk was alive and fought in the British Army alongside some USSR soldiers, he already has a slight advantage over others in understanding Angel both in terms of his personality and literal speech. So, whilst they have their differences and Angel may dislike him, Husk is still actively trying to get along with him.

Angel's form in Hell is humanoid, with an appearance similar to that of his drag persona. However, while in life he'd wear a chest piece to create a bust, Angel now just naturally has one, much to his slight dismay. It's caused a slight sense of gender dysphoria whenever he's outside of drag and people mistake him for a woman, which is another reason why he wears drag often. It gives him a reason to believe that they're mistaken not for his chest, but for the rest of his drag persona's appearance. He has four eyes, two where a human's would be, and two smaller ones at the edge of his small eyebrows. Then, he has four spider legs at this hips, which he uses as a hoop skirt when he wears more extravagant dresses. He keeps his pale pink hair long, which feels less like hair and more like fur. He also tries to wear blush to give color to his pale skin.

Fun fact: I originally decided to make him half Italian and half Russian just to give the guests a bit more variety in culture. However, once I remembered that I was keeping his death date in the 1940s, I realized I accidentally dropped him smack dab into the USSR 😭. However, I kept it because the idea of living in a society that hates you for who you are impacting someone so heavily after death was something I had already been planning for someone else, and it makes sense for multiple characters to go through such a thing.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin hotel rewrite #hazbin hotel redesign #hazbin angel dust #hazbin redesign #hazbin rewrite

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soulessjourney · 1 year ago

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Ashes of Panem

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Paring: (young) Coriolanus x Reader

Word count: 2.9k

Summary: Coriolanus Snow and Y/N Ashcroft had trained together since their entry into the academy. However, when their names were drawn, they found themselves pitted against each other and twenty other children in these games. As Y/N became a symbol of rebellion akin to her great grandmother, who vanished shortly after Panem's liberation, the looming threats of war and the approaching games forced Coriolanus and Y/N to forge an alliance. Amidst these challenges, they had to learn to trust and support one another in order to break free from Coin's oppressive regime.

Warnings: None

A/N: Eat up kids, this is girl dinner and my best friend helped me deicde what course of action to take at the end. She's a long one but I hope this feeds you until I can plot how the next couple of drafts will go.

Selection day—the one day of the year that turned into everyone’s personal hell. With the recent changes, you found yourself wearing a knee-length red velvet dress that stopped just below your knees, its collar reaching midway up your neck. One perk was that it had pockets, one of the best inventions for a dress. Your hair cascaded in soft curls, its length falling over your shoulders, stopping just below your shoulder blades.

Navigating through the dense crowd, you moved towards the outskirts, finding solace just off to the side. The conversations with the various district representatives had grown tiresome, feeling more like you were selling yourself rather than seeking aid to stay alive. It left you feeling sick, as if you were begging these people to save you, a sensation that made you feel as pathetic as you appeared.

Startled, you jumped when a glass came into view right in front of your face. Following the hand holding it, you relaxed at the sight of Coriolanus. Despite your indifference for him, you were relieved it was him and not another district official. “You look like you’re about to pass out, drink some water,” he urged, offering the glass again, smiling as you took it. “You look beautiful, by the way. I haven’t had the chance to tell you that tonight.”

“You ditched me the moment we walked in here, Snow. Also, you’re not one for giving out compliments, so what do you want?” you questioned, raising a brow. It was a fact—he didn't usually dole out compliments unless there was something he wanted or someone he wanted to involve in some scheme, and you suspected it wasn’t the latter.

“I don’t want anything. I just enjoy being right. Red is definitely your color, Snowflake. It brings out those eyes of yours,” he shrugged, taking a sip from his glass. “I saw how you were earlier, looking as if you wanted to tear their heads off their shoulders when they tried to touch you,” he continued, drawing your attention back to him. “I won’t let them hurt you, Snowflake. They’d be foolish to even try,” he said, smiling down at you. A blush dusted your cheeks, prompting you to awkwardly turn away from him in an attempt to hide it.

Before you could respond, the Capital anthem started playing through the speakers, signaling the arrival of Cassius Coin, President Coin’s grandson. He walked forward, reaching the end of the balcony that overlooked the room. Soft claps welcomed him, though your classmates appeared mildly annoyed, preferring to be fighting in the arena than standing here in that moment. Raising his hands, Cassius silenced the room, commencing the same speech he gave every year.

“Good evening, students and representatives from the districts. I hope you've been enjoying your evening thus far. As we all know, this is an important evening marking the seventieth year of the Capital Games. Selection night holds historical significance. Many may perceive it as a punishment when, in fact, it is quite the opposite. This is an opportunity for all of you to display your loyalty to New Panem by entering the arena, striving to emerge victorious. In this new world, we've learned that only the strong can survive,” Cassius declared.

Beside you, Coriolanus scoffed. “This has to be the most morbid thing I've ever heard,” he muttered, keeping his gaze forward. Sensing your confusion, he continued, “Saying we should be happy to meet our deaths, I mean. We’ve proven our loyalty throughout our time in this academy, so why do only the games matter?” he grumbled, shifting his gaze down to you. “Some of us don’t deserve this fate,” he whispered, his eyes fixed on yours.

"Now, it is time to announce our selected students for this year's games," Cassius announced loudly. "I would like to start by unveiling a new change. As of this year, we will not be drawing names," he declared, as the screens on either side of him illuminated with a list of twenty-two names. Your heart skipped a beat, and Coriolanus drew in a deep breath. Somewhere off to the side, a cry echoed through the room. It was your class rankings, precisely in the order displayed after your evaluations. "Congratulations to those of you who fought for these spots and demonstrated your loyalty to the Capital!" Cassius shouted enthusiastically.

The glass you held slipped from your grasp and crashed to the ground, the shards pooling around your feet and cutting into your ankles. Stumbling back, the world began to spin, and bile surged up your throat. Coriolanus reached out, but you brushed him off, staggering out of the room and down the hall. Flinging the doors open at the hall's entrance, you fell to your knees, retching into the nearby bushes. Footsteps hurried toward you, but you ignored them. Your breathing became rapid, struggling to draw air into your lungs. It felt like you were suffocating, an inability to fill your lungs.

Someone attempted to speak to you, but the words sounded muffled, lost amidst the ringing in your ears. Clutching at your chest, you felt your heart racing. Tears streamed down your face, unnoticed in your frenzy. Cool hands cupped your cheeks, forcing your gaze upward to meet Coriolanus's blue eyes, ones you usually avoided. His lips moved, but the words eluded you, drowned out by ringing in your head. Covering your mouth, you retched again, feeling his hands soothingly pat your back and brush your hair away.

Sitting up, you found Coriolanus gently holding your face, his touch a stark contrast to his usual impatience. "Focus on me, Y/N. Just focus on me," he urged softly, locking eyes with yours.

Coriolanus was hardly known for his patience, but his demeanor now surprised you. In the academy, he exhibited a short temper, particularly when things didn't align with his desires. But this was different. He wasn't berating you for crying or falling apart. Seeking answers in his gaze, he enveloped you in a tight embrace, anchoring you in his arms. "You're going to be okay, Snowflake. Everything's going to be okay," he whispered. As your sobs gradually eased, he pulled away and peered at you, a faint smile gracing his lips. "There you are."

Wiping away your tears and streaked eyeliner, he cupped your cheeks. "Here's the plan, Snowflake. We'll go back in there and present ourselves to the districts," he said, anticipating your disagreement. "No, listen. We'll act as they expect us to—like the puppets they want us to be. We'll interact with the representatives together and aim for District One or Two. They have more resources. Fix your makeup, and meet me back in the hall. Understood?" He pressed, his thumb tracing your jawline, awaiting your response. When you hesitated, he shook you gently and repeated, "Understood?"

Unable to trust your voice, you nodded in agreement, observing the relieved smile that graced his face. "Good, that's good. Freshen up, and I'll be waiting inside for you," Coriolanus said before making his way back into the building, leaving you sitting there, feeling the cool air nip at your nose and cheeks.

---

It took you less than twenty minutes to freshen up your appearance before returning to the hall. Students conversed among themselves, their attention fixed on the screens displaying your class ranks. The sight itself made you queasy. In the frenzy of those destined for the games fighting for representatives' attention, the crowd parted, in a way that reminded you of those novels you read when you were younger, revealing Coriolanus making his way toward you, his gaze unwaveringly locked on you.

Coriolanus halted in front of you, his blue eyes briefly scanning the area behind you. Extending his arm, he looked at you, pressing his lips into a thin line. "Follow my lead, Snowflake. You'll need to act that little heart out," he said, wearing a broad smile as he approached two figures. "Mr. Larue, this is my girlfriend Y/N, whom I mentioned earlier," he announced. Girlfriend? You weren't sure if he was joking, delusional, or both, because clearly, you missed something between the time he left you outside and your return to the hall.

"Ah, Y/N, you're just as beautiful as he described. What are the odds that you're both paired together for this year's games?" the older gentleman remarked, appearing no older than 70. His frail skin and patchy white hair gave him a delicate appearance. "Mr. Snow mentioned your admiration for District One, and I must say, it's refreshing to hear someone who knows her stuff," he continued, flashing overly white teeth.

Chewing on your lip, you glanced up at Coriolanus, who waited for you to falter in the act he had imposed on you. "Well, Mr. Larue, I didn’t know my boyfriend decided to boast about my interests, but he's right. I do admire what your district stands for. It would be an honor to have your sponsorship, demonstrating not only my loyalty to the capital but also my appreciation for your work," you responded, eliciting a proud smile from Mr. Larue.

He let out a laugh and gently patted Coriolanus' arm. "You have quite the charmer here, Mr. Snow. She's a keeper. It's almost a shame that I have to watch such a lovely couple fight in the arena," he said, frowning, just as Coriolanus chuckled, a sound you'd do anything to hear again.

"I suppose we'll have to show you just how powerful our alliance is," Coriolanus said, reaching over with his free hand to squeeze your hand resting on his arm. He looked down at you, his gaze soft along with his smile. Anyone who didn't know him would think that he was in love with you, and honestly? He almost had you convinced. "I'll give you time to think it over, Mr. Larue. Meanwhile, how about a dance, Y/N? Why not enjoy what time we may have left together with something so intimate?" he asked.

You felt your brow twitch at his words. He was overdoing it with that final phrase, but it seemed like the older gentleman was utterly captivated by Coriolanus' words. "A dance sounds amazing. If you'll excuse us," you said, turning to give Mr. Larue a respectful nod before walking off with Coriolanus in tow. "Out of all the things to make me do, you went for the idea of having me be your girlfriend?" you snapped your head to look at him.

Coriolanus shrugged, a smug smile on his face. "I want to do the most if we're going to our deaths," he said simply, causing your jaw to drop. Pulling you onto the dance floor, he placed a hand on the small of your back and gently held your hand. "Close your mouth, Snowflake. It's unbecoming for a lady to stand with her mouth open," he teased, earning him a scoff in response. Placing your hand on his shoulder, the two of you began to move around the dance floor with the other pairs.

"I won't let you die in there, Y/N. I will do everything in my power to make sure that we make it out alive. I heard rumors that they'll let two of us live as long as it's two individuals of the same pair," he murmured, lowering his head to speak near your ear. "I won't be letting you out of my sight for a second anymore."

Rolling your eyes, you caught sight of other district officials watching both of you. Now you knew why he wanted you to wear red so badly. You two stuck out like a sore thumb against the other students who wore black or white. Coriolanus knew how to play the game, and he would ensure that both of you won.

---

After what felt like hours, the gala came to an end, leaving you utterly exhausted. You and Coriolanus managed to secure a sponsor from District One after winning over Mr. Larue with your act. Rolling back your shoulders, you turned your head to gaze out the window. Snow had begun to fall, lining the sidewalks in a soft sheet of flakes. You turned when the material of a jacket rested on your shoulders, and Coriolanus looked down at you with tired eyes.

"Coryo, it's cold out, you need your jacket." You hadn't even noticed the nickname that slipped from your lips, but he did. He was well aware of what you called him, and he loved it.

"You're going to need it more, that dress will do nothing to protect you from the cold," he remarked, moving to lean against the wall next to you, watching the snow fall outside. "Things are going to be hard from here on out. We have to learn how to trust one another, especially if we're paired to keep one another alive for as long as possible."

"You haven't necessarily given me a reason to trust you, Snow. You don't exactly make it easy," you said, tensing when he looked at you, his gaze piercing your soul. He raised his brows in question, prompting you to continue. "You're not exactly the talkative type, and if you are, it's only because you want something from me. So, how can I trust someone who only sees me when they want something from me?" You pulled his coat tighter around you, seeking some solace from his penetrating stare.

"I've always seen you, Y/N. Don't think for a second that I haven't seen you because I have. In fact, it's almost annoying how much I see you," he replied. It was your turn to raise your brows. "It doesn't matter. Why don't we head back? It's getting late, and I doubt that your parents want you out too late. Come on, I'll walk you home."

The both of you walked out of the building, with you trailing slightly behind him. Coriolanus Snow was a mystery to you. From his words to his actions, you couldn't make sense of him. You wanted to demand that he make up his mind about how he treated you, but you knew it wouldn't lead anywhere.

Quickening your pace, you moved to catch up with him. "If you want me to learn how to trust you, then tell me about you. What makes you Coriolanus Snow?" you asked. You could see his jaw clench as he contemplated how to respond. Coriolanus was always one to talk, except when it was about himself. He often reminded you of a captivating but complex book that was hard to read. You refused to put down his book; you wanted to learn about him, to understand his character, and establishing trust was the first step. "In return, I'll tell you my deepest, darkest secret," you teased, nudging his shoulder in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"Is there something that defines who I am?" he asked, though it sounded more like a question directed at himself. "Sometimes, I find myself pretending to be someone I'm not," he began. "At the academy and even when I'm with you, I feel compelled to embody this controlled and calculated persona. I refrain from revealing my true self because I fear you might flee. This facade I wear keeps me in good standing at the academy and in proximity to you. It keeps me close enough so that I never have to worry." His words sent a chill through you. They carried an air of possession.

"Snow, you won't scare me away. It takes more than a facade to scare me off. We're being trained to fight to the death against twenty other children; I believe I can handle occasional outbursts from you." You attempted a reassuring smile, but he abruptly halted, turning to gaze at you.

"You don't get it, Snowflake. I don't wish to share you with anyone else. You kept yourself distant from others out of fear of loss. Knowing that made me content, content in the knowledge that no one else stood by your side to snatch you away," he whispered, leaning in until his breath nearly met yours. "I want to shield you from the world, from the games where no one can have you." His confession widened your eyes, prompting a step back as you struggled to comprehend his words.

Clearing your throat, you shook your head, observing your breath forming mist in the cold air. "That's not what you want, Snow. Trust me. You won't find happiness with me. In fact, if you knew the concealed parts of me, you'd be the one fleeing." You noticed a spark in his eyes, perhaps a reflection of the shared darkness within both of you, fighting to break free.

Just as you near the gate leading to your home, Coriolanus seized your wrist, halting your movement. "Why do you hide from me, Snowflake? You want me to see you, so why keep yourself hidden? I can't see you if you won't let me." He drew you closer, his hand caressing your cheek, the warmth contrasting with his cold touch. He exuded warmth, emitting a scent of roses that intoxicated. Interpreting your silence as an answer, he leaned down, lightly brushing his lips against your forehead before retracting, his thumb grazing your lips.

Stepping away, you retreated and closed the gate behind you. Turning to glance at him from the other side, you noticed how he stood taller, his curls framing his eyes. Snowflakes fell on his eyelashes, accentuating the rosy hue on his cheeks due to the wintry air. "I hide because I'm nothing but poison, Coriolanus. Poison you shouldn't get entangled with. I'd do more harm than good, so don't be greedy and try a taste. You'll only end up hurting yourself in the end," you stated, casting one final glance before pivoting on your heel and entering your home.

Tags:@notyourwildestdream

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