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kaijime · 4 years ago

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watch your mouth

includes. osamu miya x f!reader

cw. corruption kink, virgin reader/first time, osamu wants to breed u <33, dubcon, kitchen sex? [it’s in his shop so?], fingering, pierced dick [prince albert piercing], vaginal penetration, size kink, praise kink, tummy bulge, breeding kink, slight dumbification, creampie, thigh slapping?

wc. 3k

a/n. my piece for @seita’s corrupt-a-virgin collab, thank you for letting me join!!

osamu miya likes to think he follows a strict routine. he wakes up early, shows up for his job, works, and goes home, waiting for tomorrow to arrive and the cycle to repeat itself.

but ever since you've entered his restaurant, you've become a part of his routine.

he sits behind the kitchen counter, watching in admiration how you tend to the customers. he'd be lying if he said he wasn't staring at your ass, but it’s not a lie if he doesn't say it right?

"samu?" there's that nickname again, the one you deemed him ever since that interview for the part time job. "this customer says you forgot to give her a part of her order"

"no i didn't"

"yeah, look" you approach him with the receipt in hand, pointing to a small part of the inked writing. "see?"

he can't see. or at least he can't see the receipt. he's too focused on you, pressing up against him. he knows you're not at fault, but you couldn't be that innocent.

you couldn't be innocent enough to not know the things you were doing to him, the things you were making him feel, the urges that blossomed with every lingering look and longing touch you left on his body. you just couldn't be.

right?

yet, even when his idiotic brother dropped by his shop and shamelessly started flirting with you, you, it seemed like you didn't catch onto what he was doing.

"what's the freakiest place you've ever had sex in?" the fake blond asked, and osamu would've stopped him, if he wasn't curious to hear the answer for himself. still, he doesn't drive his full attention away from the counters he's been wiping, seemingly focused on the simple task.

you chuckled awkwardly under your breath. "that's inappropriate, tsu-"

"c'mon, tell me" he bumps his elbow against yours "can't be that bad"

"no i-... i've never uhm..." osamu can tell you're stumbling and stuttering to find an answer, so he lends you a few helping words.

"'tsumu” he calls "will ya stop harrassin' my employees?"

"'m just talkin' to her samu, no need to make a big fuss" he downs the last of his food and leaves, supposedly in a sudden rush.

it doesn't seem like it’s been hours since then, but the moon hangs low, and the crickets sing outside the window in spite of the late hour. despite the passing of time, not a single word has been said between you and your boss about the conversation you had with his brother, and every minute that passes only seems to thicken the tension between the two of you.

"shit" you mumble, mostly to yourself. you didn’t expect him to shoot up from his place, bent down searching through the lower cabinets.

"watch yer mouth" he says, an evident frown on his face, where he would once smile at you and nod in greeting.

"sorry" you reply, lip pouting slightly while you cleaned off your finger with a paper towel "just got a papercut" the blood tints the paper red and you wince at the stinging sensation.

"here" he holds out his hand to examine yours, even though you already cleaned most of it off, there's still a slight trickle of blood. he wipes it out with the towel he always hangs on his shoulder.

as he cleans your hand, he can't help but think about how it'd look so pretty wrapped around his cock. it would certainly bring more relief than his fist after all this time he's spent thinking about you while stroking himself late at night.

it’s not the first time thoughts like these cloud osamu's mind, but this time he's a little less discreet about it. he stares at your hand like he wants to devour it, and you'd be a fool not to notice it.

"samu?" you call out to his faraway mind, and he snaps out of his thoughs, loosening his grip around your hand.

"right" he mumbles, clearing his throat "sorry"

"thank you" you almost whisper, if he wasn't so close to you, he probably wouldn't have heard it.

he turns and goes back to the cabinets, thinking about what you answered earlier. you'd never what? had sex? were you that uncorrupted?

it would make sense to him, and it would help ease the pain of seeing you let his brother flirt with you like he wasn't even there, but those are all selfish reasons he wants to believe, and he's too scared to ask.

apparently not scared enough.

“what were ya talkin’ about with my brother” he asks, nonchalant as ever, making your breath hitch as you turned around hesitantly.

“we were just chatting” you say, the slightest purse on your lips that tried to relieve the nervousness of the conversation.

“sorry about that” he apologizes. “he can be annoyin’ sometimes”

“oh no, he wasn’t” you lie, clenching around the table cloth you held in your hands. even if the talk had been going smoothly, you still felt on edge after the question his brother left you thinking about. “he was really friendly”

“really?” his hands find comfort in his pockets, and if you’d looked close enough, you would’ve seen the slight smirk in his lip, one that indicates how eager he is to hear what you had to say. “then why didn’ you answer his question?”

if only you knew how much it mattered to him, to know if you were a pretty untouched virgin or not. osamu miya likes to go for girls like you, college girls who look for a quick cashgrab as a part time employee, innocent little girls who unknowingly fall for his charms and next thing you know he’s ruining them with his cock.

but you feel different, you feel delicate. like a pretty piece of porcelain he might break if he continues to toy with you under his calloused hands. yet, he can’t help but think about how perfect he finds your body. perfectly ripe and ready to be filled to the brim with his seed, the perfect age to be plump and round with a child. his child.

“does it matter?”

oh, it does, especially when he pins you against the counter and grips your cheeks between his thumb and his index finger. “samu?” you ask, displaying that innocent look on your face he’d grown to hate.

“i told ya to watch yer mouth” his hands roam down your body until they grab at the back of your thighs. “now jump”

“samu i- i’ve never done anything like-“

“i said jump” hesitant with your actions, you jump and wrap your legs around his waist as he settles you on the shop counter, where he takes off your pants and runs a finger over your clothes slit.

“please” you grip his wrist and beg in hopes for him to stop, but he slaps it away, pinning them behind you with his other hand. he slides your panties down your legs and plays with your clit, circling the nub with his fingertips and watching as your expression changes from one of fear to pleasure.

“please what?” his breath shudders against your neck, where he nuzzles his head and finds comfort in your scent. he slowly inserts a finger into your hole, scanning your face and searching for any signs of discomfort, despite him practically forcing you into this position.

you’re not strong enough to answer him, too lost in the way his fingers feel inside you. you’d been too afraid to do anything by yourself, but god did it feel so good when you gave yourself up to him, slightly bucking your hips into his thrusting fingers and arching your back into his frame.

he’s fond of every little expression you make, the bite of your lips, the clench of your thighs around his hand, and the tilt of your head, willingly granting him access to the skin, all for him to mark, bite and suck. all for him to claim as his.

“d’ya like it?” he asks, putting another one of his fingers to use inside your tight walls, feeling them clench and suck his fingers back inside every time he was close to taking them out.

“yes! yes! i-i... mmh!” you can’t even finish the sentence, not only because you’re sobbing and clenching around his digits uncontrollably at the foreign yet pleasurable sensation, but also because his lips suddenly enclosed yours in a hungry kiss.

he didn’t even have to put up a fight with you, pleased to find you let him do whatever he wanted with your mouth. his tongue tangles with yours in a passionate clash of lips, until he pulls away at the feeling of your hips wildly bucking against his hand, a sign of your inevitable orgasm approaching.

“feels weird ‘samu! ‘s-‘samu please!” the implication of your sensations being new to you made his cock strained against his pants, threatening the thick fabric of his jeans to snap if he grew even harder. the tight knot in your stomach finally snaps when he curls his fingers, sending you into ecstasy as your vision blocked out and you moaned uncontrollably loud.

still, after everything, osamu hasn’t forgotten where he is, and he knows his shop isn’t a decent place to lose your virginity. so he puts you down with shaky legs and slips up your panties, catching you before your trembling thighs can treason you and make you fall.

“do ya have a car here?” he says, grabbing his keys from the counter and puts a hand on your hip, guiding you over to the door which he locks before he continues to walk to his car. the dim lighting of the parking made this the perfect spot, if he were to fuck you in his car, no one would see it. but he has self control, or at least he tells himself that.

“no, my friend usually picks me up” he hums an answer and opens the passenger door to his car.

“i live a few minutes from here” he explains “wanna come over?” he asks, fully aware that he’s taking a leap of faith and you could just refuse him. but that’s not the case, and he’s more than happy to see you hesitantly get in his car and put your bag in your lap, covering yourself as much as you can since he ‘forgot’ to give you back your shorts.

the short ride to his house is awkwardly silent, and terribly torturous. his hand had found home in your thigh, and it had only sent an ache between your legs like you’d never felt before, prompting a clench from your thighs every so often.

he wasn’t lying, he only lived ten minutes away from his shop, but the distance seemed so much longer when his lingering touch would leave you high with the need for more.

“you ready?” he asks, holding the door open for you again as he waits for you to take his hand and get out of his car. he’s quick with hoisting you up and wrapping your thighs against his hips, carrying you to his doorway and leading the way to his room. there, he gently placed you on the bed and stripped off his clothing, taking off the apron he should’ve taken off at the shop, his shirt, his pants and—

“eager?” he can see the wanting look in your eyes, he’d be a fool not to notice it. his voice only startles you out of your thoughts, enough to make you stand up and take off your shirt as well, now fully exposed to him if it weren’t for the bra covering up your tits. there’s only so much he can hold back, but right now, with those pretty puppy eyes you unintentionally give him, he just can’t help it when he takes off your bra and slightly suckles at your nipple, circling his tongue around your perky nub and watching your face warm up in embarrassment.

he takes you to his bed again, this time while he plants kisses all over your neck. he’s hungry with the way he nips and bites at the skin, leaving a trail of teeth marks that would need to be covered up in the morning. in the morning, because right now, you couldn’t be bothered to care about anything else other than the way he rutted against you.

his cock already seemed big when he hadn’t taken off his briefs, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when he slipped them off and rubbed his tip against your clit, right?

he was huge, thick tip dripping precum, with a girth that looked too big to be real, pulsing against your pussy. he positions it against your drooling hole, using your slick to lube up his tip and feeling— metal?

you sit up, leaning against your elbows to see the prince albert piercing that runs along his tip, metal jewelry threatening to slip into your pussy, but you put a hand on his chest to stop him.

“i-it won’t fit!” you kick and shake your thighs around him, only for him to put your ankles together and fold your legs over his shoulder, pinning you down and slipping in the pierced head of his cock. you wince and gasp at the sudden stretch, silenced by his mouth clashing against yours, eagerly nipping at your bottom lip, desperate to drink in all your saccharine moans.

“good girl” he praises, slipping in inch by inch of his cock into your tight virgin walls “fuck- this tight little cunt is suckin’ me in, want ma cock princess? yeah? gonna stuff ya full of me ‘til ya can’t even speak, you’ll just be a dumb baby for me”

“hurts!” your words only drive him closer to shoving himself in one smooth thrust, but he holds back, he sees how much you struggle to take barely half of him, he wants to make this good for you to. he wants to make your first time your best time, the one you’ll remember and think about if you ever fuck another man. he wants to mold your insides to fit his cock perfectly, he wants to train you to be his perfect little girl who won’t find another way to get off if she doesn’t have his cock, he wants you to depend on him to always make you feel good.

“‘s ok princess” he leans down, folding you into a mating press as he kisses your neck and slips in the last of his cock, covered in a thin layer of white sheen. “my good girl, creamin’ around me” he mumbles against your ear while he starts a slow pace into your pussy, carefully rutting his hips into you, almost afraid he would break you. “so pretty”

“please!” you sob, tears stream down your face despite his carefulness, it would break his heart, but he can feel the way your own body betrays you, clenching around him and pulling him in for more of the delicious sensation of his cock dragging against your walls. “so big! c-can’t take it!”

“sure ya can, look” he puts a hand to your tummy, guiding you to do the same as he puts his hand over yours. there’s a small bulge, that appears and disappears whenever he thrusts in and out. “you’re takin’ it so well princess, keep yer hand right there” his other hand starts working tight circles against your clit, making you throw back your head at the sudden sensation.

“no! if you do that i-!”

“what are ya gonna do? cum? clench around my cock like yer doin’ right now every time i praise ya?” you fist the sheets to your sides, anything to relieve the aching between your legs and the tight knot that keeps forming in your stomach again.

“please don’t!” you desperately paw at his wrist, only to be slapped away and for him to increase the speed of his cock, rutting into your with more force. suddenly, the head of his piercing hits a different spot, one that left you gasping for air and arching your back against the mattress. “ah! right there- right there ‘samu!”

“yeah? you like it when i fuck ya right there?” he parrots, angling his hips at the same spot over and over, abusing it until he’s sloppily thrusting into you, on the verge of cumming and spilling all his load into you. “my pretty girl, moanin’ like a bitch in heat, all because i’m makin’ ya feel good”

“yes ‘samu! please please, please m-make me feel good! wanna cum, please!” fresh tears roll down your cheeks as you scream and beg for him, unwillingly rutting your hips against him as you cum around his cock, your high too much for your sensitive body as you whine uncontrollably when he doesn’t stop. you’re too overstimulated to say a word, gone too dumb on his cock to even realize that you’re babbling little nonsense words about how good you feel, and how much you want him.

“dumb lil’ thing” he says, giving one sharp, final thrust before he empties his load between your legs, deep inside you, careful not to move you too much in fear of his cum spilling out of your clenching hole.

he’s right, you are a dumb little thing, because as soon as he pulls out you’re desperately bucking your hips, blindly searching for him in hope he would fill up the sudden emptiness in your pussy, unintentionally spilling all his hard work between your thighs.

“no!” he grunts, slapping your thigh and grounding you to the mattress as you wince in pain, dark color blossoming at the skin where he’d placed the spank. “look what you’ve done, bad fuckin’ girl” he says, the sudden tone shift sends a tinge of fear all over your body, and you’re reduced to nothing but a kin to a stray puppy, a terrible look of guilt in your eyes, even if you don’t realize what you’ve done wrong.

“look at the mess you made” he mumbles, flipping you over and placing ass up “now i’m gonna have to fill ya up all over again”

©️ kaijime 2021 | all content belongs to kaijime, do not modify or repost

#tw. corruption #tw. dubcon #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu scenarios #osamu #osamu miya #osamu x reader #osamu x reader smut #osamu smut #osamu scenarios #smut #hqintheclub

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monstersinthecosmos · 2 years ago

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I didn't follow any of the pre-release promotional materials; do you have a link to the showrunner(s) stating/implying that queerness is merely "subtextual" in the absence of literal sex? (Apologies if you've shared it before and I just wasn't paying attention.) Also, thank you for your prolific and thorough critiques. I'm a more casual book fan and was tentatively excited to see the show forge a new narrative path while still guided by the same lifeblood, if you will. But at this point, hmmmmmm

I don't recall him commenting on it being about literal sex, THAT WAS ME EDITORIALZING LMAO.

I haven't been able to stomach the entire SDCC panel but I know they talked about it in there, I kinda peeked around for a transcript but didn't find one. ANYONE FEEL FREE TO SHARE THE DIRECT QUOTES please I don't have the strength. There's a summary article here, though, which touches on the convo a little:

(Don't even ask me to start unpacking the Fiona Apple comment dude what?)

This article also talks about the SDCC panel and doesn't directly quote him but it sums up:

There's just been article after articleeeeee of people who didn't read the books or just watched the film or whatever and keep going WOWIE IT'S NOT SUBTEXT, GREAT JOB, when like ? It was never subtext lol. And that's not entirely the show's fault, how mainstream perceives it, but they've been running with that and taking credit for it.

Like there's just been tons of headlines and praise like this -

I think the show & RJ have also been pretty blurry with how often they claim they're not a remake of the movie and yet constantly make digs at the movie and even reference it often on the show itself. So I think sometimes they're commenting on the movie when they forget they've already told us they're not remaking the movie. =P

There's also this quote (I didn't screenshot bc there's an ad in the middle LOL!) but:

"It’s aggressive subtext in the first book, but by the time you read books eight and nine, it was the love affair of the century. Without spoiling too much, subtext becomes text in our show."

(Let's not point out that books 8 & 9 are ... *checks notes* Blood & Gold and Blackwood Farm. Okaaaaaay Rolin. 😪)

Also sorry by love affair of the century do you mean Lestat goes around and has adventures and uses everyone while Louis stays safely tucked away at Armand's house until he's needed, or? Sorry lmfao I'm so fucking. dghadgkjs.

That interview is full of nonsense that will make you want to scream if you're feeling brave.

Anyway I feel like, I've been obsessively watching the production unfold for the past year and I kept getting so many red flags like there's been so many odd comments and little sexist quips, the complete misunderstanding (or lack of fucks) about what Claudia is supposed to mean in the story, etc. I just keep getting aggressive CISHET MAN vibes from this team and the lens they read VC through.

And yknow what, fair whatever I guess, we all read different versions of the same book and they're the ones that got to make it. But idk I like VC for the dark elegant spooky existential angst, I didn't need it to be gritty and open up with shit jokes. And five episodes in I didn't need it to use outdated, dangerous rape tropes and I also don't need it to oversell the domestic abuse. (Hint: Lestat was already abusive as fuck from the moment we met him, don't oversell!)

It's an okay show lmao. It's not recognizable as VC at all except that it recycles the names. None of the characters have been accurate so far. Even Lestat, where Sam Reid is doing so many fun things with his delivery and mannerisms that almost seem like Lestat, is just so fucking OOC and a caricature and just really lacks the depth and nuance and sensitivity of who he is in the books.

If you can turn your brain off and not look at it as VC there's some fun moments, but it's also full of continuity errors and just plot holes and bad writing when you look too close, so don't try to analyze it too hard or you'll have a bad time lol. Even the stuff that's really interesting and that they get right, they tend to lose interest in and drop, or they mix it into so much vampire soap opera shenanigans that it's hard to walk away knowing what the episode is actually about. It's just. Woof!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#vampire pajama party on amc #amc iwtv

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ur-local-anti-hero · 4 years ago

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Anonymous said: Shiggy with a reader that was Forced to be a pro hero and don’t really care about hero and villains and is just super chill

Note: Hey Anon!! Thanks for requesting :) You didn’t specify what you wanted and I got a little carried away and ended up writing a one shot.

I hope you enjoy!

Shigaraki with a Hero S/O

Characters: Shigaraki x GN! Reader

Warnings: None

997 words

I General Mastelist I

You were out doing groceries in a store near your house as you noticed the lack of products in your apartment.

When you were about to grab something from one of the selves your hand accidentally brushed against someone else's arm. You retreated your hand immediately and looked up to the stranger's face to apologize.

Except that he wasn't a stranger, when your eyes met his both of you gasped in recognition. One of the most persecuted villains was staring at you with surprise filling his eyes.

You quickly broke eye contact and picked up the product you were looking for.

"If I were you, I wouldn't make any suspicious movement, I'm not on duty right now and I don't feel like dealing with this, I won't be forced to imprison you unless you make a scene." You murmured before turning away from the villain.

You left him there, completely dumbfounded at your words and actions. He recognized you, of course he did, you were one of the top pro heroes of Japan, usually working side to side with Mirko or Hawks. Why did you let him get away? Especially when capturing a villain of his rank would assure you fame and popularity. What were you thinking?

During the next weeks after his encounter with you he couldn't get you out of his mind. He felt the need to understand you and your behavior, he researched about you and even more doubts aroused. It seemed like you didn’t care about your popularity, almost no interviews could be found and you never attended hero events. That only caught his attention even more and soon he found himself following you around.

He would usually do it at night, slyly following your steps while you were on patrol or walking back home, trying to make sure you wouldn't notice him.

"If you are going to keep following me around, why don't you at least walk by my side?" Shigaraki jumped in surprised when you talked to him. Nonetheless he actually started walking by your side.

For days it was like this, not a single word was uttered from any of you. Still the silence was not uncomfortable, it was even soothing.

"Why didn't you arrest me?" One day he finally asked, saying what he had been wondering for a while out loud.

You shrugged your shoulders, resting its importance. "You weren't doing anything illegal; I don't know why should've arrested you"

He gaped at you, were you being serious?

"I'm a wanted villain and you are a hero, isn't that enough reason?"

You looked him in the eyes "I really couldn't care less, in fact most of the times I agree with the league's ideology. Your way never seems the correct one though. However, is none of my business"

The conversation ended there, he couldn't think of anything to say while you disappeared from his sight, stepping in your apartment.

You would've expected him to stop following you around after that conversation. However, he didn't. He only grew more interested in you after having talked with you.

This time instead of walking in complete silence there were several conversations from time to time. Mostly short and vague as it was Shigaraki who would ask about the day you met.

There was an odd feeling of bonding that grew stronger with the time. These meetings almost feeling like an old friends’ conversation after years without seeing each other. Getting to the point where both of you would actually look forward to the specific moment when he would walk you home.

"You know? Hero society is really messed up, I mean, I know you are aware of that fact. But as a hero I'm always seeing the corruption." You confessed once.

"Then why did you decide to become a hero?" He asked with sincere interest.

“It was never really my choice; I was scouted by the hero commission as a kid and basically forced into this life.” You replied shrugging your shoulders as you were speaking.

Shigaraki’s eyes grew bigger in surprise. “Have you ever considered quitting?” He questioned.

“Not really, I’m honestly unsure on how the commission would take it. Plus, I don’t hate the job. It's just something I wouldn’t have chosen if given the opportunity to decide” You finished, looking back at Shigaraki and giving him a smile.

“Well, that’s enough talk about me. Aren’t you gonna tell me your villain origin?” You joked, not really expecting the man at your side to open up with you.

Surprisingly he did. Not because you had just told him about your life and he felt the need to pay you back somehow. He actually was willing to open up to you, even if that meant showing himself vulnerable. For some reason, not even himself could understand, he felt safe around you.

You stared at him, glassy eyes with tears threatening to fall at his words. He was looking down once he stopped talking. You had arrived at your door long ago and were sitting on the stairs while he was still talking. You moved without thinking twice and wrapped your arms around him, he stiffened at first but relaxed in your touch and hugged you back. Your embrace gave him a sense of safety he hadn’t felt for a long time and he allowed himself to silently cry while mourning all what he couldn’t before.

From that moment on the relationship only grew stronger and soon it was beyond a simple friendship. Your natural laidback and non judgmental personality made it really easy to forget your really different social positions when the two of you were together.

He did eventually introduce you to the league and after some time of suspicion they ended up loving you as well.

In general, the highlight of the relationship is how for those moments alone you two can be yourselves instead of having to live to everyone’s perception and expectations on how you should behave.

Thanks for reading!! Likes and reblogs are appreciated

Requests are open!!

Taglist: @luci58 @lonleyweeb77

Send me an ask if you'd like to be added to my bnha taglist!

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whosscruffylooking · 4 years ago

Text

The Purest Things-Damaged

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Warnings: Mentions of rape, murder, and cheating. Canon-typical violence.

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: and so we begin our descent into the world of slow-burn! this piece begins at the end of season 3 episode 13 & carries into seasons 3 episode 14. thank you to everyone who has interacted with my stories, commenting and reposting helps creators so much! enjoy this installment :)

The Purest Things Masterlist

Gif Credit: @hqtchner

january 2008

Bookend: “We are all damaged. We have all been hurt. We have all had to learn painful lessons. We are all recovering from some mistake, loss, betrayal, abuse, injustice or misfortune. All of life is a process of recovery that never ends. We each must find ways to accept and move through the pain and to pick ourselves back up....Each tragedy is an announcement that some good will indeed come in time. Be patient with yourself.” ― Bryant McGill

Another day, another murderer locked away. This case proved that sometimes, the so-called "good guys" can be just as selfish as the "bad guys." The special agent who recruited the BAU's help, Jill Morris, used this case to obtain personal fame and grow her career.

You sit next to Rossi aboard the plane. He had a more personal interaction with Morris throughout the case, and you can tell her actions have left him more than disappointed.

Looking out the window at the sun setting behind the clouds, you mumble to yourself, "What's the difference?"

"Did you say something?" Dave speaks up.

Looking to him, you brush it off, "Oh. Nothing. I was just talking to myself."

He crosses his legs and smiles a warm smile at you, "Penny, for your thoughts then."

"I guess...I just don't understand how Jill Morris's motives can be any different from Jeremy Andrus's. Of course, Jill didn't murder or rape anyone. But, she exploited this case for her own personal benefit. She didn't just use the unsub; she exploited the victims as well. How is that any different than Jeremy using women for his own gratification?"

David sighs, "Aristotle said, 'Every practical pursuit or undertaking seems to aim at some good.' Our brains are wired for love and solidarity. Greed forms to undermine that wiring and trick others into believing that their means to an end is done for "good." People believe that to maintain that myth, any and all costs to others are simply casualties in the long run."

"There is all the difference in the world between helping another soul and exploiting their hardship for your own gain and deceiving yourself that they are the same," he continues, "I tried to show Jill that. But, I think she's already determined that the reason she does this job is not for the same reasons that we do. The rush of catching a suspect comes second to the excitement she gets when being praised for her achievement."

"What happened to her empathy," you wonder, "Empathy is a natural foundation in each of our lives, and our society functions on it! How could that not overpower her desire for recognition? I mean, for Christ's sake, her friend just died!"

"Unfortunately," he solemnly says, "It is harder to understand the motives of our peers than it is to profile a serial killer."

+++++

You wake as if there is an emergency, like sleeping had become a deadly thing, your heart pounds, and thoughts jumble throughout your brain. Shooting up from your seat, you crawl over a sleeping Rossi and stumble your way to the bathroom.

Your knuckles turn white as you grip the edge of the sink. Looking cautiously into the mirror, as if you are uncertain of what you'll see, you take in your ghostly appearance. Sweat beads drip down your forehead. Unable to comprehend the blurry remnants of your dream, you turn on the faucet and splash your face with cold water.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you notice everyone is sound asleep. Thank goodness no one noticed your state of panic. You notice that one overhead reading light is on and look to see Hotch awake and blankly staring out the window.

"Can't sleep either?" You ask, sitting across from him.

"Are you alright?" He asks, trying to deflect your attention.

You squint at him, unwilling to back down, "Are you?"

He looks at you intently, taking the sight of you in inch-by-inch. No one has asked him that over the past few weeks. In fact, everyone has seemingly been avoiding him since he was served his divorce papers. Perhaps they are doing it because they are unsure how to support him or genuinely feel that what he needs right now is space.

However, you know that being alone is the last thing he needs right now. "Hotch, I know it isn't my place, and I--I'm sorry if this is overstepping. But that expression on your face that you've worn for the past few weeks isn't foreign to me. Perhaps to everyone else, it is. They don't know what to do or say. You're their unit chief, and they are used to you being strong and keeping it together for the sake of everyone else."

He straightens his posture, his attention centered on you.

"I witnessed firsthand the ways that divorce can torment people. My parents got a sudden divorce when I was 14. It was unexpected to all of us. My father was unfaithful, and although my mom was willing to forgive him, he didn't want to put in the work anymore. He found a new outlet for his frustrations. I watched my mother and father waste away for years," you lament.

Hotch sits on the edge of his seat, his eyes trained keenly on you. It was odd for him to make a connection so quick, to give his trust so easily. In fact, he hardly trusts at all. Dave and Haley are the only ones who have really been given an insider's peek into the mind and heart of Aaron Hotchner. There was something in the way he listens so actively to what you are saying. You would be lying if you said you didn't notice his gaze aimed at your lips.

There is a sympathetic and heartfelt concern he shows for you, one second only to your own regard for him. He listens like he is absorbing your words. The longer you spend in each other's presence, the more you both realize that this is the kind of friendship you both have needed for far too long. Even if the words go unspoken, you share an empathetic understanding of one another, and you are sure it has been there since the day you met. Hotch has been fascinated by you since he watched your interview with Strauss over and over again, though he would never let it be known.

+++++

February 2008

Today is the day that you get to accompany Hotch and Reid on the Criminal Personality Research Project to interview Chester Hardwick before his execution. Hardwick's case is one you know inside and out. You wrote a research report on it that was awarded the Graduate Student Ethics Writing Competition winner for the American Psychological Association and was published in their Ethics and Behavior journal. Agent Hotchner suggested that you tag along, considering you know just as much about the case as Spencer does.

You and Spencer absentmindedly fiddle with the knickknacks that rest upon the desk as you wait to be escorted to see Chester Hardwick.

Hotch's phone begins to ring, and he answers it, "Yeah, J.J... Um, no, it's--It's a personal matter. Yes, thank you. I will take care of it when I get back."

"Everything okay?" You ask softly.

"Yeah, fine." He says abruptly.

"We can do this interview another time," Reid offers.

Aaron huffs, "Well, he is scheduled to be executed next week."

"I can take the lead on the interview if you w-" Reid unintentionally pushes.

You cut him off, "Reid."

Hotch shoots you an appreciative look.

Anytime sir.

"Agent Hotchner?" A relatively short man wearing freakishly petite glasses comes to the door.

The Unit Chief shakes the man's hand and introduces you and Spencer.

"You're here to see our infamous inmate Hardwick," the warden exclaims.

"Yes," you say, "He agreed to meet with us as part of our Criminal Personality Research Project before his execution."

The man smiles widely, "I've read your research on Hardwick many times. I must say, seeing your perspective on the mind of such a prolific killer was very enlightening."

You beam with pride at his commendation. Instinctively you look to Hotch, who appears to have the slight trace of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You wonder, how can he go from scowling and frustrated one minute to fighting back the urge to smile at the mention of your achievements? You bite your lip to suppress any further needless excitement.

The warden continues to ramble, "Serial killers are kind of a hobby of mine. Chester is the only one I've ever met in person, though. I bet you've met quite a few."

"Sir," Hotch interjects, "We'd very much like to get started as soon as we can."

Time to put our serious pants back on.

You can visibly see your superior's annoyance, and you stifle a chuckle.

The warden quickly composes himself and apologizes for his enthusiasm, touching his hand to Hotch's shoulder in the process. Hotch's mouth falls agape, and his sights shoot to you. A small snort escapes you, and you cover your mouth, attempting to conceal it as a cough. He squints at you as if he is mentally murdering you. You crinkle your nose at him.

Don't mentally murder me when we are about to interview one of the most prolific killers of our time.

The warden leads you into the small cell that you will convert into a makeshift interrogation room. Soon enough, you hear the clanking of chains echoing in the hallway. Everyone's eyesight is fixed on the door.

A silver-haired man dressed in a yellow jumpsuit walks in with an air of arrogance and determination. He glares at Agent Hotchner, who mirrors the prisoner's actions exactly. Hotch states that keeping the prisoner chained will not be necessary, a call that both you and Spencer are unsure of.

Hardwick sits across from you and leans into the table, "I know you."

"And I know you. Too well, I think," you respond.

A menacing grin sweeps across his face, "Oh, I like you already. How about you send these two away so the grown-ups can talk."

You can hear your boss scoff from behind you.

"Chester, it's time to get serious."

"You were born April 4, 1950?" Spencer asks.

"Does my birthday really matter?"

"It's customary for us to start at the beginning. We want to know as much as we can about your childhood," Reid continues.

"There's nothing to know. It was average. I lived in a nice house on a quiet street. I ate cereal, went to school, watched cartoons."

"I don't have time for this," Hotch raises his voice, causing you to jump slightly, "You grew up in a series of projects, each one worse than the last. You spent your teenage years peeping into your female neighbors' windows and burglarizing their underwear drawers when you got the chance. You set 100 small fires for which you spent 2 years in juvenile detention."

You glance at Reid from the corner of your eye; you are both uncomfortable with the direction Hotch is taking this.

"We've done extensive research, Mr. Hardwick," you say, gently trying to soften the blow and appeal to the man's ego. If Hotch is taking the bad cop role, you need to be this psychopath's ally.

"We've talked to almost everyone you've ever known," you continue, "including your mother."

Chester swivels on the balls of his feet, "Good ol' Jean? I'll bet she was a real treat."

"At this point, lying to us isn't really possible or helpful," Spencer offers a slight smirk to the man.

"Y/N, right?" the prisoner turns his attention to you, "They're wrong. They're all wrong."

"About what, Chester?" You implore him.

"I started a lot more than one hundred fires," he peers out the window.

You look up at Hotch, and he sighs in surrender.

Chester antagonizes you three, stating that no one care's whether or not they hear the truth. In between his jabs, he strays to various different series of thoughts. Most are meaningless, but it is his way of trying to get under your skin. For you and Spencer, it is relatively easy to maintain your composure. For Hotch, however, Hardwick's digs do nothing but add fuel to the already lit flame under the special agent.

"Let's talk about the specifics of this case, Chester," you interrupt his rant, "Why did you choose Sheila O'Neal?"

He shakes his head, "You gotta show me a picture. I don't know their names."

As if you can feel Hotch's anger radiating off of his body, you brace yourself for the oncoming strike.

"Is that what this is all about," he says disgustedly, "Some chance for you to relive all of this?"

"I have an excellent memory," Chester brags.

You tune his impassionate speech out and focus your observance on your boss. His scalding stare at Hardwick can only translate one way, 'I have initiated my emotional indifference. I could kill you and not care one bit. So proceed with caution.'

"They were toys, a diversion," you hear Hardwick chant as you tune back into the present. Hotch looks anywhere but at the killer in front of him, his gaze eventually landing you. You are some kind of shelter to him that neither of you has yet acknowledged or come to understand.

Your stomach churns at Chester's descriptions of his victims. He describes them as useless objects that, once their purpose was served, were discarded like garbage.

"Why did you ask us here?" Hotch charges.

The wicked man looks at you, his eyes void of a soul and his stare sending a chill down your veins.

"I wanted to speak to her."

Your breath catches at the back of your throat.

With that, Hotch straightens up and fervently positions himself between Chester and you. "Reid, pack it up," he commands.

Reid looks to you, "Are you sure?"

"No, now." Your superior repeats himself with even more fervor. He presses the buzzer to signal the guards to release us and says, "Have a nice trip. You're going where you belong." Hotch makes sure to put as much distance between you and Hardwick as possible. He buzzes the ringer again. No response.

"It's 5:17," Hardwick chuckles.

You close your eyes, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. Reaching out for Hotch's arm, you lower his hand from the buzzer. "The evening yard begins at 5 o'clock. No one is going to come open that door for-"

"At least thirteen minutes," Chester disrupts. He waltzes over the table and takes one of the images of his victims into his hand. Holding it up as if to brag to us about it, he says, "And it took me less than five minutes to do this."

You push aside your worry. Instead, you choose to focus on all of the information you have accumulated over the years about Chester Hardwick. There has to be something you can use to your advantage to diffuse this situation.

"Perhaps in all of your research, you should have familiarized yourselves with the guard tones," Hardwick jeers.

"I heard the tones," Hotch counters in a monotone voice.

"So you planned to be locked inside with me, with no guns or weapons."

Hotch shakes his head, his voice more natural than before, "I won't need a gun."

Spencer places his hand on your arm and begins to guide you to the other side of the room.

"There's no way I am going to be executed next week," Chester taunts, kneading his hands together. "Not after I kill three FBI agents. You saved my life by coming here." His venomous words ring in your ears.

Hotch's tone deepens, "Unfortunately for you, I am not a five-foot-one-hundred-pound girl."

Your pulse quickens at Hotch's threat, and your attention is rapt by his display of dominance. He begins to shed his jacket. You feel yourself flushing; attraction suddenly entangles you as if it were an invisible rope.

Now is the worst possible time to be feeling this. Calm down.

"All of your life, you've gone after victims who couldn't fight back," he fiercely says, "and the rest of the time you spent looking over your shoulder." You understand the intensity in his tone and sense a great deal of emotion behind his words.

He rips his tie from his collar, and your breathing hitches in the back of your throat. Hopefully, Spencer doesn't notice, and if he does, he chalks it up to the deadly situation you find yourself in.

"You were always worried about the knock on the door," Hotch doesn't back down, "Scared that somebody like me would be on the other side waiting to put you away."

Well, if you keep ripping your tie off like th--no. Not gonna go there right now. Focus on the pyshco-killer threatening to kill you.

Now, Hotch intimidatingly points his finger directly at Hardwick.

If only I were on the receiving end of tha--no! Now. Is. Not. The. Time.

"At your core, you are a coward," Hotch fires.

You have to do something. Hardwick is enraged, and Hotch has nothing left to lose.

Without even giving it a second thought, you blurt out, "Chester, do you want to know why you killed those women?"

"What?" The prisoner hisses.

Spencer speaks up, "Earlier, you said you wished you were different. We can tell you why you are...what you are."

He begins moving towards you, and out of the corner of your eye, you notice your boss carefully making equal strides. You motion for him to stop.

"You can tell me why I did what I did?"

"I think so," you nod, "Don't you, Dr. Reid?"

"I do. Your mother is bipolar. And almost certainly an undifferentiated schizophrenic. Your father suffered severe shell shock in the war, what we now refer to as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. As far as I can tell, he remained clinically depressed the rest of his life."

"Exactly," you say, giving Spencer a chance to gather his thoughts after having thrown him under the bus.

"53% of all serial killers have some form of mental illness inherent to their families. Chester, in your case, both of your parents suffered from psychological disorders, which they essentially took out on each other as much as they beat you. So, violence sort of became a normal expression of love in your household," you say, eager to have some kind of breakthrough with him while subliminally directing Spencer's string of thoughts to follow yours.

Allowing Reid to pick up where you leave off, he takes charge of the conversation and explains how a portion of one's brain wants what it wants without conscience or judgment. A part of the brain that no doubt took over Hotch's reasoning powers moments ago, though you do not blame him.

"Earlier, you said your victims never had a chance. I think you know deep down that it was you that never really had a chance," he concludes. And with that victorious resolution, the guards unlock the door. Hotch storms out, and Reid follows behind.

"Is that true that I never had the chance?" Hardwick calls out after you both.

You stop in your tracks, "I don't know."

"Maybe," Spencer nudges you out the door.

++++

In the car, Hotch looks at you in the rearview mirror, "That was smart to get Hardwick to focus on himself long enough for the guards to come back."

You pat Spencer's shoulder, "I give all the credit to boy wonder and his beautiful statistic-filled brain. I'm sorry for all of the times I said you were running out of storage with all of that useless data."

"I find that I do some of my best work under intense terror," he declares, "Wait. Useless data? When did you say that?"

You pinch him softly and chuckle, "I'm kidding."

"I'm sorry," Hotch sighs.

You meet his gaze in the mirror once again, "For what?"

His chestnut eyes reveal pangs of remorse and guilt, but something tells you there's more to those feelings than what occurred at the prison.

"I antagonized the situation."

"No, you didn't," Spencer states.

"I certainly didn't help."

"Well, I can't argue with you there," you kid.

His piercing eyes suddenly twinkle, causing you to blush slightly. You quickly look down at your feet until your cheeks cool down.

Hotch sighs in defeat, "So Haley wants me to sign the divorce papers uncontested so that nobody wastes money on lawyers."

That statement is all too familiar to you. Yet again, your heart shatters for the Hotchners.

"You don't want to?" Spencer asks innocently.

He means well, but you know from experience that such a question only unleashes a tidal wave of painful emotions for the one fighting for his family.

"What I want, I'm not going to get," Hotch laments.

His eyes, once filled with depth, now distant and empty.

++++

Glancing up from your paperwork and into your supervisor's office, you take note of his gravity-drawn shoulders that carry the weight of the world on them. He repeatedly picks up a stack of papers and then drops them back down atop his desk, covering his face with his hands.

"What do you think is going on up there?" Derek asks, pointing his pen in the direction of the office.

"I might have an idea. I'm going to go take my report; anyone else's done?" They all hand you their paperwork for you to deliver to the boss.

You hesitate to knock on his door but apprehensively do so anyways.

He invites you in. Your heart sinks as you approach his desk, able to get a closer look at his beaten expression. You always knew he was hiding pain behind his tough exterior, but now he wears it on the surface, most likely unintentionally.

Placing the paperwork on his desk, you notice the heading on the papers he was gripping tightly.

SUPREME COURT STATE OF VIRGINIA: MARITAL SETTLEMENT AGREEMENT

Hotch's eyes move slowly, laboriously, to look at you as if it takes a concentrated effort to do so.

"Heartache is a real thing," you sympathize with him, "In fact, Reid even told me that a broken heart can show up on medical scans. When a heart breaks, your body and brain need time to recuperate. There's no set amount of time or remedy that will heal you. Don't set your expectations of yourself too high, and surround yourself with the people who love you."

His chin trembles, and his eyes flutter as he blinks back tears.

You turn to leave the room but look over your shoulder one last time, "We are all here for you, Hotch."

Just as you are about to shut the door, you hear him call out to you, "Y/L/N!"

His stare reveals a vulnerability you have had yet to see in him.

"Call me Aaron."

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angelswithcigarettes · 4 years ago

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“Toughen up“

Summary: Spencer and Hotch grow up as step brothers in an abusive household until Hotch leaves. Years later they work together and for some time no one knows about their past until Hotch sees Morgan and Spencer messing around training hand to hand and gets reminded of unpleasant childhood memories.

Prompt:"Toughen up"

Warnings:Graphic Description Of Violence, Past Child Abuse

Word Count:1121

Ao3:

When Gideon had introduced them two years back, the only new thing he needs an Introduction to is the hurt in Spencer eyes as Hotch grabs the hand of his little brother, not able to stop himself from looking him into the eyes.

He hasn't seen him in years,he didn't even know he was in the academy.

"Aaron Hotchner, nice to meet you." A short moment and they had silently agreed to not disclose their relationship.

"Dr. Spencer Reid"

"Well Agent Gideon spoke very highly about you." Not even minutes later everything was signed and it was final, Spencer was on the team and before he could even realize what just happened Gideon took him out of the room again.

And he wished, he wished so badly to have a relationship to him again but over weeks Spencer acted around him like every other new agent would, not like the kid that moved into their house at three and was nine when Hotch left for college. The child that cried out for him, the child that saw the same four walls of fear and pain like he did. The child he left behind.

He even considered that Spencer doesn't remember, that he really is clueless about who Hotch is until they are alone in the conference room and Spencer calls him "Ron".

"What?"

"Can you hand me the file?"

"Sure, sorry." Still surprised by the use of his old nickname he hands him the papers. "You remember."

"Of course."

He tells Haley that night, breaking down in tears, telling her how he fled out of the house and never went back. How he considered taking Spencer and then didn't. How he never checked up on him.

They don't let anything slide to the team, no accidentally nickname, no joke, no body language that indicates that Hotch cleaned the small boys face after a vase had barely missed him and pieces had cut through his cheek, a body language that indicates how Hotch hid him under his blanket at night because he was to scared to sleep in his own room.

And then there it is, all standing in the conference room and Hotch leans over to grab something but doesn't reach it and asks. "Buddy hand me that real quick will you?" And both of them freeze up and Spencer stumbles out of the room after a quick apology of having something left in Garcia's office.

But it was never discussed again. No one on the team said a thing nor did make a joke about it. Even Gideon shrugged it off.

It wasn't till months later, that they got a case and the team had announced to go into the gym to train a little bit so Hotch made his way downstairs to get them, Gideon behind him so they can leave as fast as possible when he sees Spencer on the floor,Morgan on top of him and if he wasn't so used to seeing Spencer's bloody face, so used to hearing Spencer cry out for him he would have seen how he is giggling and how Morgan is teasing him pining him to the ground. "Get of him." Morgan flinches at the loud voice of his boss and crumbles off him and before he can realize what happens a fist hits him in the face. "Don't touch him."

"Wha-" He wanted to sit up again but Hotch hits again.

"Aaron stop." Spencer can't stop the third and fourth hit but after that he wraps his arms around his big brother, clinching to him. "Stop it. Please stop it." Out of breath the man reaches up to Spencer's head that he had laying on his shoulder.

"He won't hurt you anymore." Hotch is gasping for air, while Morgan is scrambling away,blood dripping from his nose. The older man turns his head to the side, burying his nose in Spencer's hair and then screws his eyes shut to not thing about the memories.

He remembers how he had yelled at Spencer, dressed in dungarees and a polo shirt looking up to him through his glasses. "You can't cry right now."

"It hurts."

"Toughen up."

"My head hurting." Spencer had started crying never the less while Hotch was pressing him to his chest, to not let their father hear that they are sharing a room, that Hotch is helping him.

Gideon is crouching down next to Morgan who is holding a towel to his nose that is slowly being soaked with blood and the noise of blood rushing through his vains slowly gets quieter and Hotch feels exhausted and embarrassed. Spencer still clinching to him,sitting on his knees, his arms around Hotch's neck. "I am so sorry." The team leder bites out looking at Morgan.

"What did you think I was doing man?" He hadn't been thinking.

"I don't know. I am sorry. I am so sorry." Even though Morgan was pissed as hell by what happened, seeing his boss in distress when he normally never loses his cool, was enough for him to know that he is the one suffering the least.

"Spence?" JJ lays a hand on Spencer's shoulder as an attempt to make him loosen his grip but instead he scoops closer to his brother.

"It's okay buddy." Hotch brings out, loosen his tie to catch a deeper breath. "We are okay. I am sorry."

"Spencer I am sorry if I hurt you, I thought we were just messing around." Morgan apologises.

"It's okay we were." He turns his head, now facing the rest of the team, seeing the blood on the floor that Hotch caused."Why would you do that?"

"I couldn't stop- I could never stop him. And I- I- I- I panicked. I don't know what happened."

The flight was uncomfortable quiet but eventually Gideon spoke up, the man who was known to as the most comfortable in uncomfortable silence had enough of it. "You guys have to talk this out."

"I am good,it was an accident-"

"Spencer and I are brothers." Hotch interrupts him. "We grew up in the same house, we have the same dad. Different mothers. I left when I got the first chance I didn't saw him again until his job interview." While Morgan's and JJ's faces drop, Gideon and Ellen manage to hide their surprise. "When you- when you were on top of him- and I saw you- I thought you were beating him up. Just like our dad did. I told Spencer when he was kid that he should though up and that he should suck it up and then leave but I swore myself I would not let that happen with this second chance."

#criminal minds #spencer reid #derek morgan #ao3 author #aaron hotchner #jason gideon #fanfic #fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction

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wickedbarnes · 5 years ago

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Forbidden Fruit (Pt.5) | Keanu Reeves x Reader

Part 4

WARNING: Angst.

NOTE: I'm sorry if this doesn't have a "read more" thingy. If anyone is willing to teach me how to do it over mobile, I'd be very grateful! And I'm so sorry if this was quite short. There's more to come and more developments coming!

It had been days after that night. And nothing has been the same ever since. You could tell how Keanu was avoiding you with every chance he got. And although you felt guilty, you just couldn't help but feel frustrated and offended by how he was acting towards you.

Was it your fault that night happened? Maybe. You were attracted to the man after all. But you didn't initiate what had happened. And it wasn't your fault you caught him masturbating to you and moaning your fucking name.

But did you confront him about it? No, certainly not. How could you, anyway? You felt embarrassed and a tad bit disgusted with yourself for fucking your mother's boyfriend. And the way Keanu was avoiding you just didn't help your situation at all.

You felt as if he was thinking the same way about you. A girl with severe daddy issues.

The thought had left a bitter taste in your mouth and you couldn't help but push your plate away and drink a glass of water. Your Mom had noticed this and it was never like you to push your food away unless you felt really ill.

"Is there something wrong, Y/N?" Your Mom asked, eyeing the plate that was still filled with your favorite pesto pasta.

"The pesto wasn't really good." You could tell your Mom sensed the lie but you were thankful she didn't comment on it. The pesto tasted heavenly actually but you just couldn't bring yourself to eat. You had lost the appetite and it had been days since you last enjoyed your food.

It was Friday and your Mom had miraculously took the day out and decided to spend some time with you but unfortunately, Keanu couldn't join. Something about taking of something at Arch but you had a feeling that was some sort of half-assed excuse not to have lunch with you and your Mom fearing of the guilt that would creep up on the both of you.

Somehow, you had started to count the days before you went back home and you both dreaded and craved for it. Dreaded because it would be a while until you visited your Mom again and craved it just because you just wanted to get away from here and forget what had happened that night.

When you finally got home with your Mom after a day of eating outside and doing a little shopping spree, Keanu was already home and watching the television while sitting down on the couch. Your Mother had greeted him with a kiss but you just took it upon yourself to make your way up to your room and start editing the articles that were needed to be submitted for the next issue.

But as you ascended upstairs, you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched by a certain someone from downstairs.

Being a journalist had been a dream come true and although it was a serious job, you couldn't deny that you were passionate about it and took pride in your work. However, your silence was soon disrupted when your phone began to rang. Answering it, you put it on loud speaker while you occupied yourself into changing into some more comfortable clothing.

"Hello, Y/N?" The voice came through.

"Yes, this is she." You answered and took note of the familiar voice from your colleague and friend, Becca.

"Hey, baby, how's vacation with your Mom?" Eventful. You wanted to reply.

"It's uh... going great, yeah. How 'bout you, what's new? How's dear ol' work?" You asked as you changed into a pair of sleeping shorts and an oversized t-shirt that had quite the thin fabric and made your nipples poke right through it when you took your bra off.

"Chaotic. It's gone to shit when you took your leave. Anyways, I'm not here to guilt trip you I called to update you about the latest issue we need to make." You situated yourself on the bed and grabbed your phone from the nightstand as you tied your hair up in a bun.

"Okay, spill."

"Well, the Grand Prix motorcycle racing is coming up and a lot of people are being hyped about it. And I thought that for our issue, we should interview some successful CEOs of motorcycle companies and maybe share their story. Why they started the business and all that jazz. Maybe give us a tour to their humble abode."

"That's actually amazing, Becca. Did you have any companies in mind that could get us a head start?" You asked.

"Well, Malcolm's a huge motorcycle fan and he insisted we should try this company called Arch Motorcycle. I looked into it and they're fairly new. Started around 2011 and they make amazing motorcycles according to Mal."

Arch Motorcycle. That was Keanu's company.

You had just finished the phone call with Becca and you couldn't even wrap your head around the fact that you were possibly going to work with Keanu if your team was going to really push through with Arch. A huge part of you hoped not although you didn't doubt Keanu's professionalism, you just couldn't deal with the awkwardness between you two.

Sighing, you plugged your phone in your charger and decided to make your way downstairs to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. It was already quiet in the living room and you assumed everyone had went to bed but you were stand corrected when you walked into the kitchen and saw Keanu drinking a glass of water.

You both froze on your spot, neither of you not knowing what to say and you did your best to ignore how Keanu's eyes had flickered from your face to your breasts. You were sure he noticed how your nipples were deliciously poking through your shirt.

Maybe you should've covered up a little.

You gathered enough courage to walk inside and grabbed a glass as you made your way to the fridge and poured yourself some water before taking big gulps of it.

"Listen, Y/N, I--" Keanu begun but you cut him off the moment you put your glass down on the counter.

"Let's forget about it." You blurted out.

Keanu seemed take aback by what you said and almost looked as if he was confused by it either. But the realization slowly hit him until he found himself leaning against the countertop.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have walked in on you like that the other night. I should've just left you alone." You continued, making sure your voice was hushed and you looked behind you before looking up at you Keanu's unreadable expression on his features, "I promise no one has to know about this. Not even Mom. It won't be long 'till I come back home anyways so we can both forget what just happened."

There was a moment of silence between the two of you and it almost felt like you'd been standing there for over an hour. Clearing your throat, you were just about to walk away when you felt his hand wrap around your arm pulling you back against him. His dark eyes were looking down on you and you could've sworn they were a darker shade of brown this time, almost black.

"Forget? Why do you want to forget all of that, sweet girl?" He'd ask, his voice quite raspy as he traced your arm up and down with his finger and you hated how your body shivered at his touch.

Keanu couldn't stop the grin that made its way on his face upon seeing your reaction.

"So responsive, baby, that's what I like. Even the slightest of touch gets you so weak for me, huh?" You felt your cheeks heating up. No, this wasn't right. This isn't what you had in mind.

Shaking your head, you shook his hand off and you could see the hint of anger flash in Keanu's eyes and for a moment you almost wanted to apologize and show him how sorry you were but that wasn't the case right now.

"Keanu, what we did was a mistake. You're with my mom and I shouldn't have given into you like that." Your words made him freeze on the spot, letting his hand fall down to the side as you took a deep breath to gather your composure.

"What we did, it won't happen again and I'm sorry if I walked in on you like that I know I should've walked away the moment I saw you in there doing... well, you know." You let out a sigh and ran a hand through your hair, "But this isn't entirely my fault either. You shouldn't have been doing that while moaning my name and I--"

"How can you be so sure it was your name I was moaning?"

"I'm sorry?" You were taken aback by his words that you had to check if what you heard was right.

Keanu looked shocked by what he just said but quickly concealed it with a stoic expression.

"How can you be sure it was you I was fantasizing about? You didn't even ask. And you're not the only one who bears the name that you have now."

You blinked. And blinked. And blinked. You opened your mouth to say something and closed it again. Was Keanu really cheating on your Mom? Well, technically he did since he had the decency to fuck you. But... was he seeing someone else outside your Mom before you came into the picture?

You gathered your composure and took a step back. This man was unbelievable. And to think you approved of him having your Mother's heart.

"You're right. I shouldn't have. And I apologize for that. But like I said, what we did was a mistake and I highly regret all of it. But it seems that you have a bigger problem in your hands. I hope you sleep well tonight, Mr. Reeves. I know I wouldn't if I was in your place."

And with that, you left Keanu standing there dumbfounded in the kitchen as you made your way upstairs. You didn't intend to slam the door as hard as you could but you couldn't help it.

You felt embarrassed. Disgusted. Devastated and somehow betrayed in a way.

You felt used. And you were so naive and let your needs get in the way and now look where that got you. You felt devastated for your Mom because she had no idea of what was going on. She was oblivious to all of this and she doesn't deserve it.

The room along with everything else was suffocating you and you knew you couldn't stand here and spend another week in this house. Grabbing your suitcase, you stuffed your things inside and didn't even care if it was no longer neat. Once you were done, you took a deep breath and decided it was best if you just leave first thing in the morning.

You were too physically and mentally tired to drive back home. Flopping down on your bed, you draped your blanket over your body and let sleep take over. But you didn't miss how a lone tear had escaped from your eyes.

To hell with forbidden fruits, indeed.

TAGS: @fanficsrusz @a-really-bi-girl @fan-wicktion @baphometwolf666 @mikaneonox @coloursunlimited @ficsnroses @autumnsoidier @paanchu786 @thatonemultifandombeast @thesadvampire @keanuvibe @laura-doitnow-rememberitlater @lillytalons @wiskey-chaser @jokersdoll @meetmeinthematinee @soarocks @fickensteinn @ellie-payton @hbpx09 @cora-nova @vivelafuckingpluto

#keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves smut #keanu reeves imagines #forbidden fruit

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ecsta-zi · 4 years ago

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My experience with white privilege (and how I found out it was real)

I was 20 years old and had been living in the Bronx for 4 years. I had a GED and seasonal/temp experience in both the restaurant and retail industries (3-4 months each.) So i only had about a year of experience working in retail and about 6 months or so working in restaurant. It seemed as though I was only capable of obtaining temporary jobs. It was frustrating because no matter how hard I worked at these jobs I just never seemed to be good enough to be hired permanently. Both times they simply told me that there were no permanent positions to be filled but my insecurities tell me I wasn't good enough.

When it came time to find a new job my boyfriend's mother referred me to Lisa Employment Agency at 247 West 35th Street New York, N.Y 10001. A job agency where you can only get restaurant jobs. She handed me my money and I was there at 8:45 am on 05/17/17.

When I came in, there was an area for people to wait. It was already filled for being nearly 9 :00 am and per usual I am the only caucasian in the room. Most of the people in the room were black and hispanic men. Some were half asleep, some of them were on their phone and some simply looked stressed. I saw an empty seat on the left side middle row at the end. Ahead there were a few desks. A Hispanic woman to the front left whos name is Sue and another Hispanic woman to the front right. In the back with the big desk there was a Hispanic man by the name of Rene Munoz.

Before my body even touched the seat I was called up by the big man himself (Rene.) I handed him the money and the resume I created myself. He looked at it and said "you don't have a lot of experience but that's ok because you're young." He made a phone call and I had a job interview set up for me to go to immediately. My position was "helper" at the juice bar at Pier 59 Studios. My starting wage was $15/Hr. This was BEFORE the minimum wage was set to $15/hr. If you don't know what Pier 59 Studios it is the LARGEST photography studio in the world. Name any fashion magazine! They've done shoots there. Now I am an obese pale white girl who wore their makeup like it was still 2010. Everyone there was GORGEOUS and the place was boujee as fuck. Even the damn secretary at the front desk was super model gorgeous. I felt out of place. Anyway, when Rene Munoz handed me the card he told me "bring more people like you, you know your kind....your friends."

He basically told me to bring more white people.

Prior to arriving my boyfriend's mother who was friends with sue (lady at the desk to the right who got my boyfriend the job at blake and Todd on 47th street) told me that sue told her that they were looking for more white people and that I would not have a problem getting a job because I'm white. My boyfriend's mother is hispanic as well as my boyfriend.

Since I was 14 I've been in and out of homes, cities, and towns where I was the only white girl. I was use to jokes like that. Like "oh don't worry you're white the cops won't pay you no mind" or the one time my friend said to her mom "don't worry mom she's white we won't get into any trouble." as a joke. I simply thought it was another one of those things.

I didn't actually think she was being deadass!!!

At the time I wasn't going to sit there and run my mouth about how racist that shit was. A bitch needed a job I didn't want to lose MY job opportunity by preaching. I shut my mouth and I went. [ Insert White Privilege Here]

At this agency you pay a fee and they give you three shots to try out different jobs. If i didn't like one they'd give me another.

My first day at Pier 59 studios was my training and I couldn't handle the pressure. There was so much perfection expected of you because you're serving drinks to people who worked in the fashion industry. There was talk about the famous people who came in and out of there, and there were perfect gorgeous people around me and i was a potato. Also apparently there was this very important french woman who worked in the industry having some brunch meeting. I wasn't about catering to people and celebrities in the fashion industry. I didn't show up the second day.

When I try to tell people this story, especially people from my race, they get so mad at me because they're the type of people who don't believe in "white privilege." They say the same thing as any other white person who doesn't get it. "I had a hard life, i was poor, i had no privileges, i had to work hard for everything I have. No that wasn't an example of white privilege it was an example of racism" That one was the most idiotic I've ever heard. But they fail to realize that there are employers out there that would literally take one look at you and one look at the black guy next to you and choose you simply because you're white. They don't understand that these men that were waiting in the waiting area were 10+ years older than me and obviously way more experienced! That they are waiting for jobs to accept them for an INTERVIEW because the employers working with the agency told them theyre not hiring black people and that they aren't hiring people who can't speak perfect english. I mean, it was heavily implied given the fact that only poc are sitting there and i walk out with a job interview in less than 20 minutes and was straight up told to my face to bring more people like me . They overlook the part where I tell them that Rene acknowledged the fact that I had little experience and he still gave me this boujee ass job with high expectations!! Completely missed the fact that the man told me to BRING MY KIND. That the color of my skin meant that I had a long list of employment opportunities because that is what they're looking for.

I was like them in a sense. I too grew up shit poor, i have a ged, I'm basically white trash and that I never got anywhere bc of my skin color. That day though, reality slapped me so hard I still can't believe that REALLY happened, that it still happens and that it happened right in front of my face.

I didn't do a thing about it. I felt so guilty for awhile and I still do. This isn't that "white guilt" shit or me "apologizing for being white." I know that pisses off white people.

Black and Hispanic people contributed a lot to who I am and where I am right now in my life even at 23 years old. I was raised and mentored by strong black queens who I would do anything for. If it weren't for them I probably wouldn't be alive. I was educated and influenced by black men. If it weren't for them I would still be struggling with reading comprehension, i would've failed english and history. I would've never got my GED. I wouldn't have gone to college. If it weren't for latinas I wouldn't know shit about cooking or cleaning or how to manage money, i wouldn't have a home, and i wouldn't have done anything decent in my life.

All of these people, people of color, who lifted me up off the ground, picked up every piece of my brokenness, and made me whole are the reason why I felt guilty. Not because I am ashamed to be white. But because I am ashamed of the fact that I wouldn't have even been there at that job agency if it weren't for them and that I failed to be an ally all for some boujee ass job I didn't want anyway.

I had to accept the fact that there wasn't much that I could do.

One day I was fucking around on google maps, writing reviews for places I've been to. I decided to look up Lisa Employment Agency and I wrote a review regarding what happened that day. A warning to those who are poc and desperate for a job to not give them their money. That was the best that I could do.

The purpose of me writing this is because people don't understand how real this shit is and that it still happens. White people don't understand that just because YOU yourself have never been in a position where you used your white privilege doesn't mean that it doesn't exist.

It does. Its real. And it's fucked up.

******Below I have a photo of the card that Rene gave me. I still have it for some reason. A big chuck of it was cut off but you can still see the name of the man at the agency. You can see where it says Pier, the date is there, and my starting salary. (I cut a piece of it off to scoop up my weed sorry) It is the only proof I have that it happened. The name and number written above my name was the name of the owner or manager at pier 59 studios.******

#Racist #racism #white priveledge #amerika #change #personal #election #my story #new jobs #us politics #sociology #news

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memesiders · 5 years ago

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Part 1

Death x OC Office AU

(I'm still obsessed with the Office AU created by @notesz-b so I started writing a little something. It's not the best but I'm proud of it so yeah... Any suggestions for a title or critiques are welcome. Just please be gentle lol)

My eyes flicked to the clock on the wall for what felt like the hundredth time in the past forty five minutes. How much longer would I have to wait? It wasn't like there were a bunch of people here; when I'd arrived there had only been three people in the waiting area. Now, only I remained. Well, me and the woman sitting behind her desk, tapping away at her keyboard. Amber, I think her name was. I flicked my eyes down to her, admiring her long platinum hair that was pulled into a tight ponytail.

Very Ariana Grande of her. Did she get migraines often from the strain on her scalp?

She looked up at me suddenly, cool eyes studying me while one of her perfect brows arched curiously. I smiled awkwardly, embarrassed by being caught for looking too long. She let out a long breath and picked up the phone on the desk, putting it to her ear and hitting a button. My smile dropped and I looked away quickly, nervously tugging at the few loose strands of hair that fell into my face.

"Hello, sir," Amber said, breaking the silence. "Yes, still here..." I cut my eyes back to her. "Yes... Okay. Do you want me to tell her to leave?" My heart dropped into my stomach. Oh no, I was not going to leave here without getting my interview. I shot up and adjusted my bag, walking over to her desk. She hung up as I reached it and turned to me. "I'm sorry, but we have to reschedule your interview. Something's come up and-"

"I need this interview," I cut in, feeling slight guilt at interrupting her. "Please, I really, really need this interview. I've been waiting for almost an hour and-"

"I apologize." Her voice was louder and less kind than it had been. "But the boss is not up to interviewing any potential-"

"Oh, fuck that," I muttered under my breath, walking to the two large office doors. Amber yelled at me to stop but I ignored her, grabbing one of the sleek handles and twisting it. Something hard hit my back and I fell forward, the door swinging open. All I could do was yelp before my face hit the ground and I was being subdued by Office Barbie. I grunted and struggled against her, kicking my legs and swinging back to try and hit her. She grabbed my arm and twisted it behind my back. I hissed at the action and tried to pull my arm free to no avail; how could someone so tiny be so strong?

"Amber, enough," a deep voice ordered. The weight on top of me disappeared seconds after the command and I pushed myself onto my knees, hugging my throbbing arm to my chest. I glared up at the woman who wasn't even looking at me.

"Should I remove her from the premises, sir?" she asked, the expression on her face clearly saying she wanted the speaker to say yes.

"That won't be necessary," the man sighed. He sounded tired, exhausted even. I turned my head to look at the speaker, my breath escaping me. There was something about him that was almost ethereal. I couldn't tell if it was the pale skin, the long raven hair, or the eyes that seemed to burn like hot embers. Maybe it was none of that and was, instead, the muscles that flexed under the dark suit he wore. One thing was for certain though; he wasn't human.

He wasn't an angel either, nor a demon, the lack of wings proved that. I could practically hear my older sister yelling at me what he was. I should've paid attention to what she told me. Something about ancient beings and being the last of their kind or something like that. Fuck, why hadn't I paid attention?

He cleared his throat and I jumped, shaking off the cloud that had formed around me. I shakily got to my feet and brushed off my skirt and tights, combing a quick hand through my hair. He lazily waved his hand and Amber moved from my side, leaving the room and closing the door behind her. Goosebumps rose on my arms as I realized I was now alone with him, and that my first impression was probably the worst that could've happened. "Well?" I jumped again, noting the irritation in his voice. I stared at him with wide eyes, afraid to move for some reason.

He rolled his eyes and sat up straight in his chair, clasping his hands together. "You barge into my office for an interview I canceled and now you have nothing to say?" I made a strangled sound and squeezed the strap of my bag tightly.

"I- I'm, uh, I'm sorry," I managed to choke out, wishing I'd just left instead of bulldozing my way forward. Death scoffed and rubbed his temples, a vein in his neck popping out as he clenched his jaw. I had to do this right before he changed his mind and had Amber throw me out on my ass. I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders, walking over to his desk with confidence I could only fake at the moment.

"My name is Aziza Banks," I said, offering him my hand. He stared at it for a good minute before finally taking it. We shook and I couldn't help but notice how large his hand was compared to mine, and how cold his skin felt against my palm. I nearly yanked my hand away from the icy touch. He gestured for me to take a seat and I nodded in appreciation, sitting down in one of the nice leather chairs and setting my bag in the other. I pulled out my resumé and placed it in the dark desk, sliding it across to him. "I'm here about the part time receptionist opening."

He nodded but made no move to pick up my resumé. I shifted nervously and took a deep breath, fighting the urge to bounce my leg. I did that whenever I was anxious, and it was taking everything in my to not give in. "What are your qualifications? Experience?"

"If you look inside you'll find-"

"I want to hear them from you." I bit my tongue, holding back the string of curses I wanted to throw his way. He had made me wait an hour, tried to cancel the interview, and now he wanted me to tell him what was so easily accessible to him? God, what a prick.

"It's in my resumé, which I thought you read," I said calmly, adding a bite to my words. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly and he grabbed the folder, flipping through it without looking at it. Instead, he stared at a small bird statue on his desk. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he looked through the file.

"Twenty Four, graduated with a bachelor's in art & design." He snorted quietly and continued down, one of his brows arching. "What is this?" He held up a photograph and I knew my face was redder than a tomato. It was a photo of my younger sister and I wearing fedoras and flipping off the camera. I had my tongue sticking out. Oh God.

"Goddammit, Neema," I muttered under my breath, covering my face with a hand. "I'm so sorry; I think my little sister slipped it in. She's always playing jokes and trying to embarrass me." I dropped my hand and sighed. "I am so, so sorry." He gave me what seemed like a sympathetic look and tucked the picture back into the folder.

"Siblings can be... irritating," he replied, squinting his eyes slightly as he continued to look through my file.

"That's putting it mildly." The corner of his mouth twitched slightly and I fought back a small smile of my own. Silence fell over us after that. I turned my attention to the room we were in, studying everything. There was a couch and a few chairs in one of the corners of the large office, a coffee table in the center of the circle of furniture. Two plants rested in different corners and two large ornate scythes were displayed on a wall, one crossing over the other. Shelves hung on a different wall with books stacked neatly on them and a picture frame with four people in it.

I couldn't make them all out from where I was sitting but I was almost certain the one on the inner left was Death. Underneath The shelves was a bar with a mini fridge and crystal glasses neatly displayed on the countertop. The office, for how large it was, was mostly bare; the man was definitely a minimalist.

I finished looking around and finally turned my attention back to Death, who had been watching me. For how long, I didn't know, but I nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw those amber eyes staring at me. I straightened up and gave him a small smile, nodding at my resumé. "There anything else you'd like to know that isn't in there?" I asked politely. He closed the folder and slid it back to me, shaking his head.

"No, thank you." He cleared his throat and clasped his hands together. "I'm sorry, Miss Banks, but I don't think you'd be a right fit." My heart sank and I completely deflated, shoulders dropping.

"What? Why not?" I asked, sounding more pathetic than I'd meant to. Death shrugged.

"I don't see anything in your resumé that suggest that you'd be right for the job. Your degree is in arts & design, not business, communications, or anything that could be useful to my office." I opened my mouth to speak but he continued. "I'm interested in people who can contribute something valuable to me and the company; you have nothing to offer. I'm sorry for wasting your time, have a nice day." With that, he turned his attention to his computer screen. Something started to bubble inside of me, something hot and anxious. I was mad- no, pissed. How could I not be a good fit? How could I not have something valuable to contribute? I could definitely contribute patience; that was evident by the hour I waited outside his fucking office. I slammed my hands down on his desk and stood, scoffing loudly. He looked back at me.

"Are you serious right now?" I laughed, but it wasn't because I was amused. "I spent a chunk of my time in your waiting room while you were in here doing God knows what, only getting a meeting with you after running past and being taken down by your attack dog, only so you can turn me down because you think I can't contribute anything to the office? That I'm not a valuable asset or have something worthy for you?" The bubbling had turned into a fire in the pit of my stomach and I could feel tears pricking the corners of my eyes. Fuck, why did I always cry when I was pissed off? "That's absolute bullshit!" Death regarded me coolly and stood, now towering over me. He was well over 6'0, that was for sure, because I was about that height and I seemed tiny now in comparison. His height didn't discourage me though; I was too angry for that.

"Honestly, you're not making the situation any better for yourself," he replied calmly, as if we were both having a normal conversation. "Do you think you deserve a job here because I made you wait? Or maybe because you got past my 'attack dog'?" I blinked, taken aback.

"Wha- No, of course not!" He was really pissing me off now. He leaned down to me, his face nearly touching mine. I could smell a hint of alcohol on his breath, and something else I couldn't quite place.

"Then why?" Death asked, voice low. He was trying to intimidate me, I knew it. He wasn't going to get that satisfaction; no one ever had and no one ever would. I rocked forward onto my toes, pushing myself up so that our noses brushed. The loose strands of his hair brushed against my cheek, tickling my skin and catching my eyelashes.

"Because I'm qualified and I'm pretty sure I'm the only applicant who hasn't bailed on you because of how long you avoided them," I answered, my voice unable to stay calm. "I can take anything you throw at me and get it done perfectly. I busted my ass getting here and if you give me a chance, I'll show you that I deserve to be here. That I have something of value to bring to the table." Silence fell back over us, our eyes locked in a silent battle. I wasn't about to back down, and I knew he definitely wouldn't; he didn't seem like the type of man to back down from a fight.

I heard a light knock on the door, followed by the sound of it being opened, but my gaze never wavered. "Sir," I heard Amber say. "You brother is waiting for you." Death's eyes burned holes into me but I didn't dare look away. Angels and demons had had their fair share of trying to intimidate me and had failed, this guy wouldn't be the first to break me.

"Which one?" he growled, refusing to drop eye contact. There was a loud bang and I couldn't help but jump and subsequently look over my shoulder. Standing next to Amber was a man about the same height as Death, with dark skin and disheveled hair that fell back over his head and ended in little spikes. It reminded me of a character in some anime Neema tried getting me to watch.

"Brother," he exclaimed, a shit eating grin on his face. "Good to see you!" Death groaned and fell back into his seat.

"Strife," he muttered. Strife sauntered in, holding his arms out.

"I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd drop by just to say hi, maybe catch up."

"You live on the other side of town!" I looked between them, suddenly feeling awkward. Death dragged a hand down his face and stared at his brother, the bags under his eyes seeming to deepen. "What do you really want?" Strife clutched his heart and frowned.

"Why, big brother, what do you mean? Can't I just be here for a nice visit with my sibling?"

"No," he replied before Strife could even finish.

"Should I remove him from the premises, sir?" Amber asked, cracking her knuckles. Death and Strife stared at each other, Strife's eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses. The building tension in the room made me want to shiver, but instead I fell back into my seat just as Death answered,

"No, thank you, Amber. It'll be fine." She nodded and left, closing the door behind her, but not before casting me a curious glance. Strife continued over and pulled back a chair, sweeping my bag off of the seat without a care to ask me to move it. My purse hit the floor, contents spilling out all over. I sucked in a sharp breath and glared at the man as he plopped down, ignoring me completely.

"Nice manners, asshole," I muttered, scooting out of my seat to pick up my things. I grabbed the dumped items- gum, a pen, my wallet, and an empty candy bar wrapper- and tossed the items back into my bag. As I went to pick it up, a boot came down on the purse strap. I snapped my head up, scowling at him. He smirked and reached for his sunglasses, tipping them up slightly to reveal two intense yellow eyes. My breath hitched in my throat at the sight of them; absolutely beautiful.

"Do you know who I am, little girl?" he asked, his tone vaguely threatening. I frowned, yanking the purse strap out from under his boot.

"Yeah," I said, settling back into my seat. "You're the biggest asshole in the city; nice to finally meet you." He stared at me for a few seconds and I wondered if, perhaps, I should have kept my mouth shut. After all, this was the brother of the man I was trying to get to hire me, and he was pretty important himself. He let his glasses fall back over his eyes and, to my surprise, started to laugh. He tipped his head back as he snickered, his body shaking from the laughter. My frown deepened as I watched him; this was definitely not what I'd expected.

"Oh, Creator, that was good," he wheezed out after a few more moments of giggling. He looked to his brother. "Death, where did you find this one? Can I have her?"

"She's not mine," Death hissed, sitting back and rubbing his temples.

"Yes I am," I snapped. I wasn't about to leave here after waiting for an hour without a job.

"Really," Strife sang, turning his attention to me. He leaned on the arm of his chair, resting his chin on his fist as he regarded me. "So how long have you been banging my brother?" My eyes widened at his question. What? I wasn't- how did he think- "He never told me he had a lovely little human on his arm."

"Strife," Death growled, getting no reaction from his sibling other than a smirk.

"I'm not his like that!" I finally sputtered out. My face was warm and I could only imagine how red my cheeks were. "I just meant-"

"You're not mine in any way, shape, or form!" I shot a glare at Death, ready to enter another round of arguing with him, when Strife cut in.

"If he's not gonna give you a job, I'll happily take you in," he purred, a mischievous grin on his face. I rolled my eyes at his offer and sighed, shaking my head.

"You'll do no such thing," Death stated, narrowing his eyes at the other man. Strife's grin only grew and he turned to his brother.

"You're not the boss of either of us, big brother. I'd be more than welcome to take the little human in." The two stared at each other silently, the tension in the air only growing. I was sure one of them was going to throw the first punch at any minute. Suddenly, Death spoke.

"Amber!" In less than five seconds the blonde was at the door, her eyes trained on Strife like a guard dog waiting for her owner to give the command. "Please, escort Miss Banks out of my office. I need to speak to my brother, alone." I frowned, my hands curling into fists.

"What?" I spat, glaring at him. "No, we're not finished here!" He met my gaze and the air around me seemed to chill. I wanted to recoil, but I couldn't back down.

"Yes, I believe we are. I am sorry, Miss Banks, but you do not have the job." I stood quickly, nearly knocking back the chair, and slammed my hands down on the desk.

"No, I'm not leaving. You can't just-"

"Please come with me or else I'll have to use force," Amber said, appearing next to me. I disregarded her.

"I came here for a job and I'm not leaving until I get one, you pompous, stuck up ba-" Before I could finish tearing him a new one, Amber had my arm twisted behind my back and was pushing me to the exit, my bag in her hand. "Wait!"

"Have a nice day, Miss Banks," Death called as I was shoved out. I tossed a glance over my shoulder and I could've sworn I saw a smirk on his face. Son of a bitch. Amber didn't let go of me until I was in the elevator.

"I'm sorry the interview didn't go your way," she said, sounding and looking sincere. "Don't take what he said personally; he's is in a mood today. Something to do with his siblings, I'd assume." The anger seemes to drain out of me as she talked, not because I felt bad for the guy, but because the reality of what had just happened was settling in. I suddenly felt ashamed of myself; my actions weren't something I was entirely proud of. I'd never been so upset by an interview before. I'd had plenty of them, and had been turned down more times than I cared to admit, so why had I lost it at this one? Maybe it was the looming reminder of failure hanging over me. Whatever it was, it was inexcusable of me to behave like that. I almost felt like I owed Death an apology.

Almost.

"It's alright," I sighed, running a hand through my hair. I took my bag from her hand, my frown deepening. "I shouldn't have behaved like a crazy bitch. That probably didn't help my case." Amber cracked a small smile and nodded, stepping back. I hit the lobby button and leaned against the elevator wall. "It was nice meeting you, Amber."

"Same to you, Aziza," she replied as the elevator doors came to a close. I let my head fall back and sighed, closing my eyes as tears started to build.

What a fucking failure.

#darksiders #office au #death x oc

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kpopthispussyyy · 7 years ago

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BTS reaction to their black girlfriend facing racism/ignorance

Namjoon

Namjoon would be absolutely livid. He’d be confused at first when you both got pulled over by a cop. He knew you weren't speeding, so what the hell?

“Here we go again.” You'd whisper to yourself, not aware that Namjoon was watching you.

He’d watch silently as the cop asked for your license and registration. He’d notice smug look on the cops face as he told you that there was a robbery near by and you resembled the suspect.

“Wait wait wait wait. Describe the suspect.” Namjoon would interrupt.

The cop wouldn't take him seriously and would ignore his question, causing Namjoon to snap and get out of the car, yelling for the cop to describe the suspect, and about how you both had the right to know what this was about. Terror would freeze your blood as the cop began to order Namjoon to get back in the car and jesus christ all mighty, why isn't Namjoon listening to you as you scream for him to get his ass back in the car? Your heart would be pounding as you saw the cop begin to reach for his fire arm, but luckily, Namjoon would finally listen and sit in the car next to you.

The cop would leave you both with a firm warning to Namjoon and an insincere apology to you. When he was gone, you’d fall apart, hitting Namjoon and yelling incoherently, tears streaming down your face. Namjoon would be surprised and would gently defend himself from your blows. He’d yell over your screams.

“Why are you so mad?! It wasn't our fault.” He’d ask, exasperatedly.

You’d take a deep breath and look at him with tear filled eyes.

“Namjoon. You have to understand. I’m black. I can't afford to yell at the police. They shoot first and ask questions later. The fact that you're in the car with a black person automatically means you can get shot too so please. Don't ever, do that again.” You plead, holding his hands in yours.

He quickly nods and pulls you to his chest, comforting you. He makes you switch places with him and drives home. Afterwards, your relationship is ten times stronger and ten times more understanding.

Hoseok

Hoseok is the definition of low-key savage. He’s the sun as everyone knows, and is literally happiness personified, but when it came to protecting you, he could kill. Dating a black girl had really opened his eyes to some injustices black people faced, and he’d be damned if he let anyone disrespect you, whether it was or wasn't due to the color of your skin.

When he finds out that your boss told you to ‘do something about your hair’ which you preferred to keep natural, he laughs and shakes his head. It’s at that moment that you know you made a huge mistake telling him, cause that laugh meant one thing and one thing only.

Time to fuck shit up.

While you were at work, Hoseok would show up with a book in his hand. He’d make his way to your bosses office calmly. You'd watch in shock from the door as he pulled out articles about African American hairstyles being discriminated against in the workplace settings, spreading them in front of your shocked boss. He’d explain how almost all of the employers in the articles were ruled as ‘right’ in the claim that they could choose hairstyles for their employees. Then he pointed at the ones who lost their claims, along with their businesses.

“Now that we've read these and got educated, let me make one thing clear. If my girlfriend, Y/n, comes home to tell me you said anything to her regarding this conversation, or tormented her in anyway, I will do everything in my power to make sure you loose your business, then your money, then your house. Don't be an asshole. Here’s my card. Have a lovely day.” He’d finish with a sweet smile, then walk out, kissing you goodbye.

Your boss wouldn't dare to say a word to you, seeing as your boyfriend was famous, and according to google, worth a shitload of money. Your hair was happy, you were happy, Hoseok was happy, and all things were good.

Seokjin

“N*GG*R!”

You'd feel you heart stop at the word that hit you like a brick, lingering in the air. Jin would freeze and look around towards the crowd of paparazzi and fans that surrounded you both, looking for the culprit who was either hiding like a coward, or long gone.

Jin would grit his teeth in silent rage and wrap his arm around you. He’d maneuver his way through the crowd with a stricken girlfriend in his arms, entering the hotel finally. You'd both silently make your way to the elevator and enter. Jin would walk to the back of the elevator and lean on the wall, shaking with anger, while you replayed the moment over and over again in your head.

“I-I don't get it. We’re not even in the U.S anymore!” He’d yell, voice startling you.

You'd let out a laugh and shake your head. “Racists are everywhere baby. There’s no escaping it. Doesn't matter that were in another country.” You’d reply, giving him a soft, sad smile.

Seokjin would frown and immediately pull you into his arms, kissing your forehead.

“It’s not fair to you. This was supposed to be our amazing, unforgettable honeymoon. Are you okay baby?” He’d ask, one hand coming up to cup your cheek so he could peer into your eyes.

“I’m fine. It’s not gonna affect out honeymoon. We’re here to have fun. Some ignorant git isn't gonna ruin that. Okay?” You ask, attempting to convince him that you really were okay.

Jin would sigh and finally relent, calming down. You’d both forget about the rough start to your honeymoon and have the best fun you'd ever had, making new memories free of criticism and media influence, as husband and wife.

(GOD this boy is foiiiiiiiine. Lemme use this chance to confess that he has now wriggled his way up the ranks and has gone from Bias Wrecker to Another Bias. BITCH LOOK AT HIS FACE JHBJVUGJGH)

Yoongi

You’d both be on line for some shit idk, maybe to get coffee or buy groceries, when some random roach bitch came out of no where and suddenly dug her fingers into your afro. You’d be too shocked to react. You’d barely be able to hear her asking the usual roach questions like ‘omg, how'd you get your hair to do this?’ and ‘it’s like, sooooo puffy. Can you like, straighten it?’. Yoongi would make a face at what he saw, confused as to whether said roach didn’t see him next to you, or was ignoring him.

Ignoring the fact that roach was a girl and that he had to be a gentle man, he’d grab her arm hard and yank it away from your hair, still giving her that look that said ‘who in the fuck raised your disrespectful ass?’.

“Um, don't touch her.” He’d say, throwing the roaches arm back.

You'd stay silent, mentally laughing, knowing your boyfriend was about to snatch this bitches edges.

The roach would wrinkle her nose in irritation and look to you for support, only to see you raising an eyebrow at her in disbelief.

“I’m sure you wouldn't want some random stranger digging their fingers into your hair, especially when getting your hair that way took hours of treatment and dedication. Fuck is wrong with you?” He’d ask, holding your hand in his as he cringed in disgust at the now stuttering, red faced roach.

“W-well excuse me, but she didn't say she minded.” Roachaline would spit at him, placing her hand on her hip smugly as if she had won.

“Well she didn't get the chance. Go away before I call security and report you for assault. And stop being a martyr for idiocy!” He would yell after her as she walked away appalled. You’d laugh and link arms with your savage of a boyfriend, cooing sweet nothings at him to calm him down.

You’d both leave whatever store you were at laughing, happy as can be, talking shit about the atrocity you had just encountered.

Jungkook

You’d be in the dressing room with the boys, watching as they got their making done, in a heated conversation with Namjoon about types of weaves to get since he was dating a black girl too. You were in a bad mood already from some shit that had happened previously, but this poor child was about to get his girl some synthetic bundles for her birthday and that’s a no, so you decided to hook him up with some websites.

Jungkook watched through the mirror with a smile on his face as you gave Namjoon advice, laughing as his friend took down notes. Suddenly, one of the boys friends, some stranger, decided to add in his own unseasoned two cents.

“Weren't you just complaining about G-Dragon having dreads? How do you do that, then use straight/ silky hair that isn't yours?” He asks snottily, rolling his eyes at you.

The room went silent. Jungkook broke the silence with a short laugh, turning to glance at the boy.

“Seriously?” He asks, letting out another laugh, this time slightly sinister.

He then proceeded to educate the idiot boy, cursing at him, informing him about how you might not be able to get some jobs without straight/silky hair. He informs him about how you occasionally get made fun of about how your hair defies gravity. He also informs him about how G-Dragon wearing dreads is wrong because it cultural appropriation. He tears him a new one, barking at the now beet red boy about how it’s also none of his goddamn business what you do with your hair.

At the end of his rant, he's panting, makeup sliding down in trails of sweat, causing his make up artist to glare at him. The boy scurries out in shame, and it only takes a second for the entire room to burst out laughing, while you sit watching your boyfriend, filled with pride.

“Damn Kookie. Where'd you learn all that?” Jimin asks, impressed.

Jungkook smiles and lets out a small laugh and turns to you, a teasing glint in his eye.

“Perks of dating Y/n.”

Jimin

“Excuse me?” Jimin would ask, raising an eyebrow at the host.

You’d sink into the couch in mortification, realizing that you were just sexualized on live tv, and it'd hurt even more when you realized it was because you were black. This wouldn’t be your first interview with Jimin, but this was the first time anyone was so blatantly rude. You’d feel a twinge of tears at the back of your throat and avoid eye contact with the camera after that.

“The question was, since dating Y/n, have you enjoyed sex more, considering how endowed she is?” The host would ask again shamelessly, wiggling his eyebrows at both Jimin and the producers back stage.

Jimin would stay silent for a second, still reeling in shock. You'd think having a 13 and up audience would have been a red flag, but you guessed that being black and dating a pop star was just too juicy for the producers not to milk. The silence would make the host realize it was the wrong thing to ask, and he’d panic, turning to the producers again, but it was too late.

“First of all, that is absolutely none of your business. Secondly, the only reason you're asking me this question is because she’s black, and you should know better. You should all know better. I planned on cursing you out, but seeing as my girlfriend is in shock, were going to leave instead. Have a horrible day.” Jimin would spit out, grabbing your hand and pulling you off the set.

He’d drag you through apologizing crowds of people and out of the studio, back to your car. You’d enter and sit silently, Jimin grabbing your hand again as he enters.

“Baby, I'm so sorry. They're a bunch of idiots and their careers are over, I swear to god-” He’d rush out, making you interrupt him.

“It’s fine. Thank you for defending me.” You’d say with a weak smile, hugging him.

He’d hug you back tightly, still in shock from what just happened as you tried your hardest not to burst into tears in his chest. The week that goes by afterwards would be hard. Paparazzi would be on a mission to get yours and Jimin’s statements, and that question would be played on every media outlet daily. Some fans were on yours and Jimin’s side, but of course, some also were not, thinking it was a fine question for the host to ask, and that he would have asked anyone.

Soon, other scandals come and go with other pop stars, and yours and Jimin’s debacle is soon forgotten, but you two don't forget. It strengthens your relationship. You and Jimin begin to love and understand each other on a different level.

Taehyung

You’d be hanging out with Taehyung at a bar with the rest of the group when suddenly, a group of fans would come up to you guys for autographs. Being used to this, you'd happily watch as the boys kindly tok their time and interacted with their fans, signing autographs and taking pictures.

“Oppa~ Why are you dating a black girl?”

You froze at the question. Taehyung simply rose an eyebrow at the girl in front of him.

“What kinda question is that?” He asks, obviously trying not to be rude.

The girl rolls her eyes, gaining confidence.

“Well, why are you dating a black girl? A lot of fans are angry.” She stated, glancing at you bitterly for a second, then turning back to Taehyung.

Just as you were about to get up and drag the bitch, Taehyung let out an irritated groan. He crosses his arms and raises and eyebrow at the girl.

“I’m honestly trying to have a good day here, with my beautiful girlfriend and our best friends, so kindly go away before I make you cry.” He says, pinching the bride of his nose in frustration.

The girl turns red, and scurries away, flustered from how an idol just spoke to her. The group turns to Taehyung and you, asking if you were both okay, but you both simply just blow it off, laughing and cuddling up.

Before you two had started dating, you had both already spoken about what hardships you would face from the fans and from... well, the world. So anytime something like this came up, though it would take some insisting and begging, you'd always make sure he kindly told fans and people that mentioned your skin color negatively to ‘go away.’

~~~~

WELL GUYS.

This took me three days to write, so I hope all of you enjoy it, especially my fellow black girls out there.

If this offended you, please leave me a butthurt ask or comment. I’m in a wonderful mood today 😊💖

#bts #bts reaction #bts scenario #namjoon #jungkook #yoongi #jimin #hosoek #taehyung #seokjin #kpop reactions #kpop imagines #p.o.c #female reader #scenarios #kpop scenarios

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